Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

It was an indisputable triumph, a victory that would be sung in taverns and courts. Three thousand Imperial soldiers had crushed an unruly horde of six thousand barbarians. None could deny the significance of the day

For a fleeting moment, Emperor Mavius allowed himself to gaze back through the corridors of history, perhaps the recent victory against an enemy that had not walked south for three hundred years, caused him to draw correlation with the past.

In his mind’s eye, he thought of the days when the Empire was but a the kingdom of the Hand, its reach confined to the southern slopes of the God’s Hand Mountains. Those peaks, towering and austere, had once marked the line between civilization and untamed savagery.

It was Vritiux Rotorxoroctano, who had first dared to challenge that line. Known as the Slayer of Rotors,was the one that started what the priest called the Great War ,leading war parties everywhere outside the lands he inherited, seeking to expand his dominion.

The God’s Fingers, those impregnable castles perched along the mountain passes, became his stepping stones, not only protecting his realm but also serving as a bridge that only he could walk to the wild lands beyond.

With the resolve of a conqueror, Vritiux led his forces through the crags and valleys, purging the barbarian tribes that dared to defy him. He didn’t merely conquer; he assimilated, folding the defeated into the fabric of his growing kingdom, accepting thier warrior in his armies and marrying the tribe’s leader daughters to southern nobles.

The same land that Mavius was currently ruling were the one that Vritiux conquered before being supplanted by his son Rovius after his death, finishing up what he started , announcing the birth of the sixth province of the empire , Rotoria.

Returning to the present, among the many prisoners brought before Mavius, one stood out—a prize of particular importance. The man wasn’t hard to spot; while most of the defeated wore little more than animal pelts, this one stood adorned in bronze lamellar armor, dented and tarnished from the fight but still a clear mark of status.

It was no wonder the cataphractarii who captured him had immediately assumed he was someone of significance. Their instincts had proven correct, and now this savage chieftain knelt in chains before the Emperor himself.

Who knew that without knowing it he had just hit gold?

Mavius’s sharp eyes studied the man intently. His appearance was striking—long, unkempt blond hair framed a weathered face, his beard thick and knotted, adorned with small beads that glinted faintly in the light.His blue eyes, though defiant, betrayed a trace of unease. Even in captivity, the man carried himself with a pride that hinted at his high station among the barbarians.

The Emperor found the sight both amusing and intriguing. Here was a man who had likely rallied hundreds, perhaps thousands, of warriors to his cause—a leader who, moments ago, might have been dreaming of victory over the Empire. Now, he knelt in the dirt, humbled before the might of Imperial arms.

The real question now was what to do with the man. Typically, when one captured a noble, the path forward was well-trodden: ransom them back to their family or liege after the war, provided they weren’t a traitor. Rebels, of course, faced a different fate. Depending on the circumstances and the value of their lineage, they might be publicly executed to set an example or kept as bargaining chips for future negotiations, or at least this happened in the empire, going south things were different as many times even after rebellion noble houses did not cease to exist.

Of course ransoms were not just about coin; they often came with political concessions, territorial cessions, or even promises of neutrality in future conflicts.

But this situation was anything but typical.

Mavius leaned back in his seat, fingers drumming thoughtfully against the armrest as he studied the man kneeling before him. A savage. A tribal leader, perhaps, but still a barbarian. What ransom could this man even offer? The thought brought a wry smile to the Emperor’s lips. Do these people even have gold? Or would they arrive at the imperial court bearing pinecones or whatever trinkets they called currency?Perhapse they use pebbles?

The thought made him chuckle.

He met the prisoner’s gaze, his own sharp and calculating, while the man stared back with a defiance that bordered on foolishness. It was almost admirable, Mavius thought, though it didn’t help clarify the issue at hand.

To ransom or not to ransom? The man’s value is uncertain—perhaps his tribe would care enough to buy him back, but what would they offer? Grain? Livestock? A pile of furs? Or worse, would they see his capture as a stroke of luck, a convenient way to rid themselves of an ambitious rival?

He had no knowledge of how those tribes worked politically so he literally had no idea on what to do , and it certainly did not the help the constant shouting of the chip on his shoulder.

”Heretic!” he bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at the captured barbarian leader. ”This creature is a servant of darkness! Did we not all witness the abominations that charged against our lines? Monsters born of corruption and black magic!”

