One such raid surprised Drezdain, whose men were foolishly swimming in a sea of drunken brawls and merriment. Orcs from Dunandor swept through the battlements during the night, killing all of his men in a violent bloodbath. The orcs then took Drezdain captive. After they killed him, they displayed his body at the foot of the Ünodin Pass to frighten any army or enemy attempting to enter Dunandor. The effect worked. News of Drezdain's beheading spread like wildfire. The Drezdain Keep had been destroyed, its ruins left to rot in the Hollow Wood, never to be rebuilt. After that, King Hrathis sent no more troops into the far reaches of Merchindale, where the threat of more violence from Dunandor slept.
Hrathis, from his own stronghold in the Fornidain town of Wiltrout, vowed to never again let an army of his be taken by surprise. Men were weak. The king knew that, at that distance, even his own generals would not take him seriously. A decision was made that would change the course of his fate, and the fate of his people, forever.
* * * *
The following events occurred twenty-one years prior to Aeligon and the elves leaving Mynandrias:
The king had caught wind of a rumor that Drezdain's Keep had been destroyed. Wanderers and merchants, who'd gone to Gudred and Wiltrout village, talked about it frequently. No proof was ever discovered. After a while, the regular reports sent in from General Drezdain ceased. King Hrathis sent out five of his best scouts to travel the lengthy distance to the Keep to find out what, if anything, was wrong.
"Calm down, Timothy,” Hrathis groaned.
The nervous twitch of the king's aide, Timothy, was enough to send shivers down anyone's spine, save the king, who had grown quite fond of his aide's squeamishness.
"I grow weary of hearing this news every hour! I have sent riders to speed word to me, so that I may learn from my men's mouths that it is true. Relying on word of bird or beast is folly. I am king, and I must have stronger news than what we have already heard, before I act. Please, have a seat and have a drink of ale. This brew will most certainly calm your senses."
Timothy ardently agreed, taking a seat where directed. Another servant of the castle slowly poured him his draught. After Timothy had taken three huge gulps he set the goblet down on the table, his breathing finally slowing beneath panic levels.
"There, is not that most pleasant to your pallet, young Timothy?” questioned the king with a smile. Hrathis was a large man, not fat, but rather tall for a man of that age. His stature added more to his presence as king, giving him a menacing advantage. His white beard was neatly combed, stopping just below his neckline. From there, his red robe covered the rest of him. He chose to wear no crown on his head, though it was commonplace for kings to do so. Crowns symbolized great power and influence, but Hrathis was not that kind of king. His will was unfaltering; his wisdom and judgment far exceeded what was considered “average", and his love of the people and Vaalüna was unmatched. He possessed no greater powers than these, yet used them far beyond the levels of far more gifted individuals. The reign of King Hrathis was considered to be the cause of the rapid rebuilding of the realms, and this greatly pleased him.
Timothy shook his head in silent response to the question posed by his king. His fidgeting had ceased, but his heart grew heavy as he suspected that the news was true either way it was found out. The king could sense this fear in him.
"Do not fear, Timothy. In a war, such things can happen. I was a fool to think that I could send an army that close to Dunandor without retribution or conflict. That was not for me to foresee, for I possess no such gift. If it is true, then I must go before the people and face the consequences. There will be many fatherless homes here."
His words echoed throughout his throne chamber, the largest room in his castle. The village of Wiltrout was not a spectacular village by any stretch. Men, women, and children with the aid of livestock and other tools tilled the land. Wiltrout graced Fornidain near the feet of the Farrin Mountain range in the west, at the corner formed where the mountains suddenly turn directly eastward in their path. King Hrathis chose this village as the location of his stronghold. The mountains reached out into the plains of Fornidain with their mighty arms outstretched and the castle Gudred set between two of them. Protected from behind and from each side by the mountains, the only way to spearhead an attack was straight through the front, where the defenses were the strongest and the land the widest. Strategists thought there was no way that the city could be taken by any force posing a full frontal assault.
A few weeks went by without any sign of the riders that the king had sent out to fetch word of Drezdain's fate. Hrathis was known to be an untroubled soul, waiting until bad news was found to be bad news before worrying. This, however, had him slightly amiss. He was often seen pacing near his throne, finger rubbing his chin while his other hand was thrown behind his back. He worried that his attempt at controlling the East's evil had gone awry. Still, he waited as patiently as he could.
Finally, one day, his riders returned. All of them were unscathed and fit; not a mark was upon them or their horses. The king, who was watching from an open window that overlooked the main courtyard, was relieved. Hurriedly, they sped through the cobblestone streets with the news they bore. After checking their weapons with the chamber guardians, they were allowed to enter. They fell before their king on one knee, bowing with one hand clenched into a fist across their chests. There were five of them. Once dismissed from their homage, they arose tall and proud.
"Sire, we bear news from Drezdain, and it is what you have feared. Drezdain and his Keep have fallen, its members scattered across the Hollow Wood, and Drezdain himself...” The scout paused for breath, the thoughts seemingly bringing sickness to him.
"Go on,” urged King Hrathis.
"Drezdain has been beheaded, Sire. His body was on display at the head of Ünodin Pass, and his head was lanced and placed next to it."
