With the jaded eyes of a fanatic and the face of a young man the Archer looked upon the chaos in the streets of Pravda, capital city of L’aifou, spreading from the sacred Rootless Tree of the Temple of the Rootless Tree to the North Side Docks. He had to readjust his arm guard which kept on loosening up and loosened his leather helmet which kept on digging into the skin under his chin. He’d take it off if his Captain hadn't commanded him specifically as well as the rest of the Rootless Tree worshipers to keep them on ever since an arrow had grazed his cheek during the beginning of the skirmishes.



The two factions that were fighting weren't professional armies, they were large mobs armed with scrap weapons and what little magic they could learn. The cause of the fighting was much nobler than those fighting it, which wasn't saying much. The Eastern and more industrious region of L’aifou wanted to break away and become independent from the western farmers. The big problem was that Pravda was considered to be in the Eastern Region, which could no longer able to be symbiotic with the West. The fighting in Pravda started when an angry mob of Westerners, probably drunk, burned down one of the Temples of the Rootless Tree, which spread to the nearby homeless shelter, killing dozens. Several wizards and archers of the Rootless Tree Temple who supported independence in retaliation climbed atop the Nine Courts and raided the palace, the King being away on a hunting trip. Mobs of the secessionists armed with clubs, axes, swords, and whatever else they could find stood in front of the Nine Courts, challenging anyone to oppose them.



In retaliation, several of the surviving guards not out fighting in foreign lands had garrisoned the nearby towers and what used to be manses of the royal families with residents of the North side of the city and the Docks, as well as Westerners who’d come to restore their beloved King. Many Westerners wore leather masks with fangs and wolf teeth painted on in the traditional Neeq religious fashion of the Old Warriors who fought for L’aifou’s independence during the Occupation of a long lost people. The fighting was nonstop for weeks on end, with no side prepared to stop.



With an experienced hand, he strung his bow and retrieved an arrow from his quiver. Below him on the streets of Nine Courts were masked and painted men and women alike savagely beating each other to death with clubs and rocks, using shards of broken swords and spears or simply gouging out their opponents eyes. He could see three men on horses wearing the western masks of his enemy, waving their axes wildly and shouting war cries. Once they came across the makeshift barricades that were supposed to prevent others from crossing into the Nine Courts, the Archer put the arrow to his string, pulled back, and fired.



The horseman on the right was struck in the gut by the arrow, and the one in the middle was shot through the neck. Abandoning his comrades, the third rode to the nearby tower which was garrisoned by the Westerners. He quickly went in, and a latch opened from the top of the tower. One of the Westerners climbed out, clumsily holding a crossbow. The Archer quickly crouched behind the crate he’d dragged to the roof as a barricade, putting another arrow to his string. Most crossbowmen weren't that accurate, which was why they used a crossbow, but he’d seen men shot in the eye or through the cheek by a crossbow bolt. He was already having trouble seeing with his right eye, and had an infection in his left ear that prevented him from hearing well.



He took a quick glance over the crate at the man who dared to challenge his supremacy over the rooftops. He wouldn't be the only spark of courage diffused by an arrow in his neck. The crossbowman was busy looking and the legions of dead under the penumbra of the towers and other buildings throughout the Nine Courts area. Seeing his chance, the Archer pulled his string back, and stood up. He took aim, and fired. The man never saw the arrow coming as is pierced through his leather mask, causing him to stumble off the building to his death from the impact. As the man fell, he yelled out a shrill cry, yelling “ADRIANNA!” before he hit the ground.



A flock of Halcyon birds flew up from their hiding place after the body smashed against the concrete. The Archer watched them fly as if their lives were barely undeterred by the violence around them. He was then filled with remorse, and regretted killing the man. He hadn't posed an immediate threat to him; he’d simply looked out at the battlefield. He probably would have tried to shoot one of the Rootless Tree wizards. No one would've blamed him, they were all assholes. He probably had a family, a loved one named Adrianna. He could have been anyone. He could have been the Archer.



The Archer took his helmet off and wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked down over the parapets. People were fighting on top of dead bodies, some in green soldiers’ uniform, some in the religious Western masks, and others in ordinary clothes wearing a red sash across their chest to show that they worshiped the Rootless Tree. Then there was a loud crash, and the makeshift barricade was smashed open, and more Westerners rushed into the Nine Courts area, screaming and flailing their weapons. Many were on horseback, and some were casting spells on his comrades. Other archers and wizards on other buildings started firing balls of fire and bolts of lightning at the intruders, while a small force of Rootless Men were sailing in by boat.



The Archer quickly dropped to his knees, drew an arrow, and fired. Wizards could be killed just as any other Human; they could just make things explode behind you once they found out where you were. As one of the best marksmen in his company, it was no surprise when the first Wizard found an arrow in his chest, but his heart was beating a mile a minute. The Westerners had different masks for different positions within the new religious army that supported the King. Ordinary foot soldiers, be they archers, crossbowmen or fighting hand to hand, wore brown leather masks with fangs painted on. It didn’t offer much protection, aside from making your nose harder to break. But, for religious purposes they still wore them. The Wizards were of a higher breed than these men, who wore softer leather masks decorated with geometric designs and colored with dye, mostly blue. The Bishops and Archbishop of the Neeq people didn’t wear masks at all. Instead, they wore long black robes just like the foot soldiers, but they had purple cloaks and leggings, decorated with vast amount of golden jewelry.



