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Post by Lex Caledonia on Jan 16, 2019 23:17:30 GMT -5
Donn Myra, Central Courtyard - Camelon Castle
She paced herself accordingly. Her eyes were stinging but at least they no longer forced themselves shut in broad daylight. She would come to the courtyard every noon and stare at the sky, so long as the Princess and the King had no immediate need of her. She knew she would have to adapt to living above ground more often now, no more quick surface excursions in the name of her former king, her king was Blair now. Standing in the garden she only just noticed Leanabh reading on a bench in the corner. As she approached her, she hoped she hadn't been watching her squint like a fool, she had been doing so for nearly an hour. She was very familiar with how long an hour was.
"How goes your studies my lady?" Myra enquired, the young princess only bringing her head up from her book when Myra sat beside her. Good, Myra thought. She didn't notice me.
"Myra... you promise me you would speak common with me from now on." Leanabh groaned. Her mousy face pouting.
"Agh... you know how I feel about the common tongue my lady, Celtmaric is our TRUE tongue!" Myra chuckled, her cheeks creasing, her left one in particular moving her scar in a particularly odd way.
Leana's expression quickly jumped to a smug one. "You said, we must both acclimatise to the outside world. That includes both of us adapting our speech AND eyes!" She was clearly proud of that retort, despite almost tripping at the word acclimatise.
The Donn gave out a loud laugh. Her lady was becoming less and less meek everyday. Yesterday, she was caught by the Head Chef and instead of usually getting a stern telling off and look like she was going to burst into tears. She ran away with a bag of sweets giggling maniacally whilst the chef pursued her.
"Alright, alright. Your majesty. What are we reading today then?"
"Tales and Curiosities of the Lexidun Kingdom." Leana began to beam. She loved recounting some of her favourite books, this one clearly being her newest addition. "It tells a condensed history of Lexidus as well as various myths! All from the Black Donn, to the Red Chief. The Tribulations of King Brus and the Decadence of King Cameron. Why just now I should be onto..." she paused as she hurriedly turned the pages of the book, stopping on a chapter.
King Petre the Eternal and the Font of Myratnis.
Donn Myra slammed the book shut with loud clap. Taking the book from Leana and beginning to stride away, her face stony. She stops when she hears the light stamping of the Princess' feet.
"I want... I demand to know!" Her voice was stern but Myra could tell the princess was already close to tears. "What did he do! Who-" she stumbled, Myra turned to her, seeing her clench her fists tight. "Who was my mother!"
*13 years ago, The Underkeep*
The dimly lit halls echoed with the sounds of her screams. Young Myra stood at her post at the door, summoning all of her willpower not to glance inside, she did not want to be whipped again for lack of discipline. The delivery had been long and arduous, the incantations being spouted by the Tiodhlac were lengthy and causing her much pain. They said it would take an hour. Just one hour. Myra gripped her sword tight as her screams began to grow weaker and weaker. Her eyes watering as she heard what she thought was a whimper. Then suddenly, a high pitched shriek and crying. She could hear a baby. She lost herself and barged into the room, her fellow Donn in training protesting. There was blood, so much blood. Her King was laughing pitifully but joyfully as he held a gleaming red baby in his arms. His attention far away from the deplorable sight in the room. A woman was laying on stone slab, her body marked and pale. Nissia. The fading women held her hand towards Myra and she complied, even her own hands were coated with her own blood.
"Goddess Nissia why... why Nissia why." Myra began to blubber, her brown eyes bleeding tears.
"...for f-family Myra. Duty to the family... above all else..." the dying woman muttered. Her grasp fading from Myra's own. She held on harder in response, placing her hand against her cheek as she held it. Myra felt her body shake in anguish. She doesn't want to lose her. But it wasn't her choice to make.
Her hand now limp, Myra only let go once her fellow trainee Donn nudged her with the back of his boot. She rose, wiping the tears from her eyes, only to mark her face red with Nissia's blood. The shrieking of the baby began to irk at her very being, that damned Bairn. She wanted to shut it up.
"Praise the maither kin'est on this day." King Petre stated, his old and cordial voice barely being heard under the baby's shrieking. "I have finally been granted an heir. She is as beautiful as she is imbued with the holy waters." Myra stared, her blood boiling, she could barely keep keep herself together. "Give Nissia, a good burial, she deserves it. Unlike the rest." He dismissively waved his hand, his eyes still locked with the screaming baby. Servants hurriedly began to wrap the body, Myra stood there, staring.
"Don't you see young one?" he turned to Myra and gave a genuine smile. She felt nothing but disgust. "Family. Above all else."
*The Present Day*
She stared at Leana. Her mind filled with memories she had to bury long ago. She swore she could feel her hand in hers once more, the blood on her face, the shrieking. Goddess. Forgive me.
"...her name. Was Nissia."
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Post by Au Minbo on Jan 21, 2019 18:07:42 GMT -5
King Hato VIII Omo, Near “Savage” Island
Looking at the woman he smiled as she extolled to him the wealth of goods their people had. Thinking on it he knew that there certainly could be great fortunes made in trading with this nation. As Admiral Macleish finished the King took a moment to gather his thoughts.
“My people and nation have many goods that would be beneficial to trade with yours. The goods you speak of would be well received in my Kingdom I think. For the time being I will allow your merchants to enter only through the port of Otago in the north. I will dispatch a ship from my fleet here carrying these orders to the council of the city. Our two nations have a great opportunity for friendship and wealth now. With this, Admiral Macleish, Madame, I will be off.”
As the fleets began to separate a group of 5 ships split off from the main Oromi fleet headed west, the rest of the fleet slowly made their way northward.
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Post by Andromitus on Jan 22, 2019 17:56:32 GMT -5
Outside of Tahkam Thaur, Khaamūan Circuit
Alzaìh raked her hands one last time along the thin tufts of hair covering her scalp. One of the soldiers had been kind enough to lend her a razor. It was a good time for a shave too; all that hair was starting to make her uncomfortable. It wasn’t of her caste. She sat quietly below decks, having waited for the majority of soldiers to exit — given that sub-caste women weren’t usually (ever) permitted on war boats, she’d figured it best to tend to herself in general solitude. She dipped the blade in a small bowl of water, then ran it over her forehead. Lower Castes couldn’t dawn hair, even if they could though it’s not like they’d want to. Hair was hard to clean, and uncleanliness leads to disease and all that. She dipped the blade again. It was the style befitting of them, if anything she was more tired of the looks other undercastemen aboard the armada were giving her than any repercussions from the Priests. She’d just begun to clean up after herself when the sound of bells began to echo through the hull. Tahkam, they’d arrived. The Armada has been journeying south for almost half a month at this point, following the black substance in the water from nest to nest. But with low supplies they’d been forced to turn back to a Tahkam, a larger southern farming city narrowly out of the direct warpath of the Horde. Likewise with the northern edges of Khamûaan stabilizing, the circuit officials had taken quickly toward ragtag conscription orders, hoping to meet up with the Armada there in a weeks time with more men and supplies. The hope now, that a second horde assault could be repelled from their position as a much-needed result was gathered from the fringe territories of Khemet. • • • • • • • • One week Prior • • • • • • • • For the past half-month the Southern Armada has been trudging ever southward. They were about a weeks journey now from Tahkam, if they’d been reading the network markings right. Each new Horde nest was a meager façade of the resistance they’d first faced at Ixthenpiyn, not that it was any consolation to what else they’d found. It wasn’t the number, but the simple state if the corpses that shocked them. All manner of the disembowled and bodied, hallways and cubicles lines and filled with flesh currently or eating to be devoured. Just as they’d think they’d seen it all the horde would happily flaunt its sanguine creativity. Then they reached Duam. It was a smaller settlement, cut into the softer rock of a cave just off the interior chosen for the small duam, or aquifer-pond, in the center. Huge alchemic-bronze City-Gates blocked entrances to the interior and her various open spaces. Necessary with the regions history of, active rebellion to say the least. The first door didn’t stand a chance, the initial soldier caste finding torn hunks of metal as far back as the shore hundreds of meters away, but the interior gauntlet seemed to have held. A long corridor and three, somewhat smaller bronze gates had trapped the horde as they tried to force their way in, forcing them into a tight gauntlet; scorch and puncture marks from oils and spear heads jammed through murder holes on either side showed why nothing got past - perhaps there where survivors? There was no reply; soldiers from all ranks shouted through the slits in the walls, banging helplessly on the door but nothing replied. Even military whistles couldn’t get the attention of the cities inhabitants — the size of their farm land, even if warped from their maps, could easily support them for the several months they’d been at siege. A deep boom shook the air around them, plumes of smoke billowed out as the familiar thick smell of a firebomb wafted outward. A few seconds after the alchemical flames had died out a clang shook the cavern, then a second as the soldier’s battering ram smashed against the gates superheated lock. After a few more attempts it split open, the sides of the door, a mottled dark purple after the fire, smashed into the cities interior. It was the stench that caught there attention at first. A waft of dank, rotten, cave air wafting out over them. Perhaps the horde had made it in? Sickness from the overabundance of Yrutan bodies, or some new, smaller creature that dipped through the thin spear slits in the walls? The first party to push there way in thought so. They were wrong. The scene, even for expedition standards, was like something out of a nightmare. Masses of partly decomposed bodies lined the main passageway; slash and blunt impact marks ran all over them. Short jagged lines of char and their accompanying shattered Zāyn crystals littered the ground, the calamity only growing worse as they entered deeper into the city. Cut off on next to no supplies, the residents of Duam had reverted to cannibalism. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Tahkam was one of the numerous settlements set up just off the far southern interior, although for the area, it had a rather varied population. Artisan and Scribe caste had been migrating to the settlement in particular as the Officials started to push farmlands further southward. It definitely showed; Two enormous Zâyn crystal shone on either side of the dockyard, and further inland stone housing blocks marked upper-caste districts. Alzaìh breathed a little sigh of relief as she finally stepped into friendly soil, the warship she’d been living in just barely squeezing in between the two cobblestones channels it was anchored too. Even here though, out of the apparent warpath of the Horde, the rivers ran sheet black – the further south they went the darker it got. Still, felt good to be in friendly soil, that much was clear. It didn’t take long too before members of the city started to pour downward to greet the sailors from the Armada. Alzaìh‘d seen it before, she’s even taken part, but never from this perspective. Teams of navigators and civilians, and later soldiers, grouped around each other, the civilians presenting the former with various gifts of food, and the latter either thanking graciously in the case of the soldiers, or in the case of the navigators who’d started the tradition, returning the favor with their own trinkets: small doses of Kàvr, spice and salt pouches, or vials of oils they’d picked up on their journeys. Even she’d ended up being offered goods, although with regard to her caste and just a pouch of salt, she’d only managed only a meager bowl of Ktihn – a kind of simple fish soup. “We’d just ma’aged to get away from them and you bring the infernal men back!” Alzaìh head an older main wail out. Her eyes widened as she turned to see what was going on; the man yelling was fairly old and very short, coming up just below the chin of the person he was screaming at; of all people, General Atihln. “We had escaped you idiotic Kâhhv,” he gestured angrily toward the pitch dark water, “it was your blasted alchemists that did this” tears brewing on his eyes, “their meddling with the Yûarr did this, and you decide to come back for more, SHAME ON YOU.” The mans fist was caught by a thick armored hand, the General grimaced angrily before throwing the man to the ground and continued with his entourage of Tahkam officials into the city. Taking the last gulp of the fatty broth, she figured she should join him. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The group, a hotchpotch of Scribe-Officials and various Armada Generals, were already in deep conversation by the time she’d managed to catch up with them. Each spoke slowly for the other as they got used to the various accents present; deep southern was a particularly tricky as they have trouble differentiating there i’s and e’s. Nonetheless she was beginning to like this job, taking mental notes for the general, picking apart what was being said; He’d even taken to describing her as his second set of eyes. “Get them out of here!” Several of the Commanders turned toward too middle aged women, lower-castes, screaming at the entourage, although the officials seemed to just ignore them, “You bring HEATHENS among YOU northerners! Get them out of our homes! We don’t stand for Yûarr-Alchemists in the South!” “You swore to us, nay to magic in our lands!” The two were silenced as several guards moved them along; Alzaìh knew the South was superstitious about the Alchemists, but this was insane. And as she turned, the General seemed to emulate her thinking; “What are they all yelling about?” He asked. “Oh,” one of the Scribes started, “they, they’re...refugees, from Amvashteht.” “Amvashteht?” “A failed colony,” another spoke up, “they were some of the first to be hit with by horde.” “Yes but what are they yelling about.” The general asked. “It’s the same Anti-Alchemist arguments, they’ve got it in their head that it was a Capital Alchemist that triggered the horde.”
Northern Exterior, Ahrkingvīyn Circuit
The lone Navigator let out a low whistle, the long, almost scarab-esque Shavt (a horse analogue) slowed ever so slightly in response to his order. Ahead of the pair the line of wide, well cut stone bricks in front of them continued seemingly indefinitely. This was the second time they’d been sent out from Vōhlthazaan in the last week and he could feel it, apart from infrequent sleep and canal ride the over the river into the northwestern roadways, they’d been sprinting at top speed from settlement to settlement carrying a single message. Call to Arms; a general conscription had been implemented for the far northern territories. Little did this navigator know, it wasn’t just the exterior Thaur, the entire interior cavern north of Vōlthazaan was under a general conscription order, with various personnel demands levied based on population. Non-essential goods and rations were called to be transferred toward more southernly-located military storages, and orders for military equipment were practically flying in every direction toward the major artisan cities. The de-facto leader of the country, Izahn had finally buckled under the various constraints of her emergency government. No would-be leader wants to be remembered for conscription orders, but with so much going on, calling for a general engagement policy was the only solution she could manage to keep the numerous panicking sub-factions from tearing her apart. Various breaches in the northern border, the mid-territorial rebellion, and the threat of the Black Horde in the far-south was simply too much to ignore and put aside, political machinations or no. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • He was sure word by this point had reached almost every settlement in the north of Ahrkingvīyn, and from the news, what garrisons they could afford where already beginning to gather together by the time the conscription order had come in. The Northern Army, his army, was mobilizing to defend the border, the Enemy is at Kàntchéht. The water splashed rounded the bend of the thin exterior tunnel, choosing to avoid the main gauntlet leading toward the farming city. At this point, they were less than a days journey away, but with a rather meager force of 750 Soldiers divided into roughly 25 Warboats, he was nonetheless nervous. They’d been equipped with various anti-magical supplies, the fortified metals plates covering parts of their hulls were blessed by the priests, alongside mainly flame powders to deal with the northerns signature attack, plus their own array of oils. But the main plan was to retake/restock the main guard towers and maintain a bombardment, a naval encirclement of the city could starve out the enemy, especially if they hadn’t taken the cities temples, and give time for southern reinforcements and the conscript groups from the surrounding areas to reach them. Nonetheless he didn’t truly know what to expect, none of them did.
