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Post by axeldonia on Mar 11, 2020 20:21:15 GMT -5
City of Vrit, Titenfisca
In the hustle and bustle of Vrit harbour, the Xoomian ship was nearly mistaken as little more than another trading ship: apart from the major nations, ships from all over the petty kingdoms and tribal domains of the wild lands came to trade, all lending their various colourful banners and strange tongues to the harbour city. It was only when the Xoomian ship came close enough that the unusual appearance of their crew caused somewhat of a ruckus in the harbour.
After a few minutes what appeared to be a small delegation arrived at the harbour on a wagon and after another couple of anxious minutes of waiting as the Xoomian boat finally anchored. The group is diverse, with a number of members from species such as Kobolds, Kouleva and Squidspawn, but the leader was perhaps remarkable in how much they resembled the arriving Inklings: Larger than their Squidspawn companions but still sporting a number of their unique features, they stepped forward to greet these strangers with a smile.
“Greetings hallowed strangers and may the Ocean Mother bless your visit. My name is Aubrey Rook and I welcome you to the Commonwealth of Titenfisca.”
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Post by Percyton on Mar 14, 2020 19:35:53 GMT -5
Seas near the southern coast of Xoomi Albyn of Haultraugh
Albyn held on tight to the railing of his cog ship the Enterprise as he watched the waves crash against the hull. Albyn, along with his business partners Paric of Callan and the Locomati Bryant Barris of Norramby, had hoped to be among the first Islander merchants to utilize the South-East Passage for trade with Lexidus. But now, Albyn could feel that dream slipping away with every crashing wave. This cursed storm, Albyn thought to himself. I should have listened to father.
The helmsman ran up to Albyn. “Sir, our ship has taken serious damage—”
“I’m aware of that, helmsman! You don’t need to tell me the bloody obvious!”
“But we’re seeing clear skies due north, and some land too. If we act now, we can turn and head for port there!”
Albyn looked over the horizon. He did indeed see some clearer skies toward the north, and what looked like the faint patch of land. Albyn sighed. “Don’t have much to lose I suppose. Do it! Port to starboard!”
The helmsman nodded and hurried away. Albyn shook his head. What if there were no ports there? What if he ran into a tribe of cannibals? The merchant captain hoped he hadn’t made a huge mistake.
Xommaido, Woominate of Xoomi
After an hour of maneuvering through the stormy seas, the Enterprise pulled into a bustling harbor, docking next to one of the piers. Albyn stood on the deck and looked around the harbor. The harbor was crowded with buyers and sellers of all sorts, with several tall buildings in the distance. The people looked strange, their aquatic-like features being very different from the humans and Locomati of the Dual Kingdom. But they were also familiar: Albyn had heard reports from previous visitors to Lexidus of a squid-like group called the Squidspawn of Titenfisca, and even before then the vague reports of an amphibious race had made the legend of the Squidspawn well-known in the Dual Kingdom. The people he saw before him now were similar, but not quite identical, to those Squidspawn. Could he have arrived in the fabled land of Titenfisca?
A female creature raised an eyebrow and approached the Enterprise. Albyn looked down on the small creature with wide eyes. She looked back up and smiled. “Greetings, stranger!” she said in Common. “If you’re willing, come down here and let’s chat.”
Albyn glanced back at Paric and Bryant and exchanged nods. “Very well,” Albyn called to the woman. “We shall be with you momentarily.” A minute later, Albyn, Paric, and Bryant disembarked from the ship, daggers hidden in their back pockets; Albyn had heard the Titenfiscans could be quite vicious to people who upset them.
“Welcome to Xommaido, stranger!” The woman held out her hand. “It’s always an honor to conduct business with new folks.”
Albyn slowly put out his hand and then shook it. “Umm, likewise.” Albyn’s eyes darted around as he scanned the port city. “Pardon me, but would this happen to be the land they call Titenfisca?”