The Western Neeq religion was the newest religion to be introduced into L’aifou, but only took hold in the West. The much older and some would say less demanding religion of the Rootless Tree was one of the oldest religions in the entire world. They once had a vast empire in the Far North, were a majority in the Eastern nations of the continent, and had led the way to almost all of man’s scientific achievements. The only distinguishing factor about the fighting Rootless Tree worshipers was the red slash across their torsos. Some guards in their blue leather vests had those red slashes, and fought for their respective religion. They were better armed than most of the insurgents, and were often captains and commanders of their side’s squads of ‘soldiers.’



The granite rampart exploded next to The Archer, throwing him back and to his right. A stone had clipped him just above him left eye, and blood poured down his face. Scalp wounds bled a lot, he knew that. He quickly dropped his bow and reached inside his satchel. He pulled out a water skin and rag, and rolled to the side to avoid another bolt of who knew what fired at him by a Wizard. By feeling what he had pulled out, he realized that the rag was bigger than expected, but that was okay. The blood spilled over his eyes, stinging them if he opened. It was thick, sticky, and smelt all too familiar to the young man.



He tied the large rag around his head to cover the wound, and wiped the blood out of his eyes so he could see. Behind him was the ladder he had used to climb up to the building, and he crawled to it. His captain would understand, he was more use to his cause alive than dead. Blood trickled from the bandage down into his eyes again, and he looked down while wiping them. When he looked up, there was a man in a Western mask climbing onto the roof.



'I'm an idiot!' The Archer thought, standing up and pulling out his knife. The Westerner had a similar hunting knife, which meant they used to live near each other or the Westerner had stolen it. His opponent lunged, trying to stab his stomach, but the Archer deflected the blow. He then slashed; trying to cut his opponents face, but the bigger man moved his face back and grabbed his wrist. He gave it a sharp twist, causing the Archer to drop his knife.



The Westerner kicked it away, and lunged again. With his left arm, the Archer pushed away the knife, and threw a right cross punch at his temples. He followed with a left uppercut to the ribs, and an uppercut to his gut. Surprisingly, the Westerner snuck in a half uppercut below the Archer’s ribs. He then grabbed the Archer by his shirt and threw him off of the roof. Luckily, there was another one only three feet below, so he didn’t plummet to his death. It sure felt like it when he landed on a crate, probably breaking some ribs.



The Westerner jumped down, with his knife in his hand and the Archer quickly, but painfully. Before the Westerner could react, he punched his neck. He then put his foot behind him, and shoved, tripping the man. While he was down, he stomped on the Westerner’s neck, crushing it.



The Archer then sat down, and regained his breath. He saw that there was another ladder that lead down to the surface, behind the Nine Courts. He began climbing down when he heard the horns of another militia group entering the battle. He hoped that it was their men from the other side of the city; he wished that he Westerners hadn't taken over the Docks and had just been driven out. That probably wasn't the case.



He’d left his bow behind in his hurry to escape, but he could always take one off a dead body in the street. The building he was behind was made of white granite, with four columns as its entrance to the front. He’d never bothered to look at the back of the building before, but he looked now. In the center of the wall, six words were carved into it:



Tolerance to all, Prejudice towards none



The Archer chuckled, wondering what those words meant anymore. Everyone was prejudiced to anyone who didn't look or worship like them, and no one was tolerant. He wondered if anyone was tolerant anymore. He doubted it. He began to walk out around the building to help his comrades when he came to a realization. The Western Neeqs preached that their God loved everyone, yet killed all who didn't worship him. The Rootless Tree deity preached never to raise a hand to harm others, not to kill, but here he was, killing senselessly with thousands of men and women over a belief, a simple idea.



It all seemed so stupid now, as he tightened his arm guard again, and walked out into the street. He had to find a boat, and sail out of there. Maybe work as a captain’s clerk in the country. As he walked into the street, he realized that the fighting had died down. There were a few brawlers here and there, but most people on either side were dead on the streets in the snow or raiding the buildings of the Nine Courts. He didn't care about Pravda anymore, they could keep it. The Eastern Rebels could make a new capital city, and dedicate it to the cold, heartless Rootless Tree. Or the God of the Neeqs, who was as uncaring as he had been while killing those men and women.



As he walked by the rubble of a tower, turning the corner, a Western Neeq Wizard almost walked up to him. She was startled, letting out a cry of shock, but the Archer wouldn't let her call for help. His knife went in her neck as quick as the General of an army puts stamps his orders. He quickly dragged her by her feet to the sidewalk and looked for anything that might be useful for his escape. Some money, a small tin of herbs, but one thing he saw stopped him in his tracks and would haunt him forever. It was his sister’s wedding ring.