The Legends of Altera Vita

"Three days," Kira announced as she entered the party's shared tent arrangement. The others had already claimed their spots, Kael sprawled across the ground, Thenn reviewing their field notes, Belisarius methodically cleaning his weapons.

"That's more than I expected," Belisarius remarked without looking up from his blade.

"And less than we'd hoped," Daeva added, spinning his spear sheath around his fingers.

Kira dropped onto a stool, finally allowing her shoulders to slump. "The rest of the scouts should be back tomorrow. Commander wants us all here for whatever's coming next." She glanced at Shadow. "You catch any of that merchant talk while we were out there?"

"Some," Shadow replied, his expression thoughtful. "Unusual movement patterns. More steel heading north than usual."

"And more gold coming south," Kael chimed in. When the others looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. "What? I pay attention to things. Sometimes. When they're shiny. Or female."

Stillwater entered with a stack of fresh towels, tossing them at various party members. "Bath house is relatively empty. Now's our chance before the evening rush."

"Did anyone tell Targeld we have three days?" Daeva asked as he looked at Zazz, recoiling with a sneer. "He's probably got Jon running drills."

"Rockfist went to save the poor boy," Stillwater replied. "Just hope Targeld didn't get too excited with training. I've learned he can be real stupid sometimes."

[Speaking of training] Corporal Horse said as he raised his head, [I believe it would be most prudent to have one of you dedicated as my rider, and I the faithful steed.]

A thoughtful silence fell over the group. Kira looked at Belisarius, but he shook his head slightly. 

"Right!" Kael jumped up, breaking the awkward silence. "I vote we table all serious discussion until after we've washed off a week's worth of travel. Who's with me?"

"Seconded," Stillwater said firmly. "Some of us are starting to attract flies."

"That would be Kael," Thenn deadpanned.

"I'll have you know this is a carefully cultivated-"

"If you say 'warrior's musk' one more time," Kira interrupted, "I will personally drown you."

-----

The men's side of the bathhouse was blissfully empty when the party arrived, steam rising from the large central pool. Kael was first in, diving into the hot water with a dramatic sigh of relief.

"By Serenith's name," he groaned, sinking up to his chin. "I forgot what being warm felt like."

Thenn entered slower, first washing with the provided soap before stepping into the pool. He raised an eyebrow at the array of scars across Daeva's back as the Dragonkin followed suit. "That new one's going to leave a mark."

"Adds character," Daeva said, easing himself into the steaming water with a soft hiss. The heat immediately began to work its magic on his battle-worn muscles, and he couldn't suppress a slight groan of relief. "Among my people, it is more a ritual. A visible history one attains in the crucible of combat." His voice lowered, taking on a more somber tone. "I have a long way to go still, and even longer until I can reclaim my former honor."

Belisarius took a seat on one of the submerged stone benches, steam dancing around his shoulders. His eyes narrowed with curiosity as he looked at Daeva. "Former honor?" he asked, letting the words hang in the humid air between them.

Daeva turned to face him, golden vertical pupils catching the light like molten metal. "As you know—"

"Oh! Oh!" Kael jumped up, sending small waves rippling across the pool's surface. His eyes were bright with enthusiasm. "I know this one! I'm the history guy, remember? The Dragonkin didn't even exist before the Deity Wars. Fabrion—"

"Kael," Daeva's voice cut through the air like a heated blade, "would you, for once in your damned existence, shut it?" His glare sent Kael slowly sinking back into the water until only his eyes remained visible, looking appropriately chastised. Daeva waited until the ripples settled before continuing. "Anyways, as Kael was saying, Fabrion, the Angel of Mercy, did create the Dragonkin."

His scaled features contracted, as if the memory itself brought physical pain. "When the Deity Wars began, the Dragons allied themselves with the Angels against Avarosa. The Demons..." He paused, his clawed hands clenching beneath the water's surface. "The Demons knew we were a threat, a force tipping the scales. They sent their worst—Sarthis, the Demon of Savagery." His voice dripped with venom. "'Emberlord' they call him. A title he stole from my people after he slaughtered them."

The water around Daeva seemed to heat up slightly as his anger rose. "Fabrion... she was devastated. The Dragons had been friends of hers, and the destruction of their entire race drove her to join the war properly, a war she had previously been on the sidelines for. She gathered fallen Human heroes, those who died in the first waves against Avarosa, and those whose flesh were strong enough. She performed what some would call a miracle—or perhaps a curse. She bound the souls of Dragons to mortal flesh, creating us: the Dragonkin, souls reborn."

His expression shifted, anger giving way to something approaching reverence. "But there is hope. Through trials of fire and combat, if a Dragonkin can transcend their mortal limitations, they can reclaim their true form. Ascension, we call it." His eyes grew distant, looking past the bath house walls to something only he could see. "It is the dream that drives our entire race, though precious few achieve it. Those who do vanish into the mists surrounding Drakathar Peak. How many true Dragons still exist up there?" He shook his head. "None can say."

