The Shield of the North (NSFW)

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Welcome to my second solo story, The Shield of the North. The story was, in part, based on a burst of inspiration from the song The Shield of the North by Proge Protocol - and I do recommend visiting the artist's YouTube channel.

In this story I hope to provide interesting characters, interesting lore, and an interesting story. Any feedback, thoughts, and/or criticisms should be left constructively in the Feedback Thread for this story, not here.

Please be aware that this story is entirely created and written from my own thoughts and ideas; if you feel I have copied an idea from something you've posted somewhere, I do truly apologise, and point out that any such copying was done without awareness or ill intent on my part.

Please also be aware that while I've included the NSFW tag in the title, I've done so as a matter of expediency, and not necessarily because I know that there will be any specific NSFW scenes included.

In this first post I will include links to the world map and character images of the protagonist (sorry - the character images are AI generated), as well as information regarding items, places and people of interest as they occur in the world and story.

I hope you enjoy reading this story - The Shield of the North

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Map of the Narene Empire

Fianna De'Vrie - Image1 - Image2

The Gods of the Narene Empire

Devere, the Guardian (M) - God of Loyalty, Duty, Protection, Soldiers
Talitha, the Hearthkeeper (F) - Goddess of Life, Agriculture, Nature, Animals
Zendorro, the Deceiver (M) - God of Lies, Trickery, War, Destruction, Storms
Kaltyron, the Creator (M) - God of the Seas and Oceans, Elements, Weather, Sailors
Paniva, the Fleeting (F) - Goddess of the Skies, Sun, Moon, Stars

The Lands of the Narene Empire

The Land - The Narene Empire
- Capital: Neverhold
- Major Cities: Knightreach, Blackstrand, Stonemount, Shimmerwater
- Outposts: Grimwatch, Winterhold, Lightport, Rockhold, Seawatch
- Notable Villages: Brittlewater, Oldpond, Southview, Bayshore
- Farms: Stonewall Farm, Eastwood Farm, Ocean Farm, Hammond's Farm
- Features: The Worldspine (mountain range), The Spike (mountain), Chesmack Hills, The Eastern Forest, Gloomwood, Homeless Marsh, Spine River, Shelter River, Open River, Dead River, Lonely Lake

Nearby Isles
- Tamgar Isle; Town: Flameacre; Features: Tamgar Woods
- Hartpond Isle; Town: Crystalglen; Features: Hartpond Peak
- Elmack Isle; Tower: Seareach

Notable People

Neverhold
-- Emperor Kylen Thorenfell
-- High-Lady Jennia Thorenfell
-- Crown Prince Paven Thorenfell
-- Crown Princess Evianne Thorenfell
-- Harlen De'Tarren (M), Seneschal of Neverhold
-- Mirage (F), Spymaster of Neverhold

Others
-- Baron Kyle Yarling (M), Lord of Stonemount
-- Baron Maven Ber'Den (M), Lord of Knightreach
-- Baroness Annia Veschen (F), Lady of Shimmerwater
-- Baron Gryland Southers (M), Lord of Blackstrand

Eastwood Farm
-- Maslen Farren (father), Tinna (mother), Henrick (son, older), Carrie (daughter, younger)

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - The Call
Chapter 2 - The Rider
Chapter 3 - The Delivery
Chapter 4 - The Family
Chapter 5 - The Shield

 

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Chapter 1: The Call

"Call her."

His Imperial Majesty of the Narene Empire, the Emperor Kylen Thorenfell, was seated at his large oaken desk in an opulent study. He was an older man, perhaps fifty winters old, and his girth suggested he liked his food and wine a bit more than he probably should. His blonde hair was thinning and turning silver, capping an older, rounder face shaped by weight and age; but the bright blue-grey eyes set in the man's face showed the man's mind was still sharp. He was dressed in resplendent robes, rich in texture and coloured in the deep red that matched the Empire's banner.

He'd been Emperor for nearly thirty years, now; the last twenty-five of them along side his wife, the High-Lady Jennia Thorenfell. Kylen had made his home in the Imperial Castle in the Empire's city, Neverhold, once the previous Emperor – his father, Joran – died of apparent ill health. Kylen and Jennia had met the following year, courted, and eventually married. Three years later Jennia had given him a son, the Crown Prince Pevan; two years later a daughter was born, the Crown Princess Evianne.

