Royal Erathian Military Command
The Royal Erathian Millitary Command was the highest Royal Elite Erathian Special Forces Unit-Army, that served under the leaderships of King Nicolas Gryphonheart and General Morgan Kendal, who was also its leader. The term REMC was used to refer to all echelons of the military of the Kingdom of Erathia in Antagarich. It was headquartered at Castle Gryphonheart in Steadwick. By writ of law, it would assume provisional control of the kingdom in the event of a regicide without a suitable heir.
The Command's upper tier was composed of a small union of the Kingdom of Erathia's greatest generals and heroes, active during and before the Restoration Wars. Its leader at this time was General Morgan Kendal. Though composed primarily of Erathians, it also recruited skilled foreign military experts from Enroth, AvLee and Bracada.
The only known point at which the Command ever assumed control of Erathia was directly after the death of King Nicolas Gryphonheart in 1164 AS. Eventually, it was discovered that one of its own members, Lord Haart, had been responsible for the King's murder.
Known members ca 1164 AS:
- General Morgan Kendal (leader)
- Commander Orrin (second in command)
- Headmaster Ingham
- Lieutenant Dannil Darvin
- Lord Haart
- Professor Xanthor
- Ryland
- Theodorus
De-facto members:
The Legacy
The following is a short story that was written by a New World Computing employee and published on the now-defunct fansite "The Nether Gods".
High above the Palace a pair of Griffins soared, riding the wind in long lazy circles. The sun glistened off the rooftops, still wet from yesterday's rain, and the sounds of the swollen Teal River could be heard over the activity in the Palace courtyard. It was almost as if nothing was wrong with the world, thought the figure who watched from the balcony of his sleeping chamber. Nothing wrong at all.
The man continued to watch, finally turning his attention to the courtyard. To his left, two mounted patrols undoubtedly discussed the latest news. One of the three-man teams was just setting out, the other had just returned. Fortunately no sign of any incursion had been seen. The Erathian capital, for now, was safe.
Off to his right he could see a group of refugees, seemingly identical to those he had traveled here with just two days ago. Even from this height he could make out the frightened and shocked faces of women and children. But no men. Like those he had arrived with, the men had been swiftly recruited into the Royal Erathian Military Command. I should have gone with them, he thought. I have made knowledge my life's work, at least I could have put it to good use.
The balcony was high enough that he could see the Military's practice field across the river. Nearly two hundred soldiers were arranged in great double lines, apparently sparring with each other. At that moment he was grateful that he had not joined the other men. That sort of activity was definitely not his style.
Just then there was a knock at the door of the suite. He took one more look around, noting the irony of a people engaged in a destructive war, all beneath a spring day that was striving to give life to the land. Turning, he stepped back into the room, feeling the chill of the still-cold floor through the soles of his shoes. Reaching the center of the room, he stopped. "Come in," he said.
The door opened just enough for a chubby little man to enter the room, obviously one of the Courtiers of the late King. The man took two steps, stopped, and bowed cleanly and deeply before speaking. "Professor Xanthor," he said, "they will see you now."
Xanthor followed the courtier through the palace. The warm breath of spring had not yet penetrated the interior halls, and Xanthor found himself wishing he had put on some warmer clothes. The courtier did not speak, but he somehow managed to perspire in the chill air. The only sound was that of their feet, and the *swish swish* of the fine silk garments that the courtier wore.
"What happened here?" Xanthor finally asked, hoping to strike up a conversation. No one had come to see him in the two days that he had been at the palace except for the servants who had brought him food. The guard posted outside his door would not speak, except when Xanthor attempted to leave, only telling him then that, for his safety, he needed to remain in his quarters. It wasn't until he demanded to see the King that he learned of the Gryphonheart's death, and he had spent the better part of yesterday trying to bribe information out of the servants with food off his own plate.
The courtier did not even break stride. "I'm very sorry, but I've been forbidden from discussing anything with you, Professor." He then glanced around, making sure no one was nearby, and continued, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. "What would you like to know?"
Xanthor smiled. At last, someone willing to talk. "Well," he said quietly, "you could start with why I've been a prisoner the last two days. "I'm a scholar, not a thief."
"I know how you must feel, but you have to understand that ever since the Royal Military Command took control following the King's death, they've been hoarding information regarding everything. The war is going badly. Not only have the Kreegans overrun the eastern borders, but the Dungeon Overlords have vanished. The Military claims that the Kreegans finally defeated the Dungeon Overlords, driving them all the way back to Nighon, but there wasn't actually a fight. The Dungeon Overlords just… well, vanished!"
Xanthor struggled to remember his geography. He knew that the eastern third of the continent was riddled with caves, as were several regions in the west. Could the Overlords have really given up their control of Eeofol? If so, why would they have done it without a fight? Xanthor realized that the Courtier was still talking…
"…have been reports of refugees as far north as AvLee. Half of Erathia has been overrun, yet that whelp of a Lieutenant Darvin continues to tell us that nothing is wrong, that the fight with the Kreegans is merely a border skirmish. They have kept the royal court cooped up in this palace for the last month, and continue to deny us information."
"Wait a moment," Xanthor interrupted. "If the Military Command is being so secretive, how is it that you know what's going on? Are you on the Council?"
The Courtier cleared his throat, then stopped in front of a door. "Here we are, Professor," he said, changing the subject. He knocked twice before opening the door.
