The Nightmare of War

The staccato thumping of blood in her head dulled the shrieking of clashing steel. Each breath seared her throat, lungs desperately gasping for air. Her forearms screeched in protest as she parried a downward slash; her legs strained as she whirled around to deliver a fatal strike. Viscous crimson blood coated her blade as she wrenched it free from the now lifeless corpse. Without time to savor the victory and without remorse for snuffing out a life, Lorraine stepped back as another squad of rebel knights approached.

She steadied her breath, channeling the swirling energy of Camelot’s dense leyline into her stance and sword. As the marauding knights surrounded her, she took one measured step forward and unleashed a devastating whirlwind, cleaving through steel and flesh alike. Her sweep tilled up the soil and corpses around her. As the dust settled, everything finally lay still.

Grueling hours passed before the invaders retreated to camp, exhausted under the dying sunlight. Camelot had repelled the incursion for another day, but the horrors of war were laid bare on the blood-soaked ground. Allies and enemies lay indiscriminate and intermingled. The gut-wrenching stench of iron and fear permeated the camps. Many wondered when this nightmare might end.

Lorraine surveyed the hollow faces of her garrison. Since conscripting with the Camelot guard, mainly to investigate the kingdom and the ongoing conflicts further, she had quickly risen to sergeant after showcasing her prowess on the proving grounds. Before war broke out, they were a boisterous company of 20, led by Captain Damian of Riversbend. She had trained with them and learned about their hopes for the future, their loved ones back in their hometowns, and their naive optimism of the protective walls of Camelot. With the Windrider and Blastmage Corps, how could they ever lose?

The sporadic pillaging was disturbing. Villages were ransacked and fields were razed, but most of the troupe wrote it off to roving mercenaries. Such a small band could never threaten the bedrock of the kingdom. For Lorraine, each raid was harrowing — at first. Reliving the brutal slaughters and massacres haunted her as they picked through the wreckage and corpses looking for clues and survivors. Desperately, she clung to any shred of sanity until she found one cord to grasp onto. Anger. At herself for being weak. At these marauding scum for killing the innocent. At the black-cloaked monster for taking everything away.

Lorraine became relentless. First to each reported sighting, chasing down any foreign scraps, and even catching some raids underway. She viciously fought off the attackers and hunted them down to the last man. Though nothing concrete was able to be gleaned in the aftermath–who these bandits were, where they came from, or why they were attacking.

Months into active patrol, they suddenly received emergency summons back to Camelot.

War had come.

Contentious Council

This specific warfront had been raging for weeks now. Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall had suddenly claimed the divine right of ascension and crowned himself rightful King of Aesa, marching his military might directly into the heart of the kingdom. For generations, the Dukes of Cornwall stood as a bastion against sea raiders and would-be conquerors, protecting the lowlands from invasion, and granting Aesa an era of peace and prosperity. Now, as crusaders themselves, the battle-hardened frontier troops of Cornwall held the tactical initiative, rapidly carving a warpath to Camelot.

Now, with just a skeleton crew of 12, her garrison stared blankly into the campfire, awaiting the reaper’s scythe. A refresh of troops was expected soon, but how could they trust any recruit when they had just witnessed their companions cut down before them like flies? Captain Damian had taken an arrow in the side as well, bringing morale down further as the garrison watched their leader fall. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t fatal, but he would be out of commission for a while.

“Lorraine, help me up.” He grunted, clearly still in pain. Blood soaked through the fresh bandage.

“Captain, you should rest. I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

He let her support him, but instead redirected her to the castle.

“Can’t let the troop see their own captain too weak to fight. Morale is low enough.” He straighted his back as they stood up, regaining some of his original swagger as they walked past the garrison. Some of them smiled back weakly as they passed; others just stared longingly at the darkness in the distance.

“Besides, the Lord Commander has requested our company’s report on the battlefield status.”

She nodded in assent, and, slowly, they made their way back into the castle. The cobblestone streets were empty under the moonlight, most of the townsfolk were sheltered away in the face of the encroaching raiders. They strode on in silence, besides the occasional breaks for the captain to catch his breath. Before long, the towering walls of the castle came into view, lit up by torchlight, shadows macabrely dancing along the stone. A kingsguard saluted them at the gate and waved them through, aware of their appointment.

