Part II: Exiles (Sequel to Part I: Scout)

Chapter 1: The Council

Tell me why the RTG claims that you are traitors to everything it stands for!

This shrill cry came from Assdra Vrek, representative of the Moon Clan on the Barbarian Council. Ranaldas and Ranald were startled by the sudden proclamation, and looked up bewildered.

Who told you such a lie? Ranald asked, incredulous.

I have, in my hand She waved the paper around. From Getalin, acting Minister of Intelligence, in which he states, and I quote Information within the confines of the Ministry has shown that Santran has been gathering evidence of the brothers Ranald and Ranaldas of a plot to get rid of Santran, Minister of Intelligence. How do you respond to that?

Ranaldas looked with a face of horror at Ranald. Ranald only deeply sighed.

And would you mind telling me what this evidence is?

He claims that you planted the Betrayer in his path. He claims that you set the whole thing up knowing full well what you were going to do!

Ill ask you again, what evidence does he have?

Again Ranald was quiet and firm. Relations to the Moon Clan were not going well due to the fact that no women had been in the High Council until recently.

It had now been five months since the Betrayal, as it was called by the various groups in favor of the Exiles. Things had gone mostly well. The Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes, Ogres, and some Trolls all continued to honor their agreement. The Princes Guard of Burthrope was also supportive. However, problems with the Barbarians had been occurring more and more frequently. The Fremmeniks, the Miscellanians, the Etceterians, the Moon Clan, the Mountain Clan, and the Varrokian Barbarians had all been approached by the new GPA. Some had ignored it, like the Mountain Clan and the Miscellanians. Others chose to listen to it, at least somewhat, like the Moon Clan and the Varrokian Barbarians. Some were still undecided, and their votes could swing either way.

Are you deaf man? She has related the evidence to you, twice! What more do we need to hear?

This from Darim Kuron, representative of the Etceterians. There were mutterings around the table, never a good sign for the Exiles. In recent times they had been denying more and more to them, and the Exiles had only a sliver of their former power left in the Council.

I will ask for Ranald, what evidence do you have?

Everyone quickly raised their heads and looked at the tall, slender woman approaching the table. She had teal hair that seemed to whisper. Her shoulders were broad, arms straight, her posture rigid. Her legs were long, her skin a slight tan. She was wearing a blue tunic, a blue skirt, and blue boots. There was something oddly familiar about this woman that suggested she was known by all, yet never seen.

Karin Voran, Speaker of the Council, managed to find his voice. And who are you?

My name is Asana, but you know me better as Santran.

They all stared, shocked, mouths open wide, gazing at the object of all secrets.

Ranald managed to regain his composure.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Minister of Intelligence is back!

Chapter 2: Predator and Prey

Jardar Gorint had been a carpenter for as long as he could swing a hammer. He was a fairly tall man, and thickly muscled from his years of experience. Just recently, he had lived in a cottage of his own design, near the Draynor Forest. That is, until the GPA intervened.

Jardar was coming from a job, as usual, when he saw smoke rising in the distance. Concerned, he ran towards the clearing his cottage had once occupied. He found a recently extinguished ember, in the distinct shape of his home. His anger building, Jardar noticed the other great mystery of the area, a heavily intoxicated GPA tax collector hobbling around carrying a torch. Jardar quickly made the connection and slowly but surely extracted his revenge from the unlucky drunkard.

That episode, however, was two weeks ago. His biggest mistake, Jardar reflected, had been to put the heavily tortured mans body outside of a GPA outpost. Perhaps if he had not done that, he would now not be hunted by two separate bands of GPA and a few odd bounty hunters. If only my rage hadnt gotten the best of me, Jardar thought wistfully. In the last two weeks, Jardar had learned much in the art of stealth, camouflage, and good old hit-and-run tactics.

His current plot was to hide between the two groups and lure them into combat with each other. Already annoyed by their prolonged search, the two groups were itching for a fight, and would soon decapitate the members of their own troop. At present, he was hiding in the vaulted branches of a tree, providing him with the ability to view both groups actions. The yew bow and steel arrows he carried with him were just icing on the cake of his revelry.

