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Post by Vista Major, MP on Apr 7, 2018 19:18:41 GMT -5
LEXIDUN-OCCUPIED SOUTH
As Torvus and his small party entered the King's tent, the warmth of the room caused Delakarz to start to sweat; he shed his tight-fitting Hyarin robe, walking towards the head table in a pair of shredded, bloodied navy blue knee pants from the day he was dragged the dungeons. Using his free left arm, he extended it towards the Lexidun superior and shook it as firmly as his paw could.
“Torvus Delakarz, at your service,” the Alkin said with a open smile, his sharp teeth glistening. “I don't mind him at all, sir. I don't blame him for whatever he was trying to suggest; our democracy - meritocratic as it is - had never been tested before. One would think that the High Council would have had Mar’ar dealt with by now; they must have been killed… What a shame. That 'High Master’ was my best friend: raised in the same tribe, taught by the same Elder, and once sought the same position. I, evidently, won out at the time, and he became High Shaman. Never thought he was still bitter about that.” Then Delakarz shook his head. “But, nevermind that. From what I heard walking to here, Mar’ar was less than professional towards you. For that I apologize. With the Holy Mother on your side, he shouldn't be around much longer. I thank you with all the ice in my heart… Blair. What might you need of me?”
FYLLIAN FRONT
All was not well at the Fyllian border.
An ominous letter from the High Master beckoned the entire Western Front home to Askorus at once. As Herar’tkne read the message, his heart pumped and his temper started to rise in simmering fury.
Exact-General.
Your assistance in the capital is needed posthaste. The Noble Kingdom of Lexidus marched towards our walls, and chaos in the streets are making us incapable of mounting a proper internal defense. Abandon the Fyllia front at once.
The High Master Mar’ar
“Exact… is there something wrong?”
Herar’tkne turned around and stared at the most elder of his war council. The Barskin veteran, Tiseldara, had her left eye scratched out in a fight with an Alkin (who promptly had their tail ripped off and jaw yanked apart).
“Tisendara… there is trouble on the homefront.”
Tiseldara bristled. “Insurrection?”
“Invasion. Apparently, Lexidus has not taken kindly to our new leadership, and plan to lay waste to the capital.”
Tiseldara cursed. “We’ll never get to the capital in time!”
“Well we have to try! Gather up all the parties - we leave no later than midnight. No breaks. With Myratnis, we will get there quick enough to turn the tide.”
“Yes, sir… ALRIGHT, ASKIN!”
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Apr 8, 2018 10:55:10 GMT -5
Yola's Landing, Asakor
"No need to apologise. I welcomed his bluntness! It spurred me on to actually come up here and see what all the fuss was about!" he proclaimed, offering a seat to Torvus as he sat opposite of him near the map table. "I'm glad that despite your deposing, you survived, we'll need to have you reinstated as soon as possible. My finest men are making their way to your capital city 10,000 strong, they're coordinated with my navy and will soon apprehend this Mar’ar." Blair leaned forward in his chair, cupping his hands together as he made eye contact with Torvus. "It is then I am handing him over to you and you will do with him as you see fit, my men will stay as long as they are needed as you restore your position and bring order to your country." Blair straighten up now rubbing his hands together and smiling.
"Once this is done, the war will be over and we will have to come together to discuss... reparations." The smile dropped from his face, his brow furrowing. "I imagine the Fyllians won't take too kindly to your expansion West and the Titenfiscans might enact punitive trade embargoes. So I would like to make you a proposal Torvus." He leaned forward again, this time with his hands intertwined with one another. "How would you like reduced tariffs in all trade you make with us and for Lexidus to request absolutely no reparations what so ever? Also, your expansion west? It can be allowed and expansion east will be allowed as well. This will allow you to quickly recover your economy and also permit you to thrive as a nation, Lexidus will also be your ally in upcoming talks as the war ends. I only request the following: Yola's Landing will be annexed and will become part of Lexidus' patrimony, a little bit of us for a few square miles in southern Asakor. Also, you will sign a non-aggression pact as will we all with one another. This will also coincide with another pact I am forming. Lexidus, Titenfisca, Fyllia and of course, Asakor will form what I am terming as the Northern Alliance. Call it a... military and semi-political alliance."
The Outskirts of Asakorus, Asakor
The rumours were correct, they had destroyed the bridge leading into the city but it was of no matter. Within hours, wooden crossings were made and the division had crossed, all of them taking their positions. Dunsley was in awe at the sight of the city, it was unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was if the city were made of ice! It was almost entrancing him with its beauty. A real shame they would soon be attacking it. Carrying a ration crate with a suspicious lack of weight, he brought it to his tent. "(Leana? You can come out now, it's me!)"
At the sign of a familiar Celtmaric voice, the girl peeked her head out. Dunsley was surprised to see she had made a little nest for herself, wolf pelts and crumbs were everywhere, his canteen was in there too! She was wearing an officer's fur cap and wrapped in a makeshift extra layer of fur. "Hello Dunsley!"
The soldier almost whip-lashed himself from her suddenly speaking Common. He wasn't sure if she even spoke it before. "Erm hi Leana. Why did you run off like that a couple of days ago, this place is dangerous, I told you that!" Dunsley tried to sound strict but came across as just tired and annoyed. Leana just crawled out of her box and stood in front of him.
"Well you was asleep! I heard of man making his way towards us and you would not wake. So I fled and hid in another box, got fur to keep myself warm and made home!" She came across as almost proud, smiling at the tired soldier as he slumped onto his bed furs. "Clever no?"
Dunsley laid back on his bed, cocking an eyebrow at the stowaway. "...I suppose so." He leaned forward so he was sitting up. "But Leana you shouldn't be here you're now in the most dangerous part of the world. Listen I'm going to need to talk to an officer and get you sent down south. It's too dangerous here, we're about to siege a city and I need to get into posi-"
CRA-KOOM
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Post by Vista Major, MP on Apr 8, 2018 11:52:23 GMT -5
YOLA
Torvus Delakarz grinned, bearing fangs. "That is perfect. I know exactly what to do with the traitor," he said, half to himself. Then he went to sit by the King and listened into his proposal. By the end of it, Delakarz had his eyes narrowed and ears perked up.
"That is a very generous offer, Blair. I've never been presented a deal as... balanced as this from any other human I've met. Then again, merchants almost always put their profits before anything else." Torvus pondered the offer on the table. "I keep the expansions, and get to expand more, on top of fewer tariffs and no reparations? And all you want is for us to give you some land, sign a pact, and join this new alliance of yours? Well, this is almost too good to be true. But, perhaps, Myratnis, wherever She may be, is blessing us this day. Consider it done. For this, you will surely be deemed 'Liberator'."
ASKORUS
Cannons began to fire as the Lexidun marched across their makeshift bridge. Their cannonballs ricocheted off the city walls, but with each balls' blow, they left an ever-wider crack. Before too long, the walls would collapse, and the liberation would commence.
Not at all well for Mar'ar.
Askin citizens were panicking, running into whatever buildings they could that weren't burning from the riots. There were rumors that the Lexidun were here to depose Mar'ar; other tales that the Lexidun were seizing power of the North for themselves. Either way, it did not bode well for the High Master, who was holed up in the highest room of the tallest tower of what remained of the Council's assembly complex. He was surrounded by guards who were scared out of their Hyarin and Alkin minds.
"Holy Mother, have mercy..." Mar'ar said under his breath, holding a long, jagged dagger close to his chest.
CRA-KOOM
CRA-KOOM
FWOOM
Mar'ar looked out the tower window as he saw the great capital walls, which had stood for hundreds of years, crumple to the ground, causing clouds of snow to fly up high in the air like smoke, destroying several buildings in its wake.
The Lexidun were streaming in.
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Post by Unfallious on Apr 8, 2018 18:04:08 GMT -5
Insignas spent the walk to the Kyasii city, Shzahkt he believed they called it, in a permanent state of awe. This was unlike anything he had ever seen. The underground complex was unmatched by anything he had seen. The Acarack in Amnest, nor even the Subterranium itself, matched the elegance and beauty which he looked upon as he followed the Scrawl. Although previously he had been loose with his etiquette, the power that emanated from this underground city had shown him that these people were deserving of his respect and, as such, he took care to mirror the Scrawl’s movements and actions. He removed his shoes as she did when they entered the building and followed her closely. Being as he was focusing on the movements of the Scrawl so intently he noticed her reaction before seeing the object of her reaction. The shock displayed in her voice as she choked on her words was instantly familiar to him as a subject of royalty. He was in the presence of someone powerful, and unexpected. He looked at the figure in front of him as the Scrawl went through the motions of hand gestures and bowing. He certainly looked the part, he thought. In a show of respect, Insignas gave the two figures a short, but deep bow after the Scrawl as one of the figures introduced himself as the Scribe he was sent here to meet. He listened as he was introduced to the ‘Priest-Caste’, through an intermediary translator, who gave a name he was unable to even recall let alone recite. “My name is Jacobi Insignas. I come here as a representative of his Majesty King Petyr of Veritious. It is an honour to meet you, even in these dire times.” Jacobi said politely before going on, “I’m pleased to hear that you wish to…gain a consensus with me…” Insignas went on to tell the Priest the same as he had told the Scrawl. He spoke of the letter he had, still unopened, from his King and of the message given to the priests back home through their godly beam. He told them of the weakening of Zypnac’s messages, and the increasingly grave tone they took on. “It is because of this threat that I’ve been sent. Not only to warn, but to offer out sword. Veritious stands ready to fight with you, sir. To fight with you against the unholy terrors lying within the Tabes. If nothing else, then as fellow servants of-“ Insignas was interrupted as the room he was in began to shake slightly before subsiding. Visions flooded his mind of the nice underground city being pulverised by a cave-in, but he quickly regained his composure and went on. “As fellow servants of the Almighty.” No sooner had he finished that another tremor shook the room, more powerful this time. It subsided only to be followed by a bigger one, and then again, and again. The last tremor threw Insignas to the ground, this time is didn’t subside.
**
?
