In The Name Of Peace Ch 01

Welcome, welcome!

Here is the first of my "homebrewed" Dungeons & Dragons setting. Centered on the fantastical kingdom of Arcadia, and its neighboring realms in a world inspired by the Forgotten Realms property.

Opening my series 'Arcadian Adventures' is this preliminary story, a smutty little piece inspired by a binge of Game of Thrones and various 80s/90s erotic thrillers.

Enjoy this introductory chapter. Mostly character introductions and stage-setting, but with a smutty treat at the end.

The first of many to come...

---

CHAPTER 1: DUTY AND TEMPTATION

1499 A.B (After the Burning)

Arcadia. The Dawn Kingdom.

The Dragon's Teeth. Land of Ash.

Two realms, ruled by Man and Orc.

Fated to lead the known world, or to destroy it.

---

Kierra's people had always feared the mountains.

It wasn't hard to see why. The old fairy tales she grew up with spoke of vast, snow-capped ranges that looked like they could be home to the gods themselves. Even the storybooks or portraits in her family's library painted a picture of beauty, of grandeur.

There was grandeur here.

But beauty? No.

The Dragon's Teeth, as they were called, loomed over her entourage like black spikes belched from the Nine Hells. They lacked visible vegetation, appearing simply as a mass of naked dark stone. Despite their towering height there were no caps of snow on top, only a stream of never-ending ash clouds which crept from the volcano at the mountains' heart.

"Sweet Pelor, what an ugly old thing."

From behind, Kierra heard a man snorting in derision. Captain Milius rode into view, a proud peacock of a man clad in the dark steel armor of the Arcadian Royal Guard.

"And those greyskins actually live there!"

A harsh look from Kierra silenced Milius.

"You'll do well to save those kinds of remarks for the journey home."

The soldier bowed his head dutifully. "Your Highness."

Satisfied he would keep his thoughts to himself for now, Kierra spurred her horse onward. It would be difficult enough holding her own feelings in check. The last thing her people needed was a skirmish on the frontier, and a royal slain.

Kierra was a young queen, just two weeks past her thirty-first birthday. For a woman in her position, it was important she distinguished herself with both courage and discretion. Among friends, and especially enemies.

"Don't mind him," a woman to Kierra's left said flippantly. "The captain's just letting it all out of his system. He'll be silent as the grave when we get to..."

Lieutenant Astrid, a pale drow elf with hair the color of bone, pulled out a map. She peered at it quizzically, then set it aside with a roll of her deep violet eyes.

"

The Horned Keep

.

Alright, Milius, point taken. The Grey Ones might not have thought that one through. Between the choice of locale, and coming up with a name like that, it's like they

want

people to think they're a gaggle of demons."

Though she was forced to hush both with a raise of her hand, Kierra couldn't find it in herself to disagree. Few outsiders had ever seen the orcish fortress its builders had named the Horned Keep. Fewer still returned to tell the tale.

But that was in the past. A past that, gods willing, Kierra would bury once and for all.

The entourage reached the base of the jagged mountains and halted. Before them was a shrouded, narrow canyon from which five large shapes were already emerging. They were moving quickly, and more than one of the soldiers behind Kierra fidgeted.

One of them, a sorcerer, almost raised his hand to cast a spell if needs be.

"Steady," Kierra ordered.

She rode two paces ahead of her guards. It was important she set the tone of this meeting here and now. The mountain dwellers' swift approach was a test. If Kierra was to withdraw, or allow herself or any in her guard to be provoked, that would be a sign of weakness.

And damned if she would let any orc see her as weak.

The riders came into view as she waited. All five were orcs, of the reclusive breed that had named themselves the Grey Ones. An apt name, as their skin was the color of the very ash clouds that concealed their cities and war camps.

The orc at the front was an older man. Lean and weathered in appearance, he was clothed in a mail hauberk with light iron plates protecting his chest and shoulders. Little of his face was visible behind the visor of his great helm.

"The Swords of Azral bid you welcome," he said flatly.

"Declare your name, and your business here."

Kierra took a calm, measured breath. All those tedious recitations in court were about to pay off.

"Queen Kierra of House Sagar.

Third in the line of Constantine.

Sovereign of Arcadia.

Slayer of the giant Ghidon, and Bearer of the Golden Banner."

