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Post by Unfallious on Dec 9, 2018 10:02:53 GMT -5
Rules: -OP is the God of Gods. You cannot comprehend the OP, but don’t worry he’s there. His apostles go by the name Co-OPs, they may act in the stead of the OP and may act independently or at the direction of his divine hand. Insulting the OP or the Co-Ops or going against their decisions is blasphemy. Blasphemy is punishable by having everything you’ve ever posted on the RP wiped out. Don’t do it. You may disagree with the decisions of the moderation so long as you do it civilly and in this thread. -No meta-gaming - Just don’t do it dudes. -No power-gaming - You’re not a God even if you do control the minds, hearts and souls of a Kingdom. You are still at the mercy of the land, the pantheon of Gods and of course the moderation. Acting as if you are a God is heresy, heresy will get you sternly shouted at. It will then get everything you’ve ever posted smited, so don’t do that. -Stick to the time period - This RP has a firm medieval setting. Although aspects of it are open to interpretation, players must overall stick to a medieval setting. Continuing to go against the period after you’ve been told that it’s incorrect I’ll direct you to the modern RP and tell you to piss off. If you're unsure if what you're planning is allowed in the time period, please consult moderation. - No deal-making outside of the IC thread - This technically falls under meta-gaming, but many people don’t seem to see it that way. For those of you who took part in the ModernRP you will understand why this is a rule. I want an RP where we RP, not form alliances in OOC and then lightly threaten each other without RPing. I will deal with infractions of this rule on a case-by-case basis but I am prepared to take you off the map if you insist on acting in this way. If you want to build an alliance, make a deal or plan an attack you do it in the IC. If people try to meta-game because of the posts they read IC then we’ll deal with that separately and harshly. -Don’t RP outside of the established threads - The medieval RP is a strict closed RP where only those accepted by the moderation can take part and only posts made in threads sanctified by the moderation may go on to form the medieval canon. Please don’t form off-shoot threads unless you first run it by the moderation.
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Post by Unfallious on Dec 9, 2018 10:03:19 GMT -5
Recaps The Confederal Stratocracy Kyras
Following the earthquake that hit Calveria, a spiritual revelation struck Vortex ka-T'Reinat, Grand Master of the Temple of War, concerning the rebellion led by Atek den-Ten'saii, known now as the Ten'saii War. Informing the Falanx, the executive council of the Republic, the body chose to enact measures to stop the rebellion at Kástro Ronan, home of the famed ship known as the Fog Splitter, with additional plans for the defense of Varan Island. Ten'saii, meanwhile, emboldened by the capture of Kástro Velran, began to gather allies for the battle, consulting with local tribes and eventually securing an alliance with Azkalon den-Kayros, a former Phyakitai of the Republic gone rogue, and the Dead City of Reis'kjan, located in the Kyran Underground, along with a band of raiders striking northern Asil. Within the Underground, Tahra an-Fenrox, an interpreter in the Underground, sought passage of a feral Scorched One tribe through Asil after Azkalon's betrayal: a series of circumstances see the tribe almost completely devastated, with the threat of armed response by Kyran forces declared. Atek launched an assault on Kástro Ronan, eventually managing to take the Fog Splitter and a small armada to Varan: here, he fell as Xalkayr led a force to wipe out the invaders, at the cost of Vortex's life. In light of the Ten'saii War, Xalkayr took emergency powers under a newly-centralized Kyran government, laying the foundation of a dictatorship with the Temples of War and Nature folded into an amalgamated body to support his endeavor and start a religious revival in the Republic. Despite Atek's death, the survivors of his force, several thousand-strong, retreated to the Underground, joining forces with the now-deposed Azkalon and his men, moving to join the raiders and carve their own state in Asil, unknowingly planting the seeds of war between Kyras and Asil. The Dual Kingdom of the Isles
With the new Dual Kingdom still finding its footing, a massive earthquake struck the kingdom, destroying many villages and hamlets. King Godred Crovan and his ministers quickly took charge of rebuilding, but elsewhere, they faced new problems. The former Northern Locomati Duke, Diesalion X, escaped from house arrest, launching a frantic search by both Locomati and human officials. At the court of Peel Godred, the rivalry between Chief Driver Burnett Stone and Yrutas mage P.T. Boomerius intensified, with Burnett swearing to expose Boomerius’ perfidious nature. Despite these looming troubles, the human court was able to come together for a lavish festival honoring the visit of the former Locomati duke Adam. Shortly after the festival, Burnett Stone met Percy of Avonsida, a page and confidant of Locomati Grand Duke Thomas. Percy quickly formed a partnership with Burnett and Burnett’s enchanted companion Lady to defeat both Diesalion X and Boomerius. The trio were later joined by Boomerius’ adoptive daughter Flora of Tramingen, who informed them that Boomerius and Diesalion may not be separate threats after all. In terms of policy, King Godred sought to expand the Dual Kingdom’s reach and influence. In the west, a diplomatic delegation reached the Noble Kingdom of Lexidus and managed to meet with their king Blair de Brus, although the mission was cut short after a Yrutan attack on the Lexidun capital of Camelon. In the east, King Godred sent out an expedition to colonize the island nearest to the kingdom’s eastern boundary; the mission established a foothold on the island without resistance, founding the settlement of Tidmouth as the island’s capital. A diplomatic delegation from the Valleian Orders, the Dual Kingdom’s long-isolated northeastern neighbor, was also graciously received at court by the King, with a Valleian embassy being established in Peel Godred. However, while the human islands flourished, the Locomati islands faced crisis. Avoiding capture, the fugitive Diesalion X reached the court of Count Philip of Vicarstown, the new pretender to the Northern Locomati throne. Philip, easily swayed by Diesalion’s flattery and lofty goals, cast out his previous Chancellor and guardian and replaced him with Diesalion. After biding his time and purging his court of those he suspected of disloyalty (including the courtiers Norman of Bulleida and Sidney of Darberton), Diesalion launched his rebellion, capturing Vicarstown and taking Governor Mavis Anopheise and most of her court prisoner. Both the Locomati and human armies were quickly mobilized, while Burnett Stone, alarmed by the sudden disappearance of Boomerius at the same time, set out with Lady to track down the Yrutas mage. Burnett and Lady confronted Boomerius, though Boomerius quickly defeated them after he wounded Lady. Not long after, Diesalion and Count Philip’s army faced off against Grand Duke Thomas’ government army, and what initially looked like a rebel victory turned into a crushing loss after Philip fell in battle. With Diesalion now excluded from the monarchist movement, he met Boomerius, who converted Diesalion to the ways of Yrutas. What dangers will come out of this new partnership? The Kyasii Ashnsijnate of Asil
Water surged through the shattered Thaur Gate as the first wave of the Yrutan Horde washed against the Khemet wall. This time however, the barrier of Alchemic bronze wouldn’t bend, splintering the first wave, and then the second. With crack of stone, and a blaze of fire, the battle for Ixthenpijn had begun. Alzeih, a Lower-Caste conscript, was among the extraneous wings defending the western farming regions when, on a hunch, she asked to send troops toward the river bank. After one failed attempt to convince her leadership, she managed to have a sole archer fire into the waters below their fortifications, alerting the entire western end of the cavern to the existence of a swarm beneath the water, the Horde had attempted an encirclement. Within only a few weeks of the death of the 315th Ahnsijn, chaos gripped Vōhlthazaan. The event was met immediately a slew of disappearances, most of which were from the Alchemists, a powerful political bloc as well as scientific organization, including a Kīhvnét, one of two advisors to the Ahnsijn which takes up diarchic control upon their death, leaving a firmly Kaaviin, an opposing political bloc, Kīhvnét named Izah in a unique position of power. With a flood of refugees and disease pouring up from the north, riots, and soon a rebellion in the central territories, Izah established the Iylmirix edict, closing all movement into, out of, and within the country. The great creature writhed along the waterbed, the Horde-King that had shattered the Ixthenpijn Thaur-Gate, with six gargantuan legs, a lizard body, and a head split like a flower petal. Returning canon-fire with volts of purple energy, it was the strength of Khemet arms that kept it at bay. But it would be the same Lower-Caste conscript, Alzeih, who distracted and drew it toward the ruins of the thaur-gate, now charged with explosives, to be buried under an avalanche of rock. Not moments later would the horde on the other side of the rubble burn against the white-blue flames of Alchemic Fire in a final Khemet counterattack. Kàhltchéht long a transit hub on route from the Northern to Southern Interior, now flooded with troops as Kīhvnét, and de-facto dictator, Izah took steps to push back against the rebel forces. Forming in reaction to both the Iylmirix and accusations of Kaaviin-sponsored political purges, the rag-tag group of political dissidents fueled the fires of lower-caste discontent, using it to seize control over key transit territories in a bid to force Izah and her Bloc to comply to their demands. Her response was to be brutal, but in her haste to centralize a spear-point in Kàhltchéht, she had relieved the long-passive Northern Border of a sizable chunk of manpower, a mistake met with a series of raids from the Kyrans. A reorganized and reformed Southern Armada looks south toward a liberation, combat erupts along the northern border, and rebels seize the core artery of the nation; yet more eyes turn to the throne of an Empire. The Noble Empire of Lexidus
The Cold War is over, however the Yrutan Crisis had only just begun. Lexidus, Titenfisca and Fyllia stand triumphant over Asakor and have reinstated the rightful ruler within the Polar Dominion. From this war came a new alliance, consisting of the four northern nations, the Northern Alliance. Peace in the north was all but assured. Meanwhile Lexidus expanded southwards hoping from island to island, expanding its dominion over Calveria. Explorers led by Ruby Hollins make their way to various islands and as a result a new South-Eastern passage was discovered. Linking The North to the Southern realms. Back home, Leanabh is confirmed as being the lineage of the original Lexidun royalty, causing an uproar in the Lexidun nobility. With Blair admitting to her that she might just be his sole heir. The Dual Kingdom of the Isles also sent an envoy to open relations between the two newly acquainted nations. Meanwhile however, Yrutas' began to infiltrate Lexidus, his corruption causing a near outbreak in the city of Bluxa's Grand Temple of the Mages of Myratnis. The mages thought they had the corruption purged but it would claim one final victim in the form of Grand Magister Dominic Drake, who was mercy killed by his peer Grand Magister Haylee Griffon. Then the siege began. Yrutas, emboldened with newfound power, attacked Lexidus with his underlings and beasts flooding forth from the Grand Undercity Portcullis. The Siege of Camelon had begun and Lexidus was caught completely off guard. King Blair ordered the castle to be closed and all non-combatants to be evacuated, himself standing at the gate with his guard to buy everyone time. People in the city were slaughtered, with the city guard putting up as much a fight as they could, evacuating everyone they could as well. Then the gate fell and Blair fought for his life against the Yrutan Knight and his hanza. It was a hell of a fight with the remaining Lexiduns just beginning scrape just ahead, however Blair was caught off guard and immobilised, the Yrutan knight preparing to finish him off. It was at this point, a defiant Eimear appeared out from within the chaos and struck the Yrutan knight, saving Blair. However this was to no avail as she was then struck down by the knight with the same spear she had used on him. She then died in Blair's arms, all seeming lost. Just then, Bakahn al-Kwharafi and his band of Rohzai warriors ended the knight and his minions across the city, along with the help of the Free Squidspawn Company. The siege was over. Amassing his people, they burned the bodies of the fallen, the king saying his final farewell to Eimear. He never got to tell her that he loved her. With the Empire of Lexidus declared, King Blair now plans a crusade, calling upon all the nations of Calveria to arms. To kill the mad god Yrutas. Meanwhile... Donn Myra, Leanabh's protector, resurfaces in Camelon and is escorted to the castle. The Righteous Kingdom of Veritious
Beasts sieged Amnest. The cries of beasts both human and inhuman had rang out through the streets of the once grand and resplendent city. Amnest had always been far from conflict, from instability and chaos, but no more. The defence had lasted months and depleted the capital’s fighting population to critical levels. In desperation, King Petyr I had called his bannermen, the Viceroys of Veritious, to aid him and their capital. However, only one had answered the call and come to the aid of their King. In their darkest hour, the nobles of Veritious had allowed their King to be besieged and had been branded traitors to the state. Regardless, the remaining forces of Amnest had gone on the offensive, committing to an all-out assault to save the heart and soul of their city. They had succeeded, driving Yrutas out of the city and closing the portal, But the cost had been heavy. The King had died, sacrificing himself along with his personal guard, in order to close the portal. The Sapphire Palace, a symbol of Veritious and of the monarchy, had been destroyed with Johalas, the new King of Veritious, left standing in the ruins. One month on, and all is not well. Now the threat facing Veritious is one of men, not gods. With the provinces in a state of all out disobedience, Johalas has no choice but to push his Kingdom into a state of civil war or risk losing control altogether. They had saved the heart and soul of their capital from the clutches of a god, now the new King must save the heart and soul of his country from the greed of man. The Republic of Titenfisca
Despite the unprompted Yrutan attack on Mündungshafen, Titenfisca recovered and it could even be said to thrive. The dye trade remains undisrupted and the Republics reach has expanded with the annexation of half the North Star isles and discovery of new southern lands. The Republic also joined the defensive Northern Alliance led by Lexidus despite some domestic hesitancy whilst covert efforts to connect with the gods have yet to yield little in terms of results. The bloody attack on the Lexidun capital caught the nation off guard and further spurred on the plans for centralization that have been long in the making in the various Titenfiscan city-states. Many in Titenfisca now anxiously watch Lexidus, unsure of what course their country is to take.
Introducing The Kingdom of Kanso-Oromi as a new entry into the RP: Four years prior in the capital city of Hato
Celebrations in the street.
Music in the palace.
A new King is crowned.’for the glory of Kanso-Oromi, I present to you King Hato VIII Omo! Glory be to Decidius!’ Two years later, Omo-Touo Castle, Hato, Kingdom of Kanso-Oromi Sitting in his throne, King Hato VIII Omo has faced a quiet reign of four years thus far. Quiet and boring to the young King. Not much has changed in his Kingdom since they closed their doors to any and all outsides one hundred years ago.Stepping into the throne room an old man wearing a military uniform, gray haired and tired. Hato Otumi, the King’s uncle.‘Sire, I have the report you requested. During your reign thus far the sighting of ships off of our northern coast has increased tenfold since the first year of your reign.’ Present day, Omo-Touo CastleThe young King is standing in his study. Ahead of him on a pedestal lies an old gray book. Looking at it briefly, the King sighs and steps back to stand before the map on the table in the center of the room. Grabbing a lemon slice out of a bowl he begins to chew on it.‘More shipping off of both the coasts in the last few months alone. What in Decidius’ name is going on out there?’ Looking up, he finds himself staring in the eyes of his grandfather King Hato VII Oto. The King who closed the nation
‘Perhaps it is time for a change grandfather. We cannot keep ourselves isolated forever.’ Two weeks later, North Market, HatoAs men go around nailing the new royal decree to posts, a crier steps onto a soapbox and begins to read aloud.‘By order of his Grace, King Hato VIII Omo, the policy of closed entrance to the Kingdom is hereby rescinded. From this day forward all cities in the Kingdom, barring those on Naga island, shall be open to foreigners who do not speak the tongue of our people.’
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Post by Unfallious on Dec 9, 2018 10:03:25 GMT -5
Reserved
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Post by Unfallious on Dec 9, 2018 10:03:29 GMT -5
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Post by Unfallious on Dec 9, 2018 10:53:05 GMT -5
Feet hit the cobbles. Heavy breathing filled the air, interspersed with subtle whimpers of fear. Tiyn ran, he ran blindly, and he ran fast. Several paces behind him the growls of the inhuman grew louder and louder. He was running down a hallway that never seemed to end. It was one long, endless, line of stone and dark and terror. He could feel fatigue catching up with him. Adrenaline could only bring him so far. Yet still, he ran. He knew that if he stopped, they would get him. The inhuman, the monsters. Yrutas' minions. Ahead of him a light briefly flickered and then faded. Was this an exit? He sped up, pushing himself further on the hope that this light had created. His breathing increased, becoming ragged as the exhaustion mounted. Was this a door ahead? He could've swore this hallway went on for miles, yet here a door suddenly was in front of him. It was old and wooden, with a ringed handle. He ran straight into it, his hands scrambling for the handle. The creatures behind him were getting closer and closer. He grasped the handle and pushed his way inside, slamming the door behind him and bracing against it.
He braced for an impact that never came. The screams of the beasts behind him were no more. This was when Tiyn became aware that the room he was in was lit, candles at the walls lit the room warmly. At the far end there was a fireplace, logs burning and crackling softly. In front of the fireplace there were two arm chairs. The rest of the room was filled with artefacts and books. A lot of books. To his left and his right were bookshelves which ran the entire length of the room, wall to wall and ceiling to floor. He walked over cautiously and examined the titles, most weren't in any language he recognised. Tiyn knew many of the languages of Calveria, at the very least he could visually recognise them, but these were completely different. There were some in Faōhzāh, but their titles were almost nonsensical, The Intricacies of Aurgahn Society, The Rise and Fall of the Valagast Empire, The Politics and Society of Amnestium, they didn't seem to make sense. These places obviously did not exist, yet here they were. His hand reached for The Politics and Society of Amnestium when his attention was drawn by another book. It looked much older than the rest. The writing on its spine was written in gold lettering:
THE CALAMITY: THE FALL OF VARGARDIA
He pulled it out from the bookshelf, and wiped a thick layer of dust from its cover. It was leather, old but pristine. He pulled it open, at the contents page.
"Do you read often?"
Tiyn jumped, and swung around. There, sitting in the armchair, was a human man. He looked as pristine as the book he held. His clothing was unusual, and outlandish. He wore a kind of deep purple coat, with a bright white buttoned shirt underneath. Around his neck was a piece of fabric, also purple, tied with an unusual knot that produced a long sleek trail of fabric that covered the buttons of his shirt, ending just above the waist. He sat in a laidback position, a glass in his hand. He gestured to the second armchair. Tiyn approached slowly, book in hand. He felt fear, but he also felt curiosity. He lowered himself into the armchair, never taking his eyes off the man.
"May I see it?" The man asked. "The book, I mean."
Wordlessly, Tiyn handed the book over. The man glanced at the title.
"Ah, The Calamity of Vargardia," he said as he opened the book, "one of my favourites. A tragedy, no doubt. But the way he describes the fall of the great states. The monologues from the great philosophers as their cities burned, a few still move me to tears."
"It's a tragedy?" Tiyn asked, curiously.
