Stepping Stones

[Jabberwocky]

Durhak Castle was a relatively quite place most days, but today Whursun seemed to be the only other life to be found. He sat in his room, scribbling a letter for Morwynne Sorrok Sulo, of the Skarian Nations. Just as he finished his signature with a flourish the door opened.

"Hello, Morval," Whursun said as he folded the letter, stuck it into an envelope and sealed it with red wax.

"Sir," Morval said and bowed before taking the envelope and putting it in his bag.

"The horses are waiting for you outside. The plan is simple. Travel around the mountains, then head for the forest south of the Danagar Plains. Then head west for Jarsad Ulad, where you'll be escorted to Zar-Nah Elt."

Morval turned and left with a bow. He dashed down the stairs, his leather shoes making slapping sounds on the stone. He stepped outside and was greeted by the scent of fresh air that was just barely tainted with the smell of horse dung.

The four body guards turned to him and bowed. All had sheathed Falcatas, but the two that would lead had lances and the two that would bring up the rear held halberds.

One of the leading guards tossed Morval a Falcata after they had all saddled up.

"Might not look good if I go into their village armed," the ambassador commented.

"Better than showing up dead, sir," the guard replied.

On that note, they departed for the village of Jarsad Ulad, and, ultimately, Zar-Nah Elt.

[Storm]

The Oracle had followed the Werewolves for night and day since they'd entered the territories of the Skarian Nations. As the winds blew and the sky howled, the Oracle had tracked them, over rock and shale, grass and dirt, hill and flatlands. Yet she was not tired. For the spirit of Skar drove her onwards, drove her to complete the will of the Morwynne she served so thoroughly, as part of her ultimate dedication to Skar. For was she not the will of the Morwynne in human form? The small, golden, gilt mask that covered her face so little and yet managed to shield so much hadn't blocked the eyesight of the Oracle to see these new, feral beasts that entered the territories of the Skarian Nations. Yet were they really so feral and bestial? Intelligent beasts, these were, not mere dumb beasts with the ability to lope and speak. Valuable allies, they would be, if the Oracle's guesses as to what they'd come for was true.

As she stood outside the gates of Zar-Nah Elt, the great, golden gates rising up out of the early morning mist behind like some sort of phantasmal guardians, the taste of the damp morning air upon her tongue something the Oracle chose to ignore, rather than savour. She'd reached the city before the werewolf entourage had, and now led them to the Morwynne. Sorrok Sulo, the robes of his position flowing in the morning air, had proceeded to come down to the gates of the cities, the adjoining streets cordoned off. The main street to the palace now lay clear, but for the Morwynne and the other members of the High Council. And, of course, the Oracle. The mist wreathed the Palace ahead like a spectral cloak, it's grey tendrils embracing it softly with it's wet, cool, fingers. Yet the rising sun was beginning to pierce it, it's light reverberating from the sea and casting light upon the city. Yet the scenery and climate were nothing to the Morwynne.

As he stepped forwards, his cloak moving softly upon the clean, tiled main street of Zar-Nah Elt, his neatly trimmed beard combed into a clean arrangement, he stared ahead at what he believed to be the leader of these new Werewolves that came to Zar-Nah Elt. If what he and the Oracle suspected was true, he was pleased; these Werewolves weren't so bad a sorts. Skar didn't reject the idea of the more bestial of sentient beings, and so Werewolves fell under this category. Indeed, in the Skarian Holy Texts, Goblins, Werewolves, Giants and a number of other ethnic groups were mentioned and not criticised. Therefore, they were fine to pass through the gates of Zar-Nah Elt. "Welcome, to our city of Zar-Nah Elt." The voice of the Morwynne was calm, reflective and yet deep, as befitted a man of his size and stature. "If you'd care to follow, to the Palace." The High Council turned, and departed, following the Morwynne. Yet the Oracle waited, to guide the Werewolves should they need it.

[Jabberwocky]

Despite the beatuy of the glorious city of Zar-Nah Elt, the werewolves were not viewing the thousands of different colors with their eyes, but smelling the thousands of different scents with their noses. Everything they smelt was memorized and by the time they entered the Palace they could detect the native flowers from a mile away.

