"I stand upon the ramparts, dressed for battle

Mine axe at hand, my brothers to my right,

Thine King and Country calls upon us nobles,

Be fortified through this oppress'ed night"

-The Great Warrior-Poet, Horace, 'Letter to the Men who Stand Guard', stanza 1

Chapter 1: From Ashes we Were Created

Somewhere, in the far off reaches of Chateau du Lapins, where the fertile countryside settled into the fortified mountains, a small rabbit opened up a parchment and spread it across the table. With a look of determination on her face, she reached for a small, slender rod of lead, and set to work drawing lines.

She was not happy. And her father seemed to understand this as he set foot into the room.

"Elyssia?" The old man mumbled, taking a moment to look over her shoulder at the progress she had made over the three days prior. "Elyssia, dear, why do you seem so downtrodden? The Duke of Chateau du Lapins himself has seen a copy of your work so far, and he's more than satisfied. You're becoming more skilled than even I am, and at such a young age, so what's bothering you?"

The young girl set her pen aside, clutching her fists and taking a deep breath to calm herself. "Everything is fine, father" she lied through gritted teeth.

"Everything is not fine. Is there something wrong with the statue that you need help solving? Maybe-"

"There is something wrong with the statue father!" She erupted, pounding her fist on the table and standing up to turn to the older rabbit standing behind her. "I go to the Duke, I go to his palace and lobby directly to him with ancient roman documents, documents I had to have transported directly from Rome, and I lobby for three whole days to make him commission an aqueduct system so that maybe we can have running water and, I don't know, perhaps a sewer system so we don't need to use chamber pots like savages! And in the meantime, we could probably get an irrigation system so that the farmers don't need to rely on perfect rains all the time! But no, what does the Duke do? He gives me a wave of the hand and commissions me to build this… this wasteful statue!" She threw down a small clay pot full of pencils and scattered the contents across the table, glaring at the plans for her statue as if they were some profane thing. "What did Cosimo d'Alucard even do to deserve this statue?"

"You don't know what Cosimo d'Alucard did? Elyssia, you must know that he was the one who signed the treatise with King Auguste the Magnificent in the year of our Lord-"

"I know what he did, father…" she sighed. "He surrendered the rabbit clan lands to Armello. I just don't know why we're focusing on commemorating someone who surrendered instead of using our skills, using MY skills to focus on actually improving the lives of the rabbits in this kingdom." She sighed, ultimately settling on slumping back down in her chair with her eyebrows furrowed and her arms and legs crossed.

She soon felt a soft paw on her shoulder. "There now, daugher. You are improving the lives of Armello's citizens. Think of it this way, by building this statue, you're letting more common people know about a vital part of Chateau du Lapins' history." The old hare massaged his daughter's shoulder in an attempt to calm her down. "You're contributing greatly to education, and you know what I always say. Education-"

"-is the floodgate to knowledge otherwise trapped forever. I know" she droned, relaxing only slightly in her father's grip. She opened her mouth for a moment, but ultimately decided it'd be no use to protest further. The statue would have to get done eventually, she supposed, and she'd rather get it out of the way sooner. She picked up one of the rugged pencils and got back to work.

Her father, seeing his daughter's distress, kissed the top of her head and walked to the nearby hearth, throwing a log into the fire to keep it warm. "If it means anything to you, I'll make haste to the Archduke himself tomorrow with your plans. Maybe he'll have the good sense to commission this aqueduct" he suggested as he stoked the fire.

"Archduke Lafayette the Drunk? Sense doesn't fit in the same sentence as his name" she spat under her breath.

"It's a better chance than if we did nothing at all. Do you still have the roman papers?"

"No. I had to ship them back to Rome once I was done referencing them. I have a rough sketch of the plans in my dresser, though."

"Smart girl" he said, smiling and clicking his teeth. "You're a fine successor to my legacy. Never forget that."

This brought the spirits of the small bunny up, if only for a moment, bringing a slight smile to her face. "Thanks, father."

And so, the young rabbit went back about her business, begrudgingly sketching plans for a statue she didn't really care about, and dreaming of a project that could make her name go down forever in the annals of history.

