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Post by Chiernarosa on Mar 30, 2018 0:20:10 GMT -5
Kyran Underground Echoes in the chambers.
That was what she was raised to believe: the voices were just echoes in the chambers. She could not recall much of her past, only that she had spent years in the caverns, vast networks of tunnels, caves, and glowing seas, and that the underground was her home. Dimly, she looked out at the large sea before her, freshwater glowing in a dazzling display of both blues and greens, seemingly endless like the rock walls that made the underground what it was: she knew better than to approach the shoreline by herself, for while she was a warrior of the tribe, she herself could not defend against the creatures that lurked below.
One of the tribe's infants had not learned this lesson, however, and had ventured too close to the shore: before the tribe had a chance to pull the youngling away, the beast* launched its assault and dragged the screaming child below the waves. She knew what these creatures had looked like, even with the speed that they had gliding in the water: the creatures had looked similar to the tribe, walking on two legs, possessing strong arms, and with horns on their heads, and yet, they were not the same. The beasts had webbing lining their fingers and toes, they could not move well once out of the water, and they seemed to gasp heavily once out of the water for too long, the holes in their necks shuttering repeatedly until the warriors would kill it.
No great loss, she thought to herself, looking back at the claw marks from the infant's pitiful attempt at escaping: the tribe felt the same, even the mother, her bloated form only quivering as the mewling infants continued to suckle for milk. They had learned to trust their instincts from birth, to neglect them was actively calling for death, and would be met with no pity. Yet, the tribe was being whittled down, slowly but assuredly: the week before, two of the younger warriors foolishly went forward ahead of the tribe into a Laughing Man* nest. the tribe simply moving onwards as they were buried under the acid and flesh of the croaking beings. Three days previous, one of the families had accidentally tripped a Flesh Rat* den, the chittering stomatopods simply tearing the weaker children apart before devouring the parents bit by bit.
She suddenly felt the hand of her spouse rest upon her shoulder: spinning around, she saw her spouse point a delicate finger to the front, leaning more to the left - her ears were better at detecting the source, expected for a Seer of the Light.* Barking several orders, she summoned the warriors to join her, four taking the rear of the stationary tribe and the rest moving forward. The echoes in the chambers came once more, she felt the whispers, barbaric and guttural to her own ears, yet closer than the previous times: she only gained her senses back when her spouse shouted out in fear.
It crawled apprehensively towards her at first, seemingly sensing the weapons she had at hand, the natural light of the mushrooms on the walls giving it a bluish tint on its skin, yet she could see the red welts and the gash along its throat. She could not see any eyes along what she assumed was its head: rather, she saw two large flaps which furled open, along with small points running along the forward tip, all the while she could see the sharpened rostrum moving slightly in the air, probing for its surroundings. Suddenly, the beast paused at it turned directly at her, the feeling of dread building up as she could see it check the air and its muscles tense, silently hoping that the beast would go away.
The giggling croak dashed all hopes of that, the Laughing Man moving towards her as the hole in its neck vibrated, the croak becoming gurgled as the digestive acids ran over it, a grotesque image of salivation coming to mind. It began to move fasted, closing the gap as the echoes drew nearer, the warriors only watching in horror as the Laughing Man was upon her.
The signature embrace did not happen: instead, the Laughing Man's chest was ripped open as a slashing cut drew across it, the pata* slicing through the weakened flesh with ease. She could only look as she saw a being similar in appearance to the tribe roar in the guttural language, clad in strange armor that blanketed its upper body, the shining material covering its legs not even weakening as the Laughing Man secreted additional acid in an attempt to kill the newcomer. The being was undeterred and simply swung the pata once more, cutting one of its forearms clean off, the Laughing Man slumping over yet still crawling as its giggles increased in frequency.
After several more swings, the being had slain the Laughing Man, its corpse growing cold in the light of the mushrooms. She felt her spouse rush towards her, grabbing her face and peering into her eyes, looking for damage: she felt nothing except apprehension at the owners of the echoes as they emerged from the sea. Azkalon was not pleased.
He had been sent by his settlement of Nimir on the Eastern Surface to investigate the supply issues, at least initially. What had happened instead was four months of trekking across the surface until he reached the entry point at the Varan Uhrautuva Kamari, accessing the drop-off into the underground. He had hoped to not pass through Reis'kjan*, the Dead City as was recorded in the Kamari: he had only heard rumors from shell-shocked former Merchants who had supposedly passed through the city, bringing tall tales of depravity, madness, and degrading conditions that could sicken even the hardiest warriors of the Warfather.
Fate was most fortunate that he only had to pass through the outskirts of Reis'kjan, yet he had wished to burn the images out of his mind: he saw maddened auctioneers shrieking in ancient tongues as they passed through the human cattle, men and women who had their hands and feet torn off, reduced to eating slop from buckets covering their mouths and brands embedded all over their skin. He saw people being ravaged in the streets, the spectators simply roaring in adulation and throwing currency at several beings walking around, collecting the currency and herding the throwers to the center for their turns, he saw the sacrifices made at the temple for Reis'kjan's arcane gods, yet there was no prayer, no recognizable priest, simply the masses rushing forward and devouring the captives with no mercy.
It wasn't until they reached the Kha'j'an* trade outpost did he learn about the inroads being made in securing the underground, how feral Scorched Ones were being brought back to the auspices of the Warfather in exchange for services. He had hoped to not be dragged in, but the Merchant had known about his status as a Phylakitai* and used it against him for a favor.
He was Azkalon den-Kayros, Phylakitai of the settlement of Nimir, enforcer of his Lord's will, and here he was negotiating with the savages of the underground. He had been informed of a tribe of the Scorched Ones that had been contracted to investigate the possibility of Reis'kjan releasing Laughing Men and flesh rats into the surrounding territories. His men had watched with horror when one of the aquatic predators pulled a child into the water, further amplified when the tribe simply walked away, no grief or even panic. It wasn't until they saw one of the females approach another, the latter only clad in a sort of leather armor along with hardened fungi, that they began to move in.
It was the quick thinking of the Aven dan-Rigma* that was with them that the warrior even survived the Laughing Man, the man making use of his tools to kill the beast within minutes: now Azkalon stood in front of the warrior, his men flanking him as they pulled the boat ashore, a katet firing into the water and shooting the beasts that attempted to crawl ashore. He reached a hand out to the warrior, who stared inquisitively at the gesture until he felt another presence to his right: Tahra an-Fenrox, the Scorched One who served as an interpreter for the post at Kha'j'an. Tahra knelt down, meeting the warrior and the strange woman next to her eye-to-eye and began to speak, the latter two perking up in surprise as they responded rapidly in their language. Azkalon felt his disgust begin to rise up, only dying down when Tahra stood up and stated, "This woman is the chief warrior of the tribe, the other woman is her wife and a Seer of the Light, essentially a spiritual guide: they had been moving from the caverns in the south in order to evade Reis'kjan and their forces, looking for lodging in one of the western settlements. Besides the Laughing Men, they've only encountered the tribes that reside in this area, but they want to move as far away from Reis'kjan as possible. They ask if you can help them."
Azkalon felt his anger boil over, pulling the spatha from its scabbard as he hissed, "I am a patient man, but if these savage inbreeders expect me to detract any further just so they can fling their shit at one another and fuck in the mud, then they are sorely mistaken." The Aven moved fast, pata at his throat as the man stated, "They are the representations of the Warfather: as his Shard, you will not harm them while I am here," Tahra also adding, "I am the representative of the Merchant Post of Kha'j'an and you will heed my master's will when I say that spilling their blood will be in violation of the contract and your status as a Phylakitai. You will provide them support or else," she added with a hint of malice, a spark of fire in her eyes as she felt the Warfather's wrath course through her being.
Azkalon glared at the two, eyes darting between them and the two Scorched Ones on the ground, still huddled like children, before growling in anger and hissing, "What, pray tell, did your master mean in the manner of aiding these savages," the last word dripping with venom as he ignored Tahra's glare, "Phylakitai, you are to either guide them to the west or bring them with us back to Kha'j'an: either decision will require one of your men to return with the new to the Merchant Post. What will you decide?"
Azkalon felt the rage boil further, but it suddenly changed, the fire turning ice-cold, tempered like steel, "We will go west: if the settlements refuse to take them in, I'll send one of my men back to Kha'j'an to inform them on the possibility of sending them to Asil. That is my decision, and if it fails, I am leaving them to their own devices: besides, they've operated independently and just fine at that." Tahra saw what he meant, but she knew that, for the time being, he was the de facto leader given the support of his men, "Very well: I'd advise you to send a hertag into the tunnels east of here: they lead directly to Kha'j'an, but the route is still being charted and will take longer, but it will be safer than swimming through the sea." Azkalon nodded, turning back to the Scorched Ones and gesturing them to stand up.
