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Post by Unfallious on Sept 2, 2019 18:08:02 GMT -5
Rules: -OP is the God of Gods. You cannot comprehend the OP, but don’t worry he’s there. His apostles go by the name Co-OPs, they may act in the stead of the OP and may act independently or at the direction of his divine hand. Insulting the OP or the Co-Ops or going against their decisions is blasphemy. Blasphemy is punishable by having everything you’ve ever posted on the RP wiped out. Don’t do it. You may disagree with the decisions of the moderation so long as you do it civilly and in this thread. -No meta-gaming - Just don’t do it dudes. -No power-gaming - You’re not a God even if you do control the minds, hearts and souls of a Kingdom. You are still at the mercy of the land, the pantheon of Gods and of course the moderation. Acting as if you are a God is heresy, heresy will get you sternly shouted at. It will then get everything you’ve ever posted smited, so don’t do that. -Stick to the time period - This RP has a firm medieval setting. Although aspects of it are open to interpretation, players must overall stick to a medieval setting. Continuing to go against the period after you’ve been told that it’s incorrect I’ll direct you to the modern RP and tell you to piss off. If you're unsure if what you're planning is allowed in the time period, please consult moderation. - No deal-making outside of the IC thread - This technically falls under meta-gaming, but many people don’t seem to see it that way. For those of you who took part in the ModernRP you will understand why this is a rule. I want an RP where we RP, not form alliances in OOC and then lightly threaten each other without RPing. I will deal with infractions of this rule on a case-by-case basis but I am prepared to take you off the map if you insist on acting in this way. If you want to build an alliance, make a deal or plan an attack you do it in the IC. If people try to meta-game because of the posts they read IC then we’ll deal with that separately and harshly. -Don’t RP outside of the established threads - The medieval RP is a strict closed RP where only those accepted by the moderation can take part and only posts made in threads sanctified by the moderation may go on to form the medieval canon. Please don’t form off-shoot threads unless you first run it by the moderation.
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Post by Andromitus on Sept 2, 2019 23:32:16 GMT -5
Rumble of the Jihad
• • • • • • • • Allied Crusader Camp, Quijain • • • • • • • •
He’d not taken but a few steps toward the main tent before a crack shattered the hot afternoon air, the ground rumbling underneath. It was Bakahn’s first instinct to turn, before the Mutahadir saw the shadows on the horizon, and the almost familiar voice of a man echoing over the grassy plains. "Spearman of Zypnac, Axeman of Rigma, Fontbearer of Myratnis. Approach." Within moments he was back among his own troops, forming a defensive line around the camp and taking advantage of the fact of his troops already being in formation. His men moved in a flurry as the awareness of the sudden existence of entire legions where once there’d been open air came to focus. He glanced at two of his war brothers, that voice, it’d called him forward had it not? To comply would put him naturally in danger, leaving him exposed and separate from his men, who without him would be in a dangerous position against the enemy. Would God allow him to die today? Was to not comply the same as fleeing? No, he would meet this challenge head on, if this voice wanted to speak with him then so be it; he had both the rage of his forefathers and his belief in God on his side, would that not trump all other armies? If this enemy wished to speak, they would speak to none other than the voice of God. He unsheathed the weapon, the Spear “Laenat Alfasad”, as he moved his way toward the new army standing before him, barely glancing back. Instinctively, 15 of his Warbrothers moved to accompany, staying far enough to be within an engaging-radius, while giving their leader space. Bakahn twirled the weapon in his right hand before grasping it firmly, and planting in the ground before the dark figure, its metal surface crackling with energy. It was strange, he didn’t feel any fear as he stared the abomination before him. Abomination? When had he started using that language? He blinked, unfazed by the things stature, “I am Bakahn, al-Mutahadir of the Gilded Temple. I am the voice of One-God. I take it you’ve brought yourselves here to surrender?” Don’t push your luck old-man he thought to himself, fighting hard to suppress the nervous smile hiding just below his facade.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Sept 3, 2019 2:31:25 GMT -5
Kyran Encampment, Quijain
"Well, that went better than expected," Żaren muttered, lounging as he lied upon a couch, looking at one of his hands and noticing the sharpened talons that now sprouted from his fingers, holding his ax in the air and staring into the reflection, the bared-mouth, tattooed warrior snarling at him as he pulled his gums back, letting the ax down to the side, "Wow, I honestly did not expect to make a cliched statement like that."
"Better to say it rather than staying silent," Varist noted, playing around with the remains of Callus's hand, both his and Spiteri's corpses having been fed to the War Hounds after the execution: he had noticed that the Lexiduns and the older Titenfiscans looked positively disgusted or horrified at the display of the large reptiles devouring the bodies, while the younger Titenfiscans looked either eager or even annoyed.
"Still, I preferred that we didn't do something like that, my Lord," Kyre noted, Varist internally wincing: immediately after the execution, Kyre had gone to clean up and prepare the bread and salt, the Lexiduns from before having come to partake. Yet, Varist had seen the caution in their eyes, of their foreign-born brother almost casually eating bread while still clad in a blood-caked aketon, annoyance crossed over his face, "If the Rìgh and Kanċillier had just talked things out, rather than snap like that, it could've been something easier that didn't make us look either like passive-aggressive monsters in the face of the Lexiduns, or apparently pussies in the eyes of the Titenfiscans: I swear to the Father, I had about 30 of those squid-folk come up and criticize me for how I conducted the ceremony, like they were expecting more out of it! I'm a follower of the Mother, for fuck's sake! Killing like that isn't in me at all!"
"Well, you did your duty, and you did it professionally, Kyre," Erin said, using a whetstone to sharpen his knife and razor, occasionally pulling up a piece of paper and slicing the blade against the sheet, shaking his head each time, "Anyways, I think we need to talk about what we need to do to get the other forces in shape: from what I gathered earlier from the Trident Regiment, or at least the ones that actually bothered to talk to me aside from curses, they happened to have used cannons in previous engagements, just not on land and not ferried on the fields as artillery. From what I'd say, it'd be best to get our advancements in weapons technology to them, on the basis for utilizing it in the Crusade against whatever forces we fight against."
"Assuming the Cursed One doesn't somehow magically wipe us all out once we enter, or his forces are insanely buffed from the energies of him and the Tabes," Żaren muttered, getting up and swinging his ax at a test dummy, the wooden mannequin falling over after being cleaved in half, using a sheet to extinguish the flames: much to Żaren's approval, his strength had gone up, and his magic was far more controlled and powerful, now capable of deterring entire squads at a time before taking them down in the test trials.
"That likely won't happen," Varist said, shrugging his shoulders, although the thought gnawed at him, 'Then again, we have no idea just what we'll be fighting against.' Getting up, he downed the bottle of earth whiskey and reached for another, stored in a basket of cool water, "So, we also finally got to see the Karthagites and Rozhai for the first time in a long time, that was nice. Also, anybody else notice that it feels a bit sweltering for a steppe environment right now?"
"I will have to admit agreement on the latter part, my Lord," Kyre said, pulling away from the grinding wheel, placing his sword back into the scabbard as he lifted up his crossbow, checking the tensile strength of the prod's string, "Still, the presence of that man, al-Mutahidir," he said, noting the similarity between Bakahn's tongue and of Ilsien, "Gets me wondering: where exactly is the Champion for Decidius? We already have three of them present, but how come we haven't found a similar one within the Kanso, or among the Crusaders? That itself also raises a question, a much darker one: does the Cursed One have a Champion as well?"
"If the bastard has one, then we will kill them," Żaren stated simply, "Whether by the blades of us Champions, the blades of the soldiers, or by metal and fire from our war machines, we will kill them. If he has more than one, then we shall kill them too, and then kill the fucker himself."
The bang echoed in the air, louder than anything they had heard before. As the men jumped down, Żaren felt the ax almost fly into his hands, his body going into flames once more as he felt a familiar sense of anger course through his body.
"What the fuck was that?!" Erin shouted, drawing his sword out in one hand as he walked over to Varist and Kyre, lifting them up, "Is everyone alright?"
"Kmandant," Żaren said, the flames getting hotter as they hugged closer to him, "Get Kalċidon, tell him to gather all the men."
"All of them?" Erin said, now seeing the fury in Żaren's face as the younger man walked over, lifting up the fire-resistant armor and putting it on, leaving his face and arms bare, flames dancing around the gaps in the armor plating.
"Every single man, woman, and scholar, they shall convene behind me," Żaren said, marching out and spotting the quartet of women talking with several Lexidun priestesses, Elena and Karmena also bursting into flames as he approached, "Sirs, I am in need of you: there is a threat, and we shall make ourselves present."
"Żaren, what's going on?" Liena asked, noticing the determination set in Żaren's eyes.
"Il-Korruzzjoni hi preżenti," ("The Corruption is present,") Żaren simply said, "I ask that you stand next to Father, Omm (Mother): he will protect you."
"Kyre, what is going on?" Liena asked as she saw Kyre step out, looking around at the storm clouds gathering up above, Kyre drawing her into a hug, "Also, Żaren just called me Mother, but what is happening right now?"
"I don't know, my love," Kyre confessed, "But it's setting all of the Waħda Magħluqa (Scorched Ones) off, and they know something is wrong," he said, gesturing to Elena and Karmena, who looked ready to kill, Marija trying to talk with them.
