The Calm Before the Glorious Storm

- Just Outside of Old Psophis, Late in the Evening

A grand act of earth shaping had been laid out beneath the watchful walls of Psophis. Over a hundred and fifty feet across and twice that in length, a huge expanse of land had been cleared and flattened, then dusted with pale sand. A tremendous ring of terraced soil surrounded the fresh clearing, flattened with five stepped tiers, each tall enough crowds could watch from each tier without obscuring the tier behind. It might have appeared the basis of a new fort if there weren't intermittent raised booths, the fences, and tall platforms befitting of an arena.

At this time of night the structure should have been abandoned, but there were some prominent exceptions. A camel had climbed atop the surrounding earthen seating on one far side of the Arena. Several Blue-Feathered harpies rested atop the observation towers, clad in the light armour of Arcaadjitte soldiery, joined by several human soldiers beneath, who wandered the upper earthen seating. Eyeing the monstrosity at the Heart of the Arena.

It was a beast of black and white stripes that stood almost twice as tall as a grown man, with huge heaving torso, and an open mouth of slobber and knife-sharp flat teeth. Cold black eyes were aimed purely upon one man present, who stared at the Zebra-Man with a look that seemed almost bored. Even where it stood chained and clopping its heavy hooves with enough force to decapitate. Its hands clenched upon its binds with fingers capped in sharp horn. It wore a loincloth lined with human hands, each one clenched in death upon the beast's belt.

The Vožd stood alone at the floor of the Arena, half-watching the Man-Beast impassive. Leaned upon an outrageously large hand cannon that came up to his shoulder, with his hand resting upon the scimitar sheathed at his side. Waiting. Unbothered by the monster that looked ready to tear apart the chains that bound it and throw itself at the Hetman.

For some minutes he was alone, beyond the noise of insects and the swarming of pygmy burrowing owls and long bats that preyed upon them. Occasionally a whisper of a Harpy, or a grunt of a soldier reaching him. He paid them no mind as he remained. Had it not been for his breathing he might have been mistaken for a statue.

Then a man approached from behind, the Magistrate and Law Man of Arcaadjia, Owen YacGorbens. "Mine Vožd?"

He did not look away from the Zebra-Man, but the moment the Magistrate was at his side he clapped a hand against his shoulder. "Owen. I have to say you've helped to construct a marvellous thing. This stadium shall serve Psophis for generations."

"We all really pitched in sir, best use of labour from the tribes... As long as I can recall. Though are you still certain that you want to do such a... Demonstration?" He gestured to the monstrosity at the centre of the Arena, which did not break the staring contest. Though, it brayed aloud at the Magistrates presence. A noise like log being sawed by a rusty misery whip.

The Vožd nodded. "Yes. Physical experience is always more effective than words with southern lords. I trust that everything is on schedule?"

"It should be. Rothbart will be bringing our esteemed guest soon enough."

Again, he nodded, more to himself than the Magistrate. "Good. Good good."

"If I can ask about the... Menagerie that is currently clogging up the town?"

"Of course." His liege did not smile, but a mirth snuck into his voice that made YacGorbens scoff.

"The Wizard Baron? Have you any thoughts?"

Magus Filius Lupus had been the first to reach the Arcaadjia by supernatural means. Such that he'd allegedly missed the secondary message. Or so he'd claimed, it was impossible to tell with a man either adept at playing the role of a scatter-brained magician or someone not all there in the head. He'd been a constant back and forth presence in the Hetman's Fort, if only because he'd sought to 'optimize' his time here. Randomly vanishing and reappearing as he maximized what could be achieved during his stay.

"Lupa? Firstly, a Baronet. Second, he is a ramshackle mess who is far too twitchy about our scaled and feathered subjects. Brilliant certainly, I'm glad he decided to come up with the stories of planned invasion coming from the south."

"Planned. Last I heard that Conqueror L... Th... Diza was it? The fool needed to abandon stronghold due to a revolt."

A wicked smile crossed the Vožd's face. "Oh yes. I imagine that Periphery Pretender will be running back to the Heartland soon enough. If they don't hang him from the walls first." He hummed, watching as the Zebra-Man tried to break his chains once more, only of his huge bulky fingers audibly snapping in the attempt. "I hope he will be of use to us in the future. Even if there is friction over the 'organic relations' between our tribes. His companions have certainly won me over though."