The king's eyes narrowed. Anger swelled in him like the ocean's tide.
"So that is the level of their resolve, is it then? How do you think it happened?"
"Sire, there were many mugs and barrels of ale strewn about. The whole place reeked of it. We arrived not much more than a week after the rumored incident, so the scent was still strong. Many animals of the Hollow Wood were feeding on the remains of the dead. It was awful, My Lord. We had to scatter them just so we could bury what was left."
"This is most damning,” said Hrathis. “My authority could not keep them under control, and their foolishness has been paid in their blood. This is surely a sad day. Call a village meeting for tomorrow in the square. I will address my people on their own ground, not from up here. They must be told the truth, and the families of the fallen compensated for their losses."
He turned to Timothy, who had resumed his nervous twitching once again.
"See to it that it is done."
With that, King Hrathis dismissed the five scouts from his presence. He walked over to a window that faced east. Timothy showed himself out quietly, taking care not to disturb the thoughts of the wise king.
Out the window, the plains of Fornidain spread out before Hrathis. The sun had licked the land with its last rays of gold, before it once again fell beneath the horizon line. As the dark shut the light out of its presence, small campfires sprang up in the moorland. Travelers from all reaches of the realm felt the safety offered by the king. They'd chose to once again roam the wide flats in search of business, or adventure. The king rested his hands upon the sill and sighed, pondering the illusion of safety offered by his presence.
"How long I fought to keep these lands safe from foul things,” he muttered to himself. “Now, the time has come again for me to bring bad news to my people. Peace no longer abounds in these lands, much to my dismay."
The king retired to his chambers for the night, heart waning under the strain of what he must do on the morrow. Even for a king as great as he, sleep was a hard commodity to come by.
* * * *
The next morning he woke to th
e sound of the roosters crowing their morning praises from the town below. He prepared himself for the town gathering. A few hours later, Timothy appeared in the war chamber where the Council sat at a long table with the king at its head.
"I beg your pardon, my lord, shall I give the signal for your arrival?” questioned Timothy.
"Yes,” answered Hrathis in the most somber tone. “It is time."
He rose to his feet, his counselors with him. Together they formed a long parade down the staircase of the citadel to the courtyard below. Guards took position along the upper battlements overlooking every angle of the court. The town had gathered within the large gate, pressing into each available nook. The people of Wiltrout, along with the many other races of men, adored their king. There had never been a need for any guard to strike down any member of a crowd that assembled for the king's speeches or addresses. No assassination attempts had ever been made. Still, the guards saw no need to let their senses falter in his presence.
Hrathis chose not to stand behind a pulpit or anything that shrouded his stature. Instead, he always chose to stand nearest the edge of the raised platform, and only so those in the rear of the crowd could see him. He would have liked to be down there with them, his own feet brushing the ground that theirs did. The members of his war council stood away from him to allow him to stand out. Many cheers and tossed hats went up when he took his place. Although he wore a smile, the pain showing in it was seen by all, and they knew that bad news was coming.
"Citizens of Wiltrout Village and beyond,” he began. “I summoned you here to this place not for praise or glory, not for victory or glad tidings. I summoned you here because a great despair has been laid upon this town, thus upon you."
He paused before continuing, the weight of what he was about to say nearly powerful enough to suck the voice from within his own chest.
"Drezdain Keep has fallen."
Gasps shot through the crowd; some women screamed and clutched their children's ears tightly, as if to shield them from great danger. The king and his counsel did their best to calm them, and to allow him to finish.
"Please,” he begged calmly. “Let me finish, my people."
The mumbling stopped. Tears streamed down the cheeks of many who were barely able to contain their sorrow.
"It is with a heavy heart that I come before you now, to give this news to you. An army of orcs from Dunandor ambushed them during the night. We do not know how or why, but it is of little consequence now. I assure the people of Wiltrout that I will use all of my power to bring this army to justice by any means necessary."
"What good is that to the children who haven't got any fathers?” yelled one woman from the crowd, hand stretched to the sky in anger. This fueled the folk's thirst for revenge and blood. Much hollering and cursing roared up among them, overwhelming the king's attempts at silence.
"You have my word, Wiltrout. I will not let this rest until they are avenged. I promise you that."
The king turned and left the platform, his followers behind him. The rest of the soldiers were left to clear out the townsfolk as they clamored and raged at their king.
Back in the war chamber, King Hrathis took off his robe and laid it on the throne. Frustration resided all over his face. He addressed a member of his counsel.
"Rone, I want you to assemble a troop of our finest soldiers to be ready on the morrow. Their mission will be to go into the mountains at our backs to fish out the giant whose name they bear, and summon him here to me for counsel. Time is crucial; it begins now."
There was a scattering of papers and a hustle of bodies when they dispersed quickly to carry out the strict orders given them. Timothy stayed behind, his nervousness almost too much for the king to bear.
"Timothy, if you do not stop that annoying twitch of your hands, I am going to tie them up behind your back,” the king shouted.
Timothy, as timid as he was, simply put his hands behind his back and continued the fumbling of his fingers. He said nothing, just looked down at the floor awaiting his orders, which he knew would be deliberate and short.