1. Sea beasts - Presumably an offshoot of the Scorched Ones, little is known about these humanoid relatives besides their ferocity and adaptation to living in the water, including a melon located around their head and spinal cord, gills along the sides of their neck, a set of rudimentary lungs, and powerful limbs ending in webbed appendages. 2. Laughing Men - The largest of the humanoid insects that reside in the underground, Laughing Men are two-meter tall ambush predators that have adapted to life below the surface: notably, they've developed a set of lungs to intake enough air for growth, rather than breathing through their skin. The structure of a Laughing Man is unique and is specialized for their role: the first and second limbs had fused with the third and fourth ones to produce powerful front limbs capable of grasping, pinning, and crushing their prey, while the fifth and sixth limbs have developed powerful talons which grip the surface of the caverns easily. What is presumably a mouth running horizontally along their throat is, in fact, a specialized trachea which emits the Laughing Mens' signature giggling croak, while their head has adapted for the darkness of the underground - the head consists of the rostrum, pointing upwards and capable of puncturing through fungal armor, the echolocative flaps, which emit signals to detect sonar pings and serve as a protective shielding for their more delicate organs, and nostrils which harden into points and serve to detect faint scents. The Laughing Mens' method of hunting relies on ambushing and waiting out their prey, usually targetting creatures that fall into one of Kyras' many pathways to the underground, or hunting the local fauna. When they've detected prey and move in for the kill, the Laughing Man will emit their croak to signal nearby Men before enveloping their prey in a vice-like grip: this is compounded with digestive acids that the Men secrete all over their bodies, which give them their signature skin welts and dissolve the prey down, eventually sucking the liquefied remains down the rostrum. Image of a Laughing Man patrolling the underground - orig00.deviantart.net/41e9/f/2014/020/4/7/the_laughing_people_by_abiogenisis-d72yti5.jpg3. Flesh Rats - Contrary to their name, Flesh Rats are, in fact, stomatopods that branched off from the subspecies of mantis shrimp residing in the Kreigsfalden, later adapting to a permanent lifestyle upon land. The Flesh Rat is a specialized predator capable of hunting and killing prey far larger than themselves: the most peculiar features of the Rat includes a fully-functional secondary brain and set of eyes located above the fifth and sixth limbs, a powerful tail that serves as a ninth limb for launching themselves several meters in the air, highly-developed talons on the third and fourth limbs with enough strength and capability to tear and smash through bone easily, powerful jaws lined with the first and second limbs also capable of tearing into bone with ease, a fur-like integument that keeps the Rat insulated, copper-based blood that increases oxygen intake and allows the Rat to grow in size, and a ring-like internal skeleton that developed from the mantis shrimp's exoskeleton. In a peculiar case, the Flesh Rats are hermaphrodites capable of mating and giving birth to live young, the reproductive process coming from mating once in their life before storing the sperm and producing young Rats throughout their lifetimes: this is a particularly gruesome failsafe as should the Rat accidentally give birth while alive, wounded, or dead, their young will immediately resort to devouring either the parent Rat's body or each other. Cannibalistic by default, Flesh Rats will more than gladly feed on each other when they cannot find prey to hunt (or in a break from the symbiotic relationship, a Laughing Man), but are also adaptive pack hunters that hold a symbiotic relationship with the Laughing Men: while the Men constrict the prey, the Rats hunt any additional life in the immediate area, storing the spoils for hard times, along with receiving enzymes from the Laughing Men's digestive acids by puncturing the boils and lapping up the mixture - this frees the Man to heal and avoid injuring itself by hunting and the Rats become more potent and harder to devour. Sketch of an adult Flesh Rat - img00.deviantart.net/3c36/i/2014/152/5/5/henders_rat_by_saberrex-d7kld6a.jpg4. Seers of the Light - A specialized role within the feral Scorched Ones populations, the Seers are believed to be able to witness opportunities and methods of survival for the tribe, believed to be primitive contact with Myratnis: scientifically, it is believed to be a mild case of schizophrenia which induces the purported contact. 5. Pata - A specialized sword, this weapon is unique for having a gauntlet as an integrated handguard. Ranging from 10 to 44 inches in length, the blades of a pata are designed similar to a broadsword in function and production, while the gauntlet is padded to provide additional comfort. Despite its appearance, the pata is actually designed for cutting and slashing rather than thrusting and stabbing due to the position of the gauntlet, and is commonly used in cavalry charges as a form of proto-saber, slashing and breaking the ranks for troops to break through the defenses. Pata are commonly used alongside another weapon, such as the Aven wielding it on their non-dominant hand with the standard Kriegsmesser on the other hand, along with utilizing a shield or even a pata in both hands (some cases have also reported the pata being used with a similar blade called the katara, a push daggar that compensates the pata's design by relying on weight to deliver powerful thrusts and stabs). 6. Reis'kjan - Also known as the Dead City, Reis'kjan is the largest confirmed underground settlement in Kyras, boasting a population of 20,000 residents and an unknown number of slaves. Despite its size and location underneath Varan (accessible through the Varan Uhrautuva Kamari), Reis'kjan is infamous for its daily bouts of brutality and violence, with crimes normally enough to warrant an immediate execution above being common sights on the streets of Reis'kjan: such crimes include murder, mass homicide, torture, rape, robbery, and assault between people. Notably, Reis'kjan has a religious system separate from the rest of Calveria, actively denying the existence of the gods, while promoting beliefs that have not been well-charted. Despite its location, Reis'kjan is de facto independent from Kyras, enforced by a well-trained and brutal security force, strategic encampments, and threats of invading Varan if interference is made. 7. Kha'j'an - A remote trading outpost located beneath Kep'l Merta, Kha'j'an is the most immediate outpost for the Roaming Merchants operating in the underground, with a permanent population of 100 guards, servants, and the Merchant Lord in charge of the outpost. Kha'j'an is unique for its approach towards the feral population of Scorched Ones residing in the underground, opting to form contracts charting the underground for maps and prospective sites, primarily for new settlements and trade lines. 8. Phylakitai - A unique office granted to select soldiers, the Phylakes, as they are known in plural, are the main enforcers of the Falanx and the Valdības un Savienības Pilnvaras, often granted additional equipment and extraordinary powers to enforce the laws of the Republic, often serving as a last resort against a rogue tribe or warlord in Kyran territory. Notably, the Phylakes hold separate lodging in Varan: rather than residing in the laconic quarters within the Residential Sector that the Falanx and top military officials live in, the Phylakes hold apartments in Xanakht, the premier villa of Varan and one of the most expensive places to live in. The Phylakes are divided into three ranks, based on seniority: the Phylax, or the newly-appointed members, they form the majority of the Phylakes; the Phylakitai, or veteran Phylakes, they are a smaller force but are more skilled and receive additional benefits; and the Somatophylakes, the personal bodyguards of the Falanx, each Somatophylax is a veteran who has earned the right to protect the council and live a comfortable life. The commanding officer of the entire Phylakes is the Somatophylakitai, an elected official who is the senior-most Phylax and has the support of the Falanx when elected. 9. Aven dan-Rigma - Considered the most dangerous infantry unit in Kyras, the Aven dan-Rigma, or Shard of Rigma, is either a powerful mage trained in the art of war or a Scorched One close to entering the permanent rage common in the subspecies. Each Shard is capable of using fire-based spells on the field, a less-taxing effort than the mages who summon the Valnare to the field: as with all forms of magic, the usage of fire spells wears down on the Shard until they collapse mid-battle, are slain, or succumb to rage. Armed with a Kriegsmesser, a yard-long saber/hunting knife, pata, a 4.5 foot plate sheild, and supplies of the concoction known as fire-water, the Shard rushes to battle in a specialized set of armor consisting of an aketon with chainmail embedded into the coat, metal plates on the arming points, and metal leg armor, this makes the Shard a hard-to-kill juggernaut that rampages on the ground. When they succumb to the rage, however, the Shard turns on anything close to them, setting them on fire or killing them with their bare hands: the only individual capable of calming a Shard is the Aegelse dan-Myratnis, or Shard of Myratnis, a field medic who risks getting burned alive, torn apart, or brutally murdered in another manner by the Aven. Because of their rarity, along with the years of training to hone them into the fearsome unit seen in battle, the Aven are kept from being deployed unless absolutely necessary.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Mar 30, 2018 16:27:20 GMT -5
The War Room, Camelon
Hail Gale Fishook,
As much as I would like to have her rest, Eimear does not grant me such pleasure, she is making her way to Mündungshafen to act as my representative. There she will make way to your camp and allow for a more direct consultation during this conflict. She's specifically stated to me she doesn't want the red carpet rolled out for her! Regardless, Lexidus and Titenfisca can now be considered at war with Asakor, with Fyllia as our co-belligerent. Our 10,000 men known as the Lexidun Forward Division have amassed in both Loness and Nola, the Trident Regiment will be spearheading the forces and will be the first boots on Asakor soil. As I write this letter to you, I have given the order to commence travel to southern Asakor, where the Royal Lexidun Navy will commence their bombardment of the southern province and settlements of Kalthaven. Once I receive confirmation of the establishment of a beachhead, we shall begin the invasion, steel yourself. Myrat Vult.
King Blair de Brus of the Noble Kingdom of Lexidus
Blair rubbed his eyes, slumped in a chair next to the map table. He didn't pay much heed to the goddess above, he never would. Now however, he finally understood why men would pray to the gods in times of strife.
Wetwood Port, North Star Isles
It was a sight to behold. Ships as far as the eye could see, all sailing from Nola from the south to the tip of the isle at Wetwood. His estimates were correct, over 200 transport ships with 40 soldier aboard on each, all protected by the full might of the offensive Lexidun Navy. High Admiral Hunter MacLeish surveyed his work and felt a catharsis swim through him, he loved seeing his plans come together. Aboard the Capitol Ship, the "Yola's Fury", Hunter gave the horn blower the final call. The sound reverberated across far and wide as fellow horn blowers responded with their deep instrumented bellow. With this, the ships disembarked, cheering emanating far and wide from the both the transport craft and the ports as people waved their soldiers and sailors away. Off to war. The Capitol Ship took the lead, ships sailing beside it in a line, ready to take on whomever would dare to challenge them. Followed by transport craft and yet another offensive line of ships, stretching far and wide. The High Admiral walked down to the forward deck where the Royal General stood, poised at the ready, his silver armour shining bright as the morning light shone upon him.
"So it begins." Stated Hunter as he stood beside the older man. "Lexidus sails to war."
"It is so my lad... May Myratnis lend your ships steady waves and my soldiers steady hearts."
Wetwood Inn, North Star Isles
Her eyes stung as she rubbed them, how long had she been asleep for? Raising herself from the straw bed and scanning her foreign environment she was perplexed. The... structure? Building. Was made of wood, with only the floor being made of stone and even then it was.. in pieces? No, cobbled, that was the word. She found herself searching for the words taught to her by her mother, of the upside world. Approaching the door, Leanabh heard a commotion beyond it. She opened the door slightly and peeked through. It was Donn Myra! She was by a counter of some kind, with other people speaking to her. They were dressed in similar armour to her own, three figures, their armour having black leather as opposed to Myra's brown. Their voices were gruff, unpleasant and also angry, clashing with Myra's calm and gentle voice and its responses. She could barely make out their conversation, her Common being very basic. Myra referred to them as Dubh, they were demanding something from her. Of what, Leanabh was not sure, all she knew was that the conversation was getting more and more hostile. The other people in the inn, of whom were remarkable rosy in skin she noted, were becoming nervous and wary. In an instance, a scream erupted out of Leanabh's view as one of the Dubh drew their sword and swung as Myra. As swiftly as he drew it, Myra avoided it, dashing backwards and drawing her hand-axe in response. The other two Dubh drew their swords, the two of them slowly circling Donn Myra, unable to keep facing both of them as one of them walked to her flank. Leanabh flung her door open and yelled at the two men, one of them dropping their guard to turn to her. Myra took advantage of this and lunged at him, bringing her axe down upon the distracted Dubh. The hand-axe slammed against his metal helmet and a loud clang and crunch emanated across the Inn, yelling in pain, the injured Dubh fell to his knees swinging wildly. Myra dodged and engaged another who almost flanked her, locking her axe with his blade, the two struggled for advantage. The other Dubh who initiated the fight turned to Leanabh and ran towards her, Donn Myra managing to break her struggle with her opponent and scream at her.
"RUN CHILD RUN!"
She sprinted out of the door as fast as she could, she ran as fast as her legs could let her. Dashing out into the streets of Wetwood, her eyes burned and tears began to stream from them. Running almost blind she bumped into numerous people, all voicing their displeasure and then some more as they were pushed out of the way by her pursuer. It was the Dubh. His rough voice yelling after her. She only ran faster, trying as hard as she could to try and see through her burning eyes. There she saw a group of metal men, their armour was different than the Donn and Dubh, much smoother and shiner. She ran in between them, hoping to hide in the massive crowd of the metal men. The Dubh ceased his pursuit and held back, making sure not to agitated the massive group. Leanabh breathed as hard as she could to catch her breath, wiping her eyes frequently, she was safe for now. As she began to calm down and tried to push herself further amongst the group of armoured men. They all began to start moving into an oddly shaped wooden structure, this structure was floating on the water. Was this a boat? It was unlike any small underboat she had ever travelled in underground. Then she realised, the crowd was thinning and dispersing into the boat, they would soon be gone and she would then be without a hiding place. She had to act, fast. She noticed a large wooden box, its lid unhinged. She swiftly clamoured inside of it as the people in front of her dwindled, quickly closing the lid behind her, hoping she had not been spotted again. She waited... and waited. For quite sometime she could hear commotion and people talking. She made sure to keep as quiet as possible. After all seemed to quieten down, she reached for the lid on her hiding place. Before she could do so however, the box was lifted by some unseen force and being moved. She attempted to scream as this happened but slammed her head hard as the box with her in it jostled. Darkness enveloped her as she heard a large bellowing horn erupt around her and the cheers of countless men.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Mar 31, 2018 13:16:27 GMT -5
The War Room, Camelon
"So once we bombard the southern settlements in the south and establish a successful beachhead. What do you propose afterwards?" Enquired Crowley to his King, of whom was drawing on the charcoal map.
"Before his departure, me, the high admiral and the royal general stated that we would deploy our defensive capabilities on the beachhead and leave a strong enough and entrenched force to defend it as our Forward Division march north straight for the capitol of Asakorus. I imagine they'll be caught off guard and with their forces being on the Western Front, any forces that encounter us will be weak indeed." Stated Blair as he drew a long black line leading from southern Asakor to their capital city. "As we amass our forces around their city, the Fyllians might find themselves relieved as the forces fighting them will be drawn away to defend their capital. Meaning they can push east. Whilst our forces alongside the Titenfiscans can offer a peace deal to the encircled city. If they decline we will siege their city and take them down. If they accept, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement and humble them somewhat."