The man chuckled, "Oh not in that sense. It's a history book."
"A history book? A history of what?"
"My birth." The man replied with a smile.
"I don't understand." The man stared at Tiyn, his green eyes were unmoving. His black hair was slicked back, almost shiny.
"I wouldn't expect you to," he said, pausing for a moment, "when a mortal is born there isn't usually a calamity associated with it."
It's with horrifying realisation that Tiyn realised who he was talking to. His realisation must have shown on his face, as the man's smile only grew. He hadn't blinked the entire time he'd been sitting there.
Tiyn rose to his feet, only to find himself quickly flying through the air. He landed at the far end of the room, a pile of artefacts cushioned his landing. He looked up to see the figure standing over him.
"Why have you come to my home, Tiyn?" He asked, as Tiyn backed himself away. He moved as quickly as he could, quickly finding his escape blocked by a wall.
"You should know that you will never leave this place. You are mine now." The silky voice gave way to a deeper, more monstrous tone. The demon's green eyes grew only brighter, as he took steps towards him. Tiyn knew he had only precious moments left. There was no escape. His curiosity had brought him too far, his fate was to die in the worst way. Then, the demon stopped. He looked at Tiyn curiously, his head cocked to one side. Specifically, he was looking at his hand.
"What are you holding?" He asked, in the silky smooth voice. Tiyn looked down to see his hand grasping an amulet, it was gold chain with a cage. Inside the cage there was a floating dim light inside a glass ball. For several moments the two of them stared at it.
"Give that to me." Yrutas said, after a while. "Give that to me now." His tone was grave and serious. A change from the sadistic playful tune that had rung out in his voice only moments earlier.
"Give that to me NOW," he said, the deep monstrous voice returning as Yrutas lunged at Tiyn. Tiyn raised his hands in an effort to protect his face. There was a flash of light. And then nothing.
Tiyn awoke. He was cold, the wind was battering his face. He sat up and looked around. He was in the Asáyhd. He breathed a sigh of great relief, thanking God for what must've been divine intervention. It was at that moment that his head bristled with pain. He grasped at his skull, pulling his eyes closed tight. Then, it was gone. He remembered the amulet, yet it was nowhere to be found. "Hearth." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "Hearth." It was an indistinguishable voice. It had sound, but no tone, no gender, no pitch. "Hearth." He looked down. Blood stained his right side, the clothes were torn from what looked like a claw. It left a gaping wound. He also noticed the amulet. It was around his neck. The dim light was brighter now. It was a dazzling white, so beautiful, yet so terrifying at the same time. "Hearth." He moved to his feet. His leg screamed in pain and blood trickled down his ankle. In the distance he could see the spire of a temple. He was near a surface city. With difficulty he began to limp towards civilisation. "Hearth."
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Post by axeldonia on Dec 10, 2018 16:33:07 GMT -5
Unknown location, Southern Calveria
Oskar groaned as the wagon bumped on something in the dirt road, sending a jolt through the cart. He shook his head, slowly opening his eyes.
“Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Khatnate ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”
Oskar’s vision finally cleared and he noticed he was sat in a small horse-drawn wagon alongside two catgirls as well as one of his shipmates, though he was gagged. The catgirl that had spoken up was dressed like all the others he had seen, but the one next to her was dressed markedly different than her clothes being made of some sort of leather attire with decorations made of some kind of animal horn. The oddly dressed Catgirl snapped back;
“Damn you Islanders. Mainland was fine until you came along. Khatnate was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Poleria. You there. You and me -- we shouldn't be here. It's these Islanders the Khatnate wants.
Oskar panicked, trying to come up with a response as the catgirls bickered.
“We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.”
“Shut up back there!”
The catgirl sat on the horse that was pulling the wagon yelled back at the squabbling prisoners, she too dressed in that unknown manner. Oskar shuddered, hoping whatever his mysterious captors had in store for him would soon be revealed.
Parliament, Mündungshafen
“Then the matter is finally decided. All mainland states have voted for further integration, with island provinces and non-Squidspawn-areas opting out. Any further objections?”
The room remained silent save for some muffled murmurs.
“I hereby conclude the first Titenfiscan General Congress. You have all no doubt received your instructions. This Congress will reconvene one year from now to examine initial progress and obstacles.”
The bang of a gavel and a round of applause announced the end of the meeting and the delegates soon made their way outside, leaving little more than a somewhat pale Helena and some of the local representatives. Once the stream of delegates had sufficiently thinned out Katia snuck into the large room, quickly finding Helena and giving her a comforting hug.
“Hey hun. How are you holding up?”
“I’m better. This whole thing just took a lot out of me.”
“Gosh, I see that. When’s the next assignment?”
“It’s two days from now.”
“Good, you need rest. You’re not leaving home until you’ve had at least eight hours of sleep and some good old-fashioned lobster soup.”
“Oh Myratnis, Lobsters…”
“Huh? What’s wrong with lobsters?”
“Nothing.”
Helena shuddered, recalling the deranged man dressed in a lobster suit that had burst through the door during the congress screaming something about “natural hierarchies”.
“Let’s move on home, shall we?”
Somewhere in Camelon, Lexidus
Eleonora whimpered, twisting in her bed as her head throbbed for the second time this evening, the black good floating around in her tentacles not getting out no matter how much she tried. She’d been having these headaches for a week now, ever since she went back to collect some things from her old house in one of the last areas to be cleared of Yrutan infection. She had considered visiting the doctor, but that didn’t seem necessary. Squidspawn rarely got sick anyhow, so she could probably weather this easily. Right?
She groaned and readjusted herself in bed, trying desperately to just fall asleep already when she suddenly heard something tapping against the window. She blinked, trying to dismiss it until she suddenly heard something sliding open outside her bedroom, most likely her window. It took all her effort, but she managed to slide out of the bed and grab a nearby letter opener, gently opening the door with a trembling hand. To her immense relief the room seemed to be empty, with the window just barely slid open. She imagined was probably a bird or something similar as she approached, properly locking it this time and turned back around, only to meet a pair of green and purple eyes shimmering in the darkness along with glinting white fangs.
“Well sister, looks like there is work for us here yet.”
“Indeed. Enjoy your meal.”
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Post by Chiernarosa on Dec 11, 2018 3:13:43 GMT -5
Kyre's Farmstead
"Us poor old Kyran farmers, our futures now in doubt. That's why we drive our wagons through the streets and all about. Farmers here in Kyras, we are so very poor: to survive upon the farm, you'd want to be a wise man," Kyre Iben-ta'Redentur sang as he toiled in the fields, joined by the other farmers as they pulled the weeds from the potato and grain crops, the sun beating down upon all of them as armed patrols passed by on the road in front of them: weeks had passed since the Ten'saii War ravaged the area, and Kyre found himself as one of many new farmers in the de-forested land on the road between Velran and Ronan. Looking at the fresh and black soil, Kyre briefly recalled the reports that came of the bloodshed between the Army and Ten'saii's remnants, heavy casualties for the rebels, yet when Kyre and his men arrived to start tilling the land, there were no signs of corpses in the area.
'They probably turned them into fertilizer, makes sense: never waste anything that could be returned to the earth, just like Pa would always tell me,' Kyre thought before shrugging his shoulders and rejoining the men with their song, "The greatest whores in Kyras, the CMs in Varan, they really have the farmers' backs against the walls. Your wife, she does the talking, and late into the night, while the poor old farmer sinking deeper in the shit."
The sound of hoofbeats suddenly drew their attention, Kyre looking up to see the platoon of soldiers having paused in front of the stead, their commanding officer dismounting, clad in an impressive array of armor and pelts, the head of a horrane placed upon his right shoulder. An impressed whistle escaped the officer's lips as he surveyed the farm, finally speaking, "I must say, it's impressive that this battlefield's been turned into a verdant place like this: who's the man in charge of this here farmstead." Kyre walked up, "I am, sir: Kyre, Son of Redentur, I was given the deed about three weeks ago by the local Governor after the battle with the rebels concluded, I brought some men with me who lost their homes in the Ten'saii War to make a living off the land once more."
The officer nodded in approval, "A fine living indeed, Son of Redentur, I am Varist Iben-ta'Peitru: nevertheless, I'm afraid that we must move past the pleasantries - a proclamation has been declared by the Chancellor regarding all able-bodied farmers in the area. Under the Population Provision, the Kyran Forces request immediate assistance regarding the implementation of a new town 5 miles from here: we ask that all able-bodied men specialized in the means of farming and animal husbandry come with us to teach these skills to the incoming populace."
Several of the steaders began to voice their disapproval: while the Populations Act had given them a stable source of living, the reports of farmers being pressganged away from their land to assist others had been a source of contention. Kyre immediately whistled to gather their attention, "Alright, that's enough! All of you, stay quiet, I'll handle this matter with the commanding officer - return to the crops, they still need the weeds removed." Turning to the officer, he stated, "My apologies on their behavior: the reports coming from the other homesteads has been causing discord among my men. How about we talk about this matter in my home?" The commander nodded, "Lead the way, but we must resolve this issue today, lest my commander come, and he is lacking in even temperament."
Walking into the quaint hut, Kyre pulled a gul out from a shelf embedded into the hardened clay, setting it down before placing a table on top of it and gesturing for the commander and his men to sit. As the commander sat down, he looked around as he noted the various forms of artwork that had been gathered, taking note, in particular, a series of rugs hanging along one of the walls, along with a stele in the corner, ornately decorated and inscribed in Vaslen ag-Toden. Returning from the back, Kyre held in his arms several cups and two jugs, "I'm afraid all I have available is milk and boiled water, we've had little time to procure luxuries yet. My son is preparing some bread and salt for us, he should arrive in a few minutes." Setting the mugs down and pouring the drinks, the commander took some water, slightly grimacing at the flatness of it, "I'm afraid I'll never get used to boiling our water, but if it gets rid of the mud and vermin, I'll take it." Chuckling, Kyre nodded, "Indeed, my son complains about having to boil the water we get from the stream, but our doctor advised it when we arrived, said that the water may not be safe to drink yet until we establish some wells and collect the rainwater."
The commander sagely noted, "You have a son, but I've noticed that you've not introduced your wife yet, is she busy?" Kyre shook his head, "I'm afraid not, my lord: she moved on from this world 0.5 years ago (6 standard years) - sickness. Since then, I've little time to take another woman, plus I am certain that my son would protest any of my attempts." The commander replied, "My apologies on your loss, Kyre: I mainly asked since I noticed that you have some fine rugs in your possession, along with the stele in the corner." Kyre stood up, "Ah, yes, the rugs have been in my family for decades now: they're war rugs that were granted to us in commendation for our endeavors - my father was with the Army for about 1.7 years (20~ years) before he retired with honors, he earned 3 rugs and a Ċinturin before settling down," Kyre walked over, crouching down to the bottom shelf and sliding a tile of clay aside, before pulling out a box, showing a Ċinturin, the colors of the beads faded yet still in complex form, a small scroll attached to the lid:
For Meritious Service to the Republic
Raised henceforth in dedication to the Laws of the Republic, the 574th Falanx grant this Ċinturin ta 'Marque to:
Redentur ak-Tarvas
This Ċinturin shall be the seal of proud service and loyalty to the addressed, to be held by him and all his line, from now until the end of time
May the Auspices of the Warfather guide and protect you
"He participated in the War of the Grey Ravens, leading the charge to take the roads leading to the Tidfadl from the rebels. After he passed, word passed to his commanding officer, who offered to commemorate him: that stele is called a khachkar, it apparently comes from the Kotek - my father served with them and said that they were some of the fiercest men he ever fought with," Kyre said as he placed the box back into its hold. A knock came from the doorway, a young man with Kyre's brown hair, yet having green eyes with golden flecks rather than Kyre's brown eyes stood in the entryway; he held a tray of bread and salt, looking inquisitively, "Father, the bread is ready: are you talking about Grandfather again?"
"Yes, son: the officer here asked about our rugs and the khachkar, though we have matters to attend to. Come, sit," gesturing to sit down, the young man obliged, "My lord, this is my son, Żaren; Żaren, this is Varist Iben-ta'Peitru, he has come here today concerning the Populations Act." Żaren cocked his head, "The Populations Act? That's the one that allowed us to move here, correct?" "Indeed," Varist said as he broke the bread and sprinkled some salt upon the chunk, "The reason I am here is that orders have come from Varan to establish a new town 5 miles to the east of here under the Population Provision: as such, I require all able-bodied men to come with my unit to help teach the means of farming and husbandry to the new settlers. Unfortunately, it appears that the men here are averse to that plan, but this must be resolved today."
Kyre nodded, "I understand, Lord Varist, but my men have their own issues to deal with: many of the men out in the field have to perform additional roles along with the crops, particularly as doctors and guards. To take all of the men away from here, even for a short period of time, would be disastrous, especially with the damned rebels and beasts still roaming about, trying to escape the forests being torn down."
"Do take caution, Kyre, that my commanding officer demands that we gather as many men skilled in their line of work to assist in the greater good of establishing civilization here: unless you have any suggestions, I'm afraid that the men must come, or else I will have to use force to take them there." Kyre pondered, looking out the small window of the hut, seeing the men still tearing at the weeds, "Lord Varist, might I proposition that I alone come with you on this foray: I taught these men how to plant the crops and take care of the animals, surely one man with experience in these areas would be more beneficial than the students still learning?" Varist looked at him, "I presume this came from Sir Redentur when he retired from the Army?" "Yes, my Lord: my family have been capable farmers as much as we have been formidable soldiers - additionally, I did serve in the Army several years back, I actually still have my equipment here with me."
Varist nodded, "Judging from it, it would be wise to take just you, plus you do appear to know how to keep up with us. Despite that, who will manage this stead while you are gone: we will be gone for 3 weeks, so I trust you have someone to cover for you." Kyre nodded, "Żaren can cover for me: the men trust him and he knows how to get them to keep going at their jobs. Additionally, Nikola, the doctor, he can help Żaren with managing the farm." Varist stood up, "Very well, then: gather your equipment, we ride now - I'll give you some time to tell the rest of the farm about this, we'll have a horse ready for you to take." Walking out, the men passed through the field, Kyre turning to Żaren, "I'm putting my trust in you, son: keep this farm running well and I'll return within three weeks." Żaren nodded, "I'll tell Nikola about what we need to do in the coming weeks, just stay safe, Father." Kyre drew his son in an embrace, "I will."
Qorti tal-Gvern Superjuri
Kalċidon tal-Wied tal-Ħames Draguni, formerly Xalkayr, stepped into the office as the sun began to set, the waning light shining through the stained glass as he lit the candles, sitting down at his desk before letting out a loud sigh: the past month had been taxing, the formation of the Congress and the laws being passed had caused uproar throughout the country, especially within the forested areas as tribes and the local wildlife fought to preserve their land. Azkalon den Kayros was still at large, presumably deep inside Asil by this point in time and taking towns under their control: while he desired sending a force to simply capture and drag the traitor back to Varan, Kalċidon held the belief that the Khemet would not appreciate an invasion of their territories. 'At the same time, I'm certain that the Khemet see this as a form of government approval, Kyran-born raiders attacking their territories, some even citizens of the Republic,' Kalċidon thought, looking through compiled reports of battle between the Army and remnants of Ten'saii's forces, some being totally annihilated while others had simply vanished, presumably fleeing into the Underground to join the raiders.
The sunlight began to fade as night took over, moonlight now shining in: as he continued to file through the reports, signing off on whatever needed immediate attention, Kalċidon occasionally stood up to re-light the candles once more, sitting back down at his desk. A knock echoed into the room, Kalċidon sighing partially in apprehension and partially in relief over the break in the monotony before replying, "Door's open, you may enter." A young sentry came in, rubbing her eyes as she said, "You have additional correspondence, some from a civilian couple that said they knew you." Kalċidon nodded, opening the letter to read about the hertag and Aegelse couple, silently remembering seeing them for the first time last month: in it, he read that they had retired to a villa outside Varan, having received their pensions under Kalċidon's orders, enjoying the civilian lifestyle. Not long after, the two were wedded in a ceremony by a Priestess from the Amalgamated Temple and had begun pursuing the possibility of raising a child. 'It is a good life they lead, even after the ravaging they received from that bastard,' he thought, glancing over to Ten'saii's head remaining on his desk, the flesh now marred from repeated embalming ceremonies: privately noting the sentry's obvious discomfort over it, he reached over and placed it inside the desk, "My apologies: I really should just keep that somewhere away from others. Is that all you have for me?" The sentry reached into a pouch, pulling a scroll out, "Actually, Chancellor, correspondence has come from Lexidus in the west, from King Blair de Brus: it appears to be connected to the incident in Camelon." Kalċidon held his hand out, "Very well, hand it here so I may see what the 'fair king' has to say."
Taking the scroll, Kalċidon quietly wondered why the Lexiduns would approach him: apart from the Roaming Merchants occasionally landing in Camelon or some of the coastal cities to take note of the land's economy, the two countries had never held any form of relations. In the month following initial reports, the Merchants had informed him that a siege had occurred in Camelon, with many dead and the King having changed into a more sullen individual. From what had been gathered, the attackers were corrupted in nature, showing no quarter to the civilians in the area: additionally, the supposed Khemet being was a Rozhai warrior, seemingly proclaiming divine intervention from Zypnac and leading the strategic victory over the corrupted forces. Many details were still missing, but Kalċidon felt that he could surmise the contents of the scroll. Opening it up, he quietly noticed his Vaslen name being the means of address, 'I will let that be for now,' only to take note on the statements regarding Veritious, of which he had heard that King Petyr had apparently died to halt their attack, though details were incredibly sparse and not passing through as well. Continuing, he confirmed the belief of the attack, only to notice their requests.
"The bastard wants us to come with him to the Magna Tabes," Kalċidon whispered, the sentry double-taking as she asked, "Did I hear you correctly, Chancellor?" Kalċidon shook his head clear, before turning to the sentry, "Young one, understand this: what is being read must remain confidential between us and select members of the Kyran Government. Under no circumstances will you be allowed to divulge this information unless I approve of it. Am I understood?" The sentry nodded, Kalċidon adding, "This is on pain of death, you understand the seriousness of this situation, yes?" The sentry nodded again, "Duty unto death, Chancellor, I will not reveal this information on my life." Kalċidon nodded, before sighing, "To answer your question, yes: Blair de Brus wishes for all of Calveria's nations to join him on a crusade into the Magna Tabes with the end goal being the death of Yrutas, and no, this isn't hyperbole based on the manner of which he proposed it. Additionally, he's calling for parley in Quijain, or what remains of it, near Lexidus. Great, of course the fucker that is Yrutas decides to expand his reach: I will need to convene with my Cabinet on the morrow regarding this situation - young one, fetch that scroll and quill and write down what I say."
