The small shire, last he remembered it, sat nestled in a valley next to a temperamental river.
It was probably the waves of goblin attacks, that perchance forced Mourningwood Glen to relocate to the peaks of the nearby hills.
The scheduled royal caravan had all but dissolved. He hid in his own lands. He did not done the gold crown, not for fear of losing his head; but for the instinctual desire to blend.
It was his nature.
Missives had reached him far before taking the kingdoms throne. Warnings of the last malicious spirt roaming the lands to the west. Many said they belonged to the traitor Typhus, but Sutra knew the lust of gods were not controlled by flesh and blood.
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"So then it is agreed?" Mumbled the hurried creature.
Sutra gazed intently at the rough schematics of the surrounding land, the blighted sore which scared it drawn just outside of it's eastern edge.
"One altar left you say?" Sutra rubbed his chin as schemes formulated effortlessly.
The March Hare produced a toothy grin and nodded. "Destroy it, and we will ally with you."
"And if I fail?" retorted the speculating monarch.
A stifled giggle escaped the hare's stern look. "Simple..."
"...you die."
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He removed the leather riding gloves as he fumbled around for the tattered parchment in his right hand coat pocket.
"And the mark will be seen at the striking of the tenth minute past two'aft noon."
They were early. The old scholar had been particular in emphasizing timeliness.
Sutra peered back to the small rank of the faithful. Some were loyal allies from the north, others were paid local conscripts. The mercenary, Sutra didn't trust mercenaries, but this one would prove useful indeed.
Kneeling down he called to his two trusted aids and pointed out the blotched circle on the map.
"This is it, the last altar. When the time comes, protect the one called Shamus the Green with you dying breath. It requires magicked faith, and he has it all about him."
Dame Nightengael nodded eagerly, her sword having grown thirsty.
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The two forces had made a dash towards the small groove of withered trees. Many of Sutra's men were somewhat confused as to the altars exact location. Sutra could understand their plight, the gray sky allowed no sunlight to help light their path.
"Wait for them to lead us to it." Sutra anxiously shouted.
Within moments, the small band led by Kenta Redhawk posted a defense around a pair of rotted trees.
"There...!" proclaimed the excited shadow.
Sutra had not realized how cold it had gotten until he let loose his first arrow or two. He could swear his hands were numb beyond repair. The first shoot missed it's mark by a yard. The second closed in much more.
His aim this day would soon reflect his resolve to destroy the last trace of Typhus' corruption in these lands.
His force slowly widdled away, Kenta's resistance was ferocious. Sutra began to wonder why the passionate defense of something so vile as an altar of corruption.
Sutra's last arrow destroyed the paladin's shield, only to watch in respectful awe as the knight stood in his splendor and attacked in a glorious fit of controlled rage. It was indeed a sight to behold.
Exhausted from the day of running and chasing, Sutra knelt for a moment as he blended into his environment. His enemies had gained a strong foothold in the once sacred groove when he felt an unmistakable presence.
The Prince Regent had arrived. With a handful of devoted fighters from the northenmost keep of the kingdom, they came to bolster the kingdom's small force.
A smile crept unto the resolute monarchs lips as he rejoined the fray.
This day would be a glorious day for the kingdom.
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Shamus the Green stood defiantly at the black altar. His hand gripped the stone slab as he chanted, blind eye focused upon the heavens.
The last seconds ticked sluggishly by.
It was done.
The horn of retreat echoed throughout the valley, as Kenta's forces retreated into the fog of war.
"That's it?" asked a wounded boy.
With burrowed brow, Sutra could only speculate as to Kenta's hasty retreat.
It had only begun.
S
[con't]
_________________ The general who advances without seeking fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do service for his sovereign, is the jewel of his kingdom. -Sun Wu
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