Prologue In the spring of the year 615, the Slavic people, led by the indomitable Hrobatos, embarked on a daring crossing of the mighty Drava River. As the river currents whispered tales of the lands beyond, a new chapter unfolded for these weary travelers. Their arrival in a new land, where the echoes of Slavic heritage had resonated for centuries, became the birthing ground for a fervent hope that ignited the spirits of a beleaguered people. The challenges of the arduous journey lay behind them, their footprints fading like whispers in the wind. Yet, on the horizon, a tapestry of trials awaited, woven from the threads of destiny and the intricate dance of geopolitical forces. Encircled by the imposing Bavarian Kingdom to the north, the watchful Lombard domain to the west, the Byzantine Empire to the south, and the ever-present Avar threat to the east, the horizon shimmered not only with the promise of prosperity but also with the shadowy contours of complex diplomacy, political intrigue, alliances, and inevitable betrayals. As the sun bathed the fertile plains in golden hues, Hrobatos gazed upon the sprawling landscape with a mix of determination and trepidation. The future of his people would be sculpted not only by the toil of plows in the fertile soil but also by the delicate dance of alliances and the careful navigation of treacherous political waters. In this new land, under the watchful gaze of neighboring realms, the Slavic tribe would forge not only homesteads and harvests but also a legacy entwined with the complicated symphony of power and diplomacy. The whispers of the wind carried tales of destiny, and Hrobatos stood at the crossroads, where the choices made would echo through the corridors of time. As spring blossomed into a canvas of vibrant colors, the Slavic people stood on the precipice of their fate, their story unfurling like a scroll in the hands of an unseen scribe. The journey over the Drava was but the prologue to a saga filled with the resonance of clashing swords, the murmur of whispered alliances, and the ebb and flow of a nation's destiny.
Aisha The moon hung low in the ink-black sky, casting a silvery glow over the silent settlement of the Avars. Aisha, veiled in shadows, moved with the grace of a whispering breeze through the dense thicket that concealed her from prying eyes. The scent of damp earth mingled with the distant notes of a wood fire as she approached the outer edge of the Avar lord's encampment. Her eyes, sharp and determined, scanned the area for a vulnerable entry point. A lone guard patrolled the outer perimeter, his attention swayed by the rhythmic clinking of armor. Seizing the moment, Aisha glided through the foliage, her movements fluid and silent. The night was her ally, and the dark shroud of her Hashashin's black linen pants and cape with a mask covering her face from chin to eyes made her almost invisible in the darkness of the night. The wooden palisade loomed ahead as she neared the heart of the settlement. Aisha's fingers traced the cool, rough surface until she found a crack just wide enough for her lithe frame to slip through. Inside, the Avar lord's abode rose imposingly, a fortress within a fortress. The soft murmur of voices emanated from within, a clandestine meeting that fueled her determination. A guard, seemingly distracted by his own thoughts, stood beside a barrel of mead. Aisha moved with feline grace, her steps matching the rhythmic rise and fall of the guard's breath. As Aisha approached the lord's residence, the door creaked open, and a sliver of light spilled onto the ground. She pressed herself against the wall, her heartbeat quickening. A figure emerged, and she held her breath. Hidden in the shadows, just a few steps away. The guard closed the door and passed beside her, unaware of her presence. Assured the coast was clear, she moved swiftly but silently, like a shadow. Aisha searched for the lord's room, carefully opening doors and peeking inside. Two rooms proved empty, but in the third, she found the known face sleeping in his bed, with his wife by his side. Snoring echoed through the room as Aisha stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind her. She extinguished the burning candles and waited for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark. With the dim moonlight filtering through the small window, she had just enough visibility. Sneaking to the bed, in one swift motion, she unsheathed a small vial from her belt, its contents a deadly concoction. The tasteless poison would extinguish the Avar lord's life without a trace. She moved the vial to the lord's lips with a steady hand, carefully letting its contents slowly pour onto them. The lord stirred in his sleep, opening his mouth and licking his lips. Satisfied, Aisha knew he had swallowed the poison, and he wouldn't even realize when he stopped breathing. She placed the vial back in her pocket and patiently waited. It didn't take long; the lord flinched once in his sleep, and the snoring ceased. The poison had done its job, and the lord had died peacefully in his sleep. Aisha stealthily sneaked out of his room and then out of the house. Moving in the shadows, she waited for a moment when the guards on the palisade wouldn't be looking. As they went in opposite directions, she swiftly climbed the stairs and jumped over the palisade in one smooth move. Landing on the ground, she rolled to absorb the impact and vanished into the night.
Bloody Sands of Đurđevac As they journeyed further, the landscape suddenly shifted, surrounded by the verdant lush meadows and trees, sand dunes as an alien emerging in the middle of a green and defied the nature surrounding them. Riding alongside Hrobatos, Gisela gazed in awe at the otherworldly terrain that unfurled before them. "What is this place?" she breathed, her voice tinged with wonder as she surveyed the desolate landscape. Riding just behind them, Aisha spoke up. "This is the desert," she explained, "Although what lies before us is but a fraction of what the desert's true expanse and nature are. Here is exactly the opposite, usually we have oasis just the size of this desert surrounded by endless sand dunes, here is the fraction of the desert surrounded by endless green, it’s not even warm as in the desert should be." Hrobatos nodded in agreement, his gaze sweeping across the dunes that stretched into the distance like ripples frozen in time on all sides surrounded by green landscape. As they pressed onward, people who had never seen sand dunes in their lives gazed just as Gisela did, in awe and wonder. From there, the caravan continued north in search of the place they would call home.