The Harvest Wars - Part 1 - Awakening

CHAPTER ONE - Jon the Conjurer

Once inside the circle of wagons, Aaron made a decision. He would go to the stranger and listen to what he had to say. He had to. The young man pulled back his hood, took off his gloves, and walked toward the blazing fire.

The caravan, needing to be large to brave the Monger's Path at this time of year, consisted of about forty merchants and their servants, as well as a dozen mercenaries. Yet only a small group was still awake, sitting close to the cooking pit in which the flames danced. Aaron could see Rontar, the corpulent leader of the caravan and employer of the mercenaries. There was also Captain Daerto, whose breastplate took on a golden-orange color in the light of the fire, and near him were Titzo and Tark-brothers and adept knife fighters. He saw a few other familiar faces, but he paid them no heed as he walked toward the one around whom they had gathered.

It was the stranger. Plucking up his courage, Aaron held the staff tight and approached him.

The old man's voice was deep and resonating, strangely at odds with his fragile body, and he had just finished a sentence that made Aaron shiver: "... it was not long after we lost the twins that we finally found the Ravager."

Aaron stopped a few yards away from the fire so as not to disturb the account, but the old man had already seen him and noticed that he carried his staff. The stranger seemed pleased.

"My staff!" he said. "Thank you, lad, for being so kind and returning an old man's third leg." A smile appeared in his wrinkled face as he pointed to a free spot directly to his left. "Take a seat, if you will."

"Thank you, milord," said Aaron nervously, and he carefully handed him the staff before sitting down. The grizzled old man held the wood in his remaining hand, briefly staring at the strange symbols carved into it, which seemed to move in the flickering light.

"Good to have you back, old friend..." he said. Then he smiled again, put the staff beside him, and offered his hand to Aaron, who shook it. "And no need to call me 'milord,' boy. My name is Bran."

"Aaron," he replied in a tone that was meant to sound strong, but the name only came out as a croak.

The old man nodded, grinning slightly, and placed his staff beside him on the ground. Then he turned toward the rest of the audience and asked, "Where was I?"

Captain Daerto coughed and answered politely, "You were just about to tell us about your confrontation with the Ravager whom you followed into the old ruins deep below Khorngaz cam Ugul."

"Yes... yes, I remember," said Bran, his voice getting heavy with deep sorrow. "The remaining Thirteen were I, a humble warrior monk; Adelia, our wizard; Jon the Conjurer; and Borgar, my barbarian friend and our leader. We were the last four of a party that had been thirteen mere hours ago; before we set foot into that accursed necropolis. We were determined to make the man pay that had lead us there and caused us so much suffering!"

Bran took a deep breath and stared into the fire. "We entered a great hall: a place of fire, black stone, and steel. Pillars rose from the ground toward the darkness of the ceiling, each one so thick that two men wouldn't be able to encompass them with outstretched arms. The floor was a tight-woven grating of iron bars above a pit of molten metal. It was... unnatural. The air was wavering, scorching our lungs as we breathed; in seconds our clothes were drenched with sweat. In the center of the room stood a throne. It had been erected on a raised platform, close to something that resembled a massive anvil. After a few steps inside, we noticed that we were not alone. We could see burning, spiteful eyes in the shadows, could see that our enemies were legion. However, they did not attack. Not yet, at least... So we ventured toward the middle of this hellish place, closer to the platform and the throne and the thing sitting on it: the Ravager of Ravendale."