The afternoon sun was streaming in through the large windows of the study. The room was large, the size of some small cottages, and was lined with several bookcases that reached to the ceiling, each bookcase filled with book and texts of all manner of topics. The desk itself was large, solid, polished, large enough to hold a good-sized map of the empire if needed; the room also held a large soft sofa and a large fireplace that was currently roaring with well-tended flames. Thick rugs covered the floor to add to the sense of extravagance the room conveyed…and this room was a good representation of the overindulgence of the entire castle.

His Majesty was seated at the desk in a large and solid chair, enough to hold his slowly-increasing bulk. On the desk a sheaf of pages was fanned out, the most recent reports from his Spymaster of events in the Empire. Kylen knew these reports would be accurate, but slightly dated; his Spymaster was detailed and diligent, but it took time to gather information, and time waited for no man. The Emperor had spent the afternoon going through the reports, apparently satisfied with the contents…until a very specific report caught his eye. He had no reason to doubt the accuracy of his Spymaster's reporting skills. He read the report again to be sure had hadn't read it wrong the first time.

There was, according to the report, a rumour of a plan to take the Emperor's life.

The report had sent a chill down his spine when he first read it, and sent a second chill down his spine when he read it again. A plan to make an attempt on his life. On his life. Him, the Emperor. The man without whom the lands would be in disarray, in chaos. He didn't know whether to feel anger or fear, and his reaction was most likely somewhere in the middle. He'd set the report down on the desk and called for his Seneschal, a tall, thin and weaselly-looking man in thin but elegant robes named Harlen De'Tarren, to discuss the report. The Seneschal had arrived in the study about five minutes after he'd been sent for.

"Call…call her…?" the Seneschal repeated slowly. "Are you sure that's the best course of action, Majesty?"

"Did you read this report from Mirage?" Kylen appeared to be annoyed that he wasn't being obeyed instantly.

Harlen shook his head quickly. "No, your Majesty. I only know what you've told me."

"Then read it and tell me what you think," the Emperor snapped, pushing the sheet of parchment across the desk towards the thin man.

Harlen picked up the parchment and held it at eye level so he could read it. His eyes flicked from side to side as he scanned the words on the page, widening slightly as he neared the end of the brief, but concise, report. Like the Emperor before him, he read the report twice to be sure there was no misreading.

"Mirage seems to be quite sure that there will be an attempt on your life, although the report does not indicate when this might occur," he noted finally as he set the report on the desk.

"Yes, yes," Kylen muttered thinly. "So I'm not being paranoid or irrational about it."

"I didn't say you were, Majesty," the Seneschal pointed out. "However, Mirage only reports the rumour of such a plan; there is no evidence of a plan as yet, so Mirage cannot be-"

"That doesn't matter," Kylen interrupted tersely. "That there's a rumour is bad enough. Call her."

Harlen coughed politely. "Again, I must ask, Majesty: is that wise right now?"

"I can't be seen to be mobilising the militia to root out this rumour," the Emperor reasoned irritably. "If my forces started checking it out, it gives the rumour validity. I need an impartial hand, a hand trusted by everyone in the Empire."

"And therein is the possible flaw," Harlen observed carefully. "The Shield is loyal to the Empire…not necessarily to the Emperor. She will be completely impartial, and will be unlikely to act if she believes her action is not in the best interests of the Empire."

"How will killing the Emperor be in the best interests of the Empire?" Kylen snarled grimly.

"That I cannot answer for her," the Seneschal replied honestly, his shoulders shrugging helplessly to highlight his answer. "I make no claim to understanding how her mind works."

"Then it must be pressed upon her that my untimely death is not in the best interests of the Empire," Kylen growled firmly. His right arm swept out, a thick finger pointing unambiguously at the door to the study. "Now go…and call her." There was no room for discussion in that voice, and the Seneschal recognised it.

Harlen bowed his head deeply. He knew a command when he heard it. This was no longer open for discussion…at least, not now.

"Yes, your Majesty," he conceded civilly. "I will send a messenger immediately." He rose from his bow, backed up a couple of steps, then turned on his heel and strode out of the study.

A half-hour later a rider departed the castle on horseback, the rider bearing a message addressed to The Shield of the North and fixed with the Imperial Seal.