Past the glimmering Sapphire Palace of Amnest, through to the surface settlements of Asil, and then further still past the ring of mountains stood the Magna Tabes. Inside was His cell. He had resided there for longer than any single mortal could fathom. His prison was The Tertium, The Third. He sat upon a fool’s throne where he moulded his champions from the dust of the corrupted earth he sat upon. Occasionally, a mortal would come to him, in love or in hate, it was no matter to him. He made both his champions. The Tertium was his to mould as he saw fit. The essence of this place was moulded from him, the bars had been constructed of his skin. A cruel joke by his jailers, or an ingenious plan? The latter, of course. The only way to contain a God is within themselves, after all. In the time since he had subverted this, of course. As he did all things. The bars were made of his skin, but his children were created with a second ingredient. He moulded their forbidden hearts from his essence and the earth. It was this that allowed them to venture from this place, to spread his essence and thus him far and wide. Though this was not enough. His children and his champions left the Tertium in his stead, but he dreamed of following them. Though they spread his essence far and wide, his being was still confined. His children left this place, spread his essence and then died to the servants of the others. The divinatis mortallium changed this. Souls had always been the currency of the divinity. Through blood they had earned their power, and through that their servants had earned their grace. The valiant and virtuous fighters just beyond had stopped what they perceived as his encroachment, they had fought and died for their families, for their patron. For him. The mortallium had robbed the necrominus of the souls of these valiant fighters. Their essence belonged to him. Their essence empowered him. And now it was reaching fruition. Slowly, but surely, the souls of his jailer’s children would free him. Right now, they empowered him to reach out and subvert one of his gifts. To push through the cell that once held him back so surely, just for a moment. Just to reach out. To shake the earth so they would all now of his impending coming. To touch.
** Amnest, Veritious
The Listening Chamber was silent, as it always was. A circle of 4 surrounding a emerald beam of light. His light. Around the circular room the beam was continuously reflected by mirrors which covered each wall. Even the thick oak door had a mirror bolted onto the back of it. This light was the only light in the room. Each of the monks sat crossed-legged with their heads bowed, both in reverence to the Lord and in listening for his divine message. Nothing had been recieved since the day the beam went crimson. Luckily, it being a night time, not many had seen it occur. For the monks and priests of the Subterranium, however, it was interpreted as the gravest sign. The Subterranium, the Palace, everyone was unnerved. You wouldn’t know this from looking at the Listening Chamber, though. Silent as usual, the monks waiting patiently for God to return. The current 4 had been there for 4 hours. Monks of the Subterranium often served up to 8 hours in the Chamber before being rotated so that they could eat and sleep. Many of them lived the majority of their lives in the facility, deep underground. Johalis was a young monk, around 20 years old. He had spent fewer than 30 hours in the chamber. With his head bowed, his mind was filled with nothing but reverence for the Lord and focus for his voice. They said his voice came in all different shapes and tones. Sometimes gruff, sometimes light. Always a man. So when his ears picked up the murmur he was instantly aware, his head raising in an instant. Another murmur. He had definitely heard something. He leaned in closer to the beam. His fellow monks still had their heads bowed, but Johalis knew what he had heard. As he leaned closer he heard it again, faintly, still unintelligible to him. The beam almost filled his vision now and he turned his head, straining to hear. The other monks, having heard his motions, lifted their heads and looked at him, waiting for him to recite the message he had heard with a sort of eagerness. There was a silence deeper than the silence that had reigned before. It was a silence with a sort of tension added in that had made for a deeper level of quiet. They all waited, almost holding their breathes so as to not make a noise. “He….” Johalis said the words as he heard them, repeating them for all the room to hear, “has…” He strained to get the final word and when it came he stepped back, staring at the beam. He looked around the room, the monks clearly reading a face of unknowing fear across his face. “He has come.” No sooner had the words left his mouth did the beam in front of him turn a shade of deep Crimson. The monks, some yelling in fear, all stumbled back. Soon they were pressed against the walls. Still staring at the beam, they were unable to take their eyes away from it. Then, an inhuman and incredibly loud scream emanated from what had once been Zypnac’s greatest gift. The monks clasped their hands to their ears, but it did nothing to block out the noise. It sounded like the cries of a million million tormented souls conjoined into one. The beam began to widen outwards until it was double its normal size. It split in two revealing a centre of complete black which was about the width of two men standing abreast. After an excruciating 30 seconds the screaming abated. The monks looked at the beam in astonishment, but they barely had time to speak. No sooner had the screaming stopped that a torrent of a thick black-red substance came bursting forth from the portal. The monks began to slip and slide as they attempted to make for the door. Their screams eventually becoming gurgles as the corruption began to fill the room.
** Sapphire Palace, Amnest, Veritious
King Petyr was almost roused from his sleep by a faint banging sound, but was quickly able to return to his slumber. As he slept, so did he dream. He dreamt of a temple filled with artefacts to the Almighty. He laid out on an altar in front of him a great many things. He saw spears and shields, of swords and crossbows. They were all golden and they glistened distinctly. Also on the table were a number of other items. He saw a painting easel, a pen and a vase. All golden like the rest. He saw a golden piano, guitar and harp. Then he heard the banging again. This time it grew into a rumbling and then a shaking. An Earthquake. The ceiling of the temple cracked and fell upon the alter showering dust everywhere. He covered his face and coughed before looking back at the alter. As he approached he could see that all the artefacts had been destroyed, leaving only 3 objects. A sword, a shield and a crossbow. Petyr awoke to his room violently shaking. Outside he could hear the bells ringing and from his open window he could a commotion in the air. He stood up, steadying himself on his bedside table as the earthquake continued. A guard burst through his door suddenly. He was bloodied and his shield was covered with a thick reddish black substance. “My lord, we must leave at once. Please come with me, there’s no time.” The King thought against questioning and grabbed a thick cloak hanging by his bed before following the guard out of his room. As he entered the hallway a group of soldiers ran past. He turned to see where they were heading just in time to see a huge monstrosity turn the corner at the end of the corridor. It stood several men tall and scrapped its head against the ceiling as it moved. It seemed to be huge and covered in an array of muscles, but at the same time it also seemed to be somewhat fluid. It glistened slightly in the moonlight. It looked straight into Petyr’s eyes before letting out a deep bone shuddering roar. The soldiers that had run past took up position in front of the creature, spears pointed towards it. One of them turned to the King, “My lord, we will give you time.” At that the guard hurried the king back along the corridor, away from the creature. As they turned the corner, the screams of his men rang in the King’s ears.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Apr 9, 2018 19:14:48 GMT -5
KING BLAIR DE BRUS - Yola's Landing, Asakor
"Wonderful! However, I'm no liberator Torvus, just a mere human who is asking you to be his friend and ally. Stability has always and always will be our goal, The Northern Alliance will ensure this. This pact will not only bring stability to this region in particular region, it will also bring about peace to all of us." Blair was joyous, he approached Torvus yet again to shake his hand.
However as he did so, the ground below him began to shake and the two of them were taken by surprise. The shaking only grew more and more violent as Blair attempted to keep his balance, holding onto the map table with all his might, his mind racing at the situation before him. The shaking peaked, throwing the king and the high chief to the ground in one final grand rumble. Blair grabbing the ground with all his might; his crown falling from his head and clattering. Then, as quickly as it came, the shaking dissipated. Leaving the two leaders prone and bewildered.
"...by Myratnis, what the fuck just happened?" Blair grunted.
ROYAL AMBASSADOR EIMEAR NOLA - Mündungshafen, Titenfisca
Helena was nowhere to be seen. She had searched the city for over half an hour, across various political establishments and could not find the Prime Minister anywhere. Blast these republicans! Eimear sat herself down by a campfire in a park, she had just received word that Blair had made his way north and the final siege was in the process of being carried out! This news was vital and where was the person she was to inform? Nowhere! Probably off having an orgy or something. Staring at her reflection in a pond by the campfire, she noticed the bags under her eyes. Considering the hellish month she had, she was expecting worse. She guessed she really was born to deal with all of this stress.
Her visage began to distort, confused she leaned forward, trying to understand why the puddle was rippling so rapidly. Soon she felt the full brunt of why this was. Tent all around her began to collapse and people began screaming in the nearby city. Eimear kept herself as low as possible, dashing away from the fire and keeping away from any tall structures. By the goddess. What was going on?
ROYAL STEWARD CROWLEY PENTAGRESS - Camelon, Lexidus
He was not a strong enough man to stay on his feet when the earthquake came to him. A maid was thrown to the ground too, her screams matched by the ground's rumbling. His old age getting the best of him, the indomitable Crowley crawled under the map table in the castle's war room, pieces of parchment falling above him. He could hear the stone in the castle shake; immense strain pulsing though it. He grabbed the maid and dragged her under both him and the table, trying to shield her. A piece of stone fell from the roof above him. Crowley closed his eyes and began to pray, as hard as he could.
CHIEF MERCHANT (ABELIAN DIVISION) SAOIRSE MCCAN - Abel, Lexidus
Saoirse cocked her eyebrow up. She could tell Amón was good at this sort of thing but even she could notice a stutter, she'd have to press him later on about these travellers. For now however she concluded that their business was done and she immediately turned to her last minute squidspawn translator and scribe, taking her hand and gently shaking it. "Thank you so much dear, lets head back to my office so we can archive this." As the two of them made their through the crowds of peasants and merchants, Saoirse couldn't help but feel something bad was about to happen. Something wrong. Call it a quick reaction or a grandmother's instinct but when the violent ground shaking began, Saoirse grabbed her squidspawn companion and yanked her away from a panicking horse as it galloped past them into the crowd. Carrying her translator in her arms, with the strength of a bear Saoirse barged through the screaming and stampeding crowd, making her way to an open area. It was then she heard it, the ear shattering shriek, snap and crumbling, of a building's foundation giving away. She stared ahead and watched in horror as the Merchant Association Office collapsed in a cloud of smoke and rubble, tormented screams yelling suddenly being cut off as the falling building came to a sudden and crashing halt.