Picking up the bow, he notched an arrow and carefully aimed a shot at the closest idiots pack. Loosing the arrow, he received a long hi-pitched scream from said idiot. Jardar smiled and glanced at the other group, awaiting their response to this new development.

With his usual brilliance, the corporal started slashing apart the bushes in his rush to discover the source of the sound. He received a gift for his stupidity, and promptly fell flat on his face, an arrow puncturing his chest. The recruits, unexpectedly leaderless, simply stood there, dumbfounded.

With a smirk playing across the edges of his face, Jardar returned his attention to the first group, who were now, unexpectedly, taking up battle positions. Pondering the situation, he quickly tied some rope around his waist, and tied the other end to the tree trunk. Notching another arrow, he swung down, once again looking at the leaderless expedition. Firing the arrow directly in front of the still startled recruits, he quickly pulled himself up. With a grin, he smiled, thinking, here is where the true fun begins.

Chapter 3: Shoot to Kill

Korint Gastar had been the quintessential barbarian. He used his rage along with his battleaxe, he quaffed his ale, and he had issues with women. Just because his training instructor was a woman, didnt mean that the latter problem would go away. At the moment, he was being disciplined for trying to bash a Gnomes head in.

For the umpteenth time, Korint! The Gnome is not your enemy! Hes only your sparring partner, and for no reason should you attempt to deform his head!

The unfortunate Gnome in question was called Fardygat, leading to his christening of Fatty Cat by his barbarian comrades. He was more blue than tan, and appeared to have lost as much skin as was possible. He was a mere 4 feet, making him a giant among Gnomes. He carried a short sword with ease, but he couldnt deflect his partners raw strength.

Korint looked at his partner, at his instructor, and at his axe. A wild idea flashed through his head, but he was not fool enough to give into those urges. With a sigh of defeat, he turned around, hefted his axe over one shoulder, and strode towards the barracks. With a similar sigh, Fardygat followed along.

Asana crossed her arms and shook her head sadly. This pair had been trouble from the beginning. The mind inside of the body still managed a loose paradox, and his thoughts remained as sharp as ever. Crossing the plaza, he reflected on the sheer luck the Alliance had that the barbarians werent xenophobic. With another sad shake of the head, Asana entered the command structure.

* * *

Aw, Fatty Cat, Im sorryits just, I justaw screw it. Sorry

Fardygat simply nodded, picked up a rag, and began cleaning his sword. Korint sighed, then hefted himself onto the top bunk of the bed, and stared at the wooden roof. The barracks was large, and only three floors up. It was furnished in a sparse military style, but served most of the combatants as needed.

Korint glanced to his left, and noticed that a female Elf was sleeping in the top bunk, a Dwarf beneath her, scratching his coarse beard. Korint scratched his own beard, then slowly removed the chain mail he wore on top of his tunic. Quietly, he pulled out some cards, and sat next to the Dwarf. The Dwarf glanced up then pulled out a table from beneath the bed. Another round of poker commenced.

Chapter 4: Aggressive Negotiations

Lastilla Gastar stood slumped over a railing of the magnificent wooden Barbarian Watchtower. Her spear stood leaning against the same rail, still gripped within her hands. At 62 she was an imposing figure, and her blond hair was tied into a bun at the back. Her rough leather jerkin armor kept her protected from any threat that, well, hadnt appeared thus far.

At the moment she was glancing north towards the village of Edgeville, whose neutral position was beginning to irk each side. With a sigh, she walked the perimeter of the tower, idling glances at the western road and eastern bridge. The western road was as busy as ever, with Dwarves and Barbarians heading into the setting sun, towards Camelot. There they would join their brothers and sisters, and prefer for war. All while Lastilla was here, bored at the lack of action, and angry at being left here.

She approached the south side, and glanced into the interior of Draynor Forest. The villagers kept claiming that they had heard sounds escaping the forest at random times each day. Thus, the council had cooped Lastilla up at the Watchtower, with provisions being uplifted daily.

Unexpectedly, she saw what appeared to be an arrow fly out of the forest and ground itself a mere 200 yards from the village. Her interest piqued, she focused her attention at the area, only to be surprised when a man broke through the foliage, running at a speed she had never thought possible by a man on foot. Behind him, the distinct colors of the Guildpact broke through, swords and bows waving in his direction, hot on his heels.

