DRUMS of ATELAER

None were very promising other than Samuel Silversmith. They were all men and women chosen because they wouldn’t vomit at the stench and sight of gore and the live’s dying slowly in their hands. If not for the shackles still on his wrists and legs, Adrian might have felt pity for them. Might have sat with them after a soldier passed, to tell them how they could improve next time. What to do differently. That it didn’t get easier, one just grew more determined. He might have listened to them, their sadness and desperation, and been a shoulder to lean on in their grief.

The sound of chains were like bells tolling in Adrian’s ears. Reminding him, reminding him, reminding him.

A prisoner of a war.

These were not his people. This was not Pracis. They did not want his pity. They did not want to know that he empathized. They did not worship at the shrine of knowledge shared and shoulders leaned on. Not his shoulders at least. Adrian was lucky he was even still alive, that they deigned his presence in the same room as them, let alone to help them. Even Atelaer knew the wails of the dying couldn’t go ignored. Anyone able-bodied enough to help was called upon, no matter the side. Adrian was in agreement with this way of doing things. Chains or no- he wouldn't be able to stand aside while another suffered.

They hardly knew what to do with him. Colonel Emberfell and countless others were alive because of him. Colonel Emberfell was walking because of him.

That, Adrian decided, was a battle he grew too fatigued to fight.

“My men need to see me.”

“You need to rest.”

“If I don’t get up and show them that there is an end to their pain, then they will lose morale, and I cannot have that.”

“If you get up and ruin your leg so you can never ride or walk or lead them again then what will that do to their morale?”

A stalemate, both equally stubborn, even Francis’s seconds wouldn’t step between their back and forth. In the brief time they were with him, the Wiskusset regiment learned Adrian possessed a wicked temper. When Francis bellowed Adrian was the only one with enough gall to shout back. No one winced anymore to see the two red in the face and snarling. Francis gripped the sheets and his tail lashed in the bed. He sucked in a deep breath. Adrian felt his body tense in response, and began to read that subtle change in Francis’s demeanor. How it straightened his spine and rocked his shoulders back. The look of a commander who knew his worth.

“You will get me up and you will get me out there.”

Adrian stopped fighting. Why was he even bothering to fight at all, he wondered. It would be better for the Pracis forces if Francis crippled himself. They would be free of his knowledge and skill on the battlefield and the resistance on this end would lose morale. Ralston would finish them and Adrian would be free.

All a very delightful daydream, one Adrian liked to picture in his mind when he chose to help them anyway. When the wince of pain on Francis’s face brought the Alchemist moving to assist before he could stop himself. His hands gripped along the Colonel's arms so he would not collapse.

So they walked.

Francis sat and held the hand of every single soldier. He stood, chin tipped up proudly, as he spoke with the other commanders on topics of the Fort and its rebuilding. The explosions created by the Empress’s Alchemists had done quite a bit of damage. Adrian thought Valerie might be very proud to hear that. It ached to think of his twin- and he put it quickly out of his mind.

Everyone was wary to speak too much with Adrian hanging at Francis’s elbow. He lingered close enough to catch the Colonel as he leaned on his crutch, but not too close to smother him. Adrian was, to his delight, quite a bit taller. Francis had a willowy and graceful frame, but he only came to Adrian's shoulder.

“You’re looming,” Francis snapped as Adrian led him away from a group of recovering soldiers.

“I’m not looming.” There was no heat in Adrian’s voice. He long since lost the will to bring venom to his words. He was tired. The bruises from the manacles and unfortunate scuffles with some of the men made Adrian ache with exhaustion.

“What in the hells do they even feed you in Pracis, to make you so bloody tall?” Francis sighed and limped into his private room. The day after he woke up from surgery Francis demanded that he drag his cot out to be among his men. None of the other soldiers would hear of it, so inside the private recovery room the Colonel stayed.

Adrian helped Francis sit on the bed and moved to lift his leg to rest on the pillows. “I got it from my father’s side, he was not actually a Pracian. He came from one of the friendly countries on our borders.”

Francis laid back and sighed as the nagging of pain eased from his back and thigh. “I thought Pracis was all about the importance of bloodlines. Wouldn’t they want someone as fancy as an Emperor’s Alchemist to be pureblood?”

“Despite your assumptions, Colonel Emberfell, no one really cares about the bloodline of an Alchemist. As long as they are smart, willing, and have the heart- they really don’t care if you were raised in a barn and born from a cow.”

Francis felt himself unwind into the pillows. He overdid it today, they both knew it, and he refused to give Adrian the satisfaction of the groan of relief when Adrian started to refresh his bandages. The adamas blue glow caught Francis’s eye and he looked down to watch. The ore was kept at a dim light, curled in Adrian’s fist as he tipped it to touch the fresh ointment on the Colonel’s leg. The pain immediately eased and Francis’s tail flicked in silent wonder. 

“You should be using this on the men, not on me.” Francis said instead of thanks.

“You really like to hear yourself be humble, don’t you?”

Francis bristled, felt the fur stand up on the ends of his tail as his mouth clenched shut. He tried to order Adrian’s respect only once in the first days and the courtly look down Adrian’s nose of disgust and the mocking scoff was so practiced, so trained, that Francis let the matter go. He refused to admit how much it stung somewhere deep. The Imperial still walked with the chains of a prisoner of war, to be ordered to respect his captors was a blow that Francis would not deal on any person. No matter if it would also save Francis’s own sanity, to not have those intense golden eyes leveled on him as if he were a gutter rat.

It was the glint of those mannacles on a dirty wrist that made Francis finally ask, “How have you been faring, Subaltern?”

