Version 2.0
The talks of discontent grew into everyday talk and action, as Connell had begun to weave a plan. His reputation was built first on a failed rebellion in the Tower lands and now sharpened by the battle that saw Aloe slain, his reputation quickly spread across the northern lands of the bad boy that rebelled against the power. Connell became frequent around places like the Red, Slate, Locke, Tower, frost, and Umbar Lands. He wooed the people, got drunk with the mercenaries, and talked ill of the Kings. His good looks got the envy of the men and the love of the women.
The loyalists watched with evil eyes as the women giggled with him, they followed Connell's movements. Yet, the mercenary leader did not hide like they expected, he was open about where he was going and what he was doing. Although he moved with a large band of loyal men, he always advertised wherever he went getting the love of people and taunting the King.
Not even after the Edwyn feast on the corpses of the many beasts successfully hunted and the after ceremony of giving the rest away to the people did that satisfy them. Many complained it was 'too late to try and woo them now', or that they felt more like an afterthought when they were given the chance to take the food back with them after the feast. The people were unhappy, and they would take any excuse to show that to their 'king'.
/
"It was Brandon," one burly farmer declared, slamming his fist against the rough-hewn table of the inn. His eyes glistened with the reflective candlelight. "He's the one who led us through the Long Night, he's the only one with the strength to fell a creature like Aloe. Who else would the gods bless with such a deed?"
"Nonsense," spat a gaunt man with a scar that split his lip. He leaned forward, voice slurred from his drink. "It has to be Connell. He's the one who's been out there, taking the fight to the kings, the monsters, taking what he wants as he wants. It's Connell's victory, every other King is just an angry cunt!"
The inn's patrons fell silent as the tension coiled between the two men. A few uneasy shuffles, the creak of wooden benches, and then—the burly farmer struck, fist connecting with a meaty thud. The room erupted as men scrambled to separate them, the air alive with shouts and the scrape of boots.
Outside the villages, the winds of doubt spread wider still. Despite not being present at the battle, the Red King himself stirred the hornet's nest when he told his people, "It was Connell's hand that felled Aloe, and his name shall be remembered for it." He even had the gall to message every king calming it so.
Kings turned their eyes to their borders, wary not trusting Royce and whatever new scheme his is making. The Slate King was bristled with anger scathed at the Red King's declaration. He calmed to not order it, but skirmishes broke out along their shared frontier—quick raids and retaliations, blood spilled over claims of glory and fame. The same story happened on the Forst and Umbar border but the Red King did not retaliate only sending some of his men to 'keep the peace'.
Villages whispered their stories, taverns hummed with contested truths, and children playing with their makeshift slings would pause, wide-eyed, as their parents argued late into the night about the rightful hero. Was it Brandon, the stalwart leader whose name had long carried the weight of the North? Or Connell, the rising star, whose defiance had become a rallying flame? The question lingered like smoke, choking the life of what it touched.
/
Meanwhile, across the North, the death of Aloe was heralded as a turning point. Songs of triumph filled the mead halls, and bonfires burned bright against the dark sky, their smoke mingling with laughter and raised cups. To many, it was a victory for mankind, they had escaped the shadow of Aloe's monstrous terror. Villages that trembled at night now felt somehow safer despite there being little actual change. The monsters, now free from Aloe's influence, began to scatter back into the wilds of the north, their numbers thinned but still enough for them to be an uncommon sight.
Celebrations were loudest in the lands of the Frost and Umbar lands, where the people's stoic nature cracked open to reveal joy. The diminished markets bustled, traders and farmers exchanging laughter and hearty claps on the back. For in these cold lands, the monsters were most prevalent due to the lower number of people, Aloe had spent most of his time in these lands and so had released the most monsters around there.
In the Slate King's halls, there was a feast, a rare reprieve despite the troubled state of his kingdom and continued dwindling food across the kingdom. He had seen the end of Aloe, and he felt the need to cut back just for a day and spend it with his wife and kids.
As the monsters retreated and 'quiet' resumed, the kings found themselves watching shadows. Connell's name was spoken in every village square, and though the people celebrated Aloe's death, their eyes drifted ever toward the horizon, often towards the kings' castles asking questions and reasons why.
/
In the aftermath of the battle, one unexpected success emerged, the slingers. Under Brandon's command, they had proven their worth, where each of the kings' slinger kills count reached into the high double figures. The sight of these skilled men and women bringing down the beasts made every king jealous of Brandon's weapons. Word of the slingers' effectiveness spread like wildfire, and soon, every king across the realm sought to mimic Brandon's foresight. It became a rush to become one of the Kings guard's slingers.
Even among the common folk, the allure of the sling took hold. Children fashioned their own from scraps of leather and cord, practicing in secret corners of their homes. Though parents often kept their little ones indoors, wary of the upheaval and anger that swept the land, the soft thwap of stones against wooden walls became a familiar sound. In those moments, the slingers' legacy etched itself into the culture, promising that even in the darkest times, hope could be spun from the simplest of means.