GRAND MAGISTERS DOMINIC DRAKE AND KAYLEE GRIFFON - Bluxa, Lexidus
"To hell with what the king said!" Yelled Griffon at Drake, the two of them standing outside of a doorway leading into the Seer's room. "Remember what you said to me? That this was bigger than all of us? Well this is bigger than the life of some virgin peasant girl we snatched from away from their family. We both know who is causing Myratnis to fade from this plane of existence and we need to confirm it!" Griffon's icy composure was melting and panic was lurking behind her eyes, even a near sick with worry Drake could see this.
"I-I know what I said but for Myrat sake we cannot defy our king!"
"If you won't then I bloody will Drake!" She hurried into the room, slamming the door open, her blue cloak hurriedly following behind her.
"For goddess sake Kaylee wait!" Drake followed behind and abruptly stopped at her side. The two of them staring at what was in front of them. The girl, or what could be identified as her was giggling, a head poking out from the top of an amorphous mass of flesh and corruption. It opened its black eyes and wailed with laughter and pain. The two grand magisters aghast with disgust and terror at the sight before them; with Drake being vomiting his lunch and Griffon raising her hand and rendering the poor creature asunder with a icy blast from her hand. The creature freezing and crashing to the ground in a million pieces. The magisters said nothing as the ground then began to shake beneath their feet. HIGH ADMIRAL HUNTER MACLEISH - Asakorus Port, Asakor
"BRAAAAACE. BRACE LADS!!!!" He yelled as hard and loud as he could on the Yola's Fury Capitol Ship. Immense waves sweeping through the blockade and firing line of ships. The ship rocked leftwards, almost at a 45 degree angle before doing so the opposite way. This rocking had began 30 seconds ago as Hunter counted it in his head. What Asakorian mages could be strong enough to pull of such waves?! None! He held onto the mast with all his strength, the rocking throwing his men around his ship. Some flew overboard, soon it was only Hunter and the Spyglasser on deck.
"Sir! The Asakorus Gates, they've not fallen, sir? What do we do?!" Screamed the spyglasser, desperately trying to grip onto a net.
The cannon crew were no where to be seen. They were either below deck or overboard. Hunter could see a single cannon was prepared. He had to do something. Using the momentum from the rocking, which now tipped the ship even further with gigantic waves, he fell towards the cannon as the ship nearly went sideways. As the ship over came the wave and the Admiral latched onto the black cast iron weapon, he lit a fuse and held it towards the primer, breathing deep as the ship tossed and turned. Moving the cannon increment by increment, he lined up the shot of the Asakorus Gate, it was an unthinkable shot with these waves and distance. But he had to try... lighting the cannon as the ship reached a wave's apex, High Admiral Hunter yelled at the top of his lungs. "COME OOOOOOON!!"
CRA-KOOM
LEANABH - Outskirts of Asakorus, Asakor
The ground was shaking under Leana's nest box. Dunsley had told her to stay here and hidden, rushing from the tent and arming himself as people outside yelled. The big loud noises had continued for quite some time, the biggest sound being a almost regular occurrence. Then the ground began to shake, the loud sounds ceased and Leana secured her box and curled up as much as she could within her dark space. She would be safe here, Dunsley and Donn Myra would return and protect her. She was safe. She really hoped she was. Then she heard one final loud noise over the grumbling of the ground.
DUNSLEY OF LONESS - Asakorus, Asakor
The shaking of the ground beneath his feet did not halt Dunsley. At the forefront of the Trident Regiment, him and his fellow troops poured into a Asakorus as the city gate crumbled from behind. Knights and Soldiers fought side by side as the city's defensive force were caught of guard, many of them unbalanced, between his slashing at enemies and running forward Dunsley was wondering. Was it not the Asakorians who were summoning these frightful earth shakes? An Alkin tackled Dunsley into an alley, snarling and swearing at him with ferocity. They locked blades, the Alkin with two curved swords and Dunsley with a sword and shield. Dunsley had to go on the defensive, backing up further into the alley as the Alkin soldier wailed on him and his shield. A dead end wall slowly encroaching upon him from behind, he had to do something or he would die. Quickly Dunsley held his shield in front of him at a slight angle, baiting the Alkin to swing at him at the same time, the enemy did just that. As the two blades collided, Dunsley shifted his weight and angled his shield even more, making the Alkin lose his footing and fall forward along with his blades. Then in an instance, Dunsley brought his sword from his right hand forward into the enemy's gut, making sure to twist it as to ensure a fatal wound. The Alkin said not a word nor a noise as it slid off from his blade and fell to the ground.
Regrouping with his comrades, they had received word that a detachment had secured the cathedral and all that remained was the assembly. Soon waves of troops began to position themselves outside of the building Dunsley trying to catch his breath. He noticed that the ground was no longer shaking. He then noticed Commander Wallace, the leader of his regiment standing before him.
"You there! You and the 20 men behind you! Follow me, you and I are going to confront the High Master and bring him to justice!"
Dunsley followed, 20 men of the trident regiment following, cutting down all those who confronted them as they made their way through the complex, ascending towards their goal. The 20 men stationed themselves throughout the complex to cover the rear and soon it was just Dunsley and Wallace at the top of the tower. They hacked at the final door in front of them, which soon gave away, Dunsley giving the final kicking to the door to Mar'ar's location.
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Post by Flynnvakia on Apr 10, 2018 12:19:47 GMT -5
Fyllian Frontier
Sir, the Asakor troops are withdrawing! Should I give the order to pursue them?
Captain Lukas Ossler was a little more than surprised to see the Asakor troops retreating after several days of bloody fighting which severely damaged both sides' armies. Ossler was more than a little suspicious until a messenger from Lexidun brought forth news the Asakor withdrawl was linked to an invasion of Asakor's homeland and they believe the army is attempting to reinforce the capital or at least, find suitable ground to begin defenses. With that Ossler was ready to act. He left his tent and ordered a meeting of his Lieutenants and told them to rally the troops to follow the withdrawing Asakor but to not engage unless they stop. The Lieutenants saluted and left for their regiments. We have won the day thank the Gods for Lexidun.
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Post by thevalleianorders on Apr 10, 2018 18:34:21 GMT -5
Part 3 Below deck on the Royola: In three hours, Aparaius and Gabriel’s brief conversation about canals transformed into a complete synopsis and plan for the expansion of the Imperial Canal Network. They had gone so far as to provide details for who would construct the large project, timelines, budgets, and even a map of potential expansion options. The two minds were able to bounce ideas off of one another, refining ideas and creating new ones from their vast stores of knowledge. Just as they completed marking out canals on the map they had taken out, the Royola and the two other ships that had followed them had entered the port. “Looks like we should prepare to disembark soon,” said Aparaius as he moved to fix his bunched up toga and his wrinkled red band. “Yeah, I’ll put away everything here,” replied Gabriel. He looked around at the multiple books they had pulled out of their bags while discussing the plans. He put began to put them back in their packages. “I’ll go above deck to see where we’re off to after this,” said Aparaius. He then climbed up from below deck, closing the door with a wooden thud. The things he’ll be able to accomplish if he becomes Imperator… thought Gabriel as he finished putting stuff away. On my life, I hope that they’ll vote him into the position. Once finished, Gabriel went up deck to follow his Count and, most importantly, his friend. -------------------------- The wind blew just as furiously as it did on the other side of Lake Solace, filling the sails and pulling the three boats with them, ever closer to Porta Norta, the port on the southern end of the lake. As the boats closed the distance between them and the shore, more details about the port village became obvious. There were only a few buildings scattered here and there on the coastline, with one tall tower in the middle of it all, hosting the Communication Crystal of the area. The docks were small but filled with parked boats, craft, and barges, almost one per every building in the village. There were small vestiges of greenery spread about the sand and dust, as it was with the majority of the Northern Territories. In all honesty, the outpost was only a tad bit larger than the Solacian Mission they had come from. “You’ve been down there for quite a while,” the Grandmaster commented to Aparaius and Gabriel as he saw them getting up from below deck. “If I may ask, what was it that you were doing down there?” He had a smirk on his face. “Nothing, High Father,” replied Aparaius, choosing to use the less formal but still appropriate title. “We were just talking about potential plans for the region,” Gabriel replied after his Count spoke. He began to open the pack that held the maps that held the plans on their faces. “No need to show me your work,” the Grandmaster said. “I’m sure I can see them in action once our Count has been voted into the seat of the Imperator.” “Aside from that, High Father,” Aparaius interrupted. “Where shall we be going after we disembark?” “That is what I’m trying to figure out, Count Aparaius,” said the Grandmaster using a more formal tone. “The election should have started in the Capital, and if the voting ends today, results will be broadcasted via Communication Crystal. This makes the Territorial capital a prime choice for our next destination.” “I presume this will devolve into a parade and ceremony…” the Count interjected. “Yes.” The Grandmaster continued, “which is why we could also go south-west until we reach the Northern Channel-” “And go by ship down to the Capital!” the Count finished what the Grandmaster was going to say. “We should choose the second option, of course.” “There is only one problem: the port at the end of the Channel doesn’t have any monastery or any clerics as a matter of fact,” the Grandmaster stated plainly. “This means that we will not receive election results until we reach another port with a Communication Crystal.” The group of three then stood there quietly in thought, thinking about potential solutions to this problem. Around them, the three rivercraft were about to reach port, sailors ready to dock the boat to the small but effective docks of Porta Norta. Once docked, the men on the ship began to offload the goods and baggage that they had carried with them. Aparaius broke the silence, “We shall go to Nurrtexia, the regional capital. From there we shall make our way to the Channel, where we can employ the fastest ships to take us to the Imperial Capital.” “If you wish, your Lordship,” replied the Grandmaster, knowing that the pomp of the regional capital was something that Aparaius wished to avoid. “Let me get some of your personal belongings…” said Gabriel quietly. After he had said this, the three finally disembarked and walked into the small streets of Porta Norta, headed to the next part of their journey. -------------------------- Palace of Colleges, Edinginia (Imperial Capital) The Halls of the Colleges were empty, the voting has concluded. A few Representatives and bureaucrats still remained, but they were all rushing to leave the now dark building. None of them were there to hear of the condemnation of a Seer. “You have failed your only job,” the Grandmaster screamed in anger to the Seer that stood in front of him. His white toga with two black stripes on the perimeter of the edges of the fabric moved in a frantic manner. His face was almost as red as the carpet of the room. “You have failed to foresee the death of his Imperial Majesty. What else will you fail to see? Earthquakes? Corruptions?” “I see none of it… anymore, your most holy Excellency.” the Seer replied. “You see, I feel as if we are, losing our connection to the Father of Deat-” “NO MORE EXCUSES!” the Grandmaster interrupted furiously. “We have NO use for ANY excuses anymore. You shall be condemned to death by Sacrifice. At least then your soul will have a small bit of use.” At that, the Grandmaster called the guards in to take him away. “But wait! You must hear of the imminent danger that lies ahead!” the Seer screamed as he was taken away by the silent guards, dressed in all blue. “DEATTHHH LIEESSS…”
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Post by axeldonia on Apr 11, 2018 17:54:25 GMT -5
Great cove of Myratnis, Mündungshafen
The water steamed delightfully as Erika added the final touch, filling the small square pool with scented herbs before taking off her garments and slipping down into the water. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the water settled, leaving her in perfect equilibrium in the water. After a few moments the powerful scent made its way through the water, filling her nostrils as her mind went numb. She opened her eyes, finding herself in a small field. She stood up in confusion, looking down at her fingers to find her body slightly transparent. Visions where usually not this coherent, nor as detailed as this one. She began walking, first stepping through the fence as if she was made of air, deciding to follow the small earth path that went by the field. This was rather unsettling. She was by all accounts in some remote area of Titenfisca, but seemed to have become some sort of spirit. After a few minutes of walking she finally saw a small smokestack on the horizon, leading to a small farm with a barn. Wait, there was something… Off with the farm. Erika scanned the farm for discrepancies when she realized what it was. A black flag containing a red had inside a white circle flew above the farmhouse and all the fences around the property where tipped off with wooden stakes. She knew what this was, but she had only seen them in paintings before. This was an ink farm.