But while this young girl spent her time looking forward to the future, her opposite, a much older man, was sitting in an alehouse alone nursing his mead and looking back on his past.

The old honey badger sat with his ink and parchment at the bar. There was a half finished stanza sitting in front of him, but he had written himself into a corner with the pentameter. Nothing he could think of would make the verse work, and the rough, inappropriate chatter of the alehouse certainly didn't help.

"Madam, i'sertainly think you as a fine specimen" one particularly drunk fox stammered loudly at the stool next to Horace. The bear barmaiden the fox referred to simply shot him a wink, taking the comment in stride.

"Why thank you very much, sir."

"I'ma not kidding, ma-" he started, pausing to burp. "..madam. Yous'should be in a f… aff... A fine painting in a royal gallery. I want… I want… I want YOU to come to my house, an' be the model for my paintings"

"Stop telling women you're an artist, Pierre! You're a porter, for christ's sake!" An irritated doe shouted from a booth across the room.

The drunken fox turned his head, violently enough to rock him off his stool and send him and his wine tumbling to the ground in a comical crash. "Whoss'at to question my art!"

"We all know you just say you're a painter because you want to look at the naked girls!"

"Why, I's never 'a let a scound… a sss….SCOUNDREL such as'ou give me such an insult!"

A cup of wine then flew across the air, and after hearing the crash of several tables and the screaming of bloodthirsty bar patrons, Horace had decided that the poetry would have to wait. Setting down his pen, he instead picked up the old trusty battleaxe that he kept at his side as he calmly, yet imposingly strutted to the fight going on, and once the doe had thrown the drunkard fox off of her, he swung his axe directly between the two, the blade digging into the wooden floor just an inch away from the fox's tail and the doe's paw. "Care to lend an old soldier some peace and quiet?"

"Ho- Horatio! Why, i'iddin't mean to 'isturb you sir! I jus'ad a moment of artissic vision, you know!"

"Well, so did I. I was thinking of writing a particularly artistic sonnet about an old honey badger saving an unsuspecting young lady from a dirty, foxy scoundrel" he spat, grabbing the fox by his tail and carrying him like a sack of potatoes kicking and screaming to the door.

As Horatio opened the door, the fox protested vehemently. "I'LLAVE YOU KNOW THAT I'S A FAMOUS NAME IN'THE ART COMMUNITY!"

"Pierre? Never saw you in a gallery."

A look of pure offense crossed the fox's face. "HOW DARE YOU-" he started, being cut off by Horatio clutching at his throat and walking out the door with him, slamming it behind him as he turned the fox to look him in the eye.

"Now. Ten pieces of gold. Give me that, and I'll drop you instead of kicking you across the street."

"Well'as not very poetic!"

"If you read any of my work, you'd find the title 'Warrior-Poet'. Congratulations, you get to meet the warrior today. Gold. Now."

"Wait, wait! I on'y have nine pieces a' gold!"

"Then nine pieces it'll be. Hand it over."

The drunk fox sighed, pulling his coin purse out of his pockets and dropping it into Horatio's open hand. "'Ere… please don't hurt me, sir…"

"Smart fox." True to his word, Horatio let go of the fox's throat and let him fall to the floor. "Go home" he ordered bluntly, before entering the alehouse again and slamming the door behind him.

The badger left the nine pieces of gold on the counter to pay for the damage, and collected his quill and parchment as he walked up the stairs to the room he had rented for the night. A drunk sheep stumbled down the hall past him, with what the old badger could only assume to be a prostitute in tow. He opened up the door to his room. A single lit candle gave a low light to the otherwise dark and oppressive night.

It was times like these where he took a moment to reflect. The badger, after all, was a thinker, a feeler, and a poet. He couldn't help the ruminations that would act as the backdrop for his life.

"Another night alone, in an unfamiliar bed, drinking unfamiliar ale" he sighed out, taking a seat on the desk facing the window and grabbing a fresh parchment. He let his gaze fall out the window where the village of Amsterhof was bathed with the soft glow of lantern and candle. Other than that, however, the only light he could see was the stars. The royal palace of Armello which he held so dear to his heart was beyond the mountains, where the horizon blocked the view of even its highest rampart.