Reaching over, the sentry looked at Kalċidon, who began, "These orders are of the highest concern in matters of the Republic's vitality and safety: Yrutas, the cursed god of decay and corruption, is actively attempting to expand from his realm in the Magna Tabes. To all units who receive these orders, you are to immediately halt any campaigns currently in progress and report to the northernmost port of Talas: it is required to bring as much materiel and supplies that can feasibly be mustered. By the Warfather's rage and the Mother's vitality, we will march first into Quijain and receive further instructions. Any deserters or individuals unwilling to co-operate with this order will be executed on charges of treason, no exceptions will be made. Prepare yourselves, the just rage of the Warfather will be wrought upon the Yrutan forces." Finishing, Kalċidon added, "Now, I need you to rouse the publishers: this message will need to be sent to all major units in Kyras - we will need to muster at least 100,000 men for the initial wave of the journey, predominantly focus on Army, Republican Guard, and Phylakes commands, I will handle the rest. You are dismissed young one."
The sentry nodded, rushing out of the room with the scroll in hand: Kalċidon looked at the scroll and the marked location, 'By God, we have a lot to take care of now.'
Kantchenkamaal
The city was now under siege
As more tribes, now broken by the edicts in the east, began to flee, some found themselves drawn to the situation in Asil, the tales of the raiders and Arvesh laying waste to the hated Khemet, of villages and small towns being razed with few reprisals. Now, many had gathered around the main force, bolstering their numbers day by day, yet the Kyran Army had refused to hound them any further once they entered Asil. The raider warlord had staked a claim in Asil, joined by Azkalon den Kayros from the Dead City of Reis'kjan, a small force now having grown in the thousands.
Despite all of this, both men were untrustworthy of one another: while Atek den-Ten'saii had approached both of them, they had only come to support him out of personal gain rather than religious support and they shared very little in common, despite the efforts of Atek's hertag messenger trying to bring them to agreement. Privately, both men desired the death of the other and to take command of their forces, but they had to push it aside: once Kantchenkamaal had fallen, the rest of Northern Asil would be their's for the taking and presumably the end of their alliance.
The warlord was the first to draw up plans to take the city: having stored the corpses of their brethren too rotten to consume, they had taken note of the ravines and canals that made up the city's internal network, the entry points of three rives housing little more than towers. Besides from that, they could only surmise that the city wasn't meant to hold a large defensive force. Now they sought to weed them out: some areas were marked off-limits to launch the corpses into, they held supplies that would desperately be needed to further venture into Asil, while they had hoped that maps of the area would be available in the city for further conquest.
The campaign had begun when the corpses were launched into the towers guarding the eastern ravine, blight and sickness contained inside their bodies, hoping that they could wait the defenders out and limit their casualties. Boats had been collected, enough to get small warbands into the canals of the city, taking some of the platforms housing supplies, high-riders, and civilians. The latter group was especially targeted, the warbands holding them hostage and threatening to exact cruel measures upon any that tried to resist unless they surrendered quickly: some progress was being made, but Azkalon had been pressuring to simply assault the city rather than undergo a campaign of attrition. The warlord refused, ordering the forces to stay put and only move when overtures were made, leaving to draw further information from the captured Veiamarr that they had held in captivity.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Dec 11, 2018 17:58:53 GMT -5
Crowley Pentagress, Main Hall - Camelon Castle
"We will not stand for this! We refuse!"
Crowley finally felt the weariness overcome him. He had only been listening to this group of squabbling nobles for 10 minutes and already he had enough. "I've told you lads multiple time, the 'Noble' prefixing to the state's official title will remain for the foreseeable future but will eventually be phased out in accordance with the reformation laws being passed."
More squabbling and harrumphing erupted from the group of puffed up dandies. Crowley felt the corner of his eye twitch and was about to state something before he heard the slamming of a large wooden door behind him as someone walked into the main hall of the castle.
"Whats all this racket about?" yelled a weary voice as King Blair de Brus approached the group of nobles, all of whom had silenced themselves and immediately began to look at their feet. Crowley quickly scanned Blair, his beard was growing and his hair was now thick and slightly unkempt, he clearly had only just woken up. It was past noon.
"Apologies my king but I was just making it clear to these fine gentlemen that the eventual dismissal of the 'Noble' pre-fixture will be a gradual event as opposed to an immediate one" stated Crowley, trying to let his sigh of annoyance be too obvious.
The King slowly took a step towards the group, making himself uncomfortably close to their ringleader, Lord Roderick II of Bluxa. He was a short man, with a wide figure and slight belly barely tucked behind and extravagantly gaudy black and gold silk surcoat. His hair was slicked back with grease and black as night, with a pointed goatee to match. It was hard to believe that him and Blair were cousins.
"Cousin..." he croaked with his horrid yellow teeth on full display in a pathetic attempt at propitiation. "You know how much this means to dear mama, because of all these reforms us nobles feel somewhat..." he skittishly turned to his entourage, only to see that they had taken themselves a couple of steps back. He turned back to his cousin and mewled "We feel neglected dear cousin. As you know we too suffered during the siege, not in health but rather in pocket! All these reforms you're pushing are hurting us and our coin you see? Wouldn't it be wise to help out your extended family? To see things our way, instead of the way of the silly little peasants?"
Blair placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder, he smiled. Crowley noticed his eyes remained far away however and braced himself.
"I do see my dearest cousin."
Before Crowley could protest, Blair slammed his forehead into his cousin. Smashing against his nose with loud crunch. The portly man fell to the ground clutching his nose followed by Blair quickly kneeling so he would catch the noble and then drive his fist into his face over and over again. Before grabbing the man by his frilled collar and holding him there, blood pouring down his nose. Blair's face was contorted with rage, his mouth sneering with sheer disgust.
"I see that your kind are nothing but a fucking piss stain on the flag that is Lexidus, you come to me with nothing but empty posturing and cryings over a title? Then you dare try to beg me to fill your coffers whilst thousands of my people are still trying to feed their families and rebuild their lives after seeing their fellow countrymen slaughtered by the corrupt hordes of Yrutas?"
He threw his cousin to the ground and stood up, staring at the rest of the nobles who had recoiled even further back from him. Almost near the exit.
"Tell Aunty Brice that if she wants a handout she can fucking forget it and if I hear another complaint from the lot of your or even a peep of defiance." He placed his boot on the throat of Roderick, who began to squirm and thrash to no avail.
"I will render you all, obsolete." The faraway look returned to his eyes as he stared at his cousin, his thrashing grew more panicked and weaker. He could feel the noble suffer. He wanted them to suffer. SHE would have wanted them to suffer.
"BLAIR." A bellowing voice jolted him back into reality and he stepped back, the bloodied noble gasping for life-giving air once more. Crowley shoved the king to the side whilst picking up the noble and handing him off to his entourage. Of which they made a very hasty exit from the castle, whimpering somewhat as they passed into the courtyard.
He sighed deep, long and hard. He surveyed the remnants of the construction crew that were putting the finishing touches on the rebuild castle gate. The whole city had seen rapid reconstruction since the siege just a month ago, it was remarkable and made old Crowley hopeful for the nation at large. However, he knew all was not well and about to get a whole lot worse. He turned to face Blair only to find the king rushing off deeper into the castle. He wanted to call after him but decided not to. He wouldn't know what to say.
Donn Myra, Leanabh's Room - Camelon Castle
"The... sheep... jumped... over... the... big... uaine... GREEN... heeeeeedge?"
"You're getting better!"
"Bah! Reading common is for scholars, I, Donn Myra am a warrior and your protector. Not a student of the surface world's language! I can speak the damned language, that's all that's needed." The tall woman raised herself from sitting on the bed and scratched her head, her short brown hair ruffled and messy.
Leanabh giggled and closed her reading materials. "I had to read ALL of these books and more when I got here, grandpa Crowley was very insistent!"
"The old man is wise indeed. Us... what was the term? Lexiduns? Yes. Us Lexiduns must speak the language of all instead of our own proud and rich dialect..." she mockingly aped as she rolled her eyes. She liked making her lady laugh.
The princess continued to giggle and tidy away all of her various books and jotters. Almost skipping around her room as she did so. She stopped however as she was clearing up some parchment and sadly stared at it. Donn Myra approaching her to get a better look at the thing she was holding. It was a drawing of the young princess, a very good one at that, it showed a mousy and skittish looking Leana in an ill fitting princess gown.
"A very good sketch! Why I barely recognise the little girl within it! Wherever could she be?" Myra scanned the room in jest but stopped when Leana paid her no mind, gently folding the paper up and clutching it to her chest. "...did someone special draw that for you?"
She spoke, quiet but plainly. "Yes. She was really nice to me. She looked after me whilst you were away."
Donn Myra knew who she spoke of. The brave warrior who acted in Myra's stead and protected this royal family from all those who would harm them. She had died shortly before her arrival in the capital. Her squidspawn escort had taken her through the ruined city and to the battered castle to meet the surface king. He bore no semblance to HER king, Petre the Eternal but she could tell immediately he was no man to be trifled with. Her intel suggested the surface king to be lively and somewhat jolly, not... raw and menacing. She was quickly reunited with Leana and the two were inseparable. Now living with the girl within the castle walls, her room adjacent to her own. The month following being one of the most relaxing in Myra's life. No more fighting to survive in the underground. Having to live with the fact her king and family were gone. Her duty was over, she had delivered the girl to her descendants.
"You're here now though. I'm glad." Leana piped up and began skipping around her room again. Donn Myra smiling to herself once more. Her duty was over but she knew her destiny was this girl.
King Blair de Brus, The War Room - Camelon
"You should have caved his throat in. That would have made it very clear to them."
Shutting the door behind him, Blair breathed deep, letting the warmth of the torches envelope him in the cobblestone room. The maps in front of him, filling his nose with the calming smell of parchment, were strewn across and haphazardly mapped with various plans and logistics of getting a detachment of the army to the meeting point of no man's land. Burying his head in work was good, it kept him distracted.
"Distracted from the fact that you allowed me to die."
He would send 50,000 men of the Standing Army to meeting point first, this would be the first wave. The second wave would be a mass conscription of Lexidun men to the crusade against Yrutas, the final goal of the reforms that were taking place in the kingdom turned empire. A 200,000 strong army along with the rest of Calveria to strike at the god of corruption. He wasn't a fool, he knew no mortal man could kill the bastard, that's why he called for the meeting of the leaders. To share information on divine relics that could hurt an immortal being.
"You are a fool if you think they'll follow you into the Tabes willingly."
He knew they would meet him there, he had heard the news about Veritious and the death of their king due to their own Yrutan siege. The eastern nations must surely be feeling Yrutas' wrath.
"His wrath isn't so bad you know. I feel better off being dea-"
He slammed his fist into the table.
"...silence, please... just be silent for once." He looked into the darkened corner of the room, to which a figure merged from. Eimear, her clothes bloodied and corruption covering her skin. She smiled. He felt his heart twinge in pain.
"Oh do lighten up numpty. You'd do a whole lot better if you weren't crying all the time. Get serious, do some exercise, I hear its a great way of coping with depression!" The wraith mocked him, walking around the room, never lifting her eyes from him.
"You're not real. I don't know what broke in me the day Eimear died but you're certainly not her and you never will be.
"But I feel VERY real don't I?" She suddenly appeared to his side, her cold dead hand gently gliding over his cheek. He recoiled and swung at her. She was gone, her corrupted laughter filling his head and the room.
"Go on. Get angry. Be the king you were meant to be. Make people suffer like you had and make them do your bidding. Be strong, be POWERFUL and crush all of those who get in your way."
"Shut up." He leaned over the maps and tried to block her from his mind, to no avail. He felt the hands, this time wrapping around him from behind and clasping at his chest in a hug. The coldness began to sweep over him, the anger and the rage.
"You could kill anyone who got in your way. The nobles, the ambassadors and even the chiefs if you really wanted to."
"SHUT UP." He felt the hands rise to his neck, her lifeless fingers gripping his skin. He wasn't thinking straight.
"Isn't this exciting? All these possibilities. All you need is just a little push from me. Am I corruption infiltrating your mind after your little scuffle with Yrutas' minion? Or am I just a little piece of you trying to get you to see just that bit clearer?"
He screamed, swinging his arms all around in a attempt to dispel her, her laughter echoing in his mind. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!"
Suddenly, the laughter stopped and he was alone in the room. His laboured breathing being all he could hear. He choked back tears and took a deep breath, returning to his maps. He felt a hug on his back.
"You need me."
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Post by Chiernarosa on Dec 13, 2018 4:30:29 GMT -5
Kyre's Farmstead
Żaren was sitting atop his bed in the room he shared with Kyre, looking at his hands as he felt the same wave of heat wash over them. He had awakened when dawn broke from the horizon, the early rays shining through the clouds and into the room, groaning and lifting himself up, having said, "Father, its dawn: time to get up," only to remember Kyre's absence the day before. After Kyre had given his announcement, clad in his Army equipment, Żaren had consulted with Nikola on managing the farmstead and the duties they would need to do for the next three weeks: it was agreed that Kyre had left the farm with little strenuous work besides ripping the weeds out from the ground and moving leftover trees from the crop area.
Having gone down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, Żaren had noticed feeling the sensation of warmth in his hands as he began making the bread, initially shrugging it off to the flour entering the cuts in his hands: he felt more suspicious when he lit the oven out in the back of the house, placing the bread in but not feeling the usual burning heat that came from baking. As he ate alone in the kitchen, the burning felt more intense, yet Żaren knew his hands were not burned nor was he running a fever that was common at the end of the month. As he went back upstairs to put on his flax shirt, he suddenly noticed smoke emanating from the shirt, dropping it to find his hands on fire. The sensation was irritating, but panic coursed through him as he ran downstairs and knocked the jug of boiled water over the table, letting it extinguish the fires as he placed his hands underneath the small stream.
Now he sat, wondering why they had suddenly become alight. 'Maybe its related to that thing Father mentioned when I was only a child,' Żaren thought, recalling a discussion Kyre had with his wife, Katarina, back when Żaren was 6: he remembered having returned back to their home after washing before supper, only to notice the two were in discussion. "Look, Kat, we need to talk about Żaren's future: Nikola told me that Żaren might just have the Warfather's fires within him - Żaren's the first child he's seen in three years to have the same eye colors as he does, and I'm certain Pa told me that both his and Ma's families never had anyone with abilities for at least two centuries." Katarina was skinning one of the fish that Kyre and Żaren had caught in the creek, turning around to face Kyre, "I can't say for certain if my family carries it: Papa died before I was even a year old and Mama always said we never had anyone from her side that could do things like that. Despite that, I don't think we should force anything on Żaren yet: he's just barely starting to learn how to help around the house and I doubt suddenly telling him, 'Hey Żaren, guess what, you can set things on fire using your body' would be good for him - we should hold off until he becomes of age."
Żaren could barely remember the rest of the conversation, but he snapped back to reality, looking at his hands again: the feeling of warmth had been there since he was a child and he knew that sticking his hands in fires and not reacting was certainly a rare thing to do, even as a Kyran. Silently, he snapped his fingers, wondering if the stimulus would recreate the fire: it yielded no results, and he groaned as he tried to figure out what to do. A buzzing noise came near him, causing him to look up: a beetle was lazily flying close to him, occasionally trying to land on him - swiping at it, the beetle would dodge and try to land on him again. For several minutes, Żaren was swiping at the beetle, annoyance building until he finally managed to flick the beetle away: the insect immediately caught on fire and landed on the ground, dying instantly.
Żaren shot up, looking at the smoldering bug in shock before suddenly running out of the room and the house, dashing towards Nikola's house and pounding on the door. "Warfather dammit, it's still barely dawn, what do you wan- oh, Żaren, what brings you here?" Nikola asked as he opened the door, wiping one of his eyes as Żaren suddenly stepped in, "Nikola, I need to talk to you about something. Now." Nikola looked surprised, only to notice the char marks on Żaren's shirt, "What's going on: did you burn yourself or something?" "Nikola, I need to ask about what you talked about with Father back when Mother was still around, that thing with me having the 'Warfather's fires' and my eyes." Nikola was preparing to make a tray of bread and salt when he stopped suddenly, turning around to face Żaren, "What did you do?" he asked in a quiet tone, noticing the char marks were focused around Żaren's hands. "I did two things: I was about to put on my shirt before going out to the field when I noticed that it caught on fire - Nikola, my hands were on fire. The same thing happened when a beetle was annoying me: I flicked it away and it burned to death immediately. Nikola, I know Father asked me to refrain from profanity, but what the everloving fuck is happening to me?!"
Nikola grabbed his shoulder, gesturing for him to sit down, "Żaren, you need to breathe, calm yourself: this is normal for someone like you. Did Kyre and Katarina ever talked to you about this?" Żaren shook his head, "No: I remember when I was little they mentioned all of this and they wanted to tell me when I was of age, but Mother died and Father was unsure of how to tell me since he didn't know of anyone else like me." Nikola sighed, "Shit, okay, looks like I need to break it to you: Żaren, you are one of the few people who have magical powers related to Rigma." Żaren cocked his head in surprise, "Magic? I thought that was only for Zypnac, like creating potions and the like." Nikola shook his head again, "No, son, magic is a commonality among followers of all the gods, but only a select few in each population have access to using magic: your mother and father were long suspicious that you may have had it in your blood." "But how? I've never done anything like this before, how can anybody tell?" Nikola suddenly pointed to Żaren's eyes, "Your eyes, son, your eyes. It's long been accepted that Kyrans who can perform magic often have rarer eye colors, and usually its a combination: have you ever wondered why you look like both your mother and father yet you don't have either of their eye colors? Whatever determines mages, unique eye colors is a sign that its existent within you."
Żaren shook his head in frustration, "I've always felt like there was something warm inside me, but this doesn't make any sense at all! Why am I the only one in possession of this, why didn't Mother or Father ever have these powers?! Why am I the one who can make fires out of thin air?! This doesn't make any fucking sense at all!" Nikola had taken a step back as Żaren stood up, pacing around in increasing frustration, now leaning forward to put a wizened hand on Żaren's shoulder, "Look, Żaren, this is confusing, I know, but I can tal-" Żaren suddenly wheeled in anger as he swung his right arm out, now completely covered in flames, "CUT THE BULLSHIT NIKOLA AND TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH ME NOW ALL OF A SUDDEN!" Suddenly, he looked down at his arm covered in fire, the flames not even charring the skin or causing pain, while Nikola could only look on in shock. "Nikola. Why is my arm on fire all of a sudden?" Żaren asked in confusion and fear, trying to pat it out, Nikola only replying, "This isn't normal: if you've only just started experiencing this today, it shouldn't be progressing so rapidly."