"You think they'll really surrender?" Mused Crowley.
King Blair de Brus drawled his words slightly as he focused on the various strokes from his piece of charcoal "...I don't know. I've sent a letter to the High Chief, appealing to his senses to surrender and to challenge this High Shaman but I don't expect much in return."
"Meaning you don't think they'll surrender...?"
Blair paused and stared at his map. His fingertips messy and black. "I don't know Crowley. I honestly don't know what they're thinking of doing up there."
To the High Chief and High Shaman
I received a letter from you lot some time ago and I am writing to you now to say this. We have declared war upon you, Titenfisca and Fyllia fight by our side, surrender now and we will show mercy. Our Northern Realms have been peaceful for many millennia and you now jeopardise this peace in the name of Myratnis? See reason for goddess sake! You are out manned and outmanoeuvred, I have the full force of my army and navy making its way to your southern coast as I write this. The Titenfiscans too. By the time this letter reaches you, we will have established ourselves in your country and will be marching for your capital. Let go of this foolish crusade and see reason through Myratnis, she would have us be allies, not enemies! Cease your attack upon Fyllia and renounce your aggressive claims on us all and we will be merciful. If you refuse, we will bring ourselves down upon you and render you asunder. It is your choice to make. Make it the right one.
King Blair de Brus of the Noble Kingdom of Lexidus
The Yola's Fury, North Star Strait (1 mile from the Asakor Southern Coast)
"Ship! Ship ahead! Yelled the spyglasser, peering through his brass telescope, the High Admiral picking up his own and peering ahead. He could see the white landscape before him, the country of Asakor. The coast was lined with a few settlements, not heavily fortified and with small forces of people mingling within them. Closer to the capitol vessel was a ship, a boat rather of a small capacity.
"It looks like a merchant boat sir! Admiral what do we do? Do we engage?" Squawked the spyglasser. Hunter scanning the boat for any hostile forces on it, finding none with obvious blade or bow. It could be a decoy craft filled with explosives but judging by there being multiple crew on it that would be absurd. The Asakor wouldn't be so savage as to have a manned suicide boat. Would they?
"They have someone wounded aboard sir..." Muttered the navigator, who was also a Mage of Myratnis, all Navigators on Royal Lexidun Vessels were. She held her hand in the air, her eyes shut tightly, almost trying to feel something in the air. "They are the only wounded person however."
Hunter's mind raced. A singular merchant boat with wounded aboard? What does this mean? Could he take the chance? Now was not the time for indecision, he concluded. He had to make his choice as the vessel grew closer and closer.
"Prepare for boarding, have the archers trained on it at all times, send a small boarding party and force them to identify themselves."
"Aye, aye Admiral!" Yelled the ship's captain. Steering the ship as to cut off the path of the merchant ship and to allow for the attack and transport ships in the firing line to pass them.
"Admiral. The first line of attack ships have passed us and are now approaching the coast. Shall we give the order to begin bombardment?" Yelled the spyglasser once more.
"...begin. SOUND THE HORN!" The High Admiral bellowed, followed by the chain reaction of the horn blower bellowing ever louder, various horns erupting across the hundreds of ships sailing towards the coast.
The Southern Coastline, Asakor
Dunsley was sweating, despite the obvious cold air that surrounded him and his fellow soldiers, beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as he tried desperately to swallow the lump that was still present in his throat. All 40 men of his troop, huddled together on the top deck, attack ships on either side of them and more transport ships adjacent to them and so forth. They began to sail slower and slower as the attack ships sailed ahead, turning themselves sideways as they did so. Dunsley was never one for counting due to his poor school record but he reckoned there were over 50 ships in this first row. Behind them another 50 plus, it was sight to behold, he would hate to be the savages on the opposite end of this mighty force. However, he couldn't help the wave of nervous fear sweep through him however, he had heard tales of the Asaki. Bears and Wolves with the bodies of men, could they fall to a swing of his steel blade? Or the stab of a pike? They were soon to find out and Dunsley was dreading the outcome.
CRA-KOOM
Dunsley nearly fell on his backside as the ships to the side of him and behind him fired their cannons. His ears rang and whined as a drone emanated forwards as the cannon balls flew towards the southern settlements in front of them, a humongous net of iron balls hurtling towards them. It took the wave of iron 5 seconds to land and when it did, the white landscape erupted in a cloud of smoke, fire and rubble.
"HAHA WOO! GIVE EM HELL NAVY BOYS AHAHHA" Laughed a soldier next to Dunsley, almost maniacally.
Dunsley squinted, trying to make out what was happening to the settlements on the coast, all he could see was bits of them flying in the air and... goddess. He hoped that wasn't a person who just flew up in the air. As the ringing began to subside, he could make out an odd sound to his left. He was at the back of the wooden boat and all that was next to him on his left was a wooden crate. He swear he could hear... whimpering? He lent in closer, trying to her the noise bette-
CRA-KOOM
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Post by Vista Major, MP on Apr 1, 2018 19:28:19 GMT -5
“Brethren.”
The Protect-Master, Mar’ar Ne'arzen, stood upon the High Chief’s pedestal before the High Council, wearing a long night black and emerald green robe adorned with Asakorian runes, words of conquest, sacrifice, and victory sewn into the rich fabric. He wore a calm, gentle smile on his face as every single one of the Councillors raged against him in uproar.
“WHERE IS TORVUS?!”
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM, TOKORE?!”
“YOU CAN’T DECLARE YOURSELF ‘HIGH MASTER’!”
“YOU’LL CONDEMN US ALL THE LOWEST HELL!”
“I understand that you all are confused-”
“CONFUSED, MY ASS!”
“-but you all should be aware that everything is under control.”
“HOW?!” the High Council shrieked in unison.
“He attempted clergicide against me. As such, I exercised cathedral privilege to arrest him. While he has unfortunately escaped, there has been no news of his whereabouts; he can be presumed dead or on the verge of it.”
The High Council fell silent. Mar’ar scoffed and continued.
“Now, as for the war, I believe we can have a decisive win over Fyllia; reports from the western front show no grand forces have been rallied against us; if they don’t surrender, conquest will be swift.”
Gruntling.
“For the other enemy…” Mar’ar produced from his robe an ornate letter. “This comes from ‘King’ Blair of Lexidus. They are arriving on our southern coast in attempt to raid their way up to the capital and erase us from the face of the tundra.”
Councillors from the southern provinces began to anger and panic.
“But you have nothing to fear! Indeed, they have never faced Asakorian land before; they will struggle and fall. Half their fleet, ten thousand weak, shall die before they even step foot upon our walls. By the time they do, I can ensure that the Fyllian front will be secured enough for us to institute a levy of Fyllian men and get them here quickly enough to defend us.”
“And what of the tribes? There are dozens from there to Askorus, and they are unprepared for even five thousand humans!”
“They will be a worthy sacrifice. Our warriors, along with the bitter cold, will wear their army down for us. Gentlekin, one cannot expect to fight a war and not have certain folk die for the cause.”
“BEOKOR!”
The Councillors rose from their wooden seats and swarmed towards the high pedestal. Before they could lay a hand on the High Master, Mar’ar lifted his arms to the ice glass ceiling, balled his fists, and swung them down towards the ground with a mighty grunt. In an instant, the dome and the walls of the council chamber fell, glass shards cutting deep into furred skin and stones crushing heads and limbs. Once the dust had cleared, only Mar’ar stood unscathed, surrounded by glass, snow bricks, and the mangled bodies of the High Council buried under it all. Guards started rushing in and balked at the sight of it all.
“The High Council has been dismissed,” Mar’ar said simply to the shocked onlookers. Then he looked towards one of the Hyarin priests that began to assemble.
“R’sken,” he said. “You gave me this letter from Lexidus, yes?”
“I-I-I did, Your… Highness.” R’sken said, scared for his life.
“Hm.” Mar’ar calmly walked over the rubble and death before stopping in front of the senior priest with a near-devilish smirk.
“Write back to them on my behalf: tell them they can suck my holy, furry cock.”
R’sken gasped.
“Oh, don’t act so prudish; it’s not like the Holy Mother is around anymore to care what any of us says.”
Dear “King” Blair de Brus,
The High Master of Asakor and Fyllia has read your letter with most earnest, and indeed thanks you for the correspondence. However, he would like for your false state to accept the grand fact that your forces simply won’t be able to conquer Asakor. There will be no surrender on our part; only yours. He declares that if you disagree with the assessment, you can savor upon his pure Askin member like the mangy dog you are.
Sincerely, R’sken Gegor, Senior Hyarin Priest of the Cathedral
P.S.: My most sincerest apologies; ever since the High Chief Torvus was deposed, Mar’ar has become ever more bold.
“My Chief, we’re about to be boarded.”
Torvus looked at the Askin captain with slight worry. He was already in bewilderment at the Lexidusian invasion before them. He didn’t know what those soldiers would think when they walked onto a merchant ship full of Askin, Hyarin, and a couple Barskin (the latter of which were armed).
“What will we do, Kasaer?” Neavara said. “We can’t let them kill the High Chief!”
“You are right. Stay back, and leave it to me.”
Kasaer took the helm of the boat and orderd his crew to lower the masses: the Bakanenar slowed to a halt as the Lexidus forces approached. A few minutes later, everyone was lined up at starboard as the ship was boarded, the humans barking order at them to identify themselves.
“Hello,” Kasaer said curtly. “I’m Kasaer, the captain of this vessel. I am carrying with me four Hyarin, two Barskin, and five Alkin, including myself and Torvus Delakarz, the High Chief of Asakor.”
Torvus nodded at the boarding party. “Perhaps I should explain myself.”
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Apr 2, 2018 7:23:53 GMT -5
The War Room, Camelon
"Someones rattled..." contemplated Crowley, scanning the letter sent by none other than the aggressive "High Master" himself. He had to snatch it away from Blair's hand because he was laughing so much.
"OH my days Crowley... aheh... I was expecting a clashing of egos here but not THAT type of ego ahahahaha!" Blair erupted into laughter again, pinching the bridge of his nose between his shut eyes, desperately trying to stifle himself.
Crowley however did not find the letter as amusing and waited patiently for Blair to get a hold of himself. To him, this letter was a valuable piece of information. Someone had consolidated power up north and was the sole-leader now of Asakor. His money was always on the High Shaman, Mar’ar, but with that being the case. Then what became of the High Chief Torvus?
"Aw that poor wee R’sken, imagine having to write an insult like that! Poor boy must have been scarred for life!" Chuckled Blair, standing up from a chair and approaching Crowley. "Hell I like this High Master! Not afraid to say what he wants! Get me some parchment and I'll write a resp-"
"No Blair." Countered Crowley without hesitation. "You need to be focused and leading us, not trading insults over who should suck whom's member."
"...Alright then! But as soon as we siege their city I'm heading up north as soon as possible to meet this High Master face to face!"
The Southern Coastline, Asakor
CRA-KOOM
Dunsley had been bracing his ears for nearly 10 minutes now. Countless volleys had been fired into the Asakor coastline, settlements and people almost wiped from the face of Calveria. His ship began to shudder forwards and he released his hands from his ears.
"30 SECONDS TILL LANDING." Bellowed the Sergeant at the front of his troop. The soldiers began to cheer and yell, readying their weapons. Dunsley's ears were ringing.
"20 SECONDS TILL LANDING!" Dunsley was streaming with sweat, he wiped his brow as quickly as he could, desperate to return his hands quickly to his sword and shield. For something to give him courage.
"10 SECONDS!!" He felt the wooden crate next to him jostle, probably just the waves. Oh goddess, its just snow and smoke.
"MYRATNIS GUIDE YOU BOYS! ONWARDS!" Yelled the Sergeant as the boat beached and the hatch on the side of the boat flung open. In an instant, Dunsley found himself screaming and yelling as he followed the mass of bodies in front of him. Their boots splashing and clattering on the cold Asakor beach, charging towards the ruins of a what was an Asakorian settlement. The smell of charred fur emanating around them. Other landing craft and soldiers banked and soon 40 men became 120, then became 440 and then 1000 men, all charging together as the Trident Regiment.
