At the start of Sylvain Gilaxsten's involvement in the Clannish Wars, Hleean native and master of sword and lance Tarinor Abidar agreed to support Sylvain. He dutiful served Sylvain during his unification of Evoria. Through almost every battle and campaign Tarinor strategized with his commander. Together they captured many towns and united many clans.
Their first major struggle came against Tambuxia. Here, the people used their concealing terrain as cover, making it exceptionally difficult to wage battles like on the fields of Elysia. They fought against a mysterious raiding party led by the Ghost of Tambuxia. The enemy ambushed from precisely the best positions for them, and used dubious methods against the invaders. They staunchly opposed the unifiers for many months. Growing tired, Sylvain bade Tarinor retreat, which he regretfully did.
Back in the warcamp on the high side of the Upper Escarpment, Tarninor fumed. "Milord, we only need more time." "No, Tarinor. I will not sacrifice needlessly our people. The way of unification is peace first, violence last. Do you not remember? How we go to every city and parlay for peace?" "Aye," he grieved. "And what good it does us when we will have to squash rebellion after rebellion." "There is no rebellion, in any of the cities." "But there will be, milord. I say we finally crush these ravenous Tambux. They are evil people." Sylvain slammed his hand onto the table. "No! They are not evil. They only seek to persevere, as we all do. You cannot teach with beating." "But we can control through beating, milord." "Silence," Sylvain hissed. "I will not tolerate this talk. We will discuss it further once reconnaissance reports return." "As you wish, milord."
The next day Tarinor spoke with his lord. Sylvain was unhappy with Tarinor's warmongering. Tarninor, speaking to him as a friend, called him a coward. Sylvain tightened his jaw and sent him out of his sight. The next day, Sylvain rode out with Tarinor and a group of 100 guards. They did not speak one word to each other. Tarinor had no idea what their errand was. They rode down the escarpment and into the wild country. Trees swallowed the road, filtering them through a green passageway. Great tall elms and maples stooped. Large red oak with their lofty branches rose above all others. Tarinor shuddered at the quiet road. So frequently during his campaign he sent soldiers out to clear away brush or check behind the dense foliage. Here, Sylvain rode with visor up, and blue and purple plume waving as they rode. The quiet foreboding choked Tarninor. He couldn't breathe well, every now and again clearing his throat and massaging his now-bruised neck. Some evil thing latched onto him. "It is the forest." he told himself. "Yes, the wicked forest with its wicked, rebellious peoples. They must be laying a curse upon me." But when he called a cleric over, they apologized to him, for he did not have any curse upon him, none that they could see. Come sundown they settled just south of the western Tambux Forest. The road deteriorated here, quite different than when Tarinor was here last. They rode off the road on a trail. Sylvain, still not saying a word, concerned Tarinor. What if he was enchanted? He asked the cleric to detect any sort of magic, but he could not. Tarinor fidgeted with his reins as they trotted through the increasingly dangerous forest. Just when the grass and vines twisted under hooves and his horse nearly threw him, Tarinor saw they were in an opening. So quickly this had come up, he wasn't sure if they could find it again. Sylvain rode into the clearing and dismounted. At the other end about 50 feet away stood a hooded figure leaning on a heavy spear. He was broad and carried many weapons: a heavy spear, javelins, a waraxe, a claymore, a shortsword, and a large bow strapped on his back which bristled with arrow feathers. Tarinor did not dismount.