The woman stared at the merchants for a moment, a cold and serious expression on her face. Then she burst out laughing. “Oh goodness no,” she said once she calmed down. “The Titenfiscans are good people, but we are not them. We are not even the same species; they are Squidspawn, and we are known as Inklings. And you are in the Woominate of Xoomi, ruled by the benevolent Empress Hitzumitzu.”
Albyn let out a heavy sigh and smiled. A formalized monarchy seemed to be a sign of a more civilized group. He had never heard of Inklings, but he assumed based on their form of government and friendly manner they were simply more civilized Squidspawn. “My apologies, madam. We are from a far-off land to the south of here.”
“Is that so? I didn’t even know there were humans south of here. I thought they were all up north.”
Albyn chuckled. “Yes, there are indeed humans south of here. Specifically, there is a realm known as the Dual Kingdom of the Isles, ruled by the mighty King Godred Crovan. My name is Albyn of Haultraugh. These are my partners.” Albyn turned around and extended his arm to the other merchants in turn. “Paric of Callan and Bryant Barris of Norramby.”
“My name is Masako Koribushi. I am delighted to meet you strangers.” Masako looked behind Albyn and stared transfixed at Bryant. “Pardon me, but is your purple friend over there…”
Bryant smiled and walked up to Masako. “I am nothing out of the ordinary you’ll be glad to know. Just an ordinary Locomati. A pleasure.” He gently took the Inkling’s hand and bent down to kiss it. After Bryant had done so, Masako quickly withdrew her hand and stared at Bryant with raised eyebrows.
“A… Locomati, you say?” Masako said as she wiped her hand on her cloak. “Are… there many of you?”
Bryant nodded. “I’d say so. We’re a significant part of the Dual Kingdom.”
“Fascinating. You know, as the first visitors we’ve had from this ‘Dual Kingdom’, I imagine the central government in Xoomyo might want to meet you. I was about to head there now to sell my goods; would you like me to give you a ride?”
Albyn smiled. “It would be a pleasure, my lady. And perhaps on the way I can inquire about some of your people’s ways and customs. I would like to send a report back to my central government in Peel Godred.”
“Not a problem at all. Follow me to my carriage and we’ll talk.”
To Queen Helga, Chancellor Cormac, and the court of Peel Godred,
My name is Albyn, son of Faragher. I am a merchant from Haultraugh, and I, along with my partners Paric of Callan and Bryant Barris of Norramby, have made a discovery that demands your attention. I have discovered a new civilization, a race of Inklings known as the Xoomi.
The Inklings are somewhat similar to the Squidspawn race of Titenfisca. Compared to the anarchic and degenerate ways of the Titenfiscan Squidspawn, the Xoomi Inklings are considerably more familiar. They are ruled by a monarchy much like our own, with the current ruler being the 18-year-old Empress Hitzumitzu. Unlike the Titenfiscans, the Xoomi have clear distinctions by sex, although in their society, it is women who occupy almost all the positions of prominence. In addition, same-sex relationships are quite common, and even the Empress is expected to have a female consort, with a male only being used for breeding purposes.
In terms of temperament, the Xoomi seem to be docile and friendly. They appear to show no hostility to men, and while I’m told older Inklings completely despise humans, younger Inklings have a much more tolerant attitude. One of the younger merchants, a woman unsurprisingly, greeted me and my partners warmly and offered to escort us to the capital to meet with their government. I will do my best to present the Dual Kingdom in a positive light and extol the virtues of making contact with our realm, but I shall commit to no deals until the arrival of your official ambassador with instructions.
May this letter please Your Majesty and give you great fortune.
Your obedient subject,
Albyn
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Post by amandaiscrazy on Mar 15, 2020 10:49:15 GMT -5
Hitzumitzu V: We meet the Southeners Date: 2864 XST (1432 IOTL) Location: Royal Palace of Xoomyo, Imperial Capital of Xoomyo, Woominate of Xoomi
---
I stood there silently in my Throne, not saying anything. Though, I stood up and slowly walked towards the window and caressed it, looking at the sun rising, at the swathes of birds flying, and at people opening their shops for what is an apparently very normal day in the Imperial Capital. One of my guards walked up to me, tilting her head to the side. "Your Majesty? Is there something that inquires your attention so much? Is something bad happening?"
