A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1817 - 1817: The Stirring of Great Winds - Part 2

The animals, so quiet in their hibernation, were likely the only party not terribly afflicted by it. They, after all, had sensed the coming of something mighty. Their instincts had been ready to tell them just how much food they might need to survive it, and those that hadn't listened to those instincts had already long since died off.

The snow hares, now turned fully white, rejoiced as the snows piled higher and higher, rendering them ever safer in their burrows. It was the predators that suffered then, for their inability to reach them. At least until spring came, those snow hares were safe.

The Stormfront reached its turmoil, in all forms, and across all classes and peoples. Plans were made, and plans were continually torn apart. It was as if that was a second war that was going on, secretly, made by the Gods. To slap down the hands of all those that dared to reach, and dared to climb the known paths towards the tops of the mountains. No path was known anymore. All creatures were thrown into suspension. The war might have been localized along the northern edge of Stormfront territory, but every part of the kingdom felt its wrath.

The High King had his share of troubles. In looking for the blue flames, and looking to grasp help from the mages, beyond the advice of his own strategy council in Hector Blake, continually he found himself disappointed. The flames seemed to disappear long before he could reach them, and the mages too, just after the letters from the High King ought to have arrived, their bodies were found, and rather publicly too.

Mages that hadn't been seen in the longest time. Creatures that had provoked terrible amounts of fright during their time in activity. True threats. And something – not time – had quite clearly slain them, from the graphic ways their bodies were displayed, bound in the vines of a jungle tree that ought not have grown there, or staked straight through a lightning-shattered trunk. All evidences pointed to the existence of something beyond them, something even more dangerous, something even more powerful. The intelligent men of the strategy counsel knew it as well as any, for it was the only logical conclusion to draw, but Blake was forced to forbid talk of it.

It was that strange place, where strategy had to meet a certain degree of ignorance. Where no amount of information could be enough, for the chaos that came. It was that which led to risk taking. It was the very ingredients of it. They were made to take gambles, for all their intelligence and knowledge, and they were forced to put a good deal of their fate in the hands of the Gods, just as the rest of the kingdom were.

They mobilized their armies through Tavar, and saw him continually supplied, and even in doing so, they sent out more requests from more men from all the surrounding lands. They spoke to the Silver Kings with threats and warnings. They tried to push for more through King Emerson, though the man himself remained deafeningly silent, to the point that Hector was in the process of sending an envoy his way, to inspect the state of his wellbeing.

"He likely simply refuses to move until there is a more certain fate for his son," Hector had murmured to himself. Tavar was busy doing his battle against Blackthorn and his defence in Ernest, but there was still the problem of hostages there. If Blackthorn grew truly desperate, one had to wonder whether he was callous enough to hold them as bargaining chips, preventing Tavar from inflicting a total victory.

Darkness was their position. They had many scouts, and many information networks throughout the entire realm, but never did it seem to be enough. There was too much that was unpredictable, too many unpredictable people. Their own allies, in Tiberius, were the utmost in unpredictability, but the enemy too, with Lord Blackwell at their head, and so many troublesome Generals, could not be ignored either.

The rallying effects of Queen Asabel had been difficult to foresee, though Blake kicked himself for not taking into account that she might be able to reach that far, and still planning ahead regardless – though those plans too had needed to be scrapped, and replaced with a different approach entirely.

They were well aware that the surrounding lands were watching the war that was taking place inside the Stormfront. The Verna had every reason in particular to be interested, given their own dire state that they'd been placed in, by the hands of Blackwell. They looked for the means to get out of their current oppressive position, and with the right letter, they would be allowed just that. So the High King said, but Blake remained eternally wary of admitting foreign powers into their lands to help with internal disputes, knowing full well how the dividing up after the war was likely to go.

The Yarmdon seemed an even larger problem, for they were even more difficult to reason with. Perhaps they were more motivated by gold than the Verna, and they were at least more divided. It might have been possible to reason with a set of leaders from different raiding bands, and promise them their rewards, but Blake had not fallen quite that low yet, and he took every measure that he could to ensure that the High King couldn't either, though he had his doubts about just how well he was doing in that regard.

It was far from just being the largest problems of war that kept the strategic heart of the Stormfront so troubled. Like Queen Asabel, they had their own problems of governance from amongst the people. The realm was at war, and they were growing discontented, like all citizens might, with that constant danger looming above their heads.

It gave Lords with old grievances what they needed to rear their ugly heads, and start whispering more criticisms about the crown. Not enough that they would yet take up arms against it, but enough that they started to create a pressure that was difficult to match, and enough that they had the common townspeople talking.