The five wolfmen followed the assembly through the palace, up several flights of stairs, and into a medium-sized chamber. The two halberd-wielding werewolves stood by the door, with the end of their weapon's pole resting lightly on the ground and their expressions just as rested. The lance holders put their weapons aside but stood at either end of Morval.

Morval quickly realized that he and his four companions had been provided shelter and accomodations, while they had so far returned nothing. He approached the Morwynne with a bow and said, "Sir, I present you with three gifts on behalf of my people." Here he drew his Falcata and it's sheath, saying, "This is a weapon used by my people. I give this to you to show that your people and mine are truly bonded with this alliance." Next, Morval took out a golden torc, similar to the one worn by the alpha male. "This," he said, "is the type of neckalace worn by my people's ruler. It may show that you and he hold equal status." Finally, the ambassador took out the letter given to him by Whursun. "This is a letter from Whursun, my people's ruler. I do not know the contents of it, but my Whursun does and soon you will. You two will be the only ones to lay eyes on the writing. This is to further show that you and he are equals."

"Do you accept these gifts from my people?"

[Storm]

The Oracle stepped forward before the Morwynne, the Morwynne deigning only to speak through his Oracle for the time being. The vast, vaulted chamber was decorated with various designs and mosaics detailing Skarian history from the earliest recordings of it, and the myths that preceded the recorded history. The elegant chandeliers, models and various decorations in the room gave a display of opulence, beauty and financial riches. The Oracle's pale skin gleamed in the light that was beginning to creep in through the large, wonderfully wrought windows, the view of the sea beyond and the harbour down below casting an impressive sight. Indeed, the chamber had been chosen to show ambassadors or visiting dignitaries the true splendour of the Skarian Nations, and it didn't fail to impress. It did it's duty well, and so was a valuable asset, in the opinion of the various Morwynne's of both past and present.

The Oracle wore a small costume of wrought gold and fabric, as befitted her position, her limbs bare and pale in the moonlight. Golden, fabric padded lingerie linked together by various strands of fabric between, caressing the Oracle's stomach like the soft fingers of the mist outside were all that the beautiful woman who did her duty for the Skarian Nations wore, yet she had no need to fear of envious or lustful glances from the men of the Skarian Nations; such a glance would be punishable even by death, and were she to be assaulted, killed or raped the punishment for those involved would show the others in the Skarian Nations that they really didn't want to do it. No, the Oracle was perfectly safe. Her voice was calm, soft, mellifluous as she addressed the Werewolves, the Morwynne standing behind, his face impassive and calm as he gazed out of the window. "The Morwynne is well pleased with the gifts you bring, and gladly accepts them." Taking the proffered letter, she handed it to her master delicately, who took it without a word.

The Oracle waited, nearby, impassive, her hands resting against her sides as the Morwynne studied the letter carefully, a frown upon his face. As he finished and carefully folded it, slipping it inside his robes, he looked up. The Oracle stepped over, leaning in close, to receive what she was to say to these Werewolves, yet the Morwynne waved her away, much to the surprise of those in the room. The Morwynne would be speaking to them directly? These Werewolves were honoured indeed! The Morwynne generally only spoke to those of importance he knew well and trusted to a degree - for these relative strangers to be spoken to by the Morwynne was almost unprecedented. Skar had truly blessed them! Shielding her surprise, the Oracle stepped away as the Morwynne stepped forth. His dark, black eyes, as if they knew all, gazed at the Werewolves before him before he finally spoke.

His voice was deep and powerful, befitting of a man of his appearance and stature. His face was lined and yet strong, rugged yet strangely handsome, despite the flecks of grey that were beginning to show in his hair. He was around fifty years old, and his whole life had been in dedication to Skar - he'd had little time for other, menial, trivial things such as 'jokes', 'fun', or the much vaunted 'love'. This had led to a lack of sense of humour, and a serious, strong personality that was perfect for his position. Sorrok Sulo wasn't Morwynne of the Skarian Nations for nothing. Pacing slowly around the Werewolves, his hands clasped behind his back, Sulo never once averted his eyes from the Werewolf leader. "So." He began. The Werewolf leader would most likely have been briefed upon it. "The letter is welcome in a time like this. An offer of an Alliance, it would seem, is something many seem to be partaking in. The work of Skar, most obviously."

