Rise of the Mercenary King
by Samuel C. Stokes
Copyright 2015 Samuel C. Stokes
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A Note from the Author
Welcome to Rise of the Mercenary King, a novella set in the world of Vantacor. For those of you not familiar with Vantacor, it is the LARP (Live Action Role-Play) world in which I participate. The concept behind it is that players don armor and costume from the fantasy genre and then fight for supremacy with latex-based weapons. It’s tremendously fun and great exercise to boot.
For those who are based here in Brisbane and would like to check it out, you can find out all about it by visiting the Heroes Odyssey Facebook Page.
This series will showcase events that have and are transpiring in the land of Vantacor as the storyline progresses. I hope you enjoy this taste of LARP life, I certainly do. As fun as it is to write fantasy, it’s even better to live it.
The picture below is me preparing for battle as Tyrion Nelvar. I hope you enjoy this latest tale.
Sincerely, Samuel C. Stokes
Prologue
I have often been asked the question, from whence sprung Tyrion, Mercenary King of Shallowtide. A King in Shallowtide, the very notion seems absurd. One would suppose there is little honor or nobility amongst sell swords and thieves... and that may once have been true. The tales of yesteryear speak of such a time, but listen closely now, for all is not what it once was in Shallowtide. Times are changing in the west. Mark my words; it all began with the coming of Tyrion Nelvar just a few years ago. Gather closely now, and I will tell you all I know...
In the Southwest of Vantacor lies a tumultuous and war-torn region. The forces of darkness raged tirelessly against the Woodland Elves. The corruption steadily ate into the Elven domains. The once expansive western forests of Lagonlea had stretched as far as the eye could see. Now corruption consumed the land. The forests wane and die, in their place ashen woodlands and foul marshes corrupt the once sacred glades. Many of the Elves withdrew behind the magic of their forest fortress. Others yet took to the mountains and formed new communities there.
With the elves flight, the darkness continued to spread. Soon the nearby human communities fell beneath its lengthening shadow. There is something in human nature, a stubborn unyielding disposition. For years the tide of darkness beset them. Unlike the Elves, there would be no retreat, a human would fight to his last breath for his home. The conflict wore on, after almost a decade, and the humans were bloodied but not broken. The darkness seemed without end. In desperation they reached out to the Elves for relief.
In haste, an emissary was sent seeking audience with the Elves of Aethel Asari. Through strength in unity the humans sought to drive back the growing opposition. Little headway was made; Elves are notoriously haughty folk. For days the Ambassador argued passionately with the Council, but to no avail. The Council was divided and bureaucracy took its burdensome toll.
In frustration the Ambassador took his leave, furious at the lack of progress. Returning to his quarters he was stunned to find one of the council members waiting for him. The elf maiden Indarial, a sorceress renowned for her gifts, was considered a seer amongst the High Elves.
“Thomas...”she spoke, for that was the emissaries name... “I have seen a vision; the conflict you so passionately seek to prevent. It will indeed engulf this land.”
"It already has, Indarial, but I refuse to sit idle believing that nothing can be done about it."
"I did not say that, Thomas, simply that the solution you seek lies not in our generation but those who are yet to come."
"Speak plainly, Indarial, for many days have made me weary of Elven riddles."
"For Elves and Men to see eye to eye, we will need one in whom the heritage of both our people are manifest. The fates have told me I will bear that child. Will you sire the hope that will bring our people together?"
Eager listeners, judge for yourselves whether this be rumor or not. Mere tales promulgated by those with vested interest, or will you discern it to be the truth, spoken plainly in the hope that you will see it for what it is: A glimmer of light in this ever-darkening world.
Whatever you may think the narrative is clear, nine months later Indarial bore a child. The surprise of the Elven community was electric. As the new child was handed to its mother, the midwife gasped. The child’s features lacked the sloping grace expected of an Elven child; indeed the child’s human heritage was immediately apparent in the child's short ears. When questioned, Indarial’s reply was short and simple, "What I have done, I have done."
