I. The Battle of Bloodwood
The Prominent Plains
4th Age yr. 3585
Birth and Blood. The two exist mutually and on this day, they would shape the future of the Realm. The cool spring breeze was whistling across the watchtowers of the Sovereign Spire as dusk approached. Songbirds could be heard chirping in the lush valley below. From the tallest point of the summit gardens, the heavy steps of foot soldiers could be heard, leaving on the eve of battle. The dominion of Queenspedal Valley and of the Realm of Mid-Rule belonged to Queen Elara of House Forwing. Conjoined marching forces of House Snowmon from the Northern Kingdom of Everwind, House Whitemore from Wolfmark and a legion of Silver Sentinels all pressed on toward the Eastern Reach and towards a common foe of men, the Sylvathïï.
Commotion could be heard from the top of the Sovereign Spire, within the Queen’s bedchambers. Her labours were near.
“I do not desire another fucking midwife my love. Must I not be able to breathe my own free air as I lay here and suffer the pain of my own labours? Out, all of you. I must speak with my husband alone,” the Queen announced exhaustingly as she adjusted and lay uncomfortably in her linens. The spire bedchamber cleared of scholar mavens and maids and the King Consort rose from his chair in the corner, and approached his wife, clad in his polished plate mail.
“You know they are only called upon to help you my dear” spoke Elian gently.
“The only one I need by my side is you Elian, yet here you stand prepared for war. Does this child mean nothing to you?”
“You know it does. But our scouts have reported more and more Sylvans encroaching the Plains every day. We have our gaze fixed on their position in the Bloodwood and this might be our best chance to cleanse our Realm of their filth. Scholar Maven Amos is here and will take great care of you and the babe.” King Consort Elian uttered as he grew impatient.
“I cannot lose another child Elian. The last two stillbirths nearly broke our family, they nearly broke me. We need to be attentive to Cassia as well; she is alone in all of this and she is just a little girl.”
“My dear, I will return soon and we'll be togeth–”
“Just go. Amos, I am ready for you,” as Elara interrupted her husband.
Scholar Maven Amos returned into the Queen’s chambers with a handful of midwives at his disposal. King Consort Elian somberly gathered his sword and pack and left his wife’s side.
The streets of Queenspedal were littered with citizens preparing to see the Forwing army and the King ride off. Cobblestone streets were filled with rose petals and white lotus flowers packed the crevasses in the ground. The day was dark. Sobbing could be heard from the families of men joining the fray. Horse hooves clicked on the stone paths and banners were held high. The banners presented the crest of the great twin headed eagle of House Forwing, shimmering with colours of silver and blue. King Elian rode alongside and met with Arlo Snowmon, Duke to the Northern Kingdom of Everwind.
“Arlo, well met my friend. All banners seem to have answered my call. From the count of my scouts, we sit 15,000 strong between our Houses, alongside Wolfmark and the Sentinels,” started the King as he approached.
“Aye, my King. The North will nay abandon the call of your House. We stand with you now and always! I will take command and march the northern armies to the northern outskirts of the Bloodwood.”
Arlo Snowmon was master of war under the Queen previously and was a hardened veteran. Northerners were gruff and rugged. They were hardy people and enjoyed a proper battle.
“And the Silver Sentinels?” King Consort Elian asked sharply.
“I have directed them and Commander Merrick to strive toward the southern border of the Wood and cut off a potential retreat, if it comes to that.”
“Very well Arlo, I will take my Forwing army and will march down the center from the West. Settle into position and await my archers signal upon arrival to the Bloodwood,” commanded the King. “Safe travels on the road my old friend.”
“My king.” and Arlo Snowmon rode off to the northern garrisons and to the Silver Sentinels.
It was a full day's march across the Prominent Plains to the reach of the Bloodwood. The Bloodwood was laid before the old kingdom of Sylvanïïa and the realm of the elves. The Sylvathïï have existed within Mid-Rule since the dawn of the 2nd age. Once upon a time, the Sylvan Throne was the seat of power across the Realm. Ruling for thousands of years, they were the pinnacle of culture and maintained a time of peace and serenity. Strife manifested between men and elves for dominance over the kingdoms of Mid-Rule however. Stretched thin and numbers dwindling, Prince Naemyn Vyltharïïan has rallied a host of elves and was spotted settling his troop inside the brushes of the forest. Elves were graceful and quick with their footing and swordplay in combat. Sylvathïïan sentries were positioned high in the treeline and the Elvish prince had his ground forces hidden away.
Back in Queenspedal, within the Sovereign Spire, the Queen struggled. Her labours were approaching and Scholar Maven Amos prepared her for birth. Several maids had their cloths, warm water jugs, and blankets at the ready.
“My Queen, if the pain becomes too much, say the word and I can administer Queensleaf to you. I want you to be as comfortable as possible, and we will persist through this, like all births previous.”
“The last two failed me Amos,” spoke the Queen wearily. “You have taken such great care of my family and me. The crown will forever be indebted to you.”
“Your Grace, your family is mine. I loved your father and mother like they were my own. I assure you Elara, I will not allow this pregnancy to claim your life or the childs.”
The Queen sat up slowly and urged Scholar Maven Amos to come close, and she began to whisper in his ear.
“Amos, this babe, he or she can not be allowed to live within the city and under the power of the Sovereign Throne. This child must be watched over at all costs and sent somewhere safe for their protection.”
“I beg your pardon, your Grace?” The Scholar Maven was taken back.
“Just see it done. I beg you, and tell no one. Once I see the baby, it must be taken.” The Queen wiped the tears from her enchanting blue eyes then slipped a silver ring with a cracked emerald in the center into Amos’ hand. “And this heirloom along with him or her, please.”
The pain grew within the Queen’s belly and the labours began.