But the old croak knew how to write. So he did. The old man dropped the poetry, writing instead a letter to his old friend, the King, to inquire about his health and to see how he was managing with his royal business. Maybe even to spend some time reminiscing about their shared glory days, when the armor they bore didn't feel so heavy, and when the toll of combat hadn't ground their optimism down quite as much.

But some animals had yet to discover the burden that the armor bore. The cost of every arrow loosed from a bow hadn't crossed the mind of the young and vivacious wolfess who stalked through the forests of Les Montagnes. The biting cold, the howling wind, and the thick fog, despite their harshest determination, were unable to shake the spirit of River as she floated low to the ground, stalking her quarry: a fowlbird that had strayed too far into the hunting lands of her village.

She stayed perfectly silent, discipline honing in as she patiently waited for the dumb animal to strut to whatever gap in the thick forest she could find. The bow was drawn a while ago. Her arm, growing weary of holding the taut line, forced her brain to search for any opening she could get, and soon, she got it. The flightless bird finally stood between two trees, the wood almost framing it like a perfect painting, a prize to be offered up to anyone who could take the proper shot. River let loose the taut string, and before the arrow had even left the bow, she knew she would hit her target.

The tension in the bow violently snapped into a resting position, and almost immediately, the fowl dropped, an arrow loosed clean into its neck. The perfect shot. River wasted no time rushing over to the animal and picking it up, automatically making the walk back home.

The snow was falling violently that night, and the tracks she had made on the way out had long since been covered up. However, this was a non-issue for the experienced ranger. She quickly found her way back to the village of Les Montagnes, instinct guiding her home as the familiar thatch roofs of the small hunting village peaked over the treetops. But winter had not been kind to Les Montagnes.

River trudged through the soppy slush that the snow formed in the few cobblestone streets, unable to help her urge to clutch her jacket tighter around her. Even her winter coat was not enough to fight off the amount of snow she found herself in. She was relieved, then, when she opened the door to her home and found that the hearth was burning. "Mother… I'm back with our catch" she said, poking her head through the door.

"Come in, dear" she said, sitting on the wooden chair next to the hearth. "I wouldn't want you to go numb out there."

"It's not too bad outside, mother."

"I'm sure it isn't" the old wolfess replied, standing up. "Let me cook that for you-"

"No, mother, you rest. I can handle a bird, I've cooked it a million times."

"And I've cooked it a billion times, dear" she said, putting the case to rest with her seniority. "You don't need to do everything, River."

"I know, mother" she started, putting her bow and quill down beside the door, moving to place the fowl on the table. "So, what did we get in our rations today?"

"Oh… Dear…"

River froze for a moment. "Mother. What did we get in our rations today?" She repeated, this time more firmly.

"We weren't given a ration" the old woman replied timidly.

River stayed silent, glaring at her before a look of fury overtook her eyes and she reached for the dagger on her table.

"River, don't you dare lose your temper in my household!"

"I'm not losing my temper, I'm getting what Armello promised us!"

"You have a dagger in your hand and you look like you're going to kill somebody! I raised you better than to throw a hissy fit at one missed ration, young lady!"

"One ration a week, that was their contract!" River yelled back. "They told me that if I worked as a ranger for their Dukes and Earls, they'd give you one ration a week!"

"And it's the middle of winter in Les Montagnes! The roads are probably closed up, and you know how the Royal Guard caravans can get bogged down in the snow!"

"This is the second week, mother! If they expect me to work faithfully in the service of Armello, they'd better give us what we were promised!" she said in finality, throwing the door open and slamming it shut behind her as she stormed furiously down the street, dagger brandished in the moonlight. The door to the one room cabin she inhabited flew open as her mother stepped out. "Don't you dare do anything stupid, River!"

The wolfess refused to listen, storming down the small street to the royal guard bunkhouse, sheathing the dagger and instead choosing to pound on the door with severe force.