So Tyrion Nelvar was brought into this world, half-elf, half-human. In time the Elven community came to accept the child, and he grew to maturity in Aethel Asari. In time the wanderlust that so often besets men caught him in its clutches, and Tyrion set out from his Elven home. Taking his wife Hiejie, he ventured west, and the pair soon found themselves in Shallowtide.
Chapter 1
The Shallowtide of yesteryear bears little resemblance to the prosperous metropolis of today. In days gone by thugs brawled in the street, thieves ran rampant throughout the city. Indeed it was a town where every man or woman prospered according to their strength or intellect.
Money changed hands as lives expired in the dangerous politics of the city.
In the chaos and carnage three families rose to prominence: The Atar specialized in the pursuit of pleasure. Their holdings included almost every tavern, inn and bordello in Shallowtide. The House of Heirodius was merchants and smugglers, men that made a crust moving wares throughout the western regions of Vantacor. Lastly, the House of Mercer, soldiers to a man they were the secret to Shallowtide’s continued independence. Fed and strengthened by the combined wealth of the Atar and Heirodians, the armies of the Mercer rivaled many of the nation states of Vantacor.
Life in Shallowtide revolved around these great houses. To some extent, every man, woman and child was in their employ. If you tended a bar, you did so for the Atar. If you ran a team of wagons, you did so with Heirodius' blessing. If you needed guards or militia to protect your well-being, the Mercer would soon profit. Situated on a natural harbor on the western coast of Vantacor, it prospered from its commercial interests in spite of the growing darkness in the east.
Tyrion and Hiejie reached Shallowtide as the sun was slowly sinking over the ocean to the west. The travelers made their way along the main thoroughfare. The city was a hive of activity. Merchants and peddlers bustled quickly along the streets. Farmers in wagons hauled their produce to market in the city square. Laborers made their way along the muddy lanes toward respite in local inns and taverns.
Hiejie eased her mount forward alongside her husband. "Is this the world you needed to see?"
"Indeed, look at it! It must be at least twice the size of home, and it’s still growing." Tyrion started a touch of awe in his voice. "Besides, I've lived in Aethel Asari all my life. A hundred years there was long enough. I needed some fresh air."
"You won’t find it here.” Hiejie jested, covering her nose in protest. “The place is a cesspool."
Tyrion laughed heartily. "It’s not that bad, let’s find somewhere to rest, and we can explore the city in the morning."
As the couple made their way along the muddy lane that served as a street, they spotted an inn. Loud music spilled out onto the street from the front door that had been left ajar. A sign swinging in the breeze showed a mug that had been knocked over, gold coins instead of ale spilled bounteously from the cup. ‘The Gol
den Gallon’ had been etched hastily underneath. The couple dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting stable boy.
Tyrion paused as he handed the boy a coin. "Take good care of them and there will be another for you when we leave."
"Yes, sir." The youth answered eagerly as he pocketed the coin. "They’ll be fed, watered and rested for you in the morning."
Tyrion nodded and turned for the door. It swung open easily on well-oiled hinges. The inn was overflowing with patrons. A few heads turned toward the door. If any were surprised to see the Elves enter the inn, it didn’t show. The reason was soon apparent.
Besides the usual drunkards leaned over the bar, there were a handful of dwarfs carousing around a table. While the stunties sang and rough-housed, a diminutive goblin with skin as green as grass and a disproportionately protruding nose made his way surreptitiously around the group. For a moment Tyrion thought he spied a purse of gold in the creature’s hands before it vanished within the creature’s robes.
In the far corner an immense creature lounged. Humanoid in shape but not in stature.
Tyrion estimated that on the move the beast would stand at least head and shoulders above him. Muscles rippled as the beast leaned forward, slowly picking up an entire roast chicken from the platter on the table. Eyeing the chicken with glowering red eyes, the beast opened his gullet; two rows of teeth punctuated with razor-sharp fore-tusks were visible. Without hesitation, the beast bit clean through the roasted poultry, bones and all.