The few times she had been allowed into the castle, she would gaze up in awe at the trestled arches of the vast entrance hall. Stained glass windows filtered golden sunlight into rainbow arrays, showering the golden hall in glamorous light. Now, under the darkness of a new moon, the yawning mouth of the hall stood forebodingly under the shadows.

The captain guided Lorraine towards a smaller hallway past the entrance hall, dimly lit by torch sconces lining the wall. At the end of the hall, a massive gnarled oak door stood ajar, with agitated voices leaking through.

“That damned Duke, it must have been his men undercover conducting those raids!”

“Now, ahhh, let’s not be hasty. The Duke knows that attacking land within Aesa would be high treason against the Crown.”

“And him marching his armies up to our front door is his way of paying respects, I’m sure.”

“This is unforgivable! We must send an emissary to Cornwall demanding his surrender at once!”

“If we close ourselves off, we have enough rations to survive the winter. Perhaps we simply just outlast–

“Coward! We’ll show them the full might of Camelot and stride out to meet them in battle!”

As they entered the war council, magistrates and lords were shouting over each other, each vying for the King’s and Lord Commander’s attention. At the end of the massive table, King Uther Pendragon sat on his throne, worry etched into his furrowed brows. One hand grasped his chin as his eyes looked down at the battle map in consternation.

Surrounding him stood various nobles and lords from the surrounding duchies and baronies of Aesa. Lorraine noticed her captain’s expression of annoyance, recalling his contempt for the nobility who grew fat and complacent behind their walls. To Uther’s right sat Aurelius, Lord Commander of the Royal Army, who noticed Captain Damian’s appearance. He waved for the council to continue and strode across the room, ushering the captain and Lorraine into the hallway to speak more candidly.

Before turning around, Lorraine also noticed that someone else sat at Uther’s left. A woman with flowing lavender robes and snow-white hair held a spot of importance within this council. She wore an inscrutable expression, but her lucid lilac eyes drank in the room, betraying a piercing intelligence. At that moment, they locked eyes, and an eyebrow raised appraisingly before Lorraine followed her captain and the Lord Commander out into the hallway.

“What’s the status report, Captain?”

Damian attempted to get down onto one knee, wincing as the movement flexed his wound, sweat beading on his brow. Lorraine dropped down as well to help ease the descent, but the Lord Commander waved him up and motioned for him to stand at ease. Nodding appreciatively, Damian began with his report.

“Each day, we suffer heavy casualties, but we are still able to repel Duke Cornwall’s forces. Unfortunately, if the battle continues unabated, we may begin to see desertion and mutiny from our troops as morale drops.”

“Mmm, now we suffer the consequences of our peace, aye?” The Lord Commander sighed. “Any factors that might motivate our forces?”

“Besides The Majestic Spirit itself descending on the field? Anything to give us a definitive victory fast would surely boost morale.”

“The Majestic Spirit?” Lorraine couldn’t help herself, questioning out loud.

“An old fairytale,” The Lord Commander began to speak dismissively. “Some ol’ Cambrian legend says that in times of great peril, the Keeper of Spirits blesses a chosen hero. Some hogwash bedtime story mothers tell their children to keep them behaved.”

“Power enough to save this world?” Lorraine mumbled to herself.

“Hah, of course! What fairytale doesn’t have its own supernatural power fantasies? Now where are those blasted mage corps? What a ludicrous time to be on a pilgrimage. I’ll bet those spell slingers could have made a show.”

As Lord Aurelius rambled, Captain Damian put his hand against the wall, breath growing shallower. Another moment passed before his legs gave out and collapsed against Lorraine.

“Captain? Captain!”

Seeking Spirits

The dim torchlight in the hallway had disguised how pale the captain was and fresh blood soaked through his bandaged side. Palace guards were called over and rushed the captain to the castle infirmary. After confirming that his life wasn’t in danger, Lorraine returned to attend the war council as acting captain, though her mind was exhausted from the day’s battle and concern for her injured captain.

Eventually, the council settled on a plan of action. The remaining dukes would be summoned to Camelot with their forces in hopes of pincering the Duke of Cornwall. Runners would be sent to recall the mage corps from their pilgrimages. The mage in lavender discussed the reasonings of the approach and the surrounding council seemed to respect her opinions, though Lorraine was too tired to process the information.