I looked at her with those cold eyes that characterized me, cold eyes which were basically impossible to interpret any emotion other than either anger, apathy or confusion. She immediately got flustered, annoying the Empress, or the current reigning Monarch, was a death sentence for as long as the Proto-Xoomian Citystates have existed. "Y-Your Majesty! I am so sorry, I did not mean to bother you!"
I gave off a small chuckle. "It is alright, Hitzuba. To answer your question, though, I am not thinking seeing anything in particular; just thinking about it all."
She got confused, as evidenced by her rubbing her hand on the back of her head in a sign of not knowing what I was talking about.
"Oh? To explain myself more... I have been sent by Her to fulfill the mission of making this nation, Her mortal Realm, the best it can possible be. I truly do hope my legacy inspires future Empresses, you know? I yearn for a future where this grand and holy nation is a model for all peoples of Calveria, irrespective of things like race, religion, sexuality or nationalty, to follow. A model to make this wicked world better."
"Wicked world?" She asked me. I looked to the window for a few minutes, doing nothing but staring at the sun and the people just minding her business. Then, I looked at her. "Yes, wicked world. Psychotic people who follow the Father Demon are out there to get us, to tear down everything we've built as a nation. My own First Mother was a victim of the psychotic's despicable actions; my Second Mother is still fighting for her life, not even the highest-tier magic medics can bring her condition to stability. This situation is the source of my sadness and apparent apathy to everything, Hitzuba."
She opened her eyes wide and reached closer to me, touching my shoulder. I slowly grabbed her hand and took it off my shoulder. "Is there anything wrong?" She said to me in a soft and caring tone.
"I already told you what is wrong, Ma'am. Please, do not worry for me; I am okay."
She sighed as she walked to the door of my room. "Your Majesty, someone's knocking on the door. Do I let them in?"
I asked who they were.
"A high profile advisor of yours."
I thought about it for a few seconds, a variety of names came to mind when thinking of a 'high profile advisor' of mine. "
I went to my right to look at the figure, an scarily tall woman with short hair. "Ah. Hiroko."
Walking towards her, I gave off an slight smile, almost as if I was excited for what she was going to tell me.
"Your Majesty! A caravan containing potential diplomats from an unknown nation, plus a merchant woman from Xommaido, have arrived to the Imperial Capital. They are interested in you and want to talk to you."
I was, to say the least, surprised. A new nation? The only ones I knew of were the realm of Titenfisca and the Lexidun Empire, the former because of our constant trade with them and the latter because of the proximity of their colonies.
"Alright, invite them to the Palace, but summon 4 magic guards just in case."
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Post by Percyton on Mar 16, 2020 10:31:33 GMT -5
Royal Palace of Xoomyo, Xoomyo, Woominate of Xoomi Albyn of Haultraugh
The three merchants stood rigid as they waited outside the throne room doors. Neither said a word as they nervously awaited their reception.
At last, a tall Inkling courtier opened the large double-doors to the throne room. “The Empress will see you now,” she said.
Albyn and his partners nodded as they followed the courtier into the room. On the throne at the end of the hallway they saw the diminutive figure of Empress Hizumitzu, dressed in fine and elaborate robes. She raised an eyebrow at the visitors. For his part, Albyn was tempted to chuckle at the sight of a very young-looking monarch being presented with such pageantry, but he resisted the urge and stood respectfully before the throne.
“Your Majesty,” the courtier said, moving her arm toward the merchants, “may I present to you the merchants of the Southern Kingdom.”
All three merchants feel to their knees and bowed before the Empress. Albyn looked up at her. “It is a great honor, Your Majesty,” he said. “I am Albyn of Haultraugh. These are my business partners Paric of Callan and Bryant Barris of Norramby. We are honored to represent the Dual Kingdom of the Isles before your court.”
