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The Perisno Anthology

The Perisno Anthology is a series of short stories that expand the upcoming Perisno Lore!

What is an Anthology?

An Anthology is a collection of literary pieces, such as poems, short stories, or plays. The Perisno Anthology will depict a series of short stories and poems that expand the current Perisno Lore.

The Perisno Anthology will contain new stories that help expand the Perisno canon beyond the Warband mod and into the new refined canon as Perisno takes its next steps into a new iteration!

The currently posted stories are early beta versions of the Perisno Anthology.

To report problems with the formatting, and to leave us your feedback. Make a report in our Discord at the channel: literature-study.

Thank you for reading, we hope you enjoy what we've created!

Chapter 1:
Virulent Throne

The creaking of a less-than-treasured door could be heard across stone halls as the king swiftly closed the same said door behind him. The room he had just entered was in a circular tower. To the left was a single narrow window, and to the right was a tiny stool with an unceremoniously plain dish and towel. At the center of the room rested a single throne. A less than dignified throne. A throne for toiletry, and disposing of such excrement in a way that, as dignified as any noble; or any king may be, was still required to participate in the basic functions of any, and every human body.


“Make sure the water is freshly warm, please.” The man in red and royal garbs shouted back through the thick wooden door and walls.


“Yes mi’lord” The towel boy on the other side answered quickly. “It’s warming up right now.”


King Torlian let out a sigh. Again– he was alone. This place of defecation, though not pleasant, for a moment provided him respite. The man was by himself, and did not have to worry about how he appeared. There was no fear of impressing business men, and nobles with a strong stature, nor confident language throughout his body. The man would simply sit, relax, and release. He would be– as all men are for but a moment. Completely weak.


“Is it ready?” Torlian called out again, wanting to make sure that by the time his servant arrived, his cleansing water was as warm as possible. For fire and warmth cleansed all the filth– and disease, as Yulimia had taught the Tolranians. Piping hot water would make sure that king was more than acceptably sanitized. Bad health was one more thing the king did not care to risk.


There was no reply from outside. Perhaps the servant boy had to wait to use the furnace. Unbothered by the delay, the king instead turned his attention to the surrounding scene. Storied stones of a previous age. The walls that had served many previous rulers, and kings– chancellors even. Chancellors of the Old Tolranian Republic, of which his enemies so often use as a comparison against the current monarchy. Torlian let out a small breath again. It was a topic that simply would not die. People always found some reason to complain or say that Tolrania had seen much better days.. Even he had to admit however, that he felt he had failed his people as their king.


Funny, how moments ago the man was briefly calmed and satisfied to see that he was alone, and unavailable for anyone’s judgment. And here he was, not only thinking about how others thought of him, but the man– or really king– had already taken to judging himself. He had taken the role of his own accuser. He was his own worst enemy; yet he supposed it was better for him to be so self critical, as it made him do his best at all times. Well– at least as best as he could conceive– or so he told himself.


Suddenly, some rapid movement caught Torlian’s eye. Like the fluttering of ash moving through the air from the source of a flame– a single moth fluttered about the room. If it was already here, or recently came through the window, Torlian did not know. But he was amused at the thought that possibly– he had not been alone in this room the entire time. Even a king at a moment of his greatest humanity, being alone was something he was not allowed to be. A hurt, but content smile spread across his face upon contemplating this possibility. 


King Torlian turned his gaze and saw something even more amusing: Several webs in a chaotic fashion. A less than elegant spider had been spinning webs that were not the least bit artistic nor appealing. Torlian grabbed a nearby rag and cleaned the spider webs up. He then proceeded to shoo the spider away. Spiders, when not poisonous, were often welcome guests. But if this tower became a moth’s home; Torlian would rather the moth stay. Gently, he placed the spider at the window and hoped the creature would make its new home in a place not threatening of moths such as this.


Torlian watched the moth silently. He felt slightly at ease over the action he had taken. “Try not to get too worried.” He whispered to the creature. “I know worrying hasn’t done a single good thing for me.” He almost smiled over the advice he’d given the special insect. But for some reason, Torlian did not continue to feel peace. Instead an ominous feeling crept over him, and the toilet– which he was about to sit on– had suddenly began to emanate a deep and sickly aura.


