Tore Hund had served many Commissary Chairmen since he swore his oath near two hundred years prior. None had come close to the wisdom of their predecessor, yet he faithfully fulfilled his role with nought a word.
He followed the Chairman at two paces’ length, as he has done for each that came before. They strode towards the Continae before them, each soldier and official shrinking from his presence. This wasn’t just any continae, this was The Continae. The central governing citadel of Flehullen; capital of New Vetus.
The tall entrance arching high over the heads of the ursu as they moved aside for Tore and the Chairman. He very much loved this building. It was one of the last remnants of the nation and people he cared so deeply. Back in the revolution, he and his comrades bled so much to lay the foundations of this monument. It was a shame the nation had fallen so far since.
The commissary were rarely good men. The Chairman often the worst. Many times in his life, Tore lamented the state of his people. He disagreed with many orders he was given, but he could not disregard them. Even these resistant thoughts were the most he could manage after a century and a half since he… changed.
Most would say improved, but the sacrifices made were not worth the strength. Not to Tore.
He followed the Chairman to a room at the back of the second floor of the Continae. The guards posted at the door step aside for the Chairman, but gulp up at Tore and take an extra instinctual step away.
The Chairman strides into the room, eyes firm on the table ahead of him. Tore ducked under the lintel and ignored the trailing eyes of the guards. He rose again on the other side, but not to full height. Shoving his head through stone was never a fun thing to do.
The men, already at their seats, stood and quietened as he entered the room. As the Chairman took his seat, with Tore crouching behind him, the men followed suit. Tore disliked these meetings for a myriad of reasons, the greatest being a reminder of what it should have been. Now the conference was nothing but a butchered remnant of what the original chairman envisioned.
The original intention for these meetings was to be a place for the commissars of differing specialities and divisions within the nation to debate and propose legislative changes for the betterment of the country and its people. The original role of the Chairman was to be an unbiased overseer to manage these meetings and the ideas that occur within.
“I very much hope you all have some good news for me.” The Chairman says in an even tone, which did nothing to hide the anger in his eyes.
Now? These meetings were nothing but a farce for the commissary to appease the Chairman and Tore was the stick, the implied threat if they failed their duties.
He hated this role, but he had no choice. He was as much in control of his body now as he was a hundred and forty years ago. The first order he received from the second chairman was not something he was likely to forget.
“Chairman Vernados, we have held the Empire at Brua. The contracted front has benefit our defensive effort immensely. We expect to hold the line indefinitely.” The Commissar for Military Strategy announced.
The Chairman did not seem pleased by the news. “Hold the line? What are your plans for reconquest?”
He hesitated for a moment, eyes flickering to Tore before speaking. “None, Chairman. The corridor of Brua benefits our defence, but the same could also be said for the enemy’s. Any offensive will cost us twice or three times the lives of what we will inflict upon the Empire.”
“That is inconsequential. Organise an offensive by the end of the month.”
“But Chairman, winter will soon hit. It would be impossible for logistics to support—”
“Are you questioning me, Commissar?” The Chairman’s eyes narrow dangerously.
The man straightens up, realising he’d overstepped. “No, Chairman Vernados. I’ll get on it right away. I won’t fail you.” He says before leaning back in his seat.
“If you fail me, the only one you need worry about is Hund,” he motions to Tore looming behind him. “Anyone else have something for me?” the Chairman asks the room.
Another man stands up, placing his cigar on the ashtray before him. “Yes, Chairman Vernados. I believe I have news you would enjoy very much.”
Raising an eyebrow at the Commissar of Cheka, the Chairman urged him to continue. “Well? Don’t leave me waiting.”
“Of course, Chairman. On investigation of the burning of Morne, our agents discovered an invading force from the Zadok Kingdom.”
The Chairman growls at the man. “How is that good news?”
Unlike the first commissar, the man is unfazed by the Chairman’s anger. “An interception force was assembled post-haste. They slew the Zadok soldiers with minimal losses.”
That brought a smile to the Chairman’s face, the sharp grin almost feral. “What, did Henosis not share their little toys?”
“It appears not, Chairman. In fact, I don’t believe they’ve progressed much at all since we pushed them into the little corner of the continent.”
