Tias is a city never left off the map. It's so ancient that no culture or organization— currently marauding about this plane—would ever bother trying to claim a natural ownership. Truthfully, there doesn't exist even the slightest detail, in any known recording of history, as to the earliest civilizations that inhabited it. The earliest were the Minikes, who wrote with astonishment of a city that was already ancient and mysterious when they found it—and bestowed the name Tias—5200 cycles ago. Since then, it's been conquered countless times, yet no invading party has ever felt at home amongst its mix of the latest extravagant feats of architecture and the towering primeval ruins; which dwarf the rest of the city in every respect.
As opposed to a number of different cultures contributing to a city during different periods, Tias looked as if it'd been designed by several different species.
It's said that one of the earliest excavated the majority of a mountain to create a nest for Tias. Judging by the remains, the mountain is thought to have been the tallest in the region. Whoever they were, these people were also thought to be responsible for the immense tunnel system sprawling far out into the surrounding region from a single entrance at the center of the city. Those who've visited these artificial caverns and perfect hexagonal tunnels claim that they're a far greater achievement than the removal of the mountain to make room for the city; though no one can currently validate this as the underground system is restricted to all but the sacred class of Jogini.
Whoever came next, or sometime after, is thought to have been responsible for the iconic black and grey spires scattered throughout the city, each of their points so high that they're said to cut apart the clouds. The purpose for the spires remains unknown, mostly because there doesn't appear to be any visible entrance into the towers, and, additionally, because they've proven to be almost indestructible. An effort to remove one of the spires became famous after a fortune's worth of tools were destroyed against its surface with only the slightest of impressions made to show for their sacrifice.
The legendary Minikes are known to have been the culture that bedazzled the city with all manners of precious metal and minerals acquired from their conquests. They never made it their capital, though it was still the city that they brought every foreign emissary to; leaving them in awe as they tried to imagine how grand their capital must be—the Minikes actual capital, as far as anyone knows, since it was never found, was just a small hub somewhere amongst the Peaks of Aldur.
Tias' latest inhabitants, the Federation, have clearly done the least for the city. In truth, they've allowed it to fall into, what might relatively be called, ruins; at least when compared to its former glory. Clusters of hovels, slapped together with anything from mud to pieces of fallen statues, stretch out like a disease from where spectacular landmarks once stood, and every visible piece of precious material has been stripped from the buildings—although this had been happening for some time. Palatial homes and exotic temples still exist, but gems certainly lose some of their shine when they're lying in shit.
Still, there exists one structure that's retained an undeniable majesty as well as a rather incredible degree of respect and significance—even having been built in relatively recent times. Many residents would wholeheartedly say that it carries more significance for them than the entirety of the city itself. Rising like a great silver pine-cone at Tias' center, and ringed inside with precisely arranged staircases, it currently exists as the city's most important temple. Once a cycle, it becomes the focal point in the city for honoring one of the Federation's most significant religious traditions. It's a site specifically made for those in the city, and it's said to be one of the grandest and most gracious temples in all of the Federation's realm. Which lent the belief that it would give the greatest return for all the city's residents privileged to worship in its walls.
On this day, that tradition was in full-swing. And this, of course, means that everyone in the city was focused on this beloved temple; filing towards it in the belief that their gifts would bring them fortune throughout the coming cycle, pridefully celebrating this sacred jewel of their city with neighbors and friends. However, for the very first time, there were a number of groups now gathered a short distance outside of Tias' walls who also happened to be focused on this jewel of the grand city.
Standing in a carefully-dispersed pack, amidst the foot of the tall and dense pines, which dominated the Feasting woods, were one hundred and eighty soldiers that'd been handpicked from their individual batches for a specialized assignment by the two advisers serving their new, yet only temporary, commander; a man of freakish proportions known as Kamendah.
