A Guide to Kingdom Building

Tarsuria, Year of Severus, 18, I.R., the 70th day of Spring, Camp Lionclaw, Great Dunes

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The sun ruthlessly shone across the dessert sky, punishing the people below it with its sweltering heat. Urfaal woke up sweating inside his tent, it was still around early morning, but the sun was already asserting its dominance against them.

The beastman still wanted to take a moment of sleep or two, since he never had some of it since they set sail back to the base. The crew including his friend, Ghwynmyr were visibly jittery and angry for some reason. He tried asking the dwarf about it but he simply told him to wait until he could report it properly to Lord Prestonheim.

Urfaal hated the idea of being left behind. That seemed to be his timing all the time. He was either asleep or unconscious when a crisis was about to unfold, and he was either not around or too busy to be shared a secret. He wanted to know what Ghwynmyr knew but the dwarf had his lips sealed even after they landed last night. He wanted to push his dwarven friend to confide with him what was on his mind, but he was met with a piercing stare; a stare he only saw a few times. He knew they were in for a big trouble.

He sat from his bed and stretched his back when Ghwynmyr entered his tent, brooding.

"Ah, mornin', Urfie!" The dwarf's voice was jolly, but his eyes were piercing him. "Come 'n take yah brekkie, then we goin tah Lord Prestonheim's tent, ah?" Ghwynmyr smiled.

Urfaal simply nodded. His friend's smile terrified him. It was as if the dwarf was about to kill someone, and he knew it was only a matter of time for him to do it. He immediately stood up from his bed and went after his friend who exited his tent as fast as he showed up.

As he got out of tent he was greeted by the somber faces of their fleet; Commander Crovar's crew in particular. They were sitting around a quenched campfire eating their breakfast without batting an eye. He caught up with his dwarven friend and sat on a small seat beside Commander Crovar, who was drinking his morning wine.

"Isn't it a bit too early for that?" Urfaal tried to break the ice with a silly joke.

The young commander looked at him with his tired and sleepless eyes. "It's already too late not to drink." He smiled weakly.

Urfaal could see the sadness and frustration written all over the commander's face. The poor leader wanted to look as dignified as he could be for his men, but it was obviously failing. Experiencing the events that occurred a week ago was a harrowing reminder of how people would go to lengths to an assured victory. A tasteless and dishonorable victory.

He heard Ghwynmyr clicked his tongue and stood up to confront the drinking commander. 

"Yah nay hafta use dat!" He took away his bottle of wine and threw it on the ground.

The commander and the rest of the crew didn't know what to react. Their eyes were directed to Ghwynmyr. Urfaal sat shocked and was unable to move like the rest of the crew. They opted to hear out the dwarf's reason for bugging the commander, and they surely want to know how the young commander would react.

Commander Crovar shook his head, "Can't I just get a drink to mourn for my dead men?" His voice slightly raised as he explained it to the dwarf.

"De're many ways tah mourn 'em" Ghwynmyr stood adamant. Urfaal wanted to stand up and try to quell the situation, but his friend signaled him to sit down and let him talk. "Tis not one of dem."

"So, you're dictating me on how I should mourn?" Commander Crovar stood up and pointed at Ghwynmyr.

Ghwynmyr met the commander's eyes, and took a step closer. "I know yer drinkin yer sorrows to what yah saw."

Commander Crovar spoke of nothing about it. But his face was contorted when Ghwynmyr nudged his memory about something. "Tsk! You want an audience with him? Fine! Let's go!" The young commander stormed out of the circle and asked the dwarf to follow him.

"What're doin' there,Urfie?!" Ghwynmyr turned around and saw the beastman's confused and frozen face. "C' mere! Tis gonna speak wit Lord Prestonheim!" He gestured for the beastman to follow.

With Commander Crovar leading them, they made their way into Lord Prestonheim's camp.

It has been said that the tents surrounding the commander's tent was said to have been shifted twice every week to avoid spies and assassins to get next to him. This was a tactic that the Principalian knights had made to avoid their commanders from dying abruptly or getting their information leaked. Most of the knights have no idea of the formations, and even at the commander's level, only a few were given that secret. Luckily, Commander Crovar was one of them.

After navigating the maze-like pathways, they finally arrived at Lord Prestonheim's camp. The tent was one of the largest ones located at the northwestern location. Even with that knowledge in mind, the commanding lord still has to go to the other tents randomly to avoid detection. Only a few of them knew how to spot where Lord Prestsonheim was.

Without any hesitation, Commander Crovar showed up in front of the knights guarding the tent and immediately barged inside. One of the knights, grabbed the young commander's hand and told him that regardless of his status, he would need to book an audience with the Commanding Lord.

"How about if I stick my blade into your throats?" Commander Crovar answered as he quickly got away from the knight's grip. "Would this suffice?" He said as his saber pointed directly on the knight's neck.

"N-no c-commander…" The knight's voice trembled. "T-this should suffice!" He said.

"I thought so too." He smiled and went inside the tent. "Oh, they're with me!" He pointed at them.

Urfaal smiled awkwardly and slightly bowed at the knights before entering. He looked at his friend who was as stoic as he could ever be. Ghwynmyr's expression was blank, but he could feel the dwarf's energy, and it was about to explode.

As they entered the tent, they saw most of the commanders encircled on Lord Prestonheim's round table. They were too busy to notice their arrival, as everyone were too focused on the maps and little wooden soldier's they placed on the table-sized map.

"Pardon the intrusion, godfather, and the rest of the respectable commanders!" Commander Crovar slightly bowed. "I have come here to give you an urgent and despairing news!"

"Yes, we're on it!" Commander Arkan butted in. "That huge explosion needed to be address and we have already asked the A.R.T.E.R.I.U.S to investigate on the matter!"

"Lend me your ears, godfather!" The young commander vied for Lord Prestonheim's undivided attention.

"What is it, Commander Crovar?" Lord Prestonheim moved his eyes away from the map. "I have already made the necessary—"

"Ah! Fuck this!" Ghwynmyr spat on the floor and approached the table. "Tis what they'd use to make that island explode! Tis was inside a Necromaton!" He showed the aetherium ore he took from the corpse and rolled it on the table towards Lord Prestonheim.

"Necro…maton?!" Another commander reacted.

Lord Prestonheim looked at Ghwynmyr straight in the eyes. Urfaal could only feel the weird chaotic tension inside the room as the name Necromaton was brought up again. He caught the rolling ore and examined it. 

"That vile…bastard!" One of the commanders clicked his tongue.

"Me thoughts yah got dis monstrosity destroyed, decades ago!" He banged on the table. "Tis a treaty dat even the Principalia ain't willin' tah cross!"

"Indeed." The silver-haired commander answered back as if his thoughts ran away.

"Damn it, Commander!" Ghwynmyr uncharacteristically shouted. "Then wut tis dis?!"

Urfaal could only watch as his friend's anger exploded on Lord Prestonheim's face.