Adrian paused and weighed truth and lie. Any truth he gave would be used against him somehow, he was certain. But any lie he told would land him only into further discomfort. “I look forward to when your medics have the situation under control enough that my only concern need be your leg.”

“And how are the medics doing?”

Truth and lie. Truth and lie. Adrian sighed. “Pathetic,” he admitted. Truth. “I did not know that the Colonies had so little training in even the basics of first aid.”

“Doctors are rare and precious to come by.”

Adrian knew this. Knew it and hated it. He also knew that only one, one, Emperor’s Alchemist had been assigned to each of the largest towns and cities in the Colonies. Their resources were plenty, but any town more than a day's ride away in need of them would suffer greatly until they could arrive. If they could arrive. If they could afford to leave those who likely needed them more wherever they were.

“Indeed,” Adrian whispered.

Francis’s tail gave an annoyed flick. Just once. Adrian’s eyes followed the motion. “It seems that I am in your debt,” Francis said. 

Years of court training taught Adrian that now was a good time to play a hand. Cut a deal. Do the things that would get him into good graces and better stations. Position himself above Francis so that when he needed it Adrian could simply apply the weight and pressure to get what he wanted. 

He could do it. He did it before.

“There is no debt that needs to be paid. I took a vow.” Practiced, bored words.

Damn him to hell.

“Many of my unit are alive because of your quick intervention and assistance. I will walk again because of your help. You cannot say that there is no debt.” Francis’s brows furrowed, confused. He expected it then- for Adrian to use this moment. 

The voice in Adrian’s head wasn’t his own. It was Valerie’s. Always so much better at playing the cards than he was. Always able to see the choices being made on the game board ten moves before anyone else. Hadn’t they done this song and dance in the past? Hadn’t it won them many games, in the end, with Adrian’s smooth words and pretty face and Valerie’s cunning mind? The pair of them whispering at the edges of crowds, seeing what so many others failed to.

“I am an Emperor’s Alchemist, we took vows to pass on medical knowledge to any willing to learn and to aid in healing the suffering of others. Those vows take precedence before a war, they always will.” Adrian was tired to his bones. Valerie’s voice screamed in his head. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.

What would she think of him now?

Francis looked flabbergasted. His mouth worked open and closed while he tried to think of something to say.

Adrian pushed a hand through his ratty hair. “I would not object to a bath.”

The Colonel looked at Adrian’s clothes, to his dirty hair and hands, he wore the same thing he was captured in. Maybe scrubbed at here and there, patches where a brush and bucket of water tried to clean a patch of blood. Francis swallowed at the sharpness in his chest.

“I will request a clean uniform- it will be white,” Francis said quickly at Adrian’s sharp look. “White for neutrality, for a healer and a soldier not to be touched by any, and we will go down to the river to have you that bath.” Even Francis was in clean clothes. Not new, never new, but freshly mended and washed. He couldn’t imagine the discomfort crawling Adrian’s skin.

“And these?” Adrian lifted his arms, the glinting metal at his wrists.

Francis’s brow furrowed. “Can you be trusted without them?”

“You trusted me with your leg didn’t you? The removal of them will not make me suddenly decide to change my mind.”

A beat of silence.

“It is not my decision alone.”

Adrian dropped his hands and fought back the flash of disappointment. “Of course.”

Francis tried not to give away the dislike of his own answer. “When I receive a response I will provide it to you. I promise.”

“Of course.”

Silence.

Adrian left. He pretended he couldn't hear Francis calling after him. For just this moment, he wanted to pretend that the Colonel wasn't a priority, and that he did not need to be a Subaltern or Emperor’s Alchemist. Something in his chest stirred and ached, Adrian longed to claw at his skin, to writhe from his clothes. To beat his manacled wrists into something hard and solid until they were bloody and free. So he staggered into a quiet corner of the fort, trying to breathe through the manic rage and desperation roiling through him. The panic that settled deep into his marrow and made his heart race.

A bath. What a thing to have to beg for. And what would come of it? A river? Out in the open? Adrian's gut clenched at the thought and he breathed through his nose. The clothes would be white. How would anyone tell him apart from a Pracian or an Atelan when the time came of his freedom? What would he do? More importantly what would those strangers all see?

“You shouldn't linger in dark corridors, Adrian.”

The voice was like silk, a snake that wove through grass to wrap tenderly around an ankle before it bit. Adrian's hair stood on end at the sound of it. He turned slowly to look into the eyes of the one looming close to him. Startlingly blue and lovely, set over dark skin and hair, Atticus looked at him with arms folded. He stood at Adrian’s height, lean and strong, with his tail weaving slowly back and forth in the semi-dark. A beautiful man, to be said frankly, and deadly. Adrian watched once while Atticus picked off deer and birds for dinner from the wall of the fort with his rifle. A sharpshooter that would put even an Empress’s Alchemist to pause.

Rivalry stirred somewhere in Adrian.

But not as deep as the fear that locked in his jaw, the back of his neck, the bruises settled on his rib cage.

“Atticus,” said back just as coolly. Adrian played the game of not affording the man the respect of his title. The careful pieces on the board between them that was constantly in motion.

Atticus reached out and gripped Adrian’s chains, yanking him forward harshly so that Adrian tumbled into his chest. Atticus gave a pleased smile, ears flicked forward to capture the sound of Adrian’s gasp of pain. “You exhausted the Colonel today.”

A blame that Adrian knew would fall on himself. 

“I know. I tried not to-” he bit back the need to explain himself. It would not stop Atticus’s vitriol and they both knew it hurt his pride.

The grip to his wrists was a slow thing. It was always slow, the violence, the pain, Atticus was not one to lash out loud and hard. Instead, it was exquisitely torturous and Adrian’s ears always rung by the end. Atticus’s hands squeezed tighter and tighter, until Adrian could near feel the bones of his wrists grinding together. 