Dunsley had somehow ran to the forefront of his comrades, guiding them through the smoke and craters from the bombardment, leading them to the settlement ahead. They kept their momentum even as they made their way a considerable distance inside the small hamlet. The adrenaline was pumping through him as he desperately scanned the battlefield. Then he heard the screams. He could swear it was like being surrounded by countless wounded animals, whimpering and yelping everywhere. He began noticing the corpses of the people of this hamlet, blown apart and singed. Despite their animistic heads, these were people, dead people. Dunsley clutched his mouth, desperately trying to keep his rations down, the stench of death and burning not helping. It was then he heard a roar to his right through a smouldering pile of rubble, he saw a large figure dash through it and knock him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Desperately trying to find his feet, he realised what had knocked him down, a bear! Rather and Man-bear! Barskin he thinks they're called. It was swinging wildly at his allies, roaring as it did so, he was pretty sure he saw one of soldiers get clawed across their now bloody face. Raising his sword and shield, Dunsley charged and closed his eyes, he rammed into the Barskin with all his might and plunged his blade deep into its back. As it fell, so did he, withdrawing his blade and continuing to slash and maim the man-bear. He screamed as he made blow after blow, slice after slice, his face red with terrified fury and eyes wide open but not at all seeing.
"It's dead Dunsley! Leave it..." Called a soldier standing next to him, grabbing his shoulder guard and dragging the young man to his feet. Dunsley stared blankly at what he had done, breathing hard as he tried to control himself. Gored and mangled, the Barskin lay pathetically in a pool of its own blood. Dunsley stared at it for quite some time as his brethren dealt with stragglers, of which there were very few and many heavily wounded. Breaking his gaze away from the first being he had ever killed, Dunsley scanned the coast. Ship after ship landed, bringing even more regiments of soldiers, hundreds nay thousands pouring out into the beach. In the distance he could see the Capitol Ship, massive and imposing, surrounded by hundreds of ships now bringing supplies and materials for the fortification of what was to become Yola's Landing. No one would ever recall the name of the settlement they had just destroyed.
The Yola's Fury, North Star Strait
High Admiral Hunter stared for a brief second in disbelief at the sight before him, the High Chief of Asakor, the enemy leader right in front of him! Why was he here of all places? His gut-feeling had been justified and as the ship's ramps lowered onto the smaller boat, he made his way down onto it with two guards at either side of him.
"You are indeed correct High Chief Torvus, an explanation is in order. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is High Admiral Hunter MacLeish and I am the commander of the Royal Lexidun Navy, of which is currently invading your country."
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Post by axeldonia on Apr 2, 2018 13:03:08 GMT -5
The sturdy oak of the ship groaned under the strain of hundreds of warriors in plate, all waiting anxiously for the operation to begin as the combined forces of Lexidus and Titenfisca suddenly opened fire on the coast, eliciting a large cheer from many of the troops. The ship fired its own cannons, causing the boat to rock, glittering drops of water cascading into the air and falling back down onto the boat. A murmur suddenly rose through the crowd as something forced its way through; arriving to the front as the ship suddenly turned and began heading straight towards the beach. A pair of large cannons now pointed their large barrels across the bow. Stranger still, a small crew surrounding it was currently busy loading them with what seemed like cannonballs, only they had large chains attached to the end of them.
The murmur grew louder as soldiers watched the spectacle in confusion, but the crowd again parted to reveal a small group of armour-clad individuals, all wearing a peculiar diamond-shaped emblem on their shoulders. The group consisted of a big human knight carrying a greatsword across his back, a Kouleva wielding a halberd and equally covered in armour, a pair of Squidspawn in breastplates and wielding swords and bucklers, a kobold covered in a large brown cape and an Enekebe carrying a wooden staff containing an orb that looked like it was made out of pure seafoam.
Someone shouted something and the cannons suddenly fired, tugging the chains along with them and unravelling the large heaps of them that lay beside the cannons. The human smiled approvingly at the resulting chains, which now stretched down to the beach in a straight line. He closed his visor as a transparent shape resembling a blue muscular humanoid suddenly surrounded him, much to the astonishment of the other soldiers. He waved to his companions before suddenly jumping onto one of the chains, sparks flying as he began sliding down them like they were made of ice. The Kouleva followed with an excited shout as similar shapes enveloped the others. The Enekebe grinned as the Kobold climbed onto her back and the pair jumped onto the second chain, whilst the pair of Squidspawn split up. The soldiers erupted in a loud cheer as they went, finally arriving safely down at the beach a few moments later.
“Alright guys, we’ve got ten minutes until the main force arrives. Let’s get going.”
The large human drew his longsword as the Spidress covered the area in front of them with fog, making aiming harder for the archers taking aim at them. A small squad of Asakoran soldiers came sprinting towards them and so the group began their work. Swinging his sword, the armoured man cut the first warrior clean through his upper body, the crimson drops of his foes blood staining the ground and everything around it. The Kouleva quickly joined in as she hit another soldier with her muscular tail, snapping his neck as she lodged her halberd in another warrior’s skull, grinning in delight at the crack of bone. The twain Squidspawn fought back to back, cutting down opponents with swift moves as the Kobold stalked through the mist, cutting at joints and leaping onto backs when the odd opportunity presented itself. The group fought like they were possessed by fighting spirits, all the while a strange coloured haze surrounded them, glittering in the mist and moving as if they were souls personified.
Roughly ten minutes later the first longboat full of mercenaries arrived, finding to their astonishment that the fog vanished, finally bringing the group back into full view. The warriors where all panting heavily, with a large circle of blood and corpses surrounding them. The mercenary captain led his men onto the shore, some of them still trying to process the sight before them.
“Go ahead, we’ve had our fill already.”
The human warrior once again opened his visor and smiled, revealing a small blue gem attached to his forehead.
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Post by Vista Major, MP on Apr 2, 2018 22:50:35 GMT -5
“Burn it.” The Great Atrium, once filled to the brim with devout worshippers piled neatly into the wooden pews, was empty except for the High Master and his military advisers. In the center of the atrium, pews once nailed to the ground had been shoved to the corners of the room to make way for a giant ice roundtable. Strewn upon it were map after map of the roads and districts in Askorus, as well as records of warehouse stocks and military activities to-date. Though the advisors studied them intently, Mar'ar barely glanced at them. “Capital Bridge? Sir - er, Master, what of the other tribes?” “You’re right. Burn it tomorrow evening and send the local chiefs a message.” “We’ll be condemning thousands to death if we burn the bridge!” “And millions if we don’t. Capital Bridge is the only way into the city by land. We’re going to make them swim if they want Askorus.” “We understand that, High Master. But that’s hardly a failsafe. We still need to get nine hundred thousand civilians out of the city before the Lexidun arrive; they’ll descend upon us in less than a fortnight, if we’re lucky.” “Then start an evacuation immediately. We still have our settlements in the west; divide the civilians into three groups, and sail each of them out of the city. Once they reach the border, they’ll land and be taken to each of the three settlements until the Lexidun are defeated.” “An extremely daunting effort, High Master. Our navy is capable, but not even they would have difficulties. We should have had weeks to prepare.” “Well we don’t! This is what we have to do if we want to avoid mass slaughter! Understood?” The generals nodded hesitantly. “Good. Burn and move; make it happen, gentlekin.”
Torvus Delakarz knitted his blue eyebrows together. He rarely ever encountered humans, and never had they ever had such a peculiar surname as "MacLeish". He would snicker if he wasn't in such a vulnerable position. And not to mention that laughter would make his near-broken ribs hurt more than they already did. There was barely any place on his body that wasn't recovering from being assaulted by merciless Barskin claws and Alkin teeth. The blue sapphire than hung from his neck sparkled in the sun like the ocean they all floated upon. His mother bestowed it upon it as an inauguration gift; she claimed it was enchanted to protect him against unholy harm. Some charm. “Seems like a strange name for a human, but I digress,” Delakara said with a sigh. “As I understand it, we’re at war. I'm sorry that you have to lose such good men, and I good Askin.” “It’s not his fault!” Neavara interjected, penguin arms flapping. “There was a coup! The High Chief was deceived nearly killed!” Torvus nodded solemnly. “It was never my intention to start war - merely expand our borders into uninhabited land. I didn’t know Mar’ar - the High Shaman - had other plans. Not more than a week ago, he attacked and imprisoned me, seizing my throne in the process.” “We don’t know what has happened in the capital since,” Kaeser added. “I’m helping the High Chief - the true High Chief, seek sanctuary in Lexidus. I have some connections, and it’s the only place in the North Mar’ar won’t try to touch... yet; Fyllia, unless they manage to become active against his aggression, will fall.” “It was the plan that we would land in this ‘Loness’ place before your invasion began… evidently, we fell behind schedule,” Torvus, gesturing with his good hand to the ships landing in the Asakorian shores. “But since we’re here, it is worth saying that I’m not going to beg you stop your advances - I want you to continue, as quickly as possible. Lexidus is the best chance I have at reclaiming the throne and bringing Mar’ar to justice. Indeed, there is almost no price I wouldn’t pay.”