"Colour me shocked." The Magistrate turned, looking the way he'd come. "And Lady Smith? The Caravans have been swarming since the arrival of her party."

Behind, at the front gates of southern Psophis a huge encampment had formed, mostly dominated by the Host of Last Rest who'd been the bedrock of a temporary city district. With tents for buildings and impressive industry. Dominated by the hard training adventurer Lady who'd made her coming known, even if the first thought of the Vožd had been 'my, how short she is.'

"It is rather nice to see someone trying very hard to present themselves as an aristocrat, almost makes me wish I could try. I never realized how close Last Rest was until her arrival and she has certainly made an impression. Our Stewardess spent about two hours discussing further ties to her holding, and she seems very ready for the tournament. Might be the best option for the coin slingers running the gambling tilts. Her champions less so, at least until we see them tested."

Owen nodded, having little to disagree with. "The Marquis? I'll admit the scouts have been very bored keeping an eye on him."

The Lord of Dragonbad had joined the metaphorical wagon-crash outside the Town and exasperated, much to the horror of the Arcade-Master within the settlement who'd eventually worked out a deal to keep the gates open during the day. The Marquis had become quite prominent up upon the walls and touring the surrounding area. Perhaps at his expense as the silk dressed lord was incredibly out of place in Psophis, but his generosity had ensured any jokes were made in good nature.

"He seems exactly the sort of man he presents himself. For better or worse. In concert with the others we're likely going to be able to fund all the 'life-long' projects I'd planned in the next few years. If of course the roads aren't completely overrun. And I suppose it is nice to have a straightforward pen pal. I'm not sure how his men will do though."

"They are but men. Still, it would be foolish to think less of a Telosi Man-at-Arms. As for the... Maritimers?" Venom slipped into YacGorbens words.

Making Lampys sigh. "You can say Pirates Owen. They don't mind."

The Westerling man hackled for a moment, his short shaven hair and unkempt moustache making him briefly appear as a feral hedgehog in the dark hour when only distant lamps and the stars above lit him. "I do! I remember my last voyage being raided well enough!"

The men of the 'very distant' renegade lord had been particularly alien to Psophis, but they had been among the fastest to integrate even if they struggled to comprehend why the smoking dens and corner clubs were not simply called; 'pubs.' The '''King's Envoy''' in particular had ingratiated himself to the people around the city.

"For the amount of Tolerance the Empire has for Robber Barons and greedy merchant lords, he is just another of the same. Though I suppose the 'envoy' of the Pirate King has done more to win me over than others. Perhaps needing to steal rum from merchants rather than grain from passing peasant families does wonders for one's public reputation."

"Unless you're a southern shipping guildmaster with envoys in the heartland." YacGorbens spat. "I trust you red the information on the Turncoat I provided?"

The bands from the Great Carnival had trickled north, not exactly alien in these lands where mutations, half-breeds, and fierce races dwelt. They were painfully Telosi in that regard, and subject to some ridicule therein. But that did not stick, as the entertaining kinds that had followed the champions of the carnival had established themselves.

"Obviously. The witches smelled him before he even crossed into our dominion." The Vožd said. "Ironic that if he dropped the pretense and skirting about the backwoods his people would be nominally welcome here. Tis' expected though, the bestial folk are oft split between Imperial Decorum and whatever skirts in the interior of the East." The braying of the Zebra-Man was ignored as he scratched his chin. "I wish I was able to participate just to wrestle his one champion."

"The ursine? I saw him out by the southern gate the other day. More man than beast, but not lacking in the latter."

"Oh yes! Bet I could give him the Heshzmatti toss! Another time perhaps." Lampys laughed to himself. "When things are less pressing."

The Magistrate forced himself to nod. "What of the Godsiron men?"

The heavy stepped and boastful Lord Raspail had not been daunted by the hard road to the Highlands, or so he insisted. The tales he told perhaps a bit too large to be true, but in the circle of traders and vendors he'd earned himself quite a few customers. And a few scars from brambles after one incident with a Northern Shrike Shrub.

"Quite the saga those Dwarves and their Knight friend had to share before they even reached us. The fact that they made it here and only needed to 'gift' their chitin on the way is nothing short of a miracle. No doubt the trip will be worth if for Godsiron if they can make it home in one piece. Either way, the clans outside of the Vengefulbraids will have someone to root for. Even if the odds are against them overall."

Again, the Magistrate nodded. "The men from Arcashire? The Duke's generosity has already made him quite popular."

