Chapter 23.1: The Journey Towards the Capital City of Aethelgard - Where Giants Die
Personal System Calendar: Year 0009, Days 1-14 Month VIII: The Imperium
Imperial Calendar: Year 6854, 8th month, 1st to 14th Day
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First Few Days
On the first day of their journey, the expedition covered an impressive distance. The Dragonguard maintained strict adherence to their march schedule, and when they decided to move for a full day, they did precisely that. Rest breaks were minimal and tactical, timed to maintain the war beasts' stamina rather than accommodate human comfort.
Once they reached the Imperial Highway, the pace became even more relentless. The road was relatively safe, and smoothly maintained by the Empire and patrolled regularly (once a month). The greatest dangers came not from organized threats but from foolish opportunists who failed to recognize what they were facing.
They encountered highway robbers on three separate occasions during the first two days. These bandits were either spectacularly stupid or possessed such poor eyesight that they could not distinguish Imperial colors from ordinary travelers. Perhaps desperation had driven them beyond rational thought, or maybe they simply believed their numbers would overwhelm any target.
The Dragonguard did not even slow their march. Before the bandits could deliver their rehearsed threats and demands, they were already being trampled by the massive war beasts. Some were pierced by spears, their bodies lifted into the air before being cast aside. Others were sliced cleanly in half by the devastating sweeps of their massive enchanted blades.
The encounters were over almost before they began, the expedition continuing forward without pause while the highway behind them was painted with blood and littered with corpses. It was brutal efficiency, the kind that came from warriors who had performed such actions thousands of times.
Beast attacks occurred occasionally as well, creatures drawn by the scent of the war mounts or simply territorial predators that viewed the column as intruders. These were dispatched with equal efficiency. A Commander ranked Category V Forest Stalker that attempted an ambush was brought down by coordinated spear thrusts before it could close to melee range. A pack of Razorback Boars, relatives of the Boarats species also wild and aggressive, scattered after the lead male was killed by a single precisely placed heavy crossbow bolt.
To those unfamiliar with violence, the casual brutality might have been shocking. But August and his team were different. They might appear young in the eyes of these veteran warriors, some of whom had lived for centuries, but blood had already stained their hands. They had killed beasts and, when necessary, humans who threatened innocents.
The difference was that they did not kill without reason or remorse. Each life taken weighed on them, even when the killing was justified. The Dragonguard seemed to have moved beyond such concerns, their centuries of service creating emotional calluses that allowed them to kill without hesitation or regret.
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Shared Tales
The journey during those first few days proceeded smoothly despite the occasional violent interruptions. During meal breaks and the brief rest periods allowed for the war beasts, the expedition members shared stories and began building camaraderie.
The members of August's group, particularly Erik, Adam, and Milo, were fascinated by the Dragonguard's tales. These ancient warriors had participated in battles and campaigns that had become legends, their personal experiences forming the historical foundation that scholars studied both within and outside the empire.
One evening, as they made camp beside the highway, a Dragonguard warrior named Titan shared a story from the Imperial Unification Wars, the series of conflicts that had established the Empire's dominance over the central subcontinent nearly three centuries prior.
"I was young then,"Tiberius Draconis said, though "young" for him meant over fifty years old. "Barely qualified for the Dragonguard, assigned to the outer perimeter of a battle formation. We were facing the Coalition of Free Cities, an alliance of merchant republics who believed their wealth and mercenary armies could resist Imperial expansion."
He paused to take a drink from his canteen before continuing. "They learned differently. Their mercenaries fought for coin, not conviction. When the battle turned against them, when casualties mounted and victory seemed impossible, the mercenaries simply withdrew. They had not been paid enough to die."
"But we fight for the Empire itself," another Dragonguard, a woman named Claudia Draconis, added. "For our brothers and sisters beside us, for the oaths we swore. Coin can buy soldiers, but it cannot buy loyalty."
Andy, listening carefully to these exchanges, recognized the subtle message being communicated. The Dragonguard were explaining, without directly stating it, why the Empire had succeeded where other powers had failed. It was not merely superior tactics or better equipment, though both helped. It was the unshakeable loyalty and cohesion that came from shared purpose and rigorous selection.
Master Ben contributed his own stories from a different perspective. He spoke of magical duels with rogue mages, of containing dimensional rifts before they could spawn catastrophic breaches, of the delicate balance required to wield tremendous power without being consumed by it.