Wheels had been set in motion.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 2: The Rider

The rider rode hard…but not that hard. He had his orders, of course: deliver the sealed message to the sanctioned place near Rockhold, where the Eastern Forest meets the Worldspine mountains. The rider knew the woods were thinnest there, but no less dangerous to travel due to the unstable ground, the rocks. The woods thinned out there, but the mountains grew in its place. Debris from fallen trees mixed freely with rubble from crumbling mountains, and the place he had to get to was several miles inside that…treacherous terrain. But that wasn't the main reason he didn't push overly hard to deliver the message.

Nor was the rider cautious because of the cold. The weather in the Narene empire was often cold, the grounds often a little harder due to chill. The Worldspine was often covered in snow – less in Summer, more in Winter, of course – and the lands surrounding the mountains were also snow-bound most of the year round. Snow was known to fall as far south as Hammond's Farm in the coldest of Winters, although snow typically only fell north of Eastwood Farm. No creature, man or beast, wanted to run hard in the cold, and right now Summer was behind them this year.

It wasn't the distance that encouraged the rider to slow his pace, either. He had nearly three hundred miles to travel to get to his destination, give or take the few miles he'd have to travel on foot once he reached the forest edge – the horse would be unable to travel inside the forest without risking breaking a leg, and he'd rather not have to face the Seneschal to tell him the message was delivered but one of the Emperor's messenger horses had to be killed because of a broken leg. That particular conversation would not end well for the rider.

No, the main reason he deliberately slowed his pace a little was…he didn't like the Emperor. He wasn't overly fond of his lot in the Emperor's service, either, although a job was a job. But the Emperor was…not given to civility, at least amongst the staff of the castle grounds. If he bothered to notice the low-ranking staff at all, he was abrupt and crude and demanding and impossible to please…unless you were one of the cute young serving wenches, in which case the Emperor was known to have a warm smile and wandering hands. On occasion one of said serving wenches was known to spend a night in the Emperor's bedchamber keeping both the emperor and his Queen entertained, and the girls refused to speak of what happened when they emerged the following morning…they didn't have to say much, though, as the marks and torn clothing and dishevelled appearances and odd walking gait told much of the story.

The rider knew he couldn't dally overlong, though – too much time and the Seneschal would enquire of the excessive delay. It would take him a week to deliver the message and return, maybe ten days at most, and the Seneschal would be watching to be sure he returned in a reasonable time. Ten days he could manage to get away with…eleven possibly. Certainly no more. Maybe if he took his time getting there and then rode hard back…?

The rider knew the target of the message, of course: the Shield of the North. Not personally, of course, very few knew the Shield on a personal level, but most people knew the Shield existed. Some thought she only existed in legend, and there were certainly a few folk songs sung in taverns depicting the heroics of the Shield in ages past. The Shield was known to be loyal to the Empire, dedicated to the lands inside its boundaries, willing to stand up for the People of the Empire; the Shield was loyal to the Empire, but that did not necessarily extend to the person leading it. The rider knew he was delivering a message to the Shield, even if indirectly.

That meant that the Emperor believed there was trouble brewing. What that trouble was, though, the rider had no knowledge. Sometimes it was best to be a lowly servant, unnoticed except when the Emperor lifted his shoe to see what it was he'd just stepped in. Little People like himself were often overlooked by those in charge. The rider didn't know if the trouble meant he should delay or hurry, to be honest, but he didn't like the Emperor…so he slowed his pace once he was out of sight of the city gates.

He reached the first way station just after nightfall, presented his Imperial Badge to gain a simple meal of lamb stew and bread plus a mug of mead, and a bed to sleep in, for a discounted price. His horse was stabled for the night while he slept well enough. The next morning he woke early and, after a quick splash of water to freshen up and a bowl of gruel and water for breakfast he saddled his horse and was on his way again. He rode carefully, at a quick but measured pace, not enough to push the horse too hard…urgency without hurry, was the best way to describe his passage. He passed freeholders tending their properties, passed through a small village that didn't appear on any official map – there were plenty of those, he knew – passed a few more homesteads. He kept to the main road towards Knightreach, although his journey would not take him to that city – he'd go as far as the turn, then head on to the Rockhold watchtower and settlement. He reached the second way station just on lunch time, and the third just after sunset.

The rider had been travelling for five days when he finally reached the Rockhold settlement. The rider called it a "settlement", but it was little more than a large army barracks with a large tower facing the Worldspine. Still, his Imperial Badge afforded him stabling for his horse, gave him a hot meal and a bed to sleep in. He would have liked to have passed quietly, but such was not to be the case; the local commander wanted to have a brief chat.