"Sak-ir 'tal erma," (Fetch my weapon) Karmena commanded, Elena nodding grimly as she rushed over to the tent, providing Karmena with her metal armor and collection of knives & swords, Karmena swiftly putting them on before reaching for Marija, "Tas-a val, khartag am gewarra," (All of you, march for war,).
"She's saying to march," Marija could only say as Karmena grabbed her arm and lightly pulled her, the trio moving forward as Liena and Kyre could only watch on, noticing Erin and Varist stepping out with Kalċidon.
"Sir Kyre, why is Sir Żaren demanding that all of the troops be present with him? Is something the matter?"
"Lord Kalċidon, I haven't the faintest clue, but whatever it is, it is outside the camp, and it is looking to start a fight."
"Spearman of Zypnac, Axeman of Rigma, Fontbearer of Myratnis. Approach."
The voice echoed over the valley, all four men drawing their weapons as they saw the clouds now loom directly over the camp, thunder rumbling in black skies, the sun retreating seemingly in horror over the display in front of it.
"That's enough of an answer," Kalċidon said, "Erin, go find the Generals, tell them that they need to gather their troops and for all of them to be armed. March in formation, and if any Scorched Ones are present, have them form separate columns to avoid harming their brethren. Tell them not to bring any war machines or beasts with them, just go south of the camp and be ready for anything. Varist, go inform the other leaders to prepare for conflict and to bring their entourages however they see fit, but have their forces also be ready for battle, just in case."
The two men nodded, Varist running back to the command tent while Erin went to his horse, both beast and master trotting to the Generals' Tent.
Swiftly, the Kyran Conquest Force assembled in their entirety, all men and women marching in formation, each regiment separated by the Scorched Ones from their own and of the surrounding regiments, weapons bared and faces steeled as they prepared to face the threat. Torches lit the way, minuscule in comparison to the columns of flame generated from their brother-species, the Scorched Ones baring bestial visages as they sensed it. Corruption.
Finally, they stopped, standing deathly silent as they saw it, the horde of a million orcs, corrupted, silent, ready to support their masters. Directly in front of them, a large warrior, clad in steel armor, stood tall among them, eyes shining behind the slits of his helmet.
Yet, he paled in comparison to the being that stood ahead of all of them, clad in an ornate suit of black and purple armor, horned helmet & warhammer being wielded, taller than any before or behind him. The Kyrans all tensed, but not in fear. Instead, it was anger. He was here.
"Yrutas~," Żaren snarled, his body now a piercing white, fire baking the grass and earth immediately as he stepped forward, walking over to stand near Bakahn, moving past the Warbrothers and taking care not to burn them from the heat surrounding him, "If it isn't the Bastard himself, in the flesh. Actually, Bastard would be too pleasant of a term for an utter failure of a being such as yourself. You, who hid in his lair in the center of the continent, now dare to bring this horde of savages," he growled, swinging the ax in an arc in front of him, gesturing to the orcs behind Yrutas, sparks of flame dancing in the air for a few seconds before extinguishing, "To us, all to intimidate." Behind him, the snarls of thousands of his kin joined him, along with the human soldiers letting out their jeers and calls of anger. He could sense it: while other forces would cower or privately try to fight the fear and nervousness inside of them, none of the Kyrans felt it.
Behind him, Kyre and Liena, joined by Marija, Elena, and Karmena, felt similar as they saw the god before them, Żaren glowing bright white in front of him, 'Dammit, Son, I promised to you that I would always protect you, but now, with the Great Beast before us, you stand like the son of the Warfather, resolute, and without a hint of fear. I suppose all of us feel the same.'
"For a god, you look like an utter fuck-boy, standing with his horde of imbecilic animals, expecting them to pick up the fight. I know many of us believe that you hold the power to lay waste to all of us, but looking at you, the Prime Fuck-boy of his rabble of pussies, I doubt you can only deal damage with that shitty warhammer of yours, all the while cackling about how things are going 'just as planned,' or some other bullshit. For the love of the Nabu Calverian, (Calverian Pantheon), hell, even the fucking Tekkan Pantheon, you look like an utter dandy wearing that garish armor, expecting any of us to look terrified by it: you look like a faggot who sucks whore dicks for gold coins every night just to pay for bread and a tavern room so you can get fucked by the old men who never bathe. Allat lest (Gods willing), may Decidius kick the living shit out of you once we end your pathetic excuse of a damned life, you shitting fucker."
Before anyone could get a word in, Żaren continued, "Looking at you, I doubt you could even kill a hedgehog with your naked ass, you shit out bullshit, and your army eats it like the bunch of degenerates they are. We have no fear of you nor your army, no matter how many you send, no matter the battlefield, we will fight them, fuck your whore of a mother. You depraved goat-fucker, slut of perdition, little dick, most unclean, cock-gobbling shit-for-brains cunt, an utter failure to the Gods, and the one who makes our dicks and clitorises bend in agony. Pig's anus, child-fucking, slaughterhouse cur, go fuck your own mother. I spit in your general direction!"
Right as he finished that, Żaren spat in his direction, continuing his rant, "Your mother was an utter whore, a slut whose tits sagged past her ankles, cunt loose enough to shove an entire leg into, and a rectum so thoroughly fucked that a child with a small dick would think that she had a tail behind her and choose to fuck the she-beast; and your father was a drunk faggot who would beat and rape you every night so much that you became the utter stain on this world that would make a smear of shit look like a Titenfiscan masterpiece. You may have summoned us, but we laugh at how utterly pathetic of a sentient being you are, leading these moronic subhumans who have to be given intelligence to wield a wooden club, much less march in formations and use whatever tools they can to make our lives shit once we march for the Tabes. I thrust my dick into your fucking aunt, the only slut in your cursed family to look even remotely attractive, and make her scream about the glories of the other gods and of how much of a failure you are.
"Go suck my dick," Żaren shouted, pulling the front part of his waistband down, pointing at his groin, "And sit on it, and scream in pain about how much it hurts for a pathetic eunuch such as yourself, go eat Zypnac's ass and whine about how much of a fucked-over bitch you are, you cunt, you lowlife. Now, tell us what bullshit plan or warning you have for us, or I shall taunt you a second time." Finishing, Żaren planted the head of his ax against the hardened earth, the blade engulfed in white flames as he glared in Yrutas's direction, daring him to speak as the Kyrans chanted in anger and mockery towards the horde and god.
Shores of Northern Kyras
"Alright, we're ready to set sail," the Lieutenant remarked as he looked over the ship: it was a junk, slightly larger than its fellow ships, but still small enough to not make much notice. Personally, he would've favored a caravel or cog, but the ship would do, at least to get them from Northern Kyras to wherever this new civilization was.
Before he could call the men to start docking, one of them shouted, "Sir, we have a ship coming to port, banners unfurled!"
"Merchant or foreign?" The Lieutenant said, jumping off the ship and walking down the dock, the people surrounding him taking notice of the foreign-looking ship approaching the coastal town, fishermen squinting their eyes while dock workers paused in their craft, trying to get a look at the newcomers.
"Foreign, but it's not Quijaini: hell, I think this is another nation!" The bosun said, pulling out a telescope for the Lieutenant to use.
"My thanks," he muttered, pulling it up and seeing him: it had to have been the ship's captain, there was that look in the man's eyes, along with what looked like other officers flanking him as he passed the telescope to them. What was most peculiar, though, were their appearances: the pointed ears, the complexion, their heights relative to humans. "I'll be damned, they really are elves."
"Sir, what would you like for us to do?" The bosun asked, having called for the other men to approach.
"Gather my mates and the purser, I think we're about to be a diplomatic delegation," the Lieutenant said, now rushing back to the junk and into his quarters, rummaging about until he found the aketon, black and white with the ancient scripts of the Tekkan and Old Kyras wrapped around him. Placing it on, he reached for and retrieved the ceremonial sword for the ship's captains, a shashka blade, still as sharp and strong as it had been for centuries, the gilding of the scabbard mostly plain excluding the occasional line from the religious texts the officers were expected to observe.
Stepping out, the bosun presented the mates and purser, "As you requested, Sir."
"Thank you, Petty Officer: I ask that you join me as well."
"I would be honored, Sir."
"Then let us meet these fine gentlemen: men, it is time to move."
The men marched as they saw the ship finally dock, several of the fishermen nearby helping to secure the rigging, the ship deploying its platform to come on. The quintet stopped, the Lieutenant speaking, "I am Lieutenant Marju Scerri, junior officer of the Northern Republican Fleet of the Republic of Kyras. If it pleases the captain of this fine vessel, I wish for my men and I to come aboard and get to know all of you & of your country. Gentlemen, the Republic of Kyras will be overjoyed over the news of northern neighbors, and of a new Calverian civilization in our midst."
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Sept 3, 2019 11:19:27 GMT -5
Princess Leanabh Yola Lexidus, No Man's Land - Quijain
She had felt the pressure in the air change before the shock wave hit, throwing the camp into a mixture of shock and alarm. The loud bang soon followed and with it her stomach dropped; something was deeply DEEPLY wrong. Shouting erupted from all around her as various world leaders and others poured out from the command tent and sought the source of the disturbance. She followed, with Donn Myra and Blair at her side, the three of them standing on the hillock watching as various armies began to take defensive positions and rally their troops.