Despite her better knowledge she slowly wandered towards it, a feeling of unease creeping up on her as she walked through the tall, spiked fence. This wasn’t right. Not just in a moral sense, but fundamentally. Something about the entire world was wrong or at least different somehow. Her train of thought was interrupted as she heard a loud cough from the nearby barn, followed by a faint gurgle that was distinctly Squidspawn. Erika rushed inside after some hesitation, following the faint sounds down into a dark, filthy barn cellar where a lone Squidspawn sat, leaning against the wall in defeat. As soon as she looked up however, she let out a startled gurgle at Erika’s presence, followed by Erika’s equally surprised gurgle in response.
“Y-You can see me?”
“Wh-Who are you?”
“M-My name’s Erika. Listen, I don’t have time to explain, you are in a very bad place right now and I need to get you out of here. Do you think you can get up? I-”
“There’s no point. I can feel how I’m fading away into the hands of Yrutas now. It was nice to meet you, whatever benevolent spirit you may be, but I am afraid the meeting will be quite short.”
Feeling her heart sinking, Erika nevertheless stepped down the stairs and walked up to the poor Squid, crouching down in front of her and placing her palm on the other’s forehead.
Then there was a flash of light. Life and death intertwined, a thousand souls screamed in joy as fire and despair engulfed the world, barely escaping the red hand in a last of act defiance against it.
Erika again opened her eyes, finding herself in the pool of water. She blinked a few times before climbing out of it, wondering what in the name of Myratnis that vision was about. She covered herself in a white bathrobe, pulling a large plug that slowy drained the wat-
There was a large crack, causing Erika to look up at the large stained glass window depicting Myratnis herself, only to find a large crack had spread across it. Before her head had time to catch up her legs where running as the ground began to shake and the glass exploded with a crash, causing a large mass of black goo to spill down into the cove. She ran out of the meditation chamber as the goo lashed out behind her, slowly tearing down the cove behind her. The shaking finally stopped as Erika reached the outside, only to realize about half the cove had by now been destroyed. She gasped as a large black human stepped out of the rubble, heading right for her with an angry growl. Her knees went weak as the monster raised a hand, bringing it down on her. A faint drip caused her to open her eyes again, looking up to discover a giant, sleek green hand squeezing the monster’s arm in an iron grip. The arm was promptly ripped off and tossed to the side as another arm came swinging towards it, a hand full of sharp clawed fingers tearing it’s head to shreds. This was followed by a mighty roar causing the very ground to shake, making the monster melt like a wax candle in an oven, spilling out over the cobblestone as a large black puddle. Turning back to see her saviour, Erika gasped.
In front of her was an enormous Mermaid wearing a brilliant crown and submerged in the channel just besides the street. Erika fell into a bow, her eyes still transfixed on the mermaid as the giant woman laughed, caressing Erika’s cheek ever so gently with a giant finger and then dove back into the sea with a large splash, swimming as fast as a loose arrow and was quickly out of sight. A faint groan pulled Erika’s attention back to the pile of goo, where a squidspawn girl now kneeled, covered in goo but otherwise appeared fine. Erika herself put it quite succinctly.
“Well, this was certainly a strange turn of events.”
? ? ? “Ah!”
The statue fell to the floor with a crash as the ground shook, scattering pieces everywhere and leaving the pair of Squidspawn inside free from their stone prison. Groaning, the green-clad one got up with a devious smile, pulling up the other clad in purple robes.
“Well now sister, this was indeed a strange turn of events. Welcome back. Now, as soon as night falls, let us hunt.”
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Post by Chiernarosa on Apr 11, 2018 23:26:22 GMT -5
Kyran UndergroundThe party had reached the outpost of Vas'kalan in the evening, the Hertag having split off the day before: Tahra had spent most of the trip communicating with the Scorched Ones while Azkalon simply walked ahead of the group, his silence being the only sign of his rage, hand silently gripping the scabbard. During that time, he stole glances at the tribe and the Aven, both groups chatting in their corrupted language, his disgust at them hidden.
The outpost was far smaller than Kha'j'an, being staffed by less than 45 people, the Merchant being a wizened old man assisted by his daughter: the Merchant was willing to hand over supplies to them, but held a look of suspicion towards the Scorched Ones, the children of the tribe, along with the Warrior, looking around the outpost with a sense of wonder and genuine surprise - Tahra had explained to the Merchants, who simply shrugged it off and signed off on the orders.
Now the group had found themselves less than a day away from the border posts leading into Asil, hand-painted signs displaying the estimated distance and potential supply caches ahead: Azkalon kept an eye out, looking for the supplies when he felt the vibrations. Tahra sensed it too and could only suggest, "Could be a pack of wyrms, moving above ground for shelter": Azkalon shook his head, wondering if she'd ever ventured into the Western Sea in her life. The vibrations grew stronger as the rockwork began to shatter, raining chunks down onto the group: the Scorched Ones began to panic as the Warrior shouted out several calls, the Seer gesturing the young to move closer to her, Tahra joining them. Azkalon finally shouted out, "Earthquake! Everyone, find any formation that's stable and take cover!"
Suddenly, larger chunks of stone began to fall, steadily blocking the path as Tahra ran towards the building wall, shouting to Azkalon, "Phylakitai! There's little time: go to Kha'j'an and tell them that the path is being blocked by the quake. When you get there, tell them to send a rescue team as fast as they can to here: we won't be able to make it without support!" Azkalon felt the gazes of the men hit him, the Aven desperately trying to move the stones as they began to cover the mouth of the chasm: grabbing his sword, he suddenly hit the Aven's neck, the Shard falling in agony as he roared, turned onto his back as Azkalon whispered a prayer before stabbing at the man's heart - as Tahra screamed in shock, Azkalon looked up at her and simply said, "No: you can go to Asil on your own - I'm returning to Nimir with my men. May the Warfather grant you strength," turning his back to her as her screams of desperation and anger were silenced by the boulders. Azkalon pulled the Aven's equipment off, fitting the pata to his arm and examining the fallen warrior's round shield before setting it on his back, gesturing the men to follow as they set their sights on Kha'j'an.Kástro Velran"BY THE WARFATHER'S BLADE, FALL!" Atek screamed as he swung the sword into the Kavan's neck, his men swarming the Kástro*, the scarred warriors violently slaughtering the defending units. He had benefitted from the collapse of Velran: in the days following the battle, scavengers and local tribes had flocked to visit the ruins, only to be captured by his men - while the visitors provided little manpower, Atek gained the land necessary to establish a foothold further along the Dae'sah and away from the carnage that befell Velran. It was the earthquake that allowed him to make the push against the Kástro, the ground quaking as if in anger: his men, more fearful of him than in awe, had feared that the Warfather had been angered by their transgressions - they began to pray more, grow more estatic in Atek's presence, and held renewed vigor in battle. The earthquake had given him a second benefit: Kástro Velran had lied close to the geographic parallel with the center of the Magna Tabes, the resulting shocks having dealt extensive casualties to the weakened fortress. Looking up, Atek saw an Arban* being formed, a katet loading his Long Bow and aiming directly at him: charging, Atek reached a hand out as the katet fired, the bolt awash with flame as Atek summoned a column of fire from his hand, the remnants of the bolt falling to the ground as Atek jumped at the rider, sword impaling the man's stomach as he fell off.