"Hail, Ghost," Sylvain warmly greeted; Tarinor heard his smile. "I believe we have business of peace." The Ghost stepped forward. His men guarding him did not follow. He strode half their distance and stopped. Sylvain went up to him and Tarinor remained back, but only for privacy's sake. "So this is the evil creature who killed my men, captured them, tortured them? Curse Sylvain's bleeding heart! He will get us into nothing but trouble. Someone will die from this encounter." He gripped his sword hilt tighter, anticipating rushing to Sylvain in a moment. Yes, curse Sylvain. He was a strong and great man, but his positivity would be his downfall. "There isn't any way we can come to an agreement. We tried already," he remembered. They had sent several soldiers to discuss with a spotted party. Immediately they were felled. Over the course of several months Sylvain's fighting force under Tarinor had dropped from 40,000 to 30,000. Not all were due to the fighting, some were shunted to the other side of Dalth'it to fend off Medder Wood and Ridgegate's joint attack. Still, he was hesitant to trust these people. Sylvain returned, face grave. "I believe, old friend, that the time has come." "For battle, milord?" Sylvain nodded, not removing his eyes from the Ghost. And in his eyes... was it, longing? Tarninor reeled. Sylvain was an emotional man, though he didn't show it. In battle and negotiating he was as stone-faced and shrewd as the half-elves from Lochney in their merchant caravans. However now his face softened and a burst of warmth and fire danced in his eyes. "Affection," he said to himself. Sylvain glanced up. "Eh?" "Nothing, milord. Do we battle?" He nodded. "Aye. But not all. If you are willing...." He threw his head towards their side of the clearing. Tarinor dismounted and walked with Sylvain. What was he planning? "The Ghost claims the lands as their own. Indeed I see the insignia on their long finger ring. Many if not all the peoples here look up to this Ghost. The reconnaissance confirmed this as well. The Ghost agreed to relinquish the lands to us under one condition: single combat." Tarninor suppressed a smile. "Single combat, milord? That is an interesting option. All of the land and influence decided over one combat?" "Yes." he stated. He used his tone that demanded the fact be as he say, no hesitation or second-guessing. "And you agreed?" "No. I thought you would enjoy the opportunity. The Ghost will choose a champion and I will choose one. All conquests are to cease for a week in preparation. We meet where the escarpment meets the forest then." "I will take this up." He had a difficult time holding his passion back. At last! A chance to rid himself of the Ghost problem, and to rid himself of this wretched place. He felt at his throat when Sylvain turned back to answer the Ghost.
In a week's time, Tarinor made preparations with his underlings regarding his unlikely defeat. They bragged about him, lifting him high. They agreed he could not lose, and some agreed in private to not let him lose. They met the following day on the field, a proper ring for dueling. Soldiers from both sides surrounded the ring in the dueling fashion: every other soldier standing forming the barrier was Tambux and in between were soldiers from Sylvain. Tarinor's neck aches did not subside. Hauntingly, they prolonged in duration and intensity. He was under a fit at that moment, but throw his visor down as the Ghost's champion came. She was tall, red-haired, and muscular. She inspected several weapons she brought. She chose a claymore and small target shield to parry his lunges with his signature spear. He did not hesitate changing his strategy. She clunked to the center and raised the claymore in salute. Tarinor came up as well. He looked behind to see Sylvain nodding approval. He gave a final tight-lipped nod. Tarinor's terror grew. He felt as if he had made a grave mistake. His throat seized, but he took up his low stance. The duel commenced.
The woman stood over Tarinor's writhing body, his own spearpoint on his chest. "Hear me! Enfys Gynn is my name! As through hard combat I have defeated your champion! You will now leave this land and never return!" She leveled an eye at each of her soldiers, but stopped on Sylvain. He heart warmly burst again at the sight of him. He was professional and strong, but kind. She would rather give her people over to him than anyone else. She knew their distress, the whole region's distress at the oncoming waves of soldiers from Yym and East Heath. She needed to secure her borders and this was the only feasible way. She did not wish to give up her independence for some mere unifier who would just capitulate at the faintest smell of gold or power.... She bit her tongue in shame. No, he was not like that. She knew from the brief conversation they had. He asked her sternly but diplomatically to surrender, or at least join them. She had wanted to say yes, but fear ate her real confidence and replaced it with fake confidence. her mule-head tendency prevailed again. She was not cut out to lead. But she had agreed to his terms even though she didn't want to. Truly what she wanted was peace, same as him. He wanted subjugation while she demanded freedom. She thrust the spear into this man's neck. He choked on his blood and blade until he died. She gritted her teeth and threw the spear down. "You will leave, now!" she commanded. "You are never welcome here again!" Why could they not just find a way? Why was her fear taking over her? Only had she felt fear three times, and meeting Sylvain was the greatest. She feared him because she knew he had her ear and she could not respect his progress so far. After some time, they gathered the man's body, and Sylvain, crushed but holding his head high, retreated. She wished to never see him again.
