Part - 1
"All hail Lord Henry!"
"Long live the king!"
"May his wisdom always shine upon all of Hallstatt."
The heavy oak doors of the common dining room creaked open, revealing a grand silhouette framed by the warm glow of torchlight. King Henry stepped inside, his presence commanding immediate attention. Clad in a majestic robe of deep crimson, embroidered with golden threads that caught the light with every movement, he walked with the confidence of a lion. His crown, a masterpiece of intricate metalwork studded with precious gems, sat proudly upon his brow, reflecting the firelight in a dazzling display of power. The air in the room seemed to still as his piercing eyes scanned the gathered soldiers, each man straightening in their seats as if his very gaze imparted strength and valor. With a measured, deliberate pace, he moved across the room, the soft clink of his armor beneath the robe adding a subtle undertone of authority. His presence was so commanding, even Zeus would bow before him.
The stone floor beneath him seemed to reverberate with each step, the rhythmic cadence of his boots echoing like a royal drumbeat. His cape, lined with rich sable fur, swept behind him, whispering against the cold stone, a silent reminder of his wealth and dominion. As he passed, the torches lining the walls flickered, their flames dancing as if paying homage to his regal presence. The soldiers' eyes followed him, their expressions a mixture of awe and reverence, for in King Henry, they saw not just a ruler, but the embodiment of the kingdom's strength and glory.
When he reached the center of the room, he paused, his tall figure casting a long shadow that seemed to envelop the entire space. He turned slowly, allowing his gaze to meet each soldier's, as if imparting a personal blessing. The silence in the room deepened, thick with anticipation, as every man held his breath, waiting for their king's next move. Finally, he raised a gloved hand, adorned with rings that glinted in the firelight, and the soldiers instinctively dropped to one knee, their armor clattering softly as they bowed in unison. The king's voice, deep and resonant, cut through the silence like a blade,
"My loyal warriors, tonight, we dine together as brothers in arms, as protectors of Hallstatt. Long live the kingdom."
"For tomorrow is the day when some of our fellow comrades will be staking their lives on the line once again for the sake of their motherland. Let us spend this night not as people of differing authority but as people who share a common birthplace, who have worked alongside each other for countless years, and for the people who keep our homeland above themselves."
"Hear, hear!!"
"All hail Lord Henry!"
"Long live the king!"
As the fervent cheers echoed through the dining hall, King Henry slowly raised his hands, the motion deliberate and graceful, commanding instant attention. The voices that had filled the room with praises and loyalty gradually died down, like a wave receding from the shore. His palms faced outward, fingers slightly spread, the gesture both calming and authoritative. The soldiers, now silent and still, watched him with rapt attention, their collective energy held in suspense by the quiet power of their king. The air thickened with anticipation as King Henry held the silence for a moment longer, his presence alone speaking volumes, before finally addressing the crowd with the gravity befitting the night's purpose.
"Tomorrow, our brave comrades will set off for the unknown, hellish and ever-so cursed lands of Bleakridge, and this time, there will be a total of just five people whom we will probably see for one last time. Let this night be the one where we give ourselves an opportunity to honour these brave people of Hallstatt. We shall be limiting the people we send to those death lands after the harrowing event that occurred the previous time our men returned."
The hall echoed with the claps of the ministers and all the soldiers present there. King Henry was really an epitome of leadership, his words resonating deeply within the hearts of everyone present. As the applause swelled around him, he stood tall, embodying the very spirit of courage and sacrifice he spoke of. The claps were not just a response to his speech but a tribute to the profound respect he had earned from his people—a respect born from years of unwavering dedication and unyielding strength.
King Henry let the applause wash over the room before lowering his hands, his gaze sweeping across the faces of those gathered. He saw in them the same determination and resolve that had carried Hallstatt through countless trials. These were not just soldiers and ministers—they were the backbone of the kingdom, the lifeblood that kept it strong. As the claps gradually subsided, a solemn silence settled in the room once more. King Henry took a deep breath, the weight of the moment palpable. He lifted his goblet high, a symbol of both tribute and defiance against the darkness that loomed beyond their borders. The soldiers and ministers followed suit, raising their cups in a unified gesture of solidarity and respect. A quiet determination settled over the room, as every heart beat with the shared resolve to honor and protect their land, no matter the cost.
"Let us all now feast, brave commanders of Hallstatt!"
Part - 2
The soldiers' dining room in Hallstatt's grand fortress was a space that balanced simplicity with a touch of rustic elegance. The room was expansive, with sturdy wooden beams running across the high ceiling, from which iron chandeliers hung, their candlelight casting a warm, inviting glow over the room. The walls were made of thick, stone blocks, their surface rough-hewn yet well-maintained, giving the room a sense of enduring strength. Tapestries depicting scenes of past battles and the kingdom's proud history adorned the walls, their colors slightly faded but still vibrant enough to remind the soldiers of the legacy they upheld.