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Post by thevalleianorders on Apr 3, 2018 16:57:29 GMT -5
Part Two The Docks at the Solacian Mission: The bells clanged, their dull voices announcing the change of the guardsmen of the walls and the change of monks at the Belfry. As clerics climbed up and down the tower and guards climbed on and off the walls, sails raised over three river ships just outside of the Mission’s walls. Aparaius wore a red band over his right shoulder down to his left hip over his toga, a mark of the governing class of the Empire. He stood on the deck of the largest river shop of the three, the Royola, as the sailors prepared to embark on the first step of their journey. His body was in the Northern Territories, the place where he had lived for almost three-fourths of his life (15 years), but his mind was already walking on the streets of Ediniginia, the place he had read about for almost three-fourths of his life. “Thinking about Edinginia already, your Lordship?” asked the Grandmaster. “You need not call me by my title anymore,” replied the young Count, almost jokingly. “And yes, I haven’t been able to pull my mind from there. How can you tell I’ve been distracted?” “You can just tell after a while, your- ‘lordship’.” the Grandmaster replied, waving the regal air that usually surrounded him. For a second his age seemed to fade away from his eyes. “It’s something that you can just sense after a while.” “Most Excellent Grandmaster!” the captain hailed. At that instant, the age flowed back into the shriveled body of the Grandmaster. “We’re all set to embark on our, long journey, your Excellency. We await your most Wise command.” “How shall we proceed, your Lordship?” the Grandmaster asked with a jokingly renewed regality. “The election of the Imperator waits not for their candidates, and my most *humble* counsel does suggest that we set off for the regional capital, Nurrtexia, so we may be aware of the results!” The sarcasm in his voice was evident only to Aparaius. “We shall proceed with the most- *urgent* of hastes, lest we arrive in the Grand Capital of the region after they announce the results of this *Holiest* and *Most Important* election!” exclaimed Aparaius with the full might of his sarcasm. He pointed north as he said, “Onwards over yonder!” No one stood to correct him, although they still made their way south. Aparaius laughed inside, knowing that the wise old Grandmaster was doing the same. He made his way below deck to go see how Gabriel was faring. -------------------------- Below Deck on the Royola: Gabriel despised sailing. The water, the waves, the rocking: all things that Gabriel hated about sailing. He had gone up north here by boat, and he swore that if he went on a boat in 15 years it would be too soon. It’s been sixteen years, hasn’t it? Gabriel thought. Still too soon. The boat lurched, and Gabriel fell. “See the poor lad, he can’t even handle river travel!” said one of the sailors that had seen him fall. Two other sailors were there two, laughing along with the first. Sailors… thought Gabriel as he disguised the look of anger with a cool, almost stately face. Doesn’t help that I was born in the Welakian Order, home of the Seafarers. “You three, don’t you have something to do on this ship? The See isn’t paying you to do nothing.” the Count said as he climbed below deck. The sailors tried to reply, “Sorry, your most re-” “Enough with the regality!” exclaimed the Count in anger. “Make your way above deck and make yourselves useful. Don’t even think of coming down here until we reach the southern docks.” The sailors then made their way above deck as swiftly as they possibly could, bumping into each other as they hustled out. “You fine, Gabb?” The Count stretched out his hand to the friend who lay on the floor. “If only there was some proper infrastructure here." “I actually do have some… ideas about ways we could properly connect this region to the rest of the Empire,” said Gabriel, thoughts running through his large mind. “Why don’t you tell me about these plans that you have?” the Count asked kindly. “I’m sure that some plans would be useful if I do become Imperator.” “You’re getting ahead of yourself again!” Gabriel joked. “Don’t tell me that you’re already planning out your funeral.” “Actually…” Aparaius started grimly. Gabriel’s face turned white with fear as the Count looked at him, eyes almost dulled out. The Count then laughed, “You actually thought that I was planning my funeral ceremonies?” “You actually did get me…” Gabriel replied slowly. “Aside from that, why don’t we start talking about those plans you mentioned,” Aparaius said quickly, trying to change the subject. “Well, I was thinking about maybe connecting the lakes all together via canals…” Gabriel began to rant, his friend avidly taking mental notes and jotting down the ideas the Aide was spewing forth. Maybe these ideas could come in handy one day… Gabriel thought. The two’s thoughts traveled as fast as the winds of the Scorched Lands, their momentum unstoppable once they started off. -------------------------- Palace of Colleges, Edinginia (Imperial Capital): A Litany of bells began to chime their sweet hymns of the Empire over the Palace of Colleges. Representatives of the Various Sees and Orders began to rush in and out of the octagonal palace’s chambers, offices, and conference rooms. Above them stood eight grand towers, each with stone steeples as sharp as a sewing pin. The structure was made of the finest stone, and marble sheets lined the walls, embellished by a seemingly infinite array of sculptures. Winding, stone branches surrounded the seals and shields of notable figures of the Empire’s past. The ancient structure stood eight stories tall, excluding the eight tall towers that stood at each corner of the building. In its center, a ninth tower proudly stood, its octagonal walls mirroring the shape of the whole government building. At the tip of the steeple was a golden statue of the first Imperator, Kuyoat I. The building’s interior was as grandiose as its exterior, veneered wooden paneling on every wall. Paintings adorned the halls, illuminated by brass candleholders. Crimson red rugs covered the marble floors of the building, the color of the Empire. On the walls, however, were the first signs of mourning: black banners. Black banners covered the rest of the walls where there were no paintings, and much of the exterior was concealed by these clothes of mourning. Dressed quite similarly to the building were the people inside, Grandmasters, tradesmen, merchants and clerics all clothed in togas of pure crimson with gold thread coating the long and clean fabrics. Over their right shoulders, they wore black bands, as was every single citizen in the Empire, as a sign of mourning. Their shoes were also of a crimson red, made of the finest red leather of the Empire and brass buckles to tighten them. Compared to any regular session, the representatives of the chamber were dressed more formally than they usually would, red being where white would usually be. The servants, secretaries, and Aides of the aristocrats here wore long, white tunics that reached down to their ankles, belted at their waists. Like everyone else, they wore the black band over their right shoulder and an elbow-length black cape with a red stripe along the back. Their shoes were plain black, with polished iron buckles shining away in the bright halls of the Palace. “ORDER, ORDER” a booming voice resounded from the Chamber of the Throne, one of the four main chambers of governance that resided in the Palace. The last few Representatives and their staffs trickled in from the large, oaken doors. “Do we have a motion to take a Call of Attendance to start this Eighty-ninth Emergency Session of the Colleges of the Imperial Communion of the Valleian Orders?” “I Move that we do!” the chamber called back. “Do we have any Objections?” the booming voice asked, now evidently the man who Presided over the Colleges. There. Was. Silence. “Let us now begin. Do we have the Representative of the See of..” The Eighty-ninth Emergency Session of the Colleges had begun. Its only goal: Elect the Imperator that would reign for the rest of his life.
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Post by axeldonia on Apr 3, 2018 19:50:28 GMT -5
? ? ?
The door slowly slid open with a slow creaking, as if annyoed at the sudden visitor. Katia waved away some of the dust in the air, only to sneeze anyhow. She chuckled to herself and stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind her. A door bearing a wavy, emerald green emblem. She spun around and cast a long glance across the large shed, recalling old times. It was filled to the brim with wooden crates, barrels full of staves, swords and whatever else they’d found over the years, along with several pieces of covered furniture. The only thing that really stood out was the pair of statues, standing apart from most of the other stuff and left by a window to dry, the warm sunlight accentuating every detail, making it seem almost alive in its realism. For a moment, Katia felt a tingle run up her spine and shuddered, before walking past it and opened a large chest, digging around a bit before hauling up a small silver chain that fit neatly into her palm, decorated with miniscule red carvings on the individual rings of the chain. She smiled, brushed some dust off the red gem on her chest and stepped back outside to the awaiting Madeleine.
Mmm… It had been so long since she got proper sunlight. She hoped her sister was getting enough too, but their position seemed optimal. She could feel energy coursing through her veins, her still frozen jaws aching in hunger for life. Soon she would be free. The fickle stone still held them in its grasp, but not for long. And when they finally escaped? Then it would be time to feast.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Apr 4, 2018 11:49:07 GMT -5
The War Room, CamelonBlair paced around the darkened room, it had become a de facto chambers of his when he wasn't attending to his kingly duties. He was found most days leaning over the table and staring at the charcoal map. Scribes were calling this war, The Cold War and the irony was not lost on him. He had heard reports of a snow white landscape being set blaze by the bombardment and settlements being utterly decimated, their scant forces too, with little causalities on Lexidun and Titenfiscan sides. With them establishing themselves on what was being refereed to as Yola's landing, which Yola that referred to was lost to him however. Was it Yola the First, the first female Lexidun monarch whose records were almost lost to time or was it Yola the Second of whom died ending the siege on Selkirk during the reformation? No matter, it was a decent name and would bring good moral to the troops, the first ever Lexiduns to fight on foreign soil. Phase 1 was complete and now it was time for Phase 2. The Lexidun Forward Division would prepare themselves and march north, straight to the enemy's capital, flanked on either side by auxiliary forces for added defence. As they would do this, the Royal Lexidun Navy would circle around Fyllia and port themselves in the north-easternmost friendly port there and synchronise with the army. Once the two of these forces approach Asakorus, an ultimatum is to be sent and if ignored; the Army would siege the city walls and the Navy would blockade their ports, bombarding them relentlessly. King Blair de Brus stopped pacing and snickered. "Suck on that, High Master..." he chuckled out loud. The Yola's Fury, North Star StraitHunter gave a wry smile as he ordered his men to stand down. "That... explains a lot to be honest. Quite frankly, you being here actually presents a unique and capital opportunity! Reclaiming your throne you say? I think I know someone who will love to hear about this, the Royal General himself!" Clanking and loud footsteps could be heard as an armoured figure made his way down the ramp to the smaller boat. His silver armour shining due to the distant fire on the coast. "I certainly do!" he bellowed. "His white eyebrows furrowed and big beaming smile adorning his face. "Royal General Lewis of the Standing Army of Lexidus. And YOU my Askin friend, have just made a very powerful ally. Lexidus itself is now your protector and I guarantee you will be reinstated into power with our assistance! Now, you lot will be escorted to the coastline now known as Yola's Landing and will assist me in the invasion north!" Pausing, he scanned the small boat's crew, his long white hair blowing slightly in the wind. The greatsword on his back glinting in the light. His smile becoming a sneer. "I think it would be in your best interest to comply..." Yola's Landing, AsakorDunsley stared behind him. What was a battlefield mere hours ago was now becoming a construction zone, corpses were being traded for wood and stone as the basis of a fort was being built, bloody soldiers handling the materials and leaving marks on them. Dunsley's hands were shaking slightly, he wasn't sure if it was the cold or the adrenaline come down. Regardless, he was tasked with bringing ration crates from his transport ship to the fledgling fort. He boarded the boat that many hours ago had brought him to this accursed country, quickly spotting a crate in the back-most corner of the ship he picked it up and heaved it to his post. His troop tent. The box was heavier than he thought, which brought him much detriment as he dropped it on his foot, this was in response from its lid opening up on its own and a small girl's face suddenly staring at him. He had been spared the embarrassment from his yelp as he was the only person in the tent, aside from the little intruder. Clutching his foot, he saw the girl dash into a partitioned part of the tent that signified Dunsley's quarters, her bare feet slapping against the canvas laden ground. His leg still throbbing, a bewildered Dunsley peeked through the flap into his "room", his fur bedding now occupied by a shivering mass. "...h-hail?" Dunsley croaked, his still throat sore from battle. The shivering mass flinched under covers and whimpered, Dunsley thought he heard snivelling too. He approached his bedding and knelt down, gently trying to peel back the various furs on his bedding to no avail, the girl had a vice like grip and did not want to be seen. "My name is Dunsley, Dunsley of Loness, whats your name?" No response. Dunsley sighed, swearing under his breath in Celtmaric, a bad habit he had picked up from his mother. Suddenly, the furs began to stir and a small head poked out. She was pale, very pale, pallid even. Her dirty blonde hair was frizzy and tangled, her nose was small and button like, she reminded him a field mouse. Her eyes however were blue, deep blue, very similar to his own in fact. He gave a small smile to her. "(I-I am Leanabh, what does fuck sake mean? I have not heard that phrase before.)" She squeaked, her small lips very dry. Dunsley grabbed his canteen and gave it to her, the girl sheepishly taking it and then drinking copious amounts. She must have been in that crate for over a day he pondered. He then realised what he had previously said, or in this case, swore. "(Erm... ah well it... its... oh never mind...)" he mumbled in Celtmaric as he took a spare ration from his bedside sack. He split it in half, sitting down in the process as he gave her the other half. She ravenously consumed it, Dunsley barely taking two bites of the cheesebread ration by the time she was done. "(Dunsley? Where am I?)" she said, consuming the remaining crumbs . "(Honestly Leana? The worst place possible.)"
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Post by axeldonia on Apr 6, 2018 19:01:08 GMT -5
Somewhere in central Mündungshafen
“A chain? Seriously? You know the gods aren’t drifting from us physically, right Katie?”
A small giggle rose across the assembled as Katia huffed. She tugged at the chain in her hand and to the groups amazement it grew larger and longer as she tugged, resulting in a chain that now barely fit in her cradled arms, the runes clearly visible.
“A magical chain. I figured we’d start somewhere. Besides, people often tend to overlook the most obivious or stupid solutions to things, so who knows? Now we just need to figure out how to reach the god’s realm and figure things out from there.”
A confused but intrigued murmur rose from the assembled as they talked amongst themselves, casting the occasional glance at Katia. Suddenly, an Enekebe raised a hand.
“No Amelie, orgies is not and will never be the answer. You’ll just have to wait until Decadi like every other week.”
The Enekebe frowned and crossed her arms as the discussion resumed.
“Well, either way we have to find a way to contact the gods, so let’s just focus on that for now.”
Everyone’s eyes turned to Helena as she entered the room in thigh-high socks and a rather revealing white dress, rubbing her temples.
“But please, not tonight. We’ve been so focused on this lately that I’m all burnt out and I can tell some of you are too. So what do you all say we break schedule and hold a Decadi meeting instead? I feel you have all earned it.”
The silence in the room was total for a few seconds, before it was promptly broken by Amelie’s cry of joy as she practically pounced on her newly arrived comrade. Katia gave a weary smile and began unbuttoning her ceremonial cloak.
