The Charlatan Mountains rose majestically with twin peaks that resembled fierce horns reaching a staggering height of over four thousand meters, an awe-inspiring sight to even the most seasoned mountaineers. The rocky hills surrounding the imposing summits formed a formidable fortress, making as-cent a true test of one's grit and perseverance. Yet, amidst the jagged terrain lay a hidden treasure - the flat plateau of the third mountain, towering over the curving rocky hills at a breathtaking height of almost three thousand meters. Only the bravest adventurers would dare to venture through the winding paths, and seek to conquer this perilous climb to lay their eyes upon this coveted prize.
"Indeed, from afar the landscape looks like the a charlatan's hat," chuckled Ismeth.
The party, which had set out at dawn, had heeded the advice of scout Borvil Jarlhead and stabled their horses at a small farm located at the mountain's base, where they had been traveling on foot for roughly three hours. Jarlhead, a local who knew the terrain well, and Ervin Conrad Middleton, hailing from Harven, who had lived in the mountains his entire life, led the way.
"How did a Harven-born like you end up here?" Ismeth inquired during a brief rest.
The dark-skinned man, like Ismeth, cast a cautious but fierce gaze at the inexperienced commander. "I was apprehended for rebellion after the war. The Supreme Commander granted me a pardon," he replied.
"Rebellion, eh?" Ismeth snickered.
"Were you taken in for joining the hunger uprisings?" Brad asked gravely.
Scout Middleton gazed at Brad incredulously and affirmed his suspicions.
"What exactly happened? What's the true story? I'm curious," Ismeth inquired.
"During the dying days of the Empire, a great upheaval surged through the province of Harven, once a seignory under the Harghes' Lord, ignited by the crushing burden of unbearable taxes, famine, and abject poverty. The tide of rebellion, however, was swiftly quelled by the might of Harven's armed forces, whose gleaming swords and resolute determination crushed the sparks of insurrection. Following his ascension as the new ruler, Illuen, mindful of his fraternal bond to Harven, his birthplace, declared a sweeping amnesty for all those who had taken up arms against the Empire."
Brad's words were concise, but they left a bitter taste in each listener's mouth. He went on to reveal that, unbeknownst to Illuen, the Sanctuary Knights of Harghes had acted as a covert cabal of elite warriors, accountable to no one but themselves. In their zealous pursuit of order, they had taken it upon themselves to quash any signs of rebellion, throwing countless dissidents into squalid, fetid cells, dooming them to a fate worse than death. Meanwhile, Illuen, as the Supreme Commander, was away fighting a protracted campaign for the Empire on the Arethian continent and remained ignorant of their nefarious deeds.
Brad paused, glancing around the group with solemn eyes before continuing, his voice rising with conviction.
"But upon Illuen's return to the capital, his authority as the Founder of the United Kingdom was well-established, and he was shocked to learn of the atrocities committed in his name. Overcome with remorse, he prostrated himself before the people of Harghes and promised atonement. He not only issued a sweeping amnesty for the prisoned rebels, but he also promised to bring the offending Sanctuary Knights to justice, delivering on that promise by exacting the kind of retribution that the oppressed had long yearned for. It was then that he used his surname D'Harven more proudly as a symbol of respect for the city that had witnessed his redemption."
Brad spoke with newfound confidence, his eyes flashing with anger as he recounted the final events that had led to Illuen's transformation into a just and compassionate ruler.
Scoute Middleton gave a stony glare at the dark-skinned knight, and Brad matched his intensity. Ervin, who had suffered under the oppressive rule of the Noble Knighthood, felt compelled to speak up.
"May I speak freely, sir?" he asked Brad respectfully.
"You have no need to ask for permission, Ervin. We are all equals here, regardless of our station or background," Brad said, his voice infused with a sense of camaraderie.
Ervin Conrad Middleton took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. "We suffered greatly during those dark days. My family, my friends, and I, we all bore the scars of that time. Although the King took steps to right the wrongs committed against us, we could never forget the anguish and torment we endured. Then, with the establishment of the Illuen Knights, a new order arose, one that was fairer, more just than the corrupt and brutal Noble Knighthood that came before it. And to see a commoner like you, Sir Brad, striving to become a Knight Candidate, it gives me hope, it helps to heal the wounds that have festered for far too long. Thank you, Sir."
Brad and Ismeth acknowledged their understanding with a reverential nod, the silent gesture speaking volumes.