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Post by amandaiscrazy on Mar 16, 2020 13:03:49 GMT -5
My head was resting on the palm of my hand, which was supported by my arm sitting on the arm rests of my Throne. My black eyes were looking around my room. For some reason, I felt distracted most of the time unless I had something to devote all of my attention to. Though, I was no longer distracted until I saw three individuals, accompanied by Hiroko who walked up to me and stayed by my side, I was still looking at the strangers, most specifically at the one with the purple skin. I groaned, annoyedly when he seemed to repress a chuckle; I immediately knew it was because of my height. I truly didn't like to have it pointed out because it diminished my importance as Empress, it diminished my importance as someone who was sent by Her to safeguard the integrity of my mortal brethren, to safeguard the integrity of this nation, Her official representation in this mortal realm.
I attentively looked at Hiroko presenting me these merchants, apparently with origins from a 'Southern Kingdom'. And I thought the only beings present in the South were barbarian tribes. Maybe I was wrong, maybe this Southern Kingdom was either a puny citystate or a vast Empire with size similar to, or even surpassing, Xoomi's territory. Either way, to know of civilization down South was something refreshing. After all, it meant more opportunities for Xoomi to grow stronger and to lead the way for a more civilized world.
Getting up, I walked towards them as they bowed to me. I waited for them to finish their bowing and I looked at the purple one straight in the eyes with a look that could send shivers down his spine.
"Tell me, adventurer. What calls you to visit our Heavenly nationstate?"
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Post by amandaiscrazy on Mar 17, 2020 12:01:32 GMT -5
A New Age 新しい時代 Date: 2864 XST (1432 IOTL)
Location: Royal Palace of Xoomyo, Imperial Capital of Xoomyo, Woominate of Xoomi
--- A shift concerning Xoomi's opinions on the world is taking place at an exponential rate, never ever seen before. Ever since Empress Otome IV's tragic end, the nation has felt reinvigorated, in a way, to truly embrace the Woomy's principles: Liberty, Love and Equality, to all people except criminals and to those who go against the Woomy's principles and what She upholds. And for that, Xoomi embraces this new age, this era of military-backed tolerance. Let it be known, that her Holy and Grand Majesty, Empress Hitzumitzu V, will not tolerate acts that go against what the Woomy wishes to become of Calveria: A continent where villainy is crushed and where the values of freedom and love reign supreme. And to represent this new Era, Xoomi's new official name is the "Holy Empire of Great Xoomi"(聖クオミの大帝国), along with a new flag, dubbed "Rising Sun" (朝日) and a new nation-wide motto "Eight Corners, single Heaven" (エイトコーナーズ、シングルヘブン)
For this reason, the Empress, mighty may She be, has passed two new Decrees: Imperial Decree 86 and Imperial Decree 87. The Imperial Decree 86 officially puts Xoomi in a state of complete and total war against what it calls "Barbarian Worshippers" - people who support the Father Devil (父の悪魔), a figure that was said to fight a Holy War against the Woomy for the control of the state of Xoomi but ended up losing and banished to the center of the continent, where he supposedly remains imprisoned since.
This Imperial Decree details military expeditions to the borders of the Woominate, where groups that follow the Father Devil are most prominent. The Imperial Decree is expected to wipe out these heathens off of the territory of our Holy Empire.
The next Imperial Decree, Imperial Decree 87, encourages Xoomian sailors to set sail and discover and colonize new lands. In a large part, this Decree is already hugely succesful: More than two thousand sailors have already managed to install new colonies all around Calveria. The booming populations of racoon-eared and fox-eared humans are already being invited to leave their former lands and start populating these newly colonized territories, but they are not forced to do so.