Kàhntchéht, Arkngvīyn
“The northernmost towers are reporting enemy activity around their base, northern special units seem to be scouting around; the other two show boats following through.” The Inner-Temple was a machine of information, groups of Scribes and Priests organizing themselves into a variety of tight shifts for sleep and work. As far as they were concerned, the general assembly was ongoing until the crisis had been averted. Laborers in each of the 5 city temples worked tirelessly, steadily moving various records to the ground floor in tight piles; it’d been decided that, to defend the surrounding area, as many records from the city archives (from maps, to farming plans) were to be burned in the event of a final breach of the siege line. Navigators and Soldiers stood across the various balconies, whistling back and forth trying to keep communication up with the towers, or to get word out to the civilians captured by the northern raiders. “They’re probing us.” The acting High-Priest stated grimly, he’d been working for about two hours at this point. “Get word out to the towers about preparing for their own assaults, the last thing we need is to lose our link to the outside. How about Magic? Any sightings?” “Nothing major so far, but the men are tense, for all we know the enemy might start waving torches around to spook them.” “Evacuations?” The Priests eyes moved to the door as the scream of military whistles rose to a fever pitch. “The entire inner districts have moved into the Temple, we’re still working on the outer districts.” One of the council members replied, “we’ve also gotten word that settlement negotiations have begun to stall.” “God guide us.” He let out a deep sigh, “Keep up contact with the Towers, we need to…” he lowered his voice as a soldier walked briskly into the room before standing at attention “Word from the frontline Councilmen, peace negotiations have broken down.” The High-Priest froze for a moment, “Shift the Guard rounds, I want to prepare for an assault…actually,” he paused for a moment, “send out a horn call. Civilians and the Off-duty should know it’s time for prayer, if nothing else it’ll help calm their nerves.” He closed his eyes to think for a moment; Prayer was all they could do at this point, pray, and hope that the Northern Army reached them in time, if it was even coming.
Southern Abel Wilderness, Lexidus
Damn was land this cold, and was he an idiot. Túrm glanced down angrily again at the thin, deerskin hunting jacket because he’d been to shortsighted to grab anything warmer. None of the landmarks at this point made any sense, flat-leaved trees now fitting the hillside that’s once been full of needled-ones, and were all the hills different too? Seriously? He couldn’t tell but it made him angrier all the same. He figured he’d continue in that direction, “Follow the Sun” as the Rohzai’d said; were surface cities always in lines under the sun? Well he hoped so, after all the Rohzai managed to navigate almost blind to this land, maybe he could find a proper settlement? Although the bramble didn’t make his job easier, but he was lucky he brought his gloves and hood, anything to ward off the damnable sun. He wasn’t going to make it like this, the sun was already crawling higher in the sky and without any sleep he felt he might collapse. Taking his knife he started cutting smaller shrubs up, tossing them and dead leaves against a few pushes to make a small solar shelter. The ground was like ice but, as he pulled his hood lower, he’d be able to get a small nap in before continuing onward. He woke up coughing, his mouth desperately parched. Even after months here he wasn’t used to the low-humidity environment. He opened his eyes carefully, a trick he’d learned after several painful encounters with the sun, realizing it to be about late afternoon. Kicking off the brush mound he’d built over him he crawled out, cold, trying to get his bearings. No less lost it seemed, but at least he wasn’t deathly exhausted. He decided he’d continue moving in the same direction, maybe find some landmark or road; fairly common occurrences even in the brush as they’d found when moving off the main stone roads to the abandoned gravel path leading toward the tower. He was right with that, roads were a commonality in the “west”, not like he could read any of the signs though. The line of paved stone seemed to stretch on in either direction, sharing an eerie commonality with those underground, although lacking in cistern pipes. As for the sign, a thick wooden post with small wood plates pointed in either directions, with various curving symbols carved onto it. Túrm, sure he’d found the road but it’s not like that’d suddenly solved his case, but after a few moments of deliberation he figured left was the best option, if anything it was closer to where the sun was. They wrote horizontally here, he always forgot about that and it always surprised him. Túrm smiled, he wondered how they did math in that case; vertically? He figured should probably at least try to learn how to read here, he thought as he walked, the surface world sound-writing didn’t sound that hard. And if it was at all like the Rohzai-tongue maybe he already knew a little. He continued along the pathway for almost an hour before he finally saw it: thin webs of smoke drifting above the treetops. A settlement.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Jan 25, 2019 20:43:10 GMT -5
High Admiral Hunter Macleish, Savage Island Port - Dominion of the South East Caldives
They stood together on the port as they watched the Kanso-Oromi fleet sail away, the sun slowly setting upon the sun kissed isles leading into South-Eastern Passage. As the final banner of the foreigners drifted out of sight, back from whence they came, Ruby Hollins wiped her brow and sighed.
"That went surprisingly well!" she guffawed as Hunter flicked through the holy scripture given to him by the young king. His face was furrowed.
"...aye. True that." The book contained images foreign to him, he flicked through them in a rapid manner, trying to absorb as much as possible. He saw artistic depictions of what appeared to be furry humans, similar to reports from his Titenfiscan associates of cat people. Then he saw a symbol he recognised. Decidius, the god of death. Do these people worship him? He mused before slamming the book shut and offering a gloved hand to Ruby. "Thank you for accompanying and representing our king well Miss Hollins, it was a pleasure." He automatically brought his feet together as he did so.
She took his hand and gave it a firm shake, giving him a look of puzzlement as she did so. "You can call me Ruby you know?"
He stared at her for a moment, suddenly twisting out of his professionalism and bringing his hand to his face as he gave a small laugh. "Goddess above. I keep forgetting to douse my statesman persona!"
Ruby responded with a chuckle in kind. "You need a break Admiral. Stay a while and have someone else bring the correspondence to the king."
He paused a while, looking at the Yola's Fury, letting his shoulders relax as he made his decision. "That I shall Ruby. That I shall." He smiled. Maybe he would take the time to read some of the gifts given to them by King Hato VIII Omo.
King Blair de Brus, Castle Gate Courtyard - Camelon
He gazed upon the new grand gate. The bright and colourful new stand stone clashing with the older stone still prevalent in it's frame. The barbarian now twice as thick and reinforced, a steel portcullis acting as a second layer after the newly fitted and emblem fitted steel gate. The Lion of Lexidus, rampant and with a spear in its side bleeding black bloo-
He shook his head and breathed slowly. It was just the lion, nothing more, nothing less. Breath in for 3, hold for 3 and exhale for 3.
"Excuse me sire?" a guardswoman prompted as she approached him from behind, he felt his stomach jump a little in surprise but tried his best to mask the jolt. "The workers managed to find the rest of the pieces. If you'll follow me?" She gestured towards a stack of crates to their right, workmen clearing out the last remnants of their work in the area.
Blair no longer wore his gray tunic and lounge-wear, he knew he was growing too insular and after the stunt he had pulled on his cousin. He had to keep presenting himself to his people; to be strong. He scanned the pieces laid out in front of him in white linen. What remained of Brus' axe laid shattered, not broken by the forces of Yrutas no but by Blair's hand in a fit of utter contemptuous rage and sorrow. He suppressed the thoughts as deep and hard as he could, instead focusing on the task at hand.
"Guardswoman... whats your name?" he stated, not facing her as her armour clattered when she stood at attention.
"Lana sir."
"Lana. Fetch me Malcolm Kentigern in town." He turned to her, doing his best to make that big old smile of his return. "I require the best smith in Lexidus for what I have in store."
Donn Myra, Leanabh's Chambers - Camelon Castle
She had fought creatures of unimaginable horror in the underdark, she had sustained multiple wounds from training and punishment. She was a Donn, eternal protector of her liege, not afraid to put down her life for those she was meant to protect. Yet now as she sat her Princess, one who's eyes darted around as she processed the stories being told to her about her father and mother, Myra wanted nothing more for her heart to stop hurting.
"...you knew her well then?" The mousy girl stated as she gave a blank stare into the distance. Myra sighed deeply and longingly, she knew she could not tell her everything just yet.
"I grew up with her. She was many years my senior and she was like a... big sister to me." She got up as she said this, making sure Leanabh could not see her face when she spoke. She didn't want to tell a half truth to her face. "We were close and your father saw that. Made her a part of my training as I grew up, us Donns needed to be trained well and made strong by both physical and emotional means." She could feel her brain crawling inside her skull, trying desperately to squeeze out the indoctrination she had imposed upon herself. Petre's words squirming within her.
"My papa... he had lots of people like her?" Leana squeaked.
"...yes. If you weren't a soldier or mage or anything of practical use, you were a... wife of his." She turned to look at Leana and saw immediately how she squirmed and let her face tighten in disgust. Myra could feel her heart shake.
"Your father was... unsparing for a number of years leading to your birth and I for a time..." Myra felt her teeth clamp down upon her tongue, she was fighting herself with all of her might, the faithful Donn and the devoted Myra. "...I despised your father."
Leana looked at Myra unflinchingly, her small mousy face still obviously brimming with disgust.
"...but he loved you with all of his might and after your birth he showed us so much kindness and learned to respect him-"
"Bullshit!" Leana screamed as she launched herself from her bed. Her small mousy face suddenly bearing her teeth. "After everything he did, after all the woman he had killed when they didn't produce me, after all the cruelty he inflicted upon you! You defend him?" Her face was pink with rage, Myra found herself honestly surprised, she had expected more tears. "He used my mother as an experiment and I'm the bloody result! Aren't I?"
Myra felt her heart drop and a feeling woe roll throughout her scarred body. What was she to say? That for the first couple of years of Leana's life, she wanted nothing more than to wrap her hands around her throat and end her? To destroy her after what Myra thought she had done to Nissia? How could he tell her?
Leanabh paced around the room, her fists white knuckled and her eyes darting around as she thought angrily. "The font. All because of that font."
"Leanabh..." Myra muttered, reaching out her hand to the young girl's shoulder. She shrugged it off with surprising force and faced her, staring upwards into the eyes of her protector. "I want that Font of the Maither. I want it brought here and I want to destroy it."
Myra could see a lion in the girl's eyes. It reminded her of her mother. The Donn within her commanded her to report to Blair immediately and have Leana be grounded for such a suggestion. Myra thought otherwise and obeyed otherwise. She let a look of determination wash over her face as she stood at attention for her lady. Deep within her, a young Myra mourned, she knew she wanted this as well.
"I command you Donn Myra." Stated Princess Leanabh, her voice filled with angry resolve.
"As you command my Princess." She let a smile of genuine respect stretch her mouth.
In that moment, centuries later, historians refer to the Princess in this moment as the catalyst for her eternal moniker. The Lioness of Lexidus.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Jan 28, 2019 4:31:27 GMT -5
Kahmpet
"Captain, looks like the place has been empty for a while now, any suggestions on what might've happened?" The sergeant enquired as the 5th Cannon Company, 4th Guards Regiment surveyed the Khemet outpost: the report had been delivered to them at Kep'l Merta by the hertag who initially spotted what had now been called the Kahmpet Incident between the outpost and a tribe of feral Scorched Ones led by a Roaming Merchant interpreter. While the hertag's report was considered sound up until the Flesh Dragon managed to force its way into the fortress, his calls for a response were considered far from stable: his rage was evident, calling for an armed incursion into Asil until they received word as to what caused the Incident to occur in the first place.
"Absolutely not," the commanding officer of the 1st Kep'l Merta Defence Detachment, General Abram tal-Draguni Aħmar, had stated bluntly, much to the hertag's anger, "General Kalċidon gave the order himself, only investigate the outpost, return and submit any findings, and he'll have the scouts manning the Iron Corridor to deliver correspondence and subsequent orders from Quijain to here. Captain Spettur, you will lead the 5th Company there and return back here, do not engage any force that comes your way: if the Khemet fire on you, I want you to be the wiser head and issue a retreat, we'll have Kalċidon deliver a formal complaint to them."
Now he, Captain Gerra Spettur, stood at the entrance to the massive fortification, joined by Lieutenant Alfansar Atam and Senior Sergeant Ġwann Lugas among others, the large bronze gates having been kept shut: Spettur immediately decided to avoid using eternal flame upon the gates, recalling the metal's resistance to melting, instead opting to bombard the guard tower in front of the gates, the rock crumbling against repeated fire - after enough of it was broken to allow a group to slip inside, Spettur called for a ladder to be brought.
Entering the remnants of the tower along with Atam and Lugas, Spettur could smell it immediately: decaying flesh, mixed with the acrid odor of gas. 'Chemical warfare, they didn't even have the decency to end their lives quickly, they made them suffer like animals,' Spettur thought in disgust as he looked around at the remnants of the balcony, spotting the remains of a ballista, a pile of what looked like mushrooms carved into bolts, green fluid held within them - spotting Atam walking over to grab one, Spettur immediately grabbed him by the shoulder, "Not yet," before suddenly calling down for one of the men to come up, grabbing several bolts and handing them to him, "Run this to General Abram, tell him that it appears to be a gas-filled projectile, looks like it's meant to activate upon contact with the air: have him run tests on it to confirm my suspicions." Atam and Lugas looked at each other, the latter opting to speak first, "Captain, it's not my call to judge, but shouldn't we hold off on running those things back to the surface until we finish looking through the rest of the outpost?" Spettur simply replied, "We have our orders, Sergeant, investigate the area and look for survivors. We make contact with anyone, leave the site immediately and contact the General: he'll send the men through and we head back to the surface."
Atam spoke first, "Captain, you might want to have a look at this," Turning around, he saw the Lieutenant kneeling over a pile of rubble, the scent of decay far stronger: stepping up to his side, Atam pulled a particularly large rock off, causing the pile to collapse and revealing the corpse of one of the guards, the woman torn in half and covering another body, the man having sustained a blow to the head. "Aw shit," Spettur muttered in shock, Lugas shaking his head and moving further down, "Captain, I found more of them, none of them fresh." Atam pulled the torn body off, glancing at the armor and poking the stump that was the remains of her spine with his Long Bow, "Alright, if that hertag was right, then it was the Flesh Dragon that did it, it must've slipped through and killed all of these people."
Grabbing a torch, Spettur pushed further into the fort, eventually finding a wench system in the middle of the ruins, chains leading up to the gate behind them, "Alright, Lugas, Atam, I want you two to work the gates open, I'll keep searching ahead: if anything goes down, I'll fire a flare back here and call for backup." Both men nodded, moving over to the wench and beginning to turn it. Turning forward to face the darkness, Spettur spotted what looked like a particularly maimed corpse, a silver whistle not far from it, face frozen in a scream of agonized horror, the remains of the corpse having been disemboweled and the left leg having been torn off by ragged force: leaning down, Spettur saw that it was a woman, seemingly the commander of the force here. "That's the bitch!" The hertag now walked towards the corpse, the gate now having been opened, "She's the one that refused to let the tribe enter and left them to die in the gas!" Spettur calmly approached him, "Well, she's dead, and by extension anyone responsible for the incident, now we leave." The hertag began to splutter, only for Spettur to glare at him, only cut off as they heard ragged breathing behind them.