The marked increase in aggression prompted a clanging of metal behind the door, followed shortly by the large dog throwing the door open and raising a small candle to her face. The dog was clearly worn out from a lack of sleep. Being on the night shift hadn't helped his attitude either. "What is it, villager?" he groaned, full plate armor doing little to aid his wakefulness.

"Let me ask you something, what is this?" she ordered, pointing to a letter in her pocket which the soldier begrudgingly took from her hands and opened up to read.

"Let it be known to all the nobility and knights under the service of both the Wolf Clan and Armello as a whole that River Allemond, hailing from Provins du Les Montagne, is an official ranger of the wolf clan, and for her service to the king she shall be awarded, in addition to her hunter's winter ration, a year round ration once per week containing no less than five pounds of meat per day for her sickly mother. Marked with the imprint of the ring worn by Thane of the Wolf Clan."

"It's been two weeks since my mother last got her ration, and I've had to escort the Duke of Ypres AND his son through Les Montagnes since then!" she spat at him, full of anger and spite.

The guard removed his helmet and looked at the letter again. "You said two weeks?"

"A fortnight, yes."

The guard rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Come with me. I'll see if there's been any path closures preventing the shipment. Stay quiet so the other guards can get some rest" the guard grumbled.

River huffed under her breath as she followed the knight inside, closing the door behind her. The guard held open the door to his office for her, gesturing for her to go inside first. After shooting him a look of pure anger, she obliged and took a seat at the desk before the knight sat across from her, opening one small drawer and going through all of his letters in the past two weeks. As he rifled through the letters and their titles, a look of increased perplexion crossed his face. By the time he had gotten to the end of the stack, he furrowed his brow. "I can't find any road closures, ranger."

"That's because there are none! If there were, I would have known about it. Do you know why?" She interrogated.

"Because-"

"Because I report the closures, because I am the only ranger within twenty miles of this place! So if there was a closure, I would be the first to know about it."

"Madam, calm down-"

"No, I won't calm do-"

"By the authority vested in me by the King of Armello, I order you to calm down!" He exclaimed, raising his voice and standing up to look down on her.

River huffed, narrowing her eyes in anger and looking back up at him. "As you wish, sir" she begrudgingly droned.

"Now" the knight said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "Clearly, there's been a discrepancy. Perhaps there's an order from the king we haven't received yet, but seeing as it'll take a week for any letter to reach here from Provins Royale, I don't think there's any way to get an immediate answer."

"And what about my mother? Is she just going to starve while I'm pulling escort duty?"

"The cellar to this bunkhouse has stores of cold meat. I'm issuing you a pass now to take five pounds a week out of it" the knight said, taking a candle off of the mantle and dripping some of the hot red wax onto the now folded letter. "Give this to your mother." The dog ordered calmly, stamping the hot wax with his ring, the official seal of the king's guard. "I'll send a letter to Duke Jean-Christophe immediately, and I should get his reply in about three weeks."

"Three weeks!?"

"Or, you can go to Duke Jean-Christophe on your own and find out what's going on in person. That'd be only a week and a half."

She sighed, looking down to the floor in defeat. "I guess I'll go to Duke Jean-Christophe."

Thankfully, the emotion of the situation wasn't lost on the young man behind the desk. Sensing that River was distraught, he put down the pen and looked her in the eyes. "Madam, I understand this ration is important for you and your family. I want to help you as much as I can" he said. "What is your mother's name?"

"Evergreen" she said, looking back up to him with eyes that seemed not helpless, but frustrated and defeated.

"Would you like a guard member to check on her once a day while you're out?" He asked tenderly.

"Yes, sir. And send for a mage should her condition worsen."

"We can do that. Now, you should get your ration and get home to rest before going to the Duke. Let me take you to the cellar."

With no further delay, the guard unlocked the cellar and grabbed River five pounds of turkey in a wooden crate, kept cold and fresh by the winter. The wolfess thanked him for his help, and went down the road back home. After putting the turkey in her own cellar, she slowly opened the door to the cabin and tenderly stepped in.