Upon dismissal, Lorraine ended up wandering through the halls, waiting for her captain’s recovery. Her feet took her down torchlit hallways, up spiraling staircases, and past woven tapestries. Scenes depicting legendary heroes conquering dragons, facing the gods, and banishing evil revealed the ancient mythos of Cambria and their forefathers in golden splendor. Her right hand unconsciously smoothed out the edge of the tapestry, fingers gentling passing over the worn fibers as she reminisced back to her childhood. Her mother used to weave fairy tales and stories of the great champions of the Archive, of the worlds they saved, and of their heroic deeds – some even of the very champions that came from their village in the past.

After a few steps, Lorraine found herself in front of a massive mural. Standing over 10 feet tall, a massive marble relief was carved into an alcove of this hallway. Ivory and pearlescent inlays captured and refracted the light on a magnificent beast depicted, wings outstretched as if taking flight. Antlers carved of ivory crowned the creature and a massive diamond was embedded in the center of its chest. She stood in awe, admiring the detailed craftsmanship and depicted majesty of the relief.

“Truly incredible.” A voice beside her admired.

“Yes, indeed,” she said breathlessly before turning to find herself facing King Uther Pendragon.

Before she could even process the situation, he waved off the offense. “After that ordeal, I am much too exhausted for royal pretenses. Regardless, it is just the two of us at the moment. I have called off my personal guard for the night. Lorraine of Allard, Damian’s sergeant, correct?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Lorraine bowed politely, but confusion spun in her head. She had never met or been introduced to the king before.

Without losing a step, he carried on, turning back to the sculpted relief.

“Have you heard of the myth of The Majestic Spirit?”

“Briefly recently, and only in passing.”

“Each family tells their version and each region has its aspects. The myth I grew up with in these halls focused on the trials of The Majestic Spirit and its unimaginable magnanimity. Hence, countless master craftsmen have been commissioned for this masterpiece generation over generation.”

“Trials, my lord?”

“Yes. Our legend suggests that The Spirit does not simply pick anyone. One challenger, someone with the strength to rise above the rest and seek The Spirit, may undergo three trials. If they are worthy, they may be blessed by its majesty. Of course, that is just our version.” Uther shrugged nonchalantly.

“If I was younger, I might have tried to chase down The Spirit myself. Alas, I am needed here to lead and protect our home and country.”

Something stirred inside Lorraine, a whispering thought that maybe this was why she had found her way to Camelot. A chance to become something greater? Or a chance to finally be a savior. A way to justify the endless bloodshed. Her captain lay in the infirmary, dying. Her garrison was being picked apart day after day. She needed more power. More strength.

“Let me pursue this, my Lord.”

Uther raised an eyebrow but didn’t feign too much surprise. “The Spirit is only a bedtime story.”

A shaft of moonlight shined through the window behind them as the clouds cleared in the night sky, slowly illuminating the diamond at the center of the relief. The light refracted through the diamond, lighting up the ivory and pearl inlays with silver luster.

“Every myth starts in truth. Now, more than ever, we need a miracle. I know I’m just an outsider, but let me prove myself, my Lord.” Lorraine turned to Uther, eyes ablaze with determination and almost a hint of pleading.

“Ah, to be young.” Uther sighed. Would he be sending this young warrior on an impossible chase? Or worse yet, to her death? Myths and legends often soften their edges with each retelling.

But she was right. Each day, Camelot came one step closer to destruction. They were starting to get desperate. Between the life of a strong warrior and the majesty of a mythological beast, there was no question.

“Then kneel.”

Lorraine quickly took to one knee and bowed her head in reverence.

“Lorraine of Allard, by the command of King Uther Pendragon of Camelot, seek out The Majestic Spirit and become Camelot’s savior. Per the legends, venture to the highest point on the horizon, where the veil between worlds is the thinnest, and beseech The Spirit to intercede on Camelot’s behalf. Face its trials and succeed as its chosen hero.” Uther pronounced, laying a heavy hand on Lorraine’s shoulder. “And come back alive.”

Lorraine looked up at Uther, ensconced in twilight glow. Behind him, the relief of The Majestic Spirit rippled in luminescence.

“I will return.”