Xanthor followed the chubby man into the room. He did not recognize any of the faces of the seven men standing around a large table, nor had he really expected to. The Courtier announced him, then bowed cleanly and moved toward the door to leave, pausing only to wink in Xanthor's direction. Then he was gone, and as the door was closed heavily behind him, Xanthor realized that this probably wasn't going to be much fun.
The near side long table was covered in what looked to be reports, scrolls, and letters. A great cloth map of the continent lay draped over the far end. The room was warm, too warm compared with the chill of the Palace hallways, but it was clear that the fireplace had been going all night and morning. Xanthor looked at the faces of the seven men, wondering if he should speak, but one of the men, a well dressed, older man with fiery red hair and a long, sculpted mustache, broke the silence.
"Thank you for coming, Professor," he said. "I am General Morgan Kendal. I must apologize for the lack of information, but we really had no idea what to do with you. You see, most of the men fleeing the fighting are quickly trained and put right back into it, but we have a more serious problem with you. We need information from you, but we also need your secrecy. We need to know that what we discuss in this room today never gets discussed beyond that door."
Xanthor thought it over. "General, since I don't know what this is about, it is difficult for me to make such a decision. However, since I think I know what you wish to discuss, I have no choice but to agree."
"Good," the General smiled. "Finally someone who might actually be trustworthy. You can't imagine how difficult this has been, or," he said, pausing, "maybe you can. Dannil, get the Professor a drink." The youngest of the seven, suddenly realizing he was being addressed, quickly jumped into action, and before he knew it, Xanthor held a goblet of what seemed to be a fine Erathian Red.
The General continued, introducing the other five men. The fair-haired one was Lord Haart, who had served Roland Ironfist in Enroth. The next was Ryland, a ranger among the AvLeean settlers near Grainrich in eastern Erathia. Standing next to Ryland was a bearded wizard from Bracada, Theodorus. Across the room was Orrin, commander of the archery yards, and Ingham, Headmaster of Steadwick's Monastery. "And you have already met my Lieutenant, Dannil Darvin," the General finished.
"Quite a gathering," Xanthor said, "but I don't understand where I fit into this."
"Where you fit," the General's expression had become a frown, "is here, as our source of knowledge. We, the seven of us standing before you now, have yet to see what you have. We've been commanding from the rear; sending orders to the front lines and waiting for reports to return. You, however," again the General paused. "You have been there, in the midst of the battles. We are hoping that your reputation for curiosity has allowed you to observe what's really happening out there."
Xanthor wanted to laugh, but detected something else coming from the General. "You mean you don't know what's going on? And you think I have the solution? Please, General, I'm a scholar, not a spy."
The General seemed saddened. He turned, looking into the eyes of some of the greatest leaders in the world, each in turn, before returning his gaze on Xanthor. He clearly needed to say something, but couldn't seem to find the words. After several moments, he spoke.
"When the King was murdered," he began, then saw the look of horror on Xanthor's face. "You didn't know? As best as our investigation could determine, he was poisoned, but that is a separate matter." There was another long pause, and he began again. "When the King was murdered, I, by writ of law, became the temporary ruler of Erathia until such time as a suitable heir could be selected. The Kreegan attack into Rionpoint could not have come at a worse time. Much of the nation was just learning of the loss of their King, and suddenly they were called to help defend a leaderless Erathia."
"As if the entire nation had lost its heart," Xanthor interrupted.
"What?" the General asked, looking surprised.
"Oh, nothing, it's just something I heard a long time ago… talking to a traveler from Enroth. Tried to tell me about some cult he was part of. It's nothing, really. Please, General, continue."
The General appeared pleased. "It looks as if you have more information than you know, Professor. More information indeed."Unlikely Alliance
The following is a short story that was written by a New World Computing employee and published on the now-defunct fansite "The Nether Gods".
Someone please get me a drink. I can't believe what a mess this has turned into. According to General Kendal, a traveler I met several months ago in the town of Whitestone fits the description of a man seen here in Steadwick, more specifically at the Palace, shortly before King Gryphonheart's death. At the time I thought the man was speaking in riddles, but it wasn't until I arrived here that I remembered him speaking of the religious cult he belonged to, and their prophecy of "a nation that would lose its heart" or some such nonsense. Oh, if only I had known... *sniffle* I could have saved the King!
Ahem! Please forgive me. I really did not learn of the King's death until I was almost to Steadwick. You see, I was actually in the town of Plinth, just across the Bracadan border, when the Kreegan attack came. The attack was swift, and the town fell quickly, but several hundred of us had been able to escape. We tried fleeing to the nearby town of Mirham, but discovered that it was under the control of the Dungeon Overlords. The refugees I had joined decided that the only course of action we could take was to head inland, toward the capitol.
But the road would not be easy. It seemed that no matter what path we chose, we had the Devils at our backs and the Dungeon Overlords all around. They always seemed to know where we were going, and were often waiting for us when we got there. Scores of people died, and sadly, many more were injured and had to be left behind. The holy men and women who traveled with us could do little more than offer a blessing to those poor, condemned souls.
As we continued toward Steadwick, and into gradually safer territory, we were joined by refugees from other parts of Southeastern Erathia. The story was the same each time, yet I grew more frightened each time I heard the story told. The Kreegans and Dungeon Overlords had attacked along a tremendous front from the edge of Bracada in the south across the Dwarven Mining Range near the southeast coast and as far north as the border of AvLee. The thought of such a broad offensive was staggering, even to me. I believe I saw General Kendal and several of his aides actually pale as I recounted the stories.
Anyway, it's good to be back where it's safe, and among friends."
—Xanthor