Belisarius had grown very still during the telling, his face a mask of concentration. The Dragons, the Deity Wars—he knew the information should be there, could almost taste it on the tip of his tongue, but something in his mind recoiled every time he reached for it. A wall he couldn't see, blocking memories he couldn't quite touch. His memory was very selective with what it kept from him, but why was that? Why couldn't he remember anything about himself?

From the entrance came the sound of Targeld's booming laugh, followed by Jon's more hesitant voice, and the Viperkin Rockfist. The big man entered with their new recruit, still apparently in the middle of explaining training routines.

"And that's just the morning exercises," Targeld was saying enthusiastically. "Wait until I tell you about our sparring program!"

"Give the boy a break, Targeld," Daeva called out. "Let him enjoy his first proper bath in what I'm guessing has been weeks."

Jon did look a bit overwhelmed, but he managed a small smile as he followed the washing protocols Targeld demonstrated. When he finally entered the water, his face showed the same blissful relief they'd all felt.

"Better than a frozen stream, eh?" Kael grinned.

"Much better," Jon agreed quietly.

They settled into a comfortable silence, broken only by occasional splashing and satisfied sighs. Even Targeld stopped his training talk, content to simply soak.

"You know," Thenn mused after a while, "I don't think I've seen Kael's hair this clean since... ever, actually."

"Some of us don't use fancy oils and perfumes," Kael retorted.

"No, some of us just use basic hygiene," Thenn muttered, earning a splash from the Diu Elf.

-----

The clamor of hoofbeats and marching feet dragged Belisarius from his sleep. Through the canvas of his tent, dawn's first light cast moving shadows of passing soldiers. 

Outside, the camp was alive with activity. The Viperkin scout parties had returned, their distinctive red and black banners catching the morning breeze. Captain Roran's presence was unmistakable among them, his figure leading the party still mounted on his war horse.

"Captain." Kira materialized at Roran's side, offering a crisp salute before falling into step behind him. As the Viperkin filed out to their parts of camp, only Roran and Kira were left together as Belisarius approached.

Roran dismounted with practiced grace despite his armor, immediately beginning to undo the complex array of straps and buckles fastening his armor. "Ah, Baron Belisarius! Kira has told me about your feat's, and I must say, I am impressed. It seems Targeld isn't the only monstrous warrior in your party." He bent to work on his boots, grimacing. "Though I'm afraid we'll have to save the war stories for later. Unfortunately, Commander Alessandra has called for a meeting, and she asked that you attend as well." He straightened, fixing Belisarius with a meaningful look. "Get dressed and meet me back here on the double."

Belisarius needed no further prompting. Within minutes, he had changed from his lounge wear into street clothing befitting of a noble. He emerged to find Roran waiting, now joined by two other captains.

Captain Drevok of the Bloodfangs stood like a statue carved from granite, arms crossed over his chest. The legendary scar that split his cheek—earned in the Silverthorn Revolt, if the stories were true—caught the morning light. His nod of acknowledgment was slight but genuine. The man's fearsome reputation seemed at odds with the hint of respect in his eyes.

"Baron, hey!" Captain Lira's voice cut through the morning air as she bounced forward to greet him. The leader of the Blackhawks moved like quicksilver, her wiry frame betraying the deadly reputation she'd earned. "Word travels fast around here—heard you showed those Iceforged who's boss! Kira couldn't stop talking about how you handled their chieftain." Her grin was infectious, though there was a predatory edge to it.

 Belisarius glanced around the gathering, noting a conspicuous absence. "Where's Ruvan?" 

Roran and Lira looked at each other with a knowing glance. It was Drevok who broke the uncomfortable silence, his gravelly voice carrying a hint of concern beneath its usual gruffness.

"The good Captain Ruvan is already with the Commander," he said, touching the hilt of his sword. "We've got ourselves a... situation. Nothing we can't handle of course, just some people we'd rather not deal with." he added quickly.

"Hey, no worrying allowed!" Lira interjected, nudging Drevok with her elbow. "Especially now that we've got the famous Baron backing us up." Her smile remained bright, but there was steel behind it now.

"Enough," Roran's commanding voice cut through the banter. "The Commander's waiting, and we've already kept her longer than we should." He gestured toward the center of camp, where the command tent's crimson banner snapped in the morning breeze. "Shall we?"

As they made their way through the camp, Belisarius couldn't help but notice how other soldiers reacted to their passing. There was respect in their salutes, certainly, but also something else—a hint of disdain almost, not towards their group, but at something else. Whatever this "situation" was, it had the entire camp on edge.

The command tent grew larger before them, its deep crimson fabric standing out above the surroundings. And there, in front of the tent Belisarius saw them.

The air in front of Commander Alessandra's tent was thick with hostility. On one side stood two members of the Crimson Guard, their blood-red armor dripping with malice. The Crimson Guard looked even more imposing up close, their plate armor adorned with etched scenes of ancient battles. Their hands never strayed far from their weapons.