"You sent for me, sir?" the rider began when he stopped in front of the commander's desk. The commander's office was small, almost cramped, but efficient in the use of available space: a single desk with two chairs in front and one behind, a couple of bookcases for manuals and maps and orders and the like.

"I did," the commander agreed thinly. "Your name, rider?"

"Garrick, sir," the rider replied simply. There would be no need for more than a first name, not here.

"Garrick. Welcome. I'm the watch commander here, Lieutenant Maren Settick." The two briefly shook hands at the introductions, and the Lieutenant gestured for Garrick to take a seat. "What brings you this far north, Garrick? We only rarely get a visit from someone who is not army, and certainly very few from Neverhold."

"I come bearing a message, Lieutenant," Garrik replied as both men took their chairs; he was not sure how much he should be revealing. "Not for you, though; I do not bear orders, if that's what you're wondering."

Maren smirked quickly as he shook his head. "Orders wouldn't come via a castle rider, anyway," he pointed out simply. "So…if not for me, then who…?"

The rider pursed his lips and remained silent for a moment. "I…the message I bear is for the Shield, and for her alone," he explained reluctantly. "I know not the message contents; the message was given to me sealed, and I dare not open it."

"The Shield…?" Maren's eyebrows raised sharply. "Then…there is a problem – or a perceived problem – in Neverhold." He waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry, Garrick – I don't expect you to know, nor do I ask you to speculate. But that does explain your presence here. You wouldn't come here for a friendly visit, and there are few other reasons you'd come here at all."

"I suppose that much is true," Garrick agreed wryly. "I do apologise for prevailing upon your hospitality, though."

"The Emperor's whim is my command," the lieutenant noted drily. "I won't keep you here any longer than you need to be, though. Eat when you need, rest as you can; you'll not be delayed here." He stood, apparently satisfied with the conversation. "Thank you for speaking with me. Perhaps you'll stop on your way back and let me know what's going on in our capital…?"

Garrick also stood, and he nodded at the request. "I can certainly do that, sir," he agreed, as the two shook hands again. "I'll be back in a couple of days, then." With that, he turned and left the office.

Garrick was not looking forward to the next stage of his journey, though. It was going to be cold and miserable and unfriendly…and some of it on foot.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 3: The Delivery

The next morning saw Garrick leave Rockhold and head east towards the tip of the forest. There was no path to follow, no worn track that marked a clear destination; there was only the cool morning air, a gentle mist that hung about him, enough to add chill through his clothes without obscuring his vision. If he didn't have instructions he'd rather be in Neverhold, but…the Seneschal had given him this task, this message, and if he didn't deliver, well… The Emperor was known for his temper as well.

The ground gradually grew harder beneath the hooves of his horse; he could feel it in the way the horse's footing changed over time as the distance was eaten away by the travel. Debris of fallen trees mixed with rocks and dirt and torn-up grass…it wasn't dead out here, but it certainly was not farmable. The nearest farmstead was nearly a hundred miles south of here, the Eastwood Farm. There were other, smaller farms in the region, but Eastwood was like a local hub for farmers to meet and trade. There was no real evidence of civilisation for twenty miles in any direction, other than Rockhold. Garrick knew what he was looking for, where he was going…and as he reached the edge of the forest, he knew he'd have to leave his mount behind.

He dismounted, secured his horse to a large collapsed tree, pulled his cloak about himself for warmth that he suddenly needed. He patted the horse comfortingly, then set off into the forest. Even though he was nowhere near heading into the forest depths, and he knew that, he still felt on edge.

"When you get to the edge of the forest, follow the black markers into the forest. Three miles on foot and you'll find what looks to be a stone pillar, black, like obsidian, that stands as tall as a man. Place the message in the hole at the top of the pillar, offer a prayer to Devere, then leave; your task will be done. Return post-haste to report."

Those were the words given to him by the Seneschal. He had no reason to doubt any of it. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth against the chill he'd just sucked into his lungs, then stepped into the forest.

It was amazing how gloomy the forest got so quickly. He figured he was barely a mile in, and the daylight was noticeably less. He could see the mountains rising in the distance, through the trees, when he looked to his left; when he looked to his right, he saw nothing but trees and considerably less light. He knew it was a trick his eyes were playing on him, but he had no desire to test what his eyes were telling him. One foot, two, five, ten…fifty feet…keep going. He tried to coax a song from his childhood into his mind, to distract from the hemmed-in feeling the forest was giving him.

