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[url=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rb1m1gUfjxE]Frozen Embers[/url] The snow that greeted the man that stepped out of the partially-destroyed peasant hovel was nothing that perturbed or annoyed him, the white blanket covering the land was a touch of home that he didn't see as much in these lands. The lands of the north were known for their short summers and long winters, where families lay with their animals inside their house, covered in drifts, for weeks at a time. The lands of the south, of where ancient tribes like the Dacians and Goths originated from, these lands knew shorter, wetter winters, with mud that could swallow a mans' legs whole, where the rain and snow mixed together could soak a man, and kill him if he were not prudent to find shelter. These were lands once ruled by people such as the Romans, their grasp had weakened over centuries of their rule, where they came to depend on the very people they had conquered, and eventually, were snuffed out with hardly more than a whimper. Their cousins to the East, of Byzantium, they had survived much longer, but they too had, as he had heard only a fortnight previous, succumb to an eventuality; the eventuality that glory and victory would eventually lead to complacence, complacence led to vanity and weakness, and eventually death. He had sought out to follow the path his brother had taken, to go to the halls of Constantinople, nothing had been left for him in the north with the death of his wife, and with her, his first born. War was something that came naturally to men like Godric Aenstane, he and his brother had fought and wrestled with other boys of the village when they were young, had raided towns in the land of the Rus. It seemed as though whomever guided the men in the heavens above, though, would look unkindly to this sort of lifestyle, when he lost the first and second loves of his life in a single eve, and he mourned their loss with a heavy heart. He had not seen his brother for nearly ten years when he left to join the fabled men who guarded an Emperor, he having chosen out of religion, a religion he had found and adopted. He had left behind Godric to march to the halls of Constantinople, forsaking the ideas and ways of his people. He had heard stories about the great city, but for all that he had heard of the great civilization of the Byzantines, he would not find any greatness in these lands, lands wracked by the ruin of the Turks who had conquered the great city, and snuffed out the life of the "last of the Romans" forever. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, haphazardly cut short in a dishevelled manner by his own hand and knife, he wrapped the bearskin around himself to warm himself against the bitter wind, a few snowflakes still falling. The smell of burnt wood and even carnage could be sensed here, the snow was lumped over forms in the snow he knew to be corpses, left behind by the Turkic raiders that had passed through the small town. His deep blue eyes surveyed the destruction they had left behind in their wake, much like he had laid waste to a few Rus villages when he was younger. After his discovery of the fall of Constantinople, he had found no solace in these lands, lands that had once been part of the cradle of civilization, lands that had become rife with anarchy, he had left the north to leave such a haphazard way of life behind, only to come to a land that had gone from stability into unruly remission. His eyes looked to the small chapel that had been the center of the village, the burned hulk and the blackened orthodox cross at the top spoke of a time when people here peacefully conducted their lives, sowing the fields with their crops, building families, and discovering faith in otherworldly bodies. Now that was gone, the place that he had heard so much good come from, now laid into ruin; he almost thought of giving up on the world since his discovery of Constantinople's fall, and his brother certainly dead. At one point the night before, he had knelt down on one knee as he journeyed through the forests, evading patrols of marauding Turkic horsemen who brought terror to the countryside, and thought about laying down in the snow, and letting the cold overtake him. His attention would be drawn to the glow of the fires of the village he now stood in, and instead of lying down to die from exposure to the cold winds and snow that would surely overtake him in a night, he would walk into a scene of carnage and destruction. There had been no one left to greet him there, besides the corpses of the townspeople, cleaved as they ran to and fro to try to save their lives. It was in that moment he felt a sense of camaraderie with the Turks who plundered this town, but those thoughts turned to ash as soon as they entered his mind, as he remembered it was these men and men like them that had taken the lives of his brother, and his hopes for finding what might have been a normal life from him. It were those thoughts from last night that made his blood warm him against the cool air of the early morning, and he ground his teeth together, as he shouldered his battleaxe and his satchel of meager belongings he had brought along. He looked at the forms that lay in the snow around him, lives that had been extinguished, life with his wife and expecting a child had changed him from the ways of his youth. But it was in that moment, in the ruined village somewhere in the lands of Bulgarians, that he resolved that his lifestyle when he was a younger man, albeit more foolish, was one that could be channeled with a purpose. He had a blood score to settle, and he whispered a prayer to the Gods above, that his hand would remain steady and unyielding, when he found another flock of Turkic horsemen ravaging a defenseless village. It had been said that the Varangians were feared by the Turks who had faced them before, their imposing figures and relentless energy when faced with adversity of almost insurmountable odds was legendary. Such a fear was one that needed to be struck again...