They were picked because they were loyal—though not the absolute loyalest—and as well because they were strong and capable fighters—but certainly not the strongest or greatest warriors in their respective batches. They also couldn't have any troublesome connections to members of the royal Apson class. However, the first and most critical factor in their selection was that they'd each been pinged for having a potentially troublesome bloodlust by their commanders; most of whom had no complaints about the men being relocated.
It was a curious assembly. Impressive and clearly formidable, to any average eye, though what separated it from another assembly of similar stature and skill only became apparent when one was close enough to reach this group with a speaking voice. Then the air might feel weak, as if it was sick. You might soon notice your breath and then heart beat. If you passed by them with a few others, it's likely that someone would be washed over by a strange, tightening cringe. In their presence, most normal men would make an extra effort to leave the odd vacuum they'd happened into, feeling as if it further unsettled their soul with every passing moment. This group gave off the type of curious sensation you might get when you go to remove a scaly blood drone from your leg only to find hundreds of its little kin already spreading out beneath your skin.
But this effect was, of course, the desired goal in selecting this group. A series of books particularly regarding it and similar methods had been written and revised over ages by an order of Jogini's who'd been working with their predecessors to cultivate such techniques on certain fitting occasions when they'd be called upon by the Federation for their tactics, whether for battle or otherwise. The effect—Fracture Mediation, as they termed it—was no real secret to any considerable group playing a similar role as themselves for some other great power, but that didn't change the fact that, when it was well-prepared and employed in the correct circumstances, the boldest strategists, heroes, and seasoned commanders might only give the slightest damper to its manic and ever-intensifying fire if they suddenly found themselves in its path.
The basis was simple; if a man were to interact with the type of individual picked for an assembly like the one now gathered—outside of battle, maybe along some street or in a tavern—and he had a better build and was a better fighter, his advantages would likely fall in the thoroughly unsettling presence of such a person. These types give off a vile and crazed aura that seems to reek of death, and when a group is brought together, and set to the task that they loved most, that aura spreads before their rampage like electricity: stunning those watching the group approach, replacing confidence with sickening fears.
Those chosen for this tactic were now standing with their backs against a tree, facing away from the towering walled city a slight distance behind them. Before them, the giant figure of Kamendah was grunting as he cracked his neck.
"Not a word," he hissed out—marking the sixth time he'd raised this point since the start of their task. "Through any of it... Mind your fucking tongues."
Kamendah was a full head above the next tallest man, and one of his legs might have matched the weight of the shortest. His skin laid upon him like layers of stained wax, and his head had been poorly shaved. Beside him was a crudely-built, oversized longsword that no one else present could properly wield. He was a good distance from the most capable or smartest of fighters, yet he was on par with the most loyal and the most intimidating and the most savage of the realm's soldiers.
"Friend of my friend," called a high-pitched voice.
All of the men, lurking oddly among the trees, looked to see a neatly armored figure standing and then bowing some distance further into the forest at the end of the log-bridge that crossed the Ogund river; which had traveled down from the mountains to make its way through the forest—stretching off to their right—to then wind its way across the purposefully cleared grass valley before passing through a grate at the bottom of Tias' wall to meander through the buildings then depart through another grate and head out to the sea; which was just a short journey away. Behind this man, in the process of crossing the bridge, was a convoy of soldiers, divided into twenty pairs, each carrying chests between them which they set before Kamendah's waiting group.
The man who'd initially called out, a thin and youthful figure named Lemote, approached then bowed down once more before Kamendah.
"Best greetings, I hope things are proceeding well..." Lemote carefully said, before adding, "Those chests must be destroyed, as I'm sure you know."
Coldly, Kamendah replied, "I do." Then he turned to call out, "Pants, helm, and top from these chests, all of you. And don't go all at once: keep your places... And put your own gear into them."
Kamendah then turned back to the jittering Lemote, paused, then cast him a lousy smile, "We got some lads waiting down river for these chests here. So don't you go fretting yourself."
"Good... That's very good."
"I know it is."