He found the pillar after an hour of walking through debris and rubble, through rocks and hard dirt and fallen trees and logs. It was almost as described to him: black, standing his height or so, stone like Obsidian, as thick as himself, a hole larger than his arm about head-high that went through the width of the pillar. A sense of foreboding washed over him as he looked at the pillar, and he had no idea why. Garrick paused, steeled himself, pulled the rolled parchment with the Imperial seal from the pouch on his belt. He half-expected the pillar to try and snap his hand off or something stupid when he placed the message in the hole, but…nothing. The message just remained in the hole, sitting…waiting. He heaved a sigh of relief, then remembered he wasn't done. He bowed his head in prayer…he had no idea what he was supposed to pray for, though, as whispered words started to fall from his lips.

O Devere…please accept this message from the Emperor. He hopes this will call The Shield to his aid, although I have not been taken into confidence as to why. The Emperor believes there is trouble coming for the Empire, and seeks the Shield's aid. Devere, I ask that you hear this prayer and see this message reaches The Shield.

Garrick had never felt so stupid as he did right then, offering a prayer to a god when he had no idea about anything other than the requirement that he place the message in the pillar. He remained silent for a moment, then raised his head to look at the pillar and the message, to make sure it hadn't fallen out or blown away or anything.

There was nothing more than a fading puff of smoke where the parchment had been sitting.

Garrick's eyes widened slowly, first in amazement, then in fear. That…had the parchment simply disappeared? He looked around quickly, moved around the pillar, searched for a dozen feet in all directions from the pillar…nothing. The message had gone, as if it had never been there. Was that supposed to happen? He'd been given no clue as to what was supposed to happen, what he should be expecting, after he'd placed the message and offered the prayer.

Magic…

Was it a sign from Devere that he'd done well in his task? Or was this just the work of Zendorro the Deceiver, playing tricks on him? Garrick didn't know, didn't want to know; he just wanted to get out of there.

Fear started to overwhelm him, and he turned quickly and headed out of the forest as fast as he could. It took him longer to get out than it did to get in, partly because he turned himself around in his panic, something that just added to his panic…until he eventually spied his horse through the trees, waiting calmly and patiently for his human to return. When he finally reached his steed he hugged his horse firmly about the neck, like the horse was the most precious and amazing thing he'd seen in his entire life. It took several minutes before Garrick felt brave enough – and calm enough – to mount his horse and head back towards Rockhold.

He had a promise to keep to the Lieutenant…and he really needed a stiff drink.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 4: The Family

Some twenty miles further into the forest was a small clearing, backed up against the base of one of the mountains of The Worldspine. The clearing was maybe two hundred feet across, was well-cleared and well-maintained, had a small corral and stable for a couple of horses, a fenced-off area that could be used for sparring and training, and, at the back of the clearing, was the entrance to a cave. Near the entrance to the cave, under a covered section of timber roofing, was a small forge and bellows, along with an anvil and a sharpening wheel; on the other side of the cave entrance was what could only be described as a small food preparation and cooking area. There was a pair of training dummies at the opposite side of the clearing from the forge; the dummies were well-patched and equally well-used. A small stream was nearby, trickling off the mountain and into the forest to end who-knew-where.

The cave itself, though…while the entrance was carved by nature, the inside had seen some helping hands dig it out. There were several smaller caverns inside the cave complex, each cavern – they would be better described as rooms – decorated and fitted for a purpose. One room was clearly tactical in nature; the room was lined with bookshelves that contained texts and treatises from many parts and ages of the Empire, and in the center of the room was a large table that contained a detailed map of the Empire and the surrounding lands and nations. Two of the rooms were bedrooms, fitted out sparsely and functionally – one room contained a pair of single, comfortable beds, the other contained a single bed and a smaller cot-like bed, and both rooms contained wardrobes and tables and chests for storing clothes and accessories. The fourth room was more of a living and relaxation area, with a several large bookcases filled with books for relaxing reading and a couple of comfortable sofas for sitting and unwinding. A smaller, cooler area in the back of the complex served as a small larder or pantry, stocked with various items of food and drink. The caves were lit by torches sitting in sconces through the cavern complex…the torches did not burn, however; instead they glowed with a pleasant and warm light that seemed to come from within the wood itself, never extinguishing or consuming.