Facing them, like mirror images cast in sunlight rather than blood, were two figures clad in decorum. Warriors encased in golden plate armor, their full-face helmets crowned with radiant sun-crests that seemed to glow with their own inner light. Ornamental wings swept back from where ears would be, giving them an almost angelic appearance. Each held a towering shield in one hand and a gleaming polearm in the other, their stance suggesting they were more than ready to use both as they stared off against their Crimson Guard counterparts.

The air between the two pairs crackled with unspoken challenge.

"Solarian Guard," Drevok muttered under his breath, spitting the words like a curse. 

"Celestial peacocks, more like," Lira whispered back, her hands behind her head as she lazily walked forward. "Looks like the Iceforged got the holy rollers spooked if they're sending both of us. I heard the Radiant Host was coming here too."

The golden warriors turned their helmeted heads in perfect unison to observe their approach. Despite their faces being hidden, Belisarius could feel the weight of their scrutiny. The morning sun caught their armor at just the right angle, making them appear to be wreathed in flames.

"Just like old times," Lira murmured, and this time all the playfulness had drained from her voice. "Well, minus the part where we actually get along." Her fingers drummed a nervous pattern against her weapon's hilt.

Drevok's grunt rumbled deep in his chest. "Let's just hope this meeting goes better than the last one. Still haven't replaced everything that got broken."

Roran stepped forward, his authority evident in every movement. The Crimson Guard shifted slightly, acknowledging his rank, while the Solarians remained as motionless as statues. He reached for the tent flap, then paused, looking back at his companions.

"Whatever's waiting inside," he said quietly, "remember who we are. The Commander called us because she trusts us. All of us." His eyes lingered meaningfully on Belisarius for a moment before he pulled back the heavy crimson fabric. "Only one way to find out what storm's brewing."

The tent's interior beckoned, dark and cool compared to the growing heat of the morning. As they filed in, the tension between the golden and crimson guards seemed to crackle in their wake, sparks of tension threatening to burst to life.

-----

On the inside of the tent, the atmosphere was thick. Commander Alessandra sat at her seat straight-backed and alert, with Captain Ruvan positioned behind her like a shadow—his eyes never straying from the five figures in front of them.

They stood like golden statues come to life, cloaked in radiance, their armor catching the lamplight in ways that made it shine. Each bore the distinctive sun-crest of the Solarian Guard, yet they carried themselves with an air that suggested something beyond even that elite order. Power rolled off them in waves, making the air heavy inside the tent.

Commander Alessandra rose as Belisarius and the others entered, her crimson cape flowing with the movement as a smile crept onto her face. "Ah, Captains, Baron Belisarius. Thank you for answering my summons so quickly." Her voice carried its usual authority, though there was an edge to it Belisarius hadn't heard before. "We have some... unexpected allies in our campaign against the Iceforged."

As if they had done this before, the Captains Belisarius had entered with stood beside Alessandra and Ruvan, forming two lines facing each other: the five Crimson Blade leaders arrayed against the five golden warriors, with Belisarius standing off to the side. The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch, it was clear the word "allies" was rather loose between the two mercenary factions.

The central figure among the golden warriors stepped forward, and Belisarius felt the air pressure change. He wasn't tall, maybe six feet, but he was built like a fortress wall, his gold-plate armor making him seem even larger. And yet somehow, it was his face that commanded attention—handsome in a rugged way, with ashy blonde hair parted down the middle and deep set azure eyes the color of the northern sky. A savage scar ran from his right temple to jaw, yet somehow it only added to his commanding presence.

When he spoke, his voice rolled like distant thunder, yet carried an unexpected warmth that seemed at odds with his dominating appearance.

"Alessandra, my old friend," he rumbled, a closed-mouth smile touching his features. "How many years has it been? The last time we fought together, we were saving the Emperor from the secessionist factions." His eyes swept across the assembled Captains, recognition sparking. "Roran, still standing strong I see. And Drevok—that scar suits you better than the clean face I remember. Lira, deadly as ever, I'd wager, probably just as talkative."

He paused at Ruvan, his smile widening slightly. "The young lion of the Crimson Blade. Good, the realm needs a protector like you, especially one so suited to fill your fathers shoes." At that, Ruvan shook slightly, but if it bothered him, he didn't let it show. Finally, his piercing gaze settled on Belisarius, and something flickered in those arctic eyes—recognition? Concern? It passed too quickly to tell, and too quickly to scare Belisarius.

"For those who don't remember me, I am Grandmaster Hektor Valtorius of the Order of the Golden Pledge." His smile faded slightly, replaced by something more serious. "Emperor Reiner De Dawnspire himself has sent me here to help with the Iceforged threat until his army, the Radiant Host arrives. And if I am here, with my best warriors at my back, you can be certain the situation is grave indeed."