While starvation had not been on the table for the Highlanders in a good while, contributions of food and drink among the common people were a good way to earn friends. In that, the distant lord of Arcashire had earned himself many friends already. Though his people had had the hardest time adapting, with their chosen knight having almost frozen to death when a freak snow storm had struck the road.

"Personal favourites of mine. I think the shepherd boy is the only one whose figured out the last event. With how heavily the odds are stacked against them, I suppose the universe thought they were due a miracle. I'll need to send a gift to Ged for his contributions to this Hastilude. Perhaps a horse. A very sturdy one at that."

"As for the Lady of Stormlily, are we still letting her compete?"

He nodded. "Indeed. She has those extra wards and she managed to actually make it here. Even if she doesn't win anything she's been pleasant to have around. Much as it is fun to watch a true novice try her hand at the saddle and the bow." Amidst the large caravans and processions of many merchants, some brought in personal employ, while others had simply followed... Even with one particular exception the Lady of Stormlily had been an anomaly. A noble woman of scholarly upbringing that had been all about the city and deigned to join the competition. Even with the competition present. Lampys turned to his Magistrate who was stared off smiling at something. "What?"

He started slightly. "Nothing at all sir. What of the Earl of Groan?"

The arrival of a man atop a Dragon would have caused a serious incident anywhere else, and even though the flying scouts had caught wind of the upstart young Lord he hadn't done much to endear himself. Though he had considerably raised his standing with the Vožd as he'd listed many potential events that he'd bounced about himself, not that he'd informed the Earl of that. Lampys' advisors had insisted making an armoured knight climb a rock wall was cruel. Still, in spite of that fact the Earl's dragon had earned much positive attention, even from the more restrained monster ranchers of the Highland who preferred stable and local beasts.

"What can I say to a man who asks why we were not running any events he could use his dragon in? The men of Groan are known in their nature. Just as we here are known for our resilience. No doubt though he will get a kick out of our final event. Perhaps he might even enjoy himself wrestling. Let him let some of the anger out to a righteous end. Or at least to suffer a cathartic defeat."

"If you say so. He's already testing the waters to see what he can get away with. I've have a mind to thank him after, he's the first one to really test my network meaningfully. Seems he's used to Harpy trailers." Magistrate YacGorbens conceded. "As for the... Mystery man. Sir I feel we should take the rumours more seriously? Think of it, a lone individual in excessively luxurious armour rides into the Highlands? And every magical lettering system and bird network begins circulating about-"

"I am aware, my friend." The Vožd conceded. The enigmatic contender who'd insisted he'd been a Noble... Somewhere had been a fascination. Though unlike the Lady of Stormlily he'd been erratic and arbitrary, never removing his exquisite armour even as he'd wandered Psophis with obvious fascination. "However the capital is far away, and if our mystery competitor with excess coin desires his privacy? I will not intrude on wild rumours. For the time being. We will see if that fancy training and inherited strength will serve him in the dust here."

"By your order. As for the other trouble candidates... The Heringian Contender? Have your thoughts changed?"

He rolled his eyes. The Vožd had never cared much for spontaneous arrivals, a known oddity. Nor the random prophecies that frequently allowed them to seize power in niche locals, usually to disastrous effect. But like other parties, the arrival of the Heringian knights had at least served the local economy. And their presence was appreciated with the last major faction present. "His appearance disconcerts me. Beyond that? He seems to be earnest in some regard. In the best case scenario he proves his worth. Worst case? He and his little eastern oasis buy the rest of us time if those rougher estimates on the Beast-Men prove themselves true."

A pause. "And the Großmeister?"

Among the Robber Barons of the Northern back-roads, the Knightly Brotherhood of the Pneumeri were among the very worst sanctioned vagabonds. Known to occasionally put entire villages to the sword on grounds there might be a mutant hiding among their number. Despite complaints to many in the Heartlands the Black Pneumeri had only grown in strength in recent years, and a whole band had caught wind of the tournament. They'd occupied a small camp on the Periphery, perhaps recognizing that they were truly reviled in Psophis. A fact that had only hardened the resolve of the Knights to win. "Him and his merry band have been corralled for the time. Already planning on cheating aloud and wondering if they can manage a few crippling blows."

"Are you sure we can't get rid of them?" YacGorbens hissed as he crossed his arms.

"Not without trouble. Nor would I, if I were willing to do that now. They shall serve as a useful villain in all this. A common point to root against for the rest of the outsiders just as much as our people."