"And, um... we won't be able to get the guards by the inlet," Lemote added.
"And we don't need you to," dull agitation immediately present on Kamendah. "Just see to whatever noisy birds their people have on the near walls. Will that be done?"
"Yes... it will," said Lemote, taking a subtle step back. "It will be done."
"Alright then." Kamendah straightened himself. "Be sure that you and all your men are just outside the west gate, and the west gate remains open after we've opened it. Ya need to all be there after we come through so none of ya are mistaken for the enemy, right? Some will try to escape, and they must be killed. You'll be there to assume credit for discovering and routing those assailants... Get it?"
Giving a deep bow, Lemote then rose up to say, "Of course." Then he lightly whistled and began jogging back the way he'd came, his men hastily falling in line to trail behind him. They then made their way back up through the forest to return to their designated waiting spot.
Kamendah's men were now already well into the process of dressing themselves, replacing their red uniforms with deep orange and black, and their basic round helms with a pointed variation that none recognized.
"Dress by a tree," said Kamendah, returning from his conversation. "And stop moving around so damn much." He then looked uneasily at the walls in the distance. They don't see us. They ain't looking.
On the edge of one of the tan grass hills that rose up behind the Feasting woods was the gnarled commander known as Ogite. He was a stout and clearly battle-seasoned man who managed to appear as an imposing figure to most, despite only rising just above the height of a child; though, for the first time in memory, Ogite was not simply accepting of that loathsome fact, he was truly happy about it. He'd come to realize—after a great deal of introspection—that it was likely his diminutive form that had hardened his resolve and driven him to be the stalwart and reliable commander that'd been selected to oversee the immensely critical task he was currently engaged in—he'd been assuring himself of this.
Just behind him, on the other side of the tall hilltop he was crouched upon, was twelve hundred soldiers readying their arms. Laying prone to his right was the young and grindingly arrogant blue-hat Revidal Hesse; second-born son of the north's prestigious Hesse brood. Ogite had only just managed to quiet him by coldly stating that his voice was impeding him from picking up on any enemy calls taking place below.
Before him, at the bottom of the hills, was a dark strip of the Feasting woods, and beyond that, a horseshoe of bright-green valley surrounded Tias; its high, red walls overlooking the wetlands to its south with the slightest vision of the Dedrene waters farther on. The walls themselves matched the green valley in their horseshoe shape, the edges connecting with the sides of the great mountain that'd been hollowed-out. The mountain made for the end of an off-shoot of the Harvest mountains; which branched sporadically around the surrounding region.
The protruding section of hills, that Ogite's force now occupied, mirrored the forest they looked down upon in that both entities of nature seemed to have stretched out then abruptly stopped at the southern wetlands which filled the horizon to Ogite's right. On the eastern side of Tias, the true expanse of the Feasting woods could be seen, with another stretch of the Harvest mountains looming behind their dark growth.
"As you suspected," Revidal whispered.
"Appears so," Ogite calmly replied.
Leaning towards Ogite, "These rodents, all their filth... What a horrid sight," he whispered, then waiting for agreement.
Ogite winced, "Yes, rodents," he finally agreed.
"Should the scouts be sent to give warning?" came the voice of Emsat, the third in command who'd just arrived behind the pair.
"Immediately," Revidal whispered.
"No," Ogite quickly said. "We can wait and enrich our understanding of their intentions and any other parties acting alongside them. Tias has formidable defenses. This group shouldn't pose any threat, no matter their tactic."
Revidal let out a long sigh. "Agreed," he whispered.
Ogite winced again, gritted his teeth, then turned to Emsat. "Actually, have a runner circle around and approach the city from the east to inform them of what's happening. That should allow us the time to gain an insight into whatever plot is taking place. Then divide the force, and send three hundred with yourself to wait at the east gate, and have three hundred prepared to approach the west with Revidal when the time comes. The rest will remain with me to be used as necessary. Only the river exits to the south through the marshes marshes; and if they moved for such an escape, they'd be easily overrun. Though, I'll still position myself and my men closer to the south as a precaution. And make sure all of our archers are left with me."
