Tales of the Millards: Guardians of the Castle

[Thom Macbeth-Millard]

1,000 years ago

Balmorra was in chaos.

It was as simple as that. In chaos...and in war.

The Old Republic had yet to reach its grasp completely out to the colonial war. Original colonists...families...had set up their own rules. Their own laws. Their own world.

In the darkness four men sat, their cloaks wrapped around their bodies as they kept warm by the fire in front of them.

"Ach, MacBeth will attack at dawn. We must prepare for it," the speaker was the eldest, his hair grey with a hint of brown. He was John Umar, a lord in the service of Gam Kiterix.

One of his companions, a burly man named Phillip, spread his hands over the fire.

"He won't get far...we've been preparing for almost a four cycles. Lord Kiterix is fairly certain we have enough defenses to repel any attack."

"That might be true," another man spoke up, "But we should still prepare for the worst. My wife has all ready fled with my son. I only hope they reach Harker's Point safely."

The men nodded in agreement, "Aye...good plan good plan."

Castle Millard

"Are the men ready, Edgar?" The tall man asked, as he began cleaning his sword.

"Yes my lord Macbeth," his robed companion answered, "They have been ready for several hours. They await your command."

Thom Macbeth-Millard laughed, "Good. We will march in a few hours. Our men must have rest, if we are to attack at dawn. Are you ready, my friend?"

Edgar nodded, "Yes, my lord."

Macbeth placed his sword in, "Good. And our...friends?"

"They await your signal."

A smile crossed Macbeth's face.

"Gooood.

"Come we must join the men," Macbeth strode out of the chamber, his boots clunking on the wooden floor.

Edgar nodded, then pulled his brown hood over his head, "Yes my lord."

Thom Macbeth-Millard took great strides as he exitted down to the courtyard of Castle Millard. It had belonged to his father and now it belonged to him.

The Balmorran Lord climbed up onto his steed, nodding to the troops before him.

"March!"

[Gam Kiterix]

Gam Kiterix looked over his dark castle, his purple eyes shining as they gazed into the night.

"They're goin' to attack, you know," the dark man next to him looked over several maps of the outlying areas. Places where Thom Macbeth-Millard claimed he held were marked with a silver shield- the crest of Family Millard.

Macbeth's cousin had his own crest, but it was blue and gold, signifying the break in the Millard family. It was unfortunate of a break, but as far as Kiterix was concerned...Macbeth was the enemy and Macbeth's cousin was not.

It would indeed be glorious when the houses were destroyed and he ruled Balmorra.

Balmorran Fiefdoms rose up quickly after the initial colonialization, with various families giving claim to Bin Prime, the area of the capital city.

The two main families had been the Millards and the Kiterixes, with the Millards holding more land than the Kiterixes. Until the split of the House of Millard. It was unfortunate to some.

But Gam Kiterix saw it as an opportunity.

"What of the rumours of the stone guardians of Macbeth?" the dark man asked him. He was Harkan Hagan, a loyal underling of Kiterix.

"They are of no concern to us. If the guardians attack us. We will defend ourselves and survive. Never you worry."

Hagan continued, "And of the mage, Edgar?"

Kiterix smiled and indicated the dark figure behind him.

"It's what we have him for. And the other Millard has a woman who can help us quite well.

"Come dark one...reveal yourself..."

[The Black Rider]

As Kiterix spoke, the shadows behind him opened and a figure seemingly glided from it's shroud. His black cloak swept the ground around him, yet tracked no dirt. The cloak could be followed up a long, broad figure. It's flowing material shaped his body out to it's true height--about 2.6 meters. The dark hood that shadowed the face beneath swallowed all facial features or other signs of humanity within it's depths. However, he pulled the hood back as he was announced. His face was square and handsome, deep brown eyes and dark hair. The eyes were cold and intense--often, a look from them brought fear into the weak-hearted.

He was Jarus Kun.

He was developing a name for himself and, for the last 20 years, he had come to power on his planet, Gias. Slowly, he was forming an army. But he was not foolish. He understood the importance of contacts. This contact--Kiterix--could be a potentially good move.