Żaren shook his head in confusion, "Okay, so how do I get rid of i-" Suddenly, Żaren stopped, staring off in the distance, Nikola looking on in concern, "Żaren? What is going on? Talk to me, Żaren? Żaren, what is happening?" Żaren snapped out of his stupor, suddenly looking at Nikola, "Nikola, there's no time to explain, I have to leave." "What do you mean you have to leave? Żaren, stop for a minute and talk to me, dammit!" Żaren spun around, "Father is in imminent danger, but it is not tribals or beasts: it lies in Quijain, and if I don't go there, Father may die. I need to get an aketon, a sword, and bolts, along with any supplies that can be mustered." "Wait, what is in Quijain? That area is nothing but steppes and nomadic warrior tribes, why is he going there?" "Nikola, I don't know, but I have to go: I need to get the supplies and Grandfather's Long Bow. I'm placing trust in you to maintain the farm: Father has a scroll detailing the things that need to be done in the next month or two, it's on the shelf in the main room."
Żaren dashed out, running to the house and looking at the shelf: removing a panel from the second shelf on the top, he drew out a long case, removing the lid to uncover an immaculately well-preserved Long Bow and a quiver with a large number of bolts inside. Pulling both items out, Żaren placed the case back, pulling another one out and uncovering an aketon with multiple metal plates, along with greaves, cuisses, vambraces, rerebraces, and gauntlets. Placing the aketon on, Żaren noted the metal plates already woven into the fabric, individual rectangular pieces underneath the cotton. Putting the armor on, he slipped on the segmented torso armor, the plates reinforced with boiled leather. Slipping the Long Bow and quiver on his back, Żaren reached for the last case, drawing out a double-headed war ax and a tomahawk, holstering the latter upon a loop and fastening the former onto his back. Grabbing the remaining equipment, he pulled out a water bag and a belt with pouches aligned, putting the belt on and heading to the kitchen, grabbing another jug of boiled water he had made, filling the bag up before fastening it. He walked back to Nikola's house, stepping in and stating, "Nikola, I need as many poultices and salves that you can give me, along with your carving knife and your horse." Nikola stared at Żaren, stating, "You're actually serious about this? Żaren, you will die out there if you go: Quijain isn't like this, the tribes are hostile to foreigners and the steppes are far colder than any nights here." Żaren simply repeated, "I need medical supplies, the knife, and the horse."
Nikola shook his head, "Kyre is not going to be pleased about this." "I'll worry about Father when I meet him there." Nikola retreated to the kitchen, returning with the knife, several vials, and an armful of plants, "I have the recipes to make additional salves and poultices on your way out of Kyras, plus any plants you can find in the steppes to make new ones. Just stay safe, this isn't going to end well." Żaren nodded in gratitude, "Thank you, Nikola, I'll try to return once this finishes, but I need to go to Quijain." Stepping out, Żaren untethered the horse, saddling it as he tested the reins: nodding in satisfaction, Żaren rode out of the farmstead and down the path leading to the river, intending to reach the port cities in the north.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Dec 15, 2018 16:34:51 GMT -5
Velran-Ronan Belt Road
"Our family farm survival, that's why we're here today. Yes, to support the farmers and to get a better pay. The poor old Kyran farmer, his income is so small. It's hardly worth his while to getting out of bed at all," Kyre sang as he walked along the column with Varist at the front: after he had left two days before, they had taken the main road and were performing patrols for the other farmsteads and villages that dotted the countryside. While the lack of shade from most of the trees being cut down was an annoyance, it was nice not having to look after a horrane or saberjaw ambush, most of the large apes having fled to areas not yet deforested.
"You know, Kyre, I have been wondering just what that song is that you're singing," Varist said, slowing down slightly to meet Kyre, who stopped his singing to reply, "It's an old song, used to be about the lack of support from the government to keep the farms going: now, it's about the number of farms that now dot the north and our need for more towns and villages to actually maintain a good economy." Varist cocked his head, "Didn't your men hate having to support others outside of the farmstead?" "Partially: the men don't want to leave the crop while it still needs care - had this been later in the year, then they would be more partial to join." Varist chuckled, "I wish we had the time to spare this luxury, but in this day and age, Kyras needs to make itself whole once more."
Suddenly, Kyre heard his name being shouted over the marching lines of soldiers, turning around to find Nikola of all people barreling towards him, atop a horse not his own, "Kyre! We need to talk, right now!" Both Kyre and Varist backed slightly as the formation halted, Nikola pulling the reins to bring the horse to a halt. "Nikola! What are you doing here, you were supposed to be helping Żaren manage the farm." Nikola jumped down, "That's why I rode all the way to find you: Żaren ran off yesterday! He said he had to go off to Quijain, saying it was to keep you alive and safe." Kyre did a double-take, "Quijain? Why in Gods' names is that boy going there?" "He didn't say, only that you would be there as well." Varist piped in, "We have no current deployments meant for Quijain, neither now nor in the near future: there has to be a reason for him to head there."
Another voice came out, "Actually, Captain, you have orders to head there now." All three men turned to find a hertag in front of them, atop a horse and reaching into a pouch to retrieve a scroll, "Orders came from Varan, from the Chancellor himself: it's a mass deployment, 100,000 men from the Army, the Republican Guard, and the Phylakes, all to convene in Talas. Any deserters will be marked for death, this is a Crusade from the sounds of it." Varist stared at the man, "Where are we heading once we leave Talas and enter Quijain?" The hertag responded, "There is a designated area in the scroll, several miles away from the Lexidun border: King Blair de Brus has called for parley in Quijain with all nations in Calveria - we're marching to the Magna Tabes, and Chancellor Kalċidon wants us to lead the push into the area and establish a front at the best."
The men and soldiers stared at the hertag for a long time, finally ending when Kyre turned to Nikola, "Did Żaren mention anything else about going to Quijain?" Nikola shook his head, "Only that you would end up there, but Kyre, there's something we need to talk about him - Żaren finally was able to manipulate fire yesterday, he burned his shirt and a beetle first before his arm was on fire. I think there might be something going on with him related to the fire manipulation."
Quijain, One week later
"Warfather dammit," Żaren hissed as he huddled within the cave: after he left, he had hitched passage in Talas for a ship heading to the shores up north, afterward taking the horse to travel through the steps. Here, the air was cold, steppes laid before him, stretching for miles ahead of him. He had lasted a day before the first of the tribes had seen him, and their interaction was as expected: the tribe had shot arrows at him, one hitting him in the right bicep and another hitting the horse's flank as they fled.
He had the horse trot for miles before it collapsed in exhaustion near the cave he found himself in, now curled up in it and only coming out to survey the land and hunt nearby animals for their skins. The activity had drawn the tribe to him once more yesterday and they now surrounded him, killing Nikola's horse and destroying Redentur's ax, leaving Żaren with only the carving knife, Long Bow, and tomahawk to defend himself, but he knew it would do little, the tribe's numbers being more than enough to kill him.
Quietly, Żaren prayed in the cave, hoping that something would emerge within the night, "Blessed Warfather, grant Your disciple strength in these trying times: my weapons are too weak to defend myself and I must fulfill Your duties. These men, tribals, they have cornered me in this cave and I will likely die a coward's death; they have broken my Grandfather's prized ax, please grant me something, anything, so I may die like a Kyran and spill blood in your name. I desire an ax, like Grandfather's, like Your ax when You slew the foul gods that lorded over us, the ax that You used to slay Vatardan and Kreigsadar and free us during the Great War. If You will it, I will give my life to You, Great Warrior, and rightfully spill the blood of these tribals and the beasts that roam the Tabes, that Your hated enemy controls. Above all else, I wish to protect my Father, that he may reach his destination and bring glory and death upon Your foes."
Żaren concluded his prayer as the grey shroud of sleep washed over him, desperately lighting the bundle of vegetation he had gathered in the days before to create a fire, huddling close to the small light before falling into a seemingly dreamless sleep.
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Post by Andromitus on Dec 15, 2018 17:31:23 GMT -5
Part 1: The Capitol One Year Previous
• • • • • • • • Vōhlthazaan, Āhrkngthaul • • • • • • • • The air of the Capitol was tense. Hot, wet air flowing from the northern caverns marked the beginning of the latter-year, and already the city’s farmers were reading themselves for the rainy seasons. Illegal information from the Merchant castes coming in from the south had leaked the existence of some unknown threat five days prior; two days later Kīhvnét (Grand Vizier) Ìzah Ùrvikkāhd had announced the deployment of the Southern Armies in a series of reconnaissance missions. Yesterday morning, fourteen long horn calls marked the start of the day, ordering the inhabitants of the city in toward their local temples; And within the Axthèhn’īmlàaz, the Great Temple of Axthèhn, a general prayer was held marking the death of the Ahnsijn. A day later, normal life had started to return to the city, if only in increments. As the morning horn-calls sounded, Farming-Caste slowly began to meander from their humble abodes beneath the raised soils of the cities blocks. The cities sounds quickly began to rise into the air as the Lower-Caste set to work on the lower farming blocks (chinampas) of the city, uprooting weeds and preparing to set the seeds for the new harvest in several months. Regardless, stress in the city was hard pressed to lower despite the return to normalcy. Troop count in the city had practically doubled overnight as soldiers poured in from the surrounding Thaur (Holds, a local Administrative division below Circuits) to defend the capitol, but Garrison leaders had all but disappeared from the public sphere to keep them from speaking their minds. In their attempts to contain information spread and to control the situation, the Curate and Kīhvnét only served to stress the cities inhabitants. The new leaders of the country played along a thin balance of control over the largest city in the world. Cool morning air blew through the Axthèhn southern gardens. She took a small, crude red cylinder from a small gilded box in front of her; the shot of Kàyvr was quick to follow. With news like this she was going to need it. The past rain-period had been a long one, and the stress of the situation was only exacerbated by the reports coming into her now. Kīhvnét Ìzah took a deep breath as she turned the read further into the report, eyes rolling anxiously along the long the vertical columns of curving text, the reality of the situation in the southern Thaur was becoming rapidly clear. She gripped the yellow-tinted paper tighter, they’d loss total contact with the southernmost colonies; hordes of people were showing up across Khaamūan Circuit; and Thaur in the southern portion of the circuit were trying desperately to begin evacuations. What’s more already word was coming in about the… thing that Southern Army scouting parties had run into. Two convoys totally annihilated…it was brimming to be a disaster. Of all times why now. Her eyes stopped on a column of text that just, didn’t make sense. She read the line again, twisting the copper dial of her lamp, its curving metal plates folded over each other and crystalline light spilled over the stone table. “The Shàhn are going dark?” Tapping made her turn around her; rounding the bend were several Curators, Kaaviin, her political backers. The Kaaviin were the second-largest political faction in the government, having catapulted her into the position she was currently residing in. Although it did help that she was an ardent supporter; she herself wasn’t from the south, but the Kaaviin, a political block made up of southern bureaucrats that had flooded into the Capitol with the Kyasii, had a definite appeal. Like others in the government, she had many reasons to support those that hated Magic the most. She got up to stand as one of them beckoned for her to follow them; “ Siblings, how may I help you?” “We need to talk, Sister, that tis all.” one, Anat, started in. Pocketing the note, she followed as the three of them started moving toward the Garden entrance. Turning left onto a system of stone steps climbing up the Interior wall of the temple, the view of the city expanding out in front of her. Huge cargo ships glided around the outer flood walls toward the Southern and Western Canals, cutting cleanly on either side of her view; smaller canals divided the farming blocks, while streams of canals circled around the wider, and taller, city blocks. Zyān crystals (alchemically enhanced crystals designed to emit light) lined the various city-blocks, bringing light to the darker portions of the city. Their group parked themselves on the wall, a wide metal disk holding a towering cluster of Zyān crystals, its blue-green light illuminating their heavily wrinkled faces from many sleepless nights. “Take You a look here,” said Anat, “a second war has already begun to brew.” Ìzah looked confused before it dawned on her, each day brought more cargo vessels from the south; each day new information stewed panic into panic the cities inhabitants. “What troubles ye?” “We want to know your plans from here on is all.” another one, Khìyam, said calmly, “as well as start in with our own suggestions.’ Ìzah let a breath slide out, this was going to be a long conversation • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • On the other side of the city, the brewing of an argument began to boil over. A loud smack echoed across the wide halls of the Great Library — Vōhlthazaan’s mixture of information depository, university, and science center. Armies of men and women were still pouring in, a coalition meeting of the various State-Alchemists had begun. The air of the stress did well to shed light on the minds of everyone in the room, even without news of the happenings in the south, other realities of the situation were becoming rapidly apparent. Namely the disappearance of of the second Kīhvnét Kāyn Aasiidāhn. After all, the Alchemists weren’t solely scientific bodies within Khemet; their profession was based around abilities held by every member of the priesthood, their influence was rooted in almost every facet of the state. Now they’d been backed into a corner, Kīhvnét Kāyn’s position before the Ahnsijn’s death was a masterful one, giving them a direct line into the ear of the Ahnsijn. Equally, it allowed them to check the growing ambitions of the Kaaviin, those that’d backed the other Kīhvnét, Ìzah Ùrvikkāhd. The Kaaviin in particular posed a much larger threat too the thin Alchemist hold over the government. The largest secondary political faction, their biggest disputes came over the Alchemist treatment of magic, as the Kaaviin sought to forbid all study of the phenomena, while the various Alchemists sought instead to study it in the hopes of making gains in better fighting it. Given the Khemet’s laws over magic within their territory, this political dispute was oftentimes one of life-and-death. Now with Kayn’s dissapearance they were down a Diarch; There was another reason Kāyn was so important too them, as in the event of the Ahnsijn’s death both Kīhvnét take up positions in a temporary Diarchy while a new one is chosen; and for all they knew Kāyn was dead leaving the Kaaviin’s Ìzah in a unique position of power. A lone messenger burst into the room; “the High Curate’s been called.”
Part 2: Exodus 6 Months Previous
• • • • • • • • Vaannāu, T’hàovīyn • • • • • • • • Panic ripped through the crowd as soldiers broke through toward the docks. Cries of people rang out as the Soldiers and Warrior-Caste forced breaks in the crowd lining the harbor as another ship slammed onto the stone pathway. The vessel, a riverboat meant for the open waters of the interior, careened dangerously to the left before ropes fastened it to the dockside; dangerously overcapacity, the ship began to slip out into the waterway before it could be stabilized and the stream of people began to unload. There were almost fifty in total so far, but by the hour that number would rise rapidly. Little did the people of Vaannāu realize it, but this was only one group in a hundred moving toward the north of the country. The south was evacuating; an exodus had started. Streams of people were lead to the inner-harbor, a series of wide spaces meant as storages and maintenence facilities. As the brunt of the groups filed in, the sick and wounded were being steadily lain out on thin mats with locals doing everything they could to keep them hydrated while the local Priesthood flocked to provide basic medical aid. Panic would only grow as the day went on: these people were starving, dehydrated, exhausted, but most importantly, sick. Disease ravaged through the refugee population, unabashed by medicines brought forward. What’s more, the news these people brought sent shockwaves through the population. The Abyaan Thaur in southern Khaamūan (the southernmost Circuit) had been attacked, the Black Horde was bounding forward unchallenged. The political response was next to immediate, the local leadership scanning desperately for leaders of these groups to convene with, if only to get a grip on the situation. Thaur officials requested immediate troop aid from the Khaamūan Circuit Garrison to maintain order, and open spaces in the city were cleared to store the sudden influx of peoples. Despite these efforts however, cracks began to show just as quickly as action could be taken against them. Vaannāu was a smaller Thaur close to the Exterior Caverns; it was elevated, being built on open caverns atop the cliff faces lining the river, and so far the majority of evacuee’s were being kept in the harbors carved into the cavern walls below the city. It was meant to act primarily as a transit hub, a halfway point for ships to be repaired, for fish and natural produce to to be harvest from local rivers, and for Vaannāu Thaur’s mines to deposit the brunt of their goods for deposition in State-Storages. Would there even be enough space for these people? As it happened, Vaannāu wasn’t the only Thaur bearing the weight of a mass migration; Thaur across northern Khaamūan were experiencing a similar tragedy, most heavily concentrated in stress points like Vaannāu, and places as far north as Kātténnmuul. To make matters worse, these northern administrations would learn quickly that people weren’t the only things transiting north. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • As a second round of ships arrived in Vaannāu, panic swept through the Ilmuur dockyard. Packs of people clambered to the sides of the interior dockyard as others around them began to collapse. Their veins bulged and blackened, and several began to vomit mucus and what little was in their stomachs. Some managed to claw their way forward gasping heavily before coughing violently, blood spattering onto the stones in front of them. Officials managed to get those afflicted out of the harbor but terror only grew as the cough, until now overlooked, seems to spread like wildfire and within the hour several more had collapsed. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • A deep green-white glow wafted over the room as Vaar walked in, met instantly with the scratching of stylus on paper. The two other men, Táun and Sìl, sat around the sole stone table in the middle of the room, writing fervently. “Another ships arrived in Kātténnmuul.” He kept walking, not bothering to wait for a response that would never come. The next room over was covered in papers, columns of text focusing on everything from maths to the most recent news; alchemical gear stashed haphazardly into thin cubicles cut into the cavern walls. That would make almost 15 transit barges in the last week several thousand people by this point, far beyond the control of Khaamūan Officials, and all three of them new it. “Vèad wen’t missing.” Táun said blankly from the other room. “That’s bold,” Sìl retorted, “thought they’d try to break them up first.” “The worlds collapsing around us, they’re not going for subtlety anymore.” Vaar said, “what’s important now is getting Kíí here, the Northern Army is downright necessary if we’re gonna pull this off.” Vaar gritted his teeth as he rummaged through paperwork, he was starting to have his doubts that the Capital would listen at this point. But Táun still seemed hopeful, it was his plan after all — call the main Northern army regiments to aid in quashing resistance, then move south to aid the Southern Army in Ixthenpijn; if General Kíí listened to them, which Táun believed he would, they could move to seize Vaannāu and the Gate at Kātténnmuul. With that kind of leverage they could list their demands to the Capital, namely, the immediate start of the Ahnsijn-process and the implementation of a new secondary Kīhvnét. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • By road word of the plague spread within weeks, by water within days. Vaannāu wasn’t the only Thaur experiencing the migration, with swaths of refugee’s from the southern regions streaming further north as far as Kātténnmuul. And with more Thaur experiencing the influx by the day, the threat of the disease multiplied exponentially. Over the course of only three weeks, a flurry of messages and requests to the central government for orders flooded from the South. By this point however, as the south would learn, it was too late. With so many infected moving north, there was very few options left for the government to take.