Kierra scanned the party in front of her.

"Do I address the Overlord of the Horned Keep?"

The orc cocked an eyebrow at her, looking the human up and down. With only his eyes visible, it was difficult to get a proper read on him.

"You do," he answered.

"Overlord Azral Dragonbane.

Patriarch of the Grey Ones.

Keeper of the Black Altar."

The orc paused, then with what sounded like a smirk added, "Slayer of the black dragon Hrul."

He pointed to Kierra's helm.

"Remove your helmet, so that I may properly address our neighbors to the north."

Kierra said and did nothing. A light wind picked up around them. The banner of her house, a maroon flag marked with a rising sun, started to flap violently.

The orcs answered her stony silence with smirks of derision, and the self-proclaimed Overlord nudged his dark warhorse one step closer to her.

Captain Milius was the first to crack. "My queen has no obligation to expose herself, orc."

The honor guard who dubbed themselves Swords of Azral collectively laughed at such defiance. Meanwhile, the orc in front peered at Kierra. Waiting for her to answer their mockery.

"I don't require your defense, Captain." The young queen resisted the urge to glare at him as she spoke. "But there

is

something amiss here. I'm afraid I can't honor our host's request as of yet."

The orc cocked his armored head. "And why is that?"

Kierra's lip curled.

"Because you are not Overlord Azral."

The orcs's laughter died.

Kierra tried not to let her satisfaction show and continued.

"I saw him once, across the battlefield your people now call the Scar. After generations of hatred between our people, trading blood for blood, the orcs and my kind pledged to stand together once, and only once, against the dragon Hrul and his unholy brethren.

My father died that day. As did the Overlord's two elder brothers. I wasn't there to see the battle. But when the day was won, I lit the funeral pyres myself.

I was young. But I remember."

Kierra's horse trotted to the right, then to the left. She scanned the five riders before returning her attention to the speaker.

"Your Overlord isn't here. He decided to test me first, did he not?"

The Swords of Azral stared at Kierra. Then they guffawed again, louder this time. But there was no malice in their laughter. If anything, they appeared impressed.

"Very clever," the orc speaker said with a nod. "He did."

"And do I live up to his expectations?" Kierra asked.

"The Overlord can answer that question himself.

Come, Your Highness. My master awaits."

The five orcs then turned and rode back into the canyon. With a light kick of her spurs, Kierra raced after them before Milius could object.

They rode on, deep into the Dragon's Teeth. Distant rumbling, like that of storm clouds, echoed around them. As they rode the air started to grow hotter, and heavier. The source of the heat became visible soon enough.

A massive, yawning chasm, stretching on for what looked like miles. Molten rock seeped from the crack in the earth, more than earning its name. The Lake of Fire.

On the far side of the volcanic lake, guarded by stone spires which emanated a protective spell, was the Horned Keep. A gargantuan fortress built from the same black stone which formed much of the mountain range. Spikes not unlike those of a dragon's horns were erected on each side. They were a reminder, both of the winged beasts that once ruled the mountain and the ferocity of the orcs who drove them away.

Kierra's journey ended at the gate of the Keep. A sturdy wooden door, painted blood-red and reinforced with spiked black iron. The five Swords of Azral dismounted, passing their horses to house servants.

"Follow me," the older horseman requested.

Behind him the gate opened, and he beckoned the queen to follow.

Kierra dropped to the ground nimbly. She scanned her surroundings, spotting countless orcs surrounding the keep.

Fierce they were, indeed. Many were clad in simple, uniform clothing emblazoned with clan sigils. A few wore more decorated garments, most notably gilded bronze belts. Men and women alike bared their powerful arms and wore their hair long.

Their eyes gleamed bright in the dim lighting. Kierra knew there were likely many more, just standing out of sight. They could see her, even if she couldn't yet see them.

"So many here to greet us," Kierra observed, "one would think we'd arranged a banquet like back home."

She peered at the elder orc. "What's the meaning of this?"

The horseman tossed aside his helm, giving Kierra a look at his face. The years had left his features lined and scared in several places. His hair and rough beard were black, streaked with white.

"You've arrived at a time most significant to our people," he replied.

"Overlord Azral will explain. Come."