"Oh goddess..." muttered Blair, Leanabh staring alongside with him at the shadowy horde that had suddenly emerged before them, completely out of nowhere with no warning. Thousands... no MILLIONS of shadowy beings blanketed the horizon, mere hundreds of metres from the camp. Leana swore she could see a larger figure in the centre of it all; before she could focus however, a voice boomed from the horde and chilled her to her core.
"Spearman of Zypnac, Axeman of Rigma, Fontbearer of Myratnis. Approach."
"It's him..." Blair muttered again, this time through gritted teeth, his fists clenched. Leana could only glance at him for a second before fear drew her gaze back to Yrutas' army.
Leana felt a gloved hand rest on her shoulder and squeeze, she looked to Donn Myra almost pleadingly as her Royal Protector lowered herself on one knee and looked at her; her plated helmet masking her expression. "It's time my lady..." removing her hand from her shoulder, Myra drew a short sword from her belt and presented it to the young girl.
She hesitated, slowly bringing her hand onto the ancient weapon, gripping the silver and black hilt. "I... I'm not ready."
Donn Myra's voice was cool, stoic and a calming influence in a sea of shouting. "No one is. You however... are more ready than some."
She turned her head back towards the horde, seeing the two other champions making their way up... alone. Turning back to her protector, she took the blade from it's hilt with a long a prominent draw of metal on leather. Holding the blade in the air and bringing it in front of her. She turned to Blair, her breathing shallow but her face determined. He was breathing heavily as well, either shaking slightly from fear or anger, Leanabh wasn't sure. He turned to her and gulped.
"Donn Myra should go with you." He protested as said Donn rose to her feet and brought her hands behind her back, standing at attention.
"I cannot my king, this is the lady's and the champions audience, no more no less."
"She can't go out there! Look at whats out there! The mad bastard himself is there! He'l-"
"I can do it." Leana interrupted, Blair halfway through throwing his hands in the air and stopping. His anger subsiding and intense worry dominating his pale face.
"Leana... I won't..." he choked on his words as he pleaded with her. "I can't lose you too..."
Leanabh said nothing and just hugged him, the two of them holding each other softly and for quite some time. Blair let go of her, his sad eyes meeting her now steeled gaze.
"You won't lose me. Nobody will. Never." She stated, before marching down the hillock towards the exit of the camp, Blair rising to his feet and watching her make her way towards the horde. In that moment, underneath his fear and terror, he had never been prouder of her in this very moment.
"Donn Myra..." Leana could barely hear Blair before he erupted and his roar could be heard even as she exited the camp. "RALLY THE STANDING ARMY OF LEXIDUS, GET ME GENERAL LEWIS, MYRAT VULT."
Leanabh began to walk the dirt path leading through the vast grasslands that was the former state if Quijain, the army before her growing larger and more intimidating as she approached. The two champions had stopped just up ahead and were introducing themselves. Well, the Rohzai Bakahn had introduced himself, the Kyran Żaren on the other hand was ranting and she silently stood next to them as he continued on. She tried to zone out his ramblings as she scanned the creatures before her. They were large, well built and an odd shade of green and gray; their bottom teeth jutting out somewhat and giving the appearance of upside down fangs. Her studies had informed her of this race. Orcs. Long thought to be a myth and belonging to the Magna Tabes and surrounding corruption. There must be some truth in myth after all, she quietly mused, Myra's sword feeling heavy in her scabbard as she gripped the hilt with her right hand.
"go eat Zypnac's ass and-"
Goddess above was he still going? What was he hoping to do, swear the god to death?... or perhaps he was scared too and this was his way of showing it? She had just noticed Bakahn's nervous smile as well. Looking at the armoured god in front of her, she couldn't blame them, her heart was pounding and she did little to mask her heavier breathing as she stared at the horned purple knight before them. Finally, Żaren has ceased his ramblings and boating, she let the chanting of the Kyrans die down as she suddenly felt the attention draw itself towards her. She let her hand release from the hilt of her sword, refusing to draw it as she began to walk forward, bringing herself dangerously close to the army in front of her and Yrutas himself. She closed her eyes and breathed in. She thought of Eimear and opened her eyes.
"I am Princess Leanabh Yola Lexidus, heir apparent to the throne of the Empire of Lexidus, Champion and Fontbearer of Myratnis. You come before us today as an invader, an opposing force to all free men and women in Calveria, we have assembled to stop you and your corruption. State what you wish to state and prepare yourself accordingly; for we are ready."
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Post by Au Minbo on Sept 3, 2019 13:35:14 GMT -5
Tipene Maata, Naga-Tuo Island
He had been receiving reports from his scouts for days now, and finally the Great Chief decided to view it with his own eyes. Slinking forward through the brush he and two of his best scouts covered the twenty meters to the crest of the hill and could look down upon the village. His voice caught for a second in his throat, the question he did not want answered, not truly.
“H-how many are there? Have you seen any indication of what their intentions are?”
Galec, his best and most eager scout was closest and had been surveying the landings for some time.
“On last count we saw thirteen ships, six of the big ones and seven of the smaller transport ones. All laden down with supplies, and men.” He said, spitting the last word out with as much hate as he could muster in a whisper. “We think its around 800 or so soldiers, plus a few hundred others for support. They already raided the warehouses in town and have taken most of the supplies back to their compound east of here.”
Tipene’s whiskers shook “800 soldiers is too many. We have the support of most of the tribes here but these don’t look like peasants turned soldiers to me.”
Galec turned over and looked at him, studying his face for a moment before responding. “From what I’ve gathered these soldiers were sent here directly by the King himself, members of his guard by the sounds of it.”
“Alright, well good job Galec. We’re done here, gather the rest of the scouts and meet back up at camp. We have a lot of planning to do.”
Prince-Regent Otumi Hato, Omo-Touo Castle
“... and it is with the greatest sorrow that we must proclaim His Majesty the King, dead. Ships from his armada have returned speaking of a great storm which dashed the Kings fleet which had sailed further north. With this in mind it is the wishes of the Lords Assembly that Prince Otumi Hato remain in place as Prince-Regent for the period of one year while it is determined if Her Majesty the Queen is with child.”
As the speaker finished reading what had been sent to him, Otumi smirked. His plan was going well.
King Omo XIII Hato, No Man’s Land, Quijain
The past day had been pleasant. Meeting with many of the other rulers assembled here, Omo had grown fond of most of them, and was appreciating his decision to enter the world even more. All of these other cultures and people, with all of their strange ideas and customs could benefit the Oromi people greatly through trade and transfer of knowledge.
During the night Omo would read the tomes that had been sent his way, learning more and more about his allies and his enemy. Alone on his desk undisturbed since arriving lay The Book. Every so often he glanced over to it, thinking, before turning back to his reading.
In the morning he had stepped out of his tent and had gone to meet with some of the leaders once again before he felt it. Shortly after he heard the thunderous voice of the enemy.
“Spearmen of Zypnac, Axemen of Rigma, Fontbearer of Myratnis. Approach.”
Looking around frantically he noticed the darkness coming from the location of the voice and for a moment he thought his heart had stopped before he turned around and shouted to his guard.
“Lieutenant, bring it to me!”
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Post by axeldonia on Sept 3, 2019 15:37:25 GMT -5
Titenfiscan Camp, No Man's Land – Quijain
A shockwave suddenly rocked the camp, followed by a loud bang. Helena barely had time to catch the flagon balanced precariously on the edge of the planning map before there was a sudden commotion outside. It sounded like the entire crusader camp was coming alive with shouting, marching and all sorts of other indecipherable noise. Briskly stepping out of her tent, Helena’s jaw nearly dropped as she saw the massive creature and his million followers closing in on the camp.
"Spearman of Zypnac, Axeman of Rigma, Fontbearer of Myratnis. Approach."
Well, that wasn’t exactly a declaration of war, but it wasn’t an offer of peace either. Rushing back into the tent, Helena found her iron coronet and fixed it to her head before grabbing a crossbow. Whilst she was no ace, she also felt like she wouldn’t have much need for aiming. Grinning, she gestured at a couple of nearby Titenfiscan soldiers that seemed to have just finished gearing up.
“Come on you bastards, who wants to live forever? Let’s go kill a god!”
The soldiers greeted her with a cheer and together they set off to join the mass of warriors at the other end of the camp.
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Post by Unfallious on Sept 3, 2019 19:47:49 GMT -5
No Man's Land – Quijain
He waited as they approached. Silent, but amused. A smile crept across his face as they arrived and stood before him. First, Bakahn and Żaren. He listened intently to Bakahn's tongue-in-cheek comment, though he could see the nervousness in his eyes, which was all by confirmed by the stifled nervous smile on his face. Next, he endured Żaren's rant, the fiery and obscene language that only a mortal could possibly think up. Finally, he looked over to Leanabh, he listened to her as she spoke. As the youngest, she clearly had the most to prove, yet she was the most respectful of the Champions. He knew at that moment why his older sister had chosen this one as her Champion.
He turned back to Żaren, who by now had finished his speech and had dropped his axe. He took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. Yrutas' human form had short black hair and a narrow, youthful face. His features were attractive, yet certainly not something you would expect out of someone with divine power and the ability to change their form at will. His eyes were purple and slightly glistening. "I can tell my twin-brother chose his champion well," he began, lowering his eyes from Żaren's face and locking them on his weapon "And, my, what a wonderful artefact he sought to give you. No doubt amplifying all the rage and feeling within you." He sighed and chuckled slightly, "He always has been a slave to his emotions."
