Cormyr 1765: A Story
The Waning Hero
Part I
DA 1480
Sorina, the Field Marshall of Cormyr, forsook her sword for bow and knocked an arrow within the sinewy bowstring. The aging elven battlemaster looked ahead; the thick brush of the King’s Forest obscured her mark almost as much as the cataracts on her eyes.
The elven general was going on to her 950th year, and she could feel the shadow of age encroaching upon her. Her eyesight and hearing were beginning to dull. Silvery strands were beginning to form in her once golden hair, and most of all, the swiftness was gone from her arms, especially in her golden full plate armor.
She could barely heft her shield now, the legendary one with the symbol of Tyr emblazoned upon it. She could support its weight while strapped to her back, but she faltered when she tried to wield it.
Nonetheless, she could still cleave her sword as she always had, and was more than a match for any swordsman in Cormyr. Though now she resorted to her bow more oft than not.
Her match now, was not one of the fierce beasts or vast armies she had defeated in career. Her mark now was but the White Stag, the famed hunting target of the King’s Forest since before the days of the Azoun line.
The White Stag grazed ahead, about 100 meters, thin pieces of grass being ground between its flat teeth. For a moment, it looked up and squared with Sorina eye-to-eye, almost taunting her.
Sorina began to release the bowstring, but the White Stag looked quickly away from her, in another direction, and ran, less than a split second before the arrow would have pierced its heart. Cursing, Sorina lowered her bow and drew in a sigh.
From the east, the reason for the White Stag’s bolt was made clear; a young, lean elf dressed in a flowing battle-dress rode up on a phantom steed that rode the air, making almost no sound as its magical hooves dashed inches above the foliage.
Colonel the Lady Vilya Sorrowleaf, probably Sorina’s best regimental commander, approached the aging Field Marshall with youthful energy that made Sorina slightly envious. The 300 year old Colonel was the up-and-coming officer of the Cormyrian Army. She had fought alongside Sorina for almost two centuries, defending the Obraskyr line of kings.
The young officer wore no armor, instead preferring an elegant yet tough battledress that she herself had enchanted. Armor, like the full-plate that Sorina wore was all but obsolete. With the advent of gunpowder, lead balls would pierce the thickest of steel armors, turning what used to be a protective shell into useless hulk.
Vilya, in contrast to Sorina, was a quintisential vision of the future of the Cormyrian Army. She had an elven thinblade made of starmetal at her side, along with an elven pistol tucked in her belt. Sorina wore the same full plate armor she had for hundreds of years, and it still gleamed in the light. On her back was a quiver of arrows, not a rifle, and she carried a heavy longsword in her scabbard and a sun shield in her hand.
“Good Day, your grace!” Colonel Sorrowleaf said, offering a salute to Sorina. The aging general almost considered cursing her for losing the stag, but held her tongue and politely replied.
“A good day to you, Lady Vilya. And what brings you into the King’s Forest this adumentous day?” Sorina’s spirit raised when she reminded herself of the beauty of a summer afternoon in the King’s Forest.
Vilya smiled, and looked up at the sky, then to the brush where the White Stag had grazed.
“Your Grace, you called for me,” Vilya said, almost confused that Sorina had forgotten her summons of the Colonel.
In reality, she had forgotten, and her mind was dulling by the day. It was an odd thing, for the sharpest military mind in Cormyr to feel the atrophy not just of her muscles, but her brain. Wracking her mind, she remembered why she had summoned the young Colonel.
Sorina looked to the young elf, and then to the sky.
“Come, ride with me,” she said.
Unfortunate Son
Part I
DA 1755
The fields of Calimshan met with the Forest of Myr in a contrasted line that was like night and day. The dusty field of Calimshan merely stopped one millimeter and the lush Forest of Myr started the next. It was a feat of climate only manageable by magic.
However, for Ensign James Riley of the Cormyrian Army, it was proving to be a most inconvenient terrain feature. The Thayans had retreated to the Forest of Myr, hoping to find refuge from Field Marshall Sorrowleaf’s Army among their Dark Elven allies.
Thay had been the enemy of the Cormyrian Empire long before the Nation of Light had even began its imperial expansion. In 1492, an eighteen year old knight named Sir Horatio Rossendale had led an expedition to Chultan Peninsula with plans to colonize and make trade with the locals.
And such launched the economic boom that gave Cormyr its ‘root in the east’ for expansion. Now, over three hundred years later, the Cormyrian Empire exerted such control around the world that it was almost always daytime somewhere in the Empire.
Only an alliance of Calimshan, Thay, and the Zhentarium controlled comparable territory. And now this Axis of Evil threatened took a valiant stand against the ever expanding Cormyrian Empire.