Grabbing the Long Bow, Atek held several bolts in-between his fingers as he loaded the bow, aiming and firing at the other Arban units, fires lighting up the riders as they panicked, riding into the wave of defenders. Jumping off, Atek rammed the bayonet of the Long Bow into a kreigsaldr, ripping the kaskara* from his hands before throttling him: rushing up the steps of the fortress, Atek kicked open the door, greeted by the sight of the commanding officer, a Økesadr* already wielding the pollaxe. The two rushed towards each other, roars escaping their throats as their weapons clashed against one another, the larger Økesadr pushing violently against Atek, who slammed against the wall of the map room - lifting himself up with a growl, Atek grabbed a hanging lantern before charging again. As the Økesadr swung his axe, Atek dodged before swinging the open reservoir into the man's face, the Økesadr reeling back and screaming in agony, only to halt as Atek ripped the pollaxe out of his hands and swung it at his throat. The battle continued to rage until Atek emerged, roaring, "WARRIORS OF KÁSTRO VELRAN, I HAVE CLAIMED THE HEAD OF YOUR LORD: SURRENDER YOUR ARMS AND SWEAR FEALTY OR I SHALL CLAIM YOURS AS WELL!" Mounting the Økesadr's head onto the pollaxe's projection before tearing the face off, Atek lifted the axe upwards as his men cheered in bloodlust, the defenders laying their arms down and dropping to their knees. Monasteru Għoli tal-Gwerra Alla The Grand Master had been in prayer since the failed contact he established, steadily cutting himself away from the Library and remaining within his quarters. Several days after receiving the report from the Concilium, the scribe had returned from the Temple of Nature, reporting that the priestesses themselves had begun to lose contact with the Mother: the Grand Master had kept himself from mentioning the issues being met with trying to contact Rigma, instead giving the young man access to the new scrolls and weapons delivered, which he took with gusto.
Now he sat in silence, having stipped down to his darkened flax pants, upper body laden with brandings from long ago, scripture imprinted into the skin. He began to pray again when he felt the ground shake: collecting himself, the Grand Master stood up only to be knocked down as the quake grew larger, fine marble powder coating his face as he looked up. Coughing, he shook his face only to feel the weight of loose metal fall onto his head, sending him into the realm of unconsciousness.
Finding himself in the forests, he looked around as he could see Velran, but something had seemed off. Looking at the Kreigsfalden, panic struck him as he saw the Valnare cover the entirety of his vision, striking the village and sending it into darkness. In the darkness, he thought he heard the howls of the storm before a fire was lit, instead revealing to him the creatures of the forests, rushing towards a force of soldiers standing amongst the dead, the two sides meeting in a wall of violence. The darkness began to recede as he saw a man covered in scars standing before the survivors, madness lighting his eyes.
He soon found himself standing in the Kástro, the same man now standing before an army of men, head mounted upon an axe as he shouted at them, his body now laden with coils of ash and metal. The forests soon began to glow brightly, ash particles catching fire as a sea of reds and oranges filled his vision, the ground caving into a path of sand leading off to the distance. As he walked, he could see the Magna Tabes, shrouded in decay as it seemingly expanded, the roars of the corrupted filling his ears as he fell to his knees. A bulk soon approached him, a mass of fire staring down at him as he looked up, terror and awe covering his face before the figure closed a hand onto his face.
He woke up on the ground, dried blood sticking to him as he rose, the quarters strewn with his personal effects and the candles at the very end of the wicks. Standing up, he sat at his desk and reached for the journal, recording what he could remember as the voices began to whisper in his mind.
1. Kástro - Primary fortresses for the Kyran Forces, the Kástro are designed as waypoints and as the central location for the military districts of the Kyran Army, relaying information to lesser forts, other Kástro, or to the Varan Defence Sector. Kástro Velran, as it is called due to its relative location, was the main fortress for Northwest Kyras, and one of the western-most forts before the Western Sea: during the Ten'saii War, the Kástro was damaged by an earthquake before its capture by the rebel leader Atek den-Ten'saii, who used it as a waypoint for further campaigns east and the Kyran Underground.
2. Arban - A formation within the Kyran Army, Arban are cavalry units sent to disperse enemy formations before the main waves are sent in. Consisting of 25 men, Arban tend to be composed of Kavan, Katet, and/or Økesadr, primarily to target key points and commanders.
3. Kaskara - An indigenous-based sword, the kaskara is a yard-long double-edge sword with a spatial tip designed for everyday use, from combat to menial labor. Often kept in fine condition, the kaskara has been adopted as one of the main weapons for the kreigsaldr units and is often seen as part of an officer's commission.
4. Økesadr - A specialized unit, the Økesadr are axemen who charge into battle wielding a pollaxe or halberd alongside a tomahawk, clad in an aketon with metal plate armor. These units are seen as a more "heavyweight" class given the proportions of their weapons and the weight of their armor, with significant numbers collected from farmers. Despite this, Økesadr tend to also work alongside kreigsaldr units when building line formations, using their pollaxe to ward off cavalry and infantry charges.
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Post by Vista Major, MP on Apr 12, 2018 19:15:46 GMT -5
FELL COUNCIL TOWER, ASAKORUS
How the mighty fall when the ground sweeps them from off their feet.
As if out of nowhere, the ground shook and quaked with a great ferocity. Homes cracked and skyscrapers fell in an icy calamity as the earthquake took hold of Asakorus and seemed to refuse to let go. People screamed as they ran throughout the streets, attempting to establish clear distance between them and the invading Lexidun, but their advancing forces had most of them surrounded.
As the earthquake reached its peak, the tower where Mar'ar Ne'arzen hid started to splinter at its seams before, in a mighty crash, falling to the ground like a fell tree.
As if granted one final blessing my Myratnis, Mar'ar survived only with several cuts and bruises along his right side, the dagger he held in his right hand shattered upon the bricks. The guards were impaled by glass and crushed by icestones, dead upon impact.
The earthquake was over. But, still, a dark cloud of confusion hung over the capital's head.
As soon as Mar'ar emerged from the rubble, he came face to face with a Lexidun squadron, only mere feet away. Recognizing him as their target, the Lexidun charged at Mar'ar, weapons drawn. Instinctively, Mar'ar conjured ice blades in both paws and threw them at the soldiers; two of them fell upon being struck in the abdomen, but the others were unfazed. Not a moment later, they had tackled Mar'ar to the ground, bound his paws and hind legs in iron braces, and hauled him away towards the former city gates, where the High Chief was arriving behind the King Blair.
(FORMER) SOUTHERN GATES, ASAKORUS
Torvus' eyes moistened as he saw the ruins of his once great city. He had to force himself to stay back as the earthquake rumbled underneath him, felling many of Asakorus' towers, and toppling what was left of the city's centuries-old eterice walls.
"So, this is what has become of my home..." he said solemnly. Neavara, and Kasaer & his crew stood a couple feet away from Delakarz, recovering from the quake, and allowing the High Chief some space.
"BEHOLD, THE 'HIGH MASTER'!"
Torvus' head snapped up and focused on a small band of Lexidun soldiers carrying a grey Alkin up in the air; the figure was bound by iron shackles and appeared to be barely conscious. When they got closer, they dropped Mar'ar on the ground, and the impact made the High Master groan.
Delakarz's blood started to boil. Then, he took a slow, deep breath, and smiled crudely, bending down to roughly pet his former best mate, claws scratching deep towards their skin, causing blood to well up.
"Mar'ar, it is so good to see you again. I almost missed you."
Mar'ar whined, but said nothing.
Torvus then stood and nodded at the Lexidun soldiers. "Thank you. Your services are eternally appreciated... tell me, what weapons do you have on hand?"
One of the Lexidun answered hesitantly: "We have swords... daggers... why do you ask?"
Torvus grinned darkly. "If you would, I would like to have one of your daggers. Do you know if there's also some longwood and a whip and rope around here?"
"No doubt by the makeshift armoury... and many other materials... Chief Delakarz... what do you plan to do to this... wolf?"
"Something I hope that the Holy Mother forgives me for. Point me in the right direction, and I'll take justice into my own hands.
Neavara walked forward. "My Chief... are you sure?"
Torvus stiffened and balled his fists. "I am certain."
~~~
Far from the Lexidun encampments, Torvus had established his private torture square high upon a hill looking over the Ahsik River; Mar'ar was nailed to a wooden "X" cross with iron stakes, blood pulsing through his broken hands and feet. His entire body was cut with daggermarks. Upon Ne'arzen's head was a crude crown made of ice, crafted by Delakarz himself by the incriminating blade. In the High Chief's hand was a thick wool whip that he held tightly.
"Any last words, Mar?"
Mar'ar said nothing still.
"Very well. Auserbyde.
Then Torvus shrugged, unfurled his whip, and lashed out with all his might.
CRACK
Mar'ar howled as the whip struck his chest. His head shot up towards the moon as it emerged from behind the clouds; it was a new moon.
CRACK
Mar'ar screamed and tears started to stream down his face as he began to sob.
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
A short pause as Torvus breathes heavily. Then, with one last might yell, he swung one more time.
CRACK
The "High Chief" was silent, their breath barely evident. Without another word, Torvus walked over to Mar'ar, took out the nails that hung him up and let the Alkin crumple to the snow-laden earth. A few second later, Torvus retrieved his bundles of rope and tied tightly Ne'arzen's feet and hands. He then swung Mar'ar over his shoulder, walked to the edge of the hill, and tossed the poor Alkin over, letting the limp body crash into the water and sink. A couple bubbles later, and Mar'ar was gone, and no more.
Then, Torvus Delakarz, blood splattered all over his fur, turned around and walked back to camp; it was almost time to be recoronated.