A sensation like the breath of a ghost passed about the room.


A coldness, and a haunting, that told made him feel like he should get very far away.


“Run” The king thought he heard a tiny voice say. “Get away.”


The king searched his feelings. Had he been imagining? Something deep within his gut had told him that he should step away from the toilet, and go outside of the castle. In fact, his gut– even more specifically– seemed to be guiding him to take a party of armed men, and to inspect the base of this tower where so many men had dropped their refuse.


The idea was absurd. And worse, this entire feeling in the man’s body seemed unreasonable. From a young age, Torlian had learned not to give into any feeling of fear. And the very fact that these actions– his sudden avoidance for the toilet had seemed to fill him with fear– had made him strongly wish to deny these feelings. The man felt that he must investigate– or ignore this feeling like it was nothing. To sit down on the toilet, and do his business normally.


And yet the feeling was so strong, that the man had a very hard time ignoring it. Especially in light of the moth’s sudden visitation.


“I hate this feeling.” The king whispered. “I conceive that I’ve a sign from the divine woman. Or This is just the foolish imagination from my own paranoia. . . I am afraid of sitting down on that seat. And now, I am possibly just hallucinating from my own fear and cynical self-hatred!”


The king mused for a few moments. Wondering if he should even be considering the validity of this “feeling” at all. If the sacred legends were real.

“Your majesty. The water is here.” He heard a muffled voice come from the other side of the wooden barrier.


“I thank ye.” Torlian answered. “Just. . . give me a bit longer. . .” He wasn’t sure how else to handle his own indecisiveness other than buy more time. Even as he spoke, the deep black void at the center of the toilet seat– the shadow of which all excrements would fall seemed to beam at him. The darkness, and the shadow seemed to stare back. And yet in his belly, it is as if he felt two eyes were looking back at him, but he was a bit too far back for them to truly see each other.


Finally, Torlian moved. He placed one of the dry nearby towels on the toilet seat. A moment passed, and suddenly; an arrow flew through the towel out from the toilet seat and into the ceiling. In a shout, the king stepped back. The arrow had snagged the towel and struck the ceiling with it. Both items fell harmlessly but frantically onto the king’s shoulder before the arrow continued tumbling onto the floor. The king almost fell over from the feeling of the arrow’s blunt parts bouncing off his body. His body fell to the ground, and his arms could not stop his abrupt sitting. There between his legs the arrow laid: Its tip clearly coated in excrement. A clear attempt at poisoning, using the most filthy, and readily available supplies.


“Ah, thief!” the king yelled out. “Thief, I mean a– assassin!!” He corrected himself from using the usual word for anyone caught sneaking about where they should not be. “Assassin?” The king asked himself mentally, even as clear as what the situation was. “Is this what things have come to for me? Really?”


“What? Mi’lord?” The towel boy on the other side of the wooden door said. “Mi’lord! Oh mi’lord are you alright?!” Panic began to fill the voice of his trusted servant as he set whatever he was carrying down and put both hands on the door. “Mi’lord!”


“I’m. . . I’m right! Ah, there was an assassin!” He stumbled in his words, still having a hard time accepting what had just transpired. “I can get up. Tell the guards, quickly!” Somehow, the king stood up mostly gracefully. His body was in good shape from active practice in combat, and the fact that his cynical nature made his ability to accept the current circumstances a little more readily. Momentarily the king unlocked the door and walked outside. “Thief– I mean assassin! He was trying to shoot me from below the garderobe! Quickly please!” The king called out urgently. Swiftly, he dashed through the halls, more like a rabbit and less like a deer. The king rounded his way through the halls with his towel boy quickly following him from behind.


“Sir, your water–”


“I never went! I don’t need it!” The king interrupted harshly. Warm water was the last thing he was worried about. “Go, tell the others! An assassin tried to shoot me from under the garderobe!”


Finally, the king came to an opening and was able to get a good view of the castle's exterior. An armed headhunter stood nearby, equipped with all of his gear.


“Your majesty.” The headhunter said respectfully.


