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The Last War is Over. One Warforged must now adapt to this new world that is Eberron. |
| Prologue: Thronehold.... It was a place not many of them had ever been to or even seen. For most, it was merely ink on paper, letters on a map. But for those Warforged who survived the Last War, 'Thronehold' was about to have great meaning, as more ink letters on yet more paper were about to change their lives forever.... Chapter One: ...Freedom? “ - And thus as agreed upon and signed by the heads of the Five Nations, the Last War is over.” Rend was a relatively young Warforged. He'd only come out of a House Cannith forge three years before this day. In face, were he human (or elven, or gnomish or dwarven or anything but a Warforged) some might say it was his birthday. But 'birthday' was a word that meant nothing to Rend, as the words the grandly-dressed man before him was saying meant nothing. He'd been ordered to come out to the practice grounds outside their camp, one belonging to a large unit of Brelish infantry to which his own 'Forged unit was attached to, and Rend obeyed what his commanders told him. It was a fact that had been made perfectly clear to him on his initial 'birthday': Good soldiers obeyed their commanders without question, and good soldiers were praised. Praise, the Warforge's only reward. But these meaningless words... they were not orders. Rend knew the tone of orders. They were blunt, to the point, containing a stated goal and a time to achieve it. This man, however, had been talking for an hour, reading from several scrolls all filled with meaningless words. But Rend had been ordered to stand and listen, and Rend was a very good soldier. “In regards to the Warforged who were – ahem – bought to fight in the armies of the Five Nations - “ Aha! Here were the orders! Rend listened intently. “ - they are all decreed to be a race unto themselves, and are now a free people.” The man went on for another half an hour, talking of boundaries and land and rulers, but Rend, for all his obedience, barely heard him. The orders he'd been listening for... where were they? Had he missed them? The commanders will know, Rend thought, falling back to his old stand-by when he was confused. I will listen to this man, and then they will give me my orders. At last the man rolled up the final scroll, stopped talking, and rode off on the horse he'd been speaking from. And the Warforged stood there. Hours passed. And they still stood there. No commanders came. The sun began to set. Some of those with previous, routine duties, such as polishing weapons or tending to the animals, moved off as their appointed times rolled around. But Rend was a fighter, and his only other occasional duty was to stand guard. But he had no standing orders as where his post was. So he, and many others, stood there. Night fell, passed, the sun rose and set, and night again fell and passed. It rained, a steady downpour that pattered off their adamantine bodies. But adamantine couldn't rust. That would've given them reason to move, to protect their gear as many human soldiers would've done. But as they couldn't, they just stood there. And waited.... |
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