THE CHIEF'S PALACE, ASAKORUSWhat remained of the Chief's Palace was the throne room; this morning, it was filled to the brim with Askin citizens and Lexidun soldiers. Torvus sat upon his icy seat of power, fur cleaned and polished so that it nearly shined, garbed in a long, thick black linen cloak with teal thread woven in, each strand displaying an Askite rune of his choice: Power; Redemption; Solidarity; Unity; Conquest; Betrayal; Agony; Rebirth. On Delakarz's left were Blair, MacLeish, and Kasaer; to his right was Neavara, the new High Shaman. In her flappers was Eternal Staff, recovered from the ruins of the Cathedral, and the symbol of the High Chief's power. "My people!" Torvus' now-deep voice boomed, echoing throughout the hall. "Lexidun brethren! This great morning, by the grace of the Most High Holy Mother, Myratnis, we gather to bring justice back to the throne, stability to the nation, and the promise of a bright future to our minds and hearts. Things will change in this Polar Dominion; the reforms will be swift and powerful. No longer will the High Chief be merely a supervisor of the many tribes. Starting this day, the High Chief will be in control of this nation's future, and never again shall they fall victim to betrayals of trust." The Askin cheered ferociously. Torvus Delakarz sprang up from his seat and lifted his fist. "We are Askin! Alkin, Barskin, and Hyarin; together, we shake the foundations of what it means to be a great civilization. Today, we shall redefine ourselves, and brand for ourselves a new reputation, a most-grandiose national pride unlike anything else! With the Myratnis as my witness, we shall never fall again! We will rebuild, and our new identity shall be known throughout the world! May we no longer be the 'Polar Dominion of Asakor'; instead, we are christened this day as Arctic Federation of Aeisa'kar; as the synthesis of our beloved ice and the declaration of victory, this nation is willing to move mountains to do what needed to be done... and so am I." The chamber exploded into applause. Once it started to die down, Neavara stepped forward and offered Torvus the Eternal Staff. "Do you, Torvus Ar'tek Delakarz, being chosen by the Holy Mother, Myratnis, to lead the kin of the North, swear by your life to uphold our unity, faith, and strength for all of your rule, and vow never to betray the kin you govern and serve?" "I swear upon my life, Myratnis as my witness." "Then I do now proclaim you, Torvus, as the Chief-Protector of Aeisa'kar. Long may you reign." Delakarz took hold of the staff and let its long-dormant power fill his very soul. The runes on his robes seemed to glow as he held the Eternal Staff in his paws, and the Chief-Protector felt as if born again; it had been so long since he held the staff at his first coronation. "LONG MAY HE REIGN!"
"LONG MAY HE REIGN!"
"LONG MAY HE REIGN!"
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Post by thevalleianorders on Apr 12, 2018 19:53:38 GMT -5
Part Four Outskirts of Nurrtexia, Northern Territories: It had been five hours since the Count and his entourage left Porta Norta, and the sun was about to set on the sands of the Northern Territory. They had been traveling by sand-sail, a very shallow boat that had skis on each side. They were of old, dry, sand-stained wood, and were propelled by the strong winds of the north. Five of these vessels steadily made their way south to the regional Capital of Nurrtexia. “Are we there yet?” asked Gabriel, hair, and body covered with dust and sand. He and the others had changed from their pompous robes to more practical tunics and trousers for the arduous journey they went on. “I hate sailing, and I hate sand. There are BOTH of these things here!” “Worry not, Gabriel,” the Grandmaster replied calmly to the Aide. “It is either this 5-hour long journey or a two-day long horse ride.” “At least we don’t have to endure the night of the desert outside by going this way,” the Count remarked, although seemingly disconnected. His eyes were focused on the horizon, trying to see Nurrtexia through the sandy skies. “I just can’t wait- wait, look that way!” Gabriel said, interrupting himself as he saw the first signs of the regional Capital. “Is that one of the beacons?” In fact, that really was one of the beacons of the fledgling city, guiding sand-sailors and horsemen through the abhorrent weather conditions of the region. It was barely visible, seemingly suspended in the air for the tower was of the same color as the sands. As they got closer, the fire became more visible, and with it, the outskirts of the city. “Prepare for arrival!” said one of the sand-sailors gruffly as he continued to steer the vessel. “At least these people don’t treat us with too much pomp,” the Grandmaster commented contently. Everyone was aware that the Grandmaster was pleased with the sand-sailors reply. The five sand-sails then moved into the makeshift port that was on the north side of the city. They tied the vessels to the docks and lowered the sails. Afterward, sand-covered men began to offload the creaking vehicles. As the three men were about to get off the sail, however, an officially-dressed man walked up to them. “Hail to the Most Gracious Prysmytr, the Excellent Protetyr, and the Protetyrad!” the local official announced with the utmost poise and grace. “I do so humbly inquire about your travels, for it appears that you have had a rough ride? May I offer you private baths in the city?” The three looked at each other for a moment, and all remembered that this was how most people were referred to; their Vyllyspk Titles. Although a completely dead language in all other matters, the Titles of Address in this old tongue of the Orders are still maintained. “Hytyr,” the Grandmaster said coldly as the local official stiffened up. “There is no need for us to use such pomp. What are you doing and get us ready for the ceremonies!” “Yes, Holy Prysmytr!” the Hytyr (local official) replied. He hurriedly led them to the baths of the inner city. -------------------------- Baths of Nurrtexia, Regional Capital: The baths were quite lovely after the long day of tireless travel. Aparaius and Gabriel now sat in a steam room of some sorts, covering themselves with towels. They sat on stone seats inside a steam room. The walls were tiled, and the floors had small openings in them to let steam pass through the room. They were alone, for this was a private chamber. “I’m about ready to get dressed now,” said Aparaius as he moved to stand up. “Do you think you’re up to it?” Gabriel asked, sensing some insecurity through the steam. “You know I am,” the young Count admitted. “But I’m sure that with your help and the help of those down south, I’ll be able to rule with a wise hand if I was chosen.” “We should probably get dressed before they wonder what we were doing here,” Gabriel stated with resolve. “Did what?” asked Gabriel rather mockingly, and they both laughed as they exited the room. The two then briefly uncovered themselves, getting suited up in their ceremonial attire. Aparaius put on a simple white toga that had two red stripes on its circumference. Over that, he wore a silver band marking his candidacy for Imperator. Gabriel dressed in a long, white, sleeved tunic that reached all the way to his feet, belted at the middle. Over this, he wore a red band and a black cape with a red stripe, reaching to his elbow. He dressed as a member of the Addius Class, that of Aides and Assistants. Afterward, they buckled on their shoes, Aparaius wearing red ones, and Gabriel wearing black ones. They subsequently walked out of the baths. “The procession starts soon,” the Grandmaster said to them the instant they walked out. He also wore a white tunic with the two red stripes, standard garb of the aristocrats and governing class of the Orders, with a red band over his right shoulder. His clothing, however, was more embellished, with golden embroidery on the band and the two stripes of the tunic. His shoes were unseen, covered by the complicated folds of the toga. “You seem quite, decked out,” the Count commented, apprehensive to what might lie ahead. “This is considered simple down south, son,” the Grandmaster replied swiftly. If we dress with pomp, then we can let go of some of the formality in our conduct. “Your Excellencies, and their Aide, right this way!” the local official interrupted their conversation. He wore a plain off-white toga, short and quite worn, with a red band over his shoulder. He continued, “Your chariots are right this way. Ceremonies begin after the procession.” The group then went off to mount their chariots and begin the procession. -------------------------- Prima Plaza, Center of Nurrtexia: The procession was long and boring. It felt as if they had endured another day of lengthy travel. Thankfully, the pompous procession finally ended a the Prima Plaza, or Primary Plaza of the city. This great square was the main gathering place of the city, with government halls, theatres, guild halls, and temples around its perimeter. In the center of it all was a fountain filled with sacramental water. In it, the souls of the sacrificed were contained, ready to be crystallized into Communication Crystals. “We now present to you the Imperator-elect and the Prysmystr of the Solacian See!” proclaimed the Hymytr, the holder of the Comunal Seat. Following this, the crowd cheered. The fires that lit the night-darkened plaza seemed to blaze slightly stronger at that instant, a reflection of the crowd’s energy. “DO YOU WILL TO BE IMPERATOR?” The crowd went silent. “I DO will it, so long as the Lord of the Necrominus wills it,” replied the Imperator-elect, going over well-practiced lines. “His Holy Tongue wills it, that you be considered,” said the Grandmaster, his forceful voice pervading the crowd. “Then, let the will of the Communion be known,” said the Hymytr. Suddenly, a chorus of bells wrung from the four Belfries of the City, and a choir of monks sang: “Imperator electys Oddtyrmytr Valleia Decidius Obtanys Imperator Neccrys. Communion Selyectys Electys APARAIUS”
(Imperator-Elect: The Master of Valleian-Folk, Decidius, Has Obtained The Imperator, now Dead. The Communion Selects the Elect APARAIUS)
The chorus of bells subsided to the cheers of the people. Shouts of joy rang forth from the crowd, and the city was filled with cheers. “Imperator Aparaius!” they exclaimed. The bells resounded, and all was quiet. Then, a Prystyr, wearing all black, came from the Government Halls and made his way to the fountain. Following him was a guard of nine soldiers guarding a man whose head was covered with a black cloth. “We bring before Decidius, the Lord of the Necrominus, this sacrifice as an offering for the waters to be crystallized into your Holy Gift, a crystal.” the Prystyr said in a monotone voice. “Do you, victim, renounce your sin against Decidius’s Most Holy Communion?” “I do,” he replied. “Let him be put before the Throne of Death,” the Prystyr said. Then, the nine guards threw him into the fountain and speared him from all sides. A great rumble was heard, the Plaza was suddenly filled with steam. The smoky expanse was then filled with a million cries, each louder than the last. This was not a cry of the living, this was a cry of millions of dead souls. The rumbling turned to shaking, the living joined the screams of the dead. -------------------------- “This way your Excellencies,” screamed the voice of a boy to the three on the platform. They ran after it, stones, timbers, and peoples falling around them. They ran through the screams of the living and the dead, the ground trembling and the air filled with steam and smoke. They exited the plaza through an alleyway, and they continued to run. The smoke began to clear and the trembling of the earth subsided. Aparaius looked back. In the Plaza was a huge conglomeration of black, horrid corruption, its tentacles, if they could be described that way, grabbed people, animal, and rubble alike. People ran in a frenzy, every which way, fetching belongings and siblings and family members and weapons. “Get the swords!” one man exclaimed. “Drown it with water!” another shouted. “Fire cannon and arrow!” a third announced. “Douse it in flames.” a Prystyr said. Aparaius had no more time to listen in; his wrist was grabbed by the hand of the voice that guided them out. The party of four ran through the chaotic streets, pieces of wood and stone littering the unplanned streets of the city. The streets themselves were upheaved; cracks now ran across the uneven cobbles. They ran for what seemed like hours in the chaos until they reached the south-eastern part of the regional Capital. In front of them were the docks. Some of the piers had been smashed in the horrible earthquake, others had been swallowed by the lake. Luckily, one pier was still unaffected, and docked to it was a boat that seemed to be waiting for them. “We must board this last ship.” said the boy. He appeared to be no older than ten, somewhat skinny with sun-tanned skin the color of the sands of the Territory. Despite this, he was dressed up for the ceremonies in modest but still expensive tunics and trousers. “Your belongings are most likely on one of the ships that had left earlier.” “You must go also,” Gabriel said with a short breath. “It seems as if some sort of… beast has been summoned during the events. It is not safe.” Before the boy could argue, the Grandmaster took hold of his hand and they all jumped onto the ship. Behind them, the walkway was pulled up and the sails were released. The ship lurched, and they were on their way south, fleeing from the now burning city. -------------------------- Edinginia, The Imperial Capital, After the Quakes: The smoke of debris was still settling on the alleyways and boulevards of the Imperial Capital. Many buildings had collapsed, among them five of the many Belfries lay in complete ruins. People filled the streets around the various Ward Halls that now acted as shelters in the shaken city. The many canals of the city were filled with small junks that flew blue flags; the color of the military. Soldiers rushed forth from these ships into collapsed buildings, looking for and tending to injured Ordtyrs. Some of the stone embankments of the canals had ruptured, and water began to slowly pour into surrounding streets. A woman sat in one of the lobbies of one of the unaffected Belfries. She wore a red toga that was emblazoned with golden stitching all over its surface. She wore a red band on her shaking, right shoulder. In fact, her whole body was shaking both from the shock of the results and shock of the great earthquake. “Answer, brother, please,” she said to herself. She had used her Diplomatic authority to take control of this specific belfry, having them watch for messages from Nurrtexia. Her brother had just won the Imperial election, and she hoped that hearing that news was not the last thing he ever did. “None of the Belfries seem to be responding, Wise Aurytyr (Diplomat),” said one of the monks operating the Belfry. “We assume that all of the Belfries were knocked out of commision by the Quakes.” She, Alexiana of Nyrthshur, had no reply. A tear rolled down her fair cheek for the Protetyr of Nyrthshur, her brother and elected Imperator, Aparaius I. She looked back into the streets and directed the monk to dispatch the guard to search for victims. She would not let any others worry as she worried now for her brother, and now, her Imperator.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Apr 13, 2018 12:50:15 GMT -5
Dunsley of Loness
Dunsley could only recall the feeling of falling. The wind whistling in his ears, the shrieking as the tower fell and the crashing thud that accompanied him. White blinding pain across his whole body and then, nothing. Sheer pitch blackness consumed him for what felt like an eternity. He felt nothing, saw nothing and even thought nothing. Nothing consumed him. It was peaceful.