Expansion shown in fuchsia/darker pink/purple
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Post by yukona on Mar 26, 2020 19:47:34 GMT -5
The Northern Seas
Selyf sat, legs a stretched, his pipe's smoke curling noxious, hazy, smoke in-front of his face. He felt comfortable, watching the sun's rays dance elegantly across the azure water as it lapped gently over the pebbles on the beach but a few yards away. He gazed up through the branches of the tree he was sat underneath, watching the dappled light play upon the wood. He felt happy. In his hands he studied a map, it was annotated with many scribblings at once both chaotic yet also decidedly analytical. Ruining his rather placid composure, he noticed the number of warnings that had been inked in bold Glynic, 'danger, warning, death'. Not exactly subtle, he thought to himself. Nevertheless, he resigned himself to calm contemplation as the cloudless sky's heat warmed his bones. He heard the cracking of a twig behind him, quickly placing his hand on his sword's hilt he rose to his feet with urgency, only to find a curious squirrel looking back at him perplexedly, two rather large nuts holstered in each cheek. He returned the stare, only to have his moment of connection abruptly interrupted once again by the sound of shouting, buffeting and creaking. Late, as per usual. I don't even find it surprising anymore. Honestly, you simply can't rely on them, even with a journey of this importance. Selyf observed the ship, it's emerald green sails moving remarkably similar to the sea itself, cruising around the wooded headland to his right with great speed. Atop its highest central mast was the pendant of the red dragon, fluttering gracefully. It pitched and yawed as it neared him, its crew dashing around its deck with equal haste and routine. They were expert sailors, the Pretany Chlan. Their experience and expertise in maritime travel was unrivaled in all the Isles, and one would be fortunate to find even a single Pretan among his sailors. The ship's hull was of a darkened hue, and the front was encased in a panel-beaten metal that had long since gone verdigris from a lengthy voyage. He marvelled at the vessel's complexity, the rigging stretched like a cave spider's web from either side to the numerous masts which were as tall as the highest Mother Trees back home in Lylith. He crouched and removed flint and tinder from his goat's skin pouch as he set about relighting the fire nearby so as to flag down the ship. Whilst adept sailors, the Pretany, they were not so skilled in observation. That's why I'm here.
Selyf waded through the cold water toward the rowing boat that was hastily making its way toward him, the men waving him forward. Probably enjoying seeing me struggle in the water, I imagine. For fuck's sake. He cupped his hands, "you do realise I have important papers here, right!" he shouted, "that's kind of the whole point in you meeting me here!" As the party came closer one arose with a large grin on his face. "Carwyn, for the love of -. I should have know you'd be involved in this irritatingly late and ill-concocted venture, you burke! Couldn't organise a piss up in a tavern, you and your lot!"
"Now, now, now, Selyf. Pleasantries excluded there's no need to be like that," he gave his friend an arm to help him up, nearly tipping the boat in the meantime.
"How do you even manage to be here? Last I heard you were on a diplomatic mission to the Western Kingdom?"
"Where there's a will, there's a way. Nothing a bit of effort and some good walking can't solve, not that you'd known" he jibed.
"Yeah, say that again."
Once on board the barque, the deck was still abuzz with activity, as the sailors - from all over Glynica - tended to their duties with great dexterity and diligence. Selyf had scouted this journey before, on orders of the High King, however he was still unsure what the waters and coast held. There were times, on trade voyages back home, where had seen whole merchant fleets swallowed by the sea. Thence, the precondition for this intricate voyage was for him to plot the majority of the course to the far sea to observe and/or predict any hazards. The amount of political and diplomatic pressure on this entire operation was immense, and it was not to be squandered by poor cartography, lackluster scouting and ineffective seamanship. This crew, Selyf himself included, was the best Glynica had to offer.
Deep inside the aft of the ship, inside a dark and smoke-filled cabin, he and Carwyn sat with the Captain, a Pretan by the name of Hywel - an admiral in service to the crown, veteran of the War of Thistles, and rather famed in Lylith both for his nautical expertise and stomach capacity in both beer and grub - and they laid out the map. They all lit their pipes, taking heavy tokes, before leaning forward over the thick dark oak table in-front of them with intent curiosity.
"Strange times we live in, lads, strange times indeed. I've met many a foreign tribe on our seas, but this..." Hywel let his words hang as he fumbled for a match to relight his moss.
"This comes right from the top, Admiral, and I mean the very top. Rumour has it that the King himself has ordered this one; if this succeeds, not only will we be rich, we'll be famous!" Carwyn mused.