And so the war had brought itself to Calimshan, where a twelve year old Ensign James Riley stood next to the dead body of Lieutenant Andrew Stiles, who had just been shot through by a musketball.
The death of the strong and lean Lieutenant Stiles left command of the small detachment of Riflemen in the hands of Ensign Riley, who had yet to spend a month in Vilya Sorrowleaf’s army.
BOOM!!! The sound of a sniper shot rang out from a Thayan Rifle, and Sergeant Kane grasped her throat as blood began to spray from it, splashing the young officer across the face with crimson liquid.
It took all the mental might within the young boy to keep his guts from spilling. Now it was him and fifteen privates, most not much older than he. And he was in command.
To his left, was the Thayan Artillery that could pound the Cormyrian Army from atop a high facing hill, in a perfect position for guns to pummel an their enemy. In front of him were the Thayan rifleman who had him pinned down, and to his rear was the rest of the Cormyrian Army, safely out of range of said guns.
Only to his right lay a viable flank position for the rifles within the forest, but while pinned down, he could neither maneuver or attack. It was a tactical ‘unicorn’s heart,’ as they put it in Chondathan.
Sanders, a young girl not much older than Ensign Riley, shrieked as a bullet richoched an inch from her face. Panicking, she stood to run, but was cut down in a bloody pool.
“Stay down!” the young boy shouted at the top of his lungs. It must have sounded pitiful, the high pitched voice of a child shouting orders. “Everybody, keep your heads below the bonnet!”1
Ensign Riley sized up the impossible situation, barely able to think for the fear he was pushing back in his mind. Attack would be suicide, and running, well, poor Sanders had just tried that.
That left the young Ensign with the unfavorable option of surrendering. The thought stung deeply, as he did not like the idea of giving up his first command. Ensign Riley turned his attention from the enemy for a moment to look at his soldiers. Most of them were under 20, none were over 30. Though the thought of dying on the battlefield phased was not unappealing to the idealistic youth, he had to consider its effect on the overall war.
No, dying here today would not save lives in the long run, nor would it help accomplish some greater purpose of good. It would be meaningless. So with a sigh of hesitation he said,
“We will surrender,” he said to his troops behind him. “Blaine, give me your handkerchief.”
The older soldier gave his white but bloodied handkerchief to the young officer. James Riley drew his sword and placed the white rag on the tip, and raised it above his head.
From the trees, the Thayan snipers began to emerge, weapons pointed at the small platoon of men. For a moment, he contemplated the misery of waiting out the rest of the war in a Calimshinian prison, but thought quickly again of the lives of his soldiers: they would be released when the war was over. As vile as the Thayans were, they still obeyed the rules of war, or at least enough to keep up the appearance of being a lawful society.
“Drop your weapons!” the Thayan officer said as he and his soldiers approached.
Ensign Riley and his men slowly rose, and dropped their weapons. Young Riley held his sword from the blade, ready to hand it to the Thayan officer in surrender.
Quietly, from the rear of his ear, he heard a noise, as a thousand hands thumping a piece of baker’s dough. The Thayan Officer was before him now, introducing himself.
“Captain William Carlislie, of the Thayan 88th Regiment of Rifles,” he said.
“Ensign James Riley, the South Suzail Regiment,” he replied. “I sur-“
Ensign Riley was cut off just as the words of his surrender came out. A small pea-sized ball of flame flew from over his head and barreled into the line of Thayans.
With a sudden thunderous explosion, it spread into a massive ball of fire that consumed the Thayan riflemen, immolating them to death. From behind Riley, five missiles of energy swerved around him and struck the Thayan officer, impacting him with such force it knocked him back several feet.
Riley looked behind him, and from behind his soldiers, he saw Field Marshall Sorrowleaf galloping up on her phantom steed, her hand extended from the magic missile spell it had just cast. Behind her, a squadron of cavalry followed, swords pointed forward to attack.
Ensign Riley quickly turned his sword from being held at the blade to holding it by the handle. Pointing the tip forward, he shouted.
“Come on, attack!”
James charged forward at the front of his soldiers, first meeting a Thayan private no older than he. Parrying the other boy’s bayonet stab, he quickly counterattacked and stabbed him in the shoulder, spraying more blood across his red coat.
By now Field Marshall Sorrowleaf’s cavalry had ridden up, and laid waste to the unmounted riflemen.
It was a lucky day.
The Waning Hero
Part II
DA 1480
Sorina led Colonel Sorrowleaf through the well-known paths of the King’s Forest. The summer’s breeze slipped through the forest, spreading the fresh scent of foliage throughout.
