Valice surveyed through the scattered maps and documents across the round, oaken table, her head throbbing with pain due to the lack of sleep. Long several nights spent on deciphering the strange idyllic characters as she had done translating a dozen words or more with struggling results. Though the work would take several months, even years, she remained determined to succeed. If her men were ever to survive the harsh reality of this new world, she needed to prepare for the worse. And that meant studying the world's customs, beliefs and language.

Dawn crept behind her from the open window as gold, thin light seeped at the back of her olive hand. Distracted for a moment, Valice glanced away from her studies, flipping her hand back and forth and wiggling her delicate fingers that played in the gentle light. She then took the opportunity to stare up at the stone ceiling, rubbing her eyes and yawning with arms stretched up high. Her longhouse. Her base of operation. Her home - now refurbished since weeks settled upon the hamlet.

Despite the horrid state from the beginning, the place remained in good, tolerable condition with tools and resources left behind by the original inhabitants. Those resources were enough to restore what was a place of ruin into a bastion of strength. Yet with every solution came a problem, tedious and slow to absolve. One was about food shortages while the other a terrible incident underneath her feet. And recently of all were the…

“Bandits," a voice suddenly spat at the far end of the entrance doorway, his aged-old tone reverberating through the hall. Valice sighed inwardly and placed down the book, staring at her advisor, Oraas, approaching with a small tray of her morning breakfast.

“Several sightings of beastfolk activity have been spotted at the outskirt," Oraas reported with a hint of annoyance in his tone. He settled the tray beside her, revealing a simple meal of rationed porridge and stale bread. “Their numbers continue to grow with each passing day. Won't be long before something worse comes along the way."

Valice sighed. “I'm quite aware of the situation," she took the first bite of her meal and resisted the urge to make a face. While Oraas was the ever the humble caretaker, advisor and scholar all into one, he was, above all, a persistent man.

She had read the reports from Oraas and the officers of the legion. The threat that they came to fear was nothing less than a band of frightful beastfolk, peasants and refugees from other villagers that somehow caught tales of a new settlement and spread out like the wind, inviting the curious and the desperate. Such an amount of attention irked Valice much as she preferred to remain the hamlet a secret. While there have been no actual bandits among the masses so far, she was downright persistent to keep it that way.

 “Our situation remains the same," she sternly pushed her breakfast aside and rose from her seat. “I trust that Partishan Orson and a contingent of the White Ravens are dealing with this matter?"

  “They are, and work progresses slowly," Oraas said. “At your instruction, they are trying to dissuade the folk away, keeping them from reaching the hamlet. Yet, you know what they are of the common folk. They act similar to those of the time at Tremal and Abbal, growing desperate," he paused and there was a brief flicker regret on his expression. “If the case comes to show, we would have no choice--"

“Out of the question," Valice gestured sharply to interrupt him. “This is not like before, and they are not like us in any regard. If we decide to act so brash and cruel, the beastfolk would tell us to a higher power that we are not prepared to face."

“Who is to say that they have not?" Oraas asked. “Who is to say that one of the masses has spies and sniffer-spotters to report to their masters?"

“Honestly, none," she sighed and then shook her head. “But at the least, they know that we are not out there for blood and carnage. Time would tell if they get the message." 

Oraas nodded, indicating the end of the conversation as he sat down at the opposite end of the table. With his wrinkly fingers, he picked up a random parchment and peered into those words. Out of the corner of her eye, Valice indulged herself with a hearty smile at the old man's annoyance.

Hours spent silently in the longhouse as the two scholars worked studiously in their translation - their work gradual progress to achieve. At times of peace, Valice was a scholar first and a warrior second, peering through old tomes and uncovering lost secrets. However, the war offered her no such luxury as many were pulled to its madness.

Suddenly, bellowed cries caught Valice by the ear as she spun to the open window, hearing not only the familiar military orders but the marching steps of men with leather boots on snow.

As if on cue to answer, Oraas placed the parchment aside and cleared his throat to speak. “Partishan Callus has already set into motion with the expedition. Within the hour, they will be long gone by then."

“Hmm, I thought as much," Valice sighed, not looking at Oraas and her voice sounding almost tired. “Do you think Callus would take no for an answer?"

“I don't think he would take any heed to anyone," Oraas stated matter of factly. “That knight is stubborn as they come, more so than his ilk," he breathed in. “And yet, he asked you regardless."

Valice sighed. “I didn't want to, you know," she curled her hand into a fist. “Despite my earlier protest, I cannot help but agree with his statement."

“That we need to retrieve whatever's left from our place of origin and prevent others from taking it."