That silken voice stayed smooth, as if unaware, even as Adrian turned his head to try and hide the flicker of pain. Atticus jerked him once, hard, rattling Adrian’s teeth. He knew what the Atelan wanted- and he looked up to meet those blue eyes so he could see the pain he was in. “You will not let it happen again. He needs to recover.”

“Yes,” Adrian breathed. 

Atticus leaned down and brushed his lips along Adrian’s ear. He resisted the urge to shudder in disgust at the closeness. “Frail thing, aren’t you? Those clothes do well to hide you, I wonder what the others will think when they see how weak you truly are.” The Atelan stepped between Adrian’s legs and hooked around his ankle, making Adrian tumble back and hit his head hard into the wall. It pushed them further into the dark of the fort.

Fear gripped Adrian at the spine. 

“Let me go,” he murmured and tried to tug at his wrists.

It was a useless plea, it always was, and it made Atticus laugh low in his throat. Dark hair was coming free from his ponytail and he sank his knee into the soft flesh of Adrian’s thigh. Pinned to the wall, Adrian could do nothing but writhe to try and break free. 

“I’ll be kind this time,” Atticus smiled. He spoke as if about the nice day outside. His knee pulled back- and slammed hard back in. Adrian felt the pain all the way in his skull and he buckled. Atticus let him drop to the floor unceremoniously and wiped his hands against his coat as if Adrian dirtied them. “Don’t forget I am keeping an eye on you, Adrian.”

A week ago, Adrian would have spat back something cunning. Today, he knew better to take the small mercy where he could find it. Many of the bruises and aches of his body came at Atticus’s hand. Some part of his mind understood it was out of petty fear and the nature of a person that needed something to rail against and push further. Many times back in the Courts of Pracis Adrian witnessed the same- even been a similar target to it. But back then he had Valerie and he had his strength.

Now, he grew more and more frail by the day, starved, and weak from exertion.

So he said nothing. He let Atticus go and he thanked the stars that todays visit from the Atelan was a quieter one. Francis, of course, could never know of any of this. Not unless Adrian wanted things to grow worse. For Atticus to cut through on his promises of others who would seek to exact the same violence's in the dark. The thing Atticus was good at was not getting caught- and placing wounds where it was easy to hide and heal from. Others would likely not be as quiet about it.

It would go on and Adrian would bear it.

It was not a wild bear that the Alchemist was thrown across. It was a fully tamed bear with a saddle and a sturdy girth and a breastplate that even hooked a sensible little lantern onto it. Why the bear needed a lantern, with its adamas-blue eyes glowing in the darkness, she really couldn't fathom. Why someone would tame a bear and decide it was a suitable mount, Valerie really couldn't puzzle out either.

So, on the back of a bear in a foreign country in the middle of a war she cared very little about, Valerie asked the most sensible question she could think of. It was very nearly as sensible as a lantern on a bear.

"Why a bear?"

The albino woman, who rudely hadn't introduced herself yet, scowled over her shoulder. "Shut up."

Valerie was not exactly a welcomed guest on the back of the sensible bear with the lantern. Her wrists were bound tightly, too tightly, behind her back and she had been thrown over the rump of the bear like a sack of wheat grain. A prisoner, for the time being, until she could figure out a good plan for her inevitable escape.

Empress's Alchemists were not good at staying captive long.

The strange albino woman, her militia, and her sensible bear with its saddle and its lantern were very fascinating indeed. Valerie tried to roll herself enough so that she would not fall off, but so she could see the endless night sky and the stars inside it. The forest around them was beautiful, heavy with the scent of fresh-rain wood and full of the ominous glow of lanterns. The rest of the militia company was not far away, just out of ear-shot while Valerie was drilled for information.

The albino hadn’t been successful in getting anything out of Valerie. Yet. Every question was met with a witty remark and a toothy grin. The young Alchemist got the feeling she would be paying for it with a swift hit to the head soon enough. Or the wrenching of her nails from their beds. "I've seen a lot of really strange things since coming here. But this is definitely the strangest. I've never seen a person riding a bear before. Especially an albino Tail-Haver who rides the bear."

The tail of the woman lifted and bristled in violent offense. Her rose colored eyes held a murderous rage in them when she glared over her shoulder at Valerie. "Don't you dare call me such a thing."

Baffled, Valerie frowned. "An albino?"

"Tail-Haver. You disgusting Pracian. I should expect nothing better."

Valerie pressed her mouth into a line. Clearly the woman was upset. "I'm sorry," she said, and meant it. "You’re a Colonial militia fighter. A good one at that, if you caught me of all people, I really am sorry."

"You don't even know why you're sorry do you?" The woman scoffed and turned forward. She was ready to ignore Valerie's existence again until they reached their destination.

Valerie couldn’t have that.

"I am Empress’s Alchemist Valerie. My friends call me Vee."

"I didn’t ask your name. Nor what your friends call you."

"I would just like to know the name of who is going to hang me. Don't I deserve that at least?"

"Who said we’re going to hang you?" The woman turned again, brows furrowed. "We don’t hang without just cause."

"Well, you did catch me blowing up and burning a caravan."

"Your own caravan. Which I don't…fully understand."

"It's a very good story, trust me. But I like to know the names of who I tell stories to."

The woman groaned and her shoulders slumped in a sigh. “My name is Captain Theodora Emberfell of the General’s Militia.”

“Oh!” Valerie perked up and her silver eyes rounded in surprise. “Teddy! You’re Teddy! That’s why you have the bear!”