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The dried ground cracked under the heavy boots and greaves of a young woman as she scooped her hand into the dirt, bringing up stone and sand as it sieved through her fingers. She looked up in front of her and saw an old man shaking his head. "Since you people from the east came this way, we have suffered and we will continue suffering. Our crops are dying and what have you done? Nothing." He yelled at the girl in some thick Tartar accent that she could barely understand. The qualifications of being an Imperial Knight was to know how to converse with all peoples of the empire, however, as Jaya Ravipati still had years to her training, she only shook her head and walked away from the old man. It seemed that any time the Empire began to flex its strength, misfortune happened on some far corner of the Imperial Family's domain. As war raged across the African continent, a severe drought plagued the western steppe causing riots in small villages where the people were beginning to starve. Fort Myrina, standing on the Dzungarian Gate oversaw much of the administration to its north, sending riders and merchants carrying aid to the villages, but it was never enough. Jaya reached into her pocket as she turned and found a small piece of bread she had horded since breakfast, hungry herself, the old man deserved it more and she yelled out in Hindi to get his attention. "Food?" She knew he didn't understand her, but he understood the motion and ran across the barren field to grab the bread out of her hand, eat it ravenously and then scamper back across the rocky hills. Sighing, the Indian woman turned back and pushed her black hair over her ears and began trudging to the fort. Life was difficult outside the walls of the fort, though Jaya felt it was just as bad within the enclosed stone walls. Amazon fortresses formed the backbone of the west's defense, but as women will be, it was a complete nightmare to live in an ethnically diverse society with both men and women vying for influence. The Austrians and Chinese always received special treatment and made up the majority of the officer's corps. Tartars, Mongolians, Indochinese, Koreans, Japanese, and the Slavs formed the next tier of influence and then at the bottom were those of the far reaches of the Empire, Arabs and Hindus. Jaya reasoned herself that if she was given full knighthood by the time she was thirty five, it would be a miracle. Walking into the bustling fort, the Hindu Squire dropped her head and thought about dinner before a hand grabbed her by the shoulder. She jumped and yelped for a moment as a tall Austrian woman chuckled. "Captain Schroeder, sorry Ma'am, I didn't see you there." "It's no problem Jaya, I was looking for you actually, did you just come back from the north?" She shook her head, "I walked, only about five miles to the hills, there was a man begging for food." Schroeder nodded and pushed Jaya along with her as she walked deeper into the fort. "I need you to do something for me, Jaya, the Chief of Leopard Village came here today. The village needs all their hands for crop production right now, but there is an Apprentice Shaman who needs to get to the east coast to continue his studies. I cannot spare any of my guards right now do something, especially because the Chief cannot offer any repentance. However, we have to maintain good faith with the villagers and I figure since you are still an apprentice yourself, this might be a learning experience." "Going off into the wilderness with just two people?" The captain laughed, "Stick to the roads, Jaya, its not the wilderness. This is less dangerous than a road trip. I'll have horses given to you both, supplies to last two weeks, and a bit of coin in case something happens. But something, should not happen that makes this journey anymore difficult. Understood Ravipati?" But the Indian had heard stories about the Tianxian countryside, especially the western edges where the traditions of the Steppe were kept very much alive. However, she didn't have a choice, she was a squire and a squire could never disobey a command by a superior, let alone an Amazon who had served for over ten years. "Of course, Captain, it won't be a problem." Schroeder led her into the hall of the fortress where two Chinese men were tending the fire and another younger man sat alone at a table. "This is the Apprentice who will be in your charge," she said gesturing to the young man, "This is Jaya Ravipati, a Hindi Squire, she will be leading you across the Steppe." Said the Austrian as Jaya stared into the Nomad's eyes. "Greetings," said the Indian, "And you are?"