"As you say, Commander," Emsat replied, then turning to head back over the hill.
"Emsat," Ogite suddenly twisted back to call, "send Torrent to me once you're done. And neither of you are to move into the city. The guard has far greater numbers, and once mobilized, will drive these forces out, if they haven't fled or been crushed already. You're to see to it that none are allowed to escape this crime. Kill every foreign impostor you see leaving the gates; any captured are likely meaningless to their southern allies and will be a waste of resources to keep alive... Is that all understood?"
"Absolutely, Commander," said Emsat. He then continued back over the hill and disappeared.
"I agree with that plan," whispered Revidal. "I believe we'll be able to find success with it. Very wise. Though shouldn't we still capture some to interrogate? Shouldn't we try to find out more of their intentions and who sent them? That would be wise as well."
The tedious, hissing whispers—though still a tremendous improvement from his earlier, full-volume commentary—had finally become too painful for Ogite.
"Naturally, the guard will have captured some. Now, you have a contingent to command. Go and see to that," he managed—applauding his own restraint.
"You're right. Very wise. I'll go and see to it that our plans are successful," came Revidal's grating whisper.
"Yes," groaned Ogite, "hurry now."
The youth finally stood and departed, after an awkwardly ceremonial bow, and Ogite was left alone on the hillside forcing long and steady breaths.
Though all twelve hundred of the waiting men rightfully belonged to Revidal and his directors, Ogite was overseeing this operation. He was a blue hat commander, like Revidal, though for Ogite, there still existed an ugly gulf between them. He was undoubtedly the better trained and disciplined leader; he'd proven himself as the exemplary standout amongst those around him consistently throughout his lifetime of combat. He'd never once run afoul of his superiors, and he'd proven beyond any knowing man's doubt that he possessed unshakable loyalty.
Yet, Revidal had Apson blood. He'd joined the forces a cycle ago and now held the same highly prestigious rank as Ogite; who'd spent more than half his life struggling to reach his current position. But still, Revidal was, beyond any doubt, already a much more powerful figure at that same position.
However, he'd been specially given his current and wholly critical assignment as it wouldn't be suitable for a man like Revidal. A thoroughly loyal and competent leader was an absolute requirement for the task at hand. Though, as well, Ogite had already become intimately familiar with what was truly needed to maintain the welfare of the great Federation—something that few in his position or below were aware of. It was known that he'd do whatever it takes.
"Hello."
Ogite jerked around to see the ghoulish figure of Torrent hovering above him. His sudden appearance was wholly unpleasant, and Ogite took a shameful moment to regain himself.
Torrent was one of the specialized Kleshas; a breed of the holy Jogini. His skin was heavily tinged a pale and frosted blue, and was stretched tight enough to reveal nearly every bone. He was very tall, though clearly quite young, with every feature sharp and defined. A single, thick braid of almost pure-white hair protruded from the top of his head then wrapped itself twice around his neck, leaving a small portion hanging down his back. A long and thin nose sat between his almost-void almond eyes and their small grey pupils. Draped around his shoulders and neck was a bizarre, foreign creature known as an Idura; which looked to be nothing more than a scaly mass of brown and red with no discernible head or limbs. Besides the Idura covering part of his torso, Torrent stood naked.
"Has everything been established down river?" Ogite asked.
"Everything is just as we need."
"And your men in the city—"
"Will take care of any issues that happen to linger."
Ogite turned back to face the valley and closed his eyes. "Revidal, the blue, should be eliminated. We can blame our delay of action on a brash maneuver he willfully undertook against orders. And we could say it was the work of a few loan enemy archers."
"That will not be necessary."
"It would help solidify our actions," Ogite tried.