A furious blush painted Theodora’s cheeks and she turned with a raised hand. “Call me that again and I hit you. You may call me Captain.”

Valerie’s smile was so exuberant and relieved, that it would have brought anyone to pause. Theodora only looked more annoyed and like the thought of hitting the younger woman was a better and better idea. “I’ve been looking for you!” the Alchemist exclaimed.

Theodora paused. “For me?”

“Yes!”

“Many Empire soldiers are looking for me,” Theodora said with tight chagrin. “Why the hells is a bloody Mixer looking for me?”

“Oh, yes, I know. You’ve a rather large sum on your head for a bounty. But I don’t want your head or your bounty,” Valerie clarified quickly, seeing the knife’s edge sharpness brandish in Theodora’s gaze. “I want your help. I need your help.”

Wary and growing tired of how fast Valerie talked, Theodora sighed. “Need my help with what? Setting villages on fire?” She nudged Marigold on and the bear gave a deep snort in exasperation.

“I’ve never set a village on fire.” Valerie sounded offended by the idea and pressed on. “I left the Pracian army,” she registered the shock and distrust that passed over Theodora’s face. “I did! I’m sure you know of all the awful things that have been happening since Colonel Ralston took command and the lengths that he’s been going to. Killing whole forests and people and homes- and the children! All these orphaned children.” Valerie shook her head sadly and let loose a long sigh. “And now my brother…”

Theodora frowned and turned in her saddle. “Brother?”

But Valerie finally found what she was looking for. Her bound hands carefully pried out the clasp that was holding her belt to the saddle of the bear. In one, smooth motion Valerie slipped off Marigold’s back and was on her feet. Instant alarm bloomed in Theodora’s eyes, her hand swiftly on her adamas axe. A roar ripped through her throat as she brought Marigold swiftly around and readied for a chase.

Valerie wasn’t running. She gave a single hop over her arms to bring her bound hands around from her back to her front and she raised them up in a panicked flutter. “Stop! Stop yelling!” Shouts resounded in the forest and the sudden pounding of hooves as the militia came around. “I’m just trying to tell you something!”

Marigold, the huge Atelan brown bear with the sensible lantern, did not care that Valerie was trying to tell them something. The bear planted her paws onto Valerie’s chest and brought her down much as she did the first time and pinned her to the forest floor. Valerie let out a wheezing gasp as the air was punched out of her.

Theodora raised her axe and snarled. “You tried to escape!”

“I need to ta-talk to you,” Valerie gasped through the pressure on her chest. “Need your help. Need to warn you…”

The militia surrounded them and suddenly there were at least ten different guns and crossbows pointed at Valerie. She held up her bound hands again, trying to shout over the din of yelling. It was Theodora’s roar that silenced them all. A sound that shook the trees and choked noise from the throats of the militia surrounding them. She stepped forward and looked down at Valerie with her axe raised. “Give me a reason not to take your head now, Mixer.”

“Ralston’s going to bomb Fort Howley.”

That was it. That was all that needed to be said.

Marigold was hauled off of Valerie’s chest and in one swift, brutal motion, Theodora lifted the young woman from the forest floor and onto her feet. The Captain grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “What in the bloody hells are you talking about? What do you mean?”

Valerie did not react to Theodora’s grasp on her shoulders and the shaking. She just kept looking up at Theodora with the same intensity in her breath. “Ralston is going to raid Fort Howley in one month’s time. He’s going to do it at night, when the first cold rains start to hit and when the soldiers are still injured. There will be no call. No battle lines. He’s asked a troop of Alchemists and soldiers both to blow the walls in.”

“That’s…” Theodora looked rattled and bit her lip. “That’s not honorable.” But why did she expect honor anymore? A militia wasn’t honorable. Interrupting caravan lines wasn’t honorable. Nothing Theodora did in this war was considered honorable. So why did she feel so crestfallen?

“Ralston is the least honorable man you will ever meet. He’s a butcher, not a Colonel. The Empress told him to lick the Colonies in any way necessary. He’s going to blow Fort Howley and everyone inside to the dust and then move south. Every town. Every village. Every person on the way to Somerton is going to be killed. No winters will stop them. No commands to belay battle until the new year.”

“But his own men are captured in Fort Howley.”

Valerie’s eyes widened in sudden despair. “I know.”

Theodora just stared at Valerie, horrified. “Doesn’t he care?”

Valerie shook her head slowly. “That’s why I need your help. Don’t you see? I need your help. We’ve got to warn them! My brother was taken prisoner in a raid not two months ago on our way to join up with Ralston’s camp. When I told Ralston what happened and that they had an Emperor’s Alchemist, he just said it was a shame. He doesn’t care. He’s going to raid Fort Howley and kill everyone inside no matter what the color of their coat is.”

“He could kill your brother and he doesn’t care? His own men?”

Valerie nodded.

“Don’t Emperor’s Alchemists wear white coats?”

Valerie nodded again.

“But the Laws of War say we aren’t supposed to engage anyone wearing a white coat.”

Valerie winced, pulled her lip to the side in a look of obvious discomfort, and nodded. She wouldn’t speak of the amount of times she’d ignored that order. The amount of white coats she could hang up in her tent.

“Are you sure your brother is in Fort Howley? What’s his name?

“I don’t know, I don’t know where he’s been taken at all. He could be hanged and I wouldn’t know it.” Valerie shook and her hands reached up to grip Theodora’s arms. “Adrian Soleil. He’s my twin. Taller than me- but we look identical.”

Theodora thought of all that this could mean for the war. Ralston’s thirst for death. The Colonies outdated views of the Laws of War. She gripped Valerie’s shoulders hard and shook her again. “Why. Why are you telling us all of this?”

