Anima et Forma

Episode 12: Reunion

In recent years, the Burgundians have shown more allegiance to the Alexandrian crown, than to the League of West Duchies. Duke Frederick IX is coming. The warhorses of Alexandria follow him. If we do nothing, our nation will return to the ashes from which it was once born. We will be vassals and peasants to the Alexandrian throne. We will worship Alexander's descendants as gods, while our own Gods are scattered on the wind, forgotten whispers.

Duke Ambrose of Milanis Duchy, Master of Umbria, urges his countrymen to question their conscience and ask themselves: can I watch our freedoms be squandered by inaction?

Join the fight for faith and freedom!

"How will you cross the river?" Augustus asked. He poked the coals of their campfire with a long stick. Little red embers fluttered into the air. "There are only three options: cross the bridge, take a ferry, or travel north and trek the foothills of the Eerie Peaks. Little Bend joins the Westward Rush in the south. So, if you can't fly, and you can't teleport wherever you want, but you won't settle for any of the three, how will you cross the river?"

Padair shrugged. He tilted his head slightly. "There are other paths, my friend." He said no more.

How is it that this damnable creature won't stop speaking until I ask him the one thing I want to know? "I've told you everything about myself," Augustus said. "Why won't you share this one secret?"

Padair laughed. He bleated in his goatish way. "You have my name and my friendship. What more could you want?"

"I want to understand your magic," Augustus admitted. He pulled the thick woolen cloak wrapped around his shoulders closer.

"In revealing my secrets, I would betray all my kin," the goat man said.

Augustus stared into the smoldering embers and black charred wood. He nodded. "I think I understand." He stood. "Well, good luck with that secret path. I will meet you on the other side of the Bend."

"Good luck with your crossing. Don't linger so long this time. It gets boring waiting around for you," Padair said. He lifted himself onto his furry legs. "Until our paths cross again!" Padair plodded through the clearing where they made camp beneath a canopy of ancient oaks. The goat man disappeared into a thicket of thorny bushes.

I'll take a stroll over a bridge any day, Gus thought to himself as he packed up his belongings.

He strode down the Western Road. His walking stick thumped against the cobbles. The sun hung high. Even so late in the year, he could feel its sting through the crystal-clear sky. Topping a knoll, he looked down on gentle hillsides, tumbling down into a basin where buildings sat like lumps of stone gathered at the bottom of a freshly shoveled hole, lumped together by the riverside.

He followed the cobbles. Travelers of every kind passed him by, heading East: farmers, merchants, minstrels, and more. The road smoothed out at the base of the basin.

The town embraced him, buildings surrounded on every side. Age and weather discolored their pale timber. Stones cracked and crumbled. Even the cobbles of the Western Road sunk into puddles of standing water and mud. The floor of the riverside basin was muck, trampled by beasts of burden and a ceaseless march of travel and trade. Moving bodies packed the streets. Worst of all, a sour smell permeated, no doubt the discards of livestock and a general lack of proper sanitation.

He looked for an inn, mostly to escape the smell that soiled everything.

Augustus made his way to the town center, where a bazaar of local tradesmen and peddlers sold their goods. A stone well stood in the center of the bazaar. On the north side, across from Augustus, a large four-story inn stood. The Bent Burrow, he recalled. I haven't seen it since I was a child, but I doubt it's changed much.