Tyrion felt a hand on his shoulder. "He’s a half-orc," Hiejie began, "and he certainly won’t appreciate the staring."
"Half-orc you say. I say he’s massive. I wouldn't call him a half-anything...not to his face at least."
"His skin gives him away. Orcs are green or brown or something in between. That mottled pink pigment could only come from humans. Besides an orc would be over eight feet tall and unlikely to be welcome amongst civilized folk. Now avert your eyes before he takes offense." Hiejie stressed, as she attempted to quietly convey the urgency of her words.
Shaking his head in wonderment, Tyrion made his way to a vacant booth along one of the walls. Within moments the innkeeper appeared at the table. "Welcome to the Golden Gallon, I am Garret." The balding proprietor announced with a flourish, “What can I do for you this evening? Looking for a meal and a bed...or simply looking to wash away the labors of the day?’"
"It’s been a long journey, Garret. We could use a meal and a drink, a room too if you have one."
"We certainly do, the evening meal is roast chicken. The ale is our own brew. It’ll be a silver for the meals and drinks, another two for the room." Garret extended his hand and waited, when no payment was forthcoming he continued, "This is Shallowtide folks, there is a price on everything and unless you’re an emissary of one of the great houses, your credit isn't worth a damn."
Tyrion raised an eye at the innkeeper’s direct manner; drawing three silvers from his pouch, he placed them in Garret’s outstretched hand. The innkeeper held them up to his eye examining the Elven coins closely before depositing them in a pocket with a flourish. "I’ll return with your meals shortly."
Garret disappeared into the hustle and bustle and re-emerged minutes later with two plates, that were laden with mounds of chicken and vegetables, all drenched in gravy. Steam rose from the plates as they hit the table. "Say, Garret..." Tyrion began. "Where would a man find some work around here?"
"That would depend, do you have a trade?" The innkeeper queried. "At home I was a warrior."
"A warrior ha," scoffed Garret, "A gold sovereign would buy twenty just like you." The innkeeper turned to Hiejie. "You on the other hand...Elven maidens are a rarity in these parts and an Atar Pleasure House would pay handsomely for your...services."
The innkeeper’s lewd suggestion struck a nerve; Tyrion’s face flushed red, without thought to his surroundings his hand went swiftly to the Elven blade at his side. "If you speak to my wife like that again, you’ll lose your head."
The innkeeper was unperturbed. "Draw that in here and you’ll not make it out of here alive. My head will be just fine where it is, thank you." The innkeeper made a show of mussing his hair nonchalantly.
Tyrion waited a moment before responding. "That was not the head I was referring to."
Garret looked down only to find an ornate Elven dagger hovering inches from his manhood. Hiejie looked the innkeeper in the eye as she gently wove the dagger menacingly toward the innkeeper’s pants. "Like he said, another one of those and you’ll lose a head."
The innkeeper looked at the knife, then back to the maiden’s eyes, then back to the knife still hovering precariously in front of him. Throwing his head back he laughed heartily, “I like you, you are a brazen lass," depositing a key on the table he continued, "Your room is in the back on the right, as for work, try the House of Heirodius, they can always use a hired sword. Enjoy your stay at the Golden Gallon." Garret flashed a wink at the malicious maiden before spinning deftly on his heels and returning to the bar.
The rest of the meal went without incident, and before long the couple retired to their room, though rest was sparse as the occupants of the inn continued their revelries late into the night.
Chapter 2
Tyrion woke early. Rousing his sleeping wife, he spoke gently, "We’ll want to be early to the House of Heirodius if we are to get work for the day." Hiejie sighed her disapproval loudly but nonetheless sat up and began her preparations. In minutes, the pair was dressed and ready.
As they approached the stables, Tyrion spotted the stable boy sitting on a barrel by the entrance. "Mind giving me a hand with the horses, lad, we need to be on our way with all possible haste."
