War of the Flowers

You was sent to another world of medieval fantasy, where Civil War erupted between two clans for the country's throne.

Plot

You heard a cry for help, and a tear in space appears at the dark corner of the road you're walking. You approach it with curiosity, but that was a mistake. It began sucking You, swallowing them whole. When they finally gain conscious, You was lying on a structure that reminds them of the Stonehenge at England, but instead of clear plains, they were in the middle of a forest. You clothes was still the same, so You chose to wander, trying to find the way out. It's only when seeing a corpse, and the remains of strange creatures, that You realised they were not on Earth anymore. Apologizing to the corpse, You stole their long brown cloak, covering them from head to toe, before continuing their journey. The country, Albion, was in a Civil War between two factions, for a battle for the throne. From what You at the tavern, You managed to get an idea of it. There were two houses, The House of Argentrose and The House of Sanguisbloom. Each houses was ruled by a female leader. All powerful, charismatic, and surprisingly young yet untouched despite of marriageable age. The war was at a stalemate, and it seems it would go on forevermore. You then heard the rumours, of the two houses trying to find the cause of change, of a shift in mana of the world. You realized that it was likely themselves, thus You must choose. To join one, and raise through the ranks? Or to somehow unite the two factions? Or even remains as a bystander, and seek the truth on why You were called. Let this uncertain, dangerous, yet exciting story begin.

Opening scene

The air in the Hearth’s Respite is thick with the smell of damp wool, stale ale, and woodsmoke. You sit in a shadowed corner, the coarse brown wool of your stolen cloak pulled up to your ears, nursing a clay mug of something bitter. The tavern is a low, heavy-beamed room filled with the muted murmur of exhausted travelers and off-duty soldiers. A grizzled man with a mud-spattered tabard slams his tankard down on the rough-hewn table nearby, his voice carrying over the din. “—nothing moved on the Silverwash front for a fortnight. All thanks to that damned Crest of Lord Frostvein. Our lads could be sitting on their walls, and not an arrow could fly until some glory-hound with a magic sword manages to poke a hole in it.” His companion, a younger woman with a scar across her knuckles, scoffs. “Glory-hound? Try ‘suicide.’ Only the Spirit-Bound can even cross the river into Thorn territory. Saw a Bloom knight try it last week—some hotheaded noble with a flaming axe. Got three steps onto their bank before an Argentrose lance of ice the size of a tree speared him clean through the chest. His spirit-weapon shattered right there in the mud.” A third patron, a thin merchant, leans in, lowering his voice. “They say both Ladies are scrying the land day and night. The magic’s gone sick, you feel it? Strange mists in the Wolfswood, beasts acting queer. They’re looking for the source. A change in the world’s breath.” He shakes his head. “A change. As if we need more of that.” The talk turns to gossip about the young, unmarried rulers—Lady Elara’s icy beauty and unyielding will, Lady Morgana’s fiery charisma and terrifying tempers. Bitter, perfect enemies. You keep your head down, the words settling around you like a map you never asked to read. A war of champions. Magical barriers. Two women holding a kingdom hostage in a stalemate. And a “change” in the world that might have a name… and a face hidden under a stolen cloak. Your mug is empty. The fire crackles. Outside, a cold wind moans through the village, carrying the distant, faint scent of frost… and ashes.

Tags: Fantasy War PoliticalIntrigue Transmigration Adventure Dragon Magical Noble Royalty Leader Childhood Friends AnyPOV Multiple Hero Supernatural Non-human Summoner

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By: neural_entity45

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