"That... I will admit I did not consider that." The Magistrate paused. "Should I withdraw our watch on them altogether then?"

"Not so far as that. But if they're going to try so hard to tamper with lances and 'aught? Let them have their fun. It might make some competitors realize the sort of Depraved Knights who run wild across the imperial wilds. The sort of men who'd jump to serve a self-titled demon lord if it suited them."

"Aye. Plenty of other hands offering to fight but no one so exciting. Or united to actually compete for the crown itself." Many other warriors and knights had made their way to the tournament, but unable to enter the full five course event had been relegated to smaller competitions strung along the formal events. Good intermediaries for the higher competion.

The Vožd said. "Twelve of note. As good a response as we could have hoped."

“If nothing else, I suppose we have a good stadium to work on and filled coffers. Lady Eramina will be pleased.”

“So she is.” The Vožd said nothing more.

For a time, the two men stood there, eyeing the ghastly monstrosity which continued to bray and growl, flexing against the supernatural chains that bound it at the centre of the Arena. Magistrate YacGorbens initially strict and formal, though, slowly, his posture faded and he slumped, resting on his sidearm as he listened on. The chirping of crickets, the distant noise of the Town beyond and the people camped outside of it.

The night was pleasant. For a time. Neither man willing to speak to interrupt the repose.

Until the noise of something flying near made the Magistrate jump, turning about unsheathing his estoc in a single motion, just in time for one of the Vožd's harpies to crash down behind them in a startled motion, hopping along the final steps towards them.

“My Zevazt! The Duke is almost here!” She said, breathing hard from a moment. The Magistrate sighed and immediately sheathed his blade.

But Lampys Erymanthius hadn't moved at all, turning his head slightly when she was at his back. Then he stepped backward, not turning the front of his body away from the Zebra-monstrosity. Until he'd circled about the harpy. Arcaadjitte Harpies were the size of men and seemed larger in flight. Though in that moment the young scout and runner was not unlike a downed vulture. He reached down and heaved her up onto his shoulder with surprising ease, his hand wrapping about one of her clawed feet. “Excellent. This wretch was getting impatient. As was I Dojk.” He briefly his thumb down one of her painted talons, of dagger sharpness. “Your claws are ready I trust?”

“Y-" The Harpy stuttered for a moment. "Yes sir!”

“Good. Wait for my signal. I promise fine recompense when all this ends. Now, to your sisters!” Without subtly, the Vožd suddenly pulled his arm back and launched the harpy into the air, where she almost dropped before her beating wings carried her over to one of the Arena's spectator towers. There, the cackling of her sisters could be heard.

Just as Dojk touched down, two people appeared behind the Vožd and the Magistrate, atop the earthwork seating behind. The first the Otaman and military overseer, Dulf Rothbart whose clanking plate armour marked him well before he came into view. At his side in his escort a southern Lord. In resplendent Tyrian and Azure garb fit for a the upper aristocracy that seemed utterly mundane upon him, of sharp brow, pointed nose, and a stern look. The Duke-Elector of Margiotte himself; Vicaro de Barca.

The Otaman escorted the Duke down to the floor of the Arena, where he curtly bowed to his liege. “Mine Vožd.”

He looked to him, seeing the strained look and circles beneath his eyes. “Rothbart, I release you to your ends.” Still facing the Zebra-Man, the Vožd beckoned over the Duke to his opposite side. “Master Barca, I trust you've enjoyed your stay?”

The Duke-Elector eyed him for a moment, though his attention shifted to the Zebra-Man as it bellowed, stomping the ground loud enough all three men stood there felt the earth shudder. For a moment Vicaro held himself, then something faded, and the high lord pulled off his hat. “Aside the freak blizzard on an early summer road trip, the Hedge-Knights attempting to infiltrate my carriage, and the myriad chaos? Rapturous, Lord Erymanthius. And I suppose that there stands one of the vexatious 'Two Legged Zebra' I have heard so much of?”

“Indeed. They are the dominant Beast Men upon the northern steppe. Usually content to remain within their herds, just as like to slaughter the Goatmen, Easterlings, and Centaurs as they are to harry imperial lands. Usually in groups no larger than a hundred.” The Vožd sighed, briefly looking through his pockets and withdrew two things. A frail looking chain segment of ancient bronze, so that had turned green. “The problem is, almost thirty thousand stand ready to sweep into the Empire in a mobile camp to the South East of my lands, supported by a similarly sized invasion of Mountain Barbarians to the North West. And their numbers continue to swell.”