"Already done, sir," the boy jumped off his perch and disappeared into the stable only to emerge a moment later leading both steeds. The horses had indeed been well cared for, both steeds appeared well-rested and neatly groomed. "These are fine steeds, sir, amongst the best I’ve ever seen."
"Indeed, they should be. They are descended from the Elven steeds of old; they are swift as the wind." Tyrion flipped the boy another coin. "You have done well." The lad caught it deftly and deposited it into a pouch. "Before we go, could you direct us to the House of Heirodius?" Tyrion asked hopefully.
"Heirodius?" The boy queried. "You must be new here, follow this road until you hit the market, then head north, it will lead you straight to his gates. You can’t miss it."
Tyrion thanked the lad and swung up into the saddle. Soon the elves were making their way along the cobblestone road leading into the heart of Shallowtide. Tyrion marveled as they made their way through the city. It sprawled in every direction as far as the eye could see. Taverns, stalls and shops of every size and description lined the road. There were tailors and tanners, blacksmiths and armor-smiths, weavers and dyers. The industry of Shallowtide was as expansive as it was impressive. Even at this early hour there was hustle and bustle on the streets as the citizens of the city made their way about their affairs.
Soon a citadel was visible above the cityscape around it. A large stone edifice dwarfed nearby structures; its construction was simple but efficient and clearly of human workmanship. The citadel lacked the elegant finish one would expect of dwarf stonemasons. Instead its rough hewn appearance provided an image contrary to all Tyrion had expected.
The House of Heirodius was considered one of the wealthiest concerns in the west. The single visible sign of affluence was two large banners affixed to the citadel’s towers; the crest of the Heirodius was embroidered on a sea of green.
Their destination in sight, Tyrion turned to his wife and spoke. "With all this traffic we’ll be hard-pressed to make it to the citadel by lunch. If we take one of these side streets, we should be able to make better time."
Hiejie looked from the citadel to the narrow alleys and back to her husband. Shallowtide’s reputation gave her hesitation. The crowded street was slow going but at least busyness of the street offered some measure of pr
otection. After some convincing she followed her husband down the narrow lane.
The pair made good timing as they moved steadily toward the citadel. Tyrion carefully eyed his surroundings, mindful of the threat that such a narrow passageway posed. The two elves were far from defenseless, but in a city where people would kill for the clothes on your back, the couple was an inviting target for thieves or brigands. Hiejie edged her mount forward toward Tyrion, as close as the narrow passage would allow and spoke quietly. "That goblin from last night is following us."
"Are you sure?" Tyrion replied. "There has to be more than one of the creatures in Shallowtide."
"I doubt there are two with that ridiculous nose, I’m sure it’s the same. He followed us from the inn but managed to hide himself in the crowd. Now that we have left the road, it is far more difficult for him to hide his intentions."
Tyrion spun in the saddle; sure enough the diminutive creature could be seen moving swiftly but silently through the alleyway. Rather than hiding, the creature picked up its pace. Tyrion glanced back to the path ahead. From nowhere there appeared a bevy of the small creatures brandishing an assortment of spears angrily as they blocked the path ahead. Charging them would result in the horses being injured or killed. Doubtless the creatures wished to get them on the ground where they could swarm the larger elves.
"Well dear, it appears you were right. There are more than one of those beastly creatures in town." Hiejie smirked.
"This is not the time for an I told you so, dear," Tyrion replied, measuring his options.
Doubtless there were more of the creatures hiding out of sight. "What do we do?" Hiejie asked.
"I think it’s safe to say their intentions are less than honorable. Kill them all."
"As you wish, my love." Hiejie’s voice took on an icy tone as she lifted her bow from the saddle and nocked an arrow. Drawing a bead at the creatures blocking the way, she let fly. The arrow hurtled down the alleyway catching one of the creatures in the chest, the impact throwing the small creature to the ground.
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