He moved his gaze towards Bakahn and looked upon the spear. "Ah, I can never fail to recognise a piece of my older brother's work. He always makes them look so innocuous. That spear is the most powerful weapon in this realm." He looked back to Bakahn, who returned his gaze. "Oh...But I'm sure you know that perfectly well." He took a step towards Zypnac's Champion and leaned towards him. For several moments he just remained there, staring into the man's eyes. "You're just like him, you know. Quiet, an air of superiority about you. Powerful, yet knowing not to flaunt it." He nodded to himself and leaned away, he was just about to turn to Leanabh when he stopped and turned to Bakahn again.
"What did you call him again? The One-God?" Yrutas laughed broadly, "oh yeah, that sounds about right for him. I bet he'd like that." Yrutas thought for a moment, before smiling. "I know he's probably watching us intently right now, but next time you pray to him, just let him know that his little brother saw the Second Circle. He'll know what I mean."
Finally, he turned to Leanabh. "My older sister would see it fit to send me a child. She always deplored violence."
I hope you've got that font hidden somewhere" he said suddenly, "my spear-tipped friend here may have the most powerful weapon in the realm, but you have the most powerful artefact." He approached Leana suddenly and got down on one knee to face her at eye level. He stared into her eyes for what seemed like forever. Without moving his gaze he spoke. "You know, she planned your entry into this world long before your soul even formed. Yeah, from the moment that font touched this land, you were always the intended recipient." He drew closer, moving his head to her ear and lowering his voice to a whisper so that only she could hear. "You know...I had a friend who could see all the threads of time, and I asked about you. If you succeed here, you'll go on to wish you hadn't. When all your family and friends turn to dust, when you begin to see the pointlessness of such trivial things like power and money and mythos, when you begin to think like one of us, that's when you'll regret that you didn't die by my hand. The Mother granted you this artefact, but she cried when she did." He lingered there for a moment before returning to his feet.
"Champions." He turned and looked upon his vast horde before turning back, "it appears that your crusade might just be extinguished before it begins. That doesn't sound very sporting does it? I don't think so at least. So, I have a proposition for you. If all 3 of you agree to lay down your lives right here, I'll return to my prison for 1000 years." Yrutas ended his proposition with a smile. "I do love to annoy my siblings, and they've put so much effort into you three."
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Sept 4, 2019 18:42:13 GMT -5
Princess Leanabh Yola Lexidus, No Man's Land - Quijain
She froze when he whispered his threats to her, his voice rumbling in her ears and making her heart drop with the weight of what he spoke. She didn't want to think about her gift or what it entailed, she'd rather not think of the font at all. The suffering it had caused and the people it took from both her and others. Surely Myratnis could not allow so much suffering to happen... surely? It didn't matter right now; he was just trying to scare her. She held her ground, making sure to defiantly stare back at the surprisingly human face in front of her. Every time she felt like running away; she thought of Eimear and how she fought to the end without hesitation. As Yrutas stood up and addressed them all, keeping the same patronising tone as he laid out his proposition, Leanabh took a few steps back to stand side by side with Bakahn and Żaren. She didn't wait for the others to speak or rather in Żaren's case, swear profusely in response. She spoke as loudly and clearly as she could.
"Cease your provocations and threats. Plenty a mortal have dismissed me as a child and I'd expect a better insult from a so called god. You speak an infinite deal of nothing. I reject your proposition and reiterate my previous statement. Prepare yourself. Accordingly."
She kept her hands away from her weapon and instead began to imitate Blair somewhat, raising her arms to her sides as she denigrated the mad god, bringing them back to her hips punctuating her speech.
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Post by Percyton on Sept 15, 2019 15:00:22 GMT -5
Crusader encampment, No Man’s Land, former Quijain King Godred
King Godred and his retinue stood in the command tent as the court martial wrapped up. Godred winced at the harsh sentence, but was nevertheless glad to see the matter resolved.
“Well, glad that’s all well and done with,” the Dual Kingdom monarch said to the others. “Now then, we should start—”
The King was interrupted by the rumble of an army and a booming voice: “Spearman of Zypnac, Axeman of Rigma, Fontbearer of Myratnis. Approach.” The group exchanged glances and stared at each other, not sure what to do. They knew nothing of the spearman, axeman, or font the voice spoke of, nor did they know who the voice was. After a minute, King Godred stepped out of the command tent to see what was going on, with Thorkell, James, and the Dwarf Locomati following. They could see three figures approaching a towering man and his seemingly-endless army.
“What is that?” Godred whispered in awe.
Duke squinted his eyes. “I could be wrong,” the Dwarf Locomati leader said, “but my gut tells that’s Yrutas himself.”
An anxious look came over the group, except for Duncan, who eagerly grinned. “Sae that's th' big man himself?” he said. “Ha ha! Wonderful! We got him reit where we want him!”
The others glared at the aggressive dwarf. “Are you crazy?” Skarloey cried. “Attack a literal god? There’s no way we can take him!”
“We couldnae at other time, but now we hae th' element of surprise, sae what are we waitin' fur?”
Godred shook his head. “We’re going to need a lot more than the element of surprise, Duncan. We’d need to get the whole army together, and that wouldn’t be much of a surprise anymore.” Godred looked ahead at the three figures approaching Yrutas. “In any case, Yrutas asked for three people to step forward, and those must be them. It’s probably better to let them take care of it.”
Peter Sam spoke up. “I actually recognize two of them, Your Majesty. Duke and I saw them while we were watching Blair’s fight with Kalċidon. They seemed to have some sort of magic powers.”
“Quite so,” Duke added. “But are they enough to take on Yrutas by themselves?”
Godred sighed. “I don’t want to risk it. Thorkell! Gather the troops and have them ready for battle! They aren’t to do anything yet, but if things go south, we need to be ready to step in.”
“Right away, Your Majesty!” Thorkell replied as he rushed away to alert the soldiers.
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Post by Andromitus on Sept 16, 2019 15:01:36 GMT -5
Voice of God II
• • • • • • • • Quijain • • • • • • • •
Bakahn almost laughed at the proposition, not in joy, but in pain. “In the year of the Sower,” he recalled aloud, “in the name of the God of Struggle but the service of mortal coin, I burnt the Tibür city of Ivid’mahiin to the ground. I promised, that if they were to cease their defense, their folk would be spared, and as the gate opened, the sin of magic leapt forth from my own hands first before all others. I remember the faces of every child I sacrificed to the War-farther that day, every sin against the Voice of God I committed in the years after; don’t you ever think you can ploy me with my own tricks, demon.” He paused as the rage of those memories washed over him, the wounds of his past still fresh after so many decades. “You seek then now to scare us, to threaten us with your Hordes at your back. But for a divine to bear the face of a man, to employ the tricks of a mere mortal, an unfit sinner? Pathetic. I am one but a link in a long chain of Prophets in service of the World-God; may I fall today? Yes, but your sin will forever wallow across the world. You can silence me here, but you can never silence the Voice of God.”