“Good. After we deal with the Empire, we’ll have to remind them of their place. Talking about toys, how goes the reproduction of the expropriated artillery?” the Chairman turns his attention to the Commissar of Industry, the anger in his eyes calmed for the moment.
“Good, Chairman. We have managed to recreate the mechanism to a suitable level.”
“Oh? How far are we to producing them for the field?”
“We could do it now, chairman, but it would require our mages be returned to the research division. The inscriptions required for the artillery are a bit too complex for a common mage to inscribe.”
“No! those mages are imperative for defending our entrenched positions.” The Commissar of Military Strategy interrupts.
The Chairman looks between both of them for a moment. “A third of Commissar Dov’s mages will be returned, the rest shall remain on the front line.”
Tore had seen this all too many times before. He knew he wasn’t the most intelligent ursu, but he had enough experience to tell the Commissar of Industry was lying through his teeth. If Tore had to guess, it was likely that they hadn’t replicated the weapon near enough to be useful.
Tore wouldn’t say anything. He rarely did. He was forced to follow any order of the Chairman and protect him from any threat, but he never went further than that.
After the war for his people's freedom, he’d declared his loyalty to the man who would become the first chairman. He was the man’s sword during a period of immense civil infighting. Tore had proven himself during the war against Zadok and fought alongside the Chairman to create a nation amongst the conflicting interests of the ursu.
Even before the Void Fog changed him, he was the greatest warrior the ursu had seen in hundreds of years; but the Void Fog had changed him. And now, he was restricted by the thoughts and resolutions he’d set for himself so long ago.
His undying loyalty to the Chairman was twisted by the incomprehensible fog and he’d been left unable to deny orders from not just the Chairman he’d declared himself to, but any proceeding ursu that took his position.
Tore assumed he had another century ahead of him, his life extended by the strength he’d obtained. In that time, he hoped he would manage the willpower to eventually fight against his old resolutions that were now deeply ingrained within.
The conference finished up and the Chairman was the first to leave. Nobody moved from their position at the table until Tore left the room as well, lowering their heads as he passes.
Tore waited until they were alone before his deep voice has the air quivering. “I should fight.”
The Chairman stopped and turned to look up at Tore. He is the only ursu Tore has seen that doesn’t fear him, having been served by Tore so long, he knows he will do anything ordered.
“No. You won’t leave my side. I’m not about to let myself be stabbed in the back while you have your fun.” The Chairman returned to his walk.
Tore didn’t reply. He wanted to enter the war, but he would not disobey. He was sure he would find it frustrating if thoughts of his fealty weren’t so pervasive. Any thought that opposed his dedication to the Chairman took far more effort to sustain than normal. If he didn’t constantly put effort into keeping his thoughts divergent from instinct, then he was sure he would have devolved to nothing but a sharp toothed hound.
The current chairman was one of the least intelligent men Tore had the displeasure of serving. He hadn’t reached the position he was in due to capability or trickery as the others, no; he was placed there by the previous chairman. Raised to have the same beliefs, brutality and paranoia as his predecessor, but none of the ability. The short ursu continually made decisions that harmed Tore’s people.
So many talented ursu were sent to the gulags because of the Chairman’s fear. A fear that was both warranted and unnecessary; sure, many of them would attempt to assassinate the Chairman should they be given the opportunity, but it was unreasonable to believe that they would ever succeed, not with Tore protecting him. Due to the Chairman’s paranoia, New Vetus now lacked any proper elites — besides Tore himself — to defend the nation.
Tore knew, if he’d been allowed, this war would have been over from the start. If the Chairman had sent him to fight right away, so many of his people wouldn’t be dead, feeding the enemy’s strength.
The ursu of today were soft, unused to war, and comfortable with peace. They had the arrogance, but not the strength of their ancestors.
Tore could do nothing but lament not being sent to the battlefield. Even if it was him alone, the war would be over.
There was no stronger race than the ursu. Each averaged at two and a half to three metres tall with the strength to crush stone.
Tore Hund’s strength far surpassed that. He stood at an intimidating five and a half metres. Only the tall ceilings of the Flehullen Continae could contain him. His strength was immeasurable, so great in fact that he struggled to differentiate between a gentle touch and a stone crushing grip.
