"He stays where he is for now," Boarstaff decided. "No need to complicate the initial greeting."
Sebastian's voice drifted down, tinged with amusement. "I can hear you, you know. Enhanced senses, remember? And I've grown rather fond of this particular tree."
"No need to worry about me," Sebastian added, his gaze drawn back to the distant riders. "The Sand Serpent clan..."A hint of respect colored his voice. "I encountered them during a border skirmish near the northern oasis years ago." A rare, genuine smile touched his lips. "Even while fighting them, I couldn't help but admire their horses. Nothing like the mechanical mounts Cornelius favors. Their beasts understand desert winds better than any navigator."
The subtle reminder of his non-human nature hung in the air for a moment before Hammerfall broke the tension. "Useful, that," the dwarf said practically. "Wish my old eyes worked half as well after sunset."
As they prepared to depart, Sebastian stretched languidly on his branch, the movement causing his pants to slip lower, revealing more of those telling bruises. Boarstaff noticed Hammerfall's observant gaze flicking between him and Sebastian, a knowing expression crossing the dwarf's weathered features. The dwarf said nothing, however, merely stroking his beard thoughtfully.
As they marched away, Boarstaff heard Thornmaker mutter something under his breath about "inappropriate attachments" and "compromised judgment."
Hammerfall looked pointedly at Thornmaker. "Like I said before - where we're from, commenting on another warrior's pleasure-marks would get you laughed out of the ale hall."
The tension on the path eased slightly as Rockbreaker chuckled at the reminder.
He chose to ignore it. The arrival of the desert allies meant preparations for war were accelerating. Personal matters would need to wait.
Still, he couldn't help glancing back once more before they passed beyond the tree line. Sebastian remained perched in the oak, his silhouette sharp against the crimson sky, warrior braids moving slightly in the evening breeze. Something about the image, Sebastian wearing orc warrior braids, watching over theirterritory, bearing marks of their intimacy, stirred a powerful emotion in Boarstaff's chest.
Love. He could name it, even if he wasn't ready to speak it aloud. Pride and desire were part of it, certainly, but there was something more fundamental beneath, a connection he'd never expected to form with anyone, let alone a vampire. But there it was, undeniable as the setting sun.
"Warchief." Thornmaker's voice drew him back to the present. "We should move quickly if we want to prepare the village for our guests."
Boarstaff nodded, turning away from the tree where Sebastian remained. "You're right. Let's go."
The patrol marched swiftly through the forest, taking the most direct route back to the village. As they approached, activity along the walls had increased since they'd set out on patrol. Word of the approaching desert clan must have reached them already through other sentries.
By the time they reached the main gates, preparations were well underway. Ceremonial fires had been lit at intervals along the walls, their smoke carrying aromatic herbs that signaled welcome to desert sensibilities. Extra guards had taken position, not from mistrust but as a show of respect, the desert clans appreciated visible strength in their allies.
"Open the gates," Boarstaff called out as they approached. "And send runners to escort our allies in."
The massive wooden gates swung open, revealing the village's central area already being transformed. The dwarves had immediately thrown themselves into preparations with characteristic efficiency. Hammerfall supervised the hauling of several casks from their supplies, proper dwarven ale that would cement any alliance. Ironhand and Steelfoot worked alongside orc warriors to arrange the tables, their shorter stature noimpediment to their strength as they hefted heavy wooden benches into place.
"None of that weak human brew tonight!" Hammerfall called out cheerfully. "The desert folk will taste proper mountain ale, the kind that puts hair on your chest and fire in your belly!"
"Just don't let them drink as much as you do," an orc warrior joked. "We need them conscious for the alliance talks."
"Bah," Ironhand waved dismissively. "If they can't hold their drink, how can they hold a battle line?"
Boarstaff climbed to the watchtower that flanked the western gate, wanting a better view of the approaching clan. From the tower's height, he could see them clearly. Perhaps two dozen warriors riding in formation across the plains, their horses maintaining perfect coordination despite the uneven terrain.
The animals were magnificent, just as Sebastian had said. Tall and lean, with strong limbs built for both speed and endurance, they moved with a grace that belied their power. Unlike the heavy warhorses favored by northern kingdoms or the mechanical mounts Cornelius employed, desert steeds seemed to float above the earth, their hooves barely disturbing the soil beneath them.
The riders themselves were equally impressive. They wore light, flowing garments in sand and ochre tones, the fabric rippling behind them like wings as they rode. Most had their faces covered with wrapped cloth, leaving only their eyes visible, lined with dark ash that protected against the desert sun's glare. Those who rode with faces uncovered had similar ash markings across their cheekbones and foreheads, intricate patterns that denoted clan and rank.
Their leader rode slightly ahead of the main group, mounted on a striking black stallion with a single white blaze down his face. Unlike the others, the leader wore garments with subtle redgeometric patterns woven into the fabric, the mark of the Sand Serpent clan's ruling line. A curved blade hung at their side; its hilt wrapped in leather worn smooth from years of use.
"Send the welcome party," Boarstaff instructed, descending from the tower. "Offer water and salt as tradition demands."
Six warriors moved out through the gates, each carrying ceremonial containers of fresh water and salt crystals harvested from the eastern lakes. This ritual welcome was ancient, predating even the conflict with the vampires, and would be recognized by the desert clan as a sign of sincere alliance.
As the desert riders drew closer, more details became visible. Their saddles were minimalist but beautifully crafted, adorned with symbols that told stories of battles won and journeys survived. Their weapons, primarily curved blades and lightweight throwing spears, were sheathed but prominently displayed, a reminder that these were warriors first, diplomats second.
The clan leader raised a hand, and the entire formation halted with precise coordination. Only the leader continued forward to meet the welcome party, accepting the offered water and salt with formal gestures that Boarstaff recognized from previous encounters with the desert clans.
After the ritual exchange, the leader removed their face covering, revealing a woman with sharp features and keen eyes lined with protective ash. Her brown hair was pulled back in tight braids decorated with small metal beads that caught the light as she moved. A network of faint scars crossed her left cheek, battle marks worn without shame or concealment.
She spoke briefly with the welcome party, then remounted her horse and led her clan forward toward the settlement gates where Boarstaff and the council members now stood in formal welcome.
