The Throne of Gavel-Prologue

Writer’s Note:

Before you begin reading this chapter, it’s highly suggested you read the introduction and appendix linked here: https://forums.wynncraft.com/threads/the-throne-of-gavel-table-of-contents-and-appendix.302423/

Spoiler: Prologue to The Throne of Gavel

Prologue


“Where did that thing go?”

The shout echoed ominously through the dense maze of tangled underbrush, rebounding off the trunks of nearby trees. Cohan cursed and spun his horse around, nocking another arrow in his longbow.

Carefully surveying the nearby trees, he advanced forwards, keeping his bow pointed towards the shrubbery in front of him.
The bushes were completely silent. Too silent, he thought.

In a sudden blur of fur and tusks, his quarry leaped out of the brush and rammed into his horse’s side, knocking him to the ground. Cohan, still dazed from the sheer force of the creature’s impact, lay staring at his target in shock.

The beast was a boar, a creature common to the forested plains surrounding the city of Llevigar. This one, however, wasn’t merely just any ordinary boar. Easily over seven feet long, it was covered in thick gray fur and bore a pair of colossal pointed tusks, each long and sharp as an assassin’s dagger. Making any wrong move here could potentially get the lord killed in mere seconds.
Cohan fired the arrow, watching helplessly as it merely grazed the creature’s hide, drawing a thin red line of blood.

The pig squealed, maddened with pain. Once more, the boar charged towards him, slashing its tusks through the air.
Cohan desperately rolled onto his side, reaching for his shortsword. He pulled the blade free of its sheath and cut rapidly at the beast’s thick underbelly. The boar lowered its head and slashed at his chest with its tusks, ripping his cloak to reveal the mail shirt underneath.

Cohan pushed at the hog frantically as it squealed in pain. Gaping red lines lacerated the beast’s leather-like belly. Despite his efforts, the boar wouldn’t budge-the damnable creature was simply too heavy to lift. Nearby, his horse neighed and reared wildly, kicking up clouds of dust.
The hog swiped its tusks at Cohan again, this time grazing his elbow. He rolled away and clutched his arm in pain as the boar readied another attack.

As the boar slashed at his face, Cohan desperately caught the creature’s tusks and pushed upwards frantically, straining against the creature’s brutal efforts.
It wasn’t enough. The pig was simply too strong, and Cohan’s arms were aching badly from keeping it back. He gave in as the boar slammed its mandibles down into his chest. A jolt of pain abruptly flared in Cohan’s mind as the creature was flung back into the bush, squealing in anger.

Cohan smiled weakly. A pale green light now shone from Cohan’s chestplate where the creature had dented it, tracing the vague shape of a runic marking embedded into the steel.
Tol, the Rune of Protection. All noblemen carried it upon their armor, regardless of where they were. After all, runes were simply an invaluable source of protection, one that could easily prevent potential attempts on one’s life.

Now having seemingly recovered from its sudden collision with the ground, the boar charged towards him again, angrier than ever. This time, there would be no saving him.
Cohan raised his arms in preparation for the creature’s impact, closing his eyes tightly.

With a sudden thrum, two sharp flint arrows had been buried in the creature’s skull, with three more piercing the pig’s body afterwards.
The boar dropped lifelessly to the ground, allowing Cohan to push the beast’s corpse aside. His arm was bleeding and his body still ached from the attack, but he would still be fine with enough aid.
Gasping for breath, Cohan sat up and prepared to thank his savior.

“Well, damnit.”
Dressed in regal finery, Alhard Valorian stood before him, a smirk etched across his face. A massive crossbow engraved with spiraling Uth runes was slung upon his shoulder, glowing with magical energies. He bent down and extended a gloved hand towards Cohan, still disheveled from the fight.
Cohan relaxed and smiled wearily, firmly gripping Alhard’s hand and pulling himself to his feet. Alhard patted the lord on the back before mounting his horse, a magnificent black thoroughbred.

“You’re aging, Dendroft,” Alhard said. “Last I saw you, no boar could take the mighty lord of Llevigar down.”
Cohan chuckled. “I may be, aye, but in a few years, I’ll be the one alive while you’re in your grave from another orc war.”

“That was an impressive thing to do,” Alhard replied, “hunting down that boar without any help. Foolish, but still impressive.”
“I’m only thirty-five, Alhard,” he responded. “Not as young as you, but I can still hold my own well enough.”
“You call that well enough?” the Valorian responded. “Seems like you needed that bit of humiliation back there.”
Cohan smiled and strode to his stallion nearby. Laying on its side weakly, it had evidently also suffered from the boar’s initial attack. A thin wound had been carved alongside its front leg. Cohan patted the stallion comfortingly and reached for a vial of healing balm from his satchel. He gingerly applied it and stood back, letting the creature rest. While the balm wouldn’t completely heal the wound, it would stop it from bleeding and refresh the horse’s energy. Within minutes, it would be strong enough to ride.

Minutes later, after both had mounted, the two approached a small flowering clearing.
“I received word from Cinfras this morning, just before the hunt,” Cohan began, clearing his throat. “Your sister shall be betrothed to Lord Malcolm Faltach of the Great Forest. A promising match, and one your house will value for decades.”

Alhard paused. “..I’ve heard,” he responded afterwards, albeit hesitantly. “I truly wish Sivelle the best of luck. She..has always deserved the title.”
Cohan nodded politely but fell silent.