A three metre sword sat in a sheath at his waist. It was the largest sword he could get forged for himself after his growth. The tonne sword would be hard for most to lift, but on him, it felt small. It was like using a kitchen knife when he’d grown up wielding a longsword.
If he was truthful with himself, the sword was unnecessary. He’d beaten the strongest in the world long before he’d lost himself in the strange world within the fog. It was a memory he often thought back to, tinged with remorse like so many others, but he never truly understood it.
Most believed the Void Fog to be a completely random disaster. Appearing without reason nor direction. It would just appear one moment, consume everything in its periphery and leave once again. It was horrifying in its unpredictability as it was the damage it brought.
The light-devouring black fog did not destroy things, they simply disappeared. Buildings, people, even the earth get gauged away. There were stories of a mountain losing half its mass by the passing of the fog.
Many believed that the Void fog obliterated everything it touched, leaving nothing. Tore knew better. He’d once been consumed himself, after all. He knew nothing the fog consumed was destroyed. Instead, it was changed.
The Void Fog was far more a mystery to those who escaped its clutches, for they had seen what was inside.
To Tore, the fog appeared like its own entirely contained world. His time within was both terrifying and incredible. The laws of the world seemed not apply. Time flowed backwards. Steps traversed leagues, while leaps cut momentum. Things there one moment would disappear the next.
The creatures within were familiar, yet changed. Gifted with new abilities and strengths, yet cursed with weaknesses or faults that would have them dead in a moment outside. But they lived. Likely sustained by the very fog itself.
Tore had seen structures in the fog. Buildings twisted far from any original purpose they may have had. Architecture from places he could hardly imagine.
Escape was difficult. In fact, Tore to this very day still struggled to understand how he managed it. Of course, he knew what actions he’d taken to escape, but how it let him escape was something he struggled to fathom. Luck was the only thing he could tie his freedom to.
But the Void Fog hadn’t been done with him yet. Even after escaping, it had its clutches in him. It changed him and led him to create disaster amongst his own people and the man he swore himself to. And eventually the death of his wife and daughter.
Tore Hund had served many Commissary Chairmen since he swore his oath near two hundred years prior. None had come close to the wisdom of their predecessor, yet he faithfully fulfilled his role with nought a word.
He followed the Chairman at two paces’ length, as he has done for each that came before. They strode towards the Continae before them, each soldier and official shrinking from his presence. This wasn’t just any continae, this was The Continae. The central governing citadel of Flehullen; capital of New Vetus.
The tall entrance arching high over the heads of the ursu as they moved aside for Tore and the Chairman. He very much loved this building. It was one of the last remnants of the nation and people he cared so deeply. Back in the revolution, he and his comrades bled so much to lay the foundations of this monument. It was a shame the nation had fallen so far since.
The commissary were rarely good men. The Chairman often the worst. Many times in his life, Tore lamented the state of his people. He disagreed with many orders he was given, but he could not disregard them. Even these resistant thoughts were the most he could manage after a century and a half since he… changed.
Most would say improved, but the sacrifices made were not worth the strength. Not to Tore.
He followed the Chairman to a room at the back of the second floor of the Continae. The guards posted at the door step aside for the Chairman, but gulp up at Tore and take an extra instinctual step away.
The Chairman strides into the room, eyes firm on the table ahead of him. Tore ducked under the lintel and ignored the trailing eyes of the guards. He rose again on the other side, but not to full height. Shoving his head through stone was never a fun thing to do.
The men, already at their seats, stood and quietened as he entered the room. As the Chairman took his seat, with Tore crouching behind him, the men followed suit. Tore disliked these meetings for a myriad of reasons, the greatest being a reminder of what it should have been. Now the conference was nothing but a butchered remnant of what the original chairman envisioned.
The original intention for these meetings was to be a place for the commissars of differing specialities and divisions within the nation to debate and propose legislative changes for the betterment of the country and its people. The original role of the Chairman was to be an unbiased overseer to manage these meetings and the ideas that occur within.
“I very much hope you all have some good news for me.” The Chairman says in an even tone, which did nothing to hide the anger in his eyes.