The group halted for lunch, gathering their belongings and continuing along the path. As they progressed, the narrow, densely wooded trail grew steeper, heralding the anticipated ascent. Each of them struggled forward, bearing the weight of at least fifteen kilos on their backs.
Excitement coursed through Jarlhead's voice as he exclaimed, "I found their tracks. They must have made their way to the settlement."
"Settlement?" Brad, third in line, queried.
"We're almost there. There used to be a school of wizardry here, abandoned for centuries. About three hundred years ago, the Athan Towers were raised on the summits of two separate peaks. The school buildings were located atop the middle peak," Jarlhead replied.
Ismeth interjected with a sardonic tone, "Did this revelation just dawn on you, Jarl?"
After a grueling two-hour ascent, they finally reached the plateau. Despite the sun intermittently breaking through the clouds, the wind had grown more intense on the open plain. As Jarlehead and Middleton went out to scout the area, the squad took a brief respite surrounded by a forest of birch and oak trees.
Suddenly, Jarlhead's voice echoed through the woods, "Hurry, Middleton found them." His face was pallid, and his voice trembled with urgency.
Brad had initially intended to inquire for more information, but he abandoned the idea. They all followed the tracks in unison. Running for five minutes along a serpentine path and scaling a few small hills, they eventually arrived at a broad clearing. In front of them lay a diminutive crater lake and stone structures festooned with wooden awnings and frames. The deserted settlement resembled a quaint hamlet. Brad had already detected the aroma. WWithout seeking clarification from Jarlhead, he entered one of the structures, which sat beside an old, dilapidated windmill. Inside the capacious hall, five men lay motionless on the floor, and Middleton was scrutinizing their fatal injuries.
"Orcs and goblins," Brad surmised, pre-empting any further explanations from the pathfinder.
"How did you know, sir?" inquired Middleton.
"From their scent," Brad answered confidently.
Middleton sniffed the air a few times. Except for the corpses that had barely begun to decompose, there was no other discernible scent. He didn't offer any remarks.
"How long have these men been deceased?" Brad queried.
"I reckon they were attacked last night," Middleton deduced.
"The bodies have yet to bloat. Yes, I concur," Brad confirmed.
Upon entering the saloon, Jarlhead disclosed that he recognized some of the bandits as familiar faces. Brad requested the two pathfinders to scout the vicinity, ensuring they don't wander too far. Ismeth took charge of burying the dead bodies with the help of a few men. Afterward, they scoured each building one by one. Brad surmised that the buildings had been deserted for decades, if not centuries. Dilapidated and nearly decomposed beds, furniture, and parchments were stark signs of time's ruination.
"What's next, Brad? Have we completed our task?" Ismeth inquired.
"We'll track down the culprits, Ismeth."
"Are we pursuing orcs and goblins? What's the point? The bandits are already dead. Our job was to locate them, and we did. The rest is not worth it."
Brad glared at Ismeth with fury. The latter recoiled like a frightened cat.
"If you're scared, Ismeth, you can stay here," Brad suggested.
"Fine by me. Suit yourself and journey towards peril," replied the ebony-skinned knight aspirant, snickering.
Brad distanced himself from Ismeth and contemplated alone while gazing at the lake. Powerful gusts from the east carried acrid and strange odors continuously.
"Am I the only one smelling this?" Brad inquired of Ismeth.
"What scent?" his comrade inquired in response.
"Damn it," Brad muttered, but he was confident; there was an overpowering and unfamiliar scent in the air that seared his throat. He had perceived it before, but he couldn't recall where. He decided to find the source of the odor in the hope that it would spark a recollection in his mind.
"An expedition awaits, Ismeth. You shall remain here," Brad declared with conviction.
"Nonsense, Brad. I shall accompany you," Ismeth objected.
"No, you are to remain at camp."
"Then take a companion with you," Ismeth suggested.
"Very well. Middleton, you shall join me," Brad ordered, summoning the pathfinder from atop the hill.
"Whereto?" inquired Ismeth.
"Eastward. We shall pursue a gut feeling of mine. Stay alert," Brad warned.
"Keep your wits about you as well," Ismeth urged, visibly on edge. After Brad departed, Ismeth retrieved a bottle of spirits from his knapsack and drank until it was gone, secluding himself in a hidden corner behind the old windmill, away from the soldiers.