Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The snow continued to fall on the north and gave no sign of stopping anytime close.

”It’s not so bad,” he remarked to himself, his breath forming wisps of vapor in the frigid air. Compared to the bitter cold that had greeted him upon his arrival, this gentle flurry was little more than a mere dusting of snow.

The wolf’s pet nonetheless kept him warm; when he got here, the cold was unbearable,as he had never faced it, he did not even weany any animal pelt as by northern custom only men could wear these and no matter how much he screamed and demanded, naught was given to him . He still remembered the smile he received when he returned from one of the scouting expedition beyond the Bane wearing the wolf pelt , but among all, he remembered the smile he was given by his daughter Elenoir.

Harold saw that and merely chuckled, giving no sign of being bothered by his daughter being in his company. Maesinius knew it was not for his position; the northern lord did not give half a ball about that; they only cared about who he really was , though being a prince was a small bloom still .

Even though it was just a dusting of snow, he had enough as he walked towards the inner fort. His steps sank on the soft snow as he opened the big wooden door , where the great hall resided.

As he stepped in , he no longer felt the cold wind hissing through his ears. He shook himself a bit , releasing all the snow he had accumulated during his walk.

A hearty cheer greeted him as he entered, accompanied by the clinking of tankards and the laughter of men. Svenn, the seasoned master at arms of Grash, raised his ale in salute, his grizzled face creased in a weathered grin. He was over fifty, and the soldiers liked to call him ’Grandpa snow’.

”The high prince has blessed us with his presence!” Svenn boomed, his voice echoing through the hall.He still cringed hearing that nick-name.

He recalled the day when he had earned the moniker during his first training session in the snow. Gripping a wooden blade tightly in his hand, he squared off against Svenn, his breath forming clouds of steam in the frigid air.

The first blow had caught him off guard, striking him squarely in the stomach and knocking the wind from his lungs. It was a humbling experience, one that no training master in the South would have dared to subject him to.

”How dare you hit me!” He had protested, his pride hurting more than the blow.

But Svenn had merely chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. ”In the south, perhaps no one would have dared,” he had replied, his voice gruff with the accent of the north. ”But this is no south, m’prince. Here, we have snow aplenty, and the first lesson you must learn is to shed your pride.”

”I am a prince! I am supposed to be proud of my lineage ,” he had declared defiantly, clinging to the vestiges of his royal upbringing.

But Svenn’s response had been equally fast . ”Aye, and your fall will be a hard one, considering you stand as high as a prince,” he had retorted, his words cutting through Maesinius’s youthful arrogance like a blade through cloth.

After that , he tried to fight back , his fists flying in futile defiance. But Svenn had been relentless, his blows raining down upon the young prince with the unyielding force of the northern winter.

By the end of the ordeal, Maesinius had been left battered and bruised, his body adorned with angry purple welts.

Maesinius leaned against the worn wooden table, his expression a mixture of amusement and annoyance. ”Still with that bloody nickname,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he cracked his neck.

Svenn chuckled, the lines etched deep into his weathered face crinkling with mirth. ”Aye, it’s a good one. The sooner you embrace it, the easier it’ll be for you.”

”Easy for you to say,” Maesinius retorted with a smirk. ”Granpa-snow suits you just fine. Mind if I switch?”

Svenn raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. ”Over my dead body!”

Maesinius laughed, the sound echoing through the stone walls of the great hall. ”Very well, end of the year it is,” he replied, his eyes smiling with mischief as the other soldiers joined in the jest.

But the mirth faded as Maesinius turned serious. ”Did the scouts return?” he asked, his tone somber.

Svenn’s smile vanished, replaced by a grim expression. ”Aye, they reported the same thing as the last time. The savages’ village was abandoned, not a soul in sight.”

Maesinius frowned, a furrow appearing between his brows. ”Do you think it was a fight?”

Svenn spat on the stony ground, his features darkening. ”No way. There were no bodies, no signs of a struggle. They must have left willingly, or perhaps they were driven out by a larger force.”

Strange world this was; seeing savages always brought a headache, yet seeing none always caused fear.

’What caused them to move?’ The prince wondered, ’Did prizes disappear in the area?Maybe they united with a bigger tribe?’ Whatever it was, he knew it was nothing good.

”We should scout even further then,” Maesinius muttered, his brow furrowing with concern.

Svenn nodded in agreement, his expression grave. ”Aye, we should bring that up to the Lord, though,” he said, relenting as he finished his ale, his thoughts already turning to the implications of what lay beyond their borders.

As Maesinius settled back into his seat, preparing to discuss their next course of action, the heavy wooden door swung open with a creak. A man bearing the emblem of North’s Bane, a sword on a brown field, entered the hall.

”Rosk, close the bloody door!” Svenn barked, irritation evident in his voice as he reached for his empty cup.

Rosk, Svenn’s son, obeyed his father’s command without hesitation, swiftly shutting the door before approaching the prince. He dropped to one knee, extending a sealed letter towards Maesinius.

”News from the south, my prince,” Rosk announced solemnly, his gaze fixed on Maesinius.

Maesinius accepted the letter, noting the familiar emblem of his house emblazoned on the seal. He cracked the seal and unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the contents.

’’Seems like your father finally wants his son by his side’’ Svenn shouted, causing the prince to smirk

’That old fucker would have me rot here first’, he said, opening the letter, breaking the vax as he started reading it.

But as he read further, the smile faded from his face, replaced by a look of surprise and bewilderment. Svenn’s smile vanished too as he observed the change in Maesinius’s demeanor.

Before anyone could know it, war had come to the North’s doorstep.