Pulling out a rope, Lastilla tied it to the railing. Testing her knot and finding it satisfactory, she grabbed the other end of the rope and jumped over the edge.

***

At that moment, Jardar was running at breakneck speed towards the ring of buildings he saw in front of him. Lazily, in the back of his mind, he realized that he was a mere 100 yards from the edge. Jardars eyes however, made the distance look like a mile. The band of murderous lunatics behind him werent improving the situation. Perhaps driving them insane wasnt the best approach, he reflected sullenly.

An arrow whizzed overhead, and made contact with the ground a mere foot behind Jardar. Yes, I definitely shouldnt have scared the living daylight out of them. Nor should I have caused that stampedeHis reflections came to an abrupt halt when he saw a woman rush out of the village, spear at the ready. Jardars mind performed a somersault at this new complication. Somewhat surprisingly, it decided that he would drive the remaining five Guildpact monsters at the woman and hope for the best.

With renewed energy, his legs flew gracefully over the wild grass. He was amazed when the woman completely ignored him and his dodge, and let loose a battle cry as she charged at the first of the severely puzzled warriors. He had stopped, unexpectedly for those behind him, causing them to continue running, straight onto the womans spear. With two dead and the others lying sprawled on the ground, the woman spat at the ground near them.

Jardar found himself amazed at the bravery or insanity of this woman. Taking on five warriors was difficult at the best of times, and with the remaining three driven mad, these were not ideal conditions. Kicking the two dead bodies off of her spear, the woman leaned forward and put her weight on her back leg, spear at the ready. With a snarl, the three rose, growling at the woman. The first one that charged was quickly skewered by her spear, the body flung at the remaining twos feet.

A standoff proceeded where neither of the men had the bravery to charge at their assailant. With a quiet whimper, they dropped their weapons and scampered back into the forest. With a smile on her face, Lastilla turned to the stunned human.

Chapter 5: A Girl For All Seasons

Ranaldas was not a happy general. His troops were barely organized, supply convoys were continually attacked, and the base sentries kept mysteriously disappearing outside the base perimeter. Every lieutenant he sent out to investigate came back sheepishly saying that nothing occurred. With a snort, he dismissed them as usual, and finally, after two months, he decided to find out what the hell was going on himself.

He was a powerful man, and at 58, not someone to be ignored. Walking past the front gates, unguarded per normal, he headed toward a glow that appeared in the forest. Drawing his longsword, Ranaldas strode cautiously into the forest in the direction of the light. Drawing closer, he saw men and women, laughing and strolling in a makeshift camp, carrying beer in hearty jugs. With a disgusted spit, Ranaldas turned back towards the base, his anger rising. Those sentries would have an interesting surprise when they returned.

***

Jardar Gorint proceeded west from the sleeping fishing town of Catherby, following a trail beaten into the ground by the movement of many bodies. He walked alone in the dusk, and carried the few possessions he could call as such. He followed the beaten path diligently, feeding and drinking on the go.

The events of the previous day had left him with a letter to be delivered to his saviors brother, some Korint character. That he happened to be in the RTG army camp was only a bonus for Jardar. Jardars nerves were primed at his expectations of life within the RTG.

He began humming a pleasant tune and carelessly walked along the path. Suddenly, he saw a bright light up ahead. With a gasp, he started, pulling out his sword and pulling himself behind a tree. Pulling out a self-fashioned telescope, one of the few things he was able to salvage from his former abode, he put it to his eye and viewed the camp from afar. After much blushing and blinking, he concluded that this could not be the RTG camp. With a more cautious manner, he continued along the path.

***

Ranaldas was busy within his own thoughts, still walking back, when he heard the cracking of a twig underfoot. Drawing his sword and drawing himself against a tree he quietly waited for the loud intruder. He drew in his breath as the man walked right by him, clueless. He appeared to be following the path to the RTG camp, but if he was a GPA spy, he was very inexperienced.

Ranaldas slowly broke cover and with carefully measured steps followed the invader. Putting his longsword back, he drew a dagger into his right hand. In a fluid motion, just as he had been taught by Santran/Asana, he grabbed the mans left shoulder with his hands, pressed himself into the others back, and wrapped his dagger arm against the mans throat. With a whisper as dangerous as a plague, Ranaldas whispered to the man.