Kierra heeded him. But before she could cross the threshold, she took her family's banner and planted it in the ground. Right beside the flag of the Grey Ones' master. She took her time, acting slowly and deliberately, leaving no mystery as to her intentions.

"Let it be known that whatever takes place, the Overlord and I are under the protection of a truce. A parley.

Should any harm befall either of us, whatever peace may yet exist between Arcadia and the Grey Ones shall be broken. By Pelor, I swear it."

Kierra turned to her guards. They, and the rest of the knights and mages who accompanied her, gave an assuring if not cautious look in return. Captain Milius stood vigilant, regarding every orc present with a look that was distrusting at best. He had no intention of playing nice. Whereas Lieutenant Astrid remained poised, calm, ready to act only if necessary.

Here, they would keep watch and await either their queen's safe return or any sign of treachery from the orcs' own monarch.

The senior mage clutched a sending stone, ready to put it to use if the worst came to pass.

Assured she'd done all she could, Kierra entered the Keep.

Inside was a lengthy, dimly lit throne room. At least fifty orcish knights, all clad in full plate armor, watched her. Kierra passed each one without so much as a sideways glance. She wasn't here to speak with any of them.

Kierra stopped at last before the Overlord's throne, a tall and rather menacing thing carved from obsidian. Mounted on top of the throne were two dragon horns, which shrouded the man seated beneath them. A regal orc clad in attire fit for a king. He wore robes of black and wine-red, as well as finely made steel pauldrons marked by arcane runes.

"Overlord Azral."

Azral Dragonbane was a younger warrior, not yet bearing the wear and tear of the elder who'd briefly impersonated him out in the world. His youth, however, did nothing to detract from his fearsome appearance. He was muscular, broad in the shoulders, with a head of long white hair and icy blue eyes which bored into Kierra's. As with the other grey orcs of the mountains his features were angular and vaguely lupine, as opposed to the brutish and somewhat porcine orcs from the lands beyond.

The Overlord didn't speak at first. His eyes gleamed with curiosity as he leaned leisurely on one arm, staring at Kierra all the while.

Then, in a rich baritone, Azral broke the silence.

"I see you outsmarted Torin.

Very impressive, Your Majesty. It pleases me to know the Arcadians haven't crowned a fool."

Kierra did her best not to grin smugly.

"It was easy. Almost insultingly so.

Though I understand the need for such tricks in years past, I would prefer we address one another more truthfully in the future."

Azral straightened up and gave her the smallest of shrugs.

"I agree, Queen Kierra.

In that case, with any and all tricks out of the way..."

In a flash, Azral's eyes found Kierra's. His expression turned as hard as the very stone that built his great fortress.

"I wish to see you now."

He phrased it as a request, but something in his tone told Kierra it would be unwise to say no. And between his almost overpowering stare and the deep timbre of his voice, she would have found it hard to ignore him anyway.

Graciously, she pulled off her decorated helm and stared back at Azral, revealed at last.

Kierra had once been told she looked as proper in a suit of armor as she did in fine silks and veils. Once a skinny and pale child, she'd since grown into a fierce beauty with wide, expressive green eyes and dark auburn hair. A thin scar crossed over her face, from her brow to the bridge of her nose.

Azral looked upon Kierra with an inscrutable expression. Judging by how long it took, she guessed he was allowing himself to enjoy her beauty. Kierra wasn't stupid. She knew what she looked like, and if she had to tolerate his staring for another minute she would.

Yet, as he lingered, there was nothing perverse or invasive in Azral's gaze. Nothing to suggest ill intent. Merely a quiet appreciation.

When he was done, Azral rose from his throne and walked to Kierra. It wasn't until he was only a foot away that Kierra realized just how tall he was. Close to seven feet, if she had to guess.

"In the name of my father, Shen Wolfrider, and the pact he sealed with your father King Cedric, I welcome you to my home."

He held out his arm expectantly. Kierra thought about taking it, only to notice she was still fully armored. Whereas Azral's arm was bare, from the tips of his fingers to his elbow.

It wouldn't be right. If they were to converse as equals, if Kierra was to prove her honesty, she had to meet the man on his level.

With a snap of metal buckles and leather straps, Kierra removed her steel gauntlet and took Azral by the hand. Though his touch was firm, the orc demonstrated a surprising restraint. He wasn't gentle, per se, but it was hardly the rough and uncouth gesture Kierra had anticipated.