"Giving a negligible result. Such a measure would primarily serve your interests. Which will be appropriately seen to, unhindered by this delay of action, as you say."
"Yes, of course. My apologies."
Torrent was already walking away. "Remember," poured his voice into the wind. "Not a trace."
Kamendah was helping lower an enormous, hollowed-out log, complete with branches and some roots, onto a group of twenty one soldiers holding themselves steady in the waist-high river. When it was as low to the top of the water as they could manage, Kamendah called for the men to dip, then his team shrugged the massive log as close as they could to where their heads had been. Only one man failed to reemerge inside the cavity, though he was able to swim and catch the tail end of the log to then pull himself under.
"Send 'em," called Kamendah.
Two of his archers drew arrows with wide, black heads and fired them up and to the north. They both then repeated the action two more times..
Everyone in Kamendah's group then watched the giant log wander down the river.
Inside of Tlas, the three pairs of guards on the curved western wall were all happening to comment on the enormous log drifting towards their city's grated river inlet. They were primarily concerned with how they were going to remove the sizable piece of debris once it became trapped against the duct.
One of the groups of guards, the group that was closest to the western river inlet, was the only group to spot six uniformed guards approach the river's grate from the inside with heavy equipment to then begin dismantling the structure fixed into the base of the western wall. Half began working with enormous metal hammers while the other half held and directed metal chisels around the stone holding the grate's bars.
It was an odd site that quickly appeared troubling. But before they'd even decided on who would report the occurrence, they caught sight of two guards quickly approaching from the staircase just beside them. The men commented that it must be about whatever was happening with the grate and started towards them.
As the replacement guards came within reach, they both calmly drew daggers and plunged them up and under the ribs of the current guards, both then pulling the struggling guards heads against their chests as they fell back to drag them to the ground. They continued to rifle the daggers about inside the men's abdomens while holding their quickly waning screams against their chests. In short order, the figures slacked, fell silent, and were left as piles upon the ramparts. One of the victims attempted to raise his red flag in the moments before he passed, but was quickly stopped by one of the men now standing in his place.
Down below, the debris gate was beginning to fall. And as the log finally arrived to slap against it, the blunt shot of force managed to separate a section of the bars from the damaged stone. The guards responsible attacked the surrounding edges to further the separation then stowed their equipment before heading off to their next target.
The log pushed its way through the remains of the grate. As soon as it'd cleared the entrance, figures began to rise up from around its edges to then climb onto the surrounding stone banks. Surprised and somewhat stunned by the surreal site, a pair guards walking by a shop nearby reacted slowly, momentarily unsure of what it was that they were seeing. By the time the festive and celebratory guards realized the true nature of what they were seeing, the intruders had gathered themselves and were beginning to charge. The guards confusion and sparse courage managed to give rise to a shout just as the first arrows slammed into their chests. They'd decided to flee, though they hardly made it a step before the first swords reached them: quickly stifling any other cries.
The group then split; two chasing down a woman who'd seen them from a window, two parties of seven heading for the remaining teams of guards at the far sides of the western wall, and the rest heading off towards the west gate.
With arrows drawn, the two parties crested their designated staircases and feathered the teams of guards standing nearby two then charged and hurled the guards' struggling forms over the wall. As each group succeeded, they quickly returned back down the staircases to begin making their way to the guards on the south wall, leaving a pair to watch their comrades; who'd, after seeing the bodies tumble over the wall, had begun to charge out of the forest.
The gate was already open as the main force arrived. They passed through in a tight form then continued their furious dash down the street they'd entered on towards the center of the city. When they'd encounter guards, the nearest men on the edges of the form would break off to engage while the rest raced by without a second glance.
Locating the temple was simple, as the lines of followers coming to pay tribute stretched far out into the city. As they passed, the yelled again and again that no one should move. Some of the men in back pulled out large fabric sacks and began snatching tributes from the terrified pilgrims, attacking any that resisted as the roared the command stay still.
