One war. Two Sisters. One end.
There is no running from it. Fate shall have its way as both daughters of Stormband take to the field of battle. Each with one goal - vengeance.
Approximately 130k words.
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With regards to the otaurs, their origins are ultimately unknown. The most prevalent theory is they were great warriors from the lost land of Sakon and also once very much human. Facing certain destruction at the hands of an enemy from the north, they were given the strength of a bull by a mage in an attempt to defend their lands. However, the spell also transformed in the process. And, sadly, even with the magic they failed to turn back the invaders.
Duas Tual, Master Historian of the Hitithe Empire.
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Cabbat unrolled a scrap of parchment on the table before Cassandra. Within her command tent erected in the shadows of the Sagon Wall, he prepared to explain his findings. "There are two natural fissures running parallel with the gorge walls." His finger ran down one side of the canyon on the crude map he had drawn and then the other. "Based on Halond's scouting report, these would be ideal places to set the barrels of powder. By my calculation, we'll need about eighteen barrels to shake loose the rocks of the canyon walls above the Mours Towers."
"Eighteen?" Cassandra asked, uninterested in the details—only the end result. "And how many did you say we have?"
"Fourteen."
The general scowled upon being given clarification that she hadn't misheard the dwarf's previous statements. "That's not news I want to be hearing."
"Look, I brought all I had, sweetheart. It takes a lot of time to make the powder. It's very unstable in large batches, so I have to make it in smaller runs. Which reminds me." Cabbat turned to the overly stuffed pack resting at his feet and pulled out a long wooden box with brass hinges and a pair of draw bolt latches. Resting it with a loving ease atop the map, he unclipped the latches simultaneously and pulled back the lid to reveal another revolver nestled inside on a pillow of red silk. "An upgraded prototype," he said. "This one will give you five shots before reloading instead of only three."
While the dward stroked his beard with a sense of pride, Cassandra reached in and retrieved the weapon. It's finish was more polished than the one she carried. With her other hand, she proceeded to pluck out one of the twenty-five cartridges from the cylindrical holes holding them. "These are," she turned the ammunition over with an examining eye, "smaller."
