The Gospodars

In a rare moment of weakness Corraidhne felt true and honest regret for his actions.

The infamous sylph highwayman's eyes were wide and blood shot, a wildness in them unlike anything he had felt even in his time as a rider in Cadfael Tanglemane's Wild Hunt. Dried spittle was caked on one side of his mouth as he didn't bother to clean it, riding at such a pace that such trivialities were hardly of consequence. Every muscle of his was sore and he could only imagine how the horse felt, practically choking on its own labored breaths as it gave every ounce of its energy into the unrestrained route. The sound of other horses could be heard to his rear, their riders willing them to greater feats of speed with hoarse voices that had no doubt been repeating similar cries as if the righteous chants of some profane monks worshiping heathen gods. A moment of placidity fell across Corraidhne's mind as he considered the path that had taken him here and how his day seemed so much better not but an hour before.

The raider-band of Corraidhne the Redeye had preyed on this stretch of land for the last year with relative ease; military camps made prime pickings for midnight raids and the wealthy elite who traveled the nearby roads were ripe for the plucking. With the arrival of the Almur the hunt had become more difficult and Corraidhne had led his men to greener pastures in the realm of the Hermit-King, Aeron Sefti, and with rich reward. With their pockets lined with Commonwealth gold Corraidhne had made plans to return to Cadfael's realm to acquire fresh men and spend the ill-gained loot of his brutal banditry. Following the western edge of the Commonwealth's border the raiders unknowingly entered the realm of the Almur and had come upon roads unspoiled and practically bursting with possibilities; against his better judgement, Corraidhne had been convinced by his Lieutenant to commit to an attack so that their revelries in Siercia would be all the sweeter. Within a fortnight a perfect target presented itself, a nearly unguarded caravan of dwarves that bared the script-sigil of one of the Great-Clans of Mog Bhelnom; Corraidhne himself had made a silent prayer to Aed, well away from his comrades, for the bountiful harvest provided unto him and for forgiveness for any possible discretions Aed looked poorly upon.

Within hours the band was moving, tracking the movements of the caravan, ghosting them as they road farther and farther away from any conceivable rescue. In the waxing light of early dawn the Redeye gave the order and his band of nearly fifty highwaymen bore down on the caravan with merciless glee and violence their intent. The dwarf guards, as few as they were, at least provided a decent sport; Uric Broadshoulder, a Wastelander orc who had wandered his way into the East to escape the well-guarded roads of the Firetooth, had taken a bolt the size of Corraidhne's wrist to his torso. Despite the seemingly grievous wound Uric continued on to behead the guard and would boast not minutes later that not even the famed marksman of the dwarves had the manlihood to strike him down. The plump dwarf nobles had been generous enough to offer all sorts of baubles, trinkets, and treasures crafted from any number of rare materials; though, at the time Corraidhne had felt the head he had taken from one was far more fetching than any of the pieces. 

That all seemed so unimportant now as the disembodied head of his dwarven victim bounced against the side of his horse. At that very moment Corraidhne hazarded a glance over his left shoulder, trusting the horse would keep itself on the path. What was once a numerous band was left as a mere dozen of ragged riders, each looking more tired than the last and their mounts in even worse state. A momentary glance shared between the Redeye and one of his fellow survivors made Corraidhne's stomach churn with fear as his comrade's eyes went wide with terror and his mouth parted to shout a warning to their brethren. A furious roar, like that of an avalanche crashing down impossibly high slopes, rolled over them as to the band's right the feared horned-giants of the Far North descended from the hills. Five Almur charged down the hill, sprinting like devils in a collision course with the riders. 

"RIDE YOU BASTARDS!" came the call from his Lieutenant, his brother-sylph Luigsech, "RIDE LIKE YOUR LIVES DEPENDED ON I-"

In an instant Luigsech flew from his horse and directly into the earth below as his steed collapsed beneath him, a hole the size of a dinnerplate blasted through it's chest as Luigsech was ground into the dust before him only to be trampled by the steeds of those behind him, killed instantly by the weight of his comrade's fear. The warg of Uric Broadshoulder seemed spurred on by the concussive bang of Almur firearms, charged to the fore in an effort to escape. As if from nowhere a sixth Almur hurled himself from a position in hiding, feet colliding with both Warg and Broadshoulder to send them hurtling into the ground; the last Corraidhne saw of the 'invincible' Uric Broadshoulder was his chest and skull being caved in by three strikes of a gunstock club. Corraidhne cursed Luigsech under his breath for convincing him to ever have attacked the dwarves swiftly followed by a prayer to Aed begging for forgiveness. 

"CAPTAIN, WATCH OUT!"