Part 3: Response 4 Months Previous
• • • • • • • • Vōhlthazaan, Āhrkngthaul • • • • • • • • ”Henceforth by the passing of this edict, in defense of the Holy Land and all peoples from the savagery of the Horde and the spread of disease and disloyalty, travel between, through, and within the Circuits is temporarily illegal until the lifting of this Mandate. Each Man, Woman, and Child is to remain in the location of their Tūhmè as established by their birth or current necessity; breaching of this location is to be punishable by the highest action of the Law.” -excerpt of the Iylmirix Policy Protesters lined the thick streets stretching toward the Capitol, a thick mist clung close to the ground around them as each of the four main roadways surged with people. Groups of soldiers pushed their way through trying to contain the situation without triggering a riot, but new waves of laborers and merchants appeared faster than could be sent away. Protests went beyond the streets, as even scribe work in the various government buildings had ground to a halt as the States legions of bureaucrats froze to see how the moment would turn; and as the scene developed, one cry could be heard from everyone, Laborer to Scribe: “Choose!” The marches had started in the docks, although wether it was incoming or outgoing Navigator that had started the protest was unknown. After the Edict had passed and had time to saturate throughout the country, ship after ship was denied entry into the city and ordered to return to their previous port of exit. With so many out of work, the smallest sparks could set the crowd ablaze; by mid-cycle the entire city was in unrest, as Navigator and Laborers in particular, both hit hardest by a sudden lack of work and a threat of almost half usual rations, began to line the streets of the Capital. Artisan groups had joined in later, and Scribes, wary with so little activity coming from Āxthēn, were soon to follow. Cries of military whistle-tongue rang high over the crowd as the waxed and waned against the quickly fortifying wall of guards encircling the Āxthēn Temple. Screaming responses echoed over the crowd from the docks, and quit discreetly, the first groups to enter the mobs made their exit. Followed quickly by the Scribes, the Navigator, a sub-culture practically built on whistled language, were quick to pick up on the commonalities between military-speak and their own; how ironic it would be for the first rioters to be spared the first response. • • • • • • • • Mzensháhfáht, T’hàovīyn • • • • • • • • The creak of the wooden riverboats rocked incessantly as the group of what now looked to be almost 25 ships trudged northwards toward the Āhrkngvīyn circuit. Groups of Lower and Middle-Caste sat side-by-side along the sides of their ships, rogue Navigator-Caste, well past the point of reason, simply ignored the so called “Iylmirix" and continued to guide their passengers north. If the State wouldn’t come to them, they would go to the State; or at least that was their reasoning. Time and again they’d been forced further north as more and more Thaur closed their gates to the refugees; and time and again they’d been forced to take drastic measures. They could only hope that they’d reach the north before word of the “band of marauding free-men”. A whistle screech echoed through the cavern, but this time it was different; the Navigator’s whistled communique to each other constantly, but this was louder, and sent the Navigators into half a frenzy; ”Passports?” ”We Need Food.”one of the Navigator replied, her response was almost nasally compared to the crisp military whistle in the distance. "Answer Question. Have you Passports?" ”No, we have been denied food, supplies, nourishment; we pay Zátol; we ask for what is owed.”"This is an order. Iylmirix is established. Turn back immediately." ”We cannot.”There was silence, then a stirring as people began to question what was going on. Had the Military found them? The convoy of ships pressed onward, their course unchanged. ”Turn Back Now.”
There was no response from the Navigators, who kept talking, whistling, amongst themselves. ‘Rock on left’, ‘bend ahead’, ‘off-pouring making choppy water’. The caverns having thinned significantly as they neared Āhrkngvīyn, something distinctly apparent as line of ships lumbered around the bend in the river in general silence, refugee’s listening anxiously for more of the mysterious whistled response. The response came much quicker than they’d anticipation, their relative quiet being shattered as a single, long scream of a military-whistle ran over them, followed by the sound of the ambushes canon-fire. • • • • • • • • Vōhlthazaan, Āhrkngthaul • • • • • • • • Screams rang out as the line encircling Āxthēn began to push out, three rows of shields and spears began to push back against the mob of rioters. Panic engulfed the crowd as men and women tried to move back only to find the crowd frozen, a line of spears was charging up from the docks. Some tried break away into the alleyways, even leaping straight into the canals bisecting the various city districts. Within an hour the Soldiers were in pursuit, forcing the rioters into the Caste-Housing; the bodies of those that disobeyed flooding into the canals. Two hours later, the city was silent apart from the scream of Military Whistle-Tongue, then their squadrons descended on the Navigator-Districts, collections of Tūhmé lined around the docks. The State was not about to forget who started the riots.
Part 4: Rebellion 1 Month Previous
• • • • • • • • Ilmuur, Vaannāu • • • • • • • • The look on his face was all the proof Vaar needed; they were going to die. “Kneel down”, the soldier to his left barked. Of the mass of Priest-Caste in front of them, Salìv, the chief official over the Vaannāu Thaur, never broke eye contact with the three conspirators. At least he was complying, he thought, the last thing their would-be coup needed was a non-cooperative hostage. It hadn’t taken long since the Iylmirix for the three of them to realize that the Northern Army wasn’t coming , and that even if it did it would be less than compliant. Regardless, Táun was quick to begin rallying members of the local garrison to his side; then they were discovered, and now He and Sìl are rounding up the Thaur Administration person-by-person to do God-knows-what with them while Táun whips the crowds outside into a frenzy. “Station two guards outside this room at all times, their not to leave under any circumstances unless myself or Officials Táun or Sìl say so.” Without waiting for a response, Vaar turned to go outside, finding the Captain of the Guard waiting for him. “The plot is going as planned.” The woman in front of him said, “Men from the Refugee camps are already signing up for the barging mission to Kātténnmuul.” Vaannāu, as an interior cliff city literally snaking along the cavern wall, had barely enough room for its own population, let alone a several hundred-strong army of refugees. Despite this, the Thaur didn’t necessarily have the power to turn them back, and had been forced to set up systems of camps along the docks and shoreline. Living conditions were miserable, but a home was a home. Táun had used this too his advantage, and even before seizing complete control had organized these camps into his primary power-base, using them to clear or expand the river-line chinampa-fields for rudimentary housing and having them act as a base to storm the main city complex. “And when do you and Sìl plan to go?” “After Feast.” The Captain had promised them that she had a contact with the Kātténnmuul guard, if fruitful it could allow them to bypass the need to try and take the city at all. Although in honesty, Táun didn’t trust the Captain not to just run off and warn the officials at Kātténnmuul, and as such had ordered Sìl to accompany her after the days Feast — a period when the waking men and soon-to-be resting men eat together before those waking start their day. If that failed, Táun had planned to use barges of Refugees to simply out-mass the city guard and force capitulation. Wether the overanxious bastard had waited for Sìl or his approval on the other hand, was a different story entirely. • • • • • • • • Somewhere along the northern-border, Āhrkngvīyn • • • • • • • • A sole war-horn echoed through the cavern, it’d deep bellow practically deafening the band of soldiers around it, but by this point it was much too late. The shadowed figures slated against their Khemet counterparts with a ferocity, a few well-placed arrows hitting their marks along the outer wall. Another war-horn called out, cut short as it’s player was impaled from behind; they’d already made it up the side of the wall. Crude ladders ferried foreign raiders over unmanned defenses as what soldiers were present attempted desperately to mount a proper defense. • • • • • • • • Vōhlthazaan, Āhrkngthaul • • • • • • • • The Curate was already in an uproar as Ìzah entered the hall; taking a seat at her usual spot to the left of the Ahnsijn’s throne, she didn’t dare take a seat there yet, she had both her guards take positions on either side of her. All around the room various voices of the Curate rang loudly in protest, mainly over her handling of the Iylmirix, but twice she heard a few stragglers dared mention the choosing of the next Ahnsijn; all more names to add to the list. She raised her hand, and steadily the room calmed down, “ Siblings, i’d like to start today with a request, as while word is still coming in about the events of the Southern Army, rogue Alchemist supporters have seized control of Kātténnmuul.” Again the room erupted before she was able to calm the motley crew of Curators down, “coupled with the resuming of raids along our northern settlements, let alone the untold threat the ‘Black Horde’ presents, I can only advice that we prolong the implementation of the next Ahnsijn.” she continued speaking even as the room erupted for a third time, “this is a delicate time! The seizure of Kātténnmuul proves that enemies have ingrained themselves into the fabrics of our administration! we must remain firm, now of all times! We cannot begin the implementation while our colonial settlements are ravaged by alien powers, be them the Northern Peoples, the Yuāhr Hordes, or outright Traitors!” One voice managed to catch her attention, “And what do you plan to do in the mean time? How can we continue onward without the guidance of an Ahnsijn!” “Remain calm Curators.” she called back, desperately trying to calm the yelling crowd, “we must first begin here, in the Capital. Kātténnmuul proves that long-thought allies of God are no less than Heretics and Traitors! First, we shall root out the conspirators amongst us, then the Northern Army will march South as originally planned, while several regiments are spared in order to re-secure our northern territories.”
Part 5: Invasion
• • • • • • • • Kàhltchéht, Āhrkngvīyn • • • • • • • • “They expect us to do what?!” General Kíí yelled, is face growing redder by the second, “i’m working with conscripts, conscripts, and you expect me split my forces?!” The man in front of him cocked his head a little to the side, “is that a tone of insubordination, brother, Kíí?” Kíí gritted his teeth, arguing with a Táánkēnvùr, “No. I will divide my forces and send Commander Tèhrvn to secure the northern territories.” As the State-Assassin left his war tent, Kíí moved to call in his Aids. Already he knew that they had a problem; the coming assault was to be difficult, but child splay compared to what they could find further south. The issue however, was the attack from the North, he didn’t have many men to spare if he wanted to maintain his numerically-based tactics. No, that wouldn’t work, not now; but perhaps a navy-focused assault? They easily outclassed the rebels in sheer firepower, and if they focused on an Alchemical edge over the Horde, they wouldn’t need to rely nearly as heavily on manpower; then again, to increase his count on oils and explosives would meaning postponing the push South as he’d have to restock after dealing with the rebels. This was going to be difficult. • • • • • • • • Kàhntchéht —Kantchenkamaal— Āhrkngvīyn • • • • • • • • Horns began to call almost immediately as boats appeared on the Horizon, deep tones rumbling over the jumble of military-whistles and navigator calls coming from the various watchtowers and dockyards. With word coming in about raiders, and no boats having set sail in months due to Iylmirix, those taking watch were quick to expect the worse. What they didn’t expect, however, were flying corpses. Some of the bodies were blocked or missed their mark, but those that made it on were quickly shoved over the side and return fire was slung from crossbows, meanwhile the first of what was left of their munitions was loaded into the canons. The local garrison, too, was quick to take up positions, and began forming emergency lines along the districts that faced the enemy. There was a moments pause on the side of the Khemet, before several columns of water exploded from the river as the northernmost of the two towers watching over the side of the assault launched the first salvo into the would-be armada below them. It was followed by the easternmost tower as those not tending to the cannons let loose a flurry of crossbow bolts; already however, the first line along one of the Navigator-Districts was bending, falling back toward the first coupling of bridges. Within the first few hours several of the shoreline Navigator-caste districts had been seized, but the enemy assault had likewise slowed to a crawl. From the towers and their telescopes, the soldiers could see the raiders entering the exterior buildings. Suddenly, one man was released, pushed aggressively against the wall of Khemet shields. After a moment he was allowed to pass and he was accompanied by one of the Khemet soldiers toward the city interior. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • They woke up to the sound of war horns, groggy Navigator-Castes rushed outside before being ordered to return to their homes as lines soldiers ran along the canals toward the shore districts. There they waited, the sound of fighting growing ever louder outside until drapes covering the doorway were flung open revealing a tall, dark skinned man with short ears and funny clothes. The northern ones. Some of them screamed as more men streamed in, blades glinting in the firelight, while some of the younger men tried to put of a fight before being cut down. The foreigners ordered them against the wall, pointing them to where they wanted them to go after it dawned that the Khemet didn’t understand them. There they waited for what seemed like an eternity before another man entered the building, his skin was slightly darker than the rest but he was dressed all the same. He stood still for a moment and began to speak; with no reply he tried again. “Tchūhr, Dvàt, Tchèn, Khànt, Hèvt.” he paused for a moment, before starting again, “Tchūhr, Dvàt, Tchèn, Khànt, Hèvt.” With no response a second time he grabbed one of the younger girls and yelled out, “Tchūhr, Dvàt, Tchèn, Khànt…” “Hèvt, Tíyhln, Vèknr, Kvàrln.” one voice shot out before being pulled forward. He was a man, one of the older merchants, and one of the few that understood what the men wanted. Someone who spoke one of the interior languages. “ What do you want” he asked. “ How many here speak like me?” the Kyran responded in crude Tēhnvzāh. “ I doubt anyone here speaks as stupidly as you do.” the man spat back before crumpling to the ground as a fist landed in his stomach, “ most of the older men.” he gasped out before a metal boot met his forehead. “ Any who are here understand me step out now or you will be injured.” The foreigner paused for a moment as most of the men and a few women stepped forward, “ That is better. Now. One of you shall go outside and tell your leaders what is happening.” he paused again, speaking quickly in his mother tongue as one of the raiders grabbed a boy forward, he continued with“ Say ‘put your weapons down or people will be injured.’” The boy paused in confusion before the man on the ground sputtered “ Just tell the Priests they’re taking hostages and demand us bow to them for God’s sake.” The Kyran paused, shrugged, then pointed at the man, “ What he said.” • • • • • • • • Aqaz'oquam, Asilic Surface • • • • • • • • “ Well what on God’s name should we do?” Tiyn groaned, blinking slightly in the torchlight. He vaguely remembered clambering up toward the city in the distance before collapsing, then several shapes picking him up and… “ Go tell the damn Guards, they’ll probably want him.” There were people crowded around him, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. “ What are the Guards gonna do?!” “ Not our guards you moron, the worms!” “ Hey! He’s waking!” “ Get the guards you idiot!” His eyes opened slightly revealing four figures, Rohzai, crowding around him; one of them grasped his shoulder as he tried to sit up, “Whoa there mate, move slowly. Do you understand me?” Tiyn nodded his head, becoming more aware of bandages on his arms and legs and a straw pillow keeping his head propped up. “Where…where am I?” “Your with us mate…er, you’re on the surface; Aqaz'oquam.” The Rohzai man didn’t have time to say anything else before the door behind him opened revealing three more figures; one was obviously Rohzai, his clothes were a dead give-away, but the other two. “ So you weren’t lying after all.” the man’s accent was thick, “ You there, can you hear me?” the man’s Faōhzāh was enough to push Tiyn awake. “Y-yes.” “Ah, you speak midland dialect, good; you’re in Aqaz'oquam, do you understand?” the Khemet Guard gestured to his companion, “We’re going to take you to get help.” It was all Tiyn could do to nod before his head fell backwards, the feeling of cold metal hands sliding underneath him was the last thing he felt before slipping again into the unconscious.
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Post by Percyton on Dec 16, 2018 15:37:35 GMT -5
Royal Castle, Peel Godred, Dual Kingdom of the Isles King Godred
A month had passed since the decisive defeat of Count Philip’s Rebellion (as it was officially being called; Diesalion’s role was minimized in official government accounts due to the embarrassment of letting a deposed ruler escape house arrest to lead a rebellion). After a conference between Godred, Thomas, and Northern Locomati Island Governor Mavis Anopheise at Vicarstown, it was decided that a military government under Mavis’ military adviser Metrovickus Bo’Conius would be temporarily installed on Northern Locomati Island in order to restore order and oversee the complete integration of the island into the Dual Kingdom. With that out of the way, Godred returned to his capital at Peel Godred to continue the business of running the Dual Kingdom.
Today was supposed to another ordinary day. To the sound of trumpets and criers, King Godred Crovan entered the castle throne room and sat upon his throne. To his left on a somewhat less ornate throne was his chancellor Cormac of Balladrine, while on his right was his wife Queen Helga. In a corner desk on the opposite side of the room, one of the newest members of the court, court historian Eamon of Suddery, was busily writing on the parchment in front of him. Godred rose to speak.
“Good morning, everyone,” he began. “I have a special announcement to make. As you know, Chief Driver Burnett Stone and his companion Lady requested leave several weeks ago, which I then extended after Lady was wounded in an encounter with the perfidious P.T. Boomerius. Well, I am pleased to report Lady has made a full recovery, and she and Burnett have returned to us! Come on out here!” At this cue, Burnett and Lady entered the throne room through a side door next to the throne, waving at the crowd as they walked in. After greeting the gathered courtiers, they turned toward the throne and kneeled before the King.
“We are honored to be back, Your Majesty,” Burnett said. “And we look forward to continuing to serve you and the kingdom.”
“I am glad to hear it. And now that the rebellion is defeated and we have to re-stabilize the Locomati Islands, I expect I will need your help now more than ever. Although, at least now you have your granddaughter Lilly to keep you cheerful in these dark days."
"Indeed, Your Majesty," Burnett confirmed. "I hold her very dear to me, and I'm glad her mother has granted her permission to join me at court."
"As am I. You and Lady may arise.” As the Chief Driver and his companion went to join the crowd of courtiers, a messenger approached the throne. “Now then,” Godred went on, not noticing the courier, “I would like to inform you all that our annual –“
“Um, Your Majesty,” the courtier interrupted.
Godred looked at the messenger in surprise. “My apologies, my boy. I didn’t notice you there. You have a message for me?”
The courtier nodded and handed the scroll to the monarch. Godred unrolled it and began to read it, his face filling more and more with worry as he went on. When he concluded reading, he laid the scroll on his left armrest and rose to make an announcement.
“I'm afraid I have just received some grave news. I must dismiss ---“
“One more message, Your Majesty,” the messenger interjected.
“Another one? Oh dear. I hope this second letter brings better news.” Still standing, Godred read the second letter, although as he read this one, his expression was one of intrigue and interest. He nodded at the letter.