Valerie’s eyes widened, the silver iris’ so bright against the moonlight they were almost white. There was an animal wildness in them, a feral glint that made brave Theodora want to step back. “Because I don’t care,” Valerie’s light voice became a hiss of quiet fury. “Because I don’t give a shit about any of it. If you won’t help me. If Ralston won’t help me. If the Republic won’t help me. If no one is going to help me. Then fuck all of you, damn this whole awful place, I will burn this whole continent and my own bloody country to the ground before I let any of you hurt one more hair on my brother’s head.” She meant it. Theodora could see it in the Alchemist’s eyes; the jovial attitude, the fast talking, all of it concealed a barely contained desire to kill. “Do you think that caravan fires are all I can do?” The threat in her voice made Theodora draw up short. Valerie reached up and her scarred hands gripped Theodora’s collar to bring her closer. The Captain could see what betrayal turned a woman into. “You don’t know half of the hell I can create to keep him safe.”

Theodora pressed her lips into a thin line and gently gripped Valerie’s hands on her collar to pull her off. Sympathy made an odd ache in her chest. “I have an idea.” With a single nod, the soldiers around them lowered their guns.

“You do?” Valerie loosened her grip, the panic-crazed look in her eye calming.

“I do. Because I would do the same for mine.” Theodora pushed her hand through her hair and gave a rough snort. “Alright, get on. We have a lot of planning to do and the Fort is at least a two weeks ride out of the way of where we are supposed to be going.”

Valerie pressed her hands together, some of that intensity returning in the edges of her smile. “Can I…?”

“No, you cannot lead Marigold.”

“Stuffy lot of melons aren’t you?”

With a huff, she pushed her alabaster hair from her eyes and glared down the hill. Her long tail twitched through the air as she shifted to gain her balance, leaning as far as she dared forward to try and get a look farther up the road. The caravan from Ralston’s Camp would be passing by this road at any moment, thinking that the cover of darkness would protect them from any others trying to travel the roads. But they would be in for an ugly awakening soon. Soon the Pracian caravan would realize that it was not only the beasts of the Atelan woods that they needed to worry about at night. Theodora had no guns to cock, no sharp clicks of steel to give her away, instead she palmed her axes and realized her palms were slick with sweat in anticipation.

It had been a long, ugly road that led her and her company to this. Not everyone approved of how they attacked caravans and blocked highways from the Pracian soldiers. For the lengths they went to in the beginning they were shouted at and talked down to. But the General forgave them and now the General was willing to turn her eyes away from the reports of overturned carriages and bodies of blue coat soldiers on the roads. It got them more supplies, it delayed battles, sometimes if they were lucky it would stop a battle from taking place entirely. Hard for there to be a battle if all the canons were stolen. When they got formal written complaints from the Pracis military saying that their behavior had no honor, the General burned them with a smile.

“It’s such a shame.” The General turned her dark brown eyes to Theodora. Her black skin glowed in the firelight as the letters burned. “Such a shame that all their letters seemed to have been burned in this latest…errant militia attack, yes?”

Her brother Francis was furious.

Theodora was thrilled.

Now, Theodora was slightly concerned. Worried about the men and women she recruited and who were waiting in the woods around her for her signal to come down. They were young and scrappy, foolhardy and bull headed Atelan’s and rebel Colonial’s both who bore grudges and didn’t like authority. Sometimes they didn’t even like her own authority over them. But the way she handled an axe seemed to keep them in line. Their wish to be of service in unique and sometimes ugly ways kept them focused.

Somewhere far off carts jumbled on the road and Theodora’s sensitive ears perked up as she lifted a hand. On the other side of the road, farther down and across the hill, her young second Seelie Mickard let her cat eyes catch in the low light and glow faintly in the darkness as a signal. They were ready then. She watched Seelie’s eyes track the motion and disappear into the underbrush again as the caravan came into view.

Theodora’s heart thundered and excitement made her mouth water. The careful tracking of the caravan was a month long work of grit, sweat, and frustration as they planned the where, when, and how of the matter. Now it was so close and Theodora couldn’t wait to bring the stocks they secured to Fort Howley, who desperately needed it.

It was a shame then, when it was all blown to hell. Quite literally. 

The explosion rocked the forest just as the caravan reached a peak at the top of the hill. A brief flash of blue that resounded into an unholy brightness of red that lit up the dark sky and blew the trunks of trees wide open. Horrible screams of shock and agony filled the air and for a panicked moment, Theodora wondered if her own company was hit by the blast.

But she recovered, now was not the time for shock or to examine the explosive blaze that ripped quickly over the treetops.

“Now!” Theodora roared and bolted down the hill towards the caravan and the fleeing Pracis soldiers. “Get to the carts! Save what you can from the fire and take care of whoever is left!”

Her company made startled, half effort sounds of confused victory. Was it one of their own who’d done this? She could hear the shriek of Seelie’s voice shouting orders. Not a moment later she came into step right behind Theodora with a crossbow. Theodora hooked her tail around the woman’s leg and kept track of her second at her back as they moved forward together. This was the kind of chaos where they could easily be picked off and never know it.

Expressions ferocious, they made short work of securing the grounds. The Pracis soldiers were already shocked by the pure force of the blast and the way even the roots of the earth had torn from the ground and knocked over several carts full of ration crates. Theodora cut down one soldier as he came to her with a bayonet, eyes frenzied. She buried an axe deep into his chest with a hiss and felt hot blood spray from the wound and across her fists when she tore it back out. The sinew of muscle and flesh gaped open across his chest like a banner.

The soldier dropped face first into the ground before he even a moment to load his rifle. Her company was left busy tying up the captives and saving what supplies they could from the flames. The swift action of her militia would now save supplies and, if requested, lives. This was not a part of her plan.