Sorrok Sulo had a strange effect of putting people on the edge, yet the Oracle considered these Werewolves, from her observations of them, to be made of sterner stuff. Her golden, small mask over her face shielded her own emotions, as did her composed features; she was good at that. Yet she did want an alliance with these Werewolves. However, her own personal opinion wasn't important. "I hold nothing against the Werewolves; indeed, I admire them somewhat." That surprised the Oracle; this was new. "I have the Goblin Imperium, under the Great Goblin Azzog, as my allies too; what, though, can the Werewolves offer me? Would you be prepared to serve and die for the cause, to give your life to defeat an enemy who's very existence is heresy to the Great Lord Skar?" The Morwynne raised one eyebrow. "For I know my nation, and the Goblin Imperium, despite their lack of religious feelings would. Can the Werewolves promise me that? Can the Werewolves promise us that they will stand by us even in the most dire of times in the storm that is soon to break?"

[Jabberwocky]

"As of now I can only give you my word. Although a wereolves' word is a very reliable thing, I don't think this is enough. If you give me six days then I will see to it that on the sixth day you will be pleased. If you are not, then I shall let you slit my throat with the very blade I have just given you." An idea had sprouted from Morval's mind and as he spoke it blossomed into a glorious scheme of epic proportions.

"Your words intrigue me. I will leave you now to begin your plot." With these words Sorrok Sulo and the High Council departed.

As soon as the door closed Morval went to work. He took a piece of parchment and a quil from his pack and began to write at lightning speed. Nearly a minute later he handed a folded letter to the lance-wielder to at his right. "Take this," he said," and go as fast as you can to Whursun. My life depends on it."

The guard nodded and sped out of the room, leaving Morval to wait. This was the part of the plan that Morval did not like for it depended on the actions of others.

***

Whursun retured to the the Durhak Castle with a boar slung over his shoulder, the blood looking like the boar's crimson tears staining his silk tunic. Upon approaching the entance Whursun found a werewolf standing outside the oak doors.

"Sir," he said, "I have an urgent letter from Morval".

Even without the man's words he would have seen how urgent the letter was with it's messy handwriting and lack of a proper envelope. Whursun skimmed the letter and then stuffed it in his pocket. "Get me the 50 nearest pack leaders. It's extremely urgent."

Luckily, the majority of packs were stationed in the mountains and along the western border. No more than half an hour later were 50 armlet-wearing wolves standing outside Durhak Castle.

"My men!" Whursun called from the top of the castle. "You all will be part of an urgent operation. All that I require is for you and all the men in your pack to march. You and your men will travel southward through various routes. To avoid as much attention as possible, we will travel in groups of ten. Each group will then be split in fourths so that they may travel in different routes. In this way it will take us only five days to reach our destinations. This place I speak of is the Skarian Nations, where we will march to the gates of Zar-Nah Elt. This will aid us in gaining aliance with them. You must keep to the north, not allowing and of their people to see you."

The crowd erupted into cheers but Whursun raised silenced them with a raise of his hand. "Bring your weapons and instruments, for we leave in an hour!"

***

Morval's five days were odd. Many people were curious about where he was going to every day with his three guards. He simply told them it would all be explained soon. However, what was even more unnerving was his sense of paranoia. Every time he travelled up it felt like they were being watched.

He entered the forest to the north of Zar-Nah Elt and was greeted by the sight of nearly five hundred werewolves. Pack leaders each had a horse, but what Whursun rode could only be described as a stallion. It's glossy black coat shone even with the limited light that filtered through the trees. It's muscles could be seen even when it wasn't moving.

"A fine stallion," Morval commented.

"Yours is being tended to about twenty meters into the forest," Whursun replied with a wink.

Slightly dazed, Morval navigated through the dense crowd and found that his own stallion, although not as glorious as Whursun's, stood in a small clearing. "Thank you for caring to him," Morval said to the men and hopped onto the bare-backed beast. The horse trotted back to the other wolves who were preparing for the march. Morval took his place ahead of the pack leaders but behind Whursun.

