|
Post by Unfallious on Feb 22, 2018 19:44:49 GMT -5
"Indeed..." He paused, momentarily thinking of how to address the figure in front of him "...M'am," he settled with. "I bring you a a message of quite grave importance," He shuffled uncomfortably. These people were all quite serious and the alien nature of their society gave him a near-constant feeling of tension. He didn't belong here. He had devised that, by his abject defiance of their protocol, that this particular official was not as senior as the formalities had led him to believe. He didn't understand these people, but he understood hubris and the universal desire for respect. A more veteran official would not have let his breach of protocol go unnoticed. Yet, she was all he had been given and thus she was the one to which he must deliver his message. "My name is Jacobi Insignas, I come on behalf of His Royal Majesty King Petyr I, Wearer of the Red Crown, Owner of the Chatter-Script Throne, Lord of Amnest and King of Veritious. We approach your people, your Dominion, due to our shared faith in the Almighty Lord and the Dominion's unique position as protectors of the realm from the horrors of the Magna Tabes." At this he took a pause, and brought forth a letter he had kept on his person. "I assume you are not the highest authority here, and so everything I am about to tell you has been put into this letter by the King's very hand." The letter had the coat of arms of House Lockwell in a wax seal on the reverse, but the front was blank. "but I digress. I come to you today to deliver a message from the almighty himself, and a warning. The Lord protects the Veritian people and provides us with the very armour I wear now. His light shines from the heavens into the palace of His Majesty himself. And through this light, he speaks to us. He speaks to the Subterranium. He tells us wonderful things, he guides and has guided the destiny of our people for 800 years. And not once has the Lord ever given us reason to tremble, not once has the Almighty God of creation ever gave us a warning. That is, until now. His power is fading, my friend. Zypnac, nay the whole pantheon, are losing their grip on the mortal realm. We've felt it, we've seen the stream of our Lord's light quiver and weaken. His voice has become a whisper. And through his whisper, he told us to fear. For a monster is coming, a monster that threatens to plunge this world into chaos, a nightmare filled with magic and anarchy. It's Yrutas. He seeks to make Calveria in its entirety his realm and his alone." Insignas stepped close to the Scribe, "The Dominion is the only power who stands against the Yrutan horrors and who has fought them for so long. You will be the first to fall when he emerges from his realm of chaos to start an age of blood. Veritious hasn't just come to warn you, we've come to offer our sword."
|
|
|
Post by Andromitus on Feb 27, 2018 20:33:37 GMT -5
“Damnit it’s cold!” I yelled, a final gust of wind cresting over our Caravan as we reached the final mountain top — that is if it could even be called that, it was more of a glorified hillside in reality. “2 months of goddamn travel from the basking sun of Nquesk to this forsaken landscape.” Our Caravan —made up of 52 Carts and almost 132 People— had started it’s course in Ibur’natehp, a centermost city in the otherwise barren desert of Asil; we’d been chartered in a joint effort by the Consulate Guilds, a Coalition of Trading guilds based in the 5 “Consulate Cities” of Asil: Nquesk, Akt’azall, Ibur’natehp, Ohkahn, and Tijnes. Two months earlier the Guilds had gotten word from Western traders of open Markets in the region, and had since commissioned an early expedition, us, to the region to spark interest in Eastern goods. The’damn Guildmasters already had a monopoly on Middle-Eastern Trade, what more do they want? I thought bitterly, how a land so cold could be so green was beyond me. “You’ve been to Nquesk and y’call this forsaken?” Amón spat back, “I’d take rolling pines over burnt sands any day thank you” Amón al-Hasiid was our expedition leader, a right brutal man when it came to scheduling which no doubt from his times with the men o’the underground, and had landed himself the job seeing as he was the only Official-proper the Guilds had at their disposal who spoke a word of Western-Common-Tongue. Gripping his saddle with his left hand, Amón took out a bronze pocket-telescope —A strange script engraved on its side— and beckoned one of his scouts to his side. “Sakiir,” he started again, not looking out from his telescope, “run a message down the line, we’ve arriving in Abel.” • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • As the sun lay in the center of the sky, and the onset of midday began, the city of Abel would be confronted by two messengers on horseback. The first one they'd easily recognize, with a bare tunic and pants and features endemic to the Lexidus-Quijain border Region; the second however, would most certainly have caught them off guard. She wore a thick tunic and pants of a strange, red-brown material; Long boots, seemingly both tightly fit and loosely-wrinkled, of what appeared to be a sickly kind of leather; and finally a long red cloak was fastened over ger left breast by a bronze-plate bearing the insignia of a six-pointed Star. The pair approached the city with what seemed like caution, first approaching the guards and asking to speak to members of the local garrison "As messengers of an incoming Caravan not a half-day away." The first, only a young boy of 17, carefully explained to the guards that he was from a small farming village on the border, and that his companion, a woman of 32, spoke no Common nor Celtmaric and had asked him to help her convey a message. "Her name is Eisa al-Ashaod," he began, "She claims to be a special representative of a Caravan sent by the so called ' Rohzai Consulate Guilds'". When questioned further she explained that, "they were a group of traders from the East, from beyond and around the Magna tabes". Just as the messengers Eisa had predicted, the Red, Green, and Gold banners of the approaching caravan rose over distant hilltops a few hours after her own arrival. But quickly, one grew to ten, ten to fifty and more; among them waived a sole ensign of 5 stars, unkown to the locals as the Banner of the Guilds. As the group came forward so did the spectacle, many if not most of them wearing similar garb to Eisa, a variety of strange artifacts and pieces carfully tucked into the folds of their carts, and slightly hidden from view, a leather tarp placed tightly over the distinct outline of a metal cage. Within another half our the group had camped outside the City limits, already a trickle of them moving into the city to explore, and a stream of citizens pouring out to see the commission.
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Mar 1, 2018 12:04:10 GMT -5
Saoirse lethargically scanned her desk, a mountain range of parchment obscuring the window in front of her, she hadn't seen out of it for a over a week. Tax outlines, recruit documents, permission slips, cause for concerns, notices and myriad of other paperwork to sign off and approve on were cluttered before her. As the chief spokesperson and manager of the Abel division of the Merchant Association of Lexidus, it was her job to keep everyone and everything in line and in Abel that was no mean feat. She'd been a merchant for most of her youth, made the right friends and connections and next thing she knew she was now 55 years old and the chief merchant in Abel, nearly everyone came to her if there was an issue. However, as she scanned her office and peered out of her door, it seems today that everyone was moving away from her. Her assistants and employees were nowhere to be seen. Brushing her slightly messy silver hair into something slightly more presentable and tying it into a bun, she made her way out of her office and searched for her missing colleagues. It was then she finally heard the sound of commotion and peered outside of a parchment-less window. Crowds of merchants and peasants were gathering around foreign looking carts and their equally as foreign looking owners. "Since when have the Quijain ever been merit to such interest?" pondered Saoirse to herself as she disembarked from the building, making sure to adorn her cape with the banner of the Merchant Association of Lexidus. A white cape with a blue lion rampant, she always appreciated how well it went with her blue garments and surcoat.
As soon as she stepped outside and laid her brown eyes on the foreign merchants she was stunned. These were no Quijain, that was for certain, these were the Rohzai. She had heard from numerous sources that merchants had gone against the Association's charter and risked life and limb crossing the vast deserts to contact these people and trade with them. Very little would return and those who did were fined and sometimes even banned from the Association. Scanning the Rohzai's banners she noticed the bright ginger hair of her protege and assistant-chief Ryan. Approaching the young man and then exchanging pleasantries Saoirse requested urgently that he should make his way towards the Titenfiscan embassy and see if he could find a translator.
"Squidspawn are of course the masters of many tongues, we'll need one of them to help mediate between myself and whoever the leader of this Rohzai caravan is" asserted the older woman to the young man, who was wringing his hands in excitment.
"Am on it chief! Och. This is historic, we've never had a caravan of the Rohzai here in Abel! Just imagine the goodies they've got hidden away!"