Tapestries depicting scenes of past battles and the kingdom's proud history adorned the walls, their colors slightly faded but still vibrant enough to remind the soldiers of the legacy they upheld. Between the tapestries, tall, narrow windows lined the walls, their panes of thick, rippled glass allowing just enough of the cool evening air to seep in, mingling with the warmth of the roaring fireplace. The windows were framed by heavy, velvet drapes, drawn back to reveal the night sky, dotted with stars that seemed to keep silent vigil over the soldiers.
The floor was made of wide, polished wooden planks, their surface worn smooth by countless boots yet still holding a rich, dark luster. Scattered across the floor were woven rugs in deep, earthy tones, providing a bit of warmth underfoot and softening the sounds of movement within the room. The hearth, a large stone structure, dominated one end of the room, its mantelpiece adorned with simple but meaningful objects—an old, well-worn sword, a shield bearing the crest of Hallstatt, and a few candles flickering in the dim light, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Along one side of the room, a long sideboard was laid out with additional provisions, including fresh fruits—apples, pears, and plums—arranged in wooden bowls, and a selection of pies, their flaky crusts golden and filled with rich meats or sweet fruits. There were also large earthenware pitchers of water and wine, the latter a deep red, likely sourced from the vineyards that lay beyond the castle's walls.
The ceiling, high and arched, was supported by massive wooden beams, each one carved with intricate designs that told stories of the kingdom's founders and the gods they worshipped. The beams met at a central point, where a large, iron chandelier hung, its many candles flickering softly, casting a gentle light that filled the room with a sense of warmth and security.
The soldiers' dining room was a place where history and tradition met the needs of the present. It was not ostentatious, yet every detail spoke of the care and respect given to those who dined within its walls. It was a room that offered both comfort and a reminder of the responsibilities that came with the privilege of being a soldier in King Henry's army—a space where the past and present coexisted, and where every meal was a moment of shared purpose and quiet strength.
The scent of hearty food filled the air, a comforting aroma that mingled with the faint scent of wood smoke from the large fireplace at one end of the room. On this night, the soldiers were served a meal befitting their status—not overly lavish, but satisfying and nourishing. Platters of roasted meats, including venison and pork, were placed along the tables, their crispy, golden skin crackling under the torchlight. There were thick slices of dark bread, still warm from the oven, perfect for soaking up the rich, savory gravy that accompanied the meats.
Bowls of root vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and potatoes—roasted with herbs and butter, were passed around, their earthy flavors complementing the meal. For those with a taste for something lighter, there were platters of fresh greens, dressed with simple vinegar and oil, providing a crisp contrast to the heavier dishes. Cheese wheels, made from the local dairies, were cut into generous portions, their sharp, tangy flavors pairing well with the bread and meats.
To wash it all down, there were pitchers of ale and mead, the beverages of choice for soldiers who needed both refreshment and a touch of warmth. The ale was dark and robust, brewed locally, while the mead was sweet, with a hint of honey that lingered on the tongue.
The atmosphere in the dining room was lively yet tempered with the gravity of the night's purpose. The soldiers ate heartily, but their conversations were subdued, filled with a sense of camaraderie and quiet reflection. The room, with its blend of comfort and practicality, was a place where they could find both nourishment and solace, preparing themselves for the challenges that lay ahead, and for the day that was to follow.
Marco couldn't really enjoy any of this. Unlike the other soldiers, he was waiting for King Henry's announcement of the chosen ones, who would tread into the darkness of Bleakridge. However, in order to avoid suspicion, he did have a taste of almost all the food items.
"How is the food today Marco?"
"Yeah, it's really savory. What about you Sandy? Which one do you think is the best of the lot?"
"The steak! Honestly, I never knew there were such people in Hallstatt who could cook pork to such perfection. Yumm!!"
"I see! Wonder when the king will make the final announcement tho' ! After all, that's why he is here today."
As soon as his tongue touched the roof of his mouth, uttering those words, there was an announcement from Count Leopold,
"Soldiers of Hallstatt! We hope you have had your fill for the night. However, it is time when our Lord will make the announcement for the unfortunately fortunate regimens of his army that will carry the torch into the cursed lands tomorrow. "
Part - 3
As King Henry's voice filled the hall, the first name he called was Sir Alistair Grimm. A hush fell over the room as every soldier turned their gaze towards him. Alistair was known throughout Hallstatt as a man of few words, but his deeds spoke volumes. Born to a family of blacksmiths in a small village on the outskirts of the kingdom, close to the paddy fields and granaries, Alistair had been forging his path since childhood. When his father passed away, Alistair took up the hammer and anvil, his strength and skill growing with each strike. However, the call of duty led him to trade his smith's hammer for a sword, and he quickly rose through the ranks due to his unwavering dedication and formidable combat skills. Alistair was a master swordsman, his blade as sharp as his instincts. Though he had never married, the soldiers he fought alongside became his family, each battle a bond forged in fire. Now, he was to face Bleakridge, and though he feared nothing, his heart carried the weight of every comrade he had ever lost.