? ? ?
Dawn broke and as usual the faint morning light cast its reddened beams across the gray stone of the statue. Oh, how positively arousing it was to feel the sun dance over her prison. Today she would finally break free. The statue shuddered and shook for a moment as a large crack suddenly appeared around one of the arms, splitting in twain to reveal a slender, if somewhat pale arm made of flesh. It quickly loosened its grip on the other statues hand, sliding back as the cracks spread across the body of the statue. More of the stone fell, revealing a colourful green and black robe that slowly began to free itself from the body it had been pressed against for so long. Free again, after what seemed like a hundred thousand years. Everything felt new, vigorous, exicting and most importantly… Fresh…
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Post by Chiernarosa on Apr 6, 2018 20:21:49 GMT -5
Banks of the Dae'sah
"Alright men, slow the ship and prepare to land: I want 10 torches per formation, lit at all times," the kreigsaldr said as he spotted the shoreline from his position, the men anxiously watching as the night sky consumed the horizon, the sun falling below and the stars twinkling above. 'Anyone would kill another person to get this view, yet I'd rather be on the ship than going ashore,' Atek posited as Velran grew closer in his view, quietly praying that the torches along the village borders were still lit. He adjusted the feathered headset, having repaired it at Krystan, red and black feathers embedded into the leather: after arriving at the border settlement, he bought a replacement sword, this time replacing the older iron sword with a stronger blade, while the remaining men had repaired their weapons and armor. Standing up, he drew the dagger from its scabbard, the men holding their own weapons as the bireme slowed down, the kreigsaldr walking down as he yelled, "We're not at the shoreline: why are we slowing?" A katet replied as he looked over the rails, "The men can't row through the mud, sir: the water's choked with it." The kreigsaldr walked to the railing, a look of astonishment on his face as he saw a thick layer of mud surrounding the bireme, the oars slowly falling apart as they breached the surface again. Walking back to the assembled, he ordered, "Men, we're currently stuck in the mud: we'll have to deploy the rafts and paddle to the shore. I want four men per raft, two with oars, one with the torch, and one with a sightline: we need to be on the shore within 10 minutes." Atek quietly oared as the soldier standing above him replied, "We need to move along the starboard, keep rowing and we'll get on land within 5 minutes." Finally, the raft hit against the soft mud of the shoreline, the craft stuck in the mud as one of the men jumped out, only to scream out, "Godsdammit, my leg!" Shining the torch, the quartet watched as blood seeped out, along with the mud glittering against the light: jumping off from the front, Atek grabbed a stick and jammed it into the muddy water, only to watch in shock as the bark slipped clean off. Signaling the others to jump off in the same manner, they checked the oars to see them worn down, the paddles jagged and covered in scratch marks. They turned to the other rafts, the men on them facing similar issues as they jumped off into the water only to scream in pain, the mud seemingly biting into their flesh. The kreigsaldr finally shouted at the men to jump onto the shore rather than into the water. Looking at the village, Atek felt his spine tingle and his skin at the emptiness of it all: he could barely see the remains of the torch-posts that surrounded Velran, the docks themselves unlit. Marching with the unit, Atek saw the temple to the Warfather and felt his stomach grow cold: the gleaming marble had been grounded to a rough sepulcher, chunks of it missing and/or lying on the grounds, corpses strewn around the location. Suddenly, one of the men yelled out in disgust, torch shining right in front of the Warfather's statue, itself damaged with the face worn down to an unrecognizable mass. The kreigsaldr approached, only to gag in horror as he checked the corpse below the statue, a wizened, pathetic figure, its back and scalp flayed down to the tendons, dried clumps of blood having congealed where the wounds were deeper. The skin on the arms and legs had been coated in blood, yet they were still whole: turning the corpse over, everyone gasped as they saw the damage inflicted - the torso had been torn open, desiccated viscera poking out, while the face was damaged horrifically. One of the men whispered, "Where are his eyes?" and they saw what he inquired: all that remained of the eyes were the half sunk into the skull, the irises and cornea were gone. The kreigsaldr bent down, removing his cloak and gently wrapping it around the corpse, covering the extensive wounds before draping a corner over its face: the other men began to move as well, gathering the few blankets and sheets to cover the corpses throughout the village. Atek quietly walked up the Temple steps, intent on delivering a prayer to the deceased when he heard the growls inside the hall. Pressing himself against the doorway, Atek peeked to see the darkness of the hall: under the moonlight, he saw the orange and black stripes, the amorphous form of a quadruped, tail swishing as it tore at one of the corpses inside. Grabbing his dagger, Atek continued to watch as the beast devoured the carcass, face buried contently into the torso as its hands grasped at the limbs. He felt a double-take as he looked again, his mind confirming the hands, long fingers ending in talons holding the limbs. He shook his head, only to stop as the beast lifted its head up: he finally could make out the details, the black mane surrounding the face of a primate, its bared canines and incisors tearing into the flesh with ease.* Backing away, Atek tripped on the step, the beast moving swiftly before spotting him and unleashing a loud screech. The soldiers stopped, the katet pulling their bows out, watching the primate on the steps above Atek. The bolt flew quick, embedding itself into the beast's shoulder as it roared, its free hand grasping and tearing the bolt out. Atek pulled himself up, yelling, "SHOOT THE BASTARD!" The storm of bolts flew over his head, the creature shrieking as it ran down the steps after Atek, only to feel the dagger embed itself through the chest: Atek pulled the dagger out and pushed the dying animal off of him, only for the bulk to be grabbed by something larger. It easily stood as tall as two Kyrans stacked atop one another, mountains of muscles buried under the pelt of the beast*, all the while its head was a grotesque mockery of a primate's: the jaws were stuck in a permanent howl, sharpened fangs paling in comparison to the massive pair of elongated incisors at the top, serrated and turned into blades 5-inches long. Hoisting the dying primate at chest level, the monstrous newcomer pulled away, the wounded beast emitting a final howl of agony as it was torn in half. Throwing the pieces behind it, the ape lumbered forward, barely noticing the rain of bolts as the katet fired a second volley, bolts only burying themselves into the skin as it moved to the first group. Grabbing one of the men, the beast widened its jaws and leaned towards the screaming man's neck, snapping shut as the incisors tore through the bone with ease. Pulling back, the head slumped off the carcass as the creature feasted, crushing through the sinew and bone with the swiftness of a starved man tearing into bread. The other men only watched in horror as the creature ate through the body, turning towards them with a ravenous hunger as it roared into the night. The other creatures began to emerge from the forests, some with the remains of the villagers still crammed in their jaws: Atek spied more of the temple-beasts, along with the larger apes and several blind monsters, their legs hoisted over their arms and with mouths filled with rows of fangs.* Drawing his sword, Atek joined his brothers as the kreigsaldr roared, "Give no quarter, men! Show these beasts the wrath of the Kyran Army!" 10 minutes later
The battle had devolved into a bloodbath, Atek desperately stabbing at one of the blind creatures as he could barely notice the carnage enacted on his brothers. The kreigsaldr fell screaming when one of the larger apes struck him across the chest with one of its heavy arms, the torchbearers quickly swarmed and torn apart by the other creatures. In the darkness of the night, the moon was hidden by the clouds, leaving the men blind to the slaughter of each other. Swinging his sword down upon the creature's neck, Atek felt one of the temple-beasts strike him across the face, blood pooling into his field of vision. Growling, Atek swung blindly, only for the beast to hit him again, this time with a sense of bemusement. Blood roared in his temples, whispers entering his mind as the red filled his vision. His snarls turned into roars as Atek felt a wave of heat surround him, hands burning with madness and bloodlust. Turning to the beast, he finally lunged forward, his free hand suddenly lit with flame as he brushed across the pelt, sword hitting the creature's underbelly as it screamed highly in pain. His brothers turned as they saw the animal set on fire, running in panic as it brushed against the other predators, finally turning to see Atek, face trapped in a savage scowl as the fire coursed around his arms, skin baking under the heat. Lifting his sword above his head, Atek roared as he charged at the creatures, striking with both blade and fire, delivering casualties as the fires licked the forest, flames ascending up the trees. Dawn
Atek looked around at the battlefield, the Aegelse* tenderly rubbing ointments, prayers, and healing water over his arms and shoulders: before him were the survivors, 50 men out of a company of 180, all wounded and clutching blood-coated bites and tears. Kicking one of the corpses aside, Atek suddenly found himself looking at the body of the kreigsaldr, quiet breaths escaping him as he gestured for Atek to move the corpse of the ape atop of him. Atek quietly pulled his dagger out and knelt next to the officer, his face blank as he lodged the blade into the man's throat, the hilt resting right at the skin as the blade made purchase with the spinal cord. The kreigsaldr pathetically attempted to hit Atek, but the corpse still laid on top of his torso, lapsing into oblivion when the dagger finally pulled out of his throat. Grabbing the man's helmet, Atek turned around as he saw the men surround him, glancing as Atek wiped the blood off his bleached hair, his green eyes staring intently, further compounded with the gold flecks. Placing the fallen kreigsaldr's helmet over his head, Atek coughed before speaking, "Brothers, I am saddened to announce that our commanding officer, Koshten ad-Nav'ol, has left our bonds and entered that of the Warfather. Yet, I speak to you of matters that I heard in the night: in the middle of the slaughter, I heard the Warfather speak directly to me. He told me that He has not been leaving us like the rumors in Varan, which have yet to circulate to the rest of the Republic, have been saying - rather, He is sending Champions, men of His blood capable of delivering slaughter and feeding Him the blood He asks of us. The Temple has been straying from His demands, only giving blood during the Season of the Thirst, and it is weakening Him. What He told me was that the Temple was no longer worthy of spreading His word to the Kyran race: instead, the Champions shall spread His fires of knowledge to the people. He has chosen me to lead all of you as the First Sons of His Champion: I, as His messenger and Champion, shall lead you all to glory. When we have consolidated our forces, we shall sail and march to Varan: no longer will the decadent Falanx and their Phylakes halt Him in his message. I shall lead you, and when we march, we shall be FREE. WE ARE THE SONS OF THE WARFATHER, AND WE SHALL DEFINE RIGHTEOUSNESS. DO NOT STAY YOUR BLADE FROM ANY WHO REJECT HIS LIGHT: KILL THE NONBELIEVERS AND GIVE THEIR BLOOD TO HIM! WE SHALL BE HIS GREATEST WARRIORS, NO LONGER SHALL WE HOLD THE NAMES THE TEMPLE HAD GIVEN US: I AM NO LONGER ATEK DEN-TEN'SAII, RATHER, I AM ATEK DAN-RIGMA, SON OF THE WARFATHER, SLAUGHTER OF THE FORESTS, PILLAGER OF KYRAS, AND NONE SHALL STAND IN MY WAY. JOIN ME, MY BROTHERS!" 1. Horrane - An evolved primate, the Horrane is a specialized predator that stalks the forests of Kyras, actively hunting the prey in the brush underneath the trees. Unlike most primates, the Horrane is a permanent quadruped with a body plan similar to the Panthera, with an elongated body, a long tail for balance, a mane which greys over time, and designed to live in the trees. Unlike them, however, the Horrane still obviously shows its heritage in several features, including its facial structure, social behavior, and working front hands which still end in fingers. The hunting strategies of the Horrane lies in ambush tactics, camouflage, and even pack hunting: often, the Horrane targets the weaker members in prey species, such as the young, elderly, and ill, and will wait until they are vulnerable before striking, often wounding the prey mortally with its claws and fangs before dragging it into the branches for feeding. While on the ground, the Horrane uses the orange and black coloration of its fur to blend with the trees and shrubbery, while when hunting in the occasional pack, the Horranes designate several to lie in wait along the paths the prey might take. Despite its features, the Horrane is still prey for the Saberjaw and opportunistic hunts taking advantage of a wounded Horrane. Two Horranes lying in the grass - i.pinimg.com/474x/f7/b5/9f/f7b59f1440353c23b82045bb00004bf4--monster-design-dixon.jpg2. Saberjaw - A large primate, the Saberjaw is the dominant predator of the Kyran forests, much like the Tyrant Sand Wyrm's dominance in the Western Sea. Unlike the Horrane and similar to its omnivorous cousin, the Great Host Ape, the Saberjaw has evolved into a bipedal creature, moving slowly through the forests in search of prey. At 12 ft tall for larger members and weighing close to 1 ton, the Saberjaw is laden with muscles which go into its powerful legs, arms, and jaws for hunting: while slow, the Saberjaw takes advantage of that by feigning being a weaker prey animal for opportunistic predators like the Horrane or Night Stalkers, letting them come close before tearing them apart with their jaws and arms. In a peculiar case of having saber teeth, the Saberjaw's signature tools do not come from the canines, rather developing from the outer incisors into 5-inch long serrated cutting tools capable of shearing through bone with ease: this incidentally prevents the Saberjaw from fully closing its mouth, though this helps maintain the effectiveness of its fangs. Two Saberjaws traversing the more open parts of the forests - www.sivatherium.narod.ru/library/Dixon_3/pics/p0112.jpg3. Night Stalker - A peculiar creature, the Night Stalker is the descendant of bats living in the forests, having changed to respond against the predators in the forests. Rather than taking to the air, the Night Stalker is a permanent land-dweller, much like the Flesh Rat, with the oddity of its former wings being used as legs, with the actual legs turning into arms that grab unfortunate prey into the Night Stalker's jaws. With a mouth filled with rows of fangs, the Night Stalker relies on devastating bites to wound and kill prey, further compounded by their tendency to hunt in packs. Similar to most bats, the Night Stalker relies on echolocation to hunt prey, which has been heightened by the eyes atrophying and both ears and nose grown larger to develop: often, the Night Stalker will find its prey by shrieking loudly in the night, eventually finding a pulse and cramming the prey into its jaws. Despite their ferocious appearance and hunting style, the Night Stalker is still prey to creatures like the Horrane, Saberjaw, and even the Great Host Ape, which uses its Parasites to draw Night Stalkers into their powerful grasp. A Night Stalker silently walking at night - i.imgur.com/7UJKRtz.jpg
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Post by Vista Major, MP on Apr 6, 2018 22:37:15 GMT -5
THE SOUTHERN COAST
The High Chief stared at MacLeish blankly with his sky blue eyes for a short moment, then he rolled his eyes and nudged his head downwards towards his chest, where his right arm was slung over in a bandage holster.