"Aye aye, I hear you. Get moving!" Almost pushing her assistant away, Saoirse yelled after him as he bolted into the nearby embassy. To which he swung open the door with prominent vigour and proclaimed:
"On behalf of the Merchants Association of Lexidus, we require your finest translator, one whom can speak Kaj and/or Oze'asil!"
|
|
|
Post by Andromitus on Mar 2, 2018 9:11:29 GMT -5
Within the hour the previous commotion had transformed into an uproar of activity, and a sense of mutual interest hung high in the air. For the Lexidans, they were surrounded by the near-myth men of the East, who stood out from the morass of people by their characteristic dark-red skin, shadowy eyes, and thick, brown hair. To the Rohzai, they were surrounded by men almost as short —to them— as the Veiamarr they’ve done business with for centuries, with strange tongues and clothing. The wonder of either side was compounded by the goods explored, which were in short, a sheer mountain of supplies. The air soon filled with a variety of smells from sacks of spices, jars of strange oils and mixtures, brown rocks in which the Lexidans were carefully instructed to let steep in water to make a kind of tea created the perfect mixture of foreign and native concoction to permeate the air, clothing, and ground with. Quickly, whatever wrongdoings could be held by a lack of linguistic connections became obsolete, as both parties spoke the one language that mattered, that of coin; and to the Rohzai an audience was an audience, and they were skilled performers. For perhaps the first time the citizens of Abel, if not the entirety of the West, would be subject to the goods of a totally foreign land; on the wooden racks of the Caravan stood a variety of goods apart from foodstuff, the most common being clothing similar to those found on the Quijain and on the traders themselves, but what stuck out were a variety of unique linens and silks unknown to the Natives, cloths that bore deep greens and golds, bearing designs found on none of the traders. The amount of oddities would only grow as the Lexidans continued onward, jewelry and materials in a form different to that of the traders, ornate brushes and strange pieces of wood they were told were similar to Quills. Then came the weapons, a solid steel armory of blades and bows, and again came the oddities; arrows and daggers of a material that shone like bronze, ornate shields, and strange blades seemingly a mix of a sword and a sickle, something the traders referred to as a “ Kahpez” or “Khopesh”. Yet, it was not the swords, nor the pens, nor linens that truly stuck out from the rest of the goods for sale. The first thing to stick out was what they looked like, the symbols lain out along the various scrolls were nothing like any of them had ever seen, and perhaps any of them could ever buy. The scrolls were, as per instruction of the traders, to be read vertically as were the symbols which were laid out in neat columns read in order of left to right. The scrolls themselves were divided into sections, roughly the size of a piece of parchment, which the traders called “Odalt” and often the central columns were replaced with strange, symmetrical drawings — which the Lexidans were informed were a kind of Calligraphy. Quickly the people noticed that the items presented by the Traders were simply littered with the script, strange symbols written both analytically and artistically running along the surfaces of blades, cloths, and bags. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • “Now this is business!” Amón started, grinning like a madman. Since the travel through Quijain, none of them had seen half the action they were now, and in short it was exhilarating. The mood had also shifted, with a good quarter of the Caravaners going off into the city to get a look at native lifestyles; those that weren’t immediately bartering goods where opening stores, sharpening tools, setting tents and fires, and getting a feeling for how much Lexidan coin was in relation to Asilic Rijn — much to the dismay of the natives who saw prices rise tremendously before the days end. Moving through the crowd of people, Amón began to reposition his men; Within the group of Traders, in total, there were 7 men and women of slightly higher regard, not dissimilar to Chiefs or Guildmasters, with them there were also approximetly 32 Guards even though each of the traders were themselves armed. “Kída,” he started in Kaj, “I want you to take your men by Western entrance closest to the Gate, It’s not that I don’t trust the natives here but with all this commotion, we can’t always assume absolute hospitality. Nagh, do the same by the Eastern entrance, and Aesh, could you patrol up and down?” He continued to act normally throughout all of his exchanges, keeping a general air of positivity, especially around the Lexidan Children which had taken kindly to the several Rohz kids that had accompanied the group on their travels through Quijain. Amón continued to shift around the small community he’d formed, keeping tabes on his men, counting to make sure everyone was in order. To the surprise of the natives, the Dark-skinned men of the East turned to be rather diverse as either party acclimated to the other. With what little information could be shared, the natives would begin to notice 4 distinct groups of people, the largest being the incredibly tall Tshal’adon which appeared to tower both their Lexidan and Rohz counterparts; Apart from them, the Gōgher and Tibür where the most similar in size to the Lexidans, set apart by the Gōgher use of a piece of head-ware they called a ‘turban’. Amón, a Gōgher, finally began to settle back as everything seemed to settle into place. He stopped suddenly, quickly scanning around the morass of people, quickly becoming frantic and losing his ability to hide it. He began to move toward the Eastern entrance of the group, soon desperately scanning for the familiar grey hooded figure that’d accompanied him from Asil; “Aesh! Aesh,” he hissed, “where on God’s name is the interloper.”
|
|
|
Post by Andromitus on Mar 4, 2018 22:07:52 GMT -5
“The suddenness of my calling of you has put you under duress, I must apologize for this.” Could he hear my breathing? “Of course it is no issue, Aēl, i’m honored I was summoned at all.” The room itself was, surprisingly, less grandiose than others i’d been called too; a circular space with 18 red stone pillars spaced equidistantly, leaving a large gap for the entrance. Opposite which lay the K’mecht, a bronze, domed structure built a’top of a raised protrusion of the wall with four sides, a beaded archway on each side just hiding the figure within. “That is good, I’d like for you to convey a message for me.” “Of course, Aēl.” I lowered my head slightly, the dim, turquoise light of the Moxiao fungi casting shadows across the stone plates making up the floor. Trying to calm my breathing, my eyes rose slightly; “I take it you’ve heard of the Ahkmaur Frontier?” “Magic, Heresy, and Dishonor, Aēl.” “We must not, even in our faithfulness, underestimate the enemy.” My breath quickened again, had I said something wrong? “Do you trust my word?” “Aēl?” “Mine is the word of God, yet you seem anxious. Dissatisfied even?” “N-no Aēl.” “Then you will do well to remember this; send mine unto the Ahkmaur and Viteskt Authorities, a warning: do not underestimate the Frontier emergence, we must not, in our Hubris, allow a Yrutan foothold within the Holy land. Order them, through my voice, to delegate Soldiers from Vitesk, and to fulfill a proper offensive into the Frontier.” “Of course, I-“ “Unto my word, I also ask you to alert the Curate as to my decision.” “Your decision, Aēl?” “I have gained sightings from God, a message unto us. We are to ready ourselves.” I lay very still, eyes widening in shock as they flew to the K’mecht. A message? Now? “My son we are to prepare for the Veikarr, the Holy War.” Saying nothing, I slowly rose from my Kowtow, the shock of the order finally settling in. Performing another bow, I readjusted by headdress before continuing: “Yes…my Ahnsijn.” • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
The clang of metal on stone echoed throughout the River-chamber as the retreating Expeditionary Force returned to Ahnsijnate waters; As was common amongst river-travelers, they had extinguished their brazier and torches, relying on the natural light of the Underrivers to signal their path, providing more than enough light to properly distinguish features of the rocks around them. As the battered convoy continued down, the river’s size had begun to shrink from a greater Ravine to more of a grotto, the cavern ceiling illuminated by long, thick strands of lichen. Leaning his sword on the bannister, Kosa lay back to rest on the bough, trying to focus on the soft shimmer of light and the rocking of the boat. They had to regroup, he knew that much, and they also didn’t know how far the breach had spread. The Frontier was the westernmost territory with active Thaur, and while none had reached the size of any directly under the Ahnsijnate, they couldn’t be sure if they had been overrun or even knew of the danger. Hot air from the rivers continued to get stronger as they reached the Grotto opening into the Ixaleft settlement they had passed on their way to the frontier. Kosa’s breathing began to slow, he tasted blood and the hand on his chest felt sticky, his eyes fell as the air enveloped him and his mind launched back into the abyss. The retreating soldiers reached the city not 4 hours later; Ixaleft was a primarily oceanic settlement within the Ixthenpijn Thaur, relying on fishing and aquaponics; The city itself was built right into the rock of the caves, what ports being carved out of natural ledges that cut into the river. The settlement, like most, was founded in a Grotto-region, a low-ceiling and confined portion of the river; much of the city wasn’t actually visible from the river, expanding steadily inward into either cavern wall. As they approached light began to switch from the river to a series of Braziers and torches alongside numerous luminescent plants planted manually along the cavern walls and onto structures carved from stoney pillars. Kosa’s boat slowed as it began to wind through the confined river-space of the Grotto-city, finally docking itself in a Military-Harbor near the center of the settlement. He wasn’t awake for the docking, passing in and out of consciousness as he was carried into the city, the partially carved cavern-systems fading from the red light of the braziers to the green-blue of Asilic flora. He was stuck in this state of twilight consciousness for what seemed like an eternity before he finally awoke. The room around him sloping into a slight dome, concentric rings of glowing moss-covered stone ran along the floor, walls, and ceiling, bathing the room in a soft turquoise light. He was lying only a few centimeters off the ground on a stone bed carved directly into the floor; He shifted up, his hands pressing down into the brown cushions, before scanning the room. Trying to sit up, he winced as a sharp pain flew out of his left side before noticing a bandage over his left breast. Lying back down he tried to remember the past few hours, the retreat from the expedition, long hours of river travel back to Ixaleft, he could just remember entering the Grotto-city before everything went fuzzy. How