Corraidhne was robbed of his peaceful cursing and praying as the voice of his comrade was swiftly drowned out by vicious bellows and the sound of dying horses as more of his comrades were dragged down by their Almur attackers. Corraidhne looked to his rear to see nearly his entire host butchered at the hands of the horned-devils so poorly titled 'Almur', devils in giant form that reveled in the slaughter of Corraidhne's once-living brothers. The terrified whinny of his horse brought his gaze forward only to turn to his right to catch a glimpse of an Almur surpassing him, the beast-giant's predator gaze locked with Corraidhne's. With one flick of his wrist the Redeye slashed the giant's throat and sent the monster reeling, the hoarse cheers of his three remaining comrades filling the air as it seemed they were home free only to have the wind knocked from their lungs as the Almuric ambush tied the noose and their final two ambushers revealed themselves down the road. Charging full speed, bellowing at the top of his lungs, came an Almur with a pike the height of a watchtower and in what seemed like an instant Corraidhne was flying through the air, his wings too exhausted to hold him, with the ground nearing him far too rapidly for his liking. The report of a firearm could be heard making its presence known as the chest of one of his human brethren burst like a ripe berry in a shower of blood and bone. 

"Shit . . . "

The raider-chief crashed into the dusty ground, pain overtaking him as the unforgiving road dispensed judgement well-deserved upon the ill-willed Corraidhne. As one last moment of placidity overcame him Corraidhne considered the events that had unfolded; perhaps this was fair, an expected response by Aed to punish him for a lifetime of cruelty. As time seemed to slow to a crawl the once-powerful Redeye considered himself, at last, in Aed's gaze; if Aed truly was up there he was watching this moment unfold and Corraidhne knew he deserved everything he received. His wishful thinking was torn from him as he heard the final rider cheering, as he rode past the last Almur seemingly safe from retribution before, with one powerful throw, the well-armored Almur rifleman grabbed the bladed gunstock-club at his belt and hurled it after the raider; Corraidhne lowered his gaze, not needing to know the outcome of the toss. With that his vision went black and the Sylph became closer to the earth than he had ever felt before.

---

"Wake up . . ."

Corraidhne shook his head as his eyes refused to open, finally conceding as he blinked away the light and was hit with the pain of his highly uncomfortable landing. A host of Almur stood before him, nearly seven in all, with an eighth in back laid on the ground. Corraidhne remarked to himself under his breath that their bestial armor really did give the resemblance of monstrosities rather than humanoids, just as that one Juturnan artist had painted. His eyes turned to the sound of clanking metal as a creature far shorter waddled up to him, face hidden behind an impenetrable wall of metal with only a thick beard bursting out from under it to give any hint of the individual's identity. As soon as he closed the distance the dwarf drew his helm back, showing a striking resemblance to the head that Corraidhne had taken not but a few hours ago.

"You have my brother, heathen," came the heavily accented voice of the dwarf spoken in some harsh variant of standard Survaekom, "I want him back."

"Apologies, master-dwarf, but it seems you are a bit late," Corraidhne replied, a painful grin sporting lines of red pooling between his teeth marking clearly his wry humor, "I found Aed years ago; I am no heathen."

The Dwarf scoffed and snorted, giving Corraidhne a kick to the face before walking away from the Sylph's vision only to reenter it moments later holding up the disembodied head of what could only be assumed to be the dwarf's brother. Corraidhne gave a sheepish shrug before spitting the newly acquired mess of blood into the ground before passing his gaze over the Almur who seemed positively indifferent to the whole situation.

"Pasha, what would you have us do with this one?"

One of the horned-giants strode forward, the one who had slain the final two riders with gun and club, bedecked in the viciously geometric plate of his brutal kin. His helmet, a latticework of steel that formed a protective surface over his face with holes wide enough to allow his twin horns to pass through, was pulled from his head to reveal noble features (for a giant) and a gaze that seemed far too thoughtful for his race. 

"My Prince," replied the Dwarf with a sigh, "This one claims himself to be a member of Aed's Faithful. I would be bereft to have him killed like some mongrel dog. His comrades spat at your feet when they were brought to heel and now they lie dead on the side of the road; perhaps this one, if he is more reasonable, could atone for his actions. A gift to your father, a willing servant perhaps?"

Corraidhne's eyes went wide as his chest was filled with elation; this was Aed's doing. Had it not been this exact dwarf, on this exact day, he could've crushed to death by the hulking monstrosities before him like his once-living brethren. No, Aed had heard his prayers and seen fit to give him a second chance. Memories of his childhood flooded in, of his mother holding close to her heart the Aedaknam as she read to him the tales of the Messaran mystics of ages past. He had failed in his past life, a wreck, but now he had something true and earnest before him. He began to rise from his prone position, smile wide if-not red as he looked up to his would-be miracle in the eyes. In an instant his world went black as the armored boot of Pasha Cedic crashed into his face and he collapsed into the ground, unconscious once more.

"He needn't be awake for the trip, I think."

---

SUMMARY
-- Brief look at Almuric justice directed towards the would-be highwaymen that prey on their protected realm.
-- Introduction to Corraidhne the Redeye, bandit-lord and once sword-brother to Cadfael Tanglemane.

The drone of chatter in the halls of the Kezur was audible throughout its walls and perhaps even out the doors. Ever since the declaration of an election for Grand Mayor of Mog Bhelnom the Gospodar Lord's court had swelled with dwarven courtiers wishing to make a good impression. Now, halls once filled with Almur, were dotted with islands of dwarves in a sea of giants and every one of them attempted to claim a position nearer to the Kezur's throne. To all their spite Cedic Aydogan sat comfortably on a finely carved wooden chair at the back wall nearest to the throne among the council of the Kezur where the cocky dwarf lorded his position over his fellow nobles.