Valice nodded, appreciating Oraas for understanding the situation. The battlefield between the Avis Legion and the fanatics of the Scarlet Order had left a treasure trove of wartime loot to plunder, weapons such as the imperial muskets that would tip the scale if one was knowledgeable enough to learn the mechanism of its work. The worst part of all was the fact that many surviving legionnaires remained behind in the aftermath, and she ponderously wondered if any of them were still alive. She doubted it.

Oraas' face hardened. “It would be a long time before we can return home," He reminded her with a stern voice, devoid of emotion. “I hope you understand what that means?"

Valice fell silent, turning to the old advisor with soft eyes. She knew precisely what Oraas meant. It would say that the chance of returning home was close to none. The thoughts had been at the corner of her mind from the very start, and she knew well that everyone, the Knights, the Legion, Oraas and herself, were stuck in this world until they could find a solution. If they were such one.

“It means we all have time in the world," Valice answered, her pearly white teeth peeled in a smile. “And we are going to make every use of it."

[==]

The world was covered in a blanket of powdery snow, pristine white that shone like diamonds under the broad rays of the sun. Beyond the hamlet revealed the far landscape of mountainous hills, flat surface fields and a wide range of forests, deep and black and naked.

Grand Partishan Callus - a title bestowed to him with incredible honour by the remainder of his kinsman, the Partishans - inspected the tight-knit rank of legionnaires chosen for the expedition. The sound of their marching footsteps rhythm against the snowy surface was a sweet familiarity to his ears rather than the chaotic cacophonies of war. He then breathed in deep to the cold, morning air and, releasing out with exaltation to see his own breath, closed his eyes, letting a moment of peace take over him before their long trip expedition to their origin.

“My grand," a voice spoke out from behind, deep and harsh that slurred as if caught a mortal wound.

Callus gradually opened his eyes and turned, meeting the pale knight known as Orson - his face riddled with battle scars and burnt marks suffered in the war.

“Come to see us one last time, kinsman," he asked warmly, using the formal title to every knight. Yvir scoffed in response as if the question was somehow an insult.

“More than pondering this foolish venture of yours," There was a blatant hatred in his tone, so low that only Partishans could hear. Callus remained calm despite the man's thin temperament and understood the reason for his anger.

“Not foolish, my kin. But rather an opportunity. An opportunity to recover what was lost and to rescue those that were left behind."

Orson scoffed. “An opportunity to die is more like it," the knight growled. “Tch, sending half of what is a depleted legion into that miserable place of a forest is suicidal. Why bother heading back when there is a high chance that most of them are already dead?"

“The same reason as you and the others will come to agree," Callus smiled. “To deny our enemy from gaining the edge." His smile faded as he latched onto his helmet, his voice muffled behind it. “Such fickle beastfolk of this world mustn't learn our ways of war - the tools that the legionnaires used to mop-up the fanatical horde of the Order or those turn to defection. Whatever the price, we will recover everything. And if not, we will destroy them all."

“Hmph, a fine speech, my grand," Orson said sarcastically, emphasizing the title. He was not amused at the slightest, but the man could not deny the Grand's wishes.

Callus laughed, wild and loud, and turned as he saw the last legionnaire left the wooden gate. “One must always prepare for a good speech. I trust that Partishan Lars has his orders.

A low guttural groan escaped from the man's lips, but eventually, he nodded once. “He does… And he wishes you personally good travels."

“Heh, and impart from memory to you, Orson. Keep the hamlet safe while I'm away."

Orson's eyes hardened. “As if you needed to remind me of my duty."

As he said those last words, Grand Partishan waved a hand and raised one foot forward to join the expedition into the world's unknown.

[==]

 Rambunctious noise of coarse laughter and rugged songs pierced the nightly chill air as great fires cast long shadows in the black pitch trees of the forest. A moment of celebration was to be made on this occasion, wild and fierce in its revelry abandon, consuming an excessive amount of liquor that were looted from their another, successful raid.

Dozens of wayward brigands gathered around the fire to commemorate their generous haul from a nearby caravan that got close to their territory. While the guards of the caravan fought bravely to defend the masters that feed them, the brigands were far more experienced in the act of murder. In the end, ruined wagons and corpses now strewed across the side of the dirt road, heavy snow falling down the bloody work of their kill.

“Hail to Harkin! Bringer of thieves!" cried the one-eyed wolf, his fur-greyed paw raising a toast in triumph. The rest responded in kind, boisterous and loud that all in the darkness could hear them. One among the group, a ferret for one so small, had the volume to drown out the rest.

“Cheers for the liquor. Those unlucky sods will not need these anymore." The black-footed ferret joked amusingly, and the rest laughed at the response.

All throughout the night, the blackguards sang their song and consumed a whole amount of booze with feverish delight, their mood drunk and unsteadily. It was their type of fun at a hard night's work, slaying the unfortunate and pillaging the belongings at their leisure. Yet not everyone was part of that gruesome celebration as one remained at the sideline and far from the murderous group.

