The Wings of Hall
The fortress of Beil, in Eastern Nantii. Currently controlled by Duke Tevor, but besieged by Duke Solius.Night was falling on the Hills of Beil. Torches were lit in the camp of Duke Solius' army, which spread all over the hills surrounding the impressive fortress. Looking upon the scene from a bird's view, you might think it a disorganized sight, but that was just an illusion created by the disruptive hills. In truth, Duke Solius' army was an oasis of order in the chaos that gripped the whole of Nantii. And it was all thanks to one man: Commander Haakon, the unquestioned leader of this army.
Haakon's tent was situated opposite to the fortress gates, on top of a high hill that gave an unobstructed view towards the fortress. Two armed-to-the-teeth elite guards stood at the entrance. Inside, two men held counsel.
"Tell me honestly... can you do it?" A man sitting behind a desk asked the other man, sitting opposite him on the other side of the desk.
"I'm not good with calculating chances," the other man replied with a completely straight face, "so I'll just say 'yes'."
The man behind the desk sighed and leaned back on his heavy wooden chair, his armor rustling like a bag of coins. "I know your reputation, but we
are talking about the Fortress of Beil. It has never been taken with force during its four hundred years of history. I would hate to waste your enormous advance pay because of your arrogance."
"Life is full of risks, Commander. You know as well as I do that this is the most viable option we have in this situation. Time is running short, we
need to get inside within a month. And believe it or not, The Wings of Hall are your best shot."
Commander Haakon stood up. He was a large man, around his mid-forties, with a very... commanding presence. He was wearing a full-body plate armor - the thing probably weighed as much as the man himself - seemingly without much effort. Nicolaos had to admit he felt genuine respect for this man. Which is why he'd made a contract with Duke Solius in the first place, instead of someone among his dozen of rivals.
"Wine?" The Commander asked, reaching for the carafe of red wine on his desk.
"No thank you." Nicolaos shook his head slightly. He was dressed in his usual attire: a brown, hoodless robe of fine make and some embroidery, a red sash on his waist. The curved blade on his back also had a red cloth on its hilt, the mark of a Rowosian Swordmaster. He wore no armor whatsoever, indicating a strong faith in his skill and the divine protection of his god.
"It's about time," the cleric said, rising on his feet, after a moment of companionable silence.
"Yes. Good luck on your mission. I'll be waiting for the crow."
Nicolaos turned his back, waved his left hand casually in acknowledgement, and headed out of the tent.
Outside, barely a hundred meters from the tent, waited his band of mercenaries. Nicolaos calmly walked the path down the hill. He felt their eyes on him, some expectant, some indifferent. His face was expressionless, unwavering. He did not stop when he reached them. He walked right through the group and headed towards the fortress.
"Let's go," was all he said to them.