A grin spreads across the leader's face. He gives his men a signal, and they lower their crossbows.
"Welcome home!" he exclaims.
The rangers break into cheers.
Next
------
Vedran isn't used to such stifling heat and humidity.
He's been riding for so long with Rade's army. His body aches from their back-breaking pace. The prince hasn't even seen their target in weeks.
According to Rade, the loyalist army has headed for the safety of the Kroridian jungle.
Vedran's not entirely sure what a jungle even is.
But here he is now, only a week's march out, riding with the army of a traitor who killed his father.
How did it turn out this way? the prince wonders. How did it all fall apart?
Next
You and Elya are riding at the front of the column, guided by the rangers. They take you through hidden, winding jungle trails. Over creeks and through the overgrowth.
You feel much more at ease, knowing that their experienced eyes are guiding you.
But Elya's face is filled with unease. She ducks a low-hanging branch and glances over at you.
She asks, "Hey… you never mentioned, but who are those men?"
"The crossbowmen?"
She nods.
You reply, "Rangers. Experts at jungle combat."
"They don't look like soldiers," Elya says. She's not wrong. They wear no armor. No uniform. They have no hood or cloak. The rangers look more like ordinary peasants than any kind of professional warrior.
Minus the crossbows on their backs and falchions strapped to their belts.
"'Cause they ain't. They're militia. But they're the finest damn militia I've ever seen."
"And that… thing they called you," Elya wonders. "Inae Dirriman?"
"Forgotten One. It's a title or… epithet they gave me," you reply, brushing a vine out of your face.
"Oh. That's quite the, uh, morbid title."
You nod. "It carries with it a certain… connotation."
"A morbid one, I assume."
"Depends upon your definition of 'morbid,'" you reply. "It's based on an old Kroridian folkloric figure. The fate of whom was… particularly grisly."
Elya replies, "Can't say I'm surprised…"
"Stop interrupting," you say with a glare.
"Oh. Sorry."
You clear your throat and continue.
"Nothing about them as a person is known. Age, name, sex… none of it. But what's known is that they drove off a Ravarian invasion force. Not even Kanton was able to do so. Krorid's about the only place this side of the continent that remained unoccupied."
"So what happened to them?"
Nausea builds up in you at the thought. Having such a grisly fate literally tied to your name makes the story… unpleasant to recall.
"I don't want to talk about it," you mutter.
Next