"Captain!" Atam yelled, pulling his Bow up as Lugas followed suit, the latter loading a grenade-tied bolt and pulling back: spinning around, the two men saw it, the Flesh Dragon. Its limbs were horribly maimed, the right front talon having fallen off, while three of its legs were also torn off. The tail slinked behind it, the muscles that made it a ninth leg having laxed due to the gas. Its eyes were milky and dull, the blue having almost completely faded away. It looked at them, the familiar sign of hunger non-existent: the pores that would host Flesh Rats were clogged with viscous fluid and clotted blood, blue stains running along its integument. Quietly, it slumped towards them, Spettur holding a hand to signal Atam and Lugas to hold back, pulling his Long Bow off his back and silently loading a standard bolt into the reservoir and aiming for the Dragon's throat: as if it desired it, the Dragon lifted its head to reveal its neck. Silently uttering a prayer, Spettur fired the bolt into the Dragon's neck, the beast collapsing as the pain from the month previous finally ebbed away.
As the light faded from its eyes, Spettur turned around, finally speaking, "Alright, we have an understanding of what broke out here: let's head back to the surface and sub-" The arrow flew past his head by three inches, the tufts at the end brushing against his shaved head as it impaled the hertag at the stomach, the man collapsing as he screamed in agony. Spinning around as Atam and Lugas moved forward, the Company joining them, Spettur saw them: he could see the rags covered their faces and shoulders, their skin having paled with the lack of sunlight, but their gutteral tongues and weapons made it clear - Arvesh. Firing back, the men watched as several bolts fired past, what looked like repeating crossbows in the raiders' hands, "Everyone duck, avoid those bolts, they're laced with poison!" Spettur yelled, the cries of pain silently making him curse: the men hit were as good as dead.
The firing ceased, Spettur aiming his Bow only to see what looked like several Kyran soldiers in the midst of the raiders, seemingly captured and enslaved, only for the Arvesh to disappear into the darkness. Standing up, Spettur walked back as he saw the corpses of those hit by the poison-laced bolts, Atam and Lugas approaching, "Captain, why did they retreat, and how did they get their hands on some of our men?" Lugas asked, keeping his Bow trained at the dark tunnel ahead of them. Spettur shook his head, "I don't know, but we need to find out: let's not get cocky here, these bastards just took out some of our own and have some as hostages. We need to chase after them." Atam looked back at the Kyran border, "Shouldn't we head back and contact the General: we can get reinforcements and a team to try and rescue them."
"We can't take that risk, Lieutenant: we need to chase after them before they gain enough of a distance. I'll have some of the men make their post here, but we're chasing them down."
Asilic Tunnels
"Kiyn, that was close," Syll groaned, the gagging body of the raider below her going cold, Alkrah and Xyn nodding as they pulled a repeating crossbow, Long Bow, and light bow off the corpses, along with a large number of bolts, several swords, a spear, and additional armor. The raiders that were to execute them had been spooked when they saw the kamahn emerge before them, only for the beast to retreat back, seemingly in the direction of Kahmpet: the distraction was well enough for the three to overpower and kill their would-be murderers.
Now they stood in a dead camp, the remainder of the raiders having taken another tunnel leading to Kahmpet, leaving them by themselves. "Alright, we finally got away from those infidels, now what do we do?" Xyn asked, kicking a corpse aside to grab several pieces of parchment off of it, "My guess," Alkrah grunted, rubbing his still-swollen eye as he looked at the tunnel the kamahn emerged from, "We should try and get away from here before that beast decides to return, maybe we can see if everyone else avoided capture."
"Alkrah is right, we need to make contact with them, see if the Northern Army is pushing to assist the conflict in Kàhntchéht, and get ourselves ready for any reprisals." Three voices suddenly cut through the air, the trio immediately pushing against an outcrop as they saw three Kuora emerge from the darkness, flanked by several others, torches being held as they surveyed the tunnel. "I don't know, Captain, this is something that is starting to look a little too big for our pay grade," one man snarked in a deadpan tone, head covered by a rather impressive hat, what looked like three bend stripes and two half circles identifiable on his shoulder. "With all due respect, Sergeant, it is starting to look like it will have to be us to retrieve our men, otherwise they're good as dead." Another man, darker in skin tone, head shaved and with a trimmed beard, his shoulders instead showing what looked like a small metal bar that shined bright in the torchlight, remarked, only for the man in the front to look back at both of them, "Alright, that's enough, both of you: we need to be focused on the mission. Speaking of, keep your eyes sharp, looks like we got bodies ahead of us." Unlike the other two, he was closer to the Khemet in complexion, though his skin was not flushed with blue: his head was also shaved, along with his beard being trimmed, while his shoulders had two metal bars like the darker-skinned man. What was most striking about him, however, were his eyes, a sharp icy blue that seemingly took everything in focus.
The three men stopped at the remains of the camp, the first two circling around, the one with the hat whistling in an impressed tone, "Well Captain, they're definitely dead, and really clean too: you can barely see where the knives dug in." The pale man looked as well, "Body looks fresh," joined by the dark-skinned man, "Even more, he's Arvesh, looks like somebody got the drop on them and left just before we got here." The hat-clad one looked around, "Yeah, it feels like we're being ghosted right now," eyes suddenly sweeping right at the direction the three were huddled at, Syll quietly praying that something would draw him off. "Lugas, focus" the pale man warned as he turned back to the dark-skinned man, "Atam, you got any tracks?" The man nodded, pointing to the faint footprints the Arvesh left when they made camp, "Yep, Spettur, they came further to the west, looks like they might have branched off from the main group. Why, I don't know, but it gives us a start." The pale man, 'Spettur,' nodded, "Alright, that's a start. Let's move."
The troupe of men walked past the camp, the last ones setting fire to the bodies and uttering a prayer, the three Khemet slipping out of their spots, Alkrah and Xyn watching with stunned looks on their faces, "Syll," Alkrah began, only for Xyn to finish the sentence, "Those were Kuora soldiers, weren't they?" Syll watched the torches fade, looking back at the burning corpses, "Could be, or it could also be reinforcements for the infidels at Kàhntchéht. Either way, we need to make contact with everyone else, now."
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Post by Unfallious on Feb 1, 2019 23:21:00 GMT -5
Quijain
Żaren slept in a dreamless slumber for many hours. As the night carried on and darkness covered the land, the vegetation the warrior had laid before settling into sleep began to grow dim as its fuel was exhausted. The cave was quiet, the night was motionless. Darkness reigned.
Then, from within his dreams, there was light. A dim light, the flicker of a flame. Żaren found himself in an area of pure dark. Not a cave, not even Calveria. This was a different plane. As he walked towards the distant flickering, he could feel himself making no progress. He broke out into a jog, and then a run, yet still the light sat the same distance away. He stopped. It was at this moment that the small flame grew. First into a roaring fire, and then a souring inferno. It grew to cover the horizon in front of him and it caste warm yellow-amber tones across the dark plane. He was aware of a presence in that moment, a thick and heavy presence that seemed to envelop him all at once. Then, suddenly and all at once, the fire was all around him. It had spread from the horizon to cover his entire being all at once. He looked down at his hands to find them aflame. Yet, he felt no pain. Instead of the roaring of flames, he heard the war cries of a million armies. Some of them he recognised as coming from his own lands, some were the cries of his ancestors while others the cries of his comrades. Others still were unrecognisable, cried in a tongue not of his, in a voice deeper than any he had ever heard. It was in this moment, that Żaren felt at one with the warriors of history, both the ones who lived and fought in Calveria at this moment, and the ones who had ceased to be. Although he heard no voice, and saw no face, he knew that this was the doing of the Warfather. He knew at that moment, he had come closer to his god than any Kyran ever had.
He awoke. In front of him, his fire burned strongly. Floating above the flames was an ornate, yet well-worn axe. The flames enveloped the hilt, yet it didn’t burn. The blade itself glowed a hot gleaming red, like something freshly forged. When he reached out, he found to his surprise that the hilt was not warm. The blade, although it looked fresh, was old and used. Scratches cracks seemed to cover it, yet the blade itself was sharp. As he held it, he could feel the axe itself judging him. He could feel it peering into his mind, his soul. It examined him as much as he examined it. Then, the blade burst into flames and Żaren was filled with a feeling of honour, and pride and righteous rage. That was when he knew he was worthy.
Aqaz’quaram, Asilic Surface
Tiyn felt like he both recognised the amulet as though he had possessed it all his life, but also that it was foreign and alien to him. Regardless, he knew he had to touch it. Reaching out, he could read the concern on Kva’s face. Yet, likely our of curiosity, the Priest allowed him to take the amulet wordlessly.He weighed it up in his hands, studying it for a few moments.
“I found this in the demon’s house,” Tiyn said finally.
Kva looked at Tiyn, a confused expression upon his face. “You mean, the demon? You went into the Magna Tabes?”
“I didn’t intend to. I just found myself there. I don’t think it was one of the demon’s tricks, either, because even it didn’t seem to know why I was there”
Kva’s confusion turned to alarm. “You spoke to it? And lived?” He looked at the amulet, still in TIyn’s hands. “Did it give that to you? How do you know it is not corrupted?”
Tiyn said nothing. Kva only just began to notice that the alchemist hadn’t taken his eyes off of the amulet at all. He seemed enamoured by it, obsessed even. Suddenly, and in a single fluid motion, Tiyn placed the amulet over his head. Kva had no time to react, the moment the amulet was around Tiyn’s neck he went into convulsions. His head dropped and his hands fell down to his sides.
“Tiyn! Tiyn can you hear me?” Kva shouted, standing to his feet. He was just about to call for assistance when the alchemist spoke in a voice not of his own.
“Hearth.”
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Post by Chiernarosa on Feb 2, 2019 4:47:05 GMT -5
Cave, Quijain, Day 7
Żaren had seen it, the light that had emerged in the distance of his mind, and ran to it: he chased for it, to escape whatever blackened realm he found himself in. When he stopped, he saw the flame extend beyond the distance, towards him, lighting the featureless horizon around him in light. When the flames surrounded him, he felt no pain, and he heard the roar of the armies; untold millions, of Kyran ancestry, or of foreign birth. He distantly heard Vaslen ag-Toden and Ilsien tal-Gwerra among the legions, heard Redentur ak-Tarvas's voice blend among the warriors. As the war cries echoed in his mind, he felt the mark, the call of the Warfather, of God: He was not present in the fire, nor was any one of the warriors in the world, but he could feel it, the guarantee that he stood.
He understood the vision, just what Rigma had granted to him. Finally, he stirred awake, the glow of the fire bathing the cave: the vegetation was ash, but he saw the weapon, the ax. It was beautiful, the weapon held intricate markings, some he could read yet others he knew was unavailable to mortals; the blade was serrated and bathed in red like it had been cast, while the hilt was awash with flame, leather covering the steel grip. He reached out and held it with both hands, then he felt it, the leather ancient and weathered, while the blade appeared worn, scratches and cracks running through it, but he instinctively knew that the blade could take potential strikes without collapsing.
What stood out, most of all was the feeling that the blade was aware, receptive, alive. The ax was peering into his very soul and he himself could tell it was feeling him as a host, its new owner: finally, the ax came alight, flames running from the blade down the length of his right arm. Suddenly, he felt it: honor, pride, and above all else, rage. It was not the rage of a man slighted nor was it that of a child desiring something and being denied it. No, he knew this rage was of the Warfather, and his mind was made clear in that instant: he was a prophet, the representative of His will, of conquest and cleansing.
Standing up from the lotus position he placed himself in, he felt the flames inside him naturally wrap around his shoulders, running down his left arm, a halo of light to protect against the cold. His hair was now shock white, but he did not care for the change: he welcomed it, for it now stood as a symbol of what he now stood for. Dimly, he felt the wound on his right bicep cauterize, the scent of copper filling the air as it sealed under the heat. Tentatively, he stepped out of the cave, gathering his equipment and the skins he had woven into a cloak, electing to wrap it around his torso to avoid singeing the fur.
The night was cold, the skies cloudy, and the snow was falling around him, but none of that matter. He did not feel cold, he felt the heat keep him from worrying about such a superficial issue, now he scanned the horizon, spotting the small band of warriors that had harassed him for the past week slowly approach him, weapons at the ready. He was first to move, charging forward and swinging at the closest steed hosting its master: the ax effortlessly cleaved the horse's head clean from its body, the fire of the ax cooking the flesh in the night air, snow hissing as it dissolved. The carcass fell off, the man jumping off and landing on the ground, crawling on his back and watching in stunned shock as the once-helpless farmer's son now stared at him, face shrouded in resolve rather than anger or desperation. Żaren simply walked towards the man and calmly buried the blade into the latter's chest, flames burning through the clothes and charring his flesh: the man did not even have time to draw his weapon or scream, the light of his eyes snuffed out quickly as the trauma washed through him.
Ripping the blade out in a squall of blood and charred leather, Żaren stared at the small band of six warriors now charging at him, one of them aiming his bow and firing at him: the arrow ripped through the air, aimed at his chest. It never hit, as he lifted his hand up and allowed the burst of flame to melt the metal and wood into ash, charging through the cloud as he approached the first man, wielding a scimitar. Żaren ducked as the blade went for his head, feeling the air warp around the blade as he jammed the front end of the ax into the man's stomach, sending him reeling back as Żaren lifted the ax over his head with both arms and swung downwards, the blade smashing into the man's skull with a loud crack, blood and brain spraying out in a visceral geyser, the flames cooking it. Pulling the blade out, Żaren pushed the corpse into the path of the second warrior, sending him reeling as he slashed the fallen man's neck.
The fourth and fifth warriors were trying to step back, reaching for their bows: they failed as Żaren held the ax in his left hand, reaching for the tomahawk with his right as he rushed forward. Swinging the ax into the fourth man's torso, Żaren focused his strength into his right as he swung it into the fifth man's shoulder, deftly ripping the ax out and swinging it into his target's side, sending him back several feet. Placing the tomahawk back, Żaren reached for his carving knife as he rushed towards the sixth man, who was pulling back on his bow: roughly checking into the man's chest with his shoulder, Żaren sent him falling onto his back, ramming the carving knife into the man's head and burning him with a blast of flame. As he stood up, he saw from the corner of his eye the final warrior running at him, screaming as he swung the scimitar down. Blocking it with the ax's blade, Żaren kicked the man's feet out from underneath him and stood up, swinging the ax down one last time into the man's torso, causing the fallen tribal's arms and legs to involuntarily lift up, a gurgling scream rushing from the man as he expired.