“I have some urgent decisions to make, my friends,” Godred said to his court. “I must consult with my inner circle on this. Everyone except Cormac of Balladrine, Burnett Stone, Lady, and my wife are dismissed. We shall reconvene in a few hours.” The court shuffled out of the room, while Burnett and Lady approached the seated Godred, Cormac, and Queen Helga. When the last courtier left and the doors banged closed, Godred spoke.
“I have just received two important letters,” he began. “The first was an intelligence report from military governor Bo’Conius. It speaks of a secret society formed by Boomerius, Diesalion X, and a mysterious wizard named Beechtorius. Information on this group is spotty, but apparently they’re calling themselves the ‘Order of BR’, and they’re highly devoted to Yrutas.”
“Boomerius and Diesalion!?!" Burnett repeated, shocked at this evil alliance. "This is terrible! How did those two get together?"
“I don't know,” Godred replied. “But there's more. The second letter I received was from King Blair of Lexidus. He’s calling a crusade of the world leaders against Yrutas, asking me to meet with him and the other leaders just outside of Lexidus. He’s also proposed we… march into the Magna Tabes.”
“The Magna Tabes!?!” Cormac cried. “Has Blair gone mad? What sane person would go into the Magna Tabes? It’s insanity, and one would have to be insane to do it!”
“It’s also Yrutas’ home,” Lady replied. “If we’re marching into the Magna Tabes, then Blair must want us to defeat Yrutas in person.”
“Exactly,” Godred confirmed. “We all know it’s dangerous, but it could be our best chance to put an end to the growing threat of Yrutas.”
Queen Helga looked at her husband in concern, but said nothing. Burnett spoke up instead. “I hate to change the topic, but if you’re going to defeat Yrutas in the Tabes, someone needs to defeat our internal Yrutan enemies. I propose Lady and myself go to the Locomati Isles to seek out information on and then destroy the Order of BR. It's time to put an end to this threat, and I have a score to settle with Boomerius.”
Godred nodded. “I appreciate your courage in taking up this task, Burnett.” The King turned toward Lady. “Do you agree with Burnett, ma’am?”
Lady thought for a moment then answered: “It’s risky, but I think we’re up to it.”
“Excellent! You two shall take care of the Order of BR, while I will go the Magna Tabes with the other leaders and defeat Yrutas.” At this Queen Helga could stay silent no longer. She tugged at Godred’s arm.
“Godred, a word please,” Helga whispered.
The King stood up from his sat. “Pardon me, I won’t be long.”
Helga escorted her husband to the backroom. She closed the door behind them. “Godred, are you feeling alright?”
King Godred faced away from his wife, staring out a window. “Of course, my dear. Never better.”
“Goddie, talk to me. You don’t normally make big decisions like this so hastily. What’s wrong?”
Godred sighed and turned to face Helga. “I’m sorry, my dear. It’s Philip and Diesalion’s rebellion.”
“That was crushed easily by Thomas’ forces. Why are you worried about that?”
“I’m not worried about the actual rebellion," Godred explained. "It’s about who defeated the rebellion. It seems ever since I created the Dual Kingdom five years back, my reign has been reactionary, cruising on and only dealing with problems when I have no choice but to deal with them. With Thomas defeating rebellions and taking all the glory, what is there left for me to do? And what will be my legacy be if I keep on this path?”
“And you think going to the Tabes and defeating Yrutas will secure your legacy?”
“Yes.”
Helga stepped closer to her husband and put her hands on his cheeks. “Godred, you made this nation. And when the earthquake happened, you ensured a quick rebuilding. Isn’t that legacy enough?”
“I want to be known for more,” Godred insisted. “I didn’t just make the Dual Kingdom and then leave. I did more. Or at least I should do more if I want to be remembered for that.”
Helga sighed. “You may want glory for yourself, but what about the kingdom?” She stepped toward the window and gestured toward the outside. “Who will look after the kingdom while you’re fighting a mad god?”
Godred stroked his beard in thought. “Hmm. Perhaps you could do it?”
Helga gasped. “Me!?! Run the country!?! How? I have no experience.”
“You’ve seen me run it, and you’ve seen what I do, so I think that’ll be enough. And you won’t be alone. Before I leave, I’ll sign an edict forming a Regency Council. You’d be the head of it, and you’d be joined by Chancellor Cormac, the Locomati ambassador Countess Molly, and Burnett’s friend Percy of Avonsida, among others. Burnett’s other friend Flora of Tramingen is a bit too young to be on the Council, but I’m sure she can still be useful as an informal adviser. You and the country will be in good hands.”
Helga shook her head. “Well, I guess I can’t talk you out of this.”
Godred chuckled as he pulled his wife into a hug. “No, you can’t. But don’t worry. I’ve been in tough spots before.”
“But not without help,” Helga muttered.
Godred broke off the hug. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve always been surrounded by friends and advisers you can count on. At the Battle of Crovan’s Gate, you had Thorkell, Ogmund, and Duke Adam to help you spring your trap. When you were campaigning for the unification with the Locomati, Duke Adam helped convince the Locomati to agree. When the earthquake devastated the villages, you had your ministers to help carry out the rebuilding. Who will you have now? Burnett and Lady are off to fight the Order of BR, while everyone else is staying here with me for the Regency Council.”
Godred shrugged. “I’ll figure something out. Maybe I can do it alone this time.”
“Godred!” Helga shouted.
“Nope, can’t talk me out of it,” Godred replied as he walked toward the door.
“Wait!” Helga grabbed Godred’s arm and kissed him on the cheek. “Promise me you’ll come back alive,” she whispered in his ear.
Godred gave his wife a peck on the lips. “I promise.”
Grand Ducal Castle, Ballahoo, Dual Kingdom of the Islands Grand Duke Thomas
Godred’s court wasn’t the only one reeling from the recent rebellion. While Thomas felt confident about his swift victory, his courtiers went into panic mode, urging drastic reforms to the Locomati government, investigation into the Locomati bureaucracy, and various shake-ups at court. Thomas denied their requests for the most part, but the suggestions from Thomas’ courtiers were becoming increasingly harder to ignore. Thomas found his court was even more of a nuisance to him than before, and with his closest confidante Percy of Avonsida still away at King Godred’s court, the lonely Grand Duke had become irritable and sullen.
One day, Thomas was sitting in his throne room alone, tapping his fingers on his armrest in boredom. Just then, the throne room doors creaked open, and one of Thomas’ courtiers named Neville of Southton entered the room.
“If you’re here about the loyalty decree, I already told Montague I’m not signing it,” Thomas preempted.
“I’m not here about that, Your Highness,” Neville replied as he approached the throne. “I’m actually here for something more modest.”
“Oh? And what would that be? I’m pretty sure I’ve heard every so-called ‘modest’ proposal there is.”
“I would like you to appoint a political adviser.”
Thomas perked up. This was indeed a modest proposal, and one Thomas had not heard before. Still, he had his doubts. “I see. And what is your reasoning for this?”
“Every smart ruler has to have a political adviser, Your Highness. Why, even Governor Mavis Anopheise had a political adviser!”
“Oh yes, I remember him,” Thomas recalled. “I believe his name was Derek. Didn’t he disappear just before Mavis and her court were captured? I wonder what ever happened to him.”
“That’s beside the point, Your Highness,” Neville replied. “My point is that political advisers are important, and every leader should have one. Where else would you receive political advice?”
In reality, Thomas already had a political adviser in Percy, who was a close adviser to the Grand Duke on all matters political and otherwise. However, as Thomas wanted to maintain the pretense of Percy merely being a simple page, he couldn’t very well explain that to Neville. “I’m my own political adviser,” Thomas lied. “I trust my own judgement more than anyone else’s.”
“With all due respect, Your Highness, that’s not good enough. Having other voices to listen to and provide you with feedback is important, and a political adviser is one of the most important of them all. Especially for a new state like ours, having someone who is savvy in the political arts is crucial for you to be able to navigate the ship of state and hold everything together.”
Thomas sighed in defeat. “Alright Neville, you win. I’ll appoint a political adviser to my court. Is there anyone in particular you had in mind?”
“As a matter of fact, there is, Your Highness.” Neville walked back to the throne room doors and opened them, revealing a tall woman with long, dark hair, loose clothes, and multiple colorful bracelets around her wrists. She approached the throne and kneeled before the Grand Duke.
“It is an honor to be in your presence, my lord,” the woman said. “My name is Nia.” Nia’s accent struck Thomas for being both somewhat deep, and having a hint of refinement. It seemed alluring in a way, and her sultry tone of voice only added to this.
“That is an interesting accent, Nia,” Thomas responded. “Can’t say I recognize it. Where is it from?”
“All over, Your Highness. My family lived a nomadic life, and we traveled all over the Calverian mainland. We didn’t settle down in the Locomati isles until I was 12.”
Thomas nodded, then turned toward Neville. “Where did you find her?”
“She was a diplomat in our diplomatic corps,” Neville explained. “Distinguished herself quite well, but her colleagues could tell she was capable of more. Foreign Secretary Edward brought her to our attention, and said she would be the perfect addition to the court.”
“I see.” Thomas stroked his chin. “And you’re familiar with politics, Nia?”
“I’ve picked up a lot on my travels, my lord,” Nia explained. “I witnessed many different states and forms of government when I traveled with my family, and the diplomatic corps taught me even more about political theory and the application of power.”
There was a pause while Grand Duke Thomas was in thought. Neville spoke up. “So, do you like her, my liege?”
Thomas chuckled. He definitely ‘liked’ Nia, but he couldn’t describe in what way he liked her. While her record was impeccable, something more drew him to Nia. Not fully sure how to describe his feelings, Thomas responded “Yes Neville, I do like her. At least enough to give her a chance. Nia, you shall have a trial run at court. Prove yourself and advise me well, and you may stay.”
Nia smiled. “Thank you, Your Highness. I am very grateful for this opportunity.”
“I’m sure you are. Why don’t you follow me to my study? I’d like to learn more about you before you really get started.”
Nia nodded. “Of course, my lord. It would be a pleasure to tell you about myself.”
Lake Percival, Northern Locomati Island, Dual Kingdom of the Isles Norman and Sidney
Lake Percival was a town full of surprises. To those outside of it, and to some inside it, it was an oasis of paradise in an otherwise dull and unending plain. Lake Percival was a resort town, attracting visitors from all over the Dual Kingdom who wanted to take in the water and the water-based recreation offered by the town’s lake of the same name. These visitors were almost always of wealthy means.
It was this last fact that gave rise to Lake Percival’s reputation among its own residents: the home of a seedy underground and a thriving scam industry. Lake Percival’s wealthy and comparatively ignorant tourists were an easy target for the unscrupulous, and there was no shortage of unscrupulous people on the Northern Locomati Island. While a few tourists managed to get by unscathed, most lost a little bit of money in Lake Percival, and a handful lost a lot. However, in the midst of an otherwise dark criminal underworld, one group ran a comparatively light organization.
“Sidney!” Norman called out. “Where are those financial reports?”
“Right here, Norm!” Sidney replied as he rushed over to Norm’s desk with a stack of scrolls. “Sorry it took a while. Copying things take time, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you always say.” Norm took the scrolls and began looking through them. “So, give me a little preview: How’d we do this month? How much money did we take in?”
“Did pretty good, Norm. Revenue is up by 20%!”
“20%!?! Goodness, that new dead kid scam must have really worked.”
Sidney’s face lit up. “Oh yeah, I love that one! We put a rock on the road, and then when a carriage hits it, one of our street urchin friends lies down on road in front of the carriage and pretends to be dead.”
“And then one of us shows up in a constable uniform,” Norman finished, “and we make the rich sod give us a bribe to not say anything.” Norman burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, that’s priceless!”
“And limited in usefulness,” said a voice. Derek of Claytona stepped into the office. The former political adviser was the only member of Governor Mavis Anopheise’s court to flee before the capture of Vicarstown. After wandering the Northern Locomati countryside, Derek met two fellow wanderers named Norman and Sidney. After hearing their story, the trio formed an unlikely partnership, and upon their arrival in Lake Percival, it was Derek’s idea to form a network of small-time scams and cons in order to get by. Now, not only were they getting by, they were making a decent profit from the enterprise, allowing them to buy fancier clothes, a house for entertaining guests and serving as a front if needed, and some small pieces of jewelry and other trinkets.
“There are only so many street urchins in Lake Percival,” Derek explained. “Eventually we’ll have to reuse some kids, and if we do that, people might notice the same kids supposedly turning up ‘dead’ on the streets.”
“Don’t be such a worrywart,” Norman reassured. “There may be a limited numbers of urchins, but they seem practically endless to me.”
“There are a lot of street urchins in this town,” Sidney confirmed.
“The point is we have enough urchins to last us a while, and by the time we run out, I’m sure we’ll have thought of a new and even better idea.”
“Oh! I have one right now!” Sidney chimed in. “We sell a special drink that we say cures baldness, but actually,” Sidney had to pause to giggle. “But actually, it’s just water dyed orange!”
“Yes!” Norman cried. “I love it!” He wrote it down on a piece of parchment.
“Where are we going to get orange dye?” Derek inquired.
Norman thought for a moment. “Oh yeah, didn’t think of that. Well, we’ll figure something out.”
Derek shook his head. “Riiight. While you two are ‘figuring it out’, I have a meeting with the Black Bear Syndicate. I need to once again convince them not to wipe us out and that we’re not a threat to their business.”
“Okay, good luck with that Derek,” Norman absentmindedly replied as he wrote something down on the parchment. Derek then left the room, but not before hearing one last exchange between the two former courtiers.
“Ok,” suggested Norman, “what if we imported some oranges, squeezed out the juices, and then used the juices to dye the water?”
“Amazing!” Sidney exclaimed, extending his arms in excitement. “You’re a genius, Norm!”
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Post by Au Minbo on Dec 16, 2018 20:34:04 GMT -5
Prince Hato Otumi, Hato
"Latest reports cite a large number of ships seen going to and from the inland sea to the far east. The tribals in the area say that they belong to a strange people who have come to invade their lands. They say they were attacked by these strangers and managed to fend them off for now. Reports from the south show an increase in..."
Prince Otumi began to nod off as the young Lieutenant speaking droned on. He woke up with a start.
"Alright, I've heard enough, thank you Lieutenant. You may go."
Looking around at the other officers, Prince Otumi noted that all were men that he knew well and had served with for decades. Good men who would follow him to the ends of the earth. Men whose opinions he cherished.
"So, taking all of this into account, what do we do?" He asked the gathering. Hearing no responses he continued. "Nothing? Maybe we should ask the young King?" Laughter erupted in the room. An officer to Prince Otumi's right spoke up.
"If anyone could ever find him that is!"
The laughter could be heard echoing down the halls outside the room.
King Hato VIII Omo, Omo-Touo Castle
"Why are there so many rooms in this blasted castle!" The King was lost. Again. Four years on the throne and he had yet to master the art of navigating his home. "This is what I get for being away from the capital for all those years." His voice drifted off as he rounded another corner, this time coming right to where he meant to go: The map room.
Entering the room he noticed quickly the layer of dust that covered every surface. He began searching the room until he found what he was looking for, a map commissioned by his grandfather King Hato VII Oto in 790, 95 years ago. The map detailed what the scholars knew of the world beyond the ruins of Oromi. The knowledge he gleaned from this map was not anything exciting. The footnotes marked locations of groups of tribals, some of the catgirl tribes to the south, and the great wasteland beyond the inland sea.
"Useless. Why -*cough*- they ever thought of storing this map I have no idea." Throwing the map back to where he found it, Omo left the room to get lost once more on his way back to his study.
Tipene Maata, Naga-tuo Island
Tipene Maata was having a long day. Tipene Maata was a tax collector for his Royal Majesty King Hato VIII Omo on the island of Naga-tuo. His work usually consisted of a few common sayings:
"By the Kings order you have to pay these taxes kinsman.” and “No we cannot haggle on your payments.” or “No I can’t take your mother-in-law as a downpayment.”
Needless to say, Tipene Maata was not a popular cat in his home. More often than not his dealings with others ended up with the occasional hiss or spit. His worst day was when he was chased off a property by a 12 year old wielding a ceremonial, but very sharp, disembowelment knife.
Regardless of how people felt about him, Tipene managed to establish a better life for himself than previous generations. In his village alone he was the second wealthiest cat, but wealth was not everything he craved. What Tipene craved most of all was a family of his own. Alas he had been unsuccessful thus far in finding a wife, so instead he went to the market to search for some fresh citrus.
The market was usually a busy place, but today as he wandered between the stalls the crowd grew thicker, eventually funneling him and everyone else around the center where a young catgirl stood, proclaiming to the heavens.
“The men of Oromi despise us! They steal from us our homeland and take it for themselves, and when we dare to stand against them they send us to this barren island! Today is the beginning my kin! Today we must begin the total removal of all the Kings influence from our home! We must fight!”
As the young catgirl began to sway the crowd to her, Tipene noticed out of the corner of his eye a pair of soldiers making their way to her. As they got closer they began to yell.
“In the name of the King we place you under arrest.”
They had reached the girl
“You are accused of treason and attempting to incite rebellion against his majesty the King.”
They pushed her to the ground.
“We find you guilty of these crimes and hereby sentence you to death.”
Little was said as the crowd dispersed, but all made sure to avoid the blood flowing on the ground as they left.
King Hato VIII Omo, Omo-Touo Castle
Before the King sat his council. Composed of the Magisterial, his uncle, and a chosen few others, they gathered before him to listen to what he had to say.
“Friends, it's good to see you all again. Please, help yourself to some wine and lets get down to business.”
Stepping forward, the King walked towards his seat at the head of the table where he had arranged documents he wanted to discuss before the others had arrived. Sitting down he looked at the papers briefly before beginning.
“As you should all be aware there has been movement coming to and from the the inland sea to the East. Our scouts report that they appear to be coming from the north somewhere. The purpose of this council today is to discuss these reports. Uncle, if you could start us off please.”
“With pleasure your majesty. Reports indicate that these newcomers have begun building settlements along the inland sea and among some of the outlying islands. Some of our tribal friends have indicated that they are hostile. The other members of the admiralty and myself would like to suggest that we begin plans to assess their strength, then begin a complete blockade to starve them out.”
An elderly member of the Magisterial spoke up. “Personally I must agree with Prince Otumi. These men are more likely than not heathens, who else would dare defile the lands of our ancestors?”