Now? These meetings were nothing but a farce for the commissary to appease the Chairman and Tore was the stick, the implied threat if they failed their duties.
He hated this role, but he had no choice. He was as much in control of his body now as he was a hundred and forty years ago. The first order he received from the second chairman was not something he was likely to forget.
“Chairman Vernados, we have held the Empire at Brua. The contracted front has benefit our defensive effort immensely. We expect to hold the line indefinitely.” The Commissar for Military Strategy announced.
The Chairman did not seem pleased by the news. “Hold the line? What are your plans for reconquest?”
He hesitated for a moment, eyes flickering to Tore before speaking. “None, Chairman. The corridor of Brua benefits our defence, but the same could also be said for the enemy’s. Any offensive will cost us twice or three times the lives of what we will inflict upon the Empire.”
“That is inconsequential. Organise an offensive by the end of the month.”
“But Chairman, winter will soon hit. It would be impossible for logistics to support—”
“Are you questioning me, Commissar?” The Chairman’s eyes narrow dangerously.
The man straightens up, realising he’d overstepped. “No, Chairman Vernados. I’ll get on it right away. I won’t fail you.” He says before leaning back in his seat.
“If you fail me, the only one you need worry about is Hund,” he motions to Tore looming behind him. “Anyone else have something for me?” the Chairman asks the room.
Another man stands up, placing his cigar on the ashtray before him. “Yes, Chairman Vernados. I believe I have news you would enjoy very much.”
Raising an eyebrow at the Commissar of Cheka, the Chairman urged him to continue. “Well? Don’t leave me waiting.”
“Of course, Chairman. On investigation of the burning of Morne, our agents discovered an invading force from the Zadok Kingdom.”
The Chairman growls at the man. “How is that good news?”
Unlike the first commissar, the man is unfazed by the Chairman’s anger. “An interception force was assembled post-haste. They slew the Zadok soldiers with minimal losses.”
That brought a smile to the Chairman’s face, the sharp grin almost feral. “What, did Henosis not share their little toys?”
“It appears not, Chairman. In fact, I don’t believe they’ve progressed much at all since we pushed them into the little corner of the continent.”
“Good. After we deal with the Empire, we’ll have to remind them of their place. Talking about toys, how goes the reproduction of the expropriated artillery?” the Chairman turns his attention to the Commissar of Industry, the anger in his eyes calmed for the moment.
“Good, Chairman. We have managed to recreate the mechanism to a suitable level.”
“Oh? How far are we to producing them for the field?”
“We could do it now, chairman, but it would require our mages be returned to the research division. The inscriptions required for the artillery are a bit too complex for a common mage to inscribe.”
“No! those mages are imperative for defending our entrenched positions.” The Commissar of Military Strategy interrupts.
The Chairman looks between both of them for a moment. “A third of Commissar Dov’s mages will be returned, the rest shall remain on the front line.”
Tore had seen this all too many times before. He knew he wasn’t the most intelligent ursu, but he had enough experience to tell the Commissar of Industry was lying through his teeth. If Tore had to guess, it was likely that they hadn’t replicated the weapon near enough to be useful.
Tore wouldn’t say anything. He rarely did. He was forced to follow any order of the Chairman and protect him from any threat, but he never went further than that.
After the war for his people's freedom, he’d declared his loyalty to the man who would become the first chairman. He was the man’s sword during a period of immense civil infighting. Tore had proven himself during the war against Zadok and fought alongside the Chairman to create a nation amongst the conflicting interests of the ursu.
Even before the Void Fog changed him, he was the greatest warrior the ursu had seen in hundreds of years; but the Void Fog had changed him. And now, he was restricted by the thoughts and resolutions he’d set for himself so long ago.
His undying loyalty to the Chairman was twisted by the incomprehensible fog and he’d been left unable to deny orders from not just the Chairman he’d declared himself to, but any proceeding ursu that took his position.
Tore assumed he had another century ahead of him, his life extended by the strength he’d obtained. In that time, he hoped he would manage the willpower to eventually fight against his old resolutions that were now deeply ingrained within.
The conference finished up and the Chairman was the first to leave. Nobody moved from their position at the table until Tore left the room as well, lowering their heads as he passes.