"It's not like we have much of a choice do we, Royal General?" Torvus said snarkily but dead seriousness underneath. "You have my full cooperation, MacLeish. I trust I won't be betrayed."
Torvus took a step back and sat on the stool beneath him. From off the ground, Neavara picked up a mound of snow and piled it on his fur, spreading is across all the scars on his arms and chest. As she did, Neavara spoke ancient incantation, in an Askite dialect long forgotten outside the confines of the Cathedral. The snow refused to melt against Delakarz's warm body; instead it itself seemed to have its own pulse, rainbow light emanating from the ice crystals as the snow, now enchanted, began to heal the many cuts and bruises on Torvus. Eventually, however, the snow did turn to water and fell like a gentle waterfall from his torso; some of the scars had disappeared, but several still remained, albeit resealed so that they were no longer trickling blood.
"Thank you, Neavara," the High Chief said. "I need to be good as new by the time we reach Askorus."
ASKORUS CITY
The smoke that rose from the burning Capital Bridge paled in comparison to the fires that roared within the walls of Askorus. If it wasn't for the eterice bricks that made up the High Walls, they too would have burned down as the city revolted.
Alkin, Barskin, and Hyarin alike pounded viciously on the walls surrounding the Cathedral, attempting to break in and seize the High Master: they were refusing to evacuate the city, and the sight of Lexidun boats to the west had them all in a panic.
Mar'ar was near his wit's end. In his fury, he had already impaled three guards with stalactites he formed on the ceilings of the Silent Hall; two Barskin initiates were mopping up the blood that dripped from their corpses.
"Everything is falling apart, everything is falling apart..." he whispered repeatedly to himself. "Everything, everything, everything..."
"My Master!"
Mar'ar's head snapped up and he focused on the Hyarin general that stood before him. He sneered, baring his sharp red-stained teeth.
"What is it? Krasar'k?"
"The people are about to break through the wall gates, sir."
"You don't say?"
"We have found a way to escape, however: a tunnel from the early days of the city; they lead to the council chambers."
"I thought I collapsed the dorm over that wretched place."
"You did, my Master. However, the structural integrity of the entire complex wasn't compromised; we can hold you there for the meantime until we can quell this rebellion."
"And when Lexidus comes knocking on our doors?"
Krasar'k gulped. "We make our stand, sir."
Mar'ar shook his head and stood up. Take me to this tunnel, quickly. I reckon we have five minutes until this place is pillaged, and five days until we're bombarded on all sides.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Apr 7, 2018 14:43:02 GMT -5
Yola's Landing, AsakorThe High Admiral had bid them farewell. After escorting the deposed High Chief and his crew to the shore, Hunter bid them farewell and had General Lewis take command over the situation. The Lexidun Navy and its mighty force withdrew, leaving only a couple of ships for defence as they made their way to their next destination, Northeastern Fyllia. Escorting the High Chief was a tense situation, troops and workers sneered and jeered as they passed, unaware of Torvus' innocence in the conflict. General Lewis brought the Alkin to his command tent, situated right in the middle of the now almost complete fort. Lewis stopped the escort just before the entrance. "Know this High Chief. We have no intention of betraying you. Myratnis take me, we just want stability in this region, despite your democracy look at what is happening to your country. Quite frankly, as soon as we get you reestablished, you should consolidate power into your positio-" "That's enough of that Lewis." A firm yet warm voice emanated from within the tent, to which Lewis opened and entered with Torvus. The tent was rather spartan in furnishing, containing spare weapons, a table and some chairs. On the table however was a map, ascribed with charcoal. King Blair de Brus looked down upon it. "You're dismissed General, see to your men that the lead up to Phase 3 is being enacted." Without hesitation, General Lewis bowed and left, leaving Torvus alone with the King. He looked up from the map towards the High Chief and smiled. "Apologies for my general, he's not a big fan of Republicanism. Whenever we have a party in Titenfisca we make sure not to notify him!" Blair chuckled as he circled around the map table and approached Torvus, stopping in front of him and offering his hand to shake. "King Blair de Brus of Noble Kingdom of Lexidus, just call me Blair, pleasure to finally meet you! I've had the pleasure of receiving correspondence from your... erm... former-colleague the High Shaman or rather the High Master as he's now referring to himself." The Yola's Fury, The Frozen SeaIt had been a couple of days now, sailing around Fyllia but now, after restocking and preparing at a port on it's border. The might that was the Royal Lexidun Navy was now heading east through the bitterly cold sea towards Asakor and its capital city, Asakorus. High Admiral Hunter rubbed his hands together, securing his blue over-cloak and black fur mantle, the chain reaction of signalling horns filling his ears with the glorious sound of war. This was it. The final battle approaching, a true battle for him and his men. No pirate skirmishes in the Southus Sea or petty merchant squabbles to control, he was sailing into a fight. Phase 3 had begun. His Navy were to head east and to destroy any ships that stood in their way, blockade the Asakorus ports and establish rows of attack ships in a firing line. By then the Standing Army will have begun their siege. Then they were to bombard the city relentlessly until the siege was over and Lexidun troops entered the city, they were to then cease fire and hold position until the Army has defeated all forces inside the city and captured the Cathedral and Assembly. Hunter looked behind him across all the ships, hundreds sailing behind him. This bombardment was about to go down in the history books. Two days from Asakorus, AsakorDunsley was freaking out. He had fallen asleep following his blabbing with Leanabh, they swapped stories of where they were from and he was enraptured by her tales. She was the granddaughter of a man named Petre and they had lived underground, in the dreaded tunnels linking the Undercities across Lexidus! She was either telling the truth or a very good liar, her very pale skin had given Dunsley a credence to the former. He found himself drifting away as he told her about his family bakery in Loness, wanting to become a soldier so he could get away from the smell of yeast all hours of the day. He had then awoken to her gone and his commander yelling at him to get into position for the march north. Frantically searching around her whilst preparing himself, he had enquired around the fort about a girl but had only replies of laughter and dismissal. "There are no girls here mate, only smelly beardy men!" He hoped that Leana had been sensible and approached an officer or a worker and got on a ship home, he really hoped. It had been two days since setting off from the fort and the five day march up north was gruelling and exhausting. Thousands of men marching north through Asakor, no paved roads insight, just snowy paths and the constant jangle of armour and weapons. 10,000 men were marching north, with auxiliary guarding the fort and the main force's flanks, Dunsley found himself right at the back of a group of hundred. Right at the front of this Division marching line, marching as hard as he could as not to fall back and be trampled by the thousands of men behind him. The front troops would alternate with people behind them as to not catch too much of the cold, this had mixed results, with reports of frostbite reaching Dunsley's cold red ears. His messy brown hair being cut into a low fade, exposing the sides of his head to the cold, his uniform barely managing to keep him warm thanks to the body heat of the crowd around him. Between every 100 block of marching men there were the supplies and equipment needed for the siege: camping equipment, tents, wood, stone, weapons, armour, arrows, catapults, siege towers, countless arrows and more. He had heard more news of scouts reporting that the only bridge leading into Asakorus had been destroyed and they would need to construct crossing if they were to pass into their siege positions. A minor setback really, considering the amount of supplies they had and the quality of the wood, they could have a makeshift crossing made in under half a day. Multiple even. Enough to withstand the thousands of feet crossing over it, Lexidun defensive craftsmanship meant strong materials and these were enough to handle anything thrown at them. Looking behind him at the supplies, he could see ration crates in a cart. His stomach growled and he knew he had to wait a couple more hours until dinner time, which they did marching. He could see a crate slightly ajar and a set of blue eyes peering out. "Oh goddess above..." muttered Dunsley in alarm.