Mobilization! IV
• • • • • • • • Kemeht • • • • • • • •
The order rung out across the country like a torrent of sound. Priest representatives from across the country had begun their expected pilgrimages toward the Capitol, as the various local-garrisons were shuffled to ensure Capitol-loyalty remained absolute over local-loyalties during the de-facto military occupation of the southern regions. The Priests weren’t the only ones on the move, with the channels of the northern territories becoming packed with cargo-ships as the major settlements were evacuated of spare-resources. The youngest of-age of every Warrior-Caste community had been called at once in the largest mobilization order since the arrival of the Horde. 16 separate battalions were converging on the city of Sahmtēvihn, each reaching numbers over the tens of thousands. In line, the major-manufacturing cities had had their entire stocks recalled, there there being for a few days thereafter, must as many weapons as foodstuffs on the cargo-lines, and an extra series of thousands of Zatol laborers, most being taken from the displaced southern populations, were converging on the city as well, prepping the region for the influx of soldiers. Although, as things seemed to move smoothly in the countryside, the Capitol was a more mixed batch of emotions: the native and pilgrim populations of Priests were quick to express discomfort with the state of the city, the entire region being under strict military supervision, with some fears going so far as to posit the real reason behind the announcement of the Ahnsijn-process was to get as many priests in the light of the new Emergency-Tribunal as possible. It did’t help that the line between ‘tribunal and curate’ had been blurred to obscurity, the High-General seeming to have an eye in every corner of the State. Than the report began to flood in: the miserable state of Kahltchet, a mass mobilization of Rohzai soldiers under the guidance of self-proclaimed prophet, and a potential heresy within the Alchemist Grand-Apothecary. The Tribunal was set to have a field day, apparently, and in response they ordered an investigation into the happenings on the surface. Who was this prophet? Did they call themself an Ahnsijn? Where was their authority derived from? At the same time, the Headmaster of the Grand-Apothecary was to be brought forward, and the new legions of Warrior-Caste were to be sent to secure the northern border — in the words of the High-General themself: “the savages have occupied the Holyland for far too long.” • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Within hours everyone in the room found themselves staring face-to-face with none other than the High Inquisitor, the captain of the Capital Garrison, and, now, second highest authority of the Warrior-Caste. Each of them were stripped and refitted with basic military-issue garments, the amulet itself being moved to a more secure container. Upon seeing the man, the defiled Headmaster simply blinked, his lips quivering angrily, to be treated so disrespectfully by youths of such a lower-caste was unheard of, especially for a man of his status. “Who else knows.” The Inquisitor spoke slowly, eyeing each of them individually. “Hm?” “Just us.” the Headmaster replied “And you,” the man turned to Kva,” your records show you should be on the surface? Or am I mistaken.” “Y-yes Younger, it’s simply that I was the first to find Tiyn and took it upon myself to deliver him to the proper authorities.” “How much more of the situation do you know?” “Younger?” “Do you know more of this situation than the Headmaster?” “N-no I told him everything I know already.” “Fine then.” He called over two of his aids, “You three,” he pointed toward the two aids and Tiyn, ”will be moved to a holdings cell, your are not to move, nor to pray, as doing either while corrupted would incur another charge of Heresy. This one,” he pointed toward Kva, “is to go to the Harbor.” “The Harbor? What do you mean?” “You are to be returned to your post on the surface, you are to speak of this to no-one.” “Yes, yes thank you my Younger, you will do well in your investigation.” The Inquisitor only nodded in response, waiting for the man to move behind him before turning, making a strangling motion with his hands to one of the guards, who silently nodded in return. “And as for you,” he turned to the Headmaster again, “You will be tried before the Tribunal.” • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • It was another two hours later when the Headmaster was dragged out of his holding cell before being walked up to a small chamber in the center of the High Temple. The room itself was small, hosing only a podium for himself, as well as seating for higher members of the Tribunal’s Inquisition. “Headmaster Avid, you stand accused of Heresy of the Highest Regard in your blatant acceptance of the words of a corrupted Soul; of the use of Magic; and of slander against the Name of God. What say you in response?” The old man looked up at the three men above him; they each sat on a stone podium engraved with the Ihlmekt diamond, a symbol of purity. Two, similarly built stands lay on either side of him hosting three rows each of various warriors, a majority of which being formal inquisitors the Warrior-Caste. The three judges themselves were the High Inquisitor, the former Northern-General, and the High-General himself. He stared back up at them blankly, his fury unending from such mistreatment. “I deny my charges.” He responded, noticing the sneer growing along the High Inquisitor’s face, “I in no way participated in the heresy of Magic, and my work, as it always has been, was and will continue to be in the name of God and their Prophets.” “Do you deny then, the charge of conversant with the corrupted?” “I do, not for lack of conversation, but for the nature of corruption overhanging the Soul.” There was a waive of gasps that went around hall. “The soul, as you may well be aware Inquisitor, is present with us, contained by your own specifications. This being has made a series of, from my own observation, heretical and corrupting statements.” “So you admit collusion with a tainted being?” “I admit no collusion. In conversing with the being, I sought to fulfill my duty to God.” He paused for a moment for the hall to calm down, “I say this with all seriousness, gentlefolk and inquisitors of the Holy Land, I intend with your permission to continue my study.” The High General A’yill’s eyes narrowed, “You intend to continue your heresy?” “I intend to strengthen my devotion to God.” “How?” “The demon of the amulet has made a single point of which I seek clarification, the state of the Vaazha Ahkipate, a surface folk who, by their own merit, attempt to follow the word of God. The demon in it’s attempt to sway my decision to that of Sin, had foolishly mentioned that this foreign land itself has passed under a great calamity; my hope is that answers to the events there may lead to our own benefit.” “I ask again, how?” The General’s face itself began to change from anger to genuine confusion. “It is my belief that the Horde has likewise laid waste to this foreign land. With the ability to study this land, we stand not only to expand our own knowledge of foreign lands and their understandings of the Word of God, but we also stand to gain in the tactics and nature of the Horde.” The general paused, contemplating, “What would you need to complete such a survey?” “A team of my choosing; the surface runs on the fuel of Goldwealth, so a sizable portion thereof; and of course, guards.” “High General,” the Inquisitor blurted out, “you can’t be considering this?” “I do indeed in fact, my own questions on the Horde seem to be outweighing my personal grudges of the Alchemist core. Headmaster, you will be provided with this so-called Goldwealth as well as a series of your fellow Alchemists and the capital’s own experts on surface life. However, the guard assigned to you shall be of my own choosing, and shall be there to ensure you remain within the guidelines of the faith. Do you understand?” “I do, General, I am grateful for your faith.” “Then that adjourns this current session. God Stands.” “God Stands!” The room roared. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The streets were near empty as the Headmaster and his entourage, the two aids, Tiyn and his Amulet, as well as 15 Inquisitors as guards, made their way toward the dockyard; a single ship was prepared for them, a navigator vessel stocked with goods for the journey. The plan itself was simple, upon arrival in the city of Adamanas, they would transfer their stock to overland transport before making their way to the surface city of Shaad’fasau, before commandeering a Rohzai vessel, making their way from there to the Vaazha nation. As the vessel set off, it would take naught but a half-days time to reach its destination, with the group on the surface within hours thereafter. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • “Keep it moving!” The bark of the commander echoed over the sounds of the bustling crowd already traveling through the thin cavern-way. Huge ships lay anchored along the dockyard, with crowds of people lining up for the boarding process. Tsamatchir’s storage-temple being emptied of everything from produce to weekly records. The garrison itself was a scene of the times, bearing the markings of the Joint-Army, they had been sent from the Capital to secure the surrounding territories in preparation for the Counter-Attack against the northern invaders. The ships were to be finished being loaded within the next few hours, and the supplies and people transferred to a string of storage-houses located toward the countries interior. The city was actually one of seven other major settlements being evacuated from the northern regions, with separate regions further south following suit. Rumors were abound from the Navigators of military activity across the entire western border, dykes were refitted, land expanded, all in order to make room for the largest influx of Warrior-Caste in the region in recent history, all with only a single voice echoing over all of it, a single message from the High-General: “Fury begets Fury; the Heresy ends today.”
Slavers of the Belt IV
• • • • • • • • Kanso-Oromi Border Territories - Outside the city of Sho-Jun • • • • • • • •
“That wasn’t my fault and you damn well know it!” Nahzii barked back as Qhava proceeded to make a string of lewd gestures in their direction. “Hey now,” she yelled back, ”don’t you start yelling at me because you don’t know how to tie a proper barrel sling.” Nahzii yelled out in frustration before loosening one of the bindings on the now-soaked supply barrel. Whoever was at fault, two of them had managed to slip down into the water as they passed through the final stretch of the channel, which itself turned out to be a full meter deeper than they’d anticipated. “Both of you, quiet now.” Kawar barked, leaning over his Tabic Compass just to get proper bearings on their location. They’d managed to pass-under-salt with the finding of those Lexidun, his own sweet-talking managing to cut some fairly hefty deals between trading gold for food, and now they had finally reached the last stretch of their initial journey. God forgiving they’d actually succeed in their duty. It was by the days end that they were met with a true patrol of these foreign peoples; the three walkers had traversed the marshlands for days before reaching proper settlements, following loose footpaths and the word of bewildered natives to their destination: A single city they had called So’choon. Kawar was quick to repel to the earthen paths below them, greeting the men in Common with the same preppy optimism he’d use to convince his monetary backers. From there they made their way toward the city, columns of smoke rising in the distance. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Otumi walked alongside his aide as they spoke of the foreigners making their way to the palace. "What did he say they were riding?" "Crickets sir." The Aide responded. "Crickets. What kind of hellscape are these people from where crickets are large enough to ride?" "I'm not sure sir." "Well then go find out! I'm not going to meet with cricket riders without knowing where they come from." As the aide ran off Otumi made it to the balcony where he saw them. Hulking creatures larger than many of the homes here, making their way up towards him. Intrigued he turned around and headed straight to the Main Hall to greet his guests.