They cut down who tried to fight and threw sacks over the heads of those soldiers who fell to their knees and cried out in defeat. Theodora learned a long time ago it was useful to keep someone alive for questioning and it kept the Colonial army content when they ushered the captives to their capital in Somerton. As far as Theodora knew, her militia were the only ones of the Rebellion supposed to be on this road tonight and no word ever came to her or others meant to join.

Let alone a potential arsonist.

“Who in the hells did this?” Seelie murmured into her ear, near reading Theodora’s thoughts. The fire was already going down. Fast to burn out and hot enough to do damage. Theodora tightened her grip on her axes as they moved deeper into the destruction. They stepped over burned bodies and she felt Seelie tense behind her at the sharp smell of burning flesh. It was not something for the weak of gut.

“Perhaps their ammunition blew up by accident,” Theodora suggested.

Seelie lifted the flaps of a carriage and they both frowned at the tumbled boxes of food and clothing. Her second looked at her in confusion and the bright, pearly feathers along her face fluttered in anxiety. “It’s not an ammunition train by the looks of it.”

“Then where are the attackers?”

Seelie gave a shake of her head, looking taken aback by the sheer amount of destruction wrought on the supply train. They fought in many battles and often did what they could to steal from Pracis. But they tried to keep the death and chaos to a polite minimum to be respectful to the General who already allowed them so much. What would the General say if she saw this? Hells below, what if Theodora’s company got blamed for this?

She breathed a frustrated sigh and kept her guard up as they wove deeper into the supply line. The front survived the worst of the blast but the back had been full of simple wagon keepers, medics, and civilians. Already her company moved through the explosion radius and to the far back to give the guards a proper dressing down. Theodora would have to worry about them later.

“Captain.” Seelie’s voice was filled with restrained focus, her head turned and tilted to the side as she watched the forest beyond. Her Atelan blue eyes glowed brightly and Seelie raised her crossbow, shouting above the din with the feathers along her tail and face standing out in anger. “Come out with your hands up! This train is under Colonial protection now!”

Theodora turned to face where her second watched and she caught the bare flicker of red and the movement of bushes. Seelie fired a shot and the crossbow bolt sank deep into a tree, nearly hitting the target. Cursing loudly, Theodora gave chase while Seelie reloaded. These were woods that Theodora knew like the back of her hand, it did not matter that she was an albino and her eyesight was as bad as a bats, these woods were close to the bay that was her stomping grounds. Like the hells would she let some little chit make a mockery of what her and her militia company were doing. 

She ran full tilt and glided over branches and roots and wove around stones as she followed the long red braid that flashed ahead of her. They were not clumsy, in fact they ran with the easy grace that matched Theodora’s own skill. But this stranger who ruined their plans did not know the forest like Theodora did and they did not know that she was corralling them to a stiff outcropping over a stony river. Theodora could see it now, like veins, as she tapped into the adamas around her and the stone became her eyes. Her tail flicked behind her, giving her balance as she raced to catch up with the attacker.

The wind was cruel and cold and spoke of winter, the leaves were going to start falling soon, and the blue base of the trunks of the trees were beginning to seep deep into the ground to prepare for the cold. But Theodora thrived in the brutality of the weather. When she burst through the foliage to a steep outcropping, she got to see the face of the attacker for the first time and, for a moment, she was staggered in surprise.

She was a lovely woman, but young, this much Theodora could tell by the stubborn set to her shoulders and jaw. Her heart shaped face covered in freckles and her braid swept down past her knees, the tips of its feathery end almost brushing the ground. Her ears were the lovely swoop and point of a native Pracian and her body looked strong. But this was not what made Theodora recoil in instant disgust and tighten her grip on the adamas axes she held in her fists.

The woman was an Alchemist, wearing the beautifully tailored blue coat with the symbol of the Empress emblazoned on it’s back and embroidered in gold, red, and pretty rose decal. An Empress’s Alchemist. Suddenly the destruction thriving at their backs made sense. The roots did not rip from the ground on their own, they were forced to do that, they were twisted with Alchemy and abusive adamas to burst from the ground and wrap themselves around the wagons and carts. The fire burned so hot and fierce, because this Alchemist was the one controlling the blaze, tempering it in her hand with the adamas she still held and the red bottle in the other. The woman looked furious to have been led into such a trap. Theodora’s chase corralling her to the edges of the steep cliffs that ended the forest and started the sloping grasses that led to the beaches. This arsonist was in a position where she had to fight or jump.

Theodora really hoped she chose to jump.

If Francis were here he would say something haughty, proud, he would declare who he was with snobbery and stare down his nose at this little scrap of thing as he made his demands. But confused and angry to be suddenly facing an Empress’s Alchemist on her own, Theodora did the only thing that made sense. She blew her lid. “What the hells!?” she shouted. The woman had the nerve to look appalled at her language and it only made her rage grow. “The fuck is some spoiled little rich girl doing blowing up her own supply lines? What did you miscount your experiment?”

The Alchemist looked shocked, but it melted quickly into anger. A temper that could match Theodora step for step “I never miscalculate!” Her voice could be a song was it not so angry, high and ending words with soft breathy notes of a Pracian accent.

“Oh my ass, you blew half the place to smithereens,” Theodora snapped. The Alchemist pulled a knife in a swift motion when Theodora tried to step closer and Theodora raised her axes in retaliation with a gleam of a grin. Her mouth was a hard, angry slash on her pale face. “Come on now. We’ve got the whole caravan under our control now. No sense in going and doing something stupid. You could fetch a high price from your Empress and we would treat you well until we got you sent back.”