“How could they even know that those lands were once claimed by our people?” snapped the King. Breathing calmly for a few seconds he composed himself. “We do not even know who these people are. They could be refugees from a calamity far away, or they could be people seeking a new life. To respond with aggression would scar our relations for years to come.”
“Then what do you propose we do, your majesty?” Prince Otumi asked pointedly.
“We send an armada from Hato to the mouth of the inland sea in the South and establish contact with these people.”
“A grand idea your majesty, and who do you propose to lead this so called armada?”
“I am glad you asked uncle. As you are obviously aware I once served in the navy, and so I shall once more. As soon as the fleet is assembled I shall depart with them and lead them to our new neighbours.”
“You have to be joking your Majesty.” exclaimed Prince Otumi “You haven’t been on a ship in years, let alone command one! And who will rule the nation in your stead?”
“Why,” said the King, “I had thought you would. With the consent of the council I am hereby appointing my uncle to act as Prince-Regent during my time away. He will be King in all but name until I arrive home once more.”
The rest of the council quickly agreed to the Kings request, and as the meeting was convened King Hato Omo heard that same elderly Magisterial scoff lightly to the others as he walked out the door.
“A fools errand, and our King thinks to play the fool!”
Tipene Maata, Naga-tuo Island
Tipene chewed lightly on some lemon peels as he peered over the tax records for the village. His mind hadn’t been at ease since the events in the market a few days past. The poor catgirl, brutally killed by two humans who were supposed to keep the town safe, not slaughter its residents. They were supposed to preserve order, not create chaos. From inside his house he could hear shouting from the streets outside. Striding to the window, he pushed open the shutters to see something that utterly horrified him.
Fire.
The town granary, not 100 meters away, was fully enveloped in flames. Running down the stairs and out the house, he and the other townsfolk gathered around it. With nothing to do but wait for it to go out they began to ask themselves how.
“It must have been those humans.” Someone nearby said.
“Of course it was the humans, they think they are so much better than us they can just kill us and starve us for their own amusement.” Another claimed.
The feelings of the crowd washed over Tipene like a great wave. Overcome with sadness and anger, he broke his silence.
“They need to be put in their place.” He said matter of factly, the true implications of his words lost on him until moments later when everyone's heads swung towards him.
“He’s right” he heard someone say.
“Maybe Tipene has some honor after all” he heard another state.
A few moments passed with everyone still standing around the granary, though now their eyes were fixed on Tipene. Taking a further moment to resolve his courage, he began striding to where the humans would be at this time of day: the pub.
King Hato VIII Omo, Omo-Touo Castle
In a dark room lit only by candles the King waited for the right moment to speak. Getting the old man here had not been difficult. It never was. No one could resist a private meeting with their King. Oh well, thought the King, this one won’t have much to worry about in a few moments.
Before the King lay an old man, bound and gagged to a slab which had seen many others like him before. To the right of the King lay a book. The book. Pausing briefly, he stepped up towards the slab and revealed the sacrificial knife. Passed down to him by his father, and from his father before him.
“Oh wise Decidius, keeper of souls and harbinger of knowledge. I grant thee this sacrifice, a man in my employ who knows no loyalty to any authority beyond that of coin.”
The old man struggled in his bonds, but they were too tight. The Magisterial looked up at the King with the dagger raised high, and closed his eyes as it dropped.
“With the blood of this stained priest, I request of thee knowledge into the language of those foreigners who now colonize the lands amongst the inland sea.”
And with that the King opened the Book of Knowing to see Decidius’ favor. Looking at the book, the pages were blank, but before long words started to appear, as if freshly written that very moment before fading away once more.
“The answers you seek can be sought in words of stone” it read.
Tipene Maata, Naga-tuo Island
“Put them here” Tipene said. The guards had been drug out of the pub by their ankles and now lay on the very spot they had executed the young catgirl just days before. Bloodied from their trip and the struggle they had endured from being subdued, they looked scared.
Good, thought Tipene.The humans show fear where the young one showed none. She was stoic and proud till the end.
“Humans,” he yelled, “you have been accused of murder and of destroying this town's granary. I find you guilty of these crimes and thereby sentence you, to death.”
He felt a blade being placed in his hands, and looking down he saw a young catgirl. The same one who chased him away quite some time ago, place in his hands the very knife she had used to scare him off. Smiling at the irony, Tipene Maata, tax collector for his Majesty King Hato VIII Omo carried out the sentence.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Dec 18, 2018 5:02:00 GMT -5
Kantchenkamaal
Azkalon marched through the ranks, shoving through the horde of Raiders and Arvesh as he approached the warlord's headquarters established near the center of the occupied districts within the city. Slamming the door open, he saw the warlord conversing with one of his men, seemingly talking about sending one of the hostages to the Khemet-controlled area when Azkalon delivered a particularly strong punch to the warlord's jaw, sending the man reeling back by several sets, pushing the subordinate away as he hissed, "You had one job, and that was to maintain control of the fucking hostages. Now word's coming in that you sent a hostage back to the enemy without considering the fact that he may tell more than what he instructed to deliver. Tell me why I shouldn't just kill you now."
The warlord suddenly pulled a dagger out and slashed across Azkalon's face, causing the Phylakitai to scream in pain, pressing his hands against the wound before the warlord grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him, slamming Azkalon against the wall, "Because, you idiotic wyrmfucker, I am relying on that child potentially saying more than expected: these elf fucks know we are from Kyras, they can barely discern us from the fuckers in Varan. I had my translator give additional information to say other than us taking hostages: I told him we were the first line being sent in, that we have been sanctioned by Kyras to raid the territories - I doubt any of these mothfucking savages even know about your failed kingdom in Reis'kjan."
Azkalon hissed through the pain coursing through his face, "So what you are telling me is that we are part of Kyras and that you want the Republic to come down on our asses when we have already secured a foothold to last us, is that what you are telling me?!" The warlord slammed Azkalon into the wall again, muttering, "For a Phylakitai, you are sorely lacking in intelligence. No, I plan for that mudgulping child to tell them that we are Kyran savages coming to invade: I doubt that the Republic has sent anyone through the borders based on what I have heard among the hostages. If this goes right, the elves will try to respond against Kyras and Varan will have to send troops into the Underground: even with your men and that crazy bastard Atek's men, we will be outnumbered if we stay here too long and the elves will eventually crush us once they send more men here. I am hoping that, once the Republic sends troops into these lands, that we can slip by and keep heading west, taking what we can until we establish a strong-enough foothold.
To do this, however, I need you to shut the fuck up: you are my slave, Phylakitai, and I do not appreciate my slaves backtalking me - be a good dog and send more men to the northern parts of the city. From what I have gathered, that location could use some of the repeating crossbows you have gathered to even the lines." Tossing Azkalon aside, he turned back to his subordinate, communicating in the tongue of the Arvesh, "Keep an eye on that dog, make sure he doesn't turn on us: if he acts out of line and tries to circumvent orders, kill him. Also, I need you to send word to any stragglers to enter from the border posts further to the south, though not far enough that they are well-armed." Azkalon heaved himself up, hissing, "If this plan fails, savage and the Republic comes down on us, I WILL kill you for your fucking stupidity," limping out as the warlord waved a submissive hand at him from over the shoulder.
Makeshift Prison, Outskirts of Kantchenkamaal
Xyn groaned as he felt the firelight hit his eyes, the heavy chains refusing to afford him at least the comfort of raising his arms to vainly shield his face. After he and Syll had been captured by the raiders, the past month was one of ceaseless torture, the Kyran warlord refusing to yield in his brutal reprisals against them: each day was that of beatings, forced feedings, and humiliations enacted upon them by the savages. Next to him, Alkrah groaned in pain, the faint hints of the salt-coated bolts visible even in the darkness: whatever they had done to him, the salt was enough to keep the wounds on his chest and back from healing, infection setting in with rotting smell - Xyn counted both him and Syll lucky, the bolts that had been shot in their chests had only punctured their skin, bronze armor having protected them. Now, they had to rely on sheer willpower to resist the beatings and light tortures the raiders done to get the three to confess.
"None of you have talked, right," Syll whispered quietly, looking at the door and praying that the guards could not hear their discussion. "I haven't said anything to them, but they're persistent: they keep offering us amenities in exchange for those who were working with us, but I feel that they only offer a swifter death." Alkrah lifted his head, blackened eye turned towards them, "I refuse to reveal anything, but I am uncertain as to how much longer these Kuora savages are willing to entertain our lives, especially since they have taken parts of Kàhntchéht already."
Xyn cursed silently as Syll shook her head, only for the light outside to grow brighter, each of them staying silent as they heard the two guards outside communicate, seemingly walking to the cell door, communicating in Arvesh-tongue. "Any word on the prisoners yet? Have they given anything at all," a voice said almost monotonously, the second voice being more exasperated, "None: these fuckers are very persistent in refusing to talk. Why do we even keep them alive anyway? They will not speak and even when we go as far as we are allowed, the bastards still refuse, plus we have already gotten to Kantchenkamaal." The first voiced sighed, seemingly tired, "The chief refuses to let them die, says he has some use for them left, but he did not say anything further. My guess is a warning, probably with their corpses."
Suddenly, a familiar third voice came through, one the three had become accustomed to: the warlord, "Open the door, I want to talk with them." A wave of bright light washed the interior of the room, the three captives wincing in pain as the warlord stood in front of them, hood pulled down and his face seemingly bruised. Beside him, another Kuora savage stood next to him, holding a scroll and muttering crudely in Tēhnvzāh, the words broken and the structure flawed: if it hadn't been for their injuries, they would have laughed in the raider's face.
The warlord glanced down at them, disgust evident in his eyes as he turned to the savage next to him, muttering quietly in Arvesh, "Tell them that we have orders from General Xalkayr to release them if they refuse to talk by the end of the week, that we are just the first wave and that we have more men to assist us in taking Kantchenkamaal." The raider nodded, looking at the scroll as he stated in Tēhnvzāh, "We shall release all by week's end if no talk, General Xalkayr will it. The Republic sending more men, we are first attackers: Kàhntchéht be ours."
The warlord nodded, seemingly aware that the point would come across before speaking in Limba Centrală, "Dacă mă auziți, știți asta: dacă nu vorbiți, vă voi rupe unghiile și scalpurile, vă voi smulge dinții și vă voi îndepărta încet pielea din carne dacă nu mi-ați spune ce ceilalți oameni planificase înainte să fii capturat. Dacă vorbiți, mă voi asigura că vă întoarceți la stăpânii voștri în siguranță, dar am ordinele mele din partea Republicii de a extrage informații de la voi toți." ("If you can hear me, know this: if you do not speak, I will rip your nails and scalps off, I will tear out your teeth, and rend the skin off of your flesh slowly unless you tell me what the rest of your men had planned before you had been captured. If you talk, I will see to it that you return to your masters safely, but I have my orders from the Republic to extract information out from all of you.")
Talas
"Chancellor, it appears that all of the units have heeded your call: all of the officers are pleased to say that they have arrived, with an average of 97% of the total number present: the remaining 3% were either executed for dereliction of duty, physically unable to arrive due to sickness or complications, or died in the attempt to arrive here," Erin iben ta'Ħadd stated in a neutral tone as Kalċidon stood up from his desk, looking at the 9th Guard Regiment commander in the eye, "Those numbers are acceptable: what about the procurement of provisions and ordnance?" Erin replied immediately, "Varan's output has confirmed enough surplus to feed both this expeditionary force and the Forces still operating within Kyras's borders: many of the northern towns are also sending wood, oil, pelts, and various other tools to help maintain performance within the Forces and equipment maintenance, particularly once entry into the Tabes is conducted. Livestock and perishable foodstuffs are being brought, most of the vegetation is being placed in jars with water as requested, Chancellor, and are to be placed in boiling water to ensure the well-being of the troops. We have also amassed salt and spices for potential usage and display once contact is made with the other Calverian leaders: additionally, we have gathered chains and stocks should you find any of the tribesmen within Quijain to be suitable to the Republic's well-being."
Kalċidon nodded, "Those are also acceptable: relay the other commanders to take hold of a portion of the materials once we reach Quijain and have the men informed that the length of the trip will require correspondence to be gathered within two weeks," Erin moved to exit the room, only for Kalċidon to call out, rather coolly, "Erin, I've noticed the peculiarities of your surname: will you be kind to tell me the purpose of this particular name?" Erin gritted his teeth, "Well, Chancellor, I found that it suited me very much." "You are aware of the circumstances to which 'iben ta'Ħadd' can be translated, yes?" Erin nodded, "Yes, I know that Common tongue would translate it as 'Son of No One': I find it particularly fitting given the means to which my heritage has developed over time." Quietly, Kalċidon stated, "Erin-" only for the latter to spin and hiss, "If you would excuse me, Chancellor, I must deliver the message to which you desire relay: I would prefer that you refrain from any further prying into my personal life - I have already lost my parents, and I do not need you to enter as another."
As Erin stomped out, letting the door slam, Kalċidon winced, turning to look at the small painting at his desk, depicting his family, "I had known for a while that Konċetta had been gone, but if you do not think that I also miss your mother, Erin, then you are mistaken," he whispered faintly to no one, grabbing the painting, "Service in the Falanx called for an end to our relationship: I loved Konċetta with all my heart, but I knew they," he hissed venomously, "would harm the both of you. I had to make a choice: either happiness and a short life, or security for all of us and longer lives. I do not regret my decision, but I wanted to keep both of you safe, son." Silently, Kalċidon placed the painting back onto the desk, knowing the servants would carefully return it to the chest for transport, stepping out to give his address to the crowd.
Port of Talas, Day 0
It was time
Kyre knew it when Varist had come to the inn to personally collect him, "Kyre, Chancellor Kalċidon gave the order: we leave now. Gather your belongings and be at the Port by the half-hour." After Nikola had divulged all the available information, Kyre had sent him back to the farm with additional tasks and necessities to complete in his absence before purchasing a room at an inn near the Port for the night. Now, he had found himself with a larger set of belongings and purportedly a horse to take upon landing in Quijain, especially given the terrain and length of the journey. He had gone to a teller near the town, seeking to check on the amount he still had: finding it had grown, he ordered the teller to place Żaren's name on the account as well, in case anything would happen to him.
Żaren. The only thing that was on Kyre's mind at all times: he was furious at first, wanting to immediately find his son and beat seven shades of black and blue into him for running off, but as time grew, the anger suddenly turned to worry - now all he wanted was to find Żaren, hug him, and tell him to go home before he could potentially be killed. 'Żaren, I know you are somewhere out there in Quijain. If you, for whatever reason, can feel what is coming; please, just come back and stay out of this. You may be a man by now, but you are still my son, and I just want you to be safe: this is not something you are ready for,' Kyre thought as he cleaned himself, trimming his beard and straightening his hair before pulling his plated aketon over his torso, the familiar weight now uneasy for him as worry continue to grip him. Grabbing his sword and scabbard, Kyre placed it onto his belt before flinging the sack filled with his clothes, tools, and rations over his shoulder before exiting the inn.
The port was filled to the brim with men and women from across Northern Kyras: many stayed within their formations, chatting freely as they waited for Kalċidon to come out and deliver his address. Others had broken from their units to talk freely with others, discussing campaigns, home life, and their families. Kyre silently snaked through the crowds, having recalled the banner that marked Varist's unit, the 13th Black Guards Regiment: spotting the banner, he walked towards it, the Black Guards noting him with indifference, one mentioning to him, "Lieutenant Varist requested for you to join him along with the other civil auxiliaries at the front." Nodding his thanks, Kyre slipped through until he spotted Varist: approaching him, Kyre stated, "My Lord, I am present: has Chancellor Kalċidon indicated when we are to board?" Varist shook his head, "Not yet, Kyre: we are still waiting for him to give the address? Do you have something you need to do?" Kyre nodded, "Yes, just one thing: I wish to deliver a prayer for my son's well-being and that we can find him soon." Varist nodded, "You do not need to ask: you have more than enough time to make it."
Kyre gave thanks as he knelt down on one knee, hands clasped as he placed his head onto them, quietly praying, "Dear Mother, I know that I have not been as devout a follower to You as I should be, but I ask one thing of You, before I enter the wildlands of Quijain. My son, Żaren, he is somewhere in the steppes to which I am to enter soon, he left by orders supposedly by the Warfather, Rigma. Mother, I am aware that my son is committing sacrilege and is no longer bound to Your name, but I ask of You: please, keep my son safe." Kyre felt himself beginning to tremble, steeling himself as he forced the words out, "Mother, do not let my boy die out there in the steppes: I ask You, grant me the assurance that when we enter Quijain that he be there, ready to be sent back home. My son does not deserve to die at the hands of some steppe tribals, he deserves a quiet life back home, secure. I do not care of my own fate, Mother, but let my son live: my Kat would never forgive me if she knew our son died. Grant us both strength so that I may embrace my son once more, that I can personally tell him that he must go home, that he can return home free of injury. I thank You, Mother."
Standing up, Varist looked at Kyre for a few seconds before muttering, "I never took you for a follower of Myratnis, Kyre." Kyre chuckled slightly, knowing the peculiarity of it, "Katarina, my wife, she was the one who converted me: I was a follower of the Warfather like my Pa, but when I met Katarina, she brought something out of me, something other than wanting to die in glorious battle in His name." Varist cocked his head, "And what, pray tell, would that be?" Kyre simply stated, "A good life, one where I could stay at home with her, raise a family, and even be able to tell Pa, 'You have grandchildren, Pa, and good ones as well: smart, courageous, and wonderous about the world.' Course, after Kat died, I felt as if I had been hit with a stone ax: I wasn't able to tell whether to keep going on with life, some days were painful enough that I did not desire to do anything. Deep down, though, I knew that Kat would not want that: we had a son, and damn it all, I would have to be strong to keep raising him, for both our sakes."
Varist was close to replying when commotion came from the front, "Looks like the Chancellor is about to speak: let us focus up front." Silence washed the crowd as Erin iben ta'Ħadd stood at the front of the crowds, a podium erected in front of the registration building as he proclaimed, "Soldiers of the Kyran Forces. Chancellor Kalċidon tal-Wied tal-Ħames Draguni wishes to deliver an address before we embark on the Grand Conquest and our Council with the forces of Calveria. My Lord, I present to you the assembled formations of the Kyran Forces, as requested by you."