(edited) Dark figures swung along thick riggings binding an assortment of bulging leather flaps covering the carapaces of the huge mirewalkers, all of them looking eagerly at the sight before them just as bewilderedly as the folk below them. The three creatures strode along the main road toward the palace, tree-trunk like legs swaying gently as they followed Kawar who walked along the earth, conversing calmly with the assortment of confused guards. As they approached the structure, Kaware allowed himself to grin wildly, confident no one would see it hidden underneath his traditional headpiece. They've access to an abundance of dyes, he could notice that just from the clothes of the people around him, that alone could help in breaking the Mumasa Guilds monopoly on western dyes, not to mention enough lumber to build houses, imagine entire houses worth of lumber. With a signal his convoy slowed, and two figures from atop two of the pieces, hooked themselves onto lines near the beasties heads, repelling down to the surface. They were quick to unhook themselves, shifting their sand-grey robes to hide they're less-than-flattering rigging gear. With that, Kawar let out few controlled whistles and the others atop began working on cue to calm the walkers enough to have them sit. Stepping forward the aide addressed the foreigners. "Sirs, His Royal Highness invites you to meet with him in the main hall of the palace." He glanced quickly at the huge creatures they had been riding, an uneasy feeling coming over him. "I have been assigned to bring you to him, though I am afraid any weapons you have must be left here with your... mounts." "Of course, it seems some customs are universal." He did a quick pat-down of his sides before opening his cloak to reveal tight, leather-like garb underneath an array of clips and rope, the other two, Temer and Qhava, doing the same. Behind him, one of the walkers let out a low moan, sounding not dissimilar to the squeaking one gets when rubbing wet wood together, before lowering to the ground, its huge legs folding against its sides, knees facing toward the rear. The two others were quick to follow suit. "Are there any other formalities we should be expressly aware of before meeting their Highness?" The Aide jumped a little when he noticed the creature moving, hesitating before he responded. "When you meet with him, bow as I do and introduce yourself and your compatriots. May I ask where you are from? So that I can announce your arrival to the court." "We come from the city of Aliim’yhrall, a Republic within the Asilic Dominion in the deserts of the central continent." • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Kawar was the first to enter, followed quickly by Qhava and Temer, the three of them moving into the hall, colored light spilling in from strange windows lining the walls. They moved as far as they could, stopping as their escorts stopped, and mimicking the bow before the man standing before them. "Greetings your," what did they call their leaders in common? "Sovereignty. They call me Kawar al-Masimi, myself and my cohort have travelled a considerable distance from our homeland in the center of the continent in hopes of relations with your noble people, insofar as we have brought gifts of our homeland and neighbors, and considerable stuffs with the hopes of initiating a first trade of goods." He kept his position, waiting for the Sovereign to begin before raising his head — he'd been with enough Ahkip's to know how to bite his pride. The Prince-Regent looked down on these strange people below and waited a moment, testing Kawars spirit before speaking. "Greetings to you Kawar and company. I am pleased to welcome you to the Kingdom of Kanso. I must disappoint you however, I am no sovereign. His Majesty the King has disappeared on a trip north to meet with other rulers. I am his uncle, Prince Otumi the Prince-Regent." He paused, keeping his eyes fixated on these men intensely searching them for any information he could gather. "Consider your gifts accepted. I shall arrange for a selection to be presented to you and yours for your acceptance. As for a trade of goods, I can promise you we have much to offer your people." Otumi sat back a bit, finished. The prince-regent is the uncle of the sovereign here? Such a strange people, he thought calmly. He switched quickly to Tibür, “Qhava, go get Nahzii and bring in the gifts.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “We are but humble traders, Prince-Regent, and I can promise you here that the comparatively small trade we make today will lead into a long and prosperous relationship. We’ve brought spices from the eastern lands of Kyras, small bounties is gold and silvers, artifacts of our homeland, and an abundance of silks.” Kawar waited as the two he sent out returned, allowing the regent time to see the gifts, two small chests one filled with a small fortune of gold coins, the other filled with rolls of silk, on top of which lay a small pouch, out of which Kawar presented a thick metal plate, roughly the size of the regents extended hand, and almost an inch thick, made of a glossy, bronze substance, with three columns of curvy text in the center,”and that, is a gift from the kingdom beneath the soil herself.” Otumi took the plate into his hand and examined it, running his hand along its surface before turning it over to look at the back. Intrigued he looked back at Kawar. "This is quite exquisite. For hunble traders you seem to carry quality goods, but what is this artifact you have brought us?" Kawar took all his strength toward not smiling wildly, connections with the Hurna Family allowed him to call in a long overdo favor, “the, its name doesn’t exist in common I excuse myself, ‘Ahnsijnate’ controls access to her trades via plates of ‘Alchemic Bronze’ like that. Think of it like a passport, although that one is a bit archaic, so it’s more a personal gift in exchange for future trades from the Hurna family, one of the larger exporters in the country.” “We’ve brought many goods akin to these to trade: silks, gold, and artifacts from the underground, but I must ask, what does your kingdom have to offer in return?” Otumi nodded along as Kawar explained the tablet and its purpose. Not a bad way to control things he thought, and the exclusivity of certain trading clans could bring good prices. "Very interesting, and such a pretty piece of work too. As for what we can offer you, this kingdom produces much in the way of agricultural products, wines, our glassware." He said smiling while gesturing at the stained glass windows. "We also have notable dyeworks, certain spices, and... cattle. I can also offer you access to our libraries, temples and other repositories of knowledge." Every muscle in his body froze, "What kind of knowledge, may I ask, and how does one access it? I ask you pardon my imprudence, it's simply our own customs on that subject seem to differ greatly and I'd hope to never cause offense." Otumi thought for a moment before responding. "Well, here in this Kingdom we have libraries and other collections of literature. The information kept within these buildings is open to any who have permission. Normally said permission is reserved to those who are literate, as is only fitting. In an effort to encourage friendly relations I will be allowing you and yours access to these buildings." Pausing to catch his breath, he noticed the changing shades of color as the suns position caused the colors to shift along the floor. "A limited selection of works will also be allowed to go with you on your return trip, though the exact ones have yet to be determined, and you may request ones if you wish to take with you " Lumber, Dyes, Artistic goods, and now works of Knowledge, so that leaves the Tāba, Mumasa, and Fasimi Guilds all in his debt, this seemed to be going through, now only for these woodland folk to pull through on those goods, "Fascinating, and these other goods, dyeworks, spices, and, cattle? How might we begin our own inspections of what you've to offer, and naturally vice versa for what we've brought with us." "Inspections can begin in the following days. Our spices are gathered and produced locally to this city. The dye works I'm afraid are located in the south, in the capital city. As for cattle they should be arriving later this week. I will arrange for my advisors to assess the goods you have brought to us here. Tonight, I wish to I invite you and your company to a feast here in the hall. We shall done together and you will tell me more of your curious homeland." Smiling he hoped these strange people would not disappoint him. "We would be honored to attend, highness, and my compatriot," he took a moment to gesture toward the newcomer that had brought in one of the small chests, "Nahzii would be more than willing to prepare our wares for formal inspection. With that I assume I shall lead my further questions to your helpful aids about preparing ourselves for later? I feel the foreign-ness of our mounts might cause for them to be moved off the main road?" he shrugged with a light laugh. Laughing alongside the man he smiled, "yes. that would probably be best. But before we do that I would actually like to get a closer look at these mounts you've brought. The crickets we get here aren't quite so large." Kawar blinked, “Ah, you mean the Walkers,” he took a moment to pause, “of course, if you wish you may accompany us outside, we’ve grown up around them so I’m certain we could give you a fair explanation of their basics.” He bowed a second time before turning around slowly, allowing the regent to follow with their entourage. Outside the others in their group were going about the standard busywork when tending to the animals, all three of them in a rough triangle at the foot of the stairs, triple pairs of legs leaning away from the building like saplings. They were huge, without a doubt, with thick, round bodies sloping sharply down into a small, round head; twin arm-like mandibles rubbing in their standard cleaning motion. At the same time a maze of ropes and clips lined the beast’s carapaces, the outlines of containers pushing through a mesh of wide leather flaps forming a tent atop the shell. Outside the structure were a series of poles as well as, on two of them, a dark bronze disk not unlike the artifact gifted to the regent. Otumi stood and followed behind Kawar, a trio of guards coming alongside them as he exited the palace. Stopping short of the last step he gazed at the beasts with some amount of wonder in his eyes. "Magnificent looking beasts they are Kawar, though I cannot imagine having to ride on them." "Ha! One would think that when first seeing a Walker, but they're calm beasts, and their legs are so long that their strides feeling just like a gentle rocking. I should know, i've grown to practically live on them." He raised his fingers to his lips before letting out a whistle-cry: Up-and-adam hunters of fortune, raise the beasties, we're moving outOn cue, 2 other dark figures emerged from within the tents, the rest on the ground as well as Nahzii and Qhava, going about the business of hooking onto the beast's rigging lines. With a shudder, the mount closest to Kawar let out a low chirping sound before rocking forward, its knees starting to angle out in all directions before the huge body was hoisted into the air, other two others were quick to follow suit, their riders swinging from hook to hook amongst a flurry of whistle-calls. Checks are done
Seconded
Tripled
Where're we moving off too, K-A-W-A-RHe turned to one of the aids and repeated the question in common, "Where should we move them?* Otumi clapped his hands once as he watched the beasts move and riders with them. "Well then, I shall leave you to it Kawar. I shall send a servant round to gather you for dinner tonight."
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Post by Chiernarosa on Sept 20, 2019 0:34:16 GMT -5
Encampment Outskirts, Quijain
Żaren looked at the god in front of him for the longest time, the flames still coating him as Yrutas laid out his terms for the trio of messiahs. Silently, he gripped his ax as Yrutas went to knee-level with Leana: looking over to Bakahn, he couldn't discern if the man was also ready to bare his weapons against the Cursed One in response, but he kept himself from responding.
'She wants to be seen beyond that of a child,' he noted, although he could sense the fear radiating from her, 'Yet she is still gripped by her emotions as much as Bakahn,' having also noticed the older man trying to suppress his nervousness, 'Hmph, fear will not provide much, but I will concede that it will provide a clearer mind.' He snapped out of it as Yrutas gave his proposal, offering to leave Calveria be for a millennia if the trio all died right there.
'This fucking cunt,' he snarled internally, the ax gripped tightly as he barely suppressed the urge to ram the blade into the bastard's smug face, 'No, calm yourself: even with your abilities, he is still a god, and he still has that million-strong horde of savages at his disposal, especially the big fat one at the front,' he noted, almost relishing the look of contained rage from the Primordial. Instead, he waited as the other two spoke up, refusing the offer then and there.
'Good, I didn't want to hurt them if they agreed, but I'd suppose that would just fulfill the offer,' Żaren noted as Bakahn finished, Yrutas turning to face him: even now, all he felt was disgust, disbelief, and rage.