Then he started to hear or at least, start to think he could hear. His name being called by someone, a soft voice, very distant. Mouse-like. Calling his name over and over, in a gentle and small voice. Dunsley. Dunsley please.
"Dunsley please wake up."
He opened his eyes slowly, trying to scan where he was in a blurred gaze. He could see that he was in a wooden structure, feeling and orientation soon returned and he could feel the gentle rocking of the structure as he lay atop a stretcher bed. He was on a ship, a medical vessel judging by all these other people lying on similar beds. Trying to move, Dunsley's feeling of pain returned to him and he felt the left side of his body burn with intense throbbing pain, a pain so intense he stopped moving as to not pass out. He turned his head slowly and painfully to his left. It was Leanabh and her mouse-like face smiling.
"You're awake! I'm so glad. The surface magic people did lots of magics around you, they said it was lucky for you that I found you under the rubble!"
Dunsley coughed, winced and gently tried to talk, making sure not to take too deep a breathe.
"You... found me?"
"Yes! I was really scared when the ground shakes happened but when your friends started cheering and dragging a scary furry man away from the big place I started looking for you! People were looking at me weirdly when I asked if they had seen you, some of them even tried to take me away! I ran away from them and found big rocks. I started digging, thinking you were under them and you were!" Leana's plucky attitude faded and her eyes began to well up. "You were so... still and I didn't know if you were... gone. The man below you was gone, he was covered in blood and he had his arms around you."
Dunsley came to the realisation that his Commander was in the tower with him as it fell. He recalled how as he fell, arms wrap around him and the commander shielding his left side, shielding him from the ground. The Commander had sacrificed himself for him, to cushion the fall. Dunsley felt his eyes begin to water as Leana responded the same, hugging him gently as he lay there. He swung his right arm over to hug her too, the two of them quietly sobbing in the lower decks of a medical ship.
"Commander Wallace was a good man. He'll be remembered for what he did." A voice came from across the room, accompanied by its footsteps. Dunsley could scarcely believe it, he had only seen this man on the coins he handled back home. It was his king!
King Blair de Brus
Myratnis above. Blair thought to himself. This boy is only a kid. Yet here he was lying on a stretcher with a broken leg, arm and one side of his ribs. After fighting his way up through Asakor in the name of Blair himself, here he was, a lad barely just over 18 and laying there after braking his body in the name of his king. Blair had left Asakor after Torvus' re-coronation and the establishment of the Great Federation of Adera Prime, with a sour taste in his mouth. Sure his forces had decimated the Asakor, with his casualties being just a little over 100 and having made Asakor capitulate. Sure he had now a valuable ally in the north, bringing the plan of the Northern Alliance closer to reality and therefore ensuring peace in the northern realms for the foreseeable future. Their countries would prosper and welcome an age of cooperation and resplendent amongst Lexidus, Titenfisca, Fyllia and Adera Prime.
Despite all this, the sour taste in his mouth persisted. What had been that quake? Reports had come in that it had been felt nationwide, nay, worldwide. Something was on the horizon and that quake was a warning, to all of them, but of what? Blair decided to forgo returning home on the capitol ship, instead opting to travel with the wounded men. He had to, he had to see up close and confront at what war meant and learn from it, so that hopefully he could never have to send his people away to fight again. Blair reached into his raiment's pocket and pulled out two handkerchiefs, handing them to the two wet eyed people in front of him.
"I was uh... hoping to save those for the widows I'll be visiting when we get home." He paused, rubbing his hands anxiously. "...but you two looked like you needed them right now."
"Thank you sir." Mumbled the injured soldier as he wiped his eyes, doing his best to try and straighten up and present himself. The King raised his hand towards him to stop him, encouraging him to rest.
"No need to thank me. I should be thanking you. What's you name lad?"
"Dunsley sir. Dunsley of Loness."
Blair chuckled. "What's your full name my lad?"
"Dunsley... Hovis sir."
"Wait a minute. Hovis? Are you Merida Hovis' boy? Oh my days my lad, you look like you could use one of your mum's famous baked treats!" Blair roared, Dunsley chuckling along despite his wincing, even the little girl next to him giggled. Blair noticed her and smiled. "...and what is your name young brave lady?"
She hesitated, awkwardly darting her eyes away from him and looked at Dunsley, who gently nodded with a smile. She turned to him.
"My name is Leanabh. My full name is Princess Leanabh Yola Lexidus, daughter of Petre the Eternal and heir to the Lexidun throne."
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Post by Andromitus on Apr 15, 2018 18:23:00 GMT -5
Shzahkt, Surface Asil
Zaolnak, the Priest-Caste, made no movement as the Veritian made his speech He hadn’t spoken to many surfaceworlders in his time, such contact was rarely regulated to men of his stature, but this one caught his attention. If nothing else he was certainly dressed differently than the so-touted “Guildmasters” in Akt’azall, and he certainly lacked their signature pompousness — at the very least this one knew his place. Then the man mentioned something that caught his attention — some form of beam? He resigned himself to let the man finish before the ground began to shake. He thought nothing of it, earth tremors were common, especially this close the surface — and this one was relatively light. Then the second hit, vibrations reverberated through their small room, and a third followed. All four of them, the Ambassador, Scrawl, Scribe, and Priest, collapsed to the ground with as the tremor grew in intensity; torchlight flickered, threatening to fall and set the mats along the ground alight. There they were pinned for what seemed an eternity before the tremor subsided, the calls of soldiers outside was the first sound to arrive before the door slid open and four soldiers — like others he’d seen, wearing a mix of metal and chitin plating— rushed in. The Priest began barking orders in Asilic, “ Check outside you fool, we’re fine, cave-in’s are a priority.” The Scribe moved to help the him too his feet before his eyes fell on the Ambassador. “ He was right.” he whispered before motioning to the Scrawl to help the poor man up. His mind was alive with thoughts, hell even without the Tremors he could’ve felt it. Dread. Underlying, ever-present dread. Zaolnak glanced to the Scribe-Caste beside him and began to speak, waiting for him to translate the message into Veritian. The Scribe looked to the Ambassador before relaying the message; “What light?” he noticed the mans look of confusion and started again, “You mentioned a beacon, that your Priests could feel something was wrong.” “ Tell him to follow us,” Zaolnak stated plainly before he motioned and moved toward a low table in the center of the room. Taking a seat on one of the floor cushions he straightened his hair as the others followed suit. “ Every single Priest in Asil felt that. I’ve no doubt in my mind. Adiil, tell the man to continue, that I am unaware if we could accept such military aid without direct word from the Authority, perhaps even the Ahnsijn himself. But if we can’t accept aid militarily, we must at least find a way to cooperate, perhaps to even delay a Yrutan arrival.”
