WOR: LIS. Chapter 1. 1,140 words.

The full title is World Of Reckoning: Little Iron Soldiers for the record. I hit the word count in the title.

Please note that all of the footnotes are comments in my word document that I plan to put at the bottom of each page if I ever publish this work, having to constantly scroll back up and down is annoying I understand, but please remember that these footnotes are me trying to add more to the world. Without further delay. Please read on and enjoy.

         The following is a retelling of a soldiers journal from the Trying Times.
As scribed, re-written, and noted by the Trainee Scholar Tarcun, Son of None.

*1

1: On Duty
         “Can’t a man just take a piss?!” Tannar, the eldest of the little Guard troop, shouts at two of the younger member, for being a stumpy angry old man with more hair of his chin than his head, eyes that make gravel look bright, and enough pox scares that would make people call every plague doctors for miles. His thick square-ish (and remember stumpy) body has more hours of genuine battle experience pounded into it over the years than the rest of the Guard troop has ever had in training.

         “Make sure your cock doesn’t catch of the zipper!” One of the two offending pranksters calls back. The unmistakeable high pitch squeak of Nareria throwing the reply back to the elder Guardsmen. The second youngster is one of the newer Guards, a bastard for the last war or some-such.†2

         “You fucking little bitch!” The soft sound of crunching snow echoing in the distance, alongside the shouting back and forth.


         “What do you think that is?” Simon asks Boara*3, who are sitting opposite each other in the mocked together mess hall of their small Guard camp on the edge of the continent.†4Cigarra smoke hangs in the roof and the smell of burnt porridge wafts from the bowls of muck that served as the men’s food.

         “Probably the young ones pulling various amounts of fuckery to mess with the old bastard.” Boara, a veteran himself of the extended Guard of the empire, with shades of grey creeping into his hair from the temples, spotting his otherwise jet black neck length hair. His hair caught somewhere between well kept and scruffy, the same comes for his beard. Thick in the shoulder and arms, well suited and versed for the Song of Steel, if a more brutal and less flashy form than the nobles are taught for their tournaments.


         “Not everyday you get to ‘celebrate’ a Night.” Simon, joined at the hip to Boara since they were boys. They grew up together, scrapped together with other children in the village, enlisted together, survived the gruelling training together, celebrated and spent the night whoring*5 upon their ascension in the rank and file of the military, surviving The War of Three together against all odds, as well as all the pillaging and death that comes with war. The eventually retire after the long 6 year struggle and receive honorary posts in the Guardsmen.

         Now they sit here in a mess tent and eat what is supposed to taste like honeid oats, but is more like wet, milky, grub that doesn’t taste of anything at all.

         Simon is slightly shorter than Boara, maybe a head or two below him, but of the two, Simon has busted more heads in fights and has swept Boara onto his back in more than one sparring session†6Also possessing a build that’s more lean than bulky like Boara, which compliments his shorter form with his own unique fighting habits.


         “You remember the first time we saw the Night?” Simon takes a drag from his Cigarra* 7before mopping some of the muck from his bowl into his maw.

         “Hard to forget it.” Boara sniffs and wipes his dripping nose with his sleeve, the wetness of previous wipes prompting him to switch wrists,
“It’s not everyday the world goes dark on your birthday.”

         “Hard to think you’re already three tens and three.” To Simon this is a jab at an aging complex Boara has, as people generally think that he’s sometimes a decade older than he actually is.

         “Hard to believe I beat you first dance in the sheets by six rotations.” A swift kick under the table to his shin from Simon, even with his leather greaves on Boara felt blow.

         “It’s not on me that you were the talkative one of us two.” Boara chuckles while rubbing his shin.

         “Not my fault you weren’t liberal with your coins.” Another kick.

         “You’re an ass sometimes Boara.” More chuckles from his throat.

         “And you’re too sensible sometimes.” Both men share a laugh before a soft chiming reaches their ears.

         The men leap to their feet at the same time, sending the chairs they had been sitting on sprawling backwards, some of the other men and women jumping up with the same vigour, other looking around in confusion.

         “Grab your weapons and partners†8 foddar, that’s the mountain alarm sounding!” When Boara or Simon speak, people jump. A great scramble across tables and seats erupts, bowls spilling from tables and the thumping of many boots across the beaten icy ground.


*9

         Boara and Simon lead the group from the mess hall to the agreed rally point if this particular alarm sounded, worst come to worst, great horrors are rolling over the mountains, haste is needed.

         Tannar meets the men, along with the two pranksters from earlier, both with noticeable redness around the eyes, but both wear the grim look of warriors waiting and ready for battle.

         “What you boys think that is?” Tannar to Simon and Boara.

         “Could be some Silvani refugees trying to skirt the Blockade.”

         “Could be those childhood horror’s we’ve heard so much about.”

         Both my answer at the same time, yet Tannar deciphers the two responses.

         “Steel your hearts and ready your blades my fellows.” Tannar shouts to those jogging behind the three bigger and more experience men.

         The lookout that has sight of the furthest outpost beyond the Blockade comes into sight as a man trips and falls down the bottom step, the man ahead of him doesn’t look back as he runs with all his being towards the oncoming Guardsmen, a whole 52 in number. This is the edge of the continent after all, no defence needed against anyone of any import (As the nobles would like you to think)*10The look on the scouts face would tell stories for many nights, the colour had drained from his features and his jaw hang open. Slackened due to shock.

         “What’s the word?” Boara asks as the group reaches the man, Tannar and Simon ushering the remainder of the group to the small lookout.

         “The lights †11 say that.. that...”

         “Take a breath. Then explain.” Boara bends the man up straight so he can breath properly.

         After a few breaths the scout regains himself.

         “The signal reads, “Open the gates, we retreat from the Unknown.” A look that ranges from confusion to realisation to subtle terror runs over Boara’s face, and with a grim edge on he voice he shouts to Tannar and Simon, and hell, anyone who’d listen.

         “Pray to your gods and write your wills! A fight with nightmares approaches!”‡12

Footnotes
1  * Please do note that the majority of the journal is missing, torn from the spine, the remainder is coated in blood, I will try my best none the less.
2  †No name was given in the journal.
3  * Boara is the solider in question who owned this journal.
4  † The continent in question is the land of Almora, carved for the skull of the last titan, overlooked by the Eight gods. Please look to the back of the book for a map of the ruling kingdoms.
5  * One assumes not in the same bed, but one doesn’t wish to comment on the playing of the now dead.
6  † A tally was found on the final page of the journal.
B: 31W 32L
S: 32W 31L
T: 77W 2L
7  * A sweet candy like sheet called Sweetpaper is wrapped around various breeds of weeds and herbs. Some have psychedelic effects, other simply calming the nerves and causing ever so slightly dizziness and tingling in the fingers.
8  † A new system introduced shortly after the War of Three. A permanent buddy system in the Guard, you spend your service with your partner, whether you liked them or not.
9  * From this point on this writing is a collection of what Inquisitors could deduce from the remains and what the survivors remember happening, with some added flare so you don’t fall asleep.
10  * This is my own thought’s with my learning of the histories of the nation. Given the legends and very very old accounts of what’s beyond the mountains in consideration.
11  † Universal signal system using lanterns, the decoding signal of which changes every few months so that no enemy nation can decipher the messages meaning, the Guards on the border have a constant system however.
I’m sure there are some nobles aware of how stupid this system is in practice, relaying messages from the border to the Greater Cities.
12  ‡ The Senior Scholars always said if I have a talent it’d be a feeling for the dramatic.