"This mage you speak of," he spoke, in a deep and threatening voice. Many of the soldiers and guards--those below the lords--were fearful of the dark presence. They could sense his power and his anger. He showed them little respect--only enough to keep relations safe between he and their commanders. "He is strong." Jarus could feel him--even so far away. "He will be no concern for you." The Sith Lord stepped forward, standing beside Kiterix. He leaned close to the man.

"When you wish to attack, I will go follow you. I will draw the mage away from your forces. They will not be harmed by his power." Jarus stepped back into the shadows, keeping close to Kiterix.

[Gam Kiterix]

Kiterix nodded. It was indeed good to be allied with someone of this power. The Sith Lord, he assumed it was a Sith, had come to Kiterix himself, not anyone else on Balmorra.

The Balmorran Lord was still in the process of figuring out why Jarus Kun was with him and not the other Sith out fighting the Old Republic. But some things he tried not to understand, and that included this 'Black Rider'.

"Lord Kun you will be in the back with me when Macbeth attacks. We will force the mage, Edgar, to come to us not go to him.

"Agreed?"

[The Black Rider]

Edgar was no mage, not by the sound of him. It seemed as though he was some kind of lightsider--perhaps Jedi. It was no matter, as he was supremely confident in his own abilities. This 'mage' had little chance.

"He will have no choice but to come." The voice came from the shadows as Kun smiled to himself, thinking of the mind games he would employ. Edgar would pray to the force for death before Kun was done. He had named a very low price for his sevices to Kiterix. Of course, contacting a new ally was a very important reward. However, the only stipulation in their contract was that Edgar would belong to Kun after the victory. "It is agreed. He will seek us. It is certain."

Because of his own presence and Kiterix's leader-like aura, Edgar would be drawn to them. Jarus Kun would make him cry--he would leave him a shell of a man.

[Thom Macbeth-Millard]

The grass was cool as the men left Castle Millard. Rain had fallen for most of the evening, leaving the ground moist, and sopping the leather shoes of the soldiers as they marched across the plains towards Kiterix's chateau.

There would be a battle come morning.

The heavy artillery, mainly trebuchets and mangonals, stuck to the road...with about 100 armoured knights guarding them. The other knights rode with Macbeth as he went through the forest, Edgar with him.

The heavily wooded forest made travel difficult, forcing some of the armoured knights to travel slower than normal, their armor painted black to shield them from any prying eyes. Were they to ride out into an open field they would look like an army of wraiths, heading out to perform some dark deed.

This was was Macbeth wanted. Conceal the light in a veil of darkness. A part of him hoped stories would be told about this battle and the events afterwards. It would only set his legacy as a Millard and the family as a whole would be honored. It was a shame he was fighting his cousin in this war.

The other Millard still had yet to attack him since their last clash, a bloody battle slewing most of Macbeth's knights and almost all of his cousin's forces. But both had reserves they could dip into. And both did.

"There is an evilness in the moon tonight," Edgar said as the two rode in the lead, Macbeth armoured...Edgar only in cloaks. He had a staff with him, which he handled like a Jedi would a lightsaber.

"Aye there is," Macbeth agreed, ducking beneath a low branch, as he sped his horse up, "I only hope our guardians watch over us."

A sound...somewhat like a growl and a scream, came above the two as something flew over them.

"I believe you have your answer, my lord," The Jedi replied.

"Ach, I agree Edgar. I only hope it is enough."

The forest parted, turning into a large clearing before going back into dense wood. The knights sped their steeds up, crossing the distance of the field quickly, still hoping not to be spotted.

A Kiterix listening post was on the other end of the field, silent from the guardians attack. Macbeth was thankful to have the help of the guardians, they'd been friends and allies for several years now. He knew they lived on the hills past Frogmortan's Bog, perhaps in the caves somewhere.

Macbeth's forces entered the dense forest, crossing a small stream and stopping at an apple tree to regroup and count numbers. Macbeth did a quick count, then motioned his men on.

A few more hours and they would be at Chateau Kiterix.

[Zadok Hans-Millard]

A glow. A shriek. A hiss. A scream.