long had he been out? • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The mass of bodies slammed against the gates leading into and out of the Artisan districts, the roar of the crowd quickly drowning out the meek call of the guards. Since the Quarantine was started riots had practically been nonstop. Clashes between the Guards and overstressed Lower-Caste became common within the cycle, only compounded by the lack of food being brought into the District. Little known to the Middle and Lower Castes of the Artisan-District, the entirety of the Ixthenpijn cavern had been divided into a variety of quarantined regions; the K’zahn —Warrior Caste— had spent the past few Cycles clearing out entire towns of infected peoples, being forced to unceremoniously burn the remains before they finally realized that the rot had spread to the caverns food stores, and later, the crops. The Artisan district had been, since then, in a state of near constant protest as food was shunted and houses were plundered for the sick, crowds of lower-caste running as squadrons of Soldiers desperately tried to curtail any more advances of what could only be assumed was a new Yrutan viral threat. As Alzeih continued her work, roar of the crowd seemed to die out, this time staying low. “On damnation,” her master shouted behind her, “We can’t reach the churches stuck in here. Servant?” Alzeih turned to him from her work. “Did you hear the horns?” “No, aēl.” “Damnable..fine, it’s the time now, if you haven’t go outside and Pray or the church’ll have both our heads.” She was stunned for a moment before doing a quick bow. Heaving the heavy fibrous doors open, she noticed why the rioters had stopped. Across the tops of the District, it was of course carved below the cavern surface, stood soldiers, each armed with crossbows. Pools of blood were still just visible pouring into the drains as buckets of water were dumped over the street, she could see bodies being burned near the inner-district. Moving down to the docks, the shadows of guardsmen walking atop the buildings above her on the Cavern Floor —the Artisan-district being carved out of the earth— she was able to find some comfort in the soft ripple of the water. It was the smell that’d set the crowd off this time, billows of smoke and fumes as the Southern and Western farming regions were set ablaze which was only compounded by the raid on the Artisan-Districts Temple food store, tonnes of grain set alight in mere hours. Within moments the Artisan district was a-waft with the smell of countless spices. However, in the end the rioters weren’t much of a match against properly trained Guardsmen, who’d managed to subdue the majority, and pacify the more unruly members of society, dumping their bodies alongside the burning grain. But could they be blamed? The Ahkmaur River’s chief point of wealth in the Ahnsijnate were its Biotic resources; it was the physically brightest, the largest, and the most abundant. It held more fruits, spices, herbs, meats, and grains than anywhere else in Asil touched yet by God. Alzeih paused for a moment, a sense of tense tranquility falling over the previous riot-torn district in quarantine. Lowering onto her knees at the edge of the dock, she looked placidly forward to the other end of the river; Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself, focusing on the soft shimmer of natural light keeping up from the gaps in the metal plates making up the dock. She’d nothing to offer God in her prayer, the food’d been burned and Lower-Caste were given no coin; She readjusted herself, hoping that she’d be forgiven for lacking proper Alms, and lowered herself into a formal Kowtow, the top of her head grazing against the dock. She performed this four times more, and on the last Kowtow she held herself still in the position, eyes closed as she muttered a small prayer; all around her others began to notice the time, and begin their Cyclical prayers. Her eyes remained closed, just barely sensing the shimmer of the river through the small holes in the metal dock. A flash of darkness passed over her eyes. Startled, she opened them. Just below the rungs of the dock, a large blob of a strange black substance bobbed beneath the water. Looking up, she noticed others in prayer, alongside the guards atop the buildings, doing the same and observing the river. It was full of them, hundreds of patches of the stuff clumped and floated through the water. Water splashed and she looked left where a man, probably a servant like herself, had plunged his hand into the river, grabbing a patch of the substance. Observing it, he lurched forward, vomit pouring from his mouth as he dropped it back into the water. Stumbling to his feet he vomited again, starting to cough before an arrow plunged into his back, one of the guards had fired on him. Staggering forward, the man wheeled around, his veins blackening and pulsating, his eyes darkened. Another arrow soared into his chest before he collapsed backward and was sent hurtling into the river. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Iyan’s expression darkened and her eyes narrowed on the man before her. As he’d spoken she gave a quick glance of approval to one of the guards, who, having incidentally taken a step forward, had placed his hand on the hilt of his blade as the Emissary of the Surfaceworld started to move closer toward her with each word. With her glance the Guard stepped back, eying the outsider suspiciously. After the outsider had finished speaking, however, their was a grave stillness in the room. “Leave us.” She stated plainly, looking directly into his eyes. The Emissary was taken out of the room by the Guard to the left of him, leaving the Scrawl alone with 2 other Soldiers. “K’haat,” she started, turning toward the table behind her, “A week ago we were ordered to send our division of K’zahn down to Ixthenpijn. Have we received word as to why?” “Aēl, the most recent message from the Underground reports of a potential Breach in the Frontier Rivers in-between the Abyan and Ixthenpijn Thaur. She paused for a moment, letting herself sink deep into thought. The man obviously knew nothing of her culture, speaking of “pantheons” and “majesties”, and the surface must truly be desolate if those that believe they follow God hear so little from him. But he wasn’t a con-artist, a conman would lie better, neither would they have formal plate armor, especially —as she hated to admit it— of that quality. “Strange tidings,” she said aloud, “when the hordes start an offensive and the surface comes running with aid.” “Aēl?” “Here, you speak no Overlander correct,” she handed one of the soldiers the scroll as he shook his head no, “Bring this to the Scribe al-Navahna Xyn Adiil and tell him this: As Asil is breached, the surface has sent an envoy warning us of danger. Tell him this envoy is of a group of Overlanders that, to their own extent, worship God and, however incorrectly, believe themselves to follow his word. Finally, inform him that I wish to call him for an audience with this outsider, if only because I ask for an appraisal as to how to properly act in this situation.” “Of course.” turning swiftly the guard exited the room, motioning for the Emissary to enter. “I have summoned for a Scribe, al-Navahna Xyn Adiil,” Iyan started, “we will wait here. The request must be accepted beforehand, and if it is we will be escorted into the city. Upon entry you will greet him similarly to how you greeted me. I must add this time, an outsiders breech in etiquette with a Scribe-proper is a punishable offense. I am a Scrawl, two grades below him, he will not be so kind.”
|
|
|
Post by axeldonia on Mar 6, 2018 17:49:57 GMT -5
The relaxed atmosphere of the embassy was suddenly interrupted as a young human burst the doors to the embassy open, making all eyes turn to their sudden visitor. A small group of Squidspawn standing near the lobby’s counter began chattering amongst themselves, casting the occasional glance back at the man in confusion. Quickly following that however, a green-tentacled young appeared from seemingly beneath the counter, smiling widely.
“Do you need translator? I’m fluent in Kaj, if that helps”.
She sunk back down beneath the counter before coming around it carrying a book in her arms. Once fully visible, her odd behavior became more understandable, as the Squidspawn barely reached her head above the young man’s thigh in terms of length. She was wearing a large typical Squidspawn getup, with brightly dyed green sweaters and pants that matched her tentacles, with an intricate pattern of purple lines slithering down her clothes, the looseness of the clothes giving the whole getup a somewhat wavy effect.
“Just show me the way!”
She flashed a toothy smile, grabbing a pen and jotting down something in the margins of her book as they began walking back towards the caravan.
The rain pattered constantly against the cobbled streets of the capital, the clouds obscuring even the faintest sign of moonlight. Only a lone hooded figure strode across the gloomy streets, not stopping until she stood on the steps of the Central Cove, a large white cupola towering over many of the surrounding buildings. She quietly circled it until she found one of the many stairs leading down into the ground, looking around before carefully treading down the slippery stone steps. Once down she found herself in a small alcove with only a plain wooden door in front of her. She looked up into the alcove and smiled. As usual, the familiar gleaming of an emerald seal greeted her, depicting a green circle with way green lines emanating towards the door. She knocked on the door, which was gently opened, letting a small ray of light shine into the gloomy night.
“What’s the password?”
The hooded figure leaned forward and whispered something to the one behind the door, which was again shut, followed by a few clicking noises and the door sliding wide open.
“Helena! Nice to see you around!”
The girl smiled as she pulled down the hood, embracing the yellow-tentacled Squidspawn with a giggle. The pair finally stepped back inside, walking past the small, plain hallway and into a large room. The room was warmly lit, decorated with a large red carpet and a number of armchairs and large cushions in the same colour upon which a number of Squidspawn, Kouleva, Enekebe and Kobolds along with a lone Frougen, all of them wearing a necklace with a small emblem with an emerald in the centre of the circle. Helena finally took her seat among the assembled as everyone went quiet, shifting their attention to the newcomer.
“Suffice to say, most of you know why you are here. The priests, magicians and omens all tell the same tale. The gods are slowly losing their grip on our realm. The question for tonight is if we want to take this as an ill omen, or as an opportunity. In essence, shall we use our power to strengthen Myratnis, or shall we cut them loose forever and try and stake out our own path?”
The short speech was followed by a long moment of silence. Finally, a Kouleva with her tail wrapped gently around a blissful Squidspawn spoke up.
“What would this even mean for us? Staking out a new path, I mean.”
“That is a good question. It may mean taking charge in a new godless world, simply go on as usual as we watch the gods silently struggle, or…”
Helena didn’t utter it, but the word she was about to say was already on everyone’s list.