Not unsurprisingly, the Alchemist sneered. “Like hell,” she said, and lunged.

Theodora brought up her axes to block the slash of the knife and keenly moved out of the way when a mysterious potion was nearly dumped onto her tunic. She thought of her wife, neatly mending her clothes in the rocking chair by the window and despairing at the amount of holes Theodora managed into them. It infuriated her that this little red headed brat would tear apart the clothes her wife worked so hard on.

The noise of their blades clashing sang in the air and Theodora’s eyes narrowed as she studied the Alchemist. “Be fair to exchange names before I kill you!” Theodora barked.

The Alchemist panted in exhaustion. Theodora noticed that the beautiful coat was very dirty, her hair looked unwashed, and her gaunt features were reminiscent of someone who hadn’t slept or eaten well in days. Theodora noted this in her mind and filed it away for later. They were always given the impression the Alchemist’s were the coveted pets of the Pracian military. What did it say to the rest of their forces if their Alchemist’s were left to look like this?

But the brief distraction ended and Theodora narrowly dodged the swipe at the short blade. The Alchemist made a face and was now heaving. She was truly tired then and Theodora felt a sharp swell of angry pity. This was what the Pracian Empire did; whittled down their men and women until there was nothing left of them. Theodora briefly lowered her axes, the Alchemist was stumbling now. “Stop,” her voice was an easy and harsh command. She watched the woman falter in surprise at the authority of it. “You’re tired and a mess- and after that blast probably hurt. Just stop. Come with me and we will see you returned in a fair trade.”

“I don’t want to be returned,” the Alchemist snapped and Theodora huffed in frustration as the stranger lunged again. “I belong to no one!” 

Theodora moved with a natural insistence of the body. A simple intensity in all of her movements during a fight. She would never be able to handle a rifle or a pistol, not with her eyesight being as bad as it was, but she could fight close range. That the Alchemist was so ready to fight this way only bought Theodora an advantage. The woman could see it, the sensitive flesh between the shoulder blades. One brutal swipe of her axe would rip her apart and the fight would be done. She’d be dead and Theodora could continue on with patching together this mess of a night. 

But it felt as if no plans were destined to work out that evening. A glowing vial carded between the Alchemist’s fingers and Theodora sucked in her breath. A familiar yellow. For a moment she felt frantic, going as far to drop one of her adamas tinted axes to cover her eyes and mouth with her coat. 

The Alchemist unstoppered the vial and a yellow cloud, shimmering with dust and particles, blew across them in a thick cloud. Even as Theodora desperately tried to cover her nose and eyes, the horrible smell slipped through. She struggled not to cough or even breathe, instead she stumbled blindly forward and tried to escape the danger. The woven threads of the adamas in the ground leading her to safety Theodora knew of this cloud, a thick and horrible thing that blinded soldiers on the field and clogged up their lungs. A recent creation by the Alchemists and a dirty, ugly trick to use in a fight.

Stumbling forward, a breath of fresh air stung Theodora’s face and, careful to feel with her feet, she moved towards it and hoped it wasn’t straight off that cliff. 

A keen sense of danger lit Theodora’s senses. If the Alchemist woman was confident enough to use the gas, then she was probably wearing a mask and goggles too. She would be able to maneuver and could pose a serious threat in a fight and leave Theodora dead on the ground. Careful, Theodora’s ears swiveled, listening and letting the panic subside into sharp focus. Her long tail swept the ground, feeling for vibrations. 

Footsteps. Running. The light and practiced step that was so familiar. The Alchemist was running away. 

Daring to uncover her mouth, Theodora put her fingers in her teeth and whistled hard. The earth under her rumbled, a distinct response that made the forest come alive around her. The familiar heavy breathing, the deep growls that shook the roots of trees. Theodora went to it, breathing in fresher air. “Get her Marigold!” She shouted. 

The footsteps stumbled and Theodora smiled at the sound of shocked screams. Marigold wasn’t a typical companion. Most would opt for hounds or, sometimes, hawks and ravens. But Theodora wasn’t content in the ordinary. 

Her tail swept the ground again, back and forth, feeling the rumble in the earth and moving towards the sound of the screams rising into hysteria. Every noise was met with a roar that shook the air and made Theodora’s ears swivel back. Confident she was no longer in the cloud of deadly yellow, she uncovered her eyes and watched.

The Alchemist was trying to get up a tree. But nothing in that forest was a better climber than Marigold. The several hundred pound bear rocked back onto her feet and with a single deft swipe of the paw, had the woman back on the ground. The red head struggled underneath, utter panic on her face as she tried to crawl away. “If you move they just get hungrier,” Theodora drawled. 

“What the fuck!” The Alchemist’s voice cracked, bravely putting a hand on Marigold’s snout and trying to shove the gaping mouth full of razor teeth away. “What the fuck?!”

THE LAND

Atelaer is a vast continent spanning two months of travel by horseback from east to west, and a month's sail by sea from its neighboring land masses.​ It has been a home to the Atela people long before written histories began to fill libraries. Perhaps the continent's most curious asset is unlike any other place in the world. Atelaer is where the planet's fount of adamas ore is the richest. So rich, that adamas has woven itself into every plant, every creature and into the very people who inhabit it.

​Wiskusset, Cedarmont, and Myrtlglade make up the three territories of modern Atelaer. These territories were established mutually with the Native Atelans and Pracis colonists. For 200 years, their cohabitation had been peaceful and today, many people share bloodlines of both nations.

ADAMAS "DIAMOND" ORE

For the people of Atelaer, adamas is a way of life. For the Pracis Empire, it is the heart of innovation. Infused with latent, natural magic, adamas can neither be created nor destroyed, only changing states and returning to the heart of the planet to sprout once again. However, Atelaer is the only place in the world adamas can begin its life cycle.