The wretched voice carried deep within the bowls of an imposing fort located strategically at the head of a shallow valley appropriately called "The Range". This great edifice was the home of Lord Hans-Millard, Earl of Bin Falth and Governor of West Talmor. On this particular evening the lord of the manor would not be found in his hall or personal chamber but rather in the pit of Fort Hans, in his dungeon in the company of the last surviving captor from his last skirmish with his beloved cousin, Thom.

"Well I did warn you it would hurt. He who takes heed not the words of a noble is either a deaf or a fool." He smiled maliciously, the snapped upright from his stool and lunged over to his prisoner tied down on a diabolic device. It was a personal favourite of Lord Millard. Leaning over the groaning figure who winced at every slight movement, Hans-Millard allowed his long locks of dark hair drape over the eyes and forehead of the prisoner. He whispered in a seductively still yet unnerving tone. "You see, had you been one of my men, you would be feasting on the finest dishes on Balmorra right this very...minute."

Pulling himself away, Thom's more sadistic relative gestured briefly to another in his presence who immediatly removed a long shaft of metal from a roaring furnace and brought it over the soon-to-be victim agonisingly slowly.

"Wait!" Commanded his superior. Zadok held out his gloved hand. "Allow me."

Taking the red-hot poker, the devilish fiend lowered it teasingly closer to the bare chest of his prize. Then with a grunt he stabbed the sharp end into the flesh of his prisoner's chest and slowly drew the brilliant rod across his chest, burning the letter "Z" into his upper torso. Amidst the howling and pleading for mercy, Lord Hans-Millard never even flinched.

"There!" He declared venomously, throwing the instrument of torture to the stone floor with a clang. He then addressed his loyal subject who cautiously retrieved the poker. "I want the full works; no tongue and no eyes. Do not pour to much lead into his ears, I want him to return to Thom alive!"

Now whipped up into a wicked frenzy, Zadok launched himself at his teary victim and shamelessly stradled his searing chest. There were more shrieks. Quickly Zadok removed a dagger from a leather belt, gripped the prisoner's chin and jammed the mouth shut so that he bit the dagger blade. With a swift motion he sliced the sides of the poor creature's mouth. A muffled yelp followed, Zadok held the man's mouth shut and he whispered once more.

"The next time you scream, these small slices will tear your cheeks apart the moment your jaw opens. Understand? Good!" The prisoner now pursuaded into silence, Hans-Millard held the mans face lovingly in his gloved hands. His head lowered so that their foreheads met. "Don't worry, Porle. You will soon be reunited with your brother once more." He kissed his nose then removed himself from the helpless body.

His heavy cloak flowing behind, Zadok strided toward a heavy, wooden door. He grasped the iron handle and pulled. It opened with a chilling creak. He turned around suddenly and gave his man one last order before leaving to rally the rest of his followers.

"Remove his hands too!"

[Veneficus Initio]

Melandra's gaze was cold beneath her hooded eyes as Zadok's servant placed the ornate goblet which was filled with rich warm red wine onto the delicate rosewood table beside the Sorceress.

The deep velvet of the womans dress was stark contrast to the milky pale skin that rose and fell against her bodice as she breathed in and out. Rubies set within the fabric caught the light and seemed to burn with an inner fire - strange and unnatural.

"How long will your Master keep me waiting? Surely I have not travelled all this way to sit in his parlour and drink his wine."

"No, Mistress" came the reply. But Zadok had his household well in hand. The servant would say no more.

Veneficus Initio - or Prime Enchantress - of the Kiett Order left the goblet untouched and minded her own counsil. Zadok Hans-Millard had sent for her, an ambiquitious event to be sure. Melandra could only surmise as to why he had sought her out. Though she could hazard a safe guess. A "War of Brothers" was foreseen by the fates, and it was no secret the cousins Millard were bitter enemies.

She looked forward to meeting Zadok - she had heard much of him. He had a reputation of being cruel and without mercy with his enemies. A thin smile crept like a shadow to the Primes lips. She liked him already.