Akt’azall, Surface Asil
“What the hell do you mean they ‘closed the country’?!” the Rohzai’s voice echoed through the stone chamber, a small circular structure illuminated by torchlight centered with a stone table lain with polished, red, sandstone tiles. Abiel didn’t know how to respond, that was all they’d told him after all; He’d woken up earlier that morning too soldiers banging on her door, next thing he knew they’d evicted half the population of the interior. The 18 members of the Consulate-Guilds sat dumbstruck in front of him as he continued on, how doors into warehouses and group-housings were broken down, people streaming out in a mix of compliance and terror. Crates of materials were dumped onto the cavern-floors and set ablaze as the inhabitants were herded out of the city like animals. “S’the fuck we do now,” Taerv started, the Guildmaster of Financing, his profession was about to be hit the worst and his face showed it; “I mean, is there word from the other cities or are those blue-skinned fucks only kicking us out?” “Taerv y’know full well that if their kicking us out the front door, the leaders of our little wolf-pack, then it’s sure as shit evicting the rest of us, probably as we speak.” Izmet Bakahln —Eastern Transport Guild— still smelling of a mixture of smoke and liquor from his evening ‘expenditures’, ”the real question now, is, what in fuck is going on? Compliance and good business from both sides for the last two hundred years, I broke an amulet of Myratnis in front of them for ‘proof of secular conduct’.” All eyes turned back to Abiel, the poor messenger felt the eyes of a 200-year business boring into her soul, “Th-they, er, from what I was told the central Authority ordered the Surface-City Interior’s to be cleared out; soldiers were ordered to drive off any outsiders inside Asilic territ…” “We’re not fucking outsiders! I’ve lived here my entire goddamn life and I’m sure as hell not going to let a bunch of bug-wearing, blue-skinned freaks shove me off! D’you know how much of an investment I put in this city alone?!” The other guildmasters murmured in agreement as Taerv kept on his high-horse, his eyes going bloodshot from the screaming. Çipichec, a Northern-Karthagite Warbaron, was the first to respond, “So then, grandmaster of strategy, what do you suppose we do? March up to the front gates? Draw our swords and fight for our economic assets? You’ve seen what they do when that happens; you’ve seen what they’r armed with.” Taerv grimaced, sitting down he glared at the Karthagite; superstitious tribal, what’d he know about the Asil. But he couldn’t stay angry forever, the man had a point — Taerv remember all too well the fury laid down on them when a caravan made the mistake of bringing their religious items into the city. ‘Glimmer-Salts’ they called the substance, 15 men and women tied to posts and lathered in the stuff. Their skin sure as hell ‘glimmered’. “So its only a matter of time before that ring expands,” Taerv started grimly, “I reckon anywhere from an hour to a few days before they start pushing us outside of the interior completely.” They all sat still for a moment, none of them knowing how to respond — it was all quiet at first, then their glasses started to shake. The sound of glass on stone dragging them back to reality. “Surface Quake, its too soft for a deeper one.” Taerv started. The room continued to vibrate, each second a little stronger, several of the Guildmasters reached out to secure their plates and glasses from falling off the stone table. “See,” the Guildmaster started again, “just a—“ The room exploded as the second wave hit, kinetic energy reverberating through the stone structure; Abiel collapsed too her feet as stone dust filtered down from the ceiling, the other men falling out of their chairs as the entire room shook like a tree in a storm.
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Post by Unfallious on Apr 16, 2018 16:58:55 GMT -5
Insignas, dazed and disorientated, hoisted himself up onto his feet as the shaking subsided. Earthquakes were not a common occurrence in Veritious, and certainly nothing as strong as this, so it took a while for Jacobi to collect his bearings. Looking around, he became aware that he was being spoken to. The scribe that had brought him down here was helping him to his feet while the other scribe translated a message from the Priest and motioned to a table nearby. Insignas hobbled over to the table before practically collapsing into one of the seats. He took a few moments before replying. "Uhm, yes, yes, the beam." He coughed and shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. "We don't have an official name for it, some call it the King's Might, others Zypnac's light. Most of us just call it the beam. I'm no historian, but everyone in Veritious knows the legend." Jacobi took a moment, remembering the legend he had been told multiple times in his youth, "400 years ago King Aleksander the Godly decreed that Veritious would worship the Lord Zypnac instead of the Holy Mother. His decree caused a dreadful civil war that consumed the nation for years upon years. In the beginning it went horribly, and soon House Lockwell, the Royal House, had lost control of everything but the capital. The worshippers of the Mother, many of which were bannerman who had betrayed their King, laid siege to the capital. On the 30th day of the siege the leader of the besieging forces opened a dialogue with the King offering that, in each for his conversion back to the worship of Myratnis, he would be allowed to retain his throne, his capital and his life. The King refused, seemingly condemning himself and the whole city to starve or be put to the sword. It was said that, that night, the Almighty himself came to the King in a dream and told him he was being rewarded. That he would be gifted for his faith and given the means to retake his Kingdom, all he had to do was build a complex under the palace. When the King awoke, his head was filled with the blueprints for a vast forge to be built under the palace and, under that, for a temple to be built. The Council thought he was crazy, the people damn near rioted. It seemed an impossible task, yet it went ahead. They said the moment they broke ground, things started going well for the capital. Food stores never exhausted, no matter how much was taken. The workers under the palace seemed to work with the vigour and strength of 5 of their peers. They completed what should have taken years in only 2 months. All whilst under siege. When they finished, the city had been under siege for 3 months. The legend said that the King himself laid the final brick, completing the vast forge. Once he had, the Earth trembled and the beam descended from the sky, through a whole built throughout the palace, straight into the forges and down into the temple, which the King had named the Subterranium. When the beam descended from the sky, many of the besiegers were overcome with fear a fled, the rest were defeated shortly after by the metal that the forges were able to craft using the beam. These forges would become the Acarack, the metal, Acarate. King Aleksander would go on to earn the nickname 'the godly' and win the war, converting Veritious to the true faith. The beam has been with us ever since."
Insignas finished his tale and looked out at the room. He had become somewhat consumed by his own tale, seeing as it had been years since he had recounted it. "Our God and yours speaks to us through this beam, Sers" He said after a pause, "And he told us all to be afraid."
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Post by Andromitus on Apr 16, 2018 22:03:00 GMT -5
Rim Regions, Surface Asil FreeIt was a strange feeling no matter how many times he accomplished it, the rush of voices suddenly dulling into such a basic understanding. His emotions tied to those around him; he didn’t just hear their thoughts he felt them, their blood coursed through his veins and his through theirs. It was only pinpricks at first, flashes of green and purple, thoughts of the sky, terraces, of the soft call of the wind. Then it grew, link after link, his mind to the next, from one he felt a thousand — flashes of colors became a rainbow, pinpricks became smells and sensations, a hand on cloth, the minds of curious children pushing desperately to merge faster. The room around them disappeared, fractalized into a hundred shards from a hundred eyes, their minds guided upward and outward by the temple-elders as many thoughts became one. Many names, one. Daoá The name echoed through their thoughts — they didn’t hear it, they merged with it. Con…sen…sus…There was little need for words; understanding of each replacing primitive concepts of codes to convey knowledge. Lain out before them was everything they knew, a wave of calm settling along their thoughts as questions fell into answers. The stable sense of security replacing any doubt of the coming months, there was to be enough food, enough water, enough housing; no laws broken since the last consensus; and each ritual and ceremony was prepared for the next days. Coming Blinding purple flooded into their minds; not a flash of Aura or realization. It struck through them like a bolt of lighting, wrath, anger, confusion following like a thunderclap. The monastery around them shook, Temple-Elders calling out into the group mind with comfort and calm. Free… Torrents of light and sensation shot through each of them, its path clear to the Magna Tabes just beyond the horizon. I…need A hand reached out, theirs followed as their minds pressed agains it, a cage. They felt as he felt, their wings trapped to their sides, land born but built for the sky. Their voices calling out into nowhere. FREEDOM
Yuln, Ixthenpijn
A second boom shook through the cavern, the sound of cracking stone following on its heels. Soldiers around Yuln —a small harbortown beneath the western Gate— all ceased their duties as they looked up toward the Thaur-Gate. Another boom echoed through the cavern, small rocks tumbling down the gently sloped side of the Gate — this time the shock forced many to drop what they were holding, vibrations shaking the ground on which they stood. All eyes were on the Gate, on a long, branching black line piercing the rich white stones. The ground shook again and the crack, almost 8 meters long and just above the stone gateway plates, practically doubled in size. It started low, a slow rumble only this time unaccompanied by a boom of the enemy hordes against the heavy Asilic defenses. Then it grew, water sloshing against the stone harbor, braziers flickering wildly. The rumble flew into a Tremor and the echoing cry of stone-on-stone screamed throughout the wide biocavern of Ixthenpijn, small rocks and unstable growths along the ceiling collapsed 67 meters to the surface-floor, small creatures took the skies or sloshed onto land and out of the water. Streams of people took cover as the tremor continued to grow, the stone buildings of the Asil built specifically for this kind of occurrence. Then the realization hit the soldiers of Yuln — the stalwart white-stone blocks of the gate shattered as the Yrutan Flagbeast crashed into the harbor, its black, red-streaked, flesh collapsing just beneath the waves. 6 legs and almost resembling a lizard, its head split in four and a solitary, bloodcurdling roar echoed throughout the Ixthenpijn Interior. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Cries of beasts, men, and fire echoed through the exterior chamber; the first creature to arrive, nicknamed by the soldiers as “the red horror”, slammed again against the Thaur Gate, it skin fizzling on contact with the holy seal. It roared, soldiers covering their ears , the ground seeming to shake from the gargantuan sound. It only took a few moments before they realized what was happening, gusts of wind began to explode as the ground continued to shake, water sloshing around the artificial harbor left after the creation of the Thaur-Gate. The beast pounded its body against the wall another time, the stone cracking beneath the weight of the body and the growing tremor before bursting asunder, the monstrosity collapsing into the newly gaping hole. Other creatures quickly followed, pushing past the outer defenses already cracked open by the Horror as it made its second charge forward toward the Thaur Gate. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Warhorns were already heard across the central cavern as Alzeih looked up from her duties; the rest of her supplies had been confiscated by the Ixthenpijn Governance days ago, relegating her to nearly loose pants and a tight, sleeveless tunic. Soldiers were disappearing from the Quarantined Artisan-District moving rapidly toward the Western Gate before the second shockwave hit. This time it almost nocked her onto her feet before the rumbling started. It was slow at first, but only grew — then she heard it, the shattering of stone and a low moan crossing through the air. Her skin crawled and she covered her ears in shock; “What’s going on?!” She yelled out, but the answer was obvious. The Western Gate had fallen.
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