Her mother was long since asleep, but there was a bowl of hot stew waiting for her at the table. Quietly, she ate, and as she swallowed the hot cooking of her mother, she couldn't help but look outside the window at the stars to wonder what had possibly happened to her ration, and pray that whatever it was, the problem got fixed soon.

But not all the people of Armello had the luxury of not knowing what was going on. Sana, was in the most dangerous reaches of Armello when she had first felt it. An unknown land, where mages and priestesses could practice the magic of the Wyld, and could meditate and pray to the less accepted gods of the pagans who had once ruled the land.

It was here where the bear sat to meditate, the ancient art form gripping her thoughts as she laid under the thick forest canopy, close to the foliage where she could connect with every living thing. Entranced by the ancient magic, she focused deep within, where the innermost contents of her very soul laid, and pulled out of her the energy from her own spirit, the life giving power of nature. Delicately and softly, she brought her bear paws to her snout, and breathed out of her mouth a tangible, solid mist of golden light. The Wyld stuck to her paws, and with the focus that only a deeply skilled master of the magic arts could muster, she concentrated.

"I am not my own being…"

"...I am only part of a much bigger earth…"

"...and as the earth gave me my spirit…"

"... so do I give thine spirit back to the earth…"

The substance of her very spirit flowed off of her hands, instead travelling to the object of her focus… the young flower that had began to wilt in the cold of winter. Gilding in a layer of light around the wilted flower, the energy she had pulled from her own spirit began to soak into the dying thing, opening its buds back up and mending its broken stem.

With one deep breath, the bear brought her paws together and exhaled, allowing her focus to now be broken again, ending the ritual as she opened her eyes to stare at the flower she had resurrected. A contented smile crossed the priestess's face as she moved a single claw over to the flower, pushing up a single petal that was out of place. However, no longer did it take her to admire this moment of beauty than it did take her to notice the wind picking up out of the east. This was no normal wind. As she gazed to the treetops above her, she noticed how the stars were blotted out of the sky, and in their place, a sickly purple heat lightning had taken residence in a thick black cloud layer. She frantically looked down to find a mist creeping through the forest. Picking up her staff immediately, she pointed it at the flower she had resurrected, and with her concentration, quickly flowed some of her spirit down the staff to create a protective barrier around the little flower before bringing the staff above her own head in one fluid motion and spinning it around her.

In a vivid flash of light, an orb formed, encompassing her in a protective layer of Wyld, strong enough to keep her alive in the thick black fog that rushed towards her like a wave crashing on land. Immediately, Sana sought to run from the forest as fast as possible, dodging and weaving between branches as the fog enveloped her, chasing her faster than she could run from it. And that is when she identified what it was.

The dark black fog, the precarious purple hue of the heat lightning, and now, the way the trees of the forest seemed to grow purple scars, tumors, and infections, betrayed the identity of the pestilence that was coming to plague the land.

Sana had no time to give it a name now, however. She had only time to run, and pray to the earth she faithfully served as priestess of to be spared from it.

The more she ran, the more destruction she could see it causing. Never, ever had there been an outbreak this deadly force in such scale, such capacity that it seemed to not only destroy the forest, but ruin every living thing within it. As she ran, birds pathetically tried to fly with her, but as their wings became tumorous growths of purple and ash, they fell to the ground, left only to writhe and rot as the fog engulfed the last energy they had. Sana felt like she needed to retch. But she averted her eyes, holding her gall down her throat and persisting through the smog oppressed forest, the thickness of the smoke too great to see anywhere past her pristine shield of Wyld.

Suddenly, as if liberated from a nightmare, a burst of clear vision graced Sana's eyes as she tumbled a few steps, surprised and even made nauseated by the sudden ability to see. Taking only a moment to catch her breath, she looked behind her.

The clouds had stopped, hanging in the air mysteriously as if they had hit a barrier known only to God. The sky, now only half obscured by the fog, now provided her the stars she needed to navigate. Something had gone incredibly wrong, she was sure of it. And unfortunately, she feared, it would be a long time before this new dark energy could be purged from Armello, at least in any complete capacity.

"The rot… It's coming…"