He’s jealous, Cohan noted. He still thinks it’s unfair that she gets to rule.

And who’s to blame him? She’s only older than her by a month. If their births were reversed, Alhard would be governing Kander and Sivelle would be here as a hostage.


They rode in complete silence for the next few minutes, neither daring to speak. Alhard seemed to have lost his former enthusiasm, slouching in his saddle with a grim, unreadable expression.

As the Valorian lord brooded, Cohan silently surveyed the landscape around him. Still wreathed in morning fog, the nearby plains were covered in patches of dense forest and blooming meadows.
Most of the vast Llevigar plains still hadn’t been formally settled, and the city’s surrounding coasts were still as wild and untamed as they’d been when Cohan’s forefathers had first laid claim to the region. Even though few resided here, the region was still a prime destination for hunters such as Cohan, who would frequent the area in search of big game such as bears and stags.


Beyond the forests, the Bay of Llevigar’s tides surged against the rocky shoreline, devoid of ships where there should have been plenty.

Cohan sighed. Compared to cities like Cinfras and Ahmsord, Llevigar and its surrounding lands were still new..and relatively small.
Until the region was fully populated, Llevigar would still remain an outlier among Gavel’s ports..and not the bustling center of trade that the Dendrofts had envisioned. It would take time and funding from the Gavellian throne to make that vision a reality.
For now, the only sounds that echoed from the stony beach and the waters beyond were the cries of wheeling gulls.. and..

Cohan rode up to Alhard and briefly nudged his elbow, frowning. “Do you hear that?”
The Valorian ward blinked and then narrowed his eyes. “What is it?” he asked.
Cohan stopped and slowly pointed towards the coast. “There,” he gestured. “Those are.. a child’s cries.”

“It can’t be,” Alhard responded. “I’ve been here before. There aren’t any settlements here for miles. Why would a child be here of all places?”

“I’m not sure,” Cohan replied uncertaintly. He turned his horse towards the source of the noise, listening. “It has to be a child. I’m sure of it.

“Why in the name of the gods would a child be there? It’s probably some a seabird,” Alhard assured him. “There’s plenty of those here.”

Cohan shook his head. “No sort of bird cries like that. It’s something else.”

Alhard clasped his shoulder firmly. “Look. Your sense of honor is impeccable, yes, but have you considered if you’re simply overstepping your boundaries in order to preserve it? You can’t save every orphan child in Llevigar. Why does this one matter?”

“If you won’t help, then wait here. I’m going to see for myself.” Cohan said, gritting his teeth. He wheeled his stallion around towards the shore.

“And you call me a fool,” Alhard muttered, reluctantly steering his horse around. “You owe me a great debt, Dendroft,” he shouted.

As Cohan made his way towards the beach, the sound increased to a sudden, loud crescendo. He abruptly stopped at the edge of the beach, slowly dismounting his horse in awe. “Dear gods,” he whispered.

Strewn haphazardly on the beach, covered in strands of kelp and dripping water, was a cradle made of deep black stone. Several layers of strange violet leaves covered the interior of the crib, forming what seemed in Cohan’s eyes to be a sort of makeshift cushion. Tiny glyphs written in an unfamiliar foreign language were carved into the cradle’s sides, flickering with a pale blue light.
And nestled comfortably inside the strange cradle, wrapped snugly inside those strange violet leaves, was a child.

Cohan slowly stepped towards the sleeping infant. He had never seen anything like it before.

The child was dressed in a small black cloak, tied around its waist like a tiny apron. The baby’s skin was a pale shade of gray tinted with faint purple hues, its eyes bright violet and flickering with an ethereal glow. It almost resembled one of Ahms’ Raiders-although Cohan knew that it clearly wasn’t.

Alhard stepped towards him and bent down to inspect the cradle. “Well, I’ll be damned. What is it?” he asked, eyes wide.

“A child, evidently,” Cohan replied.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Alhard said. “How did it even get here?”
“I don’t know,” Cohan murmured, picking up the cradle. Upon closer inspection, the child seemed older than it looked-perhaps the age of two or three, and evidently female as well.
The baby cooed and reached towards him, its soft fingers gently brushing against his face. Cohan felt a sudden surge of compassion well up in his heart.

“The cradle isn’t even damaged,” Alhard muttered nearby, stepping around the object. “What sort of thing can make it through the ocean still intact? It’s cursed, I swear. Look at it! It can’t be natural.”

“It..she’s a mere child, Valorian,” Cohan suddenly replied, voice harsh. “She’ll die here if nothing happens.”
“Let it,” Alhard said. “You can’t expect to raise it yourself, can you?”
Cohan’s expression hardened. “If it comes to it, I will.”
Alhard shook his head in utter disbelief. “You really haven’t changed at all, have you? You have no idea what you’re doing, Dendroft. I assume you’re going to name the damn thing as well?”

Cohan picked up the cradle tenderly and stared at the child inside. It had stopped crying and was now completely asleep, snoring softly.
“Qira,” he decided.
“What?” Alhard asked.
“Her name. Qira.”

 

Most of the spacing errors that were created by formatting issues are now fixed, bump

 

Didnt know Qira and Bob were the same race

 

Both of those are just theories at the moment, nothing is confirmed.
And again, not of all of this is canon.

 

Still, interesting concept.

 

Bump for block game geopolitics

 

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