… Gerald stands before the king as they enter Gerald's household in the ever prospering Geraldor Kingdom. "The seasons have brought you good fortune since my reign began, Lord Gerald, have they not?" King Zor called stoically. "The blood of my ancestors, the courage of my Fathers sword, and the wits of my wife' may lay contributions to my wealth," Gerald thinks to himself. Indeed, your majesty. You have been generous to me," Gerald responded in kind, masking his thoughts behind a measured tone. King Zor stares piercingly at Gerald, being met with a stone calloused look. He pauses for what seems like passing hours. "Taxes have been collected I assume?" says the king, breaking eye contact. Gerald merely scowled before blinking. "Collected, your majesty? With due reverence, I have rendered my taxes. My forebear paid ample tribute for our kin. By my own toil and with my lady fair, I have risen to my station." Gerald says in a bass ridden tone. King Zor responds before Gerald can finish. "Thou hast wrought wondrous deeds in thine endeavors. Hail from the lineage of the valiant and the wisdom of the learned. I yearn to hear thy counsel on matters of rule." Gerald calmly replies "Apologies my lord, 'what?" "Speak to me in the common tongue. You possess the honor that aligns with my aspirations. I beseech THEE. I am not asking for sacrifices but the joining of my esteemed counsel Lord Kragge." "Aye." replies Gerald "With the counsel of my wife, I'll have word by morning" Geraldor obliviously interrupts the conversation by dragging an oak chair across the stone floor. "Father," he began, but stopped short, noticing the unfamiliar figure. "Forgive my intrusion." He bowed his head respectfully. King Zor, his gaze softening, smiled. "No intrusion at all, young Geraldor. Come closer." The king kneels to look at the boy as he draws a dagger adorned with Gemstones, wrought of the finest diamond stone. "This, young man," Zor said, his voice a low rumble, "is for you. A token of friendship for the son of a great man. Maybe in due time, 'The Knight of Zalbus.'" The boy very kindly rejects, "Just to be a man of my father's gesture your majesty." The king chuckles, "A valiant young Squire, truly. Accept this as a token of our noble Camaraderie." Geraldor gently takes the dagger from the king before standing aside his father. "Tomorrow by midday Lord Gerald. Looking forward to meeting you in my encampment chambers." Gestures the king before leaving. As the king's retinue disappeared down the winding road, Gerald turned to find his son watching him, questions in his eyes. "To my study," he said quietly. "There is much to discuss." Geraldor tugged at Gerald as he shut the door behind his father. "Are we really going to the kings chambers tomorrow?" " the tomes of conflict, state craft, and the tome concerning the art of war and governance. Place the dagger on the table in the hall of Tomes. Then meet me downstairs. Understood?" Gerald demanded merely shoving Geraldor into acceleration. Following up with, "Tread lightly with the sagacity thou hast not garnered." A space of several minutes passed before Sandora abruptly enters the Gerald Household merely panicked and faint of breath. The door of the study creaked shut, sealing the three of them inside. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, doing little to thaw the tension hanging in the air. Gerald, sat heavily behind his mahogany desk, his face etched with a gravity that didn't suit its usual jovial nature. Sandora, paced before the fire, the silk of her gown whispering anxieties against the rich tapestry. Geraldor, perched on the edge of the plush armchair, his brow furrowed in youthful confusion. Sandora: "Gerald fucking Kragge. You will not enter the grasp of this monster!" Gerald: "Sandora fucking Kragge. What choice do I have?" Sandora: "Sandora Sycilara if you do not choose wisely." Gerald stands speechless, unsure if his wife understands the situation. "So, tell me again," Sandora began, her voice tight. "Tell me again why the King has decided now to summon you to his council. After all these years, Gerald?" Gerald sighed, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. "The King needs experienced advisors, Sandora. He wants men he trusts, men he knows." "Trusts?" Sandora stopped pacing, fixing Gerald with a steely gaze. "Or men he wants to control? Geraldor Kingdom is prosperous, Gerald. You're well-loved. You have influence here. He wants that influence in his court." Geraldor, finally unable to contain his curiosity, spoke up. "Father, what's the King's Council? Is it like a big meeting with everyone wearing crowns?" Gerald forced a smile for his son. "Something like that, Geraldor. Important people getting together to help the King make wise decisions." "But won't you be here to help make wise decisions for our kingdom?" Geraldor asked, tilting his head. "That's the point, Geraldor," Sandora said sharply, turning to him. "Your father would be leaving us to help the King's decisions. And that means he wouldn't be here with us.” Gerald leaned forward. "Sandora, please. Don't frighten the boy. It's a great honor. A responsibility I can’t shirk." "Honor?" Sandora scoffed. "What honor is there in leaving your family, your kingdom, for the whims of a capricious king? We need you here, Gerald!" "I have a capable wife, Sandora. You are more than capable of managing things in my absence." Sandora’s eyes flashed. "It isn't about capability, Gerald! It's about not wanting you to go! I have a premonition... a bad feeling about this. The King’s court is a viper's nest, Gerald. Full of ambition and deceit. I fear for you." Gerald stood up, his voice firm. "I appreciate your concern, my dear, but my mind is made up. I cannot refuse the King's summons. It would be seen as treason. Besides," he softened his tone, reaching for her hand, "I have the experience and the strength of character to navigate any courtly intrigue. I will be fine." He turned to Geraldor, kneeling beside him. "Geraldor, I need you to be brave and strong while I am gone. Look after your mother. Learn everything you can. Be the man you were meant to be.