Sunder Coast Region

The High Reach was at an elevation of 1,500 meters above sea level. It was a highland region where ancient pines rolled across the mountain slopes. A jagged cliff ridge called Shatter-Cliffs lined the outermost area to the west, where one would plunge into the cold waters of the sea down below.

It was a treacherous coastal region, filled with primal beasts and with little to no clans or civilisations, except for the brave people of the Highland Clans.

And at the top of the High Reach, where a grassy plateau grew high up in the mountains, a man could be seen dragging a large trunk of wood towards a cabin in the distance.

The man was large and well built, with defined muscles of great proportion. He wore a dark gray robe and clothing as he dragged the log upwards, a feat no normal human would have been able to accomplish.

The man was middle-aged, with a weathered face and a trimmed black-gray beard. His dark gray hair swayed with the breeze as he kept on moving forwards steadily.

Determination welled up in his dark blue eyes as he huffed once more and finally pulled the log to his front porch.

"Abyss! Finally finished," he cursed loudly, his voice echoing in the silence of the breeze and mountain air.

"Its been a bloody year and the cabin should finally be done once i carve the last piece." The man went to take a seat on his porch, wiping the sweat on his brow with his hand.

Pulling out an old sailor’s putty, he lit and took a smoke.

"Only a bit more then it would finally resemble some sort of fence." His gaze drifted to the edge of the area where a makeshift Iron-oak fence stood around the perimeter. There was one particular spot, leading down the hunter trails, that needed a gate.

He sat for a while before leaping up to his feet, patting the dust off before making his way towards the log, his footsteps heavy and slow.

It was then, and there between the silent breeze of the mountain and the echo of waves from afar, a high-pitched voice echoed in the man’s mind, making him stop in his tracks.

The man took up the large Dane axe lying on the ground beside him warily, gripping his weapon tightly, he called out with a thunderous roar, "Who’s there! Show yourselves!"

[Clan System Loading...]

[System loading complete!]

[Welcome Host! I am the Clan Leader system, responsible for making you the Clan Chief of the greatest clan the world has ever seen!]

Hearing the words, the man’s crystal blue eyes narrowed into slits as he reeled in shock, his mind like an engine on overdrive.

’I never thought I would get one! A bloody system! After the first few years I gave up, who knew when I finally decided to retire this thing would show up!’

"You bloody bastard! If you could’ve shown up a few years back, then..."

The man laughed in an almost hysterical manner, his voice rumbling through the air. "Then maybe the lads and the others would still be alive! Sunder it! Then they would be..."

His voice drifted off, as his eyes went hazy, his mind recollecting the time before he made this grassy plateau his home. Laughter and curses, the salty taste of the air, and the breeze of the sea turning to blood and cries, friends and crewmates lying dead in pools of their own blood.

Their mighty vessels run aground due to primal sea beasts, fire blazing, and cries of agony in the air.

The man grunted, shaking his head vigorously. "Bloody nexus."

Reaching the large log, he took his seat and collected his thoughts. The memories of the sea and its time still haunted him. "It’s not like I can bring them back or go back..."

He gave a short laugh before turning his attention to the system.

[Name: Bramm Osric]

[Realm: Light Red]

[Soul Spirit Tattoo: The Great Anchor]

[Summoned Warriors: None]

[Renown: 400]

Taking his time, Bramm inspected the system as best as he could, noting that there was much to inspect. Its function was simple: summon warriors and heroes with renown, the more renown, the more or the better warrior summoned.

Renown can be gained from influence, exposure, and many other minute details.

"So much for creating the greatest clan in history, the only thing I can do is summon warriors." He mauled over it before accepting that it might not be as simple as he thought.

"Well, shall we see what can be summoned?"

Smirking, he ventured over to the summon tab, and a vast array of categories and lists appeared.

[Militiamen - Red Soul Tattoo]

[Light red - 200 renown]

[Red - 400 renown]

[Dark red - 600]

[Next Unlock - Veteran - 1500]

[Hero Summoning locked - 1000]

"Now ain’t this interesting." Bramm stroked his beard in thought.

"These colors should represent the colors of power in a realm... so if I summon one of these, does that mean they would have the same level of power as someone with these colors?"

Bramm didn’t need to delve too deep before his question was answered; the system responded and gave him a rundown of how the summoning worked.

"So basically, whatever realm of warrior I summon, they will have that power, but they will be locked in that realm of power, unable to grow any further, unless it’s a hero summon..."

"Well this makes it interesting at least... how should I gather renown?"

[Gain renown through spreading the name of your clan, slaying primal beasts, combat victory, and winning duels as well as increasing your clan’s territory]

"I guess that answers that. So why not see what these men look like aye... I choose to summon two [Light Red Militiamen]."

Directly after speaking, a light flashed behind the log cabin, and two men came walking out from behind the cabin. Both seemed to be in their late thirties; they wore a thigh-length, long-sleeved garment constructed from heavy-weave wool and a great pelt of a mountain beast over their shoulders.

A great sledgehammer hung on their backs as they walked steadily towards Bramm.

"We greet Mormaer Bramm." The two gave a shallow bow, slamming their right fist onto their hearts, then immediately opened their hands and extended them downward, palms facing up. The traditional greetings for Lords.