Standing up, Żaren could smell the blood coating him sizzling as the fires surrounding him, the welcome scent of copper invigorating him: looking back, he saw the remainder of the warhost staring at him in fear, holding the reins tight as the horses whinnied and screamed, wanting to trot far away from the monster that stood before them. Knowing they would not understand him, Żaren simply gestured with the ax towards the dead while pointing at the survivors, making clear just what would occur if they tried to attack. The message understood, the warhost pulled at their reins, the horses rushing past Żaren as they rode north, now knowing that they faced a new threat.
As he calmly watched, Żaren felt as if more people were arriving, the flurry blocking his vision: willing the flames to burn more and rise above his head, Żaren suddenly heard his native tongue being spoken, turning to the east as he saw what appeared to be a trio of horses approaching from the storm, the first two voices he did not recognize. "Sir, I think I see light up ahead, it looks like fire," a gruff voice sounded off, joined by a guttural yet older voice, "It appears right, Lieutenant: come, call to our man to tell him we have discovered it." The third voice Żaren immediately recognized, and he began to jog towards the horses, "Kalċidon, Varist, our little prisoner is saying not to approach, permission to-"
Kyre's voice cut off as he saw Żaren emerge from the snow, the fire draped around his shoulders dissipating as the latter looked on in understanding shock, an ornate ax being held in his right hand, which Żaren moved to place onto his back. Slipping off the horse, Kyre immediately ran towards Żaren, the two men behind him watching as their compatriot tackled his son in an enveloping hug, the younger man reeling at the force as Kyre drew him in close.
"Godsdammit Żaren," Kyre barked out in a sob, tears streaming down his face as Żaren embraced him too, "What were you thinking? Do you know how fucking worried I was when Nikola told me you left?" Żaren stared at his father in shock: he had never seen Kyre bare his emotions so openly, not even at Redentur's nor Katarina's funerals, "Father, I-" Kyre immediately cut him off, "Żaren, I was very close to thinking that you died, dammit: when the war party ambushed the camp, we found Pa's ax with them, and we captured one of the tribals who claimed that they had you pinned at a cave. Why did you leave the farm, Żaren?" Dimly, Żaren felt himself pull out of his father's hug, the older man now glaring at him through the tears, worry mixed with anger.
"Father, I received a vision back home, telling me you would be in danger. I know it sounds insane, I thought so too in the midst of my abilities surfacing, but I wanted to see to it that you were safe. You're the only family I have left, and I don't want you to die in this campaign, but I can say for certain that my worries are assuaged, now that I have been brought to light." Kyre stared at him in a mix of incredulity and paternal worry, wiping himself clean as he now noticed the changes in his son: his hair was white, eyes now shining bright green with gold flecks, while his arms rippled with muscle. "Żaren, what happened?" They heard a cough break through the late night air, Kalċidon pulling forward as he looked at the young man and his father, "Yes, I must inquire as to what has happened in the week since you left Kyras, young master Żaren. Apologies," Kalċidon stated as he jumped off the horse, allowing the young man to see the figure before him, "I am Kalċidon tal-Wied tal-Ħames Draguni, Chancellor of the Republic, and what I am about to ask you shall remain confidential until willed by I. Now, I must ask, where did you get that ax?" Żaren pulled the ax from his back, allowing it to light up in flame as he spoke, "Sir, this ax is divine: I know that you have surely faced many individuals who have claimed to have met the Warfather, but I felt Him speak to me less than an hour ago, or rather induct me into His will. It wasn't in our tongue and I did not see Him, but I could feel Him, the rage that He wields, the purpose of war. When I came to, I saw the ax floating in front of me: I took it and it came alight, bonding with me, here, take a look."
As he extinguished the fires, Kalċidon could see the intricate craftsmanship of the weapon, how it seemingly bristled with energy despite the damage the blade displayed. Scanning it, Kalċidon felt his breath cut short as he saw the runes upon the blade, immediately recognizing them, "The Runes of the Ancients," Kalċidon whispered in shock, everyone glancing at him in wonder. "Sir," Varist spoke up for the first time, "I must ask, what are you talking about, also I suggest we move this conversation to the cave nearby, this storm is not going to let up soon." Kalċidon agreed, glancing at the broken Quijain tribesman and stating, "We have no need of the prisoner, dispose of him." The words had just left his mouth when the bolt flew into the tribal's throat, sending him flying off the horse, Kyre nodding as he placed the Long Bow onto his back again.
Stepping inside the cave with their horses, Żaren laid out a mound of bear fat before blasting it with fire, the smell of burning fat filling the cave. As they sat down, Kalċidon drew a scroll out from a pouch on his left side, displaying some of the runes he noticed on the blade before speaking, "What I am about to tell all of you does not leave this cave, am I understood?" The three men nodded, Kalċidon drawing in a breath before beginning, "It was 350 standard years ago, the Temple of War had sent a research team with several Librarians to investigate a claim that had been leveled in Northeastern Kyras, near Nimir. The team was informed of a stele tablet found in a cave that held several writings on it: when they found it, they discovered that whoever had crafted the tablet had written it in several languages, including Itä-Englanti, Verush, and Ilsien Qadim tad-Divina, the predecessor tongue to Ilsien tal-Gwerra." Varist spoke up, "Forgive my interruption, but I'm guessing that the language that Shaman was chanting in several days ago is the same tongue you mention?" Kalċidon nodded, "Correct: among the languages written was one that none could understand, for it had never been seen before. Since Vaslen ag-Toden was not among the languages on that stele, the report they submitted to the Falanx came to the conclusion that this stele was over 10,000 years old, long before the War of the Forests and the rise of the Tekkan Empire. Aside from the tablet, there was no other evidence of whoever had created this stone, but we have reason to believe that they are connected to the Common Tongue spoken throughout Calveria.
The reason I state all of this is due to the fact that young master Żaren's ax happens to have several of the Runes among its design: if what you say is true, that you happen to have been visited and chosen by the Warfather as His prophet, then this ax may be a connection between the divine realm of the Gods and whoever had created that tablet. Understand that such a revelation would cause discord in the Republic, especially considering this would be an upset to the history taught in the Republic concerning the pre-Tekkan civilizations that existed." The trio digested the information as best they could, occasionally glancing at the ax and what Kalċidon had told them: finally, Varist yawned as he spoke, "I understand what you are saying and I ensure you that I will not spill any of this information out, now I suggest we get some sleep: it is already early morning and we have not received much rest. I also reckon that, by the time we return to the campsite, Erin iben ta'Ħadd will have begun to move on to the meeting site with the Lexiduns as was ordered." Kalċidon nodded, "As much as I would desire returning, I fear this snow will prevent us from returning back in time: very well, men, get some rest, we'll leave when we have awaken and gathered our bearings." The men nodded, pulling the furs they had off and turning them into makeshift cots, Żaren electing to create a smaller fire to ensure warmth within the cave before finally entering a deep sleep, Żaren laying close to Kyre, Kalċidon silently noticing and nodding, 'That man has a far better relationship with his son than I do with mine, even with master Żaren's awakening. I pray that they do not suffer the same hardships I have gone through,' he thought before he allowed exhaustion to finally take him.
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Post by axeldonia on Feb 2, 2019 19:34:56 GMT -5
Northern Wilderness, East of Lexidus
The hills and fields of the lands that lay beyond the reach of any ruler was silent, only disturbed by the trickling of water, whistling and humming of birds and the occasional snapping branch as larger creatures made their way through the forests. This particular day however, the silence was disturbed by a sudden clattering similar to that of hooves. Soon, a number of figures emerged on top of a small hill overlooking the landscape; four squidspawn, three dressed from head to toe in armour whilst one seemed to carry a large amount of supplies on their back, banging a pair of coconuts together to simulate the sound of a horse. As the overencumbered Squid sat down on the ground with a sigh of relief another one of them in a blue tabard removed their helmet, pulling up a spyglass. “I see neither banners, nor tents or people anywhere. It seems we have a while to go. Until then, that valley to the west seems like a good-” “Hey, can someone take the coconuts? My hands are getting sore.” The Squid in the blue tabard sighed as his companion in green retorted. “Oh, stop fussing, it’s your job.” “I didn’t vote for it!” “Well we all voted not to carry luggage, so tough luck.” The overencumbered Squid grumbled something, gently massaging their hands as the Squid with the spyglass spoke up. “Ahem. As I said we’re not there yet, but it cannot be far. If the army sets up camp in that valley to the west we shall have adequate shelter for the night.” “Wait, why do I have to bang these together again?” “We’ve told you this a thousand times, the sound of horses scares off predators, but we’re too small to actually ride real ones.” “Okay, but how did we actually get our hands on these coconuts anyway?”
Somewhere in southern Calveria
This was the worst. Oskar groaned, pushing against the wooden wall of his cell angrily. He was still stuck here, forced to make gunpowder for these cat-people. All he had was a bed, the clothes on his back and a worthless sack of highly volatile gunpowder he’d smuggled out of the lab. Wait…
Camelon, Lexidus
It felt like just yesterday they were here. Helena looked up at the imposing profile of the castle as their small convoy of diplomats, mercenary leaders and guards made their way towards it. She felt bad for not following the rest of the Titenfiscan forces as they made their way to the meeting place, but last she’d heard Blair was still at the castle. Her train of thought like the convoy came to an abrupt stop as it reached the gate of Camelon Castle. Bracing herself, Helena stepped out of the carriage and up to the nearest guard bearing the white lion. “I'm Prime Minister Helena. I’m here to request a meeting with Blair.”
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Post by Chiernarosa on Feb 6, 2019 2:15:33 GMT -5
Quijain, Day 14
The Iron Corridor had been well-manned, with scouts patrolling small watch stations built from tents every couple of miles. Horses were being used to facilitate swift communication, while sentries utilized horse-drawn carts in case of reprisals from Quijaini tribals. Many of the tribes that had been defeated in combat were given two options: join, or die. For those that chose to submit to Kyras, they were given the opportunity to either choose enslavement or waive for service in the Arban, their skills on horseback lending them easier transition to the role of cavalry shock troops.
As the Corridor was being facilitated, the coastline that opposed Talas was steadily being transformed, trees being chopped down for use as lumber for the long march ahead or to build ramps to help climb the tall hills. Dimly, the Warrior recalled that as she sat in a horse-drawn cart, the Tree of Life that once signaled ownership by the Temple of Nature still emblazoned onto the side: inside, she sat with the Seer next to her, while Sister Marija and Librarian-Primeris Liena were opposite of them. In front, one of the funny-sounding men that were called "Kotek" manned the reins, his hair shaved mostly bald except for a strip running vertically down, straightened and with feathers braided into the locks: unlike most of his brothers, he had chosen to work with the Temple over the Kotek Honor Guards, and served well as their guide and guardian.
Looking down, the Warrior still felt partially suffocated from the clothes she was wearing: after a short period of negotiating with her wife and Marija, they agreed to let her wear her armor again, on the condition that she wear a shirt and pants like most of the men that joined them - while she was glad that her set of leather armor was restored, she was confused to have found a shiny material covering it, along with small plates of the material linked in the gaps where her skin would have shown. "It is called 'metal,'" the Kotek man answered, himself wearing a suit of the stuff as armor, while a cloak surrounded it, additionally painted with blue symbols, "It is far stronger than leather and will protect you from most attacks, though it weighs much more." While she had favored keeping her armor as it once was, she initially agreed with him: now, she regretted it.
"Is something wrong?" The Seer asked, noticing her wife looking annoyed at the armor she wore. "It is this 'metal' that all these surface-dwellers ask us to wear, it is so suffocating to wear! How do they move fast in this, it feels like I am carrying three men with me at once?!" The Warrior muttered, the Seer privately noting with satisfaction how the former had adapted to speaking in the surface tongue, though she did stumble on some words on occasion. The language that the Sisters insisted they try to speak in, Ilsien tal-Gwerra, was a bit confusing at first to grasp, but they had adapted over time: the tongue they called "Common," however, was proving to be more difficult, even with the Sisters pointing out the loanwords that Ilsien had from Common. 'Somedays I wished we just spoke in the Old Tongue: they even said they would have done that, if not for that man they called Kalċidon declaring it to be dead,' the Seer mused in what the Sisters called Vaslen ag-Toden. To her, it was as easy as breathing: they always spoke it between tribes when the dialects of their native language proved too difficult to bridge, always standard like in the temples her grandparents inhabited in within the Underground, the words written all over the walls and pillars.
Hearing chuckling, the Seer looked over at Liena, who looked somewhat bemused at the Warrior's complaints, "I'm guessing this is over her armor?" she asked, Liena nodding. "Yep, this is probably the first time I have seen a Scorched One complain about metal armor: most of your kin take to wearing it up here without complaint, they tend to get antsy when they don't have it." The Seer cocked her head, "There are more like us up here? I thought the one who was with Tahra was from Hearth as well, as well as Sister Marija?" Marija chimed in, "Actually, yes: the one who initially joined you, along with myself, we lived our entire lives here in the Surface, though some of us are actually the Unhorned that were warped by the Arcana rather than being born with it - we're also unique among our kin as we maintain most of our natural features. Most of us that you see here on the Surface then to lose our hair and gain heavy scars, plus their horns are far longer: they tend to join the Army as the Aven dan-Rigma at the cost of high casualty rates."
The Warrior looked up from her armor, "You mean that some of us are just Unhorned that fought too much? How is that even possible, we were born for war. Also, does that mean all Unhorned touched by the Arcana are destined to become us?" Liena nodded, "It is common for advanced human mages dedicated to Rigma to inevitably end up transforming into a Scorched One, though because training for usage of magic varies between mage temples, plus the fact that some people can only commit to simple manipulation of fire while others can summon Valnaran and create pillars of fire, this usually means only a few even reach that point, and they tend to die faster on account of longevity being different between humans and Scorched Ones. As for the second, no, not every human who possesses magic end up as a Scorched One: for example, Atek den Ten'saii, the man ultimately responsible for Azkalon den Kayros becoming a warlord and by extension what happened in Kahmpet, was confirmed to be able to manipulate fire: from what we gathered, however, he only had novice control for about a month until Kalċidon killed him in the Battle of Varan and he focused more on perverting himself into an image of Rigma. You can still spot mages easily in Kyras, though: just look for anyone with flecks of a different color in their eyes and white hair."
Both women processed over the information they were presented when Liena suddenly perked up, "I just remembered something: when we do make contact with the people at the meeting near Lexidus, we need to become more accustomed to our names being addressed. While the two of you have not been ordained into the Temple yet, I feel that it is best that we decide names for the both of you: I have a list here if you see any that you like." Pulling a scroll out, Liena unfolded it, revealing the various names common within the former Temple of Nature: both Scorched Ones looked over it, briefly glancing at each other and stating, "So we choose a name and we go by that for the trip or for as long as we live?"
"The latter," Marija answered, the wives simply shrugging and eventually pointing at two of them. "I think Elena sounds nice," The Seer replied, while the Warrior followed suit, "I do like Karmena." Liena nodded, "Alright, the both of you shall be referred to as Elena and Karmena, though you do have free reign to change them if you like." Both women simply nodded, Marija popping up the question about the presence in Myratnis in the Underground, the couple responding as they mentioned the temples of their ancestors making note of them thousands of years ago.