"They do so love to chatter," mumbled Henrik Koszorus, the widely respected Vezar and General underneath Yurok, "Don't they, master dwarf?"

"They are simply recreating the Sultan's court," replied Cedic with a chipper grin, speaking in his surprisingly well-mastered grasp of the Almuric tongue, "These old dwarves dream of the days long past when they were a force to be reckoned with; our Kezur's might and wealth remind them of such days and fill them with hope for them anew."

The entire hall quieted down to a low whisper as the doors to the Kezur's hearth-home's chambers swung open and Yurok stepped forth followed by his son Kharok, the pair cutting an imposing figure as they strode to their position at head of the hall. As they passed Almur bowed their head in a respectful nod while their Dwarven counterparts made sure to bend at the waist, some even going as far as to drop to their knees in exaggerated deference in feeble attempts to gain the Kezur's eye. As Yurok sat the Almur raised their heads with the dwarves swiftly following, returning to seats or standing areas closest to their new-found Lord.

"My kinband," rumbled Yurok as he lifted his petrified left arm onto the hook jutting from the belly of his chestpiece to comfortably hold it in place, "My Horde. I trust my hall treats you warmly?"

A host of affirmatives came from the gathered group of Almur and Dwarves, filling the hall with noise at the request of the Kezur. Early in their residency of the court dwarven nobles had assumed it was, of course, a rhetorical question posed by their Kezur and nothing more and as time had gone on more and more came to the realization that the question was in fact a tradition within the Gospodar's horde that carried more symbolism than they had expected to come from the lips of an Almur.

"Then my heart is warmed as well. Cedic, tell me, what news?"

"My Kezur," began the Pasha, looking out across the court as was expected of such a declaration, "All is well in your hall. Within the day I leave for the city of Kegosu to assuage the tempers of your dwarf nobles, hopefully to return soon as the eve of the election draws near. Beyond that, there is no news of import."

"Excellent. Then, does anyone carrying request?"

The nearest dwarf to the throne stood and raised his hand, bushy black beard with grey streaks running through it bouncing at his chin. With a wave of Yurok's hand the dwarf stepped forward and removed his cap before bowing low, swinging his hat out to the side and behind him respectfully. Then, with one fluid motion, the dwarf whipped out a scroll of paper and allowed the contents to unwind onto the floor, the entirety of the writ as tall as the dwarf himself.

"My Kezur," he warbled with a clearly altered tone, "I am your humble servant, Bey Demir Harun Ozgur, Chief of the Ozgur. I make request of my Lord, noble Yurok, to speak to our cousins outside Mog Bhelnom so that our Houses may be reunited. As it stands, many of Ozgur and other Houses remain outside the safety of the Gospodar's realm. I propose that we of our houses, in your stead and as your servants, bring our brethren to table to discuss unification; Beg Gurhim has remained disunited for too long and it is under you, My Kezur, that we should be once more!"

The dwarven courtiers burst into loud, obnoxious discussion about that matter as Demir looked about with a pleased expression, stroking his beard at the response he received. Despite the absurd noise they were making it was clear to any dwarf that this was a perfect reaction; those who were not in support of the deed would still speak on the matter to just about everyone they saw for the next several days and such word of mouth would carry the statement a far greater distance than one speech in a hall ever could. With a hand from the Kezur they were slowly silence, finally quieted by a bark of Henrik's powerful voice.

"Bey Demir," muttered Yurok as he committed the name to memory before speaking louder and with more conviction, "I am known to all those beneath me as a friend and protector of the dwarves of Beg Gurhim; that much anyone can speak for. But I ask you, how would I bring these dwarves under my protection if they do not want it? Surely they would have come to my halls."

"Not to contradict you, my Kezur, but if I might get in a word," interjected Cedic, waiting for the go-ahead from Yurok before continuing, "Demir speaks truthfully. Although I do not agree or disagree with the sentiment, I will say that no dwarf, whether starving or dying of wounds, would actively go to his neighbor for help; many old dwarves see it as disgraceful. Even if the bandits hound them every day and night they would not come to you until you invited them first."

"Hah!" boomed Yurok's laughter as he looked to the dwarves of his halls, "I would expect nothing less from dwarves; hardy as Almur even if a quarter of the size. Then, so be it. After the election of the Grand Mayor I will support a diplomatic venture with the free-dwarves of Beg Gurhim in order to bring them under the protection of the Gospodars but only with their consent. It shall be by dwarven hand that they are welcomed into the fold and by no other; Cedic, upon your return you shall work with the Grand Mayor in arranging the matter. Now, next request."

---

SUMMARY
-- A description of courtly life in the halls of the Kezur after the declaration of election was made.
-- A description of Beg Gurhim dwarves, their nobility, and their ideology.
-- Plans made to open diplomacy with all Beg Gurhim not yet under the protection of the Gospodars, to be lead by the Grand Mayor and Pasha Cedic Aydogan upon election.