Who are you?

Jardar gulped, forcing skin past the edge of the blade. He had not expected such defenses, but of course, that was just being naïve.

Im from the Barbarian Vil-l-lage in Asgarnia, sir! Jardar gasped out, frightened at death in a manner that he had not know since childhood.

And what proof do you have of this claim?

I have in my breast pocket a letter from Lastilla Gastar to her brother Korint-t, who she told me was in the RTG!!

Ah, Gastar. Well then, lets go pay the good Corporal a visit, shant we?

With a nervous nod, Jardar slowly put one foot in front of the other. In direction of the large towers his heightened senses only now registered.

Chapter 6: Lock and Load

Jardar stood at the top of the sentry tower, his telescope in hand. He carefully watched the missing sentries while men scurried behind him. His meeting with the General had been as unexpected as it had been fruitful. Hed been tasked by the General with the simple task of scaring the hell out of the missing sentries.

Jardar donned a GPA uniform, grabbed a short sword and a net, and took up a position near the windows of the sentry tower. He tracked the drunken sentries progress towards the camp with the telescope. He glanced around, checking to see that all the men were in their positions.

An arrow that had been lit on fire arced up and landed right next to the first drunken sentry. In his drunken stupor he picked up the arrow, then dropped it with an echoing cry of pain. Jardar unconsciously checked that the grapple was secure and readied his net in his other hand.

Jardar saw that the men wearing the GPA uniform were fighting with those with RTG uniforms. From his vantage point, it seemed almost comical, but to the drunken soldiers, it looked quite real. They all drew their swords and ran to the gates, tripping over their limbs. As they reached the spot between the two sentry towers, Jardar let loose a war cry and his net. He then grabbed the rope at the end of the grapple and slid down to the base.

By this point, the fighting soldiers had all stopped and walked over to the mass of drunken writhing bodies. Many could not help but laugh at their incompetence. Jardar glanced over to the HQ building, watching the General calmly stride over. He calmly scanned the battlefield.

Ranaldas patted Jardar on the back. Good work, Sergeant. This ought to teach those sentries to behave. I want you to begin planning an attack on that camp for two days from now. Welcome to the Avenging Army.

Chapter 7: Grievances

Asana folded her hands across her chest, while leaning back in her chair. Her face was fair, with high cheekbones and a head of dark, black hair. Her eyes gave off a twinkle that seemed awfully misplaced among her female features. Her thin neck seemed short within her body, and her shoulders appeared wider than was correct for her slim female form. Her bosom was not exquisite, but was still a defining feature of her figure. Her midriff appeared weak, but any RTG soldier could attest to its strength under pressure. Her long, thin legs hid her inner power and endurance, which her wide feet supplied with balance.

At the moment, Santran was deep in thought, trying to get Asana into a comfortable position for thought. Her different body form restricted him, but he had managed to get used to it over the months. Her long hands, with their delicate fingers, continued to annoy him. Holding a sword or frankly anything heavy became a test of wills. After Santran a.k.a. Asana had reappeared, many disgruntled RTG deserted and joined the new RTG. A large chunk of the new human fighting force was comprised of ex-RTG, and their combat experience helped greatly into molding the whole into a fighting force.

Nearby Asana, Ranald sat, stroking his white beard, also deep in thought. Whereas Asana/Santran had to cope with counterintelligence and espionage, Ranald had the unenviable position of keeping the whole army fed, clothed, and organized. Few things happened at the camp without his knowledge, and the recent theft of goods was no different.

Your brothertroubles me. Asanas mouth finally said.

Oh? In what way? Ranald replied, surprised.

He seems to enjoy disciplining the soldiers a littletoo much. Santrans hesitation was palpable in Asanas body language.

Ranald smiled. It is his way. He seeks to show the men that he is the strongest, the smartest, the greatest out of all of them. It will all work out for the better, I assure you.

Your reassurances do not help, Minister. You may have been my friend, but mychanges and experiences have altered our relationship. You have hidden from me all that occurred during my absence.

Ranald sighed, and the expression on his face changed to that of an adult that is trying to explain a difficult concept to an eager child.