"Go fetch me some fresh wine, Timothy, would you please? Your presence is making me feel uneasy right now."
Timothy rushed out of the door, thankful to be given such an easy escape. He hurried to the kitchen, which was located down below the castle in the bowels of the passages there. Fetching a new wineskin would leave enough time for the king to calm down.
Hrathis was sitting on his throne, but not asleep, when Timothy returned with the wine. The timid boy poured some of the fragrant liquid into a golden goblet, and gave it to Hrathis. Hrathis took it, smiled and said, “I am sorry, my lad.” Nothing more was said, since Timothy understood full well what the apology was for, and accepted it graciously. Before Timothy left, Hrathis stopped him.
"Timothy,” the king said as he swallowed a large gulp of wine. “Did you attend the gathering at the court?"
"Yes, Sire, I did."
"Did you feel the anger swell up inside you too? Anger at me, for being so naïve about Drezdain's demise?"
"No, Sire, I did not. You are a brave and mighty king. The things you have done for the people here and abroad have greatly diminished any doubt about your decisions. You can't be blamed for Drezdain's misfortune."
"Even so, I should have known not to send my best general so close to Dunandor and its evil."
"With all due respect, Sire, Drezdain was a drunk and everyone knew it."
The king raised his eyebrows at the boldness of his young menial.
"Well,” the king grunted, “so the truth springs to life does it? A drunk?"
"Yes, Sire, he was always in the taverns when he was off duty, drinking until he passed out or was kicked out for starting brawls. He was a great general, but when he was not at war he was tipping the cup."
"More like tipping the barrel. The area that the scouts found was littered with broken barrels and mugs, and the stench of ale polluted their noses for quite some time. I suspect that this did not surprise the Orc army. No doubt they were scouting them for weeks, which worries me even more. This was no random run-in with these creatures. They planned the raid, perhaps for months."
"It was not your oversight that caused this, Sire. It was their choice to break the rules, and disobey orders at their post. Alas, this does nothing to help their souls now."
"No it does not, Timothy,” said the king sternly. “But, it does aid my cause in bringing this army to its knees once more. This time, I will crush them."
"And how do you intend to do that?"
The king went on to explain the reasons he dispatched the troop of soldiers to the mountains. “The plan is to find Farrin the giant, the one who aided the armies in the War of Calaridis, the name given to all of the lands in the dark times when Hydrais tried to claim all for his own. Those particular battles took place on the plains of Fornidain, even as far south as the downs where the floating island of Resforian dwelt. Farrin still reigns, though sadly he is inclined to stay out of all affairs of men for reasons unknown,” Hrathis said. “I am casting that privacy aside in seeking his aid. Drezdain's force was the strongest we had, and we cannot amass another legion as great to push Dunandor back underground."
Timothy had his chin resting on both of his hands, enthralled at the stories of his master. He looked up to King Hrathis greatly, his twitching a side effect of the desire to never make a mistake in his presence. These stories always calmed his spirit, though they spoke of war and terrible things. The boy was in awe, and he wondered why the king confided in him so.
Hrathis sipped more of his wine, and the effects of the draught started to show. Timothy eased the goblet from his hand before it slipped to the floor. The king fell into a deep sleep that he had rejected for several days, and began to snore lightly. A solution was being formed; the matter was to be handled. At dawn, the fate of men would start to change.
The sunrise in the east was a sight to behold from the chambers high above the v
illage of Wiltrout. Few ever had the chance to gaze upon such beauty. Green grass dotted the plains across Fornidain, the rises and falls of the land like smooth ocean waves. The small tree lines that ran along some of the lower valleys were home to many creatures, both common and rare, both fair and foul. Nature was savage here, with deer being stalked by wolves, and large birds, called rocs, descending on prey from above. The serrated mountains that loomed behind the castle were formidable at best, taking the most skilled climbers to their limits. It was in these mountains that Farrin and his giants resided.
Down below, the men of Hrathis gathered the strongest of the army that resided inside the castle walls. They stood in the war chamber, adorned in their war-ready best. Most of them had studded leather armor, light yet strong enough to shield them from sword blows. (The blow of a giant's ax would be enough to crush them, no matter what type of armor they wore, so the appropriate armor was chosen). Each had a sword, the weapon of choice for a man of that time period. No horses were needed, since the mountains began almost where the path out of the rear of the castle left the safety of the walls
Hrathis gave a small speech to his men before they left. “Men of Gudred, you travel a perilous path to seek the aid of Farrin's giants. These beings aided our ancestors’ cause years ago during the battles that won our freedom. It is their aid I call upon again, since word of Drezdain's demise. I fear that the evil that my forefathers worked so hard to conquer has not yet been vanquished. For that, we were foolish. Many lives were lost due to this. Now you go to avenge the souls of your brethren, your friends, and your family. You will be unable to send word of your progress, unless any of you possess a magic of which I am unaware. Each of you is bound to the other; let nothing stand between this bond of courage. If Farrin is found you are to give to him this note that is sealed with the crest of Gudred, which he will undoubtedly recognize."
Chronicles of the Planeswalkers Page 14