[Zadok Hans-Millard]

The news that the much sought-after enchantress of the Kiett Order had finally arrived at Fort Hans meant that for Zadok's second engagement of the evening, he would have both the honour and pleasure of her company. However in these times the pleasure would most definately be more prominent than the honour.

"She has been given the mulled house red, yes?" He questioned as he neared his parlour. The snivelling excuse for a man gave a shakey bow of compliance.

"Why, y-ess. Of, of course, Lord Millard." He croaked in a whiney, pathetic voice. But even his pitiful mannerisms were little to disway Zadok's ruthlessness. Hans-Millard's eyes went fierce and he charged forcefully into the frail body of his servant, cruching him against the wall. Holding him there, the noble then wrapped his gloved fingers about the mans jaw and pried his mouth open. He siezed Felt's slimey tongue between thumb and forefinger.

"Lord...Millard?" He asked quietly, the name seemed to bring a foul taste to his mouth as he said it, staring into the servant's fear-filled eyes. "That name no longer has meaning for me. I am Lord Zadok Hans-Millard. Yes?"

Felt nodded as much as he could. Zadok smiled approvingly as a parent would to a child.

"Good. Get it wrong again and I will have your tongue." He pulled on the tongue then released, turned and left him.

"Madame Initio." His proud voice declared as he stood in the doorway, inspecting the fine specimen sat quietly in the parlour. He stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back, his heavy cloak swayed rythmically with his bold steps. "It is a pleasure finally having you amongst us. Welcome to Fort Millard."

He then lowered himself to kneal before her as any gentleman would a lady, took her hand and placed a polite kiss on her milky skin. He looked up her arm and at those infamously enchanting eyes. He stood tall again.

"Tales of your deadly beauty precede you, malady." He began to pour himself a goblet of wine. He tested it's aroma then drank from it, then with a free hand he gestured to the other goblet. "Please have some wine. My table and home are yours. My kingdom--" He began, his tone becoming more grave and he took a seat, eyes fixed on the sorcress. "--yours if you agree to help my people and I."

[Veneficus Initio]

Zadok Hans-Millard was charming like a snake, and Melandra warmed to him immediately. Watching him imperiously down her patrician nose as he knelt to kiss her hand, the witch smiled inwardly. She was used to men trying to smooth their way with flattering lips and lying eyes, which was usually motivated by weakness and a fear for their own skins. But to witness Zadok, a man neither afraid nor weak, was to truly watch a cunning master at work.

She took up her goblet as he sat, and eyed him over its rim. The last few words he spoke made her hesitate slightly as she tipped the contents to her lips - the movement not unnoticed by Hans-Millard. Rightly, he assumed, she had not been expecting such an offer.

Drinking a little wine, she then leant forward, her bodice bending just deep enough to entice Zadok's eyes and placed her hand lightly to touch his knee. It was an intimate gesture for such new aquaintances, but lent the feeling of a shared and common agreeing.


"The Earl of Bin Falth is generous to his friends, The Kiett Order shall be generous in return."

A rueful smile played across her mouth and Melandra's eyes glinted wickedly. The man before her was devestatingly devious, she could see it seeping from every pore of his being. The eyes of the spellbinder saw not just the outward, but the inner aura's of those they came in contact with and here - in this man - was a nature kin to her own.

He was handsome, in a dark and twisted sort of way, and immensely apealing. Oh yes..the Kiett would be very generous, indeed.

He spoke of a kingdom shared and it was the jewel to draw Veneficus Inito in.

The Kiett Order, a select sect of initiates made up of women were only recently being taken seriously in her home world of Kwaylon. For years they had been scoffed and dismissed as hysterics and tea-leaf readers - glorified magicians and no real threat. But through much toil and endeavour, word had finally spread that the Order was a very real and present threat. Their numbers had increased, but more important, their ability in the dark arts. Melandra herself had paved the way in intstilling terror associated to the Kiett Witches. Her reputation had spread, as now showed, even to West Talmor. And now, Zadok was offering the chance to prove once and for all that the Order was a tangible force. Offering a chance to have a place of power and authority in his kingdom. A reward that many men would slay their own children to have a taste of.

