Gaeron, Royal cook and archer of Mol Rehan, writes about his reflections of the war front

"It is long way back to Whosville, the capital of Mol Rehan where I spend most of my time. I am almost amazed to find myself sitting in a small war camp right on the edge of the conflict. I look down in front of me at a large pile of damaged arrows and some mostly empty quivers. I pick up an arrow, repair it then - it to prepare it for its next target. Into a quiver and then on to the next. Simple work which keeps the hands busy but allows my mind to wander.

The noises of the camp wash over me, weapon smiths and armour smiths repair and restore whatever equipment they can. I have already prepared enough food to feed an army but these warriors will be hungry again soon. I have learnt how war gives you an appetite, if you survive long enough. I look at my fresh scars and know I must do better, priests can achieve miracles but there is always a cost. A distant bellow by a troll sounds over the sounds of the camp but these hardened warriors pay it no heed at all. I am almost surprised at how little I react too. When faced with the Horde, a troll suddenly seems small fare, my arm aches at the memory so I push it away and pick up another arrow. The night is dark, like their armour, like their souls, I should never forget this.

I hear the familiar voice of Horton issuing orders, of all of us, our leader stands out the most. For many he is a father figure and indeed we are all his children and he cares for us all. We know that he would risk or even give his life for any one of us so why should we give less? He has led us by example and in that example has made us all better and strengthened his kingdom mightily. Though we of Mol Rehan may not be the most populous kingdom we are of one purpose, we are one kingdom united behind Horton. I see him leave the camp to scout out the enemy himself putting himself at risk as is his wont.

He would not be able to act this way without the able support of his two main generals, Maximus and Nadroj, Warlord and Defence Advisor. The three of them work well together, their individual skills complementing the others. All three work tirelessly for their kingdom and we know without them we would be in a much more precarious place. They have honour in Mol Rehan and are honoured because of it. I smile at how they've boosted our morale and pick up another arrow from the dwindling pile.

Nadroj seems relaxed tonight, discussing some issue about chain armour with Mobius. This is good because his spies and couriers continually stop by, feeding him information on how the kingdom borders fare. If he is relaxed then the enemy are quiet and there will be no battle for a while. At the thought of battle my arm aches anew. Yet again avoiding dark thoughts I prepare the next arrow noting the pile is low now, my quivers look good when filled with arrows. Though relaxed Nadroj remains very busy. We all do, others like myself, those who are not strong fighters try to support our warriors, whether its the moving of supplies to helping repair damaged buildings or laying covering fire when the enemy are close enough. This is my role, archer and a reasonable one too but I am not a fighter, at least not yet. But I know to support Horton and the Mol Rehan war effort I shall need to push myself to that next level. When the time comes I hope I am not found wanting.

Maximus arrives at the camp on a horse and searches for Horton, he is directed towards the Horde and he immediately rides off to meet with Horton. A warrior much from the same mold as Horton himself, he has earned everyone's respect not only for his battle craft but for his strategies too. I now hold the last arrow, finished but I am not yet ready to move on. One quiver I select and start working on each arrow within it anew, searching for the best way to make each individual one sharper and truer. This will take some time and allow me to continue thinking. I hear rumours of a plan that Maximus may be considering but I hear three plans a night through gossip and pay it little heed. I know my masonry craft is strong and valued and soon I'll be helping tend the towers which offer our kingdom the protection it deserves.

The war camp is in a strange place, wedged between the steppe and a small desert it stares up at the ruins of old Libilian Outlaws. A place that has always seemed foreboding and for a very long time the presence of the Horde remained. That had dwindled and almost faded until the dark ones returned, their influence striking towards the Mol Rehan heartlands. Why they chose to do this we can only guess, perhaps a "change" of leaders or maybe something more sinister. It matters not the reasons, only that now they are encroaching on our lands, spreading their foul mycelium. For simple survival alone we cannot allow this to continue and hence even such as I have found myself here, in battle. This time I do not push the thoughts of the pain away. I look at my arrows, sharp and ready, I look at that last long scar, still pink and healing. I have already paid a price and Vynora willing soon I shall be able to claim a portion back.

Again I look out of the window to the steppe and the mountains beyond and then to the desert and ponder. In all the recent fighting I have looked not to the mountains as a Mol Rehan would but to the desert. The desert has allowed us to fight against the mycelium, the desert has allowed us to uncover their stealthy approach. The desert has aided us. I am not troubled by this but pleased, the desert is my friend and now I understand this. Its simplicity is its strength and its danger, to use the first you must master the latter and the challenge this offers is intriguing. Should I shun that which is offered or embrace it, surely the latter and so I embrace the desert, it is becoming my home. A home I want the dark ones to fear, to avoid.

I don't know what the others think of on this, none of us have spoken of it but I am sure some feel as I do. We each go about our business, sharing our resources, tools and skills regardless of villages. Here we are only Mol Rehan and when my shield is returned to me, repaired, improved even without asking then that only reinforces my sense of kingdom. As I pick up my quivers I give way so Violetann can work unimpeded on the walls of this refuge, strengthening them against the enemy that must soon return. Things are almost silent when Hexd takes a break from shield training, her opponents in a sorrier state than her shields which are now badly worn. I pick up my quivers and sling them over my shoulder, stepping outside. The dawn is breaking now and with the coming light comes a stronger hope.

I see Horton and Maximus returning to the camp slowly, to get some food and check up on us when Zarma rides up quickly to them. They all return immediately to the camp with the news that the dark ones are returning. Quickly we are all mobilised and ready, a sense of expectation runs through the camp and there are quips and jokes claims of great deeds to be done. Our warriors ride and run forwards to meet them and I and the other archers follow. The familiar sense of dread near the pale skinned Horde returns but this time I do not care. The pain in my arm seems to fade as I raise my bow and draw a fresh arrow. I sight on a black clad warrior and realise I too am smiling for the night has passed and in a fresh day we can do anything.

Gaeron
an archer of the Mol-Rehan forces."