Marcus Fernando proved surprisingly adept at keeping the younger members entertained with merchant tales, stories of impossible negotiations, of cargo that arrived damaged and had to be salvaged, of the intricate web of favors and relationships that made commerce function across vast distances.
They slept little during these days, perhaps four to five hours per night. The march resumed before dawn and continued until well after dark. The schedule was punishing for those unaccustomed to military discipline, but August's team had trained under similar conditions and adapted quickly.
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The Gentle Giants' Rest
On the fourth day of their journey, they arrived at a location marked on Imperial maps as "The Gentle Giants' Rest." Here stood a settlement that was technically classified as a town but functioned more as an Imperial garrison that had evolved into a permanent community.
The town was officially named "The Town of Bob," a designation that seemed almost absurdly simple for a location of such strategic and symbolic importance. But the name carried weight for those who understood its origin.
The settlement existed through a collaborative arrangement between the Kingdom of Ogind and the Empire. Where people gathered, business followed. And where business flourished, infrastructure developed. What had begun as a simple garrison had transformed over decades into a thriving community with markets, inns, craftsmen's workshops, and residential districts.
The location itself held profound historical and emotional significance. According to legends passed down through generations, this place served as the final resting site for the last of the Gentle Giants, the majestic beasts known as Mamowools.
Mamowools had been land creatures of enormous size, their massive bodies resembling mobile mountains when seen from a distance. They possessed large trunks, impressive tusks, prominent horns, and bodies that could reach truly staggering proportions. The largest recorded Mamowools stood nearly three hundred feet tall at the shoulder and weighed more than the largest ships that sailed the oceans.
Despite their size and power, Mamowools were peaceful and gentle by nature. They were herbivores, feeding on the vast grasslands and forests that covered the central continent in ancient times. They lived in harmony with humans, humanoids, and demi-humans, their presence considered a blessing by the communities fortunate enough to dwell near their migration routes.
But they had been hunted. Not by humans, who largely revered them, but by apex predators. Massive carnivorous beasts viewed Mamowools as the ultimate prey, creatures whose sheer size represented an irresistible challenge. Despite their gentleness, Mamowools could defend themselves when threatened, but they were not aggressive by nature and often fell to coordinated predator attacks.
Conservation efforts were implemented when people recognized the danger. Preservationist groups formed, dedicated to protecting the remaining Mamowools from predation and habitat loss. But it was not enough. The predators had apparently decided to eliminate the species entirely, perhaps recognizing that Mamowools competed for the same grazing lands, or perhaps driven by some instinctive imperative to destroy what they could not dominate.
One by one, the Gentle Giants fell. Despite desperate protection efforts, despite sanctuaries and guarded territories, the Mamowools died. Eventually, only a single male remained, the last of his entire species.
The story was told during their meal that evening by a Dragonguard warrior named Marduk Draconis, a veteran who had actually lived through that era, though he had been a child at the time.
"My family were preservationists," Marcus explained, his ancient eyes distant with memory. "We dedicated our lives to protecting the Mamowools. But we failed. The predators were relentless, coordinated in ways that suggested intelligence beyond what beasts should possess."
He fell silent for a moment before continuing. "The last male, a magnificent creature we called Bob, had no mate left. No companions of his kind. He was utterly alone, the final survivor of a species that had existed for millions of years."
"For decades, Bob wandered the central continent. Preservationists followed him, protected him as best we could. But we could not protect him from loneliness, from the knowledge that he was the last. When he finally reached the natural limits of his lifespan, after traveling for what must have been a thousand miles seeking others of his kind, he came to this place."
Marduk gestured around them at the landscape, the gentle rolling hills and open grasslands. "Here, Bob laid down for the final time. He died of old age, yes, but also of a broken heart. Alone and suffering in a cruel world that had destroyed everything he knew."
The younger members of August's group felt their hearts break hearing this tale. Angeline had tears streaming down her face, while Isabel openly wept. Even the usually stoic Adam appeared moved, his jaw clenched with emotion.
"The coalition of preservationists could not save the species," Marduk concluded. "But we saved Bob's memory. This place was named in his honor: The Gentle Giants' Rest. A reminder of what was lost, and a warning against allowing such loss to happen again."