The moment passed, and Azral withdrew. "The terms, then."

Kierra thought of donning her gauntlet once more before proceeding. But she decided it would do her little good.

She reached for her belt and pulled out a scroll of parchment marked with her family's seal. With a

snap

, Kierra unsealed the treaty before her and cleared her throat.

"

To Overlord Azral Dragonbane,

We of the realm Arcadia recognize the sovereignty of your kind, over the Dragon's Teeth mountains and the plains south of our borders.

For two centuries, our peoples warred needlessly. Over land, over riches, and over grudges that should have been buried long ago.

The scourge of the black dragons was stopped only by our people finding common ground. By choosing cooperation, we staved off annihilation. If both our realms are to prosper, the pact sealed by our predecessors must stand.

As Arcadia's queen, I propose this; a trade route along our southern border, to be guarded by both royal armies. The Dawn's Hammer, and the Swords of Azral

This road will begin at the base of the Dragon's Teeth and end where the Azure River meets the Northern Sea.

"

Kierra paused. She looked up at Azral and inspected his face, looking for any trace of emotion. Any hint that her offer appealed to the Overlord. But still, it was almost impossible for her to get a proper read on him.

She went on, trying her best not to let her impatience show.

"

In return for a steady, well protected supply of goods for your people, I request that no incursions be made into the Arcadian farmlands.

There will be no raids. No forced settlements. No seizure of land, property, or the citizens under my sworn protection. No sacred traditions will be imposed upon, nor civil rights abused.

Know the people of Arcadia will be held to these same terms, for as long as I rule. And any act in violation of these terms will be punished accordingly.

Let the future of our realms be decided now.

Signed,

Queen Kierra of House Sagar, Sovereign of Arcadia.

"

Kierra brusquely handed the scroll to Azral.

He read it once, then twice. Then with a subtle, almost contented smile, he walked to a small pulpit close to the throne. A wizened goblin, of a similar grey complexion, poured a dribble of hot wax onto the letter.

Azral looked back at Kierra, cocking an eyebrow. As if something particularly interesting had only just occurred to him.

Whatever it was, Kierra had no time to guess before the orc turned the gilded amulet on his wrist and pressed it down on the wax.

Kierra's heart rose in her chest.

She had done it. Pelor be praised, she had seen it through.

The queen titled her head at Azral, staring him down with all the authority she could muster. The gesture on his part wasn't enough. She needed to hear him say it.

"It's finished, then?"

Azral's countenance finally cracked. He smiled at her, a pleasant sight after glowering at her like an old marble statue for so long.

"Yes. It is."

He took the treaty back from the goblin and snapped his fingers. Behind him, the diminutive creature scuttled off, leaving the two rulers more or less alone.

Azral strolled to Kierra at a leisurely pace and rolled up the document, handing it back to her.

"I suppose I should be on my way," Kierra noted.

"Overlord..."

Again, she halted. It was hard to take it all in, the magnitude of what had just happened. With one short speech, and a handshake, she had just secured her homeland's future for another generation to come.

She had her doubts coming here. More than once, Kierra considered the possibility of Azral making further demands. Demands for more land, or access to resources his people barely came by in the harsh landscape they called home.

Kierra struggled to find the words to express her gratitude. After some hemming and hawing that left her ears burning in embarrassment, she settled for a simple, "Thank you."

Azral waved his hand. "Don't thank me yet, human. Our work has only just begun."

His cold gaze flickered to the gate, where their guards were still waiting outside. Then back to Kierra.

"Care for a drink, Your Highness?

It's no short distance between here and your home in the east. It will be sundown soon, and I wouldn't have my guests return without proper rest."

Kierra's brow furrowed.

"Sundown? How could you possibly know that?"

Azral looked pleased with himself, knowing something she didn't know. "I've lived my entire life in these mountains. My kind, we don't get to enjoy the sun quite as often as yours. So we've learned to make do and predict day and night as best we can."

Kierra stole a look at the entrance to the Keep. Several narrow windows stretched along the walls on either side, carved from dull reddish glass. Just as Azral predicted, the dim light from outside was giving way to darkness already.

She felt a twinge of worry creeping over her. Had she arrived at such a late hour, truly?

"The royal council. They'll be waiting to hear back from me..."