“Wahfoee. Since the beginning we have waited for a moment like this, one where mortal will finally be able to construct a god after their own desires rather than the opposite. We have countless ancient tomes and spells in our old libraries telling us of ways to conjure up vast powers and concentrate magic in unfathomable ways, but nothing on the scale of what is now proposed. In the end, only a vote this evening can determine the path we’ll tread from now on”.
The assembled nodded in agreement. A pair of boxes where placed in the adjacent room and one by one they entered, dropping their necklaces in accordance with their vote. Finally, Helena stepped inside and retrieved the two boxes, putting them down on the floor and counting them publicly.
“It’s decided then. With five votes more, the society has now dedicated itself to prolong and preserve the reign of Myratnis as long as possible. Those who are willing and able shall embark on a quest of knowledge, scouring the world for wisdom we have lost or not yet found. I have duties at home, but all those who volunteer will embark at the end of this lunar cycle”.
A few hours later the meeting was finally adjourned and the assembled slowly left as the rain outside ceased, revealing the shimmering night sky in the full night of the moon. Helena looked up at it for a moment as she departed, feeling a small tug at her heart. Was this really the right choice?
|
|
|
Post by Vista Major, MP on Mar 6, 2018 18:18:20 GMT -5
This prayer was different from any other he had ever experienced.
Mar'ar sat on the ground of his office, back to the glass window that streamed in light from the mortal world outside. His eyes were shut, ears turned down, tail tucked into his criss-crossed lap, and breathing slow yet shallow.
He had never felt so alone.
Oh, Holischerenes Muthera... Oh, Sakra Sonig... Hira mir... Hira mir... Hira unsung... Fvar da neikacht ist daerung und feilen wit termenin... Und eure mortale leitag ist fahdaden fvast...
It's been five hours since Mar'ar started his daily meditation, and he felt almost nothing. It was as if Myratnis was grazing his skin with only the tips of his holy fingers, too far away to fully embrace him. He longer felt her warmth, only a bitter lukewarmness in his soul that tended towards chill.
This was the longest he ever meditated since his ascension to the position of High Shaman. Yet, he never felt so lost.
"Ahmen."
As soon as Mar'ar stood up and stretched, two priests walked into his office: an Askin and a Barskin.
"Mai da Holischerenes Muthera leven fürmer," they said with a bow.
"Mai da Holischerenes Muthera blaurung euchall," Mar'ar returned. "What can I do for you today, Vena? Gahstrok?"
The Barskin walked forward. "High Mar'ar, we have terrible news to bring; it's the initiates."
"It is true," the Askin added. "Two initiates--one for Myratnis, the other for Yrutas--have fallen into a sort of madness. Gahstrok... Tell him more.
The Barskin nodded. "Yes, Vena... While meditating, the initiates seemed to... Snap. The Myratnian is trapped in a rigid trance, colder than ice, and the Yrutasian has all but gone mad; she won't stop mumbling about... About the end of the gods."
"We think they received visions from their gods," Vena continued. "But these visions have affected them deeply, harmfully... What shall we do?"
Mar'ar was silent for several moments. When he spoke, his voice was low and almost raspy.
"I have felt the Mother today... But she was so far removed from me. And I could not feel the Son at all... Something is happening to our deities, and I know not what it is..."
More silence in the room.
"Speak nothing of this, not yet," Mar'ar commanded. If this seeps out into the country... I fear the worse."
The two priests bowed. "As you command," they say in unison.
"Geh im pace," Mar'ar bid in farewell.
"Geh im pace."
As soon as the priests left, Mar'ar let out a quivering sigh: he had relied on the gods for so long, Myratnis the absolute most. If this was truly the end, the world would fall apart.
But his would crumble first.
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Mar 7, 2018 18:14:21 GMT -5
Ryan swiftly ushered the green squidspawn towards the commotion, quickly introducing himself and his superior as they made their way back to Saoirse. The young man couldn't help but admire the green girl's tentacles and dress, finding himself enraptured by her wavy dress and its patterns. To him she was very cute and pretty, maybe she wouldn't mind if he asked her na-
"That'll be all Ryan, keep the merchants under whip alright?"
The ginger lad broke himself out of his stupor and bashfully excused himself, leaving the two women to their own devices.
Saoirse gave a light chuckle. "I have to excuse my apprentice, he's very absent minded. Thank goodness he found you however, your knowledge of Kaj will make this go a lot smoother. Shall we go?" The older human women raised her hand towards the crowd and the two of them made their way into the ruckus of merchants, wading their way through a wave of people both dark and light skinned. Before long however, the green tentacled girl pointed towards a figure calling out for someone. He was a Rohzai, that was for certain, the squidspawn informed her that he was calling out for a person known as Aesh and promptly calling him an "interloper". Giving her silver hair one final stroke, she and the squidspawn approached the man. Standing in front of him with her hands held together by her stomach, speaking through the Kaj translating squidspawn.
"Greetings merchant of Rohzai. My name is Saoirse McCann and I'm the Chief Merchant of the Abelian division of the Merchant Association of Lexidus. Can I be of assistance?"
"Oh do fuck off Griffon, this is bigger than both you AND me!" yelled Grand Magister Drake, his black goatee clashing with his perfect white teeth as he angrily bared them at his fellow Magister.
Grand Magister Griffon, her face twisted in disgust, let her eyes bore into the red robed man. If looks could kill, she would have annihilated the bastard as soon as he called this goddess-forsaken meeting. Brushing off some light spittle from her blue gown she immediately retorted. "I wasn't suggesting we hide this from the king you ignoramus, I was stating that we should gather more information first and make an informed decision to then tell the king and not cause panic. But as per usual your intellect fails you and a tantrum follows."
"Save your ad hominem" snarled Drake, raising himself from his seat and crossing his arms. "Its unbecoming from someone with such a wonderful personality. You mean to say you were completely unprepared for something like this and now you're trying cover your ineptitude." The two magisters found themselves constantly at odds with one another, it had become common knowledge across Lexidus that the two heads of the Mages of Myratnis despised one another. In some cases, the two came to blows with one another, destroying various Mage halls with their quarrels.
Griffon paced around the centre of temple, she had travelled 8 hours to get here via carriage and now standing in the Grand Temple of Myratnis she wanted nothing more than to bring forth a thunderstorm and destroy the place with Drake in it. As he finished his tirade, she snapped her venomous gaze to his own. "Yes Drake, I'm the one being irrational and inept here. Goddess above! You bring me here, tell me your ridiculous story and now you lecture me?" Breaking herself away from the black haired man, she started storming down the temple aisle, heading straight for the exit. "Well you can rabble with yourself, I'm not putting up with this shit you utter bastard."
"Kaylee...". She angrily span around, her auburn ponytail slicing through the air as she turned, her blue eyes locking once more with Drake's equally as blue set. She opened her mouth to curse him but stopped herself, her mouth hanging slightly at the sight before her, finally registering what had happened. Her equal had addressed her in such a meek and intimate manner, he had never called her by her first name. All of the rage that was plastered all over his face mere seconds ago was gone and in its place... fear, genuine and honest fear. She closed her mouth and gingerly approached Dominic Drake, slowly unfurling her white knuckled fists. Seeing the fierce Grand Magister this fearful sent a shiver up her spine. He was never like this."
Drake gulped and took a deep breath. "We're losing her... you can feel it too."
Griffon's stomach dropped, a cold wave swept over her.
"Can't you? Myratnis is fading."
|
|
|
Post by Vista Major, MP on Mar 11, 2018 21:31:38 GMT -5
Dearest Eimear Nola,
It is of unfortunate note that, as acting ambassador for the Polar Dominion, that I declare the arranged diplomatic session between Lexidus and Asakor is postponed until further notice. After meeting with the High Chief, we have determined that Asakor is not yet ready to pursue discussions of foreign policy. With the Holy Mother seeming to draw further away from us, we have come to the realization that we are on our own.
As such, the Polar Dominion can no longer ensure that the sovereignty of Lexidus shall be respected. It is in our own best interests that we expand as much as possible, for the day of godlessness is upon us, and Asakor must be on top. You are not a student of the faith arts - you would not understand. However, I pray that you will accept Asakor incursion peacefully and without resistance. In the east and in the west, from the north to the south, the Polar Dominion shall rule over all nations with a fair hand as we brave the troubling times ahead.
I cannot disclose to you when we shall arrive your borders, but I can disclose to you one peace of well-kept advice within the Cathedral: Allow the Holy Mother to arm you thusly. You will need all the protection you can if you combat our efforts.
Perhaps after this is over and done with, we can convene our meeting at the World's Tower.
Sincerely, Mar'ar Myrax The Mortal High Shaman of Myratnis and Yrutas in the Polar Dominion of Asakor
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Mar 12, 2018 17:54:57 GMT -5
There is a lump in the messenger's throat as he waits outside the Wetwood Inn, he swallows in cold coastal air to try and subside it but with no luck. He had been waiting for a little over 10 minutes now whilst Ambassador Nola read the latest letter from the Polar Dominion, he could tell just from the look on her face as soon as she opened it that it wasn't good news. Just as he began to notice the distinct lack of a breeze in the wind, the Inn's door slammed open and a wild Eimear Nola came storming out from it.