Upon reaching the temple, the rest went to work with the most thoroughly rehearsed part of their plan as they spread out into the area. Any religious or city official was cut down on site. A handfuls of the citizens inside and surrounding the building were randomly selected and slain to clarify the commands that were being shouted out: lay down, stay silent, put your tribute out before you.
After most of the tributes were gathered, a group of the men formed a chain extending into the heart of the beehive temple where the donations were being massed. These donations were then tossed down the chain and piled inside the fabric sacks; which were then being tied and taken to an out-of-sight spot alongside the nearby river.
Another group was dragging bodies over to those waiting sacks. There, a team was tying them tightly together in groups of four. One of the filled bags would then be attached to the bodies before they were pushed into the river. Once the dead began running low, the group collecting the bodies began discreetly slitting the throats of those on the ground nearest the river, roaring something about how they were told not to move.
The rest roamed the surrounding area in tight packs, charging any guards that arrived to intervene. In their spare moments, they'd hack down the small trees surrounding the temple to make extra floats, collect some of the tributes they'd missed, or rundown a citizen attempting to escape. They soon stopped fighting off small groups of guards altogether; most of which had fled anyway without a fight. All the remaining guards nearby were waiting, not daring to challenge the invaders again until reinforcements arrived from the barracks.
But this was accounted for.
Just as they felt that they'd stayed for too long, a group of the men who'd entered in the log arrived to inform them that the city's guard had finally mustered and were approaching from the barracks—which was exactly what they'd been waiting to hear. They dropped their tasks then flooded out of the temple area. Arriving at the river, they grabbed the remaining sacks and jumped in.
They hastily swam down, some urging along the bodies or trees that had become stuck. At the outlet grate, the men in front began guiding the packages of bodies through the opening in the grate that their six-man team of guards had gone on to create. They followed once everything was through then let themselves be carried a short distance down the river before separating from the floats and making their way to the western bank where the marshes had become thick.
Kamendah, who'd kept somewhat of a low profile throughout the raid, was now making himself loudly present, trumping their success. He guided them from the river up through the marshes to the designated rendezvous spot at the edge of the tree line where their allies would be waiting.
The destination wasn't far; even moving discreetly through the tall reeds, they quickly reached. Though, upon arriving, they found no one.
"Where the fuck are they?" shouted Kamendah.
He looked around at his men waiting in the reeds. It's right here. This is it. Those fucking idiots.
After a few short moments, he was ready to announce that they'd move down the marshes themselves and pick up the loot without them, but nearly 300 arrows then erupted from the trees. They came as a dark swarm which quickly fell upon them just as another wave rose. By the time that wave struck, the remaining men had turned to run. They made it a short distance before they found the wall of soldiers approaching the group in a semi-circle through the marsh. Those who turned back found the archers already flooding out of the treeline.
In short order, every member of the raiding party had fallen.
Walking amongst their bodies, Ogite began to laugh under his breath. He silenced a few struggling men and instructed his comrades to do the same. Then he stopped and watched the undulating area surrounding him gradually come to an ugly stillness. His heart was racing as he raised a hand to cover his smile.
In Tias, two men were dragging a beaten figure down a staircase towards the dungeon. He'd been in the team that'd entered the city through the log, though he'd found himself overwhelmed after chasing a woman past a guardhouse.
They carried him up to the red hat waiting at the dungeon's entrance then bowed.
"Is this one of them?" the red hat hurriedly asked.
"Yup," one excitedly replied. "Some of the boys gave 'em a few licks on the way 'ere, but he'll be good to talk. Specially after some time on the stretcher."
His partner let out a scoff. "Filth deserves to live on that stretcher. They best not end 'em too soon."
The red hat stepped forward and grabbed the man's hair to reveal his face. His eyes had rolled back and his mouth was stretched wide and frozen, every muscle looked horribly taught, and blue veins could be seen bulging out across his skin.