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. "I’ll be back before you know it." Geraldor, though still apprehensive, nodded solemnly. "I will, Father. I promise." Sandora closed her eyes, resigned. “And when will you leave?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “First light tomorrow. I must speak with the King face-to-face. Explaining my wife will rule my kingdom in my absence. And to ensure everything is in order.” The fire crackled again, filling the silence. Sandora opened her eyes, her gaze meeting Gerald’s. A single tear traced a path down her cheek. “Be careful, Gerald. Please, be very careful.” Gerald squeezed her hand before releasing it. “I will. I’ll return to you both as soon as I can.” The study fell silent as Gerald rose from his chair. "I must accept King Zor's invitation," he declared, his words hanging heavy in the air. Sandora's fingers tightened around her armrests, but she held her tongue. They both knew what this meant - their peaceful days in Geraldor Kingdom were numbered. …
… The Three Regions Castle stood at the crossroads of power - east of Tilipher Castle in the western realm, south of Lancaster City in the east, northwest of the Geraldor Kingdom in the south, and north of the City of Ephinron. Its ancient stones had witnessed countless plots, and today would be no different. The King's Council chamber felt like a trap disguised as an honor. Gerald knew each face around the long, polished table - men whose reputations preceded them like shadows at dusk. Lord Fisch, the gruff master of the royal navy, who smelled perpetually of salt and authority. Lord Pash, the son of a great knight and a battle-scarred general whose eyes had seen too much death to trust easily. Lord Warrick, son of a wealthy nobleman whose fingers could count coins as readily as they could sign death warrants. Ser Kreel, the Kings Guard commander, stone-faced and calculating. Lord Gann, has a web of spies at his command, whose whispered words carried more weight than shouted commands. And Lord Drell, whose smile never reached his eyes, known for his cruelty and being the son of the executioner. The heavy oak door creaked open, Gerald stepped into the King's Counsel chambers and the door shut behind him like a closing tomb. Tapestries depicting legendary battles adorned the walls, and the air hung thick with the scent of beeswax and old parchment. A long, polished table dominated the room, around which sat the advisors, their faces a mixture of curiosity and calculation. Gerald: (Bowing respectfully) My lords. I thank you for granting me this audience. Ser Kreel: (His voice like gravel, eyes scrutinizing Gerald) Lord Gerald. Son of The Great Geraldor and grandson to Geraldor The Legend. We know your lineage. Lord Gann: (A sly smile playing on his lips) We know… a great many things. Gerald: (Trying to maintain his composure) As I hope to demonstrate, I aspire to be worthy of my father’s name. I have come to offer my… service to the King. Lord Warrick: (Leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled) Service, you say? We have no shortage of willing hands eager for royal favor. What makes your service… unique, Lord Gerald? Gerald: I possess a considerable understanding of strategy and logistics, inherited, in part, from my father. Furthermore, my estates are prosperous, and I am well-connected throughout the realm. I believe I can be an asset to the Crown in matters of both defense and commerce. Lord Fisch: (Scoffs, smelling faintly of brine and seaweed) Strategy and logistics, eh? Landlubber strategies, most like. Have you ever battled the sea, lad? Wrestled with a storm, mended a net torn by a kraken’s claw? The sea, that's true strategy. Gerald: (Meeting Fisch's gaze steadily) While I respect the challenges the sea presents, Lord Fisch, my experience lies primarily on land. Make no mistake, I have a fleet at my command but I understand the movement of armies, the supply lines necessary for prolonged campaigns, and the intricacies of fortification. Lord Pash: (A stern-faced man with a battle-scarred jaw) Fortifications mean little if you lack the will to defend them. Have you ever faced death on the field, Lord Gerald? Felt the sting of steel and the fear of oblivion? Gerald: I have not seen the same level of combat as yourself, Lord Pash. But I have commanded men in skirmishes and suppressed minor uprisings. I understand the weight of command. Lord Drell: (A thin, unsettling smile spreading across his face) Suppression, you say? Are you… thorough in your suppression? Are you willing to do what is necessary to maintain order? Gerald felt a chill