"You. With me. NOW" commanded the stony faced woman, the messenger obeying her command without pause. The two of them marched toward the northern dock, where various Fyllian and Lexidus sailor and soldiers were both training and working together. The messenger was lagging behind Eimear somewhat as his legs ached from his recent journey. She paid him no mind as she spoke clearly and in a truly authoritarian manner. "You are to deliver two letters, one to the King of Fyllia and another to the Prime Minister of Titenfisca. These letters are of national emergency and you will be paid a whole years pay if you deliver them in an as swift as possible manner, do not fail me or your king. Do you understand Thomas?"
The messenger would have been pleased she remembered his name if she had not turned and stared directly into his soul with her terrifying gaze. He wordlessly nodded his head in response, took the letters and bolted as fast as he could to the nearest messenger cog ship.
Eimear watched him for a while as he disappeared into the crowd of frost covered soldiers, taking a deep breath and sighing deeply. Crowley's suspicions were right, she pondered to herself. The Asakor were a threat and not only that had written to her not just any threat, they had written to her a casus belli, a declaration of war. She had to get herself to the capitol as fast as Myratnis' waves would let her. As she boarded the "Lady of the North", the same ship that brought her to the North Star Isles, she scanned the frost laden settlement of Wetwood and her people. The sailors who laughed with one another as they hauled exuberant catches onto the stalls, the soldiers working and training with one another despite their different nationalities and the children running between them all screaming and laughing as they played pretend with one another. Eimear's heart filled with cold fear, fear for these people and their home, for they were most likely going to be on the forefront of Lexidus' first war, in over half a millennia.
Donald stopped chasing his friend and turned towards a figure on a boat departing from the port. A thin lipped lady was staring at him, her face was scary but he saw sadness in her eyes, Donald recognised that look from his mother whom had the same sadness in her eyes ever since his father went to sea and never came back. Unlike his father, he hoped the scary lady wouldn't come back.
To his majesty King Carolus VI of the Kingdom of Fyllia,
I write to you with grave news, there is a threat to all of our nations in these Northern Realms, the Polar Dominion of Asakor. Before we were merely suspicious, now we are certain. The Polar Dominion have written to us a threat confirming our worst fears. Of blatant disregard for other nations and their sovereignty, they boast, nay GLOAT about ruling us all under a "fair hand". Whether it be your snow coated mountains, Titenfisca's dazzling shores or Lexidus' rolling hills, the Polar Dominion wish to rule over us all. I sail for the capitol and to my king, who will write to you with haste with further plans. Know this, Lexidus and its allies will stand with you, we value a stable northern realms and her various independent nations.
Your faithful ally, Royal Ambassador Eimear Nola of the Noble Kingdom of Lexidus
To the right honourable Prime Minister Helena Lake of the Republic of Titenfisca,
Our worst fears have been realised, the Polar Dominion intend to conquer us all. They boldly wrote to me, claiming that their "Holy Mother is seeming to draw further away from them", thus they have declared that they "can no longer ensure that the sovereignty of Lexidus shall be respected" and that they will "in the east and in the west, from the north to the south, the Polar Dominion shall rule over all nations with a fair hand as we brave the troubling times ahead". I am currently making my way back to the capitol to inform my king, to which he will contact you with further information on the decisions being made. All I can say is this, as stated by the Polar Dominion in their letter to us, "Allow the Holy Mother to arm you thusly" for we must be prepared to fight back. War is coming and we need you by Lexidus' side.
Your faithful ally and loyal friend,
Royal Ambassador Eimear Nola of the Noble Kingdom of Lexidus
|
|
|
Post by Flynnvakia on Mar 14, 2018 10:33:16 GMT -5
Carolus was in his personal study when a young guard ran into the room holding a letter hailing from Lexidus. The guard was obviously distressed about something and when Carolus noticed the seal to the letter was cut, he knew whatever was contained within that letter was important. The letter was handed to Carolus and the guard was immediately dismissed. Now alone in his study, Carolus could now see what news Lexidus brings. No less than 4 minutes later, Carolus was in his war room with his top generals making plans for war. This is not the first time Fyllia has been at war and they are sure as hell not amateurs in conflict. Carolus panned over the table with a map of Fyllia and placed upon it pieces representing Fyllian armies. One general piped up,
Sir, our current levies are inadequate to defend Fyllia much less the inner perimeter. I suggest we enact Firay, it is our only hope of repelling this attack and take the war to Askor.
Carolus pondered for a moment on what the response to Firay would be but he nodded in agreement and sent word to all of Fyllia that Firay was enacted and less than 2 days later, most of Fyllia's of-age men were in front of Carolus head to toe in armor and equipped with swords, pikes, bows or flags. Carolus saw the vastness of his army of over 75 thousand men. He spoke up,
Men, today we fight to defend our homeland and our way of life. This war will be bloody but, Fyllia has seen bloody before!
The men cheered in agreement and Carolus continued
Remember men we have Zypnac on our side and with him we shall never fear death. Men of Fyllia we may lose land and towns, but we will make the bleed for every meter.
The ranks cheered again and were dismissed to their defensive positions throughout Fyllia from the Mountains of Skavor to the snowy plains of Lpyna and with the men in position, Carolus knew war was inevitable and with a letter of thanks to Lexidus, Fyllia fate has been sealed for bad or good.
Note: Firay is essentially mass conscription of Fyllian men
|
|
|
Post by Andromitus on Mar 15, 2018 19:37:16 GMT -5
He was alone in his bedchamber, and while his eyes were closed he was no more asleep than he was heretical. How many times had he laid awake like this? Focusing on his breath, his heartbeat, listening for the slightest sound. He shifted slightly, his long white beard tugging on his chin, when was the last time he’d truly left the Palace-Temple; after all in his age, he’d could barely fathom to move without aid. How many years has he done this, led a nation, a faith forward? It was no matter, he’d never felt this before. Every night for countless decades he’d rest assured, with grace of God he’d rested with knowledge of his nations security. For the first time in almost a century, the Ahnsijn felt alone. There was no Comfort of the warmth of God. His eyes, aged and wizened, fluttered open and in a voice, near in shock, simply stated: “He’s fading…” Ixthenpijn, Ahkmaur River
Tkiir stood over the river, it’s blue shimmer just barely now illuminating his face, blocked by a thick black substance coating its surface; he was there only a day ago when the first Expeditionary force to the Frontier arrived back in Ixaleft, he could only think of what did something like that. Those within the Grotto-City had tried to rid themselves of the substance in the water, the Expeditionary Soldiers informing them that it was this very substance that polluted the underrivers in between Ixthenpijn and the Frontier-Hold of Abyan. They tried to bury it, but the substance spread disease to whoever touched it; they tried to hold it back but it flooded through the canals of the city in waves; finally they tried burning it but it filled the air with a toxic fume faster than could be blown away by the natural cavern air-currents. The clang of a bell tore him from his thoughts and he drew his blade, out of the corner of his eye he saw practically every other soul on the docks doing the same, dawning looks of both pride and fear. Looking out, he just saw up the river before the grotto bled into the outer caverns. It took him a moment, but soon he heard it… sound of water was getting louder. Suddenly, the source of the noise flashed in the distance, brightened as it pushed the black substance out of the way, allowing the natural river’s shine to cut through. It was a small boat, much to Tkiir’s surprise, but the man a’front rang his bell with a fury. The water behind him exploded, a dark shape lashing out like a whip, a vertical maw and concentric rows of teeth slammed into him, pulling him off his vessel. A bone-chilling scream echoed through the cavern.