“Assassin! There!” The king pointed in the general direction of the free space beneath the garderobe as soon as he’d found the area. Sure enough, there he was– or she. A single assassin dressed in drab colored peasant’s garments. He was clearly carrying a bow. Even his head was wrapped up to completely conceal his identity. A small buckler was at his side, and what appeared to be a very strange, large, butchering knife or falchion. The assassin was now crossing the moat, just about to reach the other side, and make his incline on the hill. The water rippled frantically displaying how quickly he had crossed it.


“Really!?” The headhunter reacted in shock “A– assassin?”


“Shoot him! Quickly!” The king ordered as politely as he could. For even in the heat of battle, King Torlian had made a note to never order his troops in anger, nor ruin their trust and make him hard to understand. 


Not missing a beat, the headhunter drew his next arrows as the assassin began climbing up the steep moat. The assailant was clearly skilled in how he moved, but even he was struggling having just finished trudging out of the water in the moat. Torlian could hardly contain his stress as the second arrow launched. The missile flew hard, but missed its target by only a few feet. The tip of the projectile buried into the ground just to the right of its target. The assassin carried on, quickly moving his head to look at the arrow, and then back to the incline in front of him. At this point, a trumpet had already sounded across the castle. Several shouts could be heard across the fortress. The trumpet had a unique call– one that let the soldiers know specifically that the king had suffered an assassin’s attack. Unfortunately the event had not happened in so long, that many guards doubtlessly were not even sure what the trumpet had meant.


“Give me that. . .” Torlian suddenly remembered back to his besieging days in the War of the Woods. The headhunter did not resist as Torlian reached for his weapon. It was a good thing that the man still practiced with his bow, though he was not quite used to the draw strength that this one required. Realizing that he might be acting hasty, the king carefully led his mark.


With sharp intent, the king loosed his arrow, and the string propelled it forth. It flew less like a crow and more like a hawk. Surprisingly accurate at the king’s estimate. The arrow traveled a great distance and fell just under the scrambling assassin’s left arm. Still a miss– but barely.


Torlian could feel his heart pounding in his head. It was a strange type of stress. The situation felt like it had lasted forever, and Torlian recognized he would have several more shots to make before the assassin would get away. But each shot would be harder and harder to take. Nay– he did not want to rely on his own bowmanship. Where was the cavalry? “Thomas!” The king called out. “Get the headhunters underway! Tell them the assassin is at this side!”

Stressed enormously, King Torlian did not wish to turn away from the high place at which he had been standing. His eyes carefully followed the assassin as he ran away, hoping that soon somebody on horse would capture him. Torlian ran the many possible situations through his mind-- that the assassin might be captured, and the murderous conceiver of such a plot might be revealed. Torlian considered that he must keep watch of the shadowy figure so that at least he might tell his men the direction of which he had fled if he made it into the forest. A similar assassination attempt ran through his mind as had happened just last month near Glawe. The king wondered within his own mind-- why he had already seemed so eager to give up. Truth be told, he found himself already turning away from the criminal and headed towards the door behind him-- as if to get back to his regal duties. Why was his interest already so swiftly dwindling? Why did he no longer wish to watch as the would-be-assasin ran into the trees, or hope that the knights and horsemen would catch the assassin quickly?

Torlian's greater wisdom soon came upon him.

No knights would catch the assassin before he had escaped into the trees. The entire plan was made so that escape would be quite easy. This event-- though shocking had been cleverly planned, and assassination was such an unlikely conceived thought in Tolranian culture before the past few years, that castles and the like had not been constructed in ways to deter such things.

King Torlian let out a long breath, and accepted his responsibility.

The assassin would live to fight another day, and had already planned a clean getaway. Whether he would live or die-- even this assassin if caught would not deter his enemies from finding other ways and hiring other people to try to end his life.

Knowing this, Torlian handed back the Headhunter his bow.

"Keep practicing." He told the archer. "Though it won't do much good. By the time you would have known about him, he would have already succeeded in killing me anyway." His voice sounded sad, but slightly gruff.

The headhunter stood in silence-- not offended by the words of the king, but rather appreciating their wisdom and humanity.

"Uh. . . sir, are you?"

"There is nothing you or anyone could have done." The king answered quietly. "But next time-- he will try a different way."

With a look up to the heavens, King Torlian decided to go about his day. The stresses of kingship were long. And a much safer lavatory laid at the bottom of the castle he could visit to use now anyways.

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