Back in the warcamp on the high side of the Upper Escarpment, Tarninor fumed. "Milord, we only need more time." "No, Tarinor. I will not sacrifice needlessly our people. The way of unification is peace first, violence last. Do you not remember? How we go to every city and parlay for peace?" "Aye," he grieved. "And what good it does us when we will have to squash rebellion after rebellion." "There is no rebellion, in any of the cities." "But there will be, milord. I say we finally crush these ravenous Tambux. They are evil people." Sylvain slammed his hand onto the table. "No! They are not evil. They only seek to persevere, as we all do. You cannot teach with beating." "But we can control through beating, milord." "Silence," Sylvain hissed. "I will not tolerate this talk. We will discuss it further once reconnaissance reports return." "As you wish, milord."
The next day Tarinor spoke with his lord. Sylvain was unhappy with Tarinor's warmongering. Tarninor, speaking to him as a friend, called him a coward. Sylvain tightened his jaw and sent him out of his sight. The next day, Sylvain rode out with Tarinor and a group of 100 guards. They did not speak one word to each other. Tarinor had no idea what their errand was. They rode down the escarpment and into the wild country. Trees swallowed the road, filtering them through a green passageway. Great tall elms and maples stooped. Large red oak with their lofty branches rose above all others. Tarinor shuddered at the quiet road. So frequently during his campaign he sent soldiers out to clear away brush or check behind the dense foliage. Here, Sylvain rode with visor up, and blue and purple plume waving as they rode. The quiet foreboding choked Tarninor. He couldn't breathe well, every now and again clearing his throat and massaging his now-bruised neck. Some evil thing latched onto him. "It is the forest." he told himself. "Yes, the wicked forest with its wicked, rebellious peoples. They must be laying a curse upon me." But when he called a cleric over, they apologized to him, for he did not have any curse upon him, none that they could see. Come sundown they settled just south of the western Tambux Forest. The road deteriorated here, quite different than when Tarinor was here last. They rode off the road on a trail. Sylvain, still not saying a word, concerned Tarinor. What if he was enchanted? He asked the cleric to detect any sort of magic, but he could not. Tarinor fidgeted with his reins as they trotted through the increasingly dangerous forest. Just when the grass and vines twisted under hooves and his horse nearly threw him, Tarinor saw they were in an opening. So quickly this had come up, he wasn't sure if they could find it again. Sylvain rode into the clearing and dismounted. At the other end about 50 feet away stood a hooded figure leaning on a heavy spear. He was broad and carried many weapons: a heavy spear, javelins, a waraxe, a claymore, a shortsword, and a large bow strapped on his back which bristled with arrow feathers. Tarinor did not dismount.