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Post by Andromitus on Apr 7, 2018 15:04:07 GMT -5
Volthazaan, Arcthaur
The roar of voices shattered any last illusions of security. Several hours ago the Curate was convened, and all 52 Oligarchs of the Kyasii State convened in an emergency meeting on perhaps the most pressing issue in two hundred years. The Death of the Ahnsijn, and the lack of an Heir. They were situated in a singular structure within the ground-level gardens of the Axthen’imlaaz temple structure. It was huge, surrounded by garden flora, the sound of trickling water just audible under the sound of voices. An open-air amphitheater, meters in diameter, held up by 28 columns of stone on which were carved the symbols of the Kyasii Authority, and from which hung brightly-glowing lichens. A single brazier was located in the center of the structure, illuminating all 52 Curators, their green-purple robes differentiating laying still in the breathless air. The Dark Forest was clear outside, cut back just to the edge of the building, several of the flora sticking thick, porous appendages into the structure. “You! You knew this would happen!” One voice cut through the masses, a wild-eyed man on the first row and one who so happened to have fought virulently against the now-missing Urcilāo’s recognition. He was pointing at people on the opposing end of the floor, the Fepâk —Progessives— who’d been supporters of the recognition. “All of you, conspirators against the God! You’ve taken him somewhere!” “You’re insane!” one countered, “Which of us sent out a damn order to the…to the,” his voice hushed, “the Vol’asur, to have the boy killed in his sleep.” “You’ve no proof of that! It’s a pathetic lie, a rumor, by your side to force you to act! And guess what, now we have sent out a Vol’Asur agent, to the surface no less, to attempt retrieve the boy. And, even better, what we do know is that it was Fepâk traitors who stole the boy away in the first place!” A look of expressionless shock poured over the man, his eyes widened. They knew what? Was it really Fepâk who’d kidnapped the Urcilāo? “Silence!” I single voice boomed over all of them, a single veiamarr —Lawspeaker Audiin O’pfax— sitting on a raised structure opposite the entrance, above him was the now-empty seat of the Ahnsijn, an ornate metal structure whose ceiling and beads were designed to cover the person and face of those that sat in it. The Lawspeaker raised his hand before speaking again; “Now is not the time to point fingers, gentlefolk, the Ahnsijn has left us an unfinished legacy and several pressing issues at hand. Now. Given that we lack a proper arbitrator, I request to the Authority that I, as Lawspeaker, take up the role as Chief Executive within this Council until a proper Ahnsijn can be established. I revoke any Legislative Authority, and accept the inevitable will of transparency and neutrality that comes with this request.” There was a murmur of Aye’s amongst the crowd. The Lawspeaker nodded her head. “Excellent; First, our immediate relationship with the so-called “Rohzai Consulate”. The Ahnsijn-Now-Deceased implemented a strategy of Limited-Isolation, but with changing atmospheres in the South it is important to recognize that change to this plan may be necessary.” One woman raised her voice to respond, “Given the climate, is this truly worthy of being our first topic?” “Yes I believe it should be;” the Lawspeaker responded, “Given the situation in the South is unclear, our relationship with the Surface and Outsideworld must be fortified until a proper Ahnsijn may define it again.” Again, murmers of approval shook through the Amphitheater. One voice stuck out, “We can no longer waste precious resources maintaining a relationship with the Consulate.” A chorus of “Of course not!” and “Nay’s” cut through the air and another voice spoke out; “Until an Ahnsijn can be found, I say we commit to Isolationism. We can’t risk incursions or excursion at this time, we should sieze our surface assets directly, and temporarily cease contact.” “I second that motion; we can’t risk yet more officials and bearers of our precious knowledge fleeing or being stolen away to the Surface, close down the Surface-Ports.” “That’s a decision made out of fear and hatred for the outside!” a man, Fepâk, retorted; “I say we maintain our current position, and strengthen our hold over the Veiamarran-populated territories underground currently not directly administered by the Ahnsijnate.” “Of course you'd say that, Fepâk traitor.” “No,” another spoke out, “I’m no Fepâk but I agree with that approach, instead of shutting down we should strengthen our position in the underground, while maintaining limited but real ties to the Surface…’Consulate’.” Arguments again started to break out before the Lawspeaker raised her hand. “Then we put it too a vote. All in favor, stand and say Aye, all against, Sit and after, say Nay.” The Lawspeaker paused as the vote was held. 23 against, 29 in favor. “I conclude, with 23 against and 29 in favor, that a meeting will be held tomorrow to develop new guidelines to officially close the country. Today however, there are yet more pressing matters. To deal with the issue of news. As of now only us and a handful of others, now in custody, know of the Ahnsijn’s passing. The problem now comes to how to break the news, and how to maintain stability in the potential panic.” The Discussion then continued for several hours as a formal plan was introduced. The Authority would replace all River Governances with trusted Priest-Castes and reassign those currently in-position. Unlike the perceived fading of God’s position over Asil, the knowledge of the Ahnsijn was contained; ergo only top officials —Priests and Warriors— would be informed, and the news released slowly over time. The news of a missing Urcilāo would be kept a close secret.
Central Biocavern, Ixthenpijn
The small group of travelers, Kosa, the Scribes, and other Veiamarr who escaped the fall of Ixaleft, had now been travelling for two days. However, it seemed to pay off when, after turning a single bend, they realized they reached their destination. Stretching from either side of the Ravine, and from the riverbed 25 meters to the ceiling, stood the enormous Hold-Gate of Ixthenpijn. It was a gargantuan, dam-like structure meant to defend the Thaur against incursions from the Frontier. Carved directly into the center, and covered in shining gold leaf, was stoically standing the Kyon-Diamond, the symbol of God and the Authority. In front of the structure were two other walls, the closest to the Thur-Gate was half the size, the second being half that of the first, with gates of metal bars not self-sealing stone plates alongside numerous fortifications and a watchtower carved into the bend in the cavern-wall. A horn call and they slowed there boat and a man atop the smallest and foremost gate greeted them with a salute — his right arm, hand in a fist, moving horizontally to cover over his heart. “State your business Frontiersmen!” He called. “We’re coming from Ixaleft!” Kosa cried back, also performing the salute, “I was on the Expedition.” “Are you a deserter?” “Ixaleft has fallen, the Expedition failed.” With that the man ran inside one of the towers on either side of gate. They waited a while before he returned, even from their vantage they knew it wasn’t good news that he was bringing. “Ixthenpijn is under strict quarantine. A sickness has reached the Thaur.” Kosa’s face paled, they weren’t going to let them in…Turning around he looked to the scribes along the deck of their small vessel. “Tzypet.” one of them stated, a murmur of approval went through the group, “We have to travel to Tzypet.” • • • • • • • • Several Hours Later • • • • • • • • It was the howling that caught the guards attention and within seconds horn-calls and fire-signals were calling for the ready of fortifications. The River was completely clogged with the strange black substance, meaning perception was limited to torchlight and echolocation — but the threat was clear in the air. Yrutas had arrived. A bolt of purple lighting arced through the air, exploding onto the Thaur Gate, but it quickly fizzled and died. The Gate was a direct symbol of the Authority, with the blessing of God through blood it would take more than abstract magics to bring it down. The roaring continued before dark shapes appeared, with six legs the foremost —lizard like— creature bounded into view. It was as large as the foremost gate, almost 6 meters tall. Bounding forward it leapt onto the first tower, a disconnected structure carved into the corner of the winding ravine. It’s mouth split in four and cracked against the walls, the smell of sulfur and acid permeating the air. When it released a clear whole’d been made, the stone fizzling and dissolving in the beasts saliva. Following the titanic monster was a bone-chilling scream, the whip like necks of vertically-mouthed creatures exploded out of the water, grabbing men off ledges and screaming into the water. From the inside of the Thaur, a loud boom echoed throughout the cavern. A layer of dust floated off of the side of the Thaur-gate.
Abel, Lexidus
Amón smiled and was just about to explain what he knew of the beast before she mentioned the figures beyond the crowd. Still smiling, his face fell immediately as they came into view. Curse to Bakahn he said he brought the boy back; What in gods name where they doing outside in the open. “They—They’re, erm, travelers accompanying us; much more than that I…can’t really say the’ve been rather tight-lipped. They said they wanted to travel, I took the coin that sort of deal.” he ended with a light laugh. “Er, excuse me for a moment, and if you need me you know where my tent’s set up.” The Rohzai backed into the crowd, moving left slightly before stopping by one of the Guards, a Karthagite in full dress, his shouts quickly drowned by the cries of the Aoxia’a, a sound like rocks being skipped over a frozen lake. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • “Young Master,” Va’el felt a hand on his left shoulder, whirling around he saw, a difficult feat through his veil, another veiled figure —His instructor Ithrunes— behind him. He’d been marveling at the Aoxia’a, the Warbeast had been a key bargaining chip in convincing the traders to get them this far. “You’ve had your fun, now, lets go. Please.” He could almost hear the stress in the mans voice. “Just a moment,” he hissed back, remembering his first time seeing what the traders called a “sun” through the tightly-closed edges of their tent. Hell, everything The surface was truly alien and he wasn’t about to go hiding back inside right as the fun was beginning. “Fine, your holiness, we’ve only been hunted day and night since entering this idiotic land, and your only the most important person for several thousand kilometers but fine, stay out here in the blazing light and blind yourself.” The sarcasm in his voice was deafening. “Watch your tone, instructor. I’m not one to be trifled with.” Ithrunes looked at the short figure in front of him. The boy had no country, no coin, and no power but it never stopped him from having the mouth of his soon-to-be predecessor. “I’m absolutely certain the Asur will happily agree with you.” Va’el’s face fell behind his veil; the man would dare bring up the homeland assassins? “Fine.” he said reluctantly before accompanying the man out of the crowd • • • • • • • • Four Weeks prior • • • • • • • • There were 15 of them now, 15 more people to hold accountable for the fate of a nation. Ithrunes shook his head, the web was only going to grow he thought solemnly. At this point it was him, 3 of the Boys instructors, 6 Rohzai Traders, 2 Quijain merchants, and now three of the most untrustworthy looking Lexidians perhaps in the history of Kaelvar. His options were dwindling at this point, the remaining Fepâk within the Curate could only stall negotiations for so long before the unaligned ruled in favor of the boys executions. Regardless, his jaw’d still dropped when Altan made the suggestion, surface worlders always had a knack for surprising him; but the Rohzai had a point, where else to hide the boy but the one place the Authority couldn’t reach him? “There’s a lot of abandoned towers’n the like in Lexidus, as i’m sure our friend mentioned,” the Lexidun gestured to Altan; Ithrunes could practically taste the gold the man wanted, “but the one I’m looking at is a sole abandoned complex near the Capitol, its right in the heartland of the region, nobody knows about it. Best hiding spot in the west, safest too!” That was the plan after all, to hide the boy. They’d hated him since he was chosen of course, a meager Scribe-Caste chosen as the Urcilāo. It was only a matter of time before the ultraconservatives were calling for his head, sprouting on about impure birth, the inability for them to pass proper judgement, corruption within the lower Authority. So they had to act, to get the boy as far away from the Ahnsijnate as humanely possible. “Safest apart from here.” Aesh mumbled, the Veiamarr grinning to herself The Lexidun ignored her, “Besides, if m’odds are right the Lexiduns and Titenfiscans will be in an alliance, hell practically an economic union, soon enough leaving only a rampant Quijain as a potential threat. In short your boy’d be safer than a Palace Hen!” What in Gods name was this man talking about; alliances, economic unions, Titenfiscans. “So,” he started, hoping his common tongue was sufficient, “That just leave us with payment?” “Payment for all parties yes, but seeing as how yer less than sufficient in ‘proper’ coinage,” Western coinage more like it, Ithrunes thought to himself, “we’ll be working in Gold and Goods.” “And How much did you two total?” Aesh spoke to both of them. The Rohzai trader and the Lexidun smuggler. The only two to take them up on their offer. Well, actually only the Rohzai to begin with, but he was quick to bring his friends in the west into the deal. Sneaky bastard. “100 Pounds.” the Lexidun said flatly “Of?” “Gold.” “Your insane.” Aesh growled The pair of surface worlders only smiled. • • • • • • • • That Night • • • • • • • • He travelled how many hundreds of miles at this point, and this is where they’d gone? The city in front of him —Abel’s what the man had called it— was nothing like what he was used too. Sure it was the largest surface settlement he’d seen, also the first, but in comparison to Volthazaan or Almn’hotep? Lackluster. But perhaps that was for the best, the glowing lights of the Rohzai Caravan shone across the outer wall with a clear brilliance in the still night — it was how he travelled after all, he could not for the life of him walk, let alone fight, in “sunlight”. He was forced to change clothing again, still keeping his equipment, Kbyan boots and xy’dept armor and mask; this time though he’d stolen —Is it stealing if the man’s dead?— a pair of natives clothings by some farmer in the opposite direction, but the man’d been much larger than him, leaving his armor to show just through the buttons of the white tunic. He managed to loot a proper cloth to help shield his face and Mask, and hopefully by night be as normal looking as one can while trying to hide their head and skin. Still, this getup did well to hide his equipment, everything and more to kill a man, stored easily beneath oversized pants. The city continued to grow as he neared it, the sound of voices loud and clear in the Caravan; the bustle of people this late at night would be easy cover for a fast entry. But he’d have to move damnably fast if he was to succeed in his mission. He could not allow the boy to escape his grasp again. The Authority will not be dissapointed. No-one escapes the Vol’Asur.
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