As Erin stepped aside, Kalċidon emerged from the building, clad in the same armor he had worn when he slew Atek den-Ten'saii at the Battle of Varan: the head of the traitor, freshly embalmed once more and resembling that of a rotting orange, hung at his waist. The left shoulder, which originally held the head of a Flesh Dragon, was now adorned with a metal plate, that of the current bestial depiction of the Warfather. Standing at attention, the legions of Kyras watched with bated breath as Kalċidon began to speak:
"Soldiers of the Kyran Forces, I am Kalċidon tal-Wied tal-Ħames Draguni, Slayer of Ten'saii, and Chancellor of the Republic of Kyras. Several days ago, I received correspondence from King Blair de Brus, of Lexidus, calling for parley with the collective leaders and forces of Calveria to gather for the express purpose of marching onto the Magna Tabes and slay Yrutas, the cursed god of corruption that has been a thorn upon the side of Calveria and of the Warfather for millennia. I understand, to many of you, the gravitas and the madness of the statement that de Brus delivered to us: while we are faithful servants of the Warfather and of the Mother, we are but mortals facing against a divine being who could easily kill us all with little forethought. Additionally, I know many of you hold disgust that the Lexiduns, imperialist bastards of the west that claim divinity to rule as monarch of the country, and of their allies, like the fickle and lust-filled Titenfiscans and the savage beasts of Asakor.
I also know that de Brus's calling will bring us in contact with individuals to which we have had little or negative contact with: the Dual Kingdoms, much like the Lexiduns, claim that blood determines rule, that the Mother gave a certain number express right to rule the country. The Amnestines and Veritians as well, they claim divine right of rule, they tamper with arcane rights and are under the rule of Zypnac, believing superiority. The elves of Ukko, who have plagued the northern seas of Kyras with pirates, and most of all, the Khemet and Rozhai of Asil, beings who either claim their superiority despite shunning the surface in favor of rotting away in the Underground like savage beasts, or the beings who, while sharing the same god, are hostile to us and have plagued our western borders for centuries, not being reined in by their Khemet masters.
Despite the differences these nations show, despite being those who we would never, in good fortune, associate with; we must come to accept that, for now, the forces that will congregate by de Brus's pleas shall be our allies. I understand that for many, myself included, to co-operate with these people seems insane, we have to, no, must band together as one army, an unbreakable legion to march on the Tabes and kill the fucker that is Yrutas. Yrutas, as arrogant and powerful as he is, is nothing more but a coward, a child who has dwelled within his room and refuses to attack personally: he sends armies of corrupted creatures to do his bidding, black knights cursed with his profane magic slaughter innocents, and energies of corruption leaking into parts of Calveria to extend his reach. To Yrutas, if he is listening, I have this to say: We may be human, but the Kyran Forces will not falter in face of you. You, who dwell in the Tabes and perpetuate rot, who have no honor, who is powerful but also weak, you will face the wrath of the Warfather, of the Mother, and feel the might of the Kyran Forces strangle you until you shriek with despair and vain as you finally die. We shall, along with the other armies, be the unbreakable ax that will rend your head from your disgusting corpse, to finally tell all that your reign of despair has come to an end.
Brothers and Sisters of the Kyran Forces, of the Fatherland, you will not find dishonor, cowardice, or retreat from this campaign: we are Kyrans, and as Kyrans, we are the representatives of the Warfather. We shall let His mighty rage surge through us, we shall make the hordes of Yrutas quake and shriek with agony and fear as they futilely try to escape from us, we shall cleanse the Tabes of corruption with fire and blood. We are of Rigma and Myratnis, and we shall make them proud. BROTHERS AND SISTERS, DO YOU WISH TO DIE AS COWARDS! DO YOU WISH TO LET YRUTAS REIGN OVER US LIKE A HATED SPECTER! IF WE ARE OF HONOR AND STRENGTH, WE SHALL SHOW NO QUARTER!
We have a long ways ahead of us: from Talas lies Quijain, once a powerful empire, now broken into tribes quarreling upon the steppes, a disgrace to the Warfather's name. We shall march through Quijain, we shall show little mercy to these tribes, we shall be dominant and we will make our presence known when the might of Kyras meets the forces of Calveria for the first time. We shall show them all that Kyras is strong, and we shall be the unbreakable ones who will march into the Tabes and make our presence known to Yrutas, to make him face us at last."
The Forces cheered as Kalċidon finished his speech, Erin returning to the front and proclaiming, "The following units shall be the first to embark on the Grand Conquest: the 1st Kotek Honor Guard; the 1st, 3rd, and 6th Republican Guards; the 3rd and 9th Phylakes; and the 1st, 3rd, 6th, 9th, 13th, 18th, and 21st Guards Regiments - let us show Kyras and the rest of Calveria what we are made of." Kyre and Varist perked up, Varist chuckling as he stated, "Looks like we might find your boy soon after all, huh Kyre?" Kyre simply replied, "Maybe, but I have a feeling this will be much more arduous than expected of us all."
Quijain, Day 0
Żaren turned as the horse climbed up the slopes of the forests composing of Quijain's shoreline facing Kyras: faintly, he could hear the cheering of the Kyran Forces in Talas all the way across the bay, even over the din of the rivers pouring from the ocean and the waves crashing. Turning around, he quietly stated, "Lord, grant Father strength and that he may live. I will do my tasks, but secure him." Pulling the reins, Żaren and the horse climbed to the top of the slope before disappearing, the ships beginning to disembark as the Grand Conquest began.
L-Ewwel Tempju ta 'l-Għaqda tal-Ħajja
The Warrior stirred awake.
She could faintly recall the events that led to her being transferred from the Underground to what seemed like Paradise: dimly, she remembered the strange beings that had questioned Tahra, remembering the roar of the Flesh Dragon as it leaped down from its perch and began to slaughter her tribe, and of the horrid air that enveloped everyone, lastly recalling the Seer wrapping her wife in her arms as the strange man screamed at the fort. Stirring awake in the morning light, itself dim as rain poured outside, she turned to her right to see the Seer talking with another one of their species, though not of the tribe, seemingly communicating in the language Tahra spoke in with that horrid man in red.
The Seer seemingly took notice, giving thanks to the woman speaking to her in broken Ilsien before gently pushing her spouse's shoulder: the Warrior stirred, finally opening her eyes to see her wife looking at her with tearful eyes, letting out a squeal of joy as she wrapped her arms around her, expressing her joy, "You're awake! You're finally awake! I was so scared!" the Seer said as she held the Warrior close to her, speaking in their tongue of clicks and squawks. "What happened? Where are we?" the Warrior inquired as she began to pull herself upright, noticing the blanket that covered her bare form, "Surface-dwellers: they saved us and brought us here to one of their big temples. They healed us and kept us alive, they said they are more than happy to keep us here."
The Warrior suddenly sat upright, causing the Seer to let out a surprised squeak, "The tribe! Tahra! Where are they? Did they make it with us?" The Seer suddenly lost her vigor and smile, tears welling up as she began to sob, "They're dead: whatever those beings shot at the beast, it killed all of them. The people here told me that we only survived because Tahra made the gas go away with fire. They're all gone, they were buried days ago." The Warrior sat there, gently holding the Seer close to her as she processed what was said to her, only to feel her own tears come out: for years, she was always raised to know losses in the tribe were no great pain or loss to the rest. Why? Why was it now that she weeped for them, for Tahra, for her livelyhood?
A knock came at the doorway, both Scorched Ones suddenly turning to see a human caretaker gently holding a basket of ointments and robes, "The Sister said I was to give the both of you a bath and some clothes: she wants to speak with the both of you soon, and to help with something concerning what happened to the both of you," she said fluently in their tongue, politely waiting as they both crawled out of the bed, giving thanks as she took them to the baths.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Dec 19, 2018 19:37:17 GMT -5
Sergeant Dunsley Hovis, No Man's Land - Quijain
His pinky finger would twitch involuntarily from time to time. Considering the condition his arm was in mere months ago, Dunsley considered this annoying spasm to be inconsequential. The Mages of Myratnis had done their job well and with that he was able to heal up quick. Once he got out of hospital, General Lewis himself brought him his soldier's pension and promise of land. Dunsley instead asked for a promotion and new assignment, to which the old general roared with laughter and almost childlike glee. Now here he was, months later and in the middle of the arse-end of nowhere in the lands that were formerly the "state" of Quijain.
"Sergeant! The general wishes to speak with you" came a muffled voice from beyond the tent's tarp. He had been passing the time shaving away what little facial hair he had, his twitchy pinky making the feet slightly more tedious.
"Tell him I'm on my way!" he shouted before hissing as he accidentally cut his cheek. He quickly dabbed his face with a wet cloth and adjusted his blue and white gambeson before quickly ejecting himself from his personal tent.
Dunsley had read little of the Quijain, what he knew of them was through hearsay and history lessons he barely paid attention to. What had been a group of roaming tribal nomads that formed the country of Quijain had been in the process of collapsing for over a hundred years and only just now had it been made official on Lexidun maps. The vast and expansive plains of the east of Lexidus laid bare once more, some remnants of the Quijain still traded with Abel but it was clear they no longer belonged to a larger state. It was a shame Dunsley thought, the Quijain had always been friendly to the east of Lexidus.
His regiment had arrived in the vast plains, just miles from Lexidus' border, a little under a week ago. The mighty Trident Regiment of the Standing Army of Lexidus, forged by the Cold War with Asakor, being one of fifty regiments now poised waiting in the grand expanses of no mans land. For what reason? He was not aware. As he rose the hillock where the command tent was however, he had an inkling he was just about to find out why. He entered the grand tent, more of a gazebo with lavish tarp draped across it. Inside was a sizeable dark wood circular table with matching chairs, white-lion banners and a couple of other banners being put up that he didn't recognise. The red squid looked familiar though.
"There you are Sergeant!" boomed General Lewis, emerging from further within. Dunsley instinctively saluted, only to have his arm batted down and a handshake to be administered in the salute's stead. "Oh fuck off with the procedural gestures. You're my aid lad! Can't have you saluting every five minutes!" he laughed.
Dunsley couldn't help but smile and internally admonish himself. The general had not left him alone since his recovery and had taken a real shine to him. He felt honoured.
"Apologies sir. Force of habit they beat into us back at drilling. You wanted to see me?" Dunsley stated, still scanning the interior of the tent. Ah! Titenfisca! That was what the red squid meant. How did he forget that?
"Come with me lad." General Lewis beckoned Dunsley to follow him as he strode into another section of the tent. A smaller but still sizeable table being centre stage, a large map adorned it. The general pointed to the map, more specifically to the white pieces of wood placed in their location of no mans land. "Impressive isn't it?"
Dunsley noticed more pieces of wood, all different variations of colour. The dyes for these finely crafted wooden models must have been extortionate. "Its... a very impressive map and those are some fine models sir."
The old man scoffed, brushing his beard as he brought some of the different colour pieces together with the white ones. Dunsley began to realise what the map was representing. The banners. The vast plains they found themselves in.
"This is it lad. The ultimate battle. A war like Calveria has never seen before and will likely never have again." The general was grinning from ear to ear, Dunsley felt his stomach drop slightly. "The nations of Calveria will meet here in this very field and march towards the Magna Tabes, our numbers vast and unyielding." Taking a knife from his boot, the general lent over and stabbed it into where the Tabes was located on the map. "We're taking down the mad god Yrutas. Once and for all. For what the bastard did at Camelon."
"I..." muttered Dunsley, he was at a loss for words.
"Goddess above. Imagine it lad. The Northern Alliance coming together with the south-eastern nations to take down Yrutas! We'll be fighting WITH Kyras! Now there's a republic I like, a military republic! I look forward to meeting my Kyran peers and others. Our names will go down in history." Lewis was waxing lyrical, his arms flying around him in grand gestures, stopping himself only as he realised something.
"I want you to be my ward Dunsley."
Sergeant Dunsley could feel his brain racing at a million miles an hour, the two revelations putting him into almost a sense of fight or flight. He shook his head, trying to compose himself before settling on a smile. "General. I would be honoured!"
"With what is about to happen Dunsley, we'll receive the highest honours of men of our position. Our place in the history books."
High Admiral Hunter Macleish, Savage Island Port - Dominion of the South East Caldives
"So these isles are to be under a singular dominion correct? Even the Southus Isle which is just a mere couple of miles away from mainland Lexidus?" the High Admiral inquired. His statement was met with a shrug from the leader of the Lexidus Expeditionary Company. A woman with red hair and freckles plastered across her face. Ruby Hollins.
"As I understand it yes. This was a decision made by his majesty and his court, me and my associates just deal with getting everything up and running." The two of them were sat opposite from one another on top the top deck of the Yola's Fury, now the pride of the Lexidun Navy after her involvement with the Cold War. Macleish had, since the war, established himself as the top admiral in service with the navy today. The woman across from him however, couldn't care less. He appreciated that.
"I must say in that regard you and your Merchant Association pals are doing a fine job. I hear the colonies have been set up with few hiccups and are already allowing your ships through into the South Eastern Ocean. A fine accomplishment indeed."
She chuckled, wiping the beads of sweat off her forehead. The day had held little wind and it was approaching noon, the sun bearing down over both of them. The sounds of hammering and workmen emanating from the port. "I had a fine crew, Captain Andross and his people helped me through this hellish heat. Without them, I would probably be dead on this island with none of you here at all."
He had heard tales of Captain Andross, as salty as salt could be former pirate hunter and purveyor of the Southus Sea. A great man. Couldn't shut up about Republicanism though. Hunter exhaled through his nose, smiling. "You were in very capable hands."
"I'd say he pales in comparison to your armada though Admiral. What IS nearly the entirety of the Lexidun Navy doing down here. We only need a couple of ships for protection, not thousands all across the islands and between them."
Hunter took a swig of the local special, tree milk from a large nut harvested from curious trees, mixed with what could only be described as spiced vodka. It was delectable. "Ever since the Yrutan Siege at Camelon, our forces were sent down here to protect you from unknown dangers. This is new land and territory, there's no knowing what could lurk around this valuable dominion and her routes."
Ruby rested her hand against her face. "There's nothing here but exotic animals with expensive pelts, I assure you Admiral, this is just a waste of resources. You and your boys could be enjoying the cool air of home. She leaned back and fanned herself.
"Ha... I can't argue with you in regards with the heat. It is quite overbear-"
Suddenly, the two of them were interrupted by the cries of a sailor wielding a spyglass, rushing to the admiral and handing him it.
"SIR! You'll want to see this!" The sailor pointed westward, to which the High Admiral responded with by springing to his feet and looking towards the sea in the distance. Ships, lots of them. He didn't recognise them.
"...those aren't our ships. Prepare the men! Warn all ships in the area, stay on high alert. This is about to get interesting."
King Blair de Brus, The Throne Room - Camelon
He sat on his throne. Leaning forward slightly, Crowley to his right as per usual ruffling through papers. It had been a slow day of audience with him. Nobles had come to him skittishly with appeasement and flattery, his actions against his cousin having been regaled far and wide. The peasants were a sorry sight, he had lost count of how many grieving widows he had turned away, some with armed escort. Their request? The chance to bury their loved ones as is commonplace amongst worshippers of Myratnis. His revelations to them that their loved ones were now ash, falling upon the grievers with a weight of cruel despair. Denied a chance to move on and honour their fallen. He loathed himself, refusing to react to those who even cursed his name. The very peasants who, months ago he knew their names and helped them with the most trivial of matters. Barth, the farmer who had came to him with his issues with seed was gone, died protecting his son as the initial horde of Yrutan monsters had bled out into the farm lands. The boy was traumatised, last he heard of him was that he was taken into the care of the Mages of Myratnis.
"One more and that should be us done for the day." Announced Crowley, cracking his knuckles before beckoning the royal guard to let in the last person. The Royal Steward's eyes widening as he realised who was striding into the throne room. "Burke!"
The bald man with a grand black beard had hatred in his eyes. "Where did you bury her, where the fuck did you bury my niece?!"
Blair felt a cold wave sweep through him. Please, anything but this, not now.
"You burn her and don't have the gods be damned decency to tell me? To let me say my goodbyes?!" His eyes were baggy, his beard messy, Blair could smell his breath from here. Liquid courage.
Crowley rose from his seat and came between Burke and the king. Trying to place a hand on the chief of Nola's shoulder. Only to have it batted away and the drunk man continue to yell at Blair.
"She should have stayed. Stayed far away from you. You... HEATHEN!"
The Steward had enough of all the insults hurled Blair. Crowley, now angered, grabbed Burke by his collar. "Watch your tone Nola! That is your king! Show some respect!"
"Let him go Crowley."
The Steward stared at the Chief, who didn't look Crowley in the eyes, instead fixing his gaze on a gloomy Blair. He let go, still placing himself between the two of them. Ushering a guard forth to take the chief away.
Blair stared right back at Chief Burke Nola, who could not return the sentiment. He agreed with it. His display of bravado to rally his country and people? It was all moot in the eventual realisation nothing of her remained physically, nothing to mourn over, no grave. Just ash amongst more ash. Ash and a wraith. One who was behind her uncle with a knife in her hand, playing with it and imitating slicing her own uncle's throat from behind. She was grinning throughout the altercation.
"I'm... I'm sorry about everything Burke. I failed her. I failed you. She died protecting m-"
"You should have died in her place! Those Rohzai too! Curtailing our religion and way of life with talk of Zypnac and bullshit! Mark my words de Brus, you will be known as the man who brought ruin to this nation!"
Blair felt something burn within him, dark and vicious. His own niece dead and he chooses to rant about the gods. He rose from his throne, ready to scream. He noticed the wraith, her grin had grown to inhuman proportions, her eyes black. Looking at her filled him with even more darkness. Before he could do anything, Crowley grabbed the man again, this time headbutting him with great force. The large chief being taken aback and stumbling, Crowley briefly rubbing his forehead and then pointed at him.
"Whatever god as my witness Burke, speak out of turn again and I swear with all of my soul that I will have you thrown into the dungeons and forgotten about. We ALL cared for Eimear and I made a promise to you that I would honour your family. Consider this me doing so, I will forgive you for this transgression but you will leave now and sail back to your city immediately." Crowley's words boomed throughout the throne room. The stain glass windows lit with a dull afternoon light. "Go home. Clean yourself up." The chief was approached by the royal guard. "Then do your fucking duty."
The chief finally turned his eyes to Crowley, his eyes were filled with sorrow and he was breathing heavily. Trying to compose himself. Trying to process the words that his old friend had thrown at him. Before turning away and walking out, groaning.
Blair sat down, the darkness leaving him and the coldness sweeping through him and dissipating to be only replaced with numbness. The wraith looked at him disappointingly, her appearance returning to almost normal.
The two of them stayed in the room for a while longer, neither of them saying anything, nor looking at one another.
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