Vomándak, Viteskt River
The Priests eyes were wild in the firelight, scanning maddeningly over the sorry excuse for guards standing groggily before him. Shadows danced along the wide cavern chamber from braziers running the length of the rough rock walls, cool air flowing in from the archway in the cavern-wall behind him; The click of a lock and he looked up, the grand doors of the Palace, a gallant stone structure carved directly into this cavernous enclave, slid open into the walls revealing 6 Soldiers and a woman wearing the distinct uniform of a General-grade within the Priest-Caste. “And?” he shouted, “What of the boy?!” The woman shook her head, walking down the stone steps toward him, “Gone, his bedroom seems to have been ransacked, and none of the guards we’ve found were stationed in the Eastern wing near it.” “Damnit unto Xathii,” Glancing toward the soldiers in front of him, the guards they’d found during the first sweep, “These men are to be tried for Heresy against the Church.” Turning around to another platoon of soldiers behind him, “Sweep the area and send a message to General Vkain Al’tchakohd, the Urcilāo must be found!” • • • • • • • • Two Weeks Earlier • • • • • • • • Kyasii Cavalrymen glinted under the soft blue light of the M’tchnesk Fungi, riders standing tall in their saddles, Khopesh blades raised. Their K’kasa mounts, Moth-like equine analogues, stood read to charge; behind them two ranks of Ach’mult Reapers waited to start a secondary assault, wide pincers hanging just below the saddles of the cavalry. Ahead, 4 Hanzein Squadron-Independencies scouted along the river, metal armor sparkling. Across the battlefield, Yrutan Heretics crouched behind their fortifications —a scroll, a black ink stone, and a line of bronze styli— knowing they stood no chance against the might of Asil. But a row of Yrutan abominations loomed behind them, ready to devour any who dared retreat. The attack had almost begun when Va’el Il-Axao Mtchan, Urcilāo of the Greater Asilic Ahnsijnate and the Kyasii Faith, thought he heard someone outside his door… He took a soft step toward his bed, a mattress placed into an ornate stone basin—then froze in place, listening hard. The b’kahp, a garden-variety lichen, stirred in a soft breeze along the balcony outside, but otherwise the cavern from his vantage was silent. His chief instructors were in Arcthaur, after all, in attendance with the Curate, and the servant-grades wouldn't dare disturb his sleep. Va’el turned back to his desk and began to move the cavalry forward, grinning as the battle neared its climax. The Ach’mult walkers had completed their assault, and it was time for the tin k’kasa to finish off the hilariously outnumbered Heretic archers. It had taken most of his sleep-cycle to set up the attack, using a military-tactics scroll borrowed from his Instructors study. After all it, it seemed only fair to have some fun while his instructors were off watching marches and ceremony. He'd begged to be taken along, to see the glinting ranks of soldiers striding past in real life, to feel the rumble of chariots through his boots, and stare upon the the massive Ach’mult Reapers and Land-striders. The Priests of coursed denied it, claiming something along the lines of his studies being more important than militaristic fervor. The last tin cavalry unit had just crashed into the final enemy lines when the soft sound again came from the hall: jingling, like a ring of keys. Va’el turned, peering at the gap beneath his bed chamber's double doors, wide fibrous constructs with bronze metal plates. Shadows shifted along the sliver of natural fungal light, and he heard the hiss of whispers. Someone was outside; Silent in his bare feet, he swiftly crossed the cold stone floor, sliding into his bed just as the slid open. The boy closed his eyes, wondering which of the servants was checking on him. Fungal low-light spilled into the room as the doors opened and someone slipped silently inside. The figure paused, staring at Va’el for a moment, then crept toward his dresser, a ring of ornate hexagonal cubicles carved into the wall opposite his bed. he heard the click of an open lock, the wooden rasp of a drawer sliding open. His heart was racing, none of the servants would dare steal from him…but what if the intruder were something worse than a thief? Then he heard it, a soft, gentle click. Then another, two more! There were other figures outside, resorting to echolocation rather than light. Another figure came through the door, boots clomping, a sword-hilts metal clips jingling like keys on a ring. The figure tromped straight toward his bed before stopping and smacking his boot on the ground twice; “Your holiness,” he started in a low voice, “it’s time to wake.” Va’el let out a sigh of relief, he knew the voice well; General Vkain Al’tchakohd, commander of the third Hanzein Legion of the Ahnsijnate had been assigned to him to instruct him on basic military maneuvers. “The young master has been awake long before we arrived,” Ithrunes Ksaomit’s low voice said, the man pointed to Va’el’s desk, “playing a bit of soldier? A bit of advice, Your Holiness, when pretending to be asleep, it is advisable to better control one's breath.' Va’el sat up with a scowl, eyes flashing to the first figure near his dresser. His Writings Teacher had an annoying knack for seeing through his wide array of deceptions. “Both of you, what's the meaning of this? Did I miss the gong?” “Erm, well no Your Holiness, we woke you early as to make good time.” Vkain stated flatly “Good time? General, where are we going?” “Erm,” the Man shifted and glanced at Ithrunes; the Priest let out a sigh before speaking, “Young Master we’re moving to Shdant’il-amuraōt, 20km from the Arcthaur.” “Shdan…Why there…” He was cut off by Ithrunes, the Priest was noticeably becoming impatient, “Your Holiness if i’m to explain the full story now it’d defeat the purpose of us waking you so early, now lets go.” Tossing him a silk green tunic, with formal golden stitching signature of the Upper-Caste, alongside a pair of formal pants, Ithrunes ushered Vkain outside with him to what Va’el presumed must’ve been a full entourage awaiting him outside. Taking only a moment to gather and put on his clothes he quickly opened the sliding doors to the hallway. Lit a gentle blue-green by the M’tchnesk, an egg-shaped mushroom, he found himself surrounded by four figures: the first two he recognized as Ithrunes and Vkain, but accompanying them were T’kanha Vaodain Jtsa and Aesh Saod Bfilmutzet — his technical and mathematics instructors. Without a word the group of five moved quickly down the hall, barefeet moving near-silently across the smooth stone floor. There’d been a noticeable lack of Guardsmen as they reached the entrance hall illuminated by a single Brazier in the center of the room. Taking a moment to put on footwear, the group exited the building into a small cavern, a row of braziers on either side of the wall leading toward a Gateway opposite the building which’d been carved directly into the Cavern. The small Enclave housed the Palace Va’el had lived in for the past 8 years of his life, training for his new position. Outside waited nothing but a small carriage and its rider, two six legged insects strapped to the construct tapped their tarsus against the rocky earth — Ai’zaan, given away by telltale soft white fur and feathered antenna. In moments they were on their way, passing through the rocky corridors of the underground. They’d been travelling for what seemed to be an hour before Va’el felt something was wrong. Maybe it was his grogginess, but he didn’t remember it taking this long to reach the Thaur-Cavern. And not one of the others had spoken a word since leaving the Palace. Adjusting his collar he coughed slightly; “I’d’ve thought we would’ve reached the central cavern by now?” “We’re taking a backroad, Your Holiness, the Path East is blocked by a Military Convoy.” stated Vkain, flatly, the man looking out the window. “East? Shdant’il and the Arcthaur are toward the South are they not?” Something was wrong. Vkain paled and was met with a glare from Ithrunes; In a soft voice spoke, “I-eh, suppose you’re right Young Master…” “Vkain.” The air hung still as stone, “Where are we going?” Ithrunes cut the poor man off before he could say anything more, “That is not for you to know right now, Your Holiness.” he stated sternly “Ithrunes by the power vested in me I demand you tell..” he was cut off by his master: “Be silent,” Ithrunes hissed, “this is for your own safety.” “My Safety?!” “Did I say speak again? Keep your voice low. Did we not warn you about the dangers of your position? Have you forgotten your birth?” Va’el had not forgotten, he’d been born a Middle-Grade Scribe. A Legislature. They’d called for his execution after Ithrunes proposed him as a candidate for Urcilāo. He knew that they’d tried to have him killed formally before his initiation, but they’d never try such a stunt after he was chosen as Urcilāo. Would they? “Th-thats impossible,” he stuttered, “my birth has nothing to do with this, it’s my fate that’s been decided.” “Are you blind, child?” interjected T’kanha, the woman silencing both of them, “Urcilāo you know full well that no position but Ahnsijn is beyond the Priesthood. I’m happy to explain on the way but please remain quiet until we reach Nquesk.” Nquesk? They were heading to the surface?! “With any luck, we’ll be halfway to Lexidus by the time they catch on to us.
Abel, Lexidus
Amón almost felt sorry for the creature standing before him, a strange amalgamation of what could only be described as a snake-pit and a woman. Yet, this was coming from a man who crossed the dreaded Mire’s of Asil on the back of a tree-sized spider, so he wasn’t completely surprised when it started talking, almost. The creature, It, was equally dressed in quite the outfit; Her accent was odd, yes, but distinctly Quijainic evident by her pronunciation and vocabulary. She was accompanied by a Lexidian-woman with light grey hair and dressed in Blue, who was introduced as “Chief Merchant” of what he could only assume was the Lexidian equivalent of the Consulate Guilds. Turning to meet the group, he immediately flashed a smile, best to hide his thoughts for now, before doing a slight bow. “It’s an honor to meet you,” he started, hoping that the creature obviously acting as a translator could understand him despite his dialect, “I was simply looking for a few of my fellow associates, first time on a formal expedition after all.” pausing for a moment to construct himself, he started again; “Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Amón al-Hasiid, Captain of..” He patted his pockets for a moment before pulling out a thick bronze disk with golden edges; on it were engraved two columns sprouting from a wide trapezoidal base, each column bore 7 —what the squidspawn could only assume where— names in the Kajic alphabet, with the base reading “CONSULATE-PASSPORT”. With these, the center of the medallion exhibiting a strange Diamond-symbol from which sprouted an array of sunbeams running beneath the two columns. “of the Western Expeditionary Initiative sent on behest of the 6 Consulate Cities; if you’d like to accompany me to my Wagon i’m sure we could have a far more civil conversation away from the crowd?” Waiting just a moment, Amón turned around and started heading for a cluster of wagons in a circle away from the main hub; upon reaching it he turned left into a squat structure, more of a tent than a carriage but with wheels the size of boulders. Upon entering, the two Lexidians were seated opposite him, split between a small swing-down desk. Hanging from the walls, however, was what easily caught their attention: Scrolls. Similar to the ones they’d seen in the de-facto marketplace only this time open, revealing a treasure trove of foreign symbols, most strangely however, was that they seemed to not be written from side to side, but down. Pulling out a black stone filled with what they assumed was ink, Amón drew a Brush out of a small compartment and began writing; “Now, to begin with, are there any laws that we should take into account when traversing Lexidus, that or paperwork that’d need to be sorted out here?”
