Beloved

Althain-one who is loved; beloved

pronunciation: al-thayn

runic meaning:al-mine; thanor-to love

(from the Book of Forgotten Lore and Languages

by the Scribe Tethanyl of Erekhos, 537 AR)

It was almost high winter when the undead Pallida Mors gathered at the foot of Fortress Anduin.

By then, the the Silver Legion was ready. Already, the walls of their mountain redoubt-- after several decades of disuse-- had been strengthened by the Legion engineers. The gates had been strengthened by several bands of dark iron, catapults and trebuchets were readied with their stone ammunition, and the fields surrounding the fortress were cleared several meters from the walls.

Still, the sight of the overwhelming numbers of the horde massing before the walls sent a chill through the defenders of Anduin that was due only partly to the cold winds. The unspoken fear in the minds of all of the Legionnaires was Lord-Marshall d’Antoine’s words, Through the gates of Anduin lies the gardens of Arvien.

Every now and then, one soldier or two would look back towards the massive Pirnenne Mountains, which separated the icy northlands and the summer southlands, and imagined their homes which they had left behind just beyond the mountainous ranges. The sight, monolithic as the mountains were, did not seem to be enough of a protection for the loved ones they had left behind.

One among the defenders was more doubly-burdened for the coming war had already cost her too much. Her name was Ardal-Captain Lisian d’Fouchard, commander of the WarChildren of Arvien.

The arms and armor Lisian bore gracefully marked her status as a member of the Warchildren. Elite warriors trained in all aspects of the martial arts, Lisian was the leader of the contingent attached to the Silver Legion and the chief strategist among the Warchildren.

That cold, wintry morning found her upon the battlements of the castle surveying the army massing before the gates. Fatigued as she was from all the preparations they had taken, she felt an even tiring ache in her heart as she silently admitted the impossible odds they faced.

It had only been five months ago when the ruler of Pallan, King Hlan Dragauth, succumbed to the evil power of the dark talisman called the Erenomicon. He then set in motion an evil spell which raised all the dead in the sphere of influence of the talisman and turned them loose on his own land.

A prosperous realm sered and turned barren, with every Pallanese man, woman, and child slaughtered and turned into an unnatural army of warriors intent only upon death and destruction-these were what confronted the rulers of Arvien, Queen Josinelle and Lord-Consort Malrieux, as they found an immense army at the front door of their kingdom.

A party of Legion Horse-Scouts that had been secretly sent north to investigate the reports had returned badly decimated with the confirmation of their fears. Now it was up to the Silver Legion to hold back a million undead from the green dales of Arvien while their rulers try to gather an alliance from the neighboring kingdoms to stop the Pallida Mors from marching across the land.

More than that, it was Lisian’s husband, Falas-Major Rogard d’Chervalle, who had led the Legion Horse-Scouts into Pallan. He had not returned.

Now as she stood looking down at the monstrous horde massed at the gates of Fort Anduin, Lisian could not help but wonder if her husband walked with them this day.

She did not know whether to cry or rage against the injustice. They had only been married for a year and two months and yet duty had forced them apart to answer their kingdom’s need.

And now, it seemed that she would never again see Rogard again.