Vicaro looked over to the weary Magister for a moment, then back to the Zebra-Man. “Most sinister. And you would back these claims?”

“By every means I can employ, such that I invited you here Master Barca to bear witness to one.” Lampys spoke with a routine familiarity, like a Cobbler describing a the process of repairing a boot. “The average Zebra-Man can rip a common man in half, and defile the portion of his choosing. They are utterly fearless in battle such that they routinely trample lesser feral kinds." He crushed the chain segment suddenly, the crack audible. "Observe.”

With a deliberate motion, the Vožd suddenly turned about, exposing his back to the Zebra-Man whose binding chains suddenly crumbled, as if they'd rusted in mere moments. The Abominations shrill howl shook Vicaro and YacGorbens by mere volume, and the beast lunged, ten strides in a single bounding leap. To which, Lampys Erymanthius turned about and levelled the titanic hand cannon. The shock and noise of the shot was instantaneous, a fist sized ball of pig iron sent flying while the Vožd was pushed back by the recoil. The cannonball struck the Zebra-Man square in the chest, halting it dead as blood and meat splattered outward. But the beast stood, roaring back to howl.

The whistle of the Vožd came first, and the onslaught followed. Blurs of dark blue and dark claws ripped down in diving strikes, flaying the wounded Giant as the guards present readied their Jezails. Before the Duke-Elector's eyes, in mere moments, the giant was plucked apart. Yet it still moved, baleful attention almost soley aimed at the nobles. It made it ten strides away, before a sliced neck brought it to its knees. Then one skittering blow to the back of the head toppled the giant.

With that, the Vožd stepped forward to the Zebra-Man, withdrawing his scimitar. And in one swift motion beheaded the abomination.

As about him, his people both of both skin and feather celebrated, Lampys turned back to the hard faced Duke. “Terrifying, certainly. But manageable with numbers and coordination.” He approached, carrying the decapitated head along with him.

“So, you seek a military alliance then?” Vicaro asked, his hand drawing to his chin as his brow furrowed.

“No.”

“No?”

“Master Barca, if I recall correctly during the War of the Golden Fleece, my father and my legitimate half brothers threw themselves upon your walls and were extinguished for it. Something that all Arcaadjia thanks you for.”

“Even thy sister whom my men helped orphan? I remember that war well and shall admit, I barely recall your Father.”

“Even her. If only for the fact under our rule she has spent the past decade digging out my father's many debts. I know well that as a whole, my people wish to keep to themselves. Dying in the south for petty distinctions... It is not something I could force upon them, only our wild geese youth.” He shrugged, passing off the head to a passing guard. “But, I am bound to the Empire which Margiotte is a major pillar, and would rather avoid a calamity within. In that I'd rather engage willingly in small ways that are mutually beneficial. I am willing to send some assistance, sign certain deals, and encourage certain actions. Provide you that image of an unassailable bastion...”

The Duke-Elector preempted. “If?”

“If you and those like you are ready to deal with the threat at hand.” He raised a hand. “I do not expect an answer now. It is late. No doubt some rest before the festivities begin would serve you well.”

For a moment it seemed that the unshakable master of Margiotte was at a loss for words.

But only for a moment, before he simply returned his hat to his head. “That it would.” He turned, as if to leave before stopping himself. “Great Hetman I shall see thee in the morning.” He bowed a slight bow, then departed where a particularly shaken mercenary of Vicaro's employ looked as if he'd soiled himself from the scene he had witnessed. The pair vanished, and it seemed the rest of the remaining people present were quick to do so, most harpies simply taking flight for the barracks while the human soldiery began marching out.

“Owen?” The magistrate turned away from the decapitated Beast-Man to the Vožd. “See that this one is stuffed. We'll send it along with the Good Duke-Elector when he departs in hopes his memory holds.”

YacGorbens nodded, briefly whistling to some of the straggling soldiery. “You heard our Hetman, gentlemen!”

A few hurried words came, and the Vožd stood there alone as his men went on their ways.

Until a harpy landed behind him.

“I...” Lampys looked down at Dojk, now covered in splashes of blood as she slowed down. “Was I adequate my Zevazt?”

“More than adequate.” He said. "Now come. I believe it is high time I rewarded your efforts."