If that is your wish, I shall regale you with our sorrows and our triumphs. It is a long story, and not a happy one.

Chapter 8: Four Months Ago

Aryada, her long, silken, blonde hair waving, her velvet dress shimmering in the breeze. Her wardrobe had finally been opened after the deep cold she had suffered, however temporarily, under the RTG. No, the former RTG, she corrected herself, chuckling. She walked along a terrace towards a door embedded within a tall, circular tower, with long purposeful strides, her legs appearing briefly between the buzzing onslaught of their fast paced movement. Finally reaching the door, her delicate tanned hand, now lacking the tattoo, grabbed the polished ivory handle and pulled it out towards herself, calmly opening the door.

The room inside appeared to encompass this entire floor of the tower. It was covered in red, orange, and yellow sashes and curtains, with a fiery rug that gave the impression of a harem. In the middle of it all, a bed stood, a fine, four poster bed, upon which a man lay. The man had a foppish, common look about him, the sort that you meet everyday walking through the market, along the street, or across a field. He wore nothing but some undergarments, and he appeared to be sleeping a restless, dreamless sleep. The rest of the room was composed of wardrobes, dressers, chests, and various other containers of clothes that lay spread along the walls of the tower, giving one an impression of being fenced in by fashion.

But Aryada had not come to marvel at the design that Sorebeluma had painstakingly assembled. She had instead come for the very man who lay in the center of it all, both literally and figuratively. The guard who walked up behind her was tall and strong, and he stopped behind her, standing at attention. She turned to him and gestured for him to close the door. Obediently, he did, and proceeded to stand nearby until the appointed signal. Aryada smiled a strange grin and the twisted light from the towers skylight cast an unearthly glow upon her figure.

***

Filitov stood outside the door, digging one of his toes into the ground, out of sheer boredom. He had been demoted to Sergeant after the fiasco at the Guildpact, and had been used only for guarding minor things. Hell, he thought, I wouldnt even be guarding this door if there was a handle on the other side. He grunted in disgust as Private Buchanan appeared on the other side of the terrace. He was still as scrawny and petrified as ever, but what he was currently doing was much more up to his level. As he approached Filitov, the older man looked away. Buchanan knocked on the door that Filitov was guarding. Filitov confused, was about to lecture Buchanan when two knocks were heard from the other side. Still flustered, Filitov lifted the ivory handle and quickly opened the door. Aryada was standing there, her dress halfway removed.

What is it? She said shrilly.

M-m-m-maam, S-so-Sorebeluma asked for me to bring Guh-guh-guh-Getalin to her. Buchanan stammered out, eyes bulging at his superiors appearance.

Ah, so it will happen now Aryada replied thoughtfully. Alright, you two, take him. Tell Sorebeluma that I will expect the product to be returned here. Make sure no harm befalls the Prince on his way there.

With a nod, both men came in and took the still unconscious Getalin by the hands and feet and carried him out the door. Aryada left the door barely open then began completing the removal of her dress. She had waited long for this day.

Chapter 9: Checkmate

Jardar sat in the large, tall, wooden watchtower above the gates of the camp. The tower was composed of a long octagonal column of wood extending from a thick rectangular stone base. Around 20 meter off of the ground, the tower spanned out, and the octagon grew bigger. Within this eight-sided bowl, a wooden floor and hatch appeared. The hatch was oak, and had an iron latch attacked, opposite the steel hinges. Upon the floor, a table, three chairs, and a weapons rack stood. Within the chairs sat three men, of which Jardar was one. Upon the table was a chess set, hewn from fine mahogany.

At the moment, Jardar was losing. His king was in check and he had no good moves. With a frustrated sigh, he tipped over his king and shook the hand of his opponent. The third man stood up, and moved his chair over to the lip of the base, and looked out at the tree line.

The guard leaned against the banister, bored. Unexpectedly, he noticed a metallic glint in the forest, one that appeared to be rapidly expanding. He pulled out a telescope, and zeroed in on the light.

Sir, come take a look at this, the guard said, gesturing to Jardar. Jardar, still mulling over his loss to his fellow guardsman, calmly walked over to the now-stupefied watchman. The man pointed at a distant spot, and Jardar relieved him of his telescope. Raising it to his eye, he gasped when he recognized the royal seal of Varrock.