"More than that," Selwyn interjected, "Glynica, will be rich. Now, I assume everyone has been briefed as far as their station merits, we rendezvous at the mouth of this river here," he planted a finger down with a thud at the mouth of a mighty river, extending down from a highland, bifurcating the continent. Carwyn's envoy party managed to discern a large part of its course, and with some good luck hopefully we'll get near enough a crossing here. It's going to be treacherous, and bloody hard on the men, but once we make it to their way camp, we've hit gold. From there on, pardon the phrasing, it's plain sailing."
The men nodded in approval, leaning back in deliberation. Hywel stroked his beard and pulled out his journal and octant to begin taking notes and plotting courses, nautical intricacies that were far beyond Selwyn's understanding or desire thereto. The small fire roared in the nearby corner, its yellow flames licking the room with heat. Selwyn could not help himself as his eyes buried into the oak beams above himself and he begun to dream of the coin and fame that was but a grasp away. But it was more than that, in his mind. This was an opportunity, he thought, for Glynica to step into a new age. The Western Kingdom, the tall peoples, they presented themselves as friends - and although one was to view strangers with a degree of uncertainty in Glynica - no one with knowledge of the contact could allow themselves to be vacant of the palpable excitement with the expansion of relations and trade routes. This was a new world, Glynica was entering into, for better, or for worse, but definitely for the new.
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Post by Percyton on Mar 26, 2020 20:57:45 GMT -5
Royal Palace of Xoomyo, Xoomyo, Woominate of Xoomi Albyn of Haultraugh Albyn got up and looked the Empress in the eyes. He glanced around at the guards standing by the throne, and from their dour expressions he got a vague sense they weren’t happy with him and were just waiting for their leader’s order to apprehend him. Albyn took a deep breath and then put on a faint smile. The Empress’ sharp gaze was intimidating, as were her annoyed guards. Still, he would not be cowed by a foreign child, monarch or not. The honor of not just himself, but his nation, was at stake.
“The forces of nature, Your Majesty,” Albyn said. “We had intended to trade with Lexidus through their new South-East Passage. But a storm forced us to seek shelter in your port of Xommaido. There, we were greeted by a friendly merchant who escorted us to your capital.”
Paric nodded. “And I think it is a good thing we strayed off course. If you do not think it presumptuous, Your Majesty, I’m inclined to believe that our meeting today is a result of divine providence, and that the Goddess has ordained the contact between our two nations.”
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Mar 27, 2020 18:09:53 GMT -5
High Admiral Hunter MacLeish, Colony of Feurach - Mainland of Calveria
"Tale Fang! The Quijaini Traders, how do they fair?" Hunter called out as he walked off the newly constructed port leading into the Empire's latest colony, the fresh smell of pinewood still emanating from it.
The green kobold was almost skipping to him, deftly dodging between sailor and foreman alike, holding a book as big as his chest tightly. "Brilliantly sir!" he called out. "They said they were more than happy to cooperate with us and even help us with their maps and trade routes!"
Hunter smirked and scanned the massive grasslands that stretch out before him, the small colony slowly petering out into intermittent huts and then eventually nothing but vast wilderness as the maw of Calveria laid before him.
"They also confirmed that they had sighted the Glynicans on the other side of the continent, from other Quijaini tribes meeting them!" Tale yipped as met up with his superior and walked alongside the High Admiral.
Hunter stopped and took the large ledger from his apprentice. He had taken a liking to the over-qualified sentry and took him on a couple of weeks ago, he had a good eye for talent and he wasn't about to let it go to waste because a racist old Lord from eastern Lexidus had sent off a gifted kobold to the arse-end of nowhere. "Excellent work as always Fang. This will make meeting up with the Glynicans easier, we'll make sure to let the Quijaini nomads spread the word, hopefully the Glynicans will hear of this settlement from their side of Mother Calveria."
"Better meeting us here than in Yola's Landing, that's what I say sir!"
Hunter gave a small chuckle and rubbed his bare hands together. It was still chilly down here, he made no mistake of that, but at least it wasn't two extra layer levels of coldness like in the frozen north. He felt sympathy for men and women of the empire up there, standing about in the cold for so long, especially Kobolds. "Definitely better for both of us, you especially my friend."