A brown rat was fettered in thick ropes around an oak tree, his elegant set of clothing of red and white dishevelled in an unkempt mess, as if he had woken up in the early morning. At the brutal treatments of his captors, the rat's face was bloodied and bruised from the beating. He opened one eye at the brigands, his vision blurred, and black spots began to form. The thought of sleeping away through the rest of the night welcomed him, but the idea of feeling powerless and the poor treatment from his captors prevented that.

And yet, despite the pain and the humiliation, the rat grinned from ear to ear.

The one-eyed wolf took to notice the grinning rat and tapped an elbow to his leader. “Boss, the stinking rat, is up," he said, lifting his cup of ale to the captive in a sneer mock of gesture.

Some of the brigands glanced back at the rat before they resumed their frivolous cheers and drink. However, the individual that the wolf had tapped did not participate in the revelry, ruined by the captive. The feline coon pushed himself up to his feet, his build stretching twice as tall and three times the width of muscle and chestnut fur.

The brown rat had his one eye glued on the leader of this ragtag bunch of killers, eyes staring straight at the hard look of those yellow orbs that beamed down upon him. The feline was big, his size was an intimidating presence inch closer to him. Numerous scars strewed across his square, ugly features as the leader sneered at the rat.

“Keep on smiling, bastard," Harkin said slowly, his tone heavy with a warning. “Soon you are going to meet your ancestors."

The brown rat chuckled at his feeble response, still defiant despite his precarious state. Intolerable by his rudeness and prone to anger, Harkin landed a vicious blow to the rat's stomach and was rewarded with a snap of bones.

The brown rat coughed up blood as he gasped for breath. “Yep, that hurt…" he groaned and then laughed weakly, struggling to stay awake. “You sure have a way of persuasion."

Harkin glared at him and shook his head, disgusted that he had to spend his valuable time with a detestable rat. Without subtle regard, he grabbed the back of the rat's head and leaned in close to the ear, his breath a foul, putrid stench. “Play whatever you like," he whispered threateningly. “Once we get our pay, you will be dead as the rest of your buddies."

The rat shifted glaringly at the leader at the mention of the caravan - the smile on his lips vanished. Harkin gave that a self satisfactory conclusion as he released his grip to rejoin his merry band, raising his voice aloud with triumphant exuberance.

As the bandit leader was far from earshot, the brown rat sighed and squirmed his arms around as a sharp dagger fell from his sleeves. He caught it with ease as he slowly, but surely, sawed the edges of the rope.

While the rat was in the middle intent to break free from his bonds, a sudden wave of heat passed behind his neck. He froze, his heart skipped a beat. Footsteps could be heard that sizzled the snowy ground as the rat glanced sideways to find no one but himself. He thought it was nothing, believing that it was only his imagination. Then he noticed a shadow looming over him, and he dared to slowly raise his head up.

[==]

A red-robed assailant stood like an apparition, his feet a glowing blaze on the ground, where thick snow evaporated in a cloud of steam. His face was mysterious to recognize, hidden behind a mask that had the distinct resemblance of a raven.

The rat blinked, speechless, unable to comprehend what he had witnessed. Absentmindedly dropping his razor, he stared deep into the raven's eyes, hypnotized. They were the colour of blood.

Shouts of alarm rang out in the camp as one of the bandits spotted the intruder and, converging to rid the threat with extreme prejudice, charged headlong into combat.

The red raven glanced back at the bandits and then the rat for a split second, his hand gripped the hilt that was underneath his crimson cloak. With blinding speed, the raven leapt at the nearest target with a curved black blade unsheathed for all to witness. It hissed and whistled until the dull hue glowed in bright, fiery light as if work in a furnace.

The rat listened to their dying shrieks and the scent of cooked meat as the raven tore through them like a piece of parchment, slicing limbs and bodies with a strike after merciless strike. A palm of his hand rose at the clustered gang, and the rat heard him uttering a single word, alien and otherworldly by the ear.

In a split second, fire lit the world as the bandits, those who were unable to avoid, drowned out in a sea of flame. Their bodies soon fell to the scorched ground and, dancing like puppets snapped from strings, turned into smouldering ash.

Overwhelmed with a sense of fear, the surviving bandits fled at every corner and deep into the shadowy darkness, not wanting to share the same fate as their dead comrades. While most turned tail and ran, few stood their ground - their discipline held checked that revealed something more than just common thievery.

The familiar one-eyed wolf escaped the fire with only minor burns as he courageously dashed straight at the intruder, speed quickening to pace with blade in paw.

Shifted in the direction of his opponent, the red raven swung the light-blade in a wide arc, but the wolf managed to slide underneath from it. He appeared just behind the assailant and thrust forward for the kill.