The court’s high priest, Father Callenor, strode forward with a fury that seemed to shake the very air around him. His voice boomed across the grand chamber, amplified by his righteous indignation.

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the assembled nobles and officers. Some nodded vigorously, their faces pale as they recalled the eerie sight of misshapen beasts that had joined the barbarian charge.

He resisted the urge to groan aloud. This was precisely why he had second-guessed this spectacle. Parading the prisoner before nobles and courtiers had seemed like a good idea at first—a chance to flaunt his victory and solidify his standing. But now, watching the escalating fervor of the priest and the way it was stirring , he silently cursed his decision.

He kept it hidden behind the mask of imperial composure, but inwardly, he was already regretting not securing the barbarian leader in private custody, away from this mob of self-serving courtiers and fervent priests.

His eyes flicked to Father Callenor, who was now rallying the room with vivid descriptions of ”witchcraft and unholy pacts.” Mavius could almost hear the torches being lit in their imaginations. It was clear that Callenor wouldn’t stop until someone was put to the flame.

The Emperor’s grip tightened on the armrests of his seat as he quelled his rising irritation. If they only knew what he had already done with the tribal shamans captured after the battle, Callenor’s firebrand speeches would seem like nothing more than harmless whispers. Those shamans had been whisked away under the cover of darkness, entrusted to the care of Mavius’s most loyal men. They were far from the prying eyes of the ecclesiast and the burning stakes that would else have awaited them.

He after all had many questions to ask them as he always had been the most curious of his brothers, and when was it that he was given such an interesting subject as that of black magic?

Yes, the church would scream sacrilege if they knew the truth, but Mavius wasn’t about to let zealots destroy something—or someone—he might use to his advantage and pleasure.

”Father Callenor,” he began, his tone measured but firm, ”your zeal is admirable, and your devotion to the gods unquestioned. Yet I must ask—are we not charged as shepherds to guide the lost and the wayward?”

The priest turned to face him, his righteous fervor momentarily tempered by the Emperor’s gaze.

”This man,” Mavius gestured to Virguth, the captured tribal leader, ”may indeed be steeped in heresy, for he has never been shown the light of the gods’ truth. How could he know the righteous path when his people have lived in ignorance for generations? He is the leader of these savage tribes, their voice and their guide. If shown the true way, perhaps he could bring his people into the fold.”

There was a ripple of uncertainty among the gathered nobles. They glanced at one another, some nodding in hesitant agreement while others remained stone-faced. Mavius continued, his voice gaining strength as he pressed his argument.

”Is it not the will of the gods, as the All-knower says?” he asked, raising a hand as if invoking divine witness, ”For their shepherds to seek out the unfortunate and bring them salvation? To guide those who have strayed into darkness back into the light? What greater glory could we achieve than to turn an enemy into a brother under the heavens?”

He turned his gaze pointedly toward Father Callenor, the challenge clear in his eyes.

”Would it not be a greater triumph for the faith if this man, this leader of heretics, were to stand before his people as a converted servant of the gods, preaching their word and leading them to righteousness?”

The chamber was silent for a moment, the tension thick in the air. Callenor’s lips tightened, but he could hardly refute the Emperor without appearing to defy divine will himself. Slowly, he inclined his head in reluctant acknowledgment.

Mavius leaned back, his expression serene but inwardly relieved. He had maneuvered the room to his will. Virguth still had his uses, and Mavius would see to it that the barbarian leader served the Empire in ways the court could scarcely comprehend.

Mavius’s words resonated not only with the authority of the emperor but also with the teachings of the holy scripts themselves. Four of the five sacred texts of the faith consistently exhorted believers to spread the divine truth of the Five, urging them to guide the ignorant and bring them under the light of the gods.

Only the Script of the Sea stood apart from this mission of conversion. Its tales, cryptic and metaphorical, were filled with stories of mortals whose hubris brought about their doom on the waters, serving as warnings rather than guidance. It seemed the Sea-God had no interest in spreading belief, content instead to watch as the waves carried judgment upon those who disrespected the vast and unknowable depths. It was also the reason why the Sea-God had few temples in the empire.

Mavius, however, was no stranger to this anomaly in doctrine. He had long studied the nuances of the holy texts, . His argument was thus not only politically sound but also deeply rooted in the very faith the court claimed to uphold.

Hence nobody could deny that , not even the staunchest of bygots.