The second name called was Corporal Rowan Hawke, and a murmur ran through the hall. Rowan was far more aged than most of the veterans seated around him, and his reputation had already spread far and wide. Hailing from the coastal town of Whitehaven, Rowan had grown up with the sea as his constant companion. His father was a fisherman, and Rowan had spent his early years on the turbulent waters of the northern sea, learning to navigate its dangers. When a band of marauders attacked his village, Rowan, barely seventeen, had picked up his father's harpoon and fought with a ferocity that caught the attention of the local garrison. He joined the army soon after, bringing with him the same tenacity and resourcefulness that had kept him alive at sea. Now, as he prepared to face the unknown horrors of Bleakridge, Rowan's mind was as sharp as the wind that had once whipped through his hair, his resolve as steady as the waves he had conquered.
The third name to be announced was Sergeant Ingrid Volkmann. A formidable guy of imposing stature, Ingrid's presence alone was enough to command respect. Born to a family of soldiers, he had been raised with the discipline and rigor of military life. Ingrid's father, a decorated war hero, had instilled in him a sense of duty and honor from a young age. He was not just a soldier; he was a strategist, his mind as sharp as any blade. After his brother's death in a border skirmish, Ingrid vowed to dedicate his life to the protection of Hallstatt, determined to carry on the family's legacy. His prowess in battle was matched only by his compassion for his fellow soldiers. Ingrid had often been seen tending to the wounded, his hands as skilled at healing as they were at wielding a sword. The cursed lands of Bleakridge awaited him now, and though he carried the weight of his family's expectations, he also carried the hopes of those who knew his strength and resolve.
The fourth name King Henry announced was that of Lieutenant Eamon Driscoll, a man whose life had been a testament to perseverance. Eamon was not born into a military family; in fact, his early years were spent in a quiet village, which was quite some distance from Hallstatt, where his parents tilled the land. But fate had other plans. When his village was razed by a marauding band, Eamon, just a boy, had been forced to flee, leaving behind everything he knew. He was taken in by a group of wandering mercenaries, who saw in him the potential for greatness. Eamon learned to fight, to survive, and to adapt to any situation. His rise through the ranks was slow but steady, each promotion earned through sheer grit and determination. By the time he reached the rank of lieutenant, Eamon had become a soldier who inspired loyalty in those under his command. The mission to Bleakridge was the greatest challenge he would ever face, but Eamon knew that his past had prepared him for the horrors that awaited. His heart was steeled by the knowledge that he had overcome every obstacle life had thrown at him—and this would be no different.
The final name on King Henry's list was Private Tomas Leclair. Unlike the others, Tomas was still relatively new to the army, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the veterans around him. Tomas had joined the ranks only a year ago, leaving behind a life of comfort in the bustling Hallstatt, where his family owned a prosperous trade business. But Tomas had always been drawn to stories of heroism and adventure, yearning for something more than the life of a merchant. His decision to enlist had shocked his family, but Tomas was determined to prove himself. Though young and inexperienced, he had shown remarkable bravery in his first skirmishes, his quick thinking and agility saving more than one fellow soldier's life. Now, faced with the daunting prospect of Bleakridge, Tomas felt the weight of his inexperience more than ever. But as he stood among his comrades, he knew that this was probably his last meeting with all of them, ready to face whatever fate had in store for him.
As King Henry's voice faded and the names of the chosen soldiers echoed in the silence of the hall, a heavy, somber mood settled over the room. The reality of the mission ahead weighed heavily on the hearts of all present. The soldiers, who had moments ago shared a meal and laughter, now exchanged solemn glances, the gravity of the night's events sinking in. One by one, the chosen five stood, each of them a pillar of strength, yet in their eyes lingered the shadows of uncertainty and the unspoken fear of what awaited them in the cursed lands of Bleakridge.
Without a word, the soldiers began to file out of the dining hall, the clatter of their boots against the stone floor the only sound in the quiet room. The warmth of the fire seemed distant now, the camaraderie of the evening giving way to the cold reality of the dawn that would soon break. As they made their way to their dormitories, the corridors that had once echoed with the sounds of their laughter and banter now felt oppressive, the walls closing in as the weight of the unknown pressed down upon them.
In the dim light of their chambers, the soldiers prepared for what could be their final rest. Each man and woman grappled with their thoughts, memories of loved ones and past battles intertwining with the dread of the unknown. Some offered silent prayers, others simply stared at the ceiling, lost in the maze of their own fears and hopes. The usually comforting embrace of sleep felt elusive, for tomorrow would bring the dawn of a day that might end in darkness for many of them.
The night stretched on, heavy and endless, as the soldiers lay in their beds, the silence only broken by the occasional rustle of blankets or the soft murmur of a restless dream. And as the fortress of Hallstatt slumbered under the blanket of night, its walls held within them the whispered fears, the unspoken goodbyes, and the shared sorrow of those who knew that some journeys do not have a return.