The Albionic Chronicles Part 1

Plymouth Sound

In the aftermath of their departure from Cambridge, Sylvester and Bilo found themselves standing at a crossroads, both literally and figuratively. With the ruins of the once-great city behind them, they pondered their next move amidst the uncertainty of their circumstances.

Their conversation was punctuated by the distant echoes of battle and the haunting whispers of the wind, carrying with it the weight of their decisions. The option to venture to the war-torn continent of Europa loomed before them like a spectre, its dangers as palpable as the shadows that danced around them.

Sylvester's homeland of Ireland offered little solace, its shores a distant memory tinged with sorrow and longing. And while the thought of journeying westward to Wales presented itself as a possibility, both companions harboured doubts about the wisdom of such a choice.

As they deliberated, the air thickened with tension, the weight of their indecision pressing down upon them like an invisible force. Suddenly, the sharp sound of approaching footsteps shattered the stillness, jolting Sylvester and Bilo into action. With practised ease, they melted into the shadows, their instincts honed by years of survival in a world fraught with peril.

In the eerie twilight, the rhythmic tramp of boots reverberated through the air as the regiment of Albionic soldiers marched in perfect synchrony. Each step seemed to echo the heartbeat of the land, resonating with an ominous cadence that sent shivers down Sylvester's and Bilo's spines.

Huddled in the concealment of their hiding place, they watched with wary eyes as the soldiers passed by, their gaze sweeping over the surrounding terrain with a keen intensity. Though they remained unseen, the weight of their past deeds hung heavy upon them, a constant reminder of the shadows that lurked in every corner of the kingdom.

Yet, amidst the tension and uncertainty, a glimmer of relief washed over them. It seemed that their notoriety had been eclipsed by the unfolding chaos in Cambridge, allowing them to evade the immediate threat of capture. Still, they knew that their respite would be short-lived, and the need for a swift departure weighed heavily upon their minds.

With a silent exchange of understanding, Sylvester and Bilo acknowledged the urgency of their situation. As the last echoes of the marching soldiers faded into the distance, they emerged from their hiding place, their resolve steeled by the realization that their time was running short. They needed to find sanctuary, a haven where they could discuss their options without fear of prying eyes or looming threats.

They decided to ford the river and returned to the kobold village, a sense of relief washed over them like a comforting embrace. Memories of their previous encounters flooded their minds, and they knew they were among friends. The kobolds, ever vigilant, spotted them from afar and erupted into joyful cheers, their scales shimmering in the sun light as they danced and chattered excitedly.

Amidst the jubilant chaos, Sylvester's gaze fell upon one particular kobold, its form adorned with a gleaming headband that seemed to radiate an aura of intelligence. With a determined stride, he made his way to the makeshift table where the prized possession lay, his mind set on his secondary goal.

Engaging in a brief but earnest negotiation, Sylvester exchanged a few trinkets from his pack for the coveted headband of intellect. The kobold, recognizing the value of the items offered, nodded in agreement, its sharp eyes gleaming with satisfaction as the deal was struck.

Sylvester settled into a wooden stool opposite Bilo, his eyes alight with anticipation as they delved into the task at hand. With a quick glance around, Bilos potted a nearby kobold and beckoned them closer with a friendly wave.
"Oi Mate" Bilo greeted the kobold warmly. "We need some maps. Do you 'appen to 'ave any?"