Vilya wondered why the aging battlemaster had called her to her side. A meeting in the King’s Forest must have had the blessing of Queen Gryphonheart I, for entry without permission was punishable by death.
Sorina was straight and to the point.
“Vilya, I’ve guided you as I would one of my very own,” she said, letting the hint of sentimentality creep into her voice.
The young colonel nodded in agreement. Was it not Field Marshall Sorina who had made her one of her chosen captains over a hundred years ago?
“I serve the side of good,” she said. “Although, knowing what that side is can be difficult at times.”
Sorina nodded. “As a War Wizard, you have the ability to see through the politics of a situation. The Purple Dragon Knights have far less moral fog.”
Sorina was a paladin of the Purple Dragons, and Vilya a spellcasting swordsman of the War Wizards. The Purple Dragons were the paragons of virtue within the Empire, selflessly saving the innocent, and wooing the hearts of young maidens with their usually handsome looks and acts of valor.
The War Wizards were far more calculating, and charged into battle atop a grand steed less often. They tended to be more intellectual, with the difficult job of reconciling expansion of the Empire with the moral objective of furthering good.
In Sorina’s eyes, this made Vilya the perfect officer, she was smart, could swing a sword, command a regiment, and negotiate a treaty. Far fewer battles were waged against evil nations, and more were being waged for the expansion of Cormyr’s colonial interests.
“The winds of change fall upon Cormyr, blowing their breath over it’s very heart,” Sorina said. “Do you know what the heart of Cormyr is?”
“Of course,” Vilya replied. “It’s moral compass. What guides us through the bad times, and the good.”
\ Sorina smiled, pleased with the young colonel’s answer. “Indeed it is, young Sorrowleaf. But I sense a change beginning in Cormyr, one that could blacken its heart.”
Vilya was curious. “Of what change do you speak?”
The pair came up to a ledge that looked down at the rest of the kingdom, and the great city of Suzail was in sight. It stood majestically at the coast of the Sea of Swords, its inland navy protecting it.
“Do you know the Lady Farthingdale?” Sorina asked.
“Yes,” Vilya replied. “The daughter of Sir Augustus. Is she not engaged to Count Mondego’s son Faro, the Purple Dragon Knight?”
“Indeed she is,” Sorina replied.
Vilya smiled, slightly envious. “I must admit a certain amount of jealously,” Vilya confessed. “Sir Faro is quite handsome.”
Sorina frowned. “Apparently Lady Farthingdale does not share your affection for Sir Faro,” she said with dissatisfaction.
This intrigued Vilya, as Sir Faro and the Lady Farthingdale were engaged to be married next month.
“What happened?” Vilya asked with interest.
“She left him.” Sorina’s voice was full of disappointment. “For a swashbuckling elven pirate named Lucky Jack. Apparently, he started a liaison with her while she was visiting her father in Chult.”
“How disgusting, binding oneself to a man who makes his living off thievery,” Vilya said with a noticeable grimace.
“It’s a growing trend in Cormyr,” Sorina said. “More young girls are finding themselves allured by the dashing charm of rogues, who fight for neither queen nor country.”
Now that Sorina mentioned it, Vilya did notice that the latest bestselling book in Suzail was about a young common girl’s romance to a handsome pirate who sailed freely throughout the Sea of Swords.
“What do young men want of young women?” Sorina asked.
Vilya grinned. “Obviously…and its not just the young men, your grace.”
“In a way,” Sorina continued. “The desires of fair women control the motivations of men. Men desire to become what women find desirable.”
“And so falls women, so fall the men,” Vilya finished.
“Indeed. Wisdom has begun to encroach upon your once youthful foolhardiness.”
Vilya laughed. “Never!” she said, jokingly.
Sorina broke the jovial moment almost as abruptly as it had begun.
“I will pass on to Arvandor soon, young Sorrowleaf.”
Vilya was stunned by this statement. Though she knew deep down that the time of the great battlemistress was coming to a close, she was shocked to hear it stated so plainly. She stiffened her neck and looked over to Sorina in seriousness.
“I want you to promise me something,” Sorina told her.
“Anything, your grace,” Vilya replied.
“A time will come when you must uphold the ideals of Cormyr, in spite of whatever pressures will come from the outside. The battle of beliefs will betray you the outcome of the battle between armies.”
“I always stand ready to make the world a better place because I was in it,” Vilya replied with resolve.
Sorina smiled. “I can rest easy at your words.” Sorina turned her horse away from the great cliff and back into the King’s Forest. “Now, help an old woman hunt the mark that has illuded her since before the Obraskyr line.”
A wide grin began to form on Vilya’s face, and the two rode back into the forest.
The White Stag would not see the next day.
More to follow...
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