The red raven rotated, moved with abnormal speed and dodged, barely missing inches close to his mask. He curled into a fist and quickly landed on the wolf's stomach so hard that the blackguard was sent flying off into the air, knocking back hard against the tree.

As the wolf went still and silent, the raven raised his free hand to finish the job, empirical energies flowing freely at the base of his fingertips. Then, the raven winced in pain as a single crossbow bolt plunged right between the palm of his hand.

“Hah, gots a ya," the black-footed ferret said in triumph, lowering his crossbow and reloading for another.

The raven eyed at the bandit with grim silence and, removing the bolt from his palm and pressing down on his feet, leapt up high in the air like the actual namesake. The ferret resisted the urge to yelp in alarm at the great strides that the raven made. Unable to reload his crossbow in time, he pulled a dagger under his belt, but the effort to defend himself was useless.

Pain riddled through his features as the raven planted a boot on the ferret, grounding him to the ground and knocking him out of the commission - the force of the raven's blow was too much to bear against his feeble endurance.

As the fire around the camp slowly weakened to reveal the charred corpses of bandits, only one remained to contest the red intruder. At the grip of his giant warhammer, a large coon stood tall and menacing in his full battle-plate armour, eyeing on the raven with contemptuous outrage and a small sliver of excitement.

“Who the hells are you?" the feline demanded sourly, pointing his hammer. “What business do you have here?"

No answer. The raven just stared at the beastman, whirled his light-blade in a tight figure of eight and cocked his head, as if curious for the first time in a naive sort of way. Without warning or any form of introduction, the red raven sprinted in a run - the blade in one hand and the hole in his hand on the other glowed in a fiery, crimson hue.

Reacting by instinct, the feline heaved his enormous weapon and plunged straight at the intruder, the mighty force behind it made a headlong collision with the raven's head. Seconds later, he made a connection but felt something light around the handle of his fingers. Eyes glanced downwards, he paused in disbelief to find the headpiece of his hammer missing, cleaned off. There was a sickening sizzle as the last thing he saw before his fate was a radiating hand heading straight for his face.

[==]

The brown rat had been a witness to a slaughterhouse, charred, broken bodies strewn across the camp left by the red raven's bloody work. He was unable to ignore the scream from his tortuous captor as the raven's hot hand plunged deep into Harkin's face - the tip of his fingers already singeing through fur and flesh in a matter of seconds.

Blow after vicious blow, Harkin landed precise terrible punches at the creature's side, but his futile defiance only strengthened the raven's resolve as he pressed his hand to induce more pain and heat. Finally, Harkin cried out in desperation, begging and panicking at the thought of his own demise. But the only response from the raven was his hand, curling into a fist that ended Harkin for good.

As the scream suddenly went silent, the enormous feline fell back hard to the ground with a heavy thump. The rat resisted the urge to gag as Harkin's face was gone, unrecognizable by the burning stench of fur and matter.

Momentarily, the raven stared at his hand before the light of his blade faded in black, familiar hue. He took a brief moment to scan the scene of his work, then sheathed his weapon. For a second, the brown rat heard something from the raven, a chuckle, low and foreboding, as if he was somehow impressed by the spectacle. Or disappointed at the bandits. Or maybe both.

Then the rat noticed something else. With one hand, the assailant slowly reached for his mask and held firmly at the edge, removing the ornamental wear to reveal a face, not a raven nor any mammalian kind.

It was a man if the rat had to guess based on his jawline and the ruggedness about him. He had a little cover of fur on his pinkish skin except for the head and mouth - black with a tinge of grey. His eyes were red, deep as the crimson of blood and ladened with blackening rings as if the man had not slept for months.

The stranger shifted a glance directly at the rat before he pulled something beneath his robes. In his hand was a dagger, smooth and black, similar from the blade before that glinted by the firelight. The rat tensed and straightened, uneasiness building in his chest as the creature took a measured step forward to him.

Like from before his first encounter, the rat met the stranger's shadow, looming over him like a blanket of the shroud. He gulped once as he became fixated on the stranger's eyes yet again, unable to look away from it. With a bit of courage and his own grim acceptance, he managed to close his eyes and bow his head, waiting for the final blow.

And then, he waited.

And waited.

And waited some more until he was at the point of impatience.

Despite himself not wanting to stare at those terrible, yet gorgeous eyes, he gradually raised his head up to notice the stranger was gone. It was not long after that he heard the sizzling footsteps melting on snow from behind and the sound of cutting rope. Within moments, bonds free, but feeling light on his legs spent long hours in captivity, he collapsed face-first on the wet slush of snow.

He groaned, the pain still riddling through his body, but grateful for his release. His eyes gradually gazed upward to find the stranger at the bandit camp, rummaging through the corpses and looting whatever uses that suit the man's needs.

Then, without a word or spare a second glance at the rat, the stranger left and vanished in the shadowy darkness of the forest.