Conquest Column, Quijain, Day 14
"They had one job and that was to find the fucking kid within a day, now I have to lead this entire formation by myself, Kalċidon, you old bastard, you can go fuck yourself!" Erin raved as he rode at the front of the column, joined by his commissioned and non-commissioned executive officers as they passed over the river that ran separately from the large crescent lake. From the map Kalċidon had shown him, once they passed the river they only needed to go past another lake before finding the Lexidun encampment near a much smaller one, "Why, in the ever-loving fuck of the Warfather's molten iron balls, would the Lexiduns set the godsdamned meeting point at a distance that takes TWO FUCKING WEEKS to reach, and why so close to the west: this is supposed to be a godsdamned neutral meeting, why would the king set it closer to his border rather than a point where everyone can meet easily?!"
The Captain and the Sergeant Major that flanked him on either side looked at each other, the latter rolling his eyes and making the gesture of a slit throat as the former silently snickered and shrugged his shoulders: they were only recently attached to the Commander and they could surmise several things about Erin iben ta'Ħadd: when he was calm, he was the model officer, professional and curt. When he was enraged, he resembled a drunk high-rider, raving and yelling at no one in particular about whatever had become the chip at his shoulder. The last thing was that he despised Kalċidon tal-Wied tal-Ħames Draguni in private, referring to the man as 'the most negligent father since fucking Kreigsadar.' It had become unofficial news that Erin was, in fact, the Chancellor's estranged son: almost all flag officers had easily noted how the two had a very strained-looking relationship, a similar appearance, and that a younger officer had been chosen to lead the first of the formations to facilitate the Grand Conquest. The fact that Kalċidon had referred to the younger man as 'son' had not done favors for him, several enlisted and conscripted personnel spreading word of it like wildfire during the nights.
That had infuriated Erin to no end when he inevitably found out, but he simply choked the rage down, instead letting it fester into rants and violent reprisals against anything that had strayed into his path, oftentimes unfortunate beasts that happen to come near his horse. The fact that he was forced to lead the column after Kalċidon left to lead the personal search for Żaren Iben-ta'Kyre, joined by Lieutenant Varist Iben-ta'Peitru and Kyre Iben-ta'Redentur, compounded his anger further, 'A fucking kiss-ass lieutenant and a farmer whose only claim to even being associated with us is his father's godsdamned Belt of Marque, and he runs off with them to find some dumb shit kid who ran off into this shitscape wilderness, without even mentioning why he is so invested in finding the little fucker.' Erin paused slightly in his thoughts, wondering, 'Something tells me he is projecting his desire for me as his son onto that kid. Whatever, let the old fucker be a faggot to some widowed farmer and take that kid as his son, I could not give two shits about it,' he concluded before pulling his reins and pushing forward, hoping they could reach the site within the next three days.
Outskirts of Lexidun Encampment, Day 14
"Well shit," Varist muttered as the band of four saw the Lexidun camps among the hillocks near the lake: after they had awakened, the four men rode west, electing to simply head off on their own on the presumption that Erin had already begun forward without them as requested by Kalċidon. Both he and Kalċidon still rode on their own horses, while Kyre instead decided to have Żaren take the reins while he sat with his back against him, keeping the Long Bow ready in case of reprisals from the tribe that ambushed Żaren. Żaren had taken to keeping the ax slung on his right hip, on the possibility that it might accidentally come alight and burn Kyre: he had adjusted to his father's continued worry over him, as Kyre had made painfully clear the night they reunited.
That was six days ago, they had crossed the crescent lake four days ago, and the river three days ago. The horses were worn ragged, the men instead choosing to walk when Kalċidon noticed that they drew near to the Lexidun site: Żaren had proven to be the least capable at walking long distances, much to no one's surprise. 'Kyre did keep him close on the farm and told him not to enlist, so I imagine endurance running is not his strong suit,' both men mused as Żaren stayed atop Kyre's horse, though they could easily see the bulging muscles of his arms and shoulders even with the armor and aketon covering him, farming and chopping trees meant he could swing the ax effortlessly and with deadly strength behind each strike.
"Indeed," Kalċidon stated as he undrew one of the packs, revealing a small staff and the Republic's flag: fastening the flag onto the staff, Kalċidon walked over to his horse, which still wore its caparison and barding, finding a small dock and inserting the staff into the hole, allowing the flag to be displayed. In the six days since they had left the cave, the men were rather unkempt, which they had relieved when they found the river, though the cool temperatures meant they had to adjust a little bit to the chill until Żaren simply made a small fire for all of them to dry off next to. Kalċidon's aketon, while cleaned, was slightly scuffed from the battles, a small piece of cotton poking through the wool from where an arrow had grazed, while the armor was dinged slightly: he simply shrugged it off as he cleaned the armor up, while Ten'saii's head was now starting to be a little more droopy-looking.
Pulling his kriegsmesser out, Kalċidon suddenly beckoned to Kyre, who approached with a confused look on his face, "Given we are about to make diplomatic contact with the Empire of Lexidus, and we are a stratocratic republic, I require an additional aide to stand by my side until I can relieve Varist of his command for Erin: however, I lack an enlisted executive officer to assist me, so I draw upon you - as General-in-Chief of the Kyran Army and Commander-in-Chief of the Kyran Forces, it is within my powers to restore a soldier back into active service. Tell me, what was your rank upon your initial completion of service, Sir Kyre?" Kyre replied, "Sir, I was a Staff Sergeant for the 15th Cavalry Regiment, Sir." Kalċidon gestured for him to bend his head down, Kyre doing so as Kalċidon gestured with the kriegsmesser held flat above his head, "Under my powers as General-in-Chief, I hereby promote you, Kyre Iben-ta'Redentur, to the rank of Sergeant Major and additionally, the role as my executive enlisted officer for the duration of the Grand Conquest: your billet shall be established in due time, and you shall be awarded a Ċinturin ta 'Marque upon the completion of the Conquest. Additionally, your equipment shall be upgraded once a smithery is established and your armor improved upon. I expect you to hold to this promotion of rank with honor and virtue, Sir Kyre."
"I shall, Sir," Kyre replied, privately surprised at his return to service, Kalċidon lifting the kriegsmesser from his head and handing a tube over, along with a flare-rock, "Your first task, Sergeant, is to fire this flare and let the Lexiduns know that we have arrived as the first delegation of the Republic of Kyras." Kyre nodded, grabbing a flint rock and moving to light the fire-water deposit within the tube when Żaren simply walked over and lit the deposit at the bottom of the tube: nodding, Kyre lifted it high and allowed the rock to fire, a bright streak of red sailing above the Lexidun camps. Mounting their horses, Kalċidon rode forward, speaking clearly in Common as the Lexiduns stirred, "Dear Sirs of Lexidus and of her Armed Forces, I am Kalċidon tal-Wied tal-Ħames Draguni, additionally known in the old tongue of Kyras as Xalkayr; I am the Chancellor of Kyras and Commander-in-Chief of the Kyran Forces, I humbly request to meet with the commanding officer of this camp, and/or, if present at the current moment, King Blair de Brus - I believe we have much to discuss regarding the campaign against the Magna Tabes and I wish to allow the joint governance of the Kyran Conquest Force between the Republic of Kyras and the Empire of Lexidus."
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Post by Percyton on Feb 6, 2019 15:18:38 GMT -5
Royal Castle, Peel Godred, Dual Kingdom of the Isles Lily Stone and Queen Helga
A 12-year-old Locomati girl woke up in a bed that was much too large for her. Lily Stone sleepily rubbed her eye and looked out her window. The sun was shining, and it was a beautiful day. Lily smiled at this. She got up from bed and stood by the window, staring at the green field beyond. A bird landed on her windowsill and chirped.
“Hello, birdy,” Lily said. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” The bird chirped again. “Of course,” Lily added to herself, “it would be better if I could receive some news from Grandpa Burnett.” Lily turned and walked away from the window. She grabbed a brown dress and changed into it, prepared to start her day.
While Lily Stone was getting ready to start her day, Queen Helga, head of the Regency Council while her husband the King was away, had already started work. She had received a letter from Chief Driver Burnett Stone a few hours ago, and she hadn’t been able to sleep since. It couldn’t be true, she thought to herself. There must be some sort of mistake. But time and time again, the Queen reached the same conclusion.
Now it was time to act on that conclusion. The meeting room where the Regency Council met filled up with the council members as the daily meeting time approached. Percy of Avonsida and Flora of Tramingen were the first to arrive.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Percy greeted to the Queen. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Good morning, Percy,” Helga replied, a somewhat cold inflection to her voice. “I’ve seen nicer days, but today isn’t too bad all things considered.” Percy sat down next to Flora. Percy exchanged a confused look with Flora, but the Tramini Locomati girl could only shrug in response. Probably expected something cheerier from me, Helga thought to herself. Ah well, they’ll understand soon enough.
The royal Chancellor Cormac of Balladrine was the next person to come in. He stood next Queen Helga and whispered in her ear.
“Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” he asked her.
“I’m sure,” she responded.
“You don’t have to do this, you know. If you’re not up to it, I can handle it in a more private manner.”
“No, no. This is how it must be done.”
The other members of the council soon followed. Helga and Cormac sat at one end of the table, Percy and Flora at the other, while the Locomati ambassador Countess Molly, her assistant Stepney of Bluebell Valley, and the other members of the council sat along the sides of the table. Queen Helga rose to speak.
“Good morning everyone,” she began. “I’d like to begin this meeting with an announcement. A few hours ago, I received an update from Chief Driver Burnett Stone, who as you know has gone to Northern Locomati Island to infiltrate the Order of BR.” Helga took out the letter from Burnett and slammed it on the table for emphasis. “Burnett managed to infiltrate an Order of BR meeting, and while he was injured in the process, he brought back some intel. According to him, an Order member talked about how his division had infiltrated the Locomati Diplomatic Corps, placing some Order members and turning others.”
Percy looked gravely at the Queen. “This is distressing news, Your Majesty. What shall we do about it?”
“I already have a plan, as a matter of fact.” At this two royal guards came into the room, positioning themselves behind Percy and Flora and restraining the two Locomati diplomats’ wrists. Percy and Flora rose from their seats.
“Hey, what’s going on here?!” Flora demanded.
“Until I can get to the bottom of this, I’m putting most of the Locomati Diplomatic Corps at court in indefinite detention. I’m truly sorry.”
Percy was stunned silent, but his younger friend wasn’t so speechless. “But what about Countess Molly and Stepney?” Flora asked indignantly. “Why aren’t you grabbing them up?”
“As a matter of fact,” Queen Helga explained, “Burnett’s intel specifically mentioned that Countess Molly and her assistant Stepney were actively trying to stop the Order’s infiltration.” The room’s attention turned toward Molly. The Locomati ambassador seemed taken aback at first, stuttering and not knowing what to say. Stepney spoke up instead.
“Indeed,” he confirmed. “I had my suspicions for a while now, and eventually I decided I needed to take action. Good thing I did. Myratnis knows what would have happened if I didn’t.” Stepney gave a small side-nod to Molly, and Molly, with much confusion, nodded back.
“Yes,” Molly added, “Stepney has been a big help in rooting out spies and infiltrators. He manages to take care of most of them before I even realize.”
Percy squinted at Stepney and gave him a shifty look. Stepney just gave him a friendly smile. Percy turned back to the Queen. “But why me and Flora? We were trying to assist Burnett in defeating Boomerius and Diesalion, so why would we now be helping them?”
“Burnett’s intel explained that too,” Helga responded. “He mentioned that the Order had even turned some diplomats who were once fierce opponents of the Order. And besides, you two haven’t exactly made yourselves look innocent. Percy initially came here under false pretenses…”
“By Grand Duke Thomas’ direct order!” Percy protested. “And it was in service of finding and capturing Diesalion!”
“While Flora is Boomerius’ adoptive daughter.”
“You can’t punish me for my father!” Flora insisted. “I rejected his evil goals, and that’s why I’ve been helping you!”
Queen Helga shook her head. “I’m sorry, you two. This is what must be done. You’ll be released as soon we can clear you.”
“This isn’t right!” Flora exclaimed. But her protest fell on deaf ears. While Percy and Flora had been making their case, the guards tied their wrists together with rope.
“You heard Her Majesty!” Cormac barked. “Now take them away to the dungeon!” The guards then took the restrained pair out of the room down the hall, the diplomats still writhing their bodies trying to break free.
“You can’t do this to us!” Flora yelled.
“We’re doing it right now,” Flora’s guard replied, as the group turned a corner out of sight. Queen Helga stood by the doorway, emotionlessly watching Percy and Flora being dragged away. It had to be done, Helga reminded herself.
No sooner were Percy and Flora gone, when Lily Stone came down the hall, approaching Queen Helga from behind. “Where are Percy and Flora going?” Lily inquired in a concerned tone.
Helga turned around to face the Chief Driver’s granddaughter. “Oh, it’s nothing for you to worry about. We just need to have a little chat with them, ask them some questions. But on a different note, I’m glad I caught you!” Helga reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment, handing it to Lily. “Your grandfather sent this to you.” Lily took the parchment and read it over. She read the same few lines over and over again, her face filing with more apprehension each time. She put the letter to her side.
“I have to go to Grandpa!”
The Queen was startled by Lily’s demand. Normally Lily was a very quiet and obedient girl. “Pardon?”
“Grandpa Burnett is hurt, Your Majesty,” Lily insisted, “and I need to help him!”
“Northern Locomati Island is a rough and dangerous place for a lady like yourself,” Helga said. “I’m sure your grandfather would want you to remain here and stay safe.”
“No!” Lily cried. “He needs me now more than ever! Please Helga, you have to let me go to him!”
Normally the Queen would take such casualness as an obscene act of rudeness, and something worry of a reprimand at the very least. But Helga saw in Lily’s eyes that Lily did it not out of impoliteness, but out of determination and passion; she was so committed to convincing the Queen to let her go, she forgot all about proper address and protocol. Helga sighed. “Alright, you can go. But I’m not letting you go alone, young lady. I shall arrange a guard unit to escort you by horse to your grandfather’s lodgings in Lake Percival.”
“Oh, thank you Helga!” Lily exclaimed. She hugged the Queen tightly, wrapping herself around Helga’s torso. After a moment, Lily caught herself. “Er, I mean Your Majesty,” she corrected, releasing the Queen from her arms.
Queen Helga chuckled. “It’s alright. I know it comes from a place of love for your grandpa. Now run along and get packed.”
“Thank you so much, Your Majesty!” Lily exclaimed as she ran toward her room.
“And be careful, Lily!” Helga yelled back. “The island’s countryside has been filled with bandits lately!”