run down his spine. Drell's eyes held a disturbing glint. Gerald: I believe in justice, Lord Drell. Order must be maintained, yes, but with fairness and within the bounds of the law. Lord Drell: (Chuckles softly) How… charming. The law is a tool, Lord Gerald. To be used as needed. Lord Gann: (Interrupting, his eyes darting between Gerald and Drell) Let's not delve into hypotheticals just yet. Lord Gerald, tell me… what do you know of the King's recent troubles with the northern lords? Gerald: I understand there is unrest regarding the new grain shortage. I believe a more equitable solution can be found, one that benefits both the Crown and the northerners. Lord Warrick: (Raises an eyebrow) Equity, eh? And how do you propose to achieve this… equity without diminishing the King’s coffers? Gerald: By exploring alternative revenue streams, streamlining existing trade routes, scheduling meetings with other countries such as Aetherscale, Nefaria, and Khyronia, and ensuring the efficient collection of existing taxes. Ser Kreel: (Nodding slowly) Ambitious. Lord Gerald, you speak well. But talk is cheap. Prove your worth, and perhaps then the King will hear your counsel. The meeting was clearly at an end. Gerald bowed again, feeling the weight of their combined scrutiny. Gerald: I understand, my lords. I will endeavor to prove my worth. As Gerald turned to leave, Lord Gann's voice followed him. Lord Gann: (Quietly, almost conspiratorially) We will be watching, Lord Gerald. Very closely. After the council meeting, Gerald's appointed chambers offered little comfort. The stone walls seemed to listen, and the shadows held secrets. When King Zor appeared, it wasn't entirely unexpected - Gerald had sensed the currents of power shifting beneath the formal proceedings. …
… "Rumors of the ten remain. And if they shall come, we shall meet them at the gates." Whispers Sandora to Geraldor. "Torvald, Ingolf, Steinar, Gudmund, Randolf, Solveig, Ingvild, Bacchus Falco, Zhimona Thora, and Asar Atum. Father would tell me stories of 'the fallen 10' when I was younger. How seven heathen savages from Nefaria became appointed knights then turned rogue after the betrayal of their king. By chance and unbidden, three unique companions joined their perilous journey. I still remember the words father spoke to me during the stories. Describing them as myths or legends. And the adventures told of them by others. If the stories hold true, shall we fear meeting them mother?" Geraldor whispers back. "We only fear that the stories hold no truth." Responded Sandora as they make their way through the kingdom in the mid of night. Sandora and Geraldor are stopped by Usorin and Evangeline before exiting the gates. "Word from Torvald, my lady. 'Outside of your kingdom, you will be met before an encampment residing in the Geraldor Grove.' By mid-night, my lady.'" Usorin states as swift as Sandora responds, "Didn't take them for typical mercenaries. Though I respect they have kept word quiet." She looks to Evangeline giving her a nod. "Usorin, a signal will be sent if talks end poorly. Onto the 10 Geraldor." Sandora smiles as she grasps her boy, wrapping her arm through his as they continue through the gates. The wind whipped around Sandora's cloak as she march with Geraldor. The looming castle gates and towers disappearing behind them, carrying with them the smell of woodsmoke and steel. As they walk further into the night toward the Geraldor Grove, she stumbles upon a perfectly round stone. She stopped to pick it up, "The stone feels cold and ancient beneath my gloved hands." she thought, looking at Geraldor. "Ancient." Her heart hammered in her chest as they approached the grove. A frantic drumbeat against the unsettling silence that preceded any major confrontation. Before them, a temporary home of the most dangerous mercenary company in Zalbus. "Finally, the encampment hidden in the shadows of ancient pines outside of our castle, haha, strange." Geraldor thought with fear and excitement. The wind howled around The Fallen Ten's encampment. Sandora, cloaked and anxious, stood beside her son. He fidgeted, his youthful face a mask of apprehension. His face pale in the moonlight squeezing his mother's hand, he was still her boy, and still learning to hide his fear. "Mother," he whispered, "father wouldn't want us here. We're exposed, vulnerable. Outside our kingdom's walls..." "Your father wouldn't want us sitting idle while he walks into a viper's nest either. We're safe my sweet boy." Sandora squeezed his hand, though whether to reassure him or herself, she wasn't sure. The weight of her decision pressed down on her like a physical thing. Hiring the Fallen Ten wasn't just expensive - it was dangerous. They were loyal only to coin, and their reputation was built on blood and the sorrows of betrayal. But they were also the best. Movement flickered at the edge of her vision. She straightened, her eyes fixed on the shadowy figures that began to emerge from the archway. Where moments before there had been only shadows and silence, now ten figures emerged, materializing from the darkness like spirits from an ancient tale. Their leader, Torvald, a man carved from granite and grim determination, stepped forward. Scars mapped his face like rivers across weathered stone, and his eyes held the cold calculation of a man who'd survived a thousand battles by trusting no one. …