Welcome to Sarnor Quest, a character driven quest to avert the inevitable fall of the High Kingdom of Sarnor in the years following the Doom of Valyria.
You will be controlling Balavant Alexi, the sixth, and suddenly eldest, living son of Mazor Alexi, the current and last High King of Sarnor. Now, some things in this world are different, slight changes having been made at the time of the Doom of Valyria and in the years preceding it. Most of these changes will be revealed to you as you either explore the world as Balavant, or force it to adapt to you.
With that, I present to you:
Son of Sarnor 01
The wind rushes past your face, whipping your dark hair into a frenzy, as you sprint along the grassy banks of the Sarne. The slow, meandering river that was the lifeblood of your people seemed to beckon out to you, a faint whisper just beyond your ears.
Drawing close enough to the river's edge to see your own face, surprise takes you when instead it is your father's that stares back at you.
Your foot slips as you jerk backwards, knocking a pebble into the water. It shatters his stony visage, the water distorting into the shape of a broken chariot.
You touch the cool, dark surface of it and suddenly you are standing high on a grassy hill, the great white walls and soaring towers of Sarnath standing proudly in the far off distance. Above you, a great cacophony of noise draws your eyes from the ancient, beating heart, of your people.
The sky is choked by a singular, unending, cloud of crows, writhing to and fro.
The stench of blood and the moans of the dying bring you back to the earth, as you now loom above an endless field of corpses.
A rolling crown comes to rest at your feet, it's silver sheen coated in the blood of your father as his bloodied corpse stares at you accusingly, half a hundred wounds littering his once mighty form. Aside him lay the bodies of your brothers and uncles all, save but for five and those long dead.
Sagar, eldest of your brothers, driven into the blood soaked dirt thrice over by spears.
Palash, cleverest of the seven of you, holds his belly even in death, guts spilling past his cold fingers.
Shyam, with his flowing dark locks and noble face, is grinning, an arrow through his eye.
Nishor you barely recognize, trampled as his broken body is.
Ice grows in your veins, taking all warmth with it, as you bend to pick up your father's crown. As your fingers wrap around the cool, blood slicked metal, you find yourself drowning underwater, gasping and heaving for air.
You find only water, and black encroaches on your vision, before being driven off by a blinding light.
Hauled from your watery grave by a massive hand, you find yourself once more standing on the bank of the Sarne.
Around you, a gentle mist retreats into nothingness, and the glimmer of silver roofs fading from sight with it.
******
Balavant Alexi stewed, deeply immersed in his thoughts as his captains sat before him, reporting on the status of the Ten Thousand Banners and how soon they would be ready to march.
Only twice before had he undergone a vision, an ancient, and rare, hallmark of those with the blood of Huzhor Amai running through their veins. The first time had been when he was a young boy, not even eight years old, when he had a dream of the sky turning to fire and smoke covering the world as the very ground cracked open. He still remembered falling into that burning fire below, before finding himself before a retreating mist and those same silver roofs in the distance.
The second had seen his father, the High King, send him away from court, which is when he had created this very company, the Ten Thousand Banners, and gone to fight for gold in the west.
Now, it seemed, his time here was at an end.
"We must seek passage by way of the Rhoyne! Travel up river to Qohor and head east along the Valyrian Roadway through Essaria, it would take us three weeks at most!"
"Are you a fool? Marching an army seven thousand strong to the gate of the Sorcerer and expecting to simply be granted passage? You'll be fortunate if he grants you a swift death by way of his dragon! No, I say we head south by the river and then take the Volaena as far as Painted Hills, we'll we march northeast from there until we reach the branch of the Sarne and-"
"North or south by the Rhoyne, neither is acceptable! We march straight for Essaria and follow the river to Sarnath, risking the ire of the Sorcerer is to grave a risk, and heading south will only delay us!"
Your three arguing captains, with the others looking on, turn to you to make the final decision. You must make haste to Sarnath, but preserving the Ten Thousand Banners will prove vital if you are to come to head against the horse-loving savages that will spell the doom of your family and people.
[ ] - A more aggressive tactician, Vyomesh is calling for a northbound heading along the Rhoyne all the way to Qohor. From there the company would travel due east, marching on the Valyrian Roadway until they reach Sarnath. It is the most expedient path, but it has risks. It would see you traveling through the Sorrows and Dagger Lake, the greatest risk however, is rousing Dragonlord Aurion in Qohor by daring to march an army past his very doorstep.
[ ] - Always the cautious one, Captain Minar is advocating for a more conservative approach, by using the Volaena to head eastwards to the Painted Hills, before cutting north to the Syath, the southern most branch of the Sarne. From there you would travel by river to Sarnath. This approach is the most lengthy, but it poses the least risk.
[ ] - The middling route, Sahat would see a forced march starting along Selhoru all the way to Sarnath. The biggest risk here would be running into a so called khalasar of savages and being delayed by a fight that would see you bleed men along the way.
From where you are currently encamped just miles from the city Valysar, it will take two or three weeks at minimum to travel all the way to Sarnor, a journey hundreds and hundreds of miles long no matter what route. You fear the event that you saw in your vision will have come to pass by the time you arrive.