Northern Locomati Island countryside, Dual Kingdom of the Isles Lily Stone
Lily and her escort trotted along the muddy dirt road, traveling under a grey and gloomy sky. The party wasn’t too far from Lake Percival, but Lily was getting restless.
“Can we stop for a moment?” Lily asked. “I think a small break while I lay under a tree for a bit will do me some good and help me keep going.”
“Negative, my lady,” the head guard replied. “Our orders are to get you to your grandfather in a swift and orderly manner.”
“COOME OOON!” Lily whined. “It’ll only be a couple minutes. Maybe not even. Then I won’t bother you the rest of the way!”
The guard sighed in defeat. Perhaps a short rest would be worthwhile if it meant his passenger would be quiet and content for the rest of the journey. “Alright, we can stop here. HALT!” At their leader’s command, the unit of guards, numbering 5 cavalrymen, stopped in its tracks. “We pause here for 10 minutes. There’s a tall tree over there if you want to rest, miss.” Lily nodded, and gingerly ran over to the tree, sitting up against the bark of the trunk. She closed her eyes and thought about the good times she had with her grandpa over the years. The times they played together, explored together. Lily even had a few memories of Grandma Tasha from when the former was very young. Lily thought about how excited Grandpa Burnett would be when she arrived.
However, Lily’s rest didn’t last long. Only two minutes after they had stopped, the group heard the loud trumpet of a horn, getting louder and louder. Lily’s eyes shot open, and the guards turned to see what was approaching them. As it came closer, they saw a herd of horses, kicking up a storm of dust and dirt behind them. Each horse had a rider clad in black and brown leather and sturdy helmets.
“Bandits,” the guard leader muttered to himself. “Take your positions, men! We have a fight on our hands!” The guards wasted no time, remounting and grabbing their lances for battle. They stood at the ready, but the bandits stopped just in front of them. They turned to face the leader of the highwaymen.
“Horace the Schemer,” the guard leader seethed. “We meet again.”
“It’s always nice to see an old friend,” Horace replied in an oily voice. “Especially when that old friend is also an old adversary. How are you, Patrick?”
“Not well,” Patrick responded, “considering scum like you are still roaming the countryside.”
Horace smiled. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to remedy your ailment any time soon.”
“Then I will!” Patrick said firmly. “ATTACK!” The horses slammed into each other, their riders stabbing and guarding each other at close range. Lances clashed against swords and spears. All Lily could do was huddle by her tree, hoping the distracted outlaws wouldn’t notice her. She hid her face in her knees, so she couldn’t see anything, but she could hear the screams and whimpers of falling men, of men knocked off their horses. The smell of blood started to waft through the air.
After a little while – Lily didn’t bother to keep track of the time – she looked up. Before her she saw a terrible carnage: A few of the bandits had fallen, but her entire guard unit was killed. She gasped, which had the unintentional consequence of alerting the remaining bandits to her presence.
“Well, what do we have here?” Horace said, examining Lily’s pretty face and fancy clothes. “A woman of high-standing it looks like. She’d catch a fine price at the mainland auctions.” The group dismounted and started to approach the cowering Lily. Before the bandits could act however, an arrow came out of seeming nowhere, striking one of the bandits in the forehead. He fell with a thud. The bandits looked in the direction the arrow came from and saw a rider on a beautiful white horse galloping towards them at a great speed.
The bandits must have recognized this mysterious rider and his horse, for all of them except Horace immediately scattered and ran off. The horse stopped in front of Horace. “Well, well,” Horace remarked. “So you’re the famous White Jones?”
“Sum people call me that,” came the reply, in a woman’s voice with a distinct country twang. “I prefer to call mahself ‘the greatest sharpshooter in the world.’” ‘White Jones’ pulled back another arrow and let it go. The arrow struck just above Lily’s head, hitting a squirrel on one of the branches square in the heart and pinning it to a different branch. “I hope I’ve made mahself clear.”
Horace couldn’t say anything. He just backed away, got back on his horse, and rode away with a swiftness that Lily didn’t even know was possible. The teenage girl was amazed. She was about to get up to thank her rescuer, but White Jones came over to her, extending her hand toward the girl. Lily looked over her savior, a tall Locomati woman with a white wide-brimmed hat, red boots, and a light brown vest on top of a green tunic. “Need sum help, buckaroo?” White Jones asked. Lily took the hand and rose to her feet
“Th-thank you, White Jones,” Lily stuttered, still dumbfounded. “That was… incredible.”
“Aw, shucks,” Jones replied. “You’re too kind! You’re right, though. And I’m only White Jones to mah enemies; you can call me Stacy Jones, slayer of bandits and hero of the regular folk!”
“Well, thank you, Miss Jones. How did you find me?”
“Find you?” Stacy replied with a chuckle. “Darling, I’m clever, but I’m not psychic. I’ve been huntin’ Horace and his gang for a while now. It just worked out that I done managed to catch ‘em before they took you. What’s yer name, anyway?”
“I’m Lily,” the girl responded. “Lily Stone.”
“Stone? You wouldn’t happen to be related to the Chief Driver Burnett Stone, would ya?”
“I am actually; he’s my grandfather.”
“Well, I’ll be!” Stacy responded with a holler and a knee slap. “A real-life Stone? The honor’s all mine, miss.” Stacy bowed before the Chief Driver’s granddaughter. “I can’t do no magic mahself, but I’ve always admired people like you and your grandpappy who can.”
“Actually,” Lily explained, “I can’t do magic either.”
“Nonsense!” Stacy exclaimed as she forcefully slapped Lily on the back. “I’m sure you got it in you sumwhar’. We just gotta find it.” Stacy thought for a second. “Maybe not now, though. We need to git movin’.” Stacy got back on her stead. “Where you headin’, Lily?”
“Lake Percival. I need to visit my grandfather there.”
Stacy patted the seat behind her. “Well climb on and I’ll take ya thar’! It’ll be my pleasure!” Lily smiled. She hopped onto Stacy’s white horse, taking a seat on the back half of the saddle right behind Stacy. And with a whip of the horse’s reigns, the two women rode off into the horizon.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Feb 8, 2019 11:14:57 GMT -5
Sergeant Dunsley Hovis, No Man's Land - Quijain
The shaving foam had barely just been applied when he heard the commotion outside, men shouting, followed by trumpets. He recognised the sound as a heralding trumpet, meant to signify the immediate attention of the army commanders, rather than the panic inducing bellow of a war horn. He clumsily splashed water on his face and refitted his armour, wiping his face with the nearest cloth available, the bed sheet. Emerging from his tent, he could see what was causing the commotion. The Kyrans had arrived.
"Ah just the man I was looking for!" echoed the familiar roar of the General. His silver armour clanking loudly as he stomped hi way towards Dunsley. "I see you're trying to grow a beard! Ahaha don't worry my lad, you'll get there eventually." He slammed his gauntlet armoured hand into the back of his ward, patting it but also propelling the younger man into a fast stride alongside him. They were heading towards the envoy, passing by hundreds of Lexidun soldiers, who now now stood at attention. As they got some ground between them and the main camp, they approached the outskirts of the base, Lewis whispered to him. "Peel those eyes and ears my lad, what you're about to witness is something them scholars are going to talk about for centuries." The two of them approached the mounted Kyrans on foot, their armour clanking almost in rhythm with the galloping of the Kyrans. The sun shone down on them in a sunny and cloudless but cold day, dew encompassing the entirety of the fields around them near the lake.
"Welcome my eastern comrades! I am General Hersham Bartholomew Lewis of the Standing Army of Lexidus and commanding officer of the Lexidun Empire's Armed Forces. I extend the warmest of welcomes on behalf of the Empire of Lexidus to the Republic of Kyras. I shall be the Empire's representative until the arrival of my liege, who will be here at noon tomorrow." Lewis, as per usual, boomed this welcome loud and clear. His weathered and old features embellished with a genuine and wide smile, his arms extended outwards towards the Kyrans, before resting his hands on his belt. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last Kalċidon tal-Wied tal-Ħames Draguni!"
King Blair de Brus, Main Hall - Camelon Castle
"What do you think Crowley? She's a beauty isn't she?" Blair held the newly forged axe high and examined it against the sunlight shining through the stain-glass windows. What had once been a broken axe, its pieces scattered across the castle's front entrance, was born anew. Unlike its old incarnation, this axe bore a more modern design, its weight evenly distributed. Its wood was glossy and dark, almost matching the colour of the axe head itself, which was now an r shape as opposed to a D. The recast iron, turned into steel, was adorned with a lion's head. It's face detailing an expression of rage, a made in honour of all those who perished in the Yrutan siege. It was a weapon to surpass its old self. Crowley however paid little attention to the axe, instead a small smile adorned his face as he looked at Blair.
"I think you're looking better." He stated bluntly but warmly, Blair scoffing and placing the axe on his belt loop. He felt OK, it was something at least. Griffon and his various projects helped him. The wraith had been intermittently absent, letting her presence still be known but she was further away, like a wolf in the mist. She still made him feel uneasy.
"I'm thinking of calling it Ceart." Blair pondered as he sat on his throne. His new royal raiment fitting him well, gone were the gray pyjamas and unkempt beard. For the first time in years, his face was the closest cut it had ever been. The beard barely a centimetre thick. He looked 10 years younger.
"Righteous?" Crowley mused. "I like it. Always good to hear some Celtmaric this day and age."
Blair gave a smile, it was brief and fleeting before he let his mind wander away but it was a genuine smile.
Suddenly, the main door leading to the throne room swung open, two guards opening the doors wide and then standing at attention. Blair rose from the throne about to enquire about the interruption, stopping himself as he saw the familiar face of the Prime Minister of Titenfisca standing before him.
"HELENA!" He beamed, striding towards the squidspawn, a genuine smile this time sticking with him.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Feb 8, 2019 23:31:15 GMT -5
Lexidun Encampment
Kalċidon dismounted from his horse, Varist and Żaren dismounting as well while Kyre simply walked forward from the side of Żaren's mount, a small yet warm smile on Kalċidon's face over the General's genuine joy; holding the sheath for his kriegsmesser, Kalċidon bowed slightly before stating, "It is a pleasure to meet as well, I thank you for your hospitality, General Lewis; and please, just Kalċidon will suffice," he stated as the trio moved behind him, "I wish to apologize for my early arrival: I would have been due to arrive three days from now, but a pressing matter required my men and I to split from the Conquest Force. Take heart, you should expect to find 100,000 of the Republic's finest soldiers to arrive here soon in anticipation for our campaign. Now, I wish to introduce to you the men that shall serve as my counselors for the duration of this campaign."
Looking behind him, Kalċidon beckoned for Varist to approach, "Captain Varist Iben-ta'Peitru, he is serving as the executive commissioned officer and as my second-in-command for an interim period until the Conquest Force arrives." Varist nodded, "A pleasure to meet you, General." Kyre stepped forward, "Sergeant Major Kyre Iben-ta'Redentur, he is serving as my executive enlisted officer and as my aide." Kyre also nodded, "Greetings, General, and to you as well, Sir," he said to Hovis, noting that the Lexidun sergeant had not been introduced.
Finally, Żaren approached, looking slightly out of place as he simply stood close to Kyre, "Finally, Żaren Iben-ta'Kyre, he is not a soldier but is important to the overall campaign. Żaren, if you will, show them the ax." Żaren looked over to Kyre, who smiled gently and said, "It's alright, Żaren, they need to know anyway." Żaren nodded as he pulled the ax from the makeshift sheath on his right side, holding it in one hand as he willed the flames to run over his shoulders and arms, the ax set alight in the air, the dew sizzling into steam. Kalċidon spoke, "You may return to normal, Żaren." Nodding, Żaren let the flames extinguish, his aketon slightly singed, "Greetings, General, along with you, Sir," to Hovis as well.
Kalċidon spoke again, "Once again, I wish to apologize for arriving before the rest of my men: my son, Erin, will arrive in three days time with the first wave of the Force by my estimates - since we are estranged, however, I advise that you refer to him by the name he has chosen for himself, Erin iben ta'Ħadd. In the meantime, I wish for my men and I to make acquaintance with you and your men, General Lewis, to discuss what we can before King de Brus, along with Erin and my junior peers, arrive."
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Post by Andromitus on Feb 10, 2019 22:30:17 GMT -5
Tahkam Thaur, Khaamūan Circuit
The General froze for a moment, glancing to one of his generals who could only shrug and said, “Did you, per say, send word of this to Ixthenpiyn?” The Scribes turned toward each other, responding with a look of confusion, “Why would we? It’s the same thing farmers are always yelling about.” The look on the Generals face was enough to silence the group the rest of the walk inland; that wasn’t the right answer. Omission from a report was a Capital offense, an executable one at that, and the Officials knew it, or at least quickly remembered it. “Just take me to the Temple, I want to speak with the rest of you.” After that revelation, the rest of the walk was for the most part silent apart from yet more refugees yelling at them from the side roads, a topic getting increasingly worrisome as it became apparent the state Tahkam was in. They’d learned that not one, but three different groups of evacuees were holding refuge in the city, lower-caste housing was grossly overcapacity, and supplies were being drained too quickly than could be afforded. By now, too, larger and much more agitated crowds were beginning to swarm around them; “Send word back to the men,” the General mentioned to one of the messengers, “get our upper-castes on the boats, we don’t want an incident.” “Do you have Alchemists among yo–“ “Elder Brother we’re armed with Capital Bronze and Alchemical Fire.” His tone silenced the Scribe again, their faces were a deep red. The city itself want as grand as say, Ixthenpiyn Thaur, but still fairly impressive for a city this so far south. Wide streets flowed out from the center toward proper upper caste housing, and various Tôn –smaller holy shrines– were dotting the view around them. A few minutes later and they’d reached the city’s temple. A large, stone, octagonal building with an outer concrete layer glazed black, gold, and for upper layers, green. The main entrance was fairly large, and twin, thick Kyasii banners hung on either face of it, with two rounded metal plates on an interior edge bore long columns of text. All 16 of them stopped, performing a deep bow before entering. The inside was bustling, streams of various Scribes curved around the temples interior carrying everything from assortments of books, scrolls, and manuscripts, to bits religious artifacts. Various groups of Navigators were bringing in the days catch, harvest, products, and messages for catalog and storage. Each was met by a barrage of different scribes, marking, tallying, and recording each jar, bushel, and package that entered the building. The group continued deeper into the structure, following up to the third and highest level housing the various governing chambers. The General rubbed his eyes before continuing into the main hall where they were met with 8 other Priest Caste alongside various Scribe aids. “Èhr, hand our general information over,” the General asked before bowing slightly as his name was announced. “My Eldest’s, I ask that we begin with no more ceremonies.” His eyes bore holes into the men and women in front of him, “to this end I have a few questions, but most important of all of them, I would like information on the refugee crisis.“ • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The Generals fist clenched instinctively in a mixture or shock and anger, before reading over the document in his hand a second time. They’d moved down into one of the interior chambers, lines upon lines of stone cubicles were cut into the walls around them, each marked with a thin metal plate and filled with books; records, messages, scrolls, even for a farming city there was a lot to keep track of. The paper in his, the generals, hand was a general passage document, granted to various people to allow travel within the country, with this one in particular showing how more than a year ago an Alchemist by the name of Shir Koen Tahm was moved through Tahkam to reach a southern colony. What’s more, other documents showed he wasn’t the only one sent there by the Ixthenpiyn Authority. There were at least fifteen total, of various ages, all being cited as ‘unfit for standard service’, a standard anti-alchemist line employed by the Kahvihn. “Eldest’s, I’m afraid what you called useless banter was correct; look at this.” He said, handing the papers to the group of Priests behind him. “The real question now is, what on Kîyn’s name could they have wanted? Think about it, 15 Alchemists all angry with the Capital for abandoning them, cooped up together alone?” “Sir,” one of the commanders spoke up, “with respect, even then resentments to, people like them, at the top had been there for decades. What makes them so special that they’d be granted notice by Yûar? None of this makes sense.” “Yùahr...” The Priest corrected, “doesn’t grant notice, it is a force, a natural force paralleling—“ “Now is not a time for doctrine, whether or not the void reached out or the other way around the men and women there were corrupted, Eldest, that much is undisputable.” “And you think they found a way to trigger the horde?” The General was still for a moment, before Alzeih picked up, “it’d explain why Ixthenpiyn was hit so quickly.” “How do you mean?” The General asked “Tahkam was all but ignored, the horde made a practical fire-line toward Ixthenpiyn; if the horde started in Zoulmêkt Ixthenpiyn would’ve been the closest settlement this far south.” “Your aid should watch her tongue, the Horde is just as animalistic as its void master.“ “Not if it’s guided by corrupted upper-castemen!” She retorted, but was quickly met with a glare from General Ayihl. “Enough.” The Generals voice silenced both of them. “We have a lead, if we can catch the horde again there we can push them closer to the brink, or, God allow, over the edge.” • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The walk back to the boats was a tense one, the commanders alone were beyond words, Alzeih couldn’t imagine what the General was like. He of course had to stay back with the various aids shadowing him, a company of Ixthenpiyn bureaucrats to mainly there to help ration supplies. She stopped when the sound of horns echoed over the city; on god not here. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • “Where was the damn thing sighted.” The General shouted “Off the northern dockyard, eldest, it was hit by arrow-fire but slinked back into the water.” One of the aids responded “And we’re sure it was a Horde-member.” “Multi-meter neck, shimmering black body, it was undeniable.” “Damn it, order the men to begin getting supplies further inland, and work on getting the boats—“ He was interrupted as a howl pierced over them, “ Get the damn boats out of the water” he shouted, the air around them seeming to shake, “ and tell the men to ready battle stations”!