Tore waited until they were alone before his deep voice has the air quivering. “I should fight.”
The Chairman stopped and turned to look up at Tore. He is the only ursu Tore has seen that doesn’t fear him, having been served by Tore so long, he knows he will do anything ordered.
“No. You won’t leave my side. I’m not about to let myself be stabbed in the back while you have your fun.” The Chairman returned to his walk.
Tore didn’t reply. He wanted to enter the war, but he would not disobey. He was sure he would find it frustrating if thoughts of his fealty weren’t so pervasive. Any thought that opposed his dedication to the Chairman took far more effort to sustain than normal. If he didn’t constantly put effort into keeping his thoughts divergent from instinct, then he was sure he would have devolved to nothing but a sharp toothed hound.
The current chairman was one of the least intelligent men Tore had the displeasure of serving. He hadn’t reached the position he was in due to capability or trickery as the others, no; he was placed there by the previous chairman. Raised to have the same beliefs, brutality and paranoia as his predecessor, but none of the ability. The short ursu continually made decisions that harmed Tore’s people.
So many talented ursu were sent to the gulags because of the Chairman’s fear. A fear that was both warranted and unnecessary; sure, many of them would attempt to assassinate the Chairman should they be given the opportunity, but it was unreasonable to believe that they would ever succeed, not with Tore protecting him. Due to the Chairman’s paranoia, New Vetus now lacked any proper elites — besides Tore himself — to defend the nation.
Tore knew, if he’d been allowed, this war would have been over from the start. If the Chairman had sent him to fight right away, so many of his people wouldn’t be dead, feeding the enemy’s strength.
The ursu of today were soft, unused to war, and comfortable with peace. They had the arrogance, but not the strength of their ancestors.
Tore could do nothing but lament not being sent to the battlefield. Even if it was him alone, the war would be over.
There was no stronger race than the ursu. Each averaged at two and a half to three metres tall with the strength to crush stone.
Tore Hund’s strength far surpassed that. He stood at an intimidating five and a half metres. Only the tall ceilings of the Flehullen Continae could contain him. His strength was immeasurable, so great in fact that he struggled to differentiate between a gentle touch and a stone crushing grip.
A three metre sword sat in a sheath at his waist. It was the largest sword he could get forged for himself after his growth. The tonne sword would be hard for most to lift, but on him, it felt small. It was like using a kitchen knife when he’d grown up wielding a longsword.
If he was truthful with himself, the sword was unnecessary. He’d beaten the strongest in the world long before he’d lost himself in the strange world within the fog. It was a memory he often thought back to, tinged with remorse like so many others, but he never truly understood it.
Most believed the Void Fog to be a completely random disaster. Appearing without reason nor direction. It would just appear one moment, consume everything in its periphery and leave once again. It was horrifying in its unpredictability as it was the damage it brought.
The light-devouring black fog did not destroy things, they simply disappeared. Buildings, people, even the earth get gauged away. There were stories of a mountain losing half its mass by the passing of the fog.
Many believed that the Void fog obliterated everything it touched, leaving nothing. Tore knew better. He’d once been consumed himself, after all. He knew nothing the fog consumed was destroyed. Instead, it was changed.
The Void Fog was far more a mystery to those who escaped its clutches, for they had seen what was inside.
To Tore, the fog appeared like its own entirely contained world. His time within was both terrifying and incredible. The laws of the world seemed not apply. Time flowed backwards. Steps traversed leagues, while leaps cut momentum. Things there one moment would disappear the next.
The creatures within were familiar, yet changed. Gifted with new abilities and strengths, yet cursed with weaknesses or faults that would have them dead in a moment outside. But they lived. Likely sustained by the very fog itself.
Tore had seen structures in the fog. Buildings twisted far from any original purpose they may have had. Architecture from places he could hardly imagine.
Escape was difficult. In fact, Tore to this very day still struggled to understand how he managed it. Of course, he knew what actions he’d taken to escape, but how it let him escape was something he struggled to fathom. Luck was the only thing he could tie his freedom to.
But the Void Fog hadn’t been done with him yet. Even after escaping, it had its clutches in him. It changed him and led him to create disaster amongst his own people and the man he swore himself to. And eventually the death of his wife and daughter.