The tale cast a melancholy mood over the evening camp, everyone contemplating the tragedy of an entire species erased from existence.
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Strategic Location
Beyond its symbolic significance, The Gentle Giants' Rest held considerable strategic importance. The location was now owned and administered by the Empire, though it existed within the territorial boundaries of the Kingdom of Ogind. This arrangement had been formalized through a treaty that publicly emphasized preservation and protection of the historic site.
In reality, the political significance was more complex. The Kingdom of Ogind had "gifted" this land to the Empire, creating an Imperial enclave within their territory. This allowed the Empire to station troops and maintain infrastructure deep within an allied kingdom's borders, ostensibly for the noble purpose of protecting a memorial site.
More pragmatically, it served as a military transport hub, one of the many between the Central and Western subcontinent's land masses. The location contained one of the Empire's precious portal waypoints, allowing rapid troop movement across vast distances. In any future conflict, the Empire could deploy forces directly into the heart of the central subcontinent within hours rather than weeks.
The Kingdom of Ogind's leadership understood this, of course. But as a close ally of the Empire, they viewed the arrangement as beneficial rather than threatening. The Imperial presence provided additional security for their region, and the economic activity generated by the garrison and portal traffic brought prosperity to the surrounding areas.
From The Gentle Giants' Rest, the expedition would portal-jump to another location on the far side of the central subcontinent, emerging in the western territories. Specifically, they would arrive at an Imperial garrison near Region 5 of the western subcontinent, an area administered by the Royal House of Perlah.
House Perlah was among the Empire's most reliable allies, their territory positioned strategically beside the Great River that divided the central and western subcontinents. This river served as a major transportation artery, with enormous volumes of trade goods flowing along its length. Control of regions adjacent to the Great River meant control of substantial economic activity and tax revenue.
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Arrival at the Town
As the expedition approached the gates of the Town of Bob, a long line of people waiting for entry stretched along the road. Merchants with wagon trains full of goods, travelers seeking the relative safety of an Imperial-controlled settlement, refugees from areas suffering beast incursions, all waited patiently for the guards to process them through the checkpoint.
But when the gate sentries spotted the expedition's banners, everything changed. A horn sounded, its distinctive pattern immediately recognizable to anyone with military experience. It signified that the Emperor's Dragonguard was approaching.
There were only a few reasons the Dragonguard might appear at this location. They might be using the portal for rapid transportation. They might be investigating some matter in the town requiring the Empire's most elite forces. Or they might be escorting someone of tremendous importance.
The acting lord of the Town of Bob was a man named Governor Lucius Varro, known throughout the region for his integrity and the discipline of his garrison. Under his administration, the town had become relatively peaceful even though the surrounding territories were not. It served as a safe haven for those seeking to live without constant fear of violence.
But this peace was not accidental or the result of passive good fortune. The Imperial soldiers stationed here were not typical regional forces. They had been pre-selected from units based in the Imperial Capital region itself, chosen for superior skill and reliability. They were more than capable of defending the portal facility against any potential threat, whether from hostile kingdoms or organized invader forces.
The town bustled with activity. Market stalls packed the main thoroughfare, merchants hawking their wares with practiced enthusiasm. Soldiers were constantly visible, their eyes scanning for anything suspicious. The security presence was substantial but not oppressive, professional rather than threatening.
The expedition did not join the line of people waiting for entry. The Dragonguard possessed special privileges, including direct access to portal facilities without the extensive security screening required for ordinary travelers.
The gate guards stepped aside immediately upon recognizing the banners and the distinctive armor of the Dragonguard. Grand Captain Commander Lex exchanged a few words with the senior guard, providing credentials and stating their intention to use the portal facility.
"Governor Varro will want to greet you personally, sir," the guard said respectfully. "Shall I send a runner ahead?"
"That will not be necessary," Lex replied. "We will proceed directly to the portal facility. You may inform the Governor at his convenience that we passed through."
"Understood, sir. Safe travels."
The gates swung open, and the expedition entered the Town of Bob. The streets were well-maintained, the buildings sturdy and properly constructed. This was a permanent settlement rather than a temporary camp, and the investment showed.
Normally, entering an Imperial facility would require inspection of all cargo, verification of identities, and questioning about the purpose of travel. But the Dragonguard's presence superseded such requirements. When the Emperor's elite guard escorted someone, that person's credentials were beyond question.