Inside the cavern were three females: one a girl of maybe six or seven years, one a mature woman in her late forties, the third a much-older woman in her seventies. They were clearly related, if for no other reason than they all had green eyes and differing shades of ginger hair – the young girl a bright shade, the mature woman a darker shade, and the older woman a mix of ginger and silver. They were all fit, healthy, limber and agile in their movements, although the older woman was showing her advancing years. She knew she was not much longer for this world. The mature woman and the young girl were in the living area, reading a story together, while the older woman was moving about the bedrooms and tidying up what little mess she could find.

On a small table in the strategy room a tiny puff of smoke appeared, accompanied by the sudden appearance of a rolled sheet of parchment bearing the imperial seal.

It took some time to pass before the parchment was noticed, and it was the older woman who found it first. She set the blanket she was carrying down on a stool in the room and picked up the parchment…she could reasonably surmise it had been there for maybe thirty minutes. She sighed softly and walked into the living room.

"Lyra," she called, getting the mature woman's attention. "Find Fianna. This will be for her." She held up the parchment for the woman to see.

Lyra looked up from reading the story, her expression hardening for a moment, and she nodded quickly. "Jessinta, dear…" she soothed to the girl on her knee. "Go and help your Gran. I need to find your older sister."

Jessinta pouted prettily. "Is this about that duty-thing you were telling me that we do, mama?"

Lyra smiled warmly. "That's right, little one. Your sister is likely to be called to duty. When she comes in, you can sit with us while we talk about what the message is, and what needs to be done."

The girl smiled brightly. "Okay, mama." She bounced off Lyra's knee and rushed to the older woman's side.

"I don't think she's gone far, Cilla," Lyra pointed out to the older woman. "Fianna indicated she'd be doing a little hunting for food. She's usually quite reliable…and accurate."

Cilla barked a short laugh. "We all are, girl," she pointed out. "That's what we were blessed for, what we trained for." She paused to pat the young girl's head. "Now, go. Fianna needs to know what this message is about, and sooner rather than later."

Lyra rolled her eyes then nodded in understanding. She stood, took the parchment from the older woman, then headed towards the mouth of the cavern. It was cool outside, but it was always cool in this part of the Empire. Cool, or cold. Never warm. Lyra didn't really feel the cold, though, not the way others might feel it. That was part of the blessing of her bloodline, a slight resistance to the cooler and warmer temperatures. That, and the ability to heal faster than a regular person might.

Many centuries ago, Lyra's many-times-great ancestor served the Emperor and performed a great boon during wartime that saved the Emperor and the Empire; she'd uncovered and prevented a coup that might have spelled disaster for the Empire had it succeeded. In reward, the Emperor's mystic had performed, with the full and willing agreement of that ancestor, a long ritual that both blessed and bound the descendants in service to the Empire. The descendants would receive small gifts to aid them in their bound duty; the descendants were given to defend the Empire above all else…and they were darned tough in battle for it. Sharp and shrewd the women had become, while becoming both dedicated and focussed in their service. The blessing kept doubt at bay; they did not feel regret or annoyance for what had been done to them, for what had become of them.

Lyra stepped into the clearing, parchment in hand, her eyes scanning the forest to try and find a sign of where Fianna had gone. The girl had been gone an hour or more already; she shouldn't be too much longer.

Hopefully.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 5: The Shield

Just how far have I gone? Further than I'd planned. That damned buck kept me going for a while.

The young woman – maybe twenty-five years of age – sighed softly as she moved towards the animal she'd finally brought down. Not for lack of skill or trying; no, she'd been perfectly lined up for the shot, her aim true, the shot loosed…and at the exact moment her arrow left her bow the damned critter had dipped its head, turning a certain kill shot into a painful wound that sent it scurrying in pain and fear. Of course, she couldn't let it go like that, with an arrow sticking out of its neck, so she'd followed it, stalked it, waiting for the shock and blood loss to take its toll…then she closed in and gave it the mercy it needed. The problem was…how far out had she gone? A bloody long way, that was for sure…and she had to carry the buck back home on her own.