The armies of the united kingdoms of Mid-Rule marched across the Prominent Plains through the night. Passing the settlement of Whetstone along the way, and into the stretches of green and brown hills. The three armies parted ways and proceeded to their assigned paths. Morning approached and the armies of men replenished their bellies, sharpened their steel and tightened the straps to their armours. The afternoon turned hot and muggy, the air smelled of thick cut grass and after a time, birds began to dissipate. King Consort Elian could see the tainted edges of the Bloodwood approaching. The Wood was thick and stood tall above the ground. An uneasy feeling was emitting from the Bloodwood and was visibly affecting the hearts of men. Something stirred within.
The sun began to turn crimson orange, and set slowly into the Great Western Sea. King Consort Elian had his Forwing ranks grounded and shielded up just within sight of the Bloodwood. He called his spearmen forward and they nestled their sparkling, steel tips in between his shield wall. Longbow archers lined themselves a good distance back and readied for volley commands. Commander Merrick approached on horseback from the southeast and hastened to the King.
“The Silver Sentinels are on the defensive line to the southern part of the Bloodwood my King,” Commander Merrick called out.
“We wait for an opportunity… on my command you will see my archers signal for the strike. Go, and fear no darkness!”
Commander Merrick nodded and spun to return to his Sentinels. He dug his heels into his horse and kicked into a canter. The Silver Sentinel commander was riding down the line when an arrow came whistling near his ear. One after another, arrows trickled into his path missing mark after mark. His horse’s canter maintained steady speed and then…
The Silver Sentinel commander could feel the thick warm blood running down his neck and spurted red matter. An arrow had plunged its way into the commander's throat and stuck. His horse took another in the eye, many in the torso and stumbled aggressively to the ground. The corpse of the commander took several more elvish arrows from volleys within the treeline. Suddenly, fresh waves of volleys emerged from the Bloodwood and struck the shield wall of the King. King Consort Elian was taken unexpectedly by the shock of the ambush and quickly joined the ranks within the shield wall.
“Tighten the line! Hold Fast! They are upon us from the Wood. Archers!” The King was yelling commands loud enough for the entire battlefield to hear. “Nock your oil!”
The archers in line a hundred yards back dipped their arrow tips in thick oil, and into braziers.
“LOOSE!”
A gorgeous array of flames launched over the heads of the Forwing shields and spears, and lit the Bloodwood aflame. In quick succession, flaming arrows wizzed from lines on the northern border of the forest as Arlo Snowmon commanded. Instantly, the Bloodwood was scorched and hordes of Sylvathïïan elves began pouring out. Tightened up and defensive, Prince Naemyn Vyltharïïan led a large army of elves through the branches into the Plains. Compared to the size and great numbers of the united kingdoms, the Elves were few and outnumbered three to one.
Searing pain could be felt within the Queen’s cries. Many hours into her labour, she was drained, beaten, and to the point of failure. Scholar Maven Amos was beginning to feel uncomfortable about the struggles of this childbirth. He had already given the Queen several doses of Queensleaf to soothe the pain and discomfort.
“Your Grace, I must attempt to rotate the babe once more. You have been so brave and courageous in your attempts to push. The buildup of blood from the womb is worrisome but I believe we have one more chance. I need you to muster and push, push, push!”
Prince Naemyn Vyltharïïan’s forces rallied and charged into the ranks of Elian’s shield wall. The elves were cunning in their approach and managed to break the line with well placed, wide sweeping greatsword slashes. Steel broke on the faces of shields, blood slashed and splattered. Swords clanked and sang their songs of war. Men could never outmatch the blade skill of the elves. Faster and stronger, the elves beat back the King’s soldiers. Men’s juggulars were slit by thin, razor sharp Sylvathïïan Steel. Limbs were severed and flew in all directions. Masterfully, the elves gained an advantage into the King Consort. Reinforcements approached from around the edges of the forest as Arlo Snowmon led the charge of northerners to surround the Sylvans. The flank of the northmen suffocated the Elves. Silver Sentinels then pressed the attack from inside the burning Bloodwood and drowned out any remaining Sylvans. The Sentinels made quick work of the elves on their front and hammered down their foes with ease. Fallen steel sheathed by blood and entrails oozed out of the treeline. Naemyn Vyltharïïan knew his doom would fall upon him this day. Laying low many men in iron suits, he danced and zoomed his gleaming blade. The elegance of Naemyn Vyltharïïan was almost mesmerizing to witness in combat. Stepping over the bloodied corpses before him, he came face to face with Elian. The King Consort and the Elvish Prince honored each other in a duel. Elian dropped his helm and lunged forward to the elvish princeling. The King was a gifted swordsman and nearly matched the skill of Naemyn. Their steel clattered with one another, parry after parry, they danced. Naemyn Vyltharïïan spun to one side, whipping his sword around and struck the King in his gut. With all of his force, he plunged his steel deeper into the King Consort and blood soaked his blade. The King fell to his knees, and in a final breath of effort, he drew a dirk from his bootstrap, and thrust it into the elf prince’s throat. The two stood entwined in steel and blood for a moment before both collapsing to the gore soaked plains. The armies of men persisted and consumed the remaining Sylvans. Thousands lie dead in and around the Bloodwood. Countless lives were lost, many families lost sons, brothers, fathers, and friends. From this day on, The Bloodwood Reach will forever be forsaken by the corpses that rot on the borders of the forest.
Indistinct cries and whimpers were heard through the Spire windows. Scholar Maven Amos sighed in relief as he lifted the baby from the womb of the Queen. The midwives moved in hastily to clean up the blood soaked linens and their queen. They wrapped and comforted her Grace as joy filled the room.
“A boy your Grace… you are blessed with a strong baby boy.”
The Queen gasped and drew several pale breaths. “Dorian… His name is Dorian.”