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Troublesome Nobility
They proceeded through the town toward the portal facility, which was located in the central district surrounded by additional layers of security. The streets were crowded, and their passage caused a stir. People stopped to stare at the Dragonguard, many bowing respectfully or simply stepping well clear of the massive war beasts.
It was inevitable that they would attract unwanted attention. In any gathering of people, there would be those who could not restrain their tongues or control their egos. Drunkards who believed alcohol granted them courage. Noblemen who thought their titles placed them above consequences. Particularly problematic were nobles whose titles existed in name only, holding no real power or influence.
The most troublesome were foreign nobles, those who came from kingdoms outside the Empire's direct control. They often failed to understand or respect Imperial authority, viewing themselves as equals to Imperial officials simply by virtue of their aristocratic status.
The expedition was passing through a district of upscale establishments, inns and restaurants that catered to wealthy travelers, when a commotion erupted from one such establishment. A group of well-dressed individuals emerged, clearly intoxicated despite the relatively early hour.
At their center was a man wearing elaborate clothing that screamed "look at my wealth and status." It screams of power, his outfit was impractical for travel, designed purely for display. Multiple rings adorned his fingers, and a heavy gold chain hung around his neck. His face was flushed with drink and what appeared to be permanent arrogance.
"You there!" he called out, his voice carrying the imperious tone of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "Make way! I require passage through this street, and you are blocking my path!"
The Dragonguard simply continued their march, not even acknowledging the interruption. They had dealt with countless such fools over the centuries and had long since developed the ability to ignore provocations that did not rise to the level requiring response.
But this particular noble was either spectacularly drunk or catastrophically stupid. He actually stepped directly into the path of the lead war beast, raising his hand in a stopping gesture as if the massive creature were a common horse that would halt at his command.
The war beast did not stop. It did not even slow. The creature had been trained to maintain formation and pace regardless of obstacles, and a single human did not constitute a significant obstacle.
What happened next occurred so quickly that many observers missed the details. The noble suddenly realized his danger and attempted to leap aside. He was too slow. The war beast's shoulder caught him, not a direct trampling but a glancing blow that sent him flying through the air to land in an undignified heap several feet away.
His companions rushed to his aid, helping him to his feet while shouting protests and demands. The noble himself was sputtering with rage and pain, his expensive clothes now dirt-stained and torn.
"How dare you!" he shouted, his voice nearly breaking. "I am Lord Paddy of House Pemberton! A baron of the Kingdom of Merrill! You will be punished for this assault!"
Grand Captain Commander Lex, who had observed the entire incident with the detached interest one might give to an annoying insect, finally spoke. His voice was not raised, but it carried clearly across the street, cutting through the noble's ranting.
"If you possess any intelligence whatsoever, Lord Paddy of House Pemberton, you will withdraw immediately and be grateful you are still alive. The next interruption will be your last."
The tone was flat, emotionless, a simple statement of fact rather than a threat. But something in it communicated absolute certainty. This was not bravado or posturing. It was a promise.
Lord Paddy, despite his intoxication and injured pride, possessed enough survival instinct to recognize he had made a terrible mistake. The Dragonguard's reputation extended across all the known kingdoms. They were not soldiers who accepted insults or tolerated interference. They were weapons of the Empire, and they destroyed obstacles rather than negotiating with them.
"I... that is... I apologize for the misunderstanding," Paddy stammered, his courage evaporating as quickly as morning dew under the sun. "I did not realize... please, continue on your way."
He practically dragged his companions back into the establishment they had emerged from, desperate to remove himself from the Dragonguard's attention.
August had watched the entire exchange with interest. He noticed how the Dragonguard had handled the situation with minimal effort and maximum efficiency. No prolonged argument, no drawn weapons, just a simple statement that communicated consequences so clearly that even a drunk noble understood.
It was a lesson in authority and the power of speech and how to wield it effectively. Power did not need to be loud or ostentatious. True power simply existed, requiring no justification or explanation.
The expedition continued toward the portal facility, leaving the subdued noble and his companions behind. The incident would likely become a story told in taverns, another example of why wise people did not interfere with the Dragonguard.
Ahead, the portal facility awaited, and beyond it, the next leg of their journey toward the Imperial Capital and whatever fate awaited them there.