"Hail, Ghost," Sylvain warmly greeted; Tarinor heard his smile. "I believe we have business of peace." The Ghost stepped forward. His men guarding him did not follow. He strode half their distance and stopped. Sylvain went up to him and Tarinor remained back, but only for privacy's sake. "So this is the evil creature who killed my men, captured them, tortured them? Curse Sylvain's bleeding heart! He will get us into nothing but trouble. Someone will die from this encounter." He gripped his sword hilt tighter, anticipating rushing to Sylvain in a moment. Yes, curse Sylvain. He was a strong and great man, but his positivity would be his downfall. "There isn't any way we can come to an agreement. We tried already," he remembered. They had sent several soldiers to discuss with a spotted party. Immediately they were felled. Over the course of several months Sylvain's fighting force under Tarinor had dropped from 40,000 to 30,000. Not all were due to the fighting, some were shunted to the other side of Dalth'it to fend off Medder Wood and Ridgegate's joint attack. Still, he was hesitant to trust these people. Sylvain returned, face grave. "I believe, old friend, that the time has come." "For battle, milord?" Sylvain nodded, not removing his eyes from the Ghost. And in his eyes... was it, longing? Tarninor reeled. Sylvain was an emotional man, though he didn't show it. In battle and negotiating he was as stone-faced and shrewd as the half-elves from Lochney in their merchant caravans. However now his face softened and a burst of warmth and fire danced in his eyes. "Affection," he said to himself. Sylvain glanced up. "Eh?" "Nothing, milord. Do we battle?" He nodded. "Aye. But not all. If you are willing...." He threw his head towards their side of the clearing. Tarinor dismounted and walked with Sylvain. What was he planning? "The Ghost claims the lands as their own. Indeed I see the insignia on their long finger ring. Many if not all the peoples here look up to this Ghost. The reconnaissance confirmed this as well. The Ghost agreed to relinquish the lands to us under one condition: single combat." Tarninor suppressed a smile. "Single combat, milord? That is an interesting option. All of the land and influence decided over one combat?" "Yes." he stated. He used his tone that demanded the fact be as he say, no hesitation or second-guessing. "And you agreed?" "No. I thought you would enjoy the opportunity. The Ghost will choose a champion and I will choose one. All conquests are to cease for a week in preparation. We meet where the escarpment meets the forest then." "I will take this up." He had a difficult time holding his passion back. At last! A chance to rid himself of the Ghost problem, and to rid himself of this wretched place. He felt at his throat when Sylvain turned back to answer the Ghost.
In a week's time, Tarinor made preparations with his underlings regarding his unlikely defeat. They bragged about him, lifting him high. They agreed he could not lose, and some agreed in private to not let him lose. They met the following day on the field, a proper ring for dueling. Soldiers from both sides surrounded the ring in the dueling fashion: every other soldier standing forming the barrier was Tambux and in between were soldiers from Sylvain. Tarinor's neck aches did not subside. Hauntingly, they prolonged in duration and intensity. He was under a fit at that moment, but throw his visor down as the Ghost's champion came. She was tall, red-haired, and muscular. She inspected several weapons she brought. She chose a claymore and small target shield to parry his lunges with his signature spear. He did not hesitate changing his strategy. She clunked to the center and raised the claymore in salute. Tarinor came up as well. He looked behind to see Sylvain nodding approval. He gave a final tight-lipped nod. Tarinor's terror grew. He felt as if he had made a grave mistake. His throat seized, but he took up his low stance. The duel commenced.
The woman stood over Tarinor's writhing body, his own spearpoint on his chest. "Hear me! Enfys Gynn is my name! As through hard combat I have defeated your champion! You will now leave this land and never return!" She leveled an eye at each of her soldiers, but stopped on Sylvain. He heart warmly burst again at the sight of him. He was professional and strong, but kind. She would rather give her people over to him than anyone else. She knew their distress, the whole region's distress at the oncoming waves of soldiers from Yym and East Heath. She needed to secure her borders and this was the only feasible way. She did not wish to give up her independence for some mere unifier who would just capitulate at the faintest smell of gold or power.... She bit her tongue in shame. No, he was not like that. She knew from the brief conversation they had. He asked her sternly but diplomatically to surrender, or at least join them. She had wanted to say yes, but fear ate her real confidence and replaced it with fake confidence. her mule-head tendency prevailed again. She was not cut out to lead. But she had agreed to his terms even though she didn't want to. Truly what she wanted was peace, same as him. He wanted subjugation while she demanded freedom. She thrust the spear into this man's neck. He choked on his blood and blade until he died. She gritted her teeth and threw the spear down. "You will leave, now!" she commanded. "You are never welcome here again!" Why could they not just find a way? Why was her fear taking over her? Only had she felt fear three times, and meeting Sylvain was the greatest. She feared him because she knew he had her ear and she could not respect his progress so far. After some time, they gathered the man's body, and Sylvain, crushed but holding his head high, retreated. She wished to never see him again.
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