Fianna de'Vrie was a quite attractive young woman, like the others in her family. She had rich ginger hair that was tied back in a firm braid that hung to her chest, green eyes that marked her family line, a pretty face marred by a small scar on her cheek from training harder than she probably should have given her age at the time; like the rest of her family, her figure was lean and wiry, fit and athletic, possessing soft and gentle curves. She was dressed practically, her outfit made of soft black leathers that covered her torso, and finished in a short skirt that allowed full freedom of movement, with thigh-high black leather boots that were quite sturdy. Over her shoulders she wore a dark green cloak that was heavy and practical, good for providing cover in shadow and natural terrain both. Her belts and pockets were filled with all manner of weapons and vials and tools, and on her back was a quiver filled with arrows that matched the hunting bow now slung over her shoulder.

She made her way to the fallen buck – fortunately, not too large for her to carry over her shoulder, although her return trip would be slowed by the added bulk. Damned animal for running away…although the thought did make her smile faintly. She knelt down next to the still-warm corpse, picked up the body with a small amount of effort, positioned it over her shoulder and balanced it, then slowly stood, turned, and headed back in the direction of her home in the clearing.

The walk back was longer than she'd have liked, and the breeze through the trees was cool and fresh as it came off the mountains above. At least the sun was shining, although that was less obvious in the forest. The trees weren't thick here, but still dense enough that sunlight struggled to reach the forest floor. At least snow struggled to reach the forest floor, too, when it came. Rain never had that problem, and the woman was thankful that neither seemed to be about to occur. Walking back with a buck on her shoulder while it was snowing or raining was not something she enjoyed. She had plenty of time to think as she made the trip back, and not for the first time she wondered just how it had come about that her family line had been blessed the way it had. Just how bad had things been, and how devoted had that long-dead ancestor been, that this blessing was thought to be the most suitable reward? Not that Fianna hated what she did, or thought ill of that ancestor for the choices made. She, like all of her line, were content with their lot, content to serve the Empire.

A voice, calling her name, brought her mind back to the present. She looked up from her reverie-filled walk, swung her gaze around as the voice called for her again…and she spied her sister through the trees not too far away. The relationship between the girls was…tricky: they were related, yes, but only every second generation. Fianna's mother was actually Cilla, and Jessinta was Lyra's daughter; technically, Lyra and Jessinta were cousins to Fianna…but the women never thought of themselves as anything other than family.

"Here, Lyra!" she called out to the other woman. She watched as the older woman turned in her direction and started walking towards her. A few minutes later they were side-by-side, Lyra falling into step beside the younger woman.

"You took your sweet time on that hunt, Fianna," the older woman noted drily. "We were expecting you back ages ago."

"Blame the buck," Fianna replied with a nod of her head at the creature on her shoulder. "If he hadn't moved his head at exactly the wrong moment, he'd have died quickly instead of leading me on a merry chase through the forest."

"Of course," Lyra chided lightly. "Always someone else's fault, never a problem with your skill. I was never this bad at hunting, was I?"

"Oh, no," Fianna noted sarcastically. "You were worse. We're never going to forget the hunt that died on you because it stumbled and broke its neck while running from you."

"I needed the exercise," Lyra sniffed lightly, although she smiled warmly.

"Mmhmm." Fianna was clearly dubious, but it was all in good fun. "So…what brings you out here to find me? On any other day you'd have simply waited for me to return."

"A message arrived from the Emperor," Lyra replied simply, her tone matter-of-fact. "A couple of hours ago, now."

"It bears the Imperial seal?"

Lyra nodded, and held up the rolled and sealed parchment for Fianna to see. "It came via the pillar. Cilla found it on the message table in the strategy room."

"Damn." The younger woman was silent for a moment as they neared the clearing. "If it bears the Imperial seal, then the Emperor must believe there is trouble for the Empire. But…the Empire has been at peace for decades. We haven't been called for much beyond helping resolve squabbles between the lords."

"That's what you need to determine, my dear," Lyra reminded the younger woman. "You are the Shield of the North, now; finding out what's caused the Emperor to ask for aid is your duty."

"I know," Fianna sighed softly. "Then we'd best get this buck inside so we can prepare it. I'm sure the skins will be useful; the meat certainly will. When we get back, I'll crack the seal and find out what's important enough for the Emperor to call for aid himself."

"Indeed," Lyra agreed as the two women finally entered the clearing. "And you need to freshen up," she added with a playfully-disdainful sniff at the younger woman. "You stink."