​In its most raw form, adamas is crystalline and found in veins along dark, igneous rock. Atelans were the first to discover adamas's other states of matter and cultivate it into society as a humble tool for living.

​The Pracis Empire made a more ambitious use of adamas, calling it the "diamond ore" for its near unbreakable strength when smelted, and using it as the primary catalyst for their sorcerous alchemy.

FACTIONS OF THE WAR

Two hundred years ago, the first ships of Pracis landed on Atelaer's shores, as scientists had hoped to find answers to the earth's curious, magical ore. What they hadn't anticipated was forming an alliance with an equally prosperous nation who was willing to exchange knowledge for the upkeep of their land. Soon, agreements were made over immigration, and many Pracian families outside of the noble houses sought brighter opportunities in Atelaer. They purchased land from the Atelans and began settlements alongside them in harmony, bringing agriculture and trade disciplines to Atelaer's abundant natural resources. The Atelan Republic was pleased to see its land cared for, and the Pracis Empire was equally satisfied with the export of resources. It was a symbiotic relationship that produced further prosperity for both nations, including the first generations of people with mixed heritage. But  peace could only last as long as Pracis's itch for more ambitious ways to transform adamas ore. 

THE COLONIAL REBELLION

"Love, Liberty and Justice." Newest of the three factions, the Colonial Rebellion was formed five years ago in the war's infancy, lead by people who denounced the Empire's tightening grip on overseas affairs. Many colonists believed the Empire had begun overstepping boundaries, imposing governance on them without being actively involved in maintaining infrastructure. The push for more autonomy, resulted in protests, arrests, and discontent throughout many colonial settlements. But nothing prepared the people of Atelaer for the first shot fired from an Imperial's adamflint rifle during the Somerton Riots.​

Rebellion leaders believe that the Empire's decision to weaponize adamas ore came from wanting to police their colonies with lethal force. The Republic's choice to abstain from taking up arms against the Empire and refusal to condone it pushed the colonies into an impossible position.

​Seeing the lethal capabilities first hand, many colonists could not underestimate the danger Pracis now imposed. They would not be silenced by the Empire, nor would they sit idle to appease the Republic's beliefs. Those that reluctantly took up the very weapons they were forbade declared themselves part of the Colonial Rebellion- sworn to defend Atelaer, for Atelaer. 

Drawing from both roots in Imperial and republic combat styles, classes in the Colonial Rebellion capitalize on speed and the lay of the land.

THE PRACIS EMPIRE

"Knowledge Above All." The Pracis Empire is a vast and sprawling kingdom from across the south-eastern sea. It is ruled by a tight monarchy and cabinet of scientific and political advisers who serve the crown. Only noble families are allowed to freely hold the old magic and many fight for rights over alchemy shops as well as prestigious positions at court.

While the Imperials would not go as far as to call themselves divine, they do think they were put on the planet to better it with technology. This idea, that the earth must be explored and maintained for its protection is what initially made a stable alliance with the people of Atelaer.

Ever ambitious, Pracis's innovation had been expedited by the two-hundred year long alliance with the Atelan Republic, which granted them a never ending supply to all stages of the adamas ore's life-cycle. But where Pracis's mind is open in the way it seeks to transform the world, they are a people focused only on their own plan.

Pracis believes the Atelan Republic made a grave error in denying their rights to the ore and will stop at nothing to take what they feel entitled to.

His majesty's royal forces are some of the most sophisticated over land and sea with the most technological advances of their day.

THE ATELAN REPUBLIC

"None Are Wiser Than The Earth." The Atelan Republic is lead by a council of six (two speakers per territory) and is governed from the capitol city of Adaman in Cedarmont.  Only native Atelans can be elected to council. Natives and colonists alike are expected to  abide by the laws of the republic. Their heraldry represents the ochre valleys, russet mountains and the life that binds all living things to the adamas ore.

​The native atelans are known for their sophistication and demand for harmony within the natural order. They are peaceful and practical people, believing nature to hold the scales of justice. However, their greatest flaw may be their leadership's tendency to 'gatekeep' resources and it has only stoked the fires in the current war. The Republic's decision to cease all trade with the Imperials kindled a retaliation that few admit to underestimating.

As the colonists have turned to defend Atelaer, the Republic withdrew, abhorred by the choice to engage with adamas weaponry. It remains reluctant to help the colonial rebellion and has since retreated to the dense forests and harsh mountains to avoid Imperial attack.

Since Drums of Atelaer is largely inspired by 18th century aesthetics & technology, we thought it would only be fitting to have the theme song incorporate elements of the English/Celtic blend heard around the turn of the century in Colonial America with a dash of sea-shanty. 

Song Lore in Drums of Atelaer Canon: 

Rise to Fight has become the anthem of the Colonial Rebellion in Atelaer and can be heard everywhere from campfires to taverns. (Think of it like the notoriety of Amazing Grace in real history). The chorus is even drummed by some colonial regiments on battlefields, and because of its oral distribution, many communities have adapted their own words to some of the verses. 

The song's origin came from a witness to the Somerton riots who lost his sister in the conflict, went on to join the Colonial Rebellion, and famously lost a leg to an adamas canon. When asked, songwriter claimed he was visited by an Atelan Bard during his recovery which inspired him to write the song. 

Some native Atelans have such an intense adamas earth connection that they present more animal features than humanoid. These mysterious locals, whether they actually sing or not, are called Atelan Bards, for when they do emerge from the deepest parts of the woodland, they are sure to lift the spirits of all who are lucky enough to encounter them.