She leant back once more, and smoothed the soft crush of her velvet skirts.

"Such friends as we need not be so formal hm? You must call me Melandra - my title serves only for underlings and strangers."

The flickering of the flames burning in iron sconces around the room lent a soft warm glow as the two sat together. The scene was a pleasant one, and incongruous with the discussion at hand.

"Tell me, Zadok, (I trust you dont mind me calling you that) - is it your plan to kill your Cousin, Thom MacBeth-Millard, once and for all?"

[Zadok Hans-Millard]

"Kill him?" He repeated, quickly pulling the goblet away from his lips before he drank. He then took the goblet and tipped it back, finishing off it's contents.

"My dear, to merely kill him would be an insult to both my people and reputation." He brought the goblet down onto the table heavy-handedly, a fire growing in his eyes. "I want to break him. I want to humiliate him. I want to ruin his name and the crude legacy he falsifies, I want his own people to lose faith in their leader and reject him. Only then, when the name Thom Macbeth-Millard becomes nothing but a spec of a memory, will I be satisfied."

Calming, he looked to the soothing features of his company. He exhaled with relief then filled his goblet once more. Taking a small sip, he began to casually pace the floor in front of his roaring fire, it's seductive light flickering red and yellow.

"You must excuse my temper. This is not just a political or social conflict. It is very, very personal. My men are amassing both in the courtyard and outside this very fort and within the hour, with you by my side, Melandra, will walk into battle and victory."

His pacing stopped and now his eyes were fixed on her, despite her reputation and power, he wanted to hold her to the spot with his discecting gaze. The black-hearted Millard desired to feel her black heart racing with his. He took another sip of red wine, his mind had previously been mulling over war and the shedding of blood. Now he focused on this smouldering woman who removed his anger.

"You are a very beautiful woman, Melandra, and I seek to celebrate things of great beauty. Together we can share everything; the world, the kingdom, this fort and it's walls, the halls, the parlour, the bedroom." He navigated his way around the table, homing in on his target. Now he stood and extended his gloved hand. "Let us consumate the battle to come, war, blood and death with something more beautiful."

[Thom Macbeth-Millard]

The group of men slowly began treking through the woods near Gham Kiterix's house. Foggy breath from the night's cold air came from their lips as they waited.

Macbeth raised his hand.

"Edgar are the men ready?" he looked at the Jedi.

"They are, Thom. They await your signal."

"Signal the archers forward. Then make sure the trebuchets are ready."

Metal armor gleamed in the night as the archers moved forward, infront of Macbeth and his cavalry. Their arrows were unlit, that attack would be for later. Macbeth wanted stealth for the beginning attack. It would help the guardians as they perched in the trees above.

A gravely voice came from above.

"We are ready too, Lord Macbeth."

Thom kept his eyes on the Kiterix chateau infront of him.

"Thank you Ritike, may your brothers fight hard."

If he'd looked, Macbeth would have seen a toothy smile come from the creature.

Ritike turned and began climbing back up the tree.

"We always are ready. We are guardians of Castle Millard. We will not fail," he growled as he disappeared.

Macbeth steadied his horse. The animal was never comfortable around Ritike...even in a well lit area.

Finally, Macbeth lowered his hand.

"Attack!"

[Veneficus Initio]

She placed her slim hand into Zadoks own and rose from her chair. Looking into his eyes - black pools, deep and dark - Melandra felt an uneasiness. She considered him dangerous at a distance - how much more so, to be so close to him.

Her spellbinder's sensitivity prickled within her. What he offered was very dangerous. It was obvious to Melandra that she could not control him, but that was not the fear.....would he have the power to control her?

And what if he did? Would that be so bad? The Prime knew the answer to that, but she found herself allowing Zadok to draw her closer to him. Enfolding his arms around her, and brushing his lips against her rich blue-black hair.

She murmered lowly as she leaned into him.

"Together we will destroy Macbeth-Millard and all he has. You will find none more loyal than I, Zadok. Let this be the beginning of what can only be an unstoppable and unbreakable alliance."