Outside of Vaannāu Thaur, Thàovīyn Circuit
They were sloppy that was for sure; General Kíhr didn’t quite know what to think of it. The rebel holdouts were mainly based amongst farming plots and main cities, basic ambush and holdout positions. On the one hand it meant the leaders knew their history, but on the other hand it meant they were stretching themselves thin otherwise they would’ve tried to fortify actual static fortifications. They likewise utterly failed in a purge of native upper-caste, given that a good chunk of Vaannāu’s Officials we’re standing in front of him. From what he’d gathered so far, the instigators were a group of three Officials that’d come from the Capital and who’d formed a tight bloc of local officials around them. What troubled him is that none of the capitals records showed the three in question being requisitioned to the central territories, meaning, most likely, that they’d fled the Capital. What’s more: they were Alchemists. His ears perked at the scream of military whistles on deck – the tower they’d been scouting reported back as friendly; a good sign that either the rebels were either contained or at least not too far ahead of them. At this point they couldn’t be too far from the Vaannāu settlement. And if scouting parties were right, they would be ill-prepared for genuine siege weaponry. His thoughts were silenced as a low horn called out from outside, followed by a second low-to-middle-rising (do to re) horn — Military horn and whistle communications were dependent more on absolute pitch than the subjective pitch of spoken language. The two calls called out again, followed by another (re to do); it was the general call, the fourth, sixth, and fifth divisions had spotted the enemy. The two boats of the Sixth Division had been pulling along the riverbank, waves flashing blue-green as the forward bough churned the waves ahead of them, before whistles calls cried out over the hills in front of them. Within moments a volley of crossbow bolts were flying haphazardly through the air as the division commanders waved warnings and information to the other divisions to converge on their location, their own men returning fire with a herding bought — a style of defensive combat where ballista bolts were used to literally herd enemies into better positions to be fired upon by individual soldiers. Across the water mid-range horn calls showed the 30-divisions had spotted opposing forces, a would be ambush hoping to slow down a smaller force. By this point pockets of green smoke were bearing up along the shore, the smell of sulfur and a crude acidic taste wafting over the armada; Herding gases, in lower doses, were common on larger farming compounds because of their smell, used to mark where herds could travel and to (supposedly) ward off pests farm animals couldn’t take care of. In higher doses it made an excellent, albeit painful, fog forcing targets into more open spaces only to be hit opposing crossbow fire from the boats below. All in all the attempted attack only lasted for a few hours as dispatches were able to clear out any remaining pockets of resistance.
Kàhntchéht, Arkngvīyn
From the bow of the vessel, a lone soldier blew into her whistle, a long, brass instrument with a series of six dials to control pitch, tone, and accent. She let loose another blow into the caverns ahead, waiting calmly for a response back from the target audience. She let loose a third time, the crisp calls of the military whistle bouncing along the cavern walls, carrying a single message: “Northern Contingent, 25 warboats, 750 soldiersof Caste. What is status?” “What is status?” She repeated, “Do you hear me? This is the Northern Army Border Contingent? What is status?” There was a long pause. “Message received.” A wave of relieve surged along the deck, “We are under siege. Supplies low. Western Lower-Caste districts are occupied.” • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The High Priest sat in shock as the soldier in front of him read aloud from a rapidly scrawled piece of paper. The Northern Army had sent a contingent? 25 war-boats? 750 of-Caste soldiers plus conscript battalions? It seemed too good to be true. The room seemed to come a light at the sound of such good news, and like a match the group of priests set to work. Enemies soldiers had a firm grasp over the western lower-caste districts, and with fire from the towers having stopped they’d started sending patrols out over the water again.they’d been able to dominate the waters around the city for the past few days. But now… “Get word out to the Armada,” the High Priest retorted, “use horns, whistles, whatever you can; sing-word through the damn side caverns if you have to just tell them of the situation, from the naval encirclement, to the hostages, we cannot allow them to utilize something like alchemic-fire on the enemy with them using our people as human shields.” The man breathed in to calm himself before turning to his aid, “wake the other Priests, we need to start increasing fortifications, if the Military is coming we can’t allow the raiders to push further into the city.” • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Over the next few hours the cities streets and canals were alive with activity as troops at-rest were roused from their sleep to move to the defensive line, while anything and everything was set up as makeshift barriers to use as walls and cover. A general order was sent, every man not partaking in Scribe or Priest activities was to be afforded a weapon; anything below military standard was to be drenched in herding oil and the man was to be given gloves. By this point that thick wooden-fibrous bridges used to connect the various districts had been pulled away, leaving only the larger stone bridges to connect the western districts with the city while stockpiled equipment to attempt to destroy them if necessary. The cries of military whistles rang through the cavern as directions from the inner-temple made their way to the front lines. The cry of whistles came to a sudden halt as a single string of notes rang out over the city, bouncing along the cavern walls as every navigator, soldier, and scribe raised their heads to listen attentively. Even those that couldn’t understand everything, like the Priests, came outside to try and hear it, recognizing the distinct sound of the Military Instrument similar to the ones they’d been using for their time under siege. The first boats to enter into the main cavern were early scout ships, sleek hulls cutting through the water, six paddles splashing wildly and brass whistles yelling out as they relayed information back to the main force behind them. Quick to follow were the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd divisions, followed by the 8th and 10th quickly; each was made up of 2-3 larger combat vessels meant to act as a forward guard charging forward toward the western waters of the cave, whistle-chatter from the towers guiding them to the places of highest concentration while the 9th and 11th divisions quickly appeared behind them to curve around the east to hit scouting vessels. The back-and-forth of early arrows and crossbow bolts was halted for only a moment by the clang of canon fire, metal and fire ripping through one of the barges as the fore-guard pushed forward. More shots rang out before the final boats pushed in, more of the same combat-ships followed by four formal War-Boats, smaller sets of civilian barges following behind them waiting to resupply where they could and to house conscripts gathered on the journey North. Yells erupted from the exterior houses as a first wave of arrows rained down on those outside. Dense steel bolts raining down like flechette, the cavern again being silenced as cannon-rounds ripped through the makeshift defenses put up by some men on the farm beds, plums of smoke and acrid air wafting upwards. The twin warboats turned to port, making a beeline for the main stations of boats, letting loose a primary and secondary barrage to, hopefully, destroy as many docked boats as possible. The commander damn near felt sorry for the raiders, stolen navigator barges staring down boats from the interior navy.
Khemet-Kyran Border Territories
Syll clenched her fist and the three of them stoped on a dime. They’d been traveling for several hours now, but navigating the absolute maze that was the exterior caves had been a nightmare in and of itself, but after they’d finally found a proper side road, the sound of voices turned their relief to sudden terror. They stood, motionless in the dark cavern, illuminated only by glow worms on the ceiling inches away from their heads, backs pressed against the wet cave walls, before they heard the voices proper; they were locals, Syll’d recognize that accent anywhere. She motioned to Xyll, who let out a quick whistle call, she grinned as the voices stopped on a dime and a simple response echoed back. The three of them walked tentatively out and forward, a few minutes later and they’d found them, three columns of Garrison troops marching toward Kàhntchéht. At first she was speechless, before she grasped the shoulder strap of the surprised commander in front of her, hand shaking slightly, and just sighed.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Feb 20, 2019 4:38:58 GMT -5
Kantchenkamaal
"It's fucking go time, lads!"
The occupiers had been roused by the sound of whistling, not unlike that of birds that would go near the oases dotting the Western Sea: the warlord, however, knew differently as he saw from his perch the warships coming from the mouth of the cavern, smaller vessels suddenly joined by much larger ones, a rain of bolts and arrows peppering the besieged districts. Distantly, he heard the yells of the men stationed at the defenses built upon the farmlands, the familiar roar of cannons ripping through the air, while stray shots began to shriek.
He instinctively ducked as a bolt flew past his head, ripping and pinning one of his headdress's feathers off and onto the wall: snarling, he whistled and let out the bellowing roar, the men closeby letting loose the familiar animalistic roars that they used in ambushes on the surface - suddenly, the cavern was filled with roars as the other raiders followed suit, 5,000-strong voices joined into a single chorus. Jumping off the railing of the building he used, he rolled on the ground and called for his aide and Azkalon to assemble: both men stepped out, the lieutenant taking to a top-heavy set of metal armor and a ragged scarf covering his head, while the Phylakitai wore his armor over his red robes and aketon, both men wielding Long Bows.
"Well, looks like the welcoming party is here to deliver milk and bread," Azkalon snarked as he saw smoke waft through the air, the farm beds alight from cannon-fire, the glowing fungi lining the walls of the cavern shining weakly through the plumes. "Save the comments for when we keep hold of the city: looks like we have some warships coming in, presumably with troops and armaments to break the siege. Okay, it looks like the larger boats have cannons, which means we are fucked if they managed to get into the center of the city, but I saw some smaller boats trailing behind them - they did not look to be military ships, probably civil boats pressed into service and holding supplies."
"From what I'm getting at, these boats must be carrying cannonballs and potentially armaments that can be detonated prematurely, if we hit them in the right spot, I'm guessing here," Azkalon noted, looking at the horizon to try and get a view of the larger ships. "Yes, Phylakitai: if we can send some barges to hit those ships first, we can delay them and hope that our parties can arrive soon."
As if magic, they heard the signal flare used by them being launched: the raiding parties had returned faster than expected, the bright yellow flame signaling supplies having been procured. The commanders arrived at the spot, pulling with them an incendiary caster, 20 cannons, and enough ammunition to keep the ordnance going for weeks, "Boss, we got the cannons, plus some hellshot, chainshot, and grapeshot to rain down on these fuckers. We need to move quickly, however: Kyran Army units have been hounding us since we launched the raids, they are right on our asses and are likely to get here in several hours."
"Fuck," the warlord snarled as he heard the news, "Are they regular units? If they are specialist or Republican Guard, then we are in the middle of a hard fucking." The commander nodded, causing the warlord to curse again, "Cannon regiments and several Republican Guard Divisions are moving in, I say about 3,000 to 6,000 Kyran soldiers are going to be on top of us." The warlord grabbed a rock and threw it in the direction of the Khemet forces, his frustration mounting before breathing in deeply and closing his eyes, "Okay, we can work with that: we got warships coming in to augment the defenders, we need to break them up - there are civilian boats in the mix of the fleet, more than likely providing munition support for the larger ships. For now, we need to focus ranged attacks on these ships and the scouting ships coming in as well. The warships, well, Phylakitai, I need a favor."
Azkalon immediately knew he was going to regret asking, but he swallowed and pressed forward, "What is it?" The warlord looked up, a particularly bloodthirsty look in his eyes as he spoke, "When you and your men left Reis'kjan, did you happen to grab any incendiary or explosive-based precursors and fuel?" Azkalon began to put two and two together, "We did: more than enough to burn an entire forest down and blow up an entire city, why?" The warlord looked in the direction of the ports where they held their impromptu fleet of boats, "I need you to load a mix of incendiaries and explosives onto some barges, if we get lucky and set them alight fast enough, we can sail them into the direction of the warships and cripple their initial assault. If not, and they move to take the ports, I want you to fill the place up with explosives and detonate them before they can destroy our boats and potentially gain a beachhead into our location." Azkalon simply sighed, "We're all fucked, so I cannot deny the request: I do have one thing."
"Out with it," the warlord spat, "I want you to have the ships filled with any men too wounded or sick to fight: if we're gonna try and hold this siege out into a threeway brawl with the Veiamarr and the Republic, we cannot waste any of our supplies on them any longer." The warlord nodded, "Just what I was thinking, I will get some of my men to round up and corral the weaker ones onto the boats."
The boats were loaded with the precursors, the wounded and sick feebly protesting as they were placed onto the boats as the suicide crews, a few that tried to fight back were only given a sword or spear to the chest as a response to their attempts. Torches were lit as the boats were pushed, the archers lining the buildings and aiming at their craft: artillery crews were busy manning the five cannons that composed the defensive line, ostensibly to buy time and try to prevent the force from getting any further. As the barges began to draw near, the Khemet response was swift, but the crews were swifter: chainshot had been loaded and flew through the air, the twin-chained cannonballs aimed for the masts and oars. Some missed their mark and splashed harmlessly into the water, but others were more accurate - the snapping of oars and masts came through, several of the scouting and combat vessels were struck, either slowing them down or leaving them dead in the water. The archers fired quickly, their arrows were covered in pitch and had a delayed system of a striking surface and a match attached at the tip of the arrow: as they flew into the boats, the systems activated, the pitch lit aflame and hungrily devouring the ships in fire, the precursors beginning to set off.