"So you are asking us to die and you leave this land be for a thousand years? I must say, in the clearest of terms, that is the most idiotic offer I have ever heard. Even if we die right here and now, I doubt you would hold your end of the bargain and return to your squalid hovel: what is to say that you will not simply destroy or corrupt our tools, and use your savages to raze this camp to the ground? Even if you honor the agreement, Calveria would not be ready in the event that you return in a thousand years hence, even with the advancements in the arts of war and of life, they will not have the representatives of the Gods to stand with them. I am more than aware you want that option so you can truly destroy everything on this continent and turn it into your mortal fiefdom.
"The gods entrusted us to serve their wills and to annihilate you: in the interests of them, and of the people of Calveria, I refuse this offer. You can threaten us or try to guilt trip us by claiming that we are damning the lives of the Crusaders behind us, but the deaths of some in this current era cannot outweigh the end of life in the distant future. These men and women behind me, they have sworn their lives to end your reign: some may try and falter, to flee or turn against their brothers, or are just now seeing the severity of it all, that it is not a game; but these warriors are sworn by the Pantheon to destroy you. My people, they have prepared for this day for thousands of years, while the other powers, they have their own rage, grievances, and desires to join the fight.
"Like my people, I will fight to my last breath to kill as many as I can, be they orc, corrupted human, beast, or even a god, and to succeed in this divine mission. Yrutas, as the representative of Rigma, I say to you that this offer is rejected, and that we messiahs shall see you dead. You can flaunt your superiority, shape mountains and men to your whim, & do everything you can to turn this world to ruin and death, but we will see to it that you are removed from this realm. Uoluntate deorum modo pereant aut detrimentum capiant paulatim." ("By the will of the gods, perish now or suffer slowly.")
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Post by Unfallious on Nov 22, 2019 20:26:43 GMT -5
The fallen God knew from the moment he saw these 3 champions that his proposition would fall on deaf ears. He listened to their retorts and rejections carefully, a slight smile on his face. Yet, when they had all finished, he could not help but to focus on what Bakahn had said. "My older brother would destroy your whole civilisation, he would raze every single building, burn every man, woman and child, destroy their firasicosic completely, just to maintain his grip on this plane. He wouldn't hesitate." He eyed the other two champions, but continued to direct his words at Bakahn. "Your fellow champions here? The Mother would drain her essence just to save a thousand firasicosic. She weeps immeasurably at the mortality of the beings here, her tears comprise every grain of sand in this place. Even my wrothful, raging twin would burn himself out in honourable battle so that his warriors would live to fight on." He turned his gaze to Zaren's axe and pointed. "This artefact, this and the font. They come from a place of care, from a mother and father to their children.
Next, he focused his gaze directly on Bakahn. Yrutas was angry now, his face contorted into a look of hate. He pointed to the spear. "That. That is not a gift from a father to his children. That is a means to an end. You, you are a tool. A simple object. You think that one day you'll rejoin your God, to finish your journey? Such naivety. Your God, the Almighty, would sooner consume your cosic than protect it. You should direct your prayers towards my dark brother, he's the only thing standing between you and destruction at the hands of the god you serve so faithfully.
"My creatures have fought your people in the dark for generations. Your society is so rich, so advanced, so powerful. And yet, you are nothing but a race of tools, docile children of a cruel and unloving father, your people serve a greater purpose as part of my machine than they ever would at the feet of Him." He spat the last words out in a bitter, hating tone. Then, the God took a moment. He stepped back, and replaced his helmet.
"We attack at dusk" And with that, he vanished.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Nov 23, 2019 6:40:44 GMT -5
Encampment Outskirts, Quijain
"DAMN IT ALL, THE BASTARD FLED," Żaren roared out as Yrutas disappeared, slamming the ax head into the ground, which immediately turned into clay as the heat baked it. The flames rose up, still awash in white and seemingly hotter than the Sun to those around him, fangs drew back in a snarl, the horns grew and talons sharpened, 'He will DIE,' his internal thoughts screamed, vision clouded in red as he stared out into the empty plain in front of him where the God stood.
Before anyone reacted, everything seemed to snap: the flames died down and only stayed lit around three inches from his skin, the horns stopped growing, the talons stayed still even as they dug into the flesh of his palms, and his snarl immediately turned into a neutral expression. Yet, the feeling of anger was there, now replaced by something more smoldering, calculating. Although Żaren was familiar with the concept of tranquil rage, this somehow felt different: the anger was there, alright, but the calm that surrounded him was genuine - it was if both emotions immediately came into sync with one another, a balance of fury and peace. Turning around, he slung the ax over his back as he walked over to Kalċidon, who had seen the whole exchange with a neutral look on his face.
'That looked to be around a million warriors, all assisted by their god: unless the Rozhai or anyone can magically summon a million forces to bring the numbers to our side, I'd say we are evenly matched,' Kalċidon noted, noticing the fear that was hovering over the other leaders, snapping back as Żaren approached.
"Kalċidon," the Messiah said, still in his state of balance.
"Yes, Messija?" Kalċidon asked, noticing the anger: privately, he felt as if it was spreading to him, amplifying the disgust and disbelief he held when the Fallen One had approached.
"Convene the Council of Generals, tell them they need to come to the Command Tent, or at the very least, outside of it should it not have enough space."
"That can be arranged," Kalċidon stated, "But what purpose do you seek for all my men? Is it to begin coordination?"
"It is," Żaren simply said, "We must begin coordination and potentially integrating the men with the members of the Empire Army Group and the additional expeditionary forces summoned here."
"I presumed as such, though even I am uncertain as to whether or not the Cursed One intends to attack immediately as he promised."
"We need to be prepared for all costs: when you send the Hertagsen out to deliver the messages, have them add this to the demands - every single member of the Kyran Conquest Force shall begin training based on what we gathered from that brief glimpse of the Horde; they shall alternate between practice and rest, but they are to remain vigilant at all costs. Camaraderie must be limited, we cannot spend what potentially little time we have to prepare for battle drinking and panicking, the men must be ready to fight. If they are to be joined by a foreign regiment, cooperation is expected."
"Understood," Kalċidon said, summoning several Hertagsen who were nearby, "Għarraf lill-Ġeneral ta 'dak li pproklama għalina l-Profeta tagħna, u għall-irġiel kollha biex noqogħdu attenti. Aħna l-ħajt taċ-ċiviltà, u m'għandniex niġġarraf, tkun xi tkun l-ispiża." ("Inform the Generals of what our Prophet has proclaimed for us, and for all men to be vigilant. We are the wall of civilization, and we must not collapse, no matter the cost.")
"I must speak with the rest of the foreigners, go summon the entourage and tell them their services are needed: additionally, we need the highest-ranking priests of the War Temple to come along as well - there was something that qaħba said that piqued my interests, and I am wondering if they are aware of anything related to it."
"That I shall do," Kalċidon said, moving to gather the men: despite being technically ordered around, he knew the situation was dire and the stakes had just been amplified tenfold. There was no time to be caught fighting once more, and they needed to assemble.
"Mother, Father, I need you to come with me," Żaren said, Liena and Kyre immediately complying as the trio approached Blair and the other leaders, "Before anybody says anything, I need to make something clear: we are to consider the next several hours as potentially our last and/or our hardest. Assuming that the Bestja is correct in his threat, he will begin his attack soon: we need to assemble our forces immediately and prepare them for battle. If in the event that he strikes the camp, the Kyran Conquest Force will serve as the vanguard and will take the brunt of the initial assault - I expect all of your forces assemble and prepare for battle as quickly as possible, especially if he intends to use every advantage he has.
"That said, I expect that all of us to keep a clear head and begin preparations: I ask that all of you come to the Command Tent, along with your highest-ranked officers and priests so we can discuss some things that the Messaġġier tar-Rot said to my fellow Messiahs. Let me make this clear: I do not want any of you to panic or get caught in some bullshit existential crisis. Letting yourself be crippled by fear will not enable you, it will destroy you, plain and simple," Żaren gave the slightest of pauses as he said the last part, eyes locking with Blair to make it clear before returning back to his speech, "Time is of the essence, we must convene and begin our discussions, fast."
Walking away, Żaren approached the two fellow prophets, "Bakahn, Leanabh, I understand what he just said, but we cannot let that cloud our minds and judgment: we must meet at the Command Tent and work with the leaders, generals, and priests that are to be assembled there. From what I heard, the qaħba may have accidentally gave a clue by mentioning his 'machine': if I am right, it might be what gave him the power to even come here and talk to us. Ready yourselves for battle, in case he intends to follow through on his threat, and ready yourselves for planning to finally kill the fucker."
As Kalċidon walked over to the Command Tent, he heard commotion coming from the center of the Kyran Encampment: walking over, the soldiers saluted him as he heard the arguing.
"Halt! By order of the Chancellor, you are to identify yourself to us!"
"He is a fucking General! He can do what he needs to do, you damnable milksop!"
"Guardsman, there was a horde of orcs and the literal God of madness and rot not less than a hundred meters away! Security will be maintained, even with your status!"
"Talk to me or my Liege like that again and I will rip your fucking tongue out with my bare hands!"
"Cease these provocations, in the name of the Republic and your Chancellor!" Kalċidon roared out, the quarreling soldiers immediately halting and giving their salute, only for Kalċidon to gesture them to stop, "Do not defer to me like a nobleman, I am a soldier just like you."