Each man had an instrument. Whursun held a fiddle, Morval clutched a flute, the entire row of pack leaders had bagpiped, with those and various other instruments mixed into the crowd. The first note came from the pack leaders, and with it they moved. Next, came in Morval with an airy and up-beat tune to keep the spirits up. Finally, Whursun demonstarted his amazing skill with the fiddle. The fifty-two instruments continued with their banter one hundred meters and then the rest of the men joined in. They played glorious songs as they marched. With the sounds that reminded them of their home the march seemed to only happen in a minute and soon the gates of Zar-Nah Elt could be seen over the horizon.

[Storm]

Many in Zar-Nah Elt would be, and, indeed, were impressed by this display by the Werewolves, yet those of the high council weren't particularly wowed; they had achieved their ranks through perseverance, dedication and work, and some small, cheap musical trick couldn't exactly amaze them in such a way. As they exited into the streets, the crowds lined up on either side behind the cordons set up by the priests who also served as a type of secret service, the Morwynne led, his brown robes scraping the pavement softly as he proceeded forwards, his head held regally high and his beard pointing at an almost diagonal angle so highly tilted was his head. Behind him proceeded the other members. The scouts had spoken of the approaching Werewolves, who'd left the previous day. And so, those in Zar-Nah Elt had received ample time with which to prepare.

Upon the walltops stood a priest with a large megaphone mounted upon it, and as he raised the golden metal to his lips, the sun beating down upon it, he cried: "Proceed forth only those ambassadorial members as have been here yesterday. Unless the Holy Decree of Skar has been passed over a nation and it's peoples by the Morwynne and the Morwynne alone, no horde, army or crowd that is not of a small and ambassadorial size shall be tolerated. This is how it has been, and shall always be." The man stepped down. The surrounding mountains that made the valley around Zar-Nah Elt provided a majestic backdrop to the city, and would have most likely caused amazement to the Werewolves upon entering. The afternoon sky was a bright, vibrant blue, the few pale clouds scudding across in an armada, before the large, dark peaks of the mountains around.

Throughout and around the city the small, little and carefully cared for trees grew, including the one beside the man upon the walls. The light, pinkish brown walls stood, stern and yet beautiful above the Werewolves. As the Morwynne stepped forwards, he and his council able to see the Werewolves through the gate, he frowned. So many Werewolves, and all here for the Alliance? He doubted they would attack, yet if they did they'd be able to repel and destroy them with relative ease. Zar-Nah Elt hadn't ever fallen at all during it's time, and it wasn't about to now. "Werewolves!" The Oracle cried, her voice echoing out and ricocheting around the walls, over the heads of the silent crowds. "The Morwynne accepts your offer of alliance, and bids you forth to finalise it in the numbers mentioned!" As her words finished, all else amongst the Skarians was silent.

[Jabberwocky]

Whursun, Morval, and Morval's three guards advanced through the city where they met up with the High Council and the Morwynne. The werewolf party bowed in unison at the Morwynne and when Whursun came up he got a good look at Sorrok Sulo.

It struck Whursun just how different the two of them were. There was him, who likely grew up in this gleaming city. He looked very royal and important in his spotless robes with his neatly cut beard. Then there was Whursun, who grew up in a small fishing village, and then in the rugged mountains. He looked nearly no different than the men around him in an olive green shirt and rather unruly beard and moustache combonation. The only difference was his torq, which even then only werewolves would recognize.

However, there was something about them, an aura they gave off or maybe the way they held themselves, that established them both as the leaders of their respective people.

"A pleasure to meet you Morwyne Surrok Sulo," Whursun said with a large smile that exposed his sharper than usual teeth.

[Storm]

The Werewolves had proceeded, as instructed, and as they approached the High Council the Morwynne took the time to look over the Werewolves once more; two stood at the front, most obviously the leaders, the torque's showing this. The pleasantries were exchanged between the two, as the Morwynne stood still and allowed his Oracle to greet the Werewolves in turn. "The Morwynne is honoured to meet you too. He also wishes to speak with you himself, regarding the alliance proposed on your last visit..." The Oracle's pause showed her surprise, and a very inkling of displeasure at this, yet who was she to question the voice of Skar? The Morwynne didn't even acknowledge the Oracle as he gazed over the Werewolves before him, in a cool appraisal that put so many on the spot. They needed allies for this coming time, that much was certain. To break the Banti Warlords, they wanted as little casualties as possible. "Your offer is accepted." There was no further peremptory, no beating around the bush. Merely that from the Morwynne, who continued to gaze over the Werewolves.