Panic filled the Khemet crews as they saw the fireships beginning to glide towards them: the archers fired rapidly, sinking some of the barges and letting their cargo die out in the water. An explosion filled the cavern as a scouting ship was blown apart, the small barge having rammed into its hull and its cargo detonating in response. Several combat vessels also began to explode, the barges getting close between them and detonating. As the ships began to sink, the cannons suddenly moved to engage the other ships, regular cannonballs shrieking through the air as they either splashed into the water or found purchase - the crews began to load hellshot into the mix: they knew that caution was needed to load these canisters, filled with eternal flame and modified explosive-filled shot that detonated upon contact with eternal flame. Loading them in, they fired, now aimed at the two capital warships moving close to the port: several of the canisters had failed to make their mark, instead exploding over the buildings close to the port, while others sank. Two canisters, however, made purchase on the hull of the closest warship: the starboard exploded in a spray of fire and shrapnel, the steering and deck crews closest immediately wiped out by the blast.
Returning fire was made, and one of the artillery crews was wiped out in an explosion of gore and shrapnel, the archers closest to them sent flying off the buildings. The defense continued, the raiders knowing that the loss of the port would severely limit their intended flight before the Kyran Army could arrive. A flare suddenly flew over the city, the Khemet forces that could see it watched in confusion as a green explosion came over the town: the crews felt their hearts sink - the Kyran Army had arrived at the outskirts of Kantchenkamaal.
"Alright, looks like we managed to find where these bastards were taking the men," Spettur called out to the 4th Guards, joined by the 12th Guards, 3rd Arbalists, and the 2nd Republican Guards - a total of 4,000 men had been gathered in the immediate aftermath of the raids, unintentionally leaving General Aħmar with little knowledge of the break from orders. Atam and Lugas glanced over to one another: they were steadily growing concern at the violation of orders, Spettur providing little information to sate their suspicions. The formations had reached a small ridge overlooking the city in front of them, smoke billowing out from what looked like farms, large ships cutting through the waters as roars and shouting echoed throughout the cavern.
"Spettur, what is the situation looking like," The voice was low, gravely, its owner perched atop a horse: Colonel Ġwann Corrado, Colonel of the Regiment, frontline commander for the 33rd Specialist Company, and their commanding officer. Spettur shook his head, "From what I can gather, it's turning to shit, Sir: the city is under siege, presumably by the raiders - looks like the locals are also responding back." Corrado cursed silently before replying, "I figured as such: alright, Spettur, I want you to take Atam, Lugas, and a platoon down there and signal our arrival with the flare. If you can, try to reach the Khemet commander, tell him we are looking to assist in apprehending the raiders and retrieving the men they captured. If you make any contact, return here and I will have the men stand guard, we'll go from there." Understood?" Spettur nodded, grabbing the flare and signaling for his men to follow suit as he aimed and fired.
Iron Corridor, Day 14
The reinforcements had been making progress faster than expected, Liena, in particular, being surprised at the fact that they could see the initial force within view: inside, Marija found herself entertaining Elena and Karmena, the two women having taken fast to their new names - currently, Marija found herself teaching the two various abjads and scripts that had been compiled over the years, most having been lost in the Dark Era of Kyras, the 900-year stretch of warring states and general anarchy following the Great War. "So, basically, there was a civil war and that turned into an even bigger one once the Empire collapsed?" Marija nodded at Elena's question, "Correct, the fall of the Tekkan Empire and, by extension, the overall Tekkan civilization, was followed by conflicts between hundreds of states carved out of it by generals, nobles, and merchants all seeking to shore up their own fiefdoms."
"And this conflict led to Kyras shrinking down into the current size it holds?" Marija nodded again, "Yes: during the age of the Tekkan, Greater Kyras once composed of Eastern Quijain up to the shores bordering Ukko, the surface dominions once held by the Rozhai, and a small strip of land that ran between what would become Asil and the Kingdom of Veritious. Additionally, the Imperial Census gatherings noted that, at its height, the Empire ruled over 20,000,000 citizens and an untold number of slaves." Suddenly, Karmena spoke up in a huff, "Wow, surface people are pretty retarded."
"Karmena!" Elena gasped out in shock, only for Marija to hold her hand up to stop the woman, instead eyeing the metal-clad woman, "Elena, I believe that Karmena is onto something, crude language aside, that, while has been a source of contention between Kyrans and the outside world and additionally a hard truth that many of us Kyrans would rather not confront, is refreshing to hear from an outside source. Karmena, would you kindly explain your arguments?" The addressed nodded, "To me, reducing your population to almost a sixth of what it used to be and losing all your land to a claim that is barely recognized and constantly under siege by petty wars every several decades is just stupid. The fact that the surface-dwellers here outright defend the current situation as a liberating experience over a stable government, enough land to host thousands of cities, and a population that could easily conquer the continent if directed correctly shows how pathetic the Republic has fallen."
Marija simply nodded, "Your arguments are mostly correct, aside from the stable government part: unfortunately, we are a sliver of what was once a great and powerful civilization, reduced to a husk that is only driven by sheer spite and hate, yet too ineffective to ever utilize it in a manner that could enable growth and strength once more. However, there are some things that must be mentioned: the Tekkan Empire, despite its longevity and size, was never really the most stable country - oftentimes, periods of rebellions and dynastic wars would ensue, and the Great War was mostly the result of representation. Generals, particularly those who rose through the ranks rather than being granted a commission or securing it via their families, were oftentimes in conflict with the nobility: merchants, meanwhile, felt that the endless wars were hampering chances at trading with neighboring states, and additionally felt that the Imperial Family and Court were not helping to maintain stable trade routes and connections. The fact that service in the Imperial Court was cutthroat and often leading to wars between rival families and officials did not help much, especially when members of the Family sought to become Emperor.
Additionally, the existence of the Temples could only be secured by the collapse of the Old Pantheon: the Empire and most of its citizens used to worship a pantheon of seven gods, all of whom were said to have been killed in the Great War by Rigma, and the Temple of War's securing government control and most of the Republic's territory allowed the Temple of Nature to sprout. Finally, while the Empire was an advanced state and led in many fields of knowledge, its collapse allowed for a repertoire of studies and new means of thinking to develop, especially with the Temples encouraging the cataloging and research of whatever the Tekkan had failed to grasp upon."
Karmena sat quietly, before slowly nodding, "I see where you are getting at, but I still feel that the Dark Era could have been avoided if someone had just stopped to think about all the lives being wasted in battle." Elena simply placed her hand on Karmena's shoulder, "It is understandable, but the Empire never did extend into Hearth: we only came to being because of the Dark Era, especially when they migrated downwards." Karmena sighed, before turning to face Elena with a warm smile, "I see what you mean." Elena beamed, leaning to give a peck on Karmena's cheek, "I'm glad about that: also, because of your language, we're not doing it when we finally make camp." Karmena let out a tiny whine and looked at Elena with large puppy-dog eyes, glistening with fake tears, "Not even if I let you take the lead again?" Elena sighed: she was always a sucker for Karmena looking adorable and not dour or battle-hungry, "You're lucky you happen to be the cutest woman I ever met." Karmena giggled and waggled an eyebrow, "Even more than Sister Marija? You do have to admit she is very cute," Elena blushed and began to stutter, only for both of them to hear an "ahem."
Looking over, they saw Marija blushing, "I am flattered that the two of you think that highly of me, but maybe we can keep the flirting at a minimum," Liena began to chuckle loudly, seeing her junior being all flustered, "I don't know, Marija, I mean, they did mention having a culture of taking multiple spouses if it was desired, and you have been mentioning at wanting a relationship at some point, plus I have noticed you sending some glances." Marija blushed even harder, lightly punching Liena's shoulder and stuttering, only for them to see their Kotek driver peek through the small opening, "We have an officer wishing to speak with you, plus we found something that may be of interest," he said in a calm tone, though all of them could see the faint and bemused smile on his face, likely from their chat.
Stepping out, they saw two things: one, a very sweaty and very enraged Erin iben ta'Ħadd glaring at them, and two, a small dragon with a cage around its mouth, the fearsome-looking beast looking in the direction of the Lexidun encampment. "Will someone please explain why the fuck some godsdamned Mother-worshiping stowaways are with a Kyran Army formation?!" Erin snarled as he faced the officers that made up the section of the formation the group had joined with, the officers looking completely unperturbed at the man before them. Liena stepped forward, instead holding out a scroll with the Temple of Nature's seal on it, "My superior, Reġina, Sister of the Mother; she requested that a small team perform an expedition/cultural exchange with the members of Calveria's Myratnis-worshiping religious community, as well as provide counsel with the Chancellor on a course of action. We have full certification and are also marked Mhux Mittiefsa for the duration of the Grand Conquest: if you have an issue, I am certain General-in-Chief tal-Ħames Draguni will be more than willing to lend an ear to our request."
Erin ripped the scroll out from Liena's hand, ignoring the hostile glare from the metal-clad Scorched One and the colder stares of her compatriots, reading it and slowly feeling his rage fester once more: if one could gauge it, Erin's anger could have easily burst into existence as a visible aura of hatred if it was possible. As he finished reading, he nearly tore the scroll in half before folding it up with a snarl, instead electing to glare at them, "I will speak freely and say that, while I am loathed to allow Temple workers to get involved in the matters of the Kyran Forces, ultimately the decision is not mine but rather that of the Chancellor." Silently, all four noticed how he spat the last word out with an unusually venomous tone, as if the mentioned man had struck him, raped his wife, and burned his house down. "Very well, you are permitted to continue on, but I do not trust any of you with what you claim to be wanting to perform."
"It is the thought that counts," Liena shrugged, taking the scroll back, "One last question if you are willing to answer." Erin nodded, "Speak quickly so that we can reach the Lexiduns." Liena followed, "Why exactly is there a 30-foot winged dragon with you and why is it acting more like a horse rather than a beast hungry for human flesh?" Erin sighed, the expression that of a tired man who simply wished to just drown the day away in a wave of mead and whiskey, "I honestly have no idea where the fuck this thing came from: when we found it, it had the head of a Quijaini tribal in its mouth and was eating it - we were five seconds away from killing it when it suddenly started to run away from us. We followed it until it stopped to eat, then we put the cage over its head: much to our surprise, it didn't act up and simply gestured west, as if it wanted to go with us. We were all tired, so we gave up and let it come with us: of course, some of the men were griping that we could tame a dragon, but not some bears to ride like horses - they forgot the last time that happened, three men got mauled to death and we had to put the bear down."
Before she could speak, the dragon suddenly began to dig at the ground, its dark-orange scales turning brown with dirt and mud as it clawed: as they watched, they suddenly saw liquid emerge from the ground, hard rock being scraped as if it served as a natural funnel/reservoir. They could only stare at one another as the smell of the liquid was familiar, "You have got to be shitting me," Erin said in a flat tone as Karmena walked over to the pool, joined by Marija and one of the officers, all three scooping it up and taking an experimental sip, "It's whiskey," Marija and the officer said at the same time, the former letting the liquid slip from her hands as the latter simply shrugged and finished off his handful. "Did you just say 'whiskey?'" Liena asked in surprise, Marija simply nodding, "I haven't touched the stuff since I joined the Temple, but I recognize it immediately: it also happens to be the smoothest whiskey I have ever drunk." Erin simply began to walk away, "I don't understand this fucking continent anymore," before suddenly pausing and putting out an empty skin-canteen, dipping it into the whiskey pool and filling it before standing up, unlooping his flare tube and firing it, "We should be but a few hours away by this point, even to my own surprise," unintentionally guessing correctly that Kalċidon and the Lexiduns could see the flare from their location.
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Post by axeldonia on Feb 21, 2019 19:04:30 GMT -5
Meeting Place, No Man's Land
The large train of mercenaries and their retinue had finally reached the meeting spot, setting up a large and colourful array of tents and other small shelters, lit by both the sparkling stars in the distance and a series of campfires twinkling from a distance. Around one of these campfires was sat a group of Human mercenaries along with several Squidpsawn, talking amongst themselves and roasting various things above the fire. Soon, a Squidspawn clad in a red tabard emerged from a nearby tent with a small guitar, tuning it for a few moments before starting to sing.
“Sweet young man
They shed no tears when they hear of your passing Just one voice in the crowd of a million
Sweet young man
Oh your life must be fleeting Born of war when your sister and brothers all died
Sweet young man
Took up arms against all those that wronged you And wronged others yourself
Sweet young man
Oh I wonder what those bright eyes of your saw that moment when The arrow hit your heart
Sweet young man
Joined the ranks of a million men all prepared to die Yet shocked when you died new
Sweet young man
Oh your mother must miss you If she is not dead too
Oooooooh~
My sweet boy
I hope the gods take their time when they’re judging you Your life was uncertain
My sweet boy
In your mind there’s a mountain of corpses all screaming loud in anger at your name
My sweet boy
When you met that sweet girl one black night did you know what you’d bring into her world?
My sweet boy
Now you rest far away in the ocean Your name claimed by another
My sweet boy
Your remains will not be found for another ten thousand years forgotten by history”
Main Hall - Camelon Castle
“BLAIR!” Helena almost ran into Blair’s arms, squeezing him tight as they embraced. “Thank the Mother, you’re really okay”. She finally let go, still looking a little shaken as Katia quietly snuck inside, along with Gale and Angus. “I heard about what happened to Eimear… I’m terribly sorry, Blair. I-In any case, me and some of the others involved in this crusade of yours decided to take a detour here. Nowhere better to plan the war than in your headquarters, after all.” She let out a little chuckle, looking at Blair with a relieved smile. Somewhere in southern Calveria
Okay, the plan was as follows; Blow everything up Grab the Squids and Cats Run the hell away Yep, sounded like a plan. Oskar gulped, then lit his small improvised match. Somewhere in southern Lexidus
Oh good Mother, finally something to think about besides real estate. Angerid smiled with anticipation as the waiter arrived with several shots of “Whiskey” as the locals called it, though Angerid would never understand why they never went with the much easier to remember Earth Juice. Then again, perhaps their Earth Juice didn’t come from the Kobolds, so they’d have no reason to call it that. She took a shot, and then almost choked on her second one as the most handsome stranger she’d seen in quite a while suddenly entered the small tavern. She couldn’t really place him species-wise, but seeing as there was such a thing as a Kouleva-Squidspawn hybrid it was in no way a dealbreaker. In fact, she was going over there right now and asking him for a good shag. She nodded to herself, took her last shot of Earth Juice and then promptly fell off the chair flat on her face.
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