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Mar 17, 2018 21:06:14 GMT -5
Abel, Lexidus
What luck, wondered Saoirse, the first Rohzai merchant we come across and it's their leader! A shrewd one at that, despite his obvious foreignness Saoirse immediately picked up on something they all shared, the smile. All merchants had to have a good smile, it was basically an unwritten rule in the merchant's charter. A good smile pulls a customer right in, pulls them away from your eyes which can betray your true feelings. His quick, almost microscopic glances at her squidspawn translator were very impressive, to the untrained eye it would have been unnoticeable. Saoirse smiled and gave her translator a reassuring nod. Following Amón to his tent and sitting herself across from him, she procured various documents and parchment, requesting to her translator that the squidspawn keep a written record of the conversation taking place. Soaking in her environment, filled to the brim with foreign wonder, she began to speak.
"Before we begin, I would just like to clarify that my companion is currently recording our conversation. Just a formality, the Merchant Association of Lexidus likes to record many conversations to allow for openness and clarity between our various city branches." A dull pain throbbed in her lower back. Bollocks, she thought, I'm going to have to go see a healer again. I'm getting old. Hiding her slight wince with a beaming smile she continued speaking in a soft and clear manner, making sure to speak at a comfortable pace for her translator and record keeper. "Anyway, first things first, there are only a couple things you need to keep in mind when travelling Lexidus. In regards to laws, you now fall under the jurisdiction of the Noble Kingdom of Lexidus, meaning you and your merchants are both protected and subject to our laws. You are given the same rights as any other merchant in Lexidus, including: 1. Freedom to trade whatever you have on you, in whichever city you choose, with whomever you wish to trade with. So long as you have the Association's permission. 2. Protection from harm, with the various guards from various cities being under oath to protect you. 3. The guaranteed assistance from any branch of the Association."
Saoirse briefly glanced at her translator's determined face, making sure she was keeping up, which she was. She couldn't help but smile at her plucky assistant. "You and your merchants shall be recognised as a Foreign Ensemble, meaning you must obey the following laws: 1. Wherever you find yourselves, you must record your stay with the city's Association branch, simply when you have arrived and when you are leaving. 2. Crimes committed against you and your people will be tried under Lexidun law, including crimes made by your merchants. 3. The Merchant Association of Lexidus has the final say in matters involving tax, tariffs and other matters that involve your trading in our lands. 4. Tax rates are usually 20% of whatever coin you make but as you are a Foreign Ensemble you pay 10%, refusal of taxation and/or avoidance will see your merchant's trading status revoked."
Saoirse took a breath, she briefly recalled the days where she could barely get past the reading of rights with some notes, she had dark red hair back then. Smiling at Amón she gave a slight chuckle. "Intimidating at first I know! But you only need to sign two documents to begin your trading within Lexidus. A Permission for Trade document where you sign your name and agree to our laws and your assigned rights. The other document is the Responsibility Forum, to which you accept your responsibility over your merchants' actions and your own in our land, officially recognising you as the representative of..." The old woman asked the squidspawn to repeat the name of Amón's company.
"...the Western Expeditionary Initiative." Placing the two documents in front of the Rohzai merchant, she clasped her hands together on top of her lap, still smiling. "Do you have any question or things you require Captain?
The North Star Sea, 30 miles west of the Ooter Isles
At least she didn't have to wear a bloody fur cloak any more. Eimear grimaced to herself as she let the sea air gently blow across her face, it was smooth sailing as they made their way further south, the ship barely swaying as it peacefully sailed ahead. The sun felt warm on her face which still sported a amused grimace. The ambassador had realised that her beloved king had been right all along to send her up there, any other so-called ambassador would have panicked, not Eimear though. She was the best for a reason and now she wrestled with herself on how she would apologise for her very frank letter she sent many a day ago. Probably get some duck...
Apologies can wait Eimear, she thought to herself, you've got a bigger problem right now. The icy pit in her stomach grew, refusing to melt under the warming touch of the midday sun, the gentle pace of the boat agitating her. The Asakor could attack at any moment, Myratnis above they could be attacking right now, breaking the half a millennia of peace Lexidus was formed under. "Breath you stupid idiot." Eimear hissed at herself as she leaned against the wooden railing at the ship's helm, staring ahead. They had the advantage, a declaration of war that letter was not, it was a casus belli. More than enough for Lexidus to recognise, rally against and declare war on. They needed to plan, mobilise and strike. She was no tactician but she recognised swift action was central to Lexidus' precursor's success.
She hoped above all else that Blair would recognise this, in fact she worried most of all about her liege and the role he was to play. She was not jealous of the weight about to be placed upon his shoulders, the first monarch to declare war in little over half a millennia and the first to declare against a foreign nation. It was time to prove himself and take his place in the annals of history, for better or for worse.
Camelon, Lexidus
"Fading you say?" Blair stared at the two grand magisters before him. His brow furrowed and his gray eyes switching between both Drake and Griffon's deeply worried gazes. The sight before him was a bizarre one, the two grand magisters of the Mages of Myratnis, notorious for their hatred for one another and refusal to be around one another. Now united in worry and actually agreeing one another and... supporting one another? Something must truly be wrong. Myratnis, Maither Kin'est, fading from this plane?
"Indeed your majesty." Sheepishly blurted out Drake, wringing his hands together, so much so that his grip was cutting off the circulation in his hands. Griffon quickly but uncharacteristically with respect interjected. "We find our magical abilities are the same as before, unaffected even but we also find ourselves unable to seek guidance from the mother." Griffon, who's stoic expression was betrayed by her shallow breaths, locked eyes with Crowley. The Royal Steward was leaning across the desk with his fists pressed against the top of it supporting himself. His stare was indomitable.
"What do you mean unable to seek guidance? I was under the impression Myratnis and thus your magical abilities went hand in hand, her assistance with your abilities and how well you performed them was her way of communicating with you. How can you seek guidance from someone whom you cannot speak with?" The King was speaking matter-of-factly, his interaction with the Mages having previously been very few and far in-between, he wasn't too versed on their way of operating.
"The seers my liege." Continued Drake, releasing his vice-like grip from his own hands. "We have seers who seek to contact the Holy Mother once every month, they are anointed by both blood and water. They're usually girls from ages 12 to 18, virgins obviously, full of life and purity. Their minds unclouded and anointed, they enter a trance-like state where they speak with Myratnis whom bestows her wisdom upon them. Their interactions are recorded and then disseminated amongst the mages; sometimes its advice on current affairs, how to perform certain spells more efficiently and even how to utilise water and blood in new and beneficial ways." Stopping himself, Drake turned to Griffon who hesitantly broke away from Crowley, fixing her eyes on King Blair de Brus.
"When trying to contact Myratnis recently however, dozens of seers have broken from their trances in a frenzy, screaming and babbling foreign tongues. Familiar words eventually forming but being all the same... darkness shall envelop us, she reaches out to us, she is fading."
At the mention of this Blair blinked. His steely gaze refusing to wither. However his heart on the other-hand dropped. Just like my dream, he worried to himself, darkness enveloping me as a mother reaches out after me. Blair straighten up, turning briefly to Crowley, nodding to him and then standing up from his throne. "You will continue as before and you will, under no circumstance, let this information spread any further. The seers and their families are to be compensated and put under extreme care. Anyone else in the room as them are to be closely watched, suppressed if need be. You can do so with sweet lies, promises of gold or threats of execution. I trust both you will keep your mages in line." The King spoke without pause, his hands on his hips and his gaze upon both of them. They both nodded instantly. "You will keep an eye on this, communicate with Myratnis if you have to but do so with digression and with consenting seers."
Drake muttered out loud. "But your majesty..."
"Do I make myself clear?" King Blair took a step forward, his raised voice echoing across the throne room, an expression of resolve adorning his face.
"Yes... your majesty."
? ? ? ?