Sound the alarm, get the honor guard, and you, He said, gesturing to his former opponent. Tell Ranaldas that the King of Varrock is here!

***

Ranaldas was busy talking with aides, gesturing to servants, when the guardsman burst into the room at full sprint. Ranaldas glanced up, and his hand instinctively moved to his sword. The soldier panted, then shouted something about the King of Varrock and the watchtower, confused, but understanding the soldiers urgency, Ranaldas ran out to the courtyard.

Hello, General. Im here to stop my daughter. King Roald said to him, upon seeing him standing in front of the doors.

Chapter 10: Arrogance and Ambition

Aryada was walking. Well, not exactly walking. It was more like something between a lope and a stride. Regardless of how she was walking, she was in a long narrow hallway, made of a beautiful white stone in the back of her mind she knew was marble. At the end of the hallway there was a wooden door, reinforced with steel rods and bolts in a checkerboard pattern, so that even if the door was blown apart, the steel rods would still prevent access.

As she walked, her beauty became more pronounced. Her smooth face with chiseled features highlighted her full lips, and a rounded chin gave her the appearance of a young girl, which she had several times used to her advantage. Aryadas shoulders were not too broad, so that she kept that clear feminine grace, especially in the way that she carried herself, her spine dutifully exclaiming that she was of noble origin. Her breasts were nominal for someone of her size, but her waist was shapely, and her hips wide. Her legs, her most defining characteristic, appeared to have been stolen from a gazelle, so fine they seemed. They worked as a pendulum, swinging back and forth, like clockwork that never required winding.

Reaching the door, she lashed her hand to one of the steel panels, and pushed it. The panel recessed into the door, with a mechanical click and an elongated creek, the door opened to reveal Sorebeluma, a washcloth in her right hand, her left hidden in front of her flowing robes. Before her was a woman that Aryada did not recognize, but whose identity Aryada could certainly guess correctly. The woman was covered by a white sheet, but she was most certainly alive, as could be evidenced by the rhythmic rise and fall of where her chest appeared to be.

If Sorebeluma knew that Aryada had entered the room, she did not show it. Sorebeluma simply put the washcloth onto the womans forehead, but did not move to greet Aryada, if she even knew Aryada was there. Aryada, meanwhile, had stepped through the doorway and glanced around the room. It had not changed much in the month she had left it. The vials, beakers and liquids still bubbled and flowed, seemingly for show rather than any actual practical purpose.

Why has the Prince not been returned to me? Aryada asked shrilly, choosing her words carefully. Sorebeluma once again remained impassive, giving no sign that she had in any way acknowledged Aryadas presence.

Ah, the PrinceBurthrope is such a nice placeIf you dont mind the troops and the trolls, but then, they are so similar Sorebeluma said, sighing. But Getalin, the Prince of Burthrope, is now a missing man.

So it was successful again?

Of course. Soon we will be able to command them all, with only two.

Then why has Getalin not been returned to me for the time being?

Sorebeluma didnt answer Aryada immediately. Aryada felt herself growing impatient, and worked hard to stifle that feeling.

Did you know that your father is meeting with the Exiles at this very moment? Sorebeluma asked suddenly.

No, but what difference does it make? That old fool couldnt find his way out of his own castle without his servants!

Ah, but you forget, Aryada, you are his daughter. And now, you become more of an encumbrance than an asset. Goodbye.

In a flash of movement, Sorebeluma spun around and fired a crossbow. Aryada had no time to react. She was directly in the head, and fell on her backside, dead as a corpse.

Guards, remove her.

Chapter 11: Never Too Late

What would you have had me do? I cannot control her any more than a leaf can stop the wind!

Roald was nearly frothing at the mouth, his diplomatic cool already worn off. For their parts, both Ranald and Ranaldas were also tired.

Goddamit! Can you at least tell us where she is?

Somewhere in the Guildpact! Dont you have some intelligence organs of your own?!

Ranald turned away at this, and Ranaldas stared at the floor as a sharp silence settled among them.

We havewaited too long, Ranald said, turning around. Tomorrowwe go on the warpath. It is time to regain our world. Go prepare, Ranaldas. I have allies to gather.

End Part II

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