The Guardsmen simply glared at the crowd, the speaker approaching forward, "Chancellor, there is important news for you."
"Where is your commanding officer," Kalċidon shot back, annoyed at the Republican Guardsmen arguing with the soldiers, "I need him present for an important discussion."
"I assume its more important than the drivel these peasants are arguing about?"
"They are knowledgeable enough, especially with their officers teaching them, and they do not lie: the Cursed One summoned a horde of orcs and corrupted individuals near the camp, and he intends to attack soon. Now, answer my question."
"Not to worry, brother, I am right here, as ever," the whimsical voice rang out, Kalċidon immediately tensing up in hatred as he turned towards the source.
"Vyrodok, what a surprise," Kalċidon said, nearly snarling at the Republican Guards' commander.
"A pleasure to see you too, my Chancellor," Vyrodok cheerfully stated, definitely far from matching his scarred face and drooping scowl, the relatively normal left side of his face showing a smug smirk, "I heard about the events happening here and wondered why I wasn't invited to this most important of occasions."
"I needed some men to stay at home, in order to defend the Fatherland from its usual myriad of troubles, plus I forgot to send the invitation," Kalċidon snarked, the last part in the most sarcastic tone possible.
"I'm afraid the mailing service has failed in that regard: normally, I'd assume it would arrive in three days time, plus all this talk of the Fatherland being in perpetual conflict is clearly exaggerated at this point - the savages have been all but tamed, placed in their well-deserved lands; the beasts have been culled and/or tamed, and the rebels are all but crushed. I'm surprised you continue to push this narrative: after all, my Guardsmen could've handled the situation very well."
"Their role is to bolster the Army when needed, not to engage in every conflict like Saberjaws throwing their shit at each other," Kalċidon shot back, "Also, just because the situation has finally begun to peter out does not mean Kyras is fully stabilized: you coming here risks the three standard months of work put into it."
"Well, I'm afraid not everyone trusts the direction you have taken our cherished Fatherland in: where's the sport, the training, the constant danger which toughens our men and women?"
"In the grave and annals of the scrolls and texts, where they belong: perpetual war does not guarantee stability, we need to start thinking in the long term, Vyrodok, especially as Calveria opens up for the first time."
"Ah yes, the various hovels that fancy themselves empires and kingdoms and republics, acting like they are infallible despite only coming into being less than a millennia ago: the Allfathers had them beat long ago, and for all their ribbing at us being various quarreling states fighting one another, it's not like they weren't the same before their unification, likely by blood, or in the case of the walking ink sacks, killing their masters and engaging in never-ending fuckfests," Vyrodok stated.
The punch came quick, sending the General onto his back, the Republican Guards pulling their weapons out as Kalċidon pulled his kriegsmesser out, the soldiers joining him, "The fact that all of you dare to draw your weapons on me, especially at a critical time such as this, I should have all of you executed. However, with the situation at hand, I require every hand available, so I will forgive this transgression. Perform it again, however, and you will find yourselves in the maws of Kyran Dragons." Lifting Vyrodok up, Kalċidon simply stared him in the eyes, "Vyrodok, normally you are aware that I prefer our passive-aggressive banter over being blunt, but let me make this clear: I will not tolerate your bullshit for the duration of this United Crusade. Our allies are also putting themselves at risk, and the Fatherland is risking collapse if we fail, and I absolutely do not need you scheming and attempting to overthrow me just so you can turn Kyras into the hellhole it was for over 4,500 years. You will come to the Command Tent, the big tent at the center of this camp, and you will make sure to stay in line. I have tolerated your shit for too long, and I will not have it be the death of us all. Is that clear, General?"
"Crystal," Vyrodok said, seemingly candidly, but Kalċidon could see the smoldering hate in his eyes, "I will be present. I assume my men need to train."
"Yes, by order of the Messiah, Żaren Iben-ta'Kyre, all men must train and rest, assuming that the Horde and their master choose to attack at dusk as the latter intended. Now, ready yourself, the Messiah intends on addressing the leaders here."
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Nov 25, 2019 14:58:59 GMT -5
Princess Leanabh Yola Lexidus, No Man's Land - Quijain
Dusk. The word was scattered in her head for a good moment, infinitely ringing out as she paused, the mad god vanishing into thin air. The horde still oppressing the horizon. She blinked.
"Dusk... at dusk the end begins." Her voice was monotone and far away, her eyes glazed over, her mind finally beginning to react to what had just happened. Adrenaline poured through her veins and her face felt warm and flushed. She let her eyes close and her breath steady with the mantra taught to her, count to four inhale, count to four exhale. Opening her eyes, she spoke.
"The Empire stands with you Żaren and with you Bakahn. I shall rally our forces and make my way to the command tent.
She took a final deep breath and turned away, marching towards the camp. Her mind clear and her heart burning with determination. She didn't march for too long by herself, Donn Myra was waiting just ahead of the camp, the standing army of Lexidus having mostly assembled behind her. Behind them was the Citizen's Crusade, being rallied still by various knights and officers into position, the Empire Army Group beginning to take form.
"Is Blair in the Command Tent?" Leana stated.
"Yes your Highness."
"Lewis? Dunsley?" She continued.
"Yes my lady."
Donn Myra's voice was eminent and steadfast, despite the helmet disguising her expression, Leana could tell the Royal Protector was proud of her. She knew how to talk tough and look powerful from her Protector after all.
Before long the two of them had ascended the hillock where the command tent stood. The view an astonishing one, countless soldiers of all nations gathered and mobilising in one place against the horizon filled with their opponents, the crusade was about to begin.
King Blair de Brus, No Man's Land - Quijain
"We are ready." Blair barked. Holding the eye contact with Żaren and holding his axe hanging from his belt. The champion's words were blunt but he felt no ill will, he would not falter now, not when so much was now on the line. He took comfort in Żaren's comment and nodded his head in agreement.
"The Standing Army will join your Conquest Force and support your vanguard whilst the other armies and the rest of the Empire's Army Group assemble and prepare for the coming battle."
"General Lewis, make it so."
"Aye my king."
"Also see to it that the Titenfiscan and Dual Kingdom command know they have full cooperation and military access as to encourage open communication between our units and commanders."
"Aye to that too my king!" Roared the old general as he strode toward the Lexidun encampment yelling and hollering his orders to those around him. Blair made his way towards the command tent and entered, eyeing Kalcidon in the distance with another scarred and weathered Kyran, Vyrodok most likely. He made a note in his mind to heed Kalcidon's words very carefully.
Just as he was about to enter, he felt her again. No. He felt IT again, with its cold and terribly clawed fingers digging into his shoulder.
This is going to be FUN numpty.
He turned to face it. It wasn't her anymore, what little of Eimear's features remained were warped beyond recognition. The wraith was almost pure purple energy at the point, with slates of obsidian taking the shape of a ever grinning mask and torso, complete with gleaming black claws and a dead grey leaves imitating a fauld worn below a warped breastplate.
When you die we finally get to BE TOGETHER.
He said nothing, he knew that irritated it, he would never give it the pleasure of heeding its call. He turned away and clenched his fists.
"Eimear... guide me."
He entered the tent and declared loud and clear. "The crusade is upon us and Yrutas has declared no quarter, we must act now and prepare for battle. We must act now AS ONE."
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Post by Andromitus on Nov 25, 2019 17:44:29 GMT -5
• • • • • • • • Quijain • • • • • • • •
The mans spite burst out between old, cracked lips; thin, paper skin rapping tight around skeletal hands pointing angrily at Bakahn. Ahkip al-Mansur IV, the last of the al-Mansur family in Asil and the commander of the army he’d just encircled. Then he was back on the fields of Quijain, the Demon’s words lashing out angrily, but he still saw the Ahkip’s face, the bloodshot eyes of a man who knew he’d lost but was still old enough to still scream victory. The old Karthagite warrior blinked as the army in front of him vanished, staying still as those haunting words danced in front of him. “Dusk.” He knelt to the ground as Żaren stormed off, but managed a soft smile, the kind that comes with age, for the youth, the chalice-bearer of the Mother. Pivoting onto the ball of his foot, he rested his weapon’s spear-tip onto the soft earth where the dark being had once stood, watching as it sunk cleanly into the soil from its own weight. “Oh God, bless this earth for it has borne the feet of the unholy. Oh Voice of the Stream, wash away its sin so that we may walk closer unto your day.” He kowtowed in front of the spear after his prayer before claiming the weapon and heading to the war tent. As he approached camp, he began ordering his men to set up camp in-between the Kyran and Lexidun forces, ordering the Rohzai to ‘do as the Karthagites do’ so as to build amicability between them and the sons of the Warfather. He followed this by gathering up his Generals and Engineers before taking a wide gaze at the landscape around them: no trees, few rocks and no cliffs for cover, just rolling hills and grass. He made his light entourage wait outside as he moved toward the command-tent, just in time to hear the roars of the Kyran Generals. He found himself glancing distrustfully at Żaren, he reminded him far too much of his younger self; then there was the child, they called her Leanabh, how could a child so young be granted such responsibility? His eyes finally fell on a face he finally did recognize as he entered the tent. “Ahkip de Brus!” A wide smile spread over him as he moved to embrace the man, “Light of God it’s good to see you again.”
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