The torch light hurt her eyes immensely. She wanted grandfather to put the torch out and to stop squeezing her hand so tight as they rushed through the tunnels. They were making too much noise, the others would hear them, she was scared of the others. Her grandfather was retching and coughing as she dragged her faster and faster through the unfamiliar tunnels. She wanted to go back the gently glow of their home, where the underriver flowed nearby, back to her stuffed toys made of the others' fur and skin. Her toys didn't scare her. Grandfather was running now, his retching and coughing echoing loudly and being met with howls of a bloodcurdling origin. He had awoken the others, they were coming for them. She began whimper as he lifted her into his arms, they were bony and cold, he had been ill for quite some time since she was born. Turning a corner, a blinding light shone at the end of the tunnel, a man wearing metal was calling to them. Grandfather tripped, the little girl tumbled and screamed as she collided into the dirt floor, narrowly missing the torch thrown in front of her. "Rach leanabh, ruith!" bellowed grandfather as she was pushed, running as fast as she could into the arms of the metal man. Her eyes burning in the bright room, she turned back into the darkness and saw her grandfather yell after her as the metal man began to seal the tunnel with a large circular door of gargantuan size. " "Leanabh beò!" he cried as white eyes, howls and darkness engulfed him as the metal man closed the tunnel in front of him. She screamed.
As darkness and claws enveloped him, Petre the Eternal, son of Yola I and 5th monarch of Lexidus. Finally died.
|
|
|
Post by axeldonia on Mar 19, 2018 14:34:01 GMT -5
? ? ?
Thick mist drifted slowly across the sea just off the coast of Einvereyja, the rising sun colouring the water a deep purple. A boat roughly the size of a regular fishing trawler bobbed up and down in the mist, unremarkable in all aspects but its crew, a diverse mix of Squidspawn, Kobolds and Enekebe. A thick rope hung off the side of the boat as half the crew busied themselves with tugging at it, the entire ship rocking slightly at the effort. After almost twenty minutes of pulling and heaving, the faint scraping of rock was heard against the wooden hull of the ship, followed by a loud thud as the thing attached to the rope was finally pulled onboard.
The small group gathered around the item, gazing at it in amazement as a pair of Enekebe pulled it upright. The object of everyone’s attention was a large stone statue of roughly human height, but the remarkable thing about it was its motif. The statue consisted of a pair of human-sized Squidspawn embracing, their chests pushed together and their fingers intertwined. Despite being made out of stone there wasn’t a single flaw to be found, every feature exquisitely detailed and no marks of any sort to be found in the stone. Well, there was one odd thing about it. The pair’s canines where unusually long, even by Squidspawn standards and gave all the Squidspawn an uncomfortable feeling, as if being watched. Regardless, their prize now in hand, the boat slowly turned around to return to shore.
Just outside Waldberg, Titenfisca.
The three-tounged banners of Angus Löwe fluttered in the midday wind all across the large camp of striped tents and wagons, complementing the rather brightly dressed men engaged in activities all over the camp. Riders trotted back and forth between the camp and the city, some bringing messages, some purchasing supplies before the journey and some simply taking the opportunity to go sight-seeing. Among all this commotion a small band of Squidspawn arrived on ponies, mostly civilian officials accompanied by a few riders in wavy blue tabards, kettle helmets and carrying spears. Finally arriving at the camp the Squidspawn dismounted, making their way further inside. After a few minutes of wandering they arrived at the centre of the camp, a small fortified square containing the headquarters as well as medical tents and stocks of food and building materials. Luckily the worst of the injuries being treated in the medical tents was the odd broken arm, but some of the Squidspawn still shuddered as they spotted it, recalling missions against pirates or bandits. Ship-on-ship combat was a rather brutal affair, both at a distance and when boarding.
The delegation finally reached the main tent, the small civilian delegation entering as the Squidspawn warriors joined the pair of human halberdiers in guarding the entrance. Stepping inside, they found Willhelmina, Angus and Till all perched over the same map, hemming and hawing. Waving a little to catch the trio’s attention, a Squidspawn with dark purple tentacles and the typical poofy clothing of the Squidspawn stepped forward and introduced themselves.
“Greetings. My name is Gale, newly elected minister of defence. Care to introduce me to your situation?”
Angus smiled and shook the Squidspawn’s hand, gesturing towards the other two as he talked.
“You have surely heard our names by now, so I’ll get straight to the point. What we’re doing here is a simple military exercise to get ourselves into proper fighting shape. Patrolling borderlands for bandits and pirates is one thing, but committing yourself to a transnational war is another thing entirely. We are currently discussing the matters of supply and transport, something that would no doubt interest the Titenfiscan government.”
“Indeed. It would also be most prudent to discuss strategies with the Lexidun government. I will send a report of today’s discussion to the Lexidun court to get some semblance of coordination.”
To His Majesty King Blair de Bruce; the Titenfiscan Government has now begun preparations conflict and the matters of transport, supply and strategy have been brought up in the circles of high command. As of now there are two proposed strategies: A direct attack via sailing the Titenfiscan fleet and as many men as they can carry to the coast of Asakor and establishing a beachhead, or a more moderate approach of shipping the tropps over the twin-city strait to link up with your troops and from there march all the way up to the land of our foes. Please reply at your earliest convenience with an answer or a proposal of your own. Yours, Gale Fishook, Minister of Defense.
|
|
|
Post by Chiernarosa on Mar 19, 2018 22:56:26 GMT -5
L-Ewwel Librerija tat-Tempju tal-Gwerra, Monasteru Għoli tal-Gwerra Alla, VaranThe young scribe quietly entered the main building, passing under the large oculus positioned at the center of the library's dome as the sunlight continued to shine brightly into the halls. As he looked, the scribe noted his fellow religious colleagues deep in study, meditation, quiet debate, or tending to the library's various documents: grasping at his own skin-scrolls, he looked around for the curator, eventually spotting the older man deep in prayer in front of the statue of the Warfather, captured in mid-feral roar as the marble construct raised a serrated axe in the air against an unseen foe. Quietly approaching, the scribe fell to his knees beside the curator, whispering his own prayer to Rigma, "Feroten Vest-na , Kanakht Haiten Xarot Veresh'ak Jaran (In dying light, Father is the spark)Za'val Horot , Ak-Voron Kan Met-ka Zavan (The Corruption beckons, yet He burns)Ko-jan Het Varet, Ye 'Na Kodan Xoval Kanakht (Where the False Ones fell, Father rises)Fer Tev-at, Arv'ashan Et X'arvat Nok'hat (When Death embraces us, We will not fear it like He as well)Dren'an Orox, Haren Kentan Kanekht Eret've (When the world burns, He and Mother will restore all)Heret vek Aeran, Arv-khot Shan Met (So We wait, Children of the Ashen One)Za-ek Xet, Teme Oron Kan (To Him We shall praise evermore)"The scribe looked up as the curator stood, a small smile on his face as he helped the scribe stand, "I can tell your understanding of Vaslen ag-Toden* has been improving, have you been visiting the Varan Uhrautuva Kamari like you promised?" The scribe nodded, giving a small laugh, "When I can get through the wall of my brothers, yes: the site has seen more traffic in the past several weeks than it has in the past 50 years," "Even in the modern age, we must always honor what our ancestors gave us, to better understand how they lived," the curator added as they walked to the far end of the library, passing through the cloth door and looking at the newer editions of scripture gathered, the scribe reaching into the pouch and pulling his contribution to the set, "I've recorded what you wanted me to gather from the Concilium Unionis Reipublicae and I must say, they're certainly an animated group of men." The curator simply nodded as he gently grabbed the scroll, unraveling it and reading the findings, "I'm not even surprised: they've always been like that, from my time as curator to the time of the First Shamans. Nevertheless, I'm thankful that you performed your duties: I recommend spending some time with the Temple of Nature, see what the followers of the Mother Goddess perform in their time of worship." The scribe nodded, stating, "I will see to my duties, farewell Grand Master." The curator gave a wave before turning back, placing the scroll in the pile and walking further into the chamber, eventually passing the second door into his chambers. Here, the curator fell to his knees, deep in thought as he began to feel fear, 'Father, why can we not hear you like before? Have we done something wrong? Every day, more of the Grand Masters report the same, that we cannot reach you. If you are in the Realm Above, I beseech you, speak to the children once more: there's little time left.' He stood still for several minutes, desperately hoping to hear even the faintest of echoes. Nothing: no words, no warmth, simply the feeling of a cold realm. *Simply translated as Tongue of the Dead, Vaslen ag-Toden is the former tongue of the pre-Kyran Tekkan Empire, having previously served as the national language for thousands of years. Following the collapse of the Tekkan and the formation of Kyras, Vaslen ag-Toden was revived by efforts from both the Temple of War and Temple of Nature to keep the language in some form of usage: in the modern age, Vaslen ag-Toden serves as the liturgical language of the Temple of War, having been well-preserved from former Tekkan sites, temples, and literature kept safe, while its origins and mechanics were recovered from the Varan Uhrautuva Kamari, or Varan Sacrifical Chamber, a pre-Tekkan tribal cavern that held not only the writings of tribes in that time period, but also with later transcriptions for the Early Modern Kyran language that formed into the modern Ilsien tal-Gwerra. Unlike most ancient languages, Vaslen ag-Toden appears to be a constructed rather than natural language, having extensive records detailing its pronunciation, grammatical construction, and even diacritics for the original abjad: such records include the pronunciation of the letter "X" as "sh," apostrophes in-between words indicating a sharper pronunciation, and the various "attached" forms such as "na," "ak," "ka," "jan," "at," and "khot."
|
|