"Ach it was alright sir. I didn't mind the work that much, if I got to serve the kingdom that's all that mattered!" Tale Fang smiled. He had a breathless energy to him, it was something Hunter admired in him, the Kobold was naive sure but admirable above all.
"Well you'll serve your country better down here with me. You've an important role in all this Tale Fang." Hunter remarked as he approached the Town Hall.
"...which by the way sir, you've not really elaborated on. What ARE our roles down here?" The Kobold inquired as the two of them made their way into the warmth of the building, a gentle red glow basking over them from the grand fireplace situated at the furthest end of the grand room. Various rugs of both sheep and bear adorned the floor and in the middle of the room sat a modest but long table with various wooden chairs placed around it. In the middle of the table, was a map.
Smoothing the freshly made parchment map out with the palms of his hands, the young admiral gave a sly wink to his ward and gestured to the map. "This, is our role, 1st Officer Fang. A North-Eastern Passage."
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Post by yukona on Mar 28, 2020 15:18:29 GMT -5
Somewhere North-Eastern Calveria
"This is shite", Carwyn stated bluntly. His tent was heavy and sodden, and it seemed as if the freshly cut pole above his head was flexing under the pressure from the gathering puddles forming above his head. "Do none of you's know how to set up a bloody tent!" he shouted loudly. But to no avail, for the thunder of rain on the wet sludge outside of his realm of warmth, separated from the elements by hide, was enough to drown out any sound but his own thoughts. Of course, he had travelled far to meet the Westmen in what they called 'Yola's Landing', through blizzard and bluster, however he hated rain. An odd inclination for a Glynican, indeed, for there was often more water falling over the Isles than there was in the very sea itself. Regardless, Carwyn could not tolerate it, but what he could not tolerate more was being soaked, and thus he was decidedly thankful for his dryness, and subsequently reassessed his frustration. Lifting his tent flap back, he couldn't help but marvel at how the small clearing on the banks of the river mouth - apparently named the River Pwyll by the party's druid - was slowly transforming itself into familiarity. The men, as unfortunate as they were to be tasked to work in such weather (not that many Glyny, unlike Carwyn, found the rain discouraging - nay, many a Glynic man found rain to be a subtle and to-be-appreciated pleasantry in life), were slowly wattle-and-daubing the drystone walls. The central roundhouse, about the length of four chariots, was nearing completion. Its roof, of plant and peat, would need to be prepared in better weather; however, once erected it would serve as the most amicable shelter for decades, if not hundreds of years to come. Glynic craftsmanship in such matters as keeping the elements at bay was unrivalled, this roundhouse, Carwyn thought, was no exception, if not the pinnacle. I wonder if they'll name this place after me me, he pondered, fat chance.
As the sun began to set, so too did the rain abate and the crew and companions of the boat's mission began to slowly emerge from their make-shift dwellings. Children nearly swept people off their feet as they dashed to the well to receive pales for their family's evening meals, and far above their heads eagles dove curiously above the new infringement on their kingdom. Night was rolling in, and far off down the mountain pass, just peaking the trees, the first moon of Calveria began to crest. Flute music gently drifted into Carwyn's ear, as he observed fires slowly coming to life to keep the night at bay. This'll do as home for a while, I reckon. With that he closed the flap and plunged himself into darkness, the candle having long gone out during his state of deep-thought. He yanked off his boots and hung his cloak, burying himself in the furs as he swung above the floor, gently falling to a quiet sleep. A home from home.
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Post by Unfallious on Apr 4, 2020 14:32:50 GMT -5
The Battle of Quijain Quijain Dusk
Dusk came quicker than anyone had anticipated. The sun loomed at the horizon, almost unwilling to cross the threshold, as if it knew all too well of the bloodshed to come. Alas, it descended, and the time the Mad God had picked as the moment to strike had arrived. In the interval between the meeting of the champions and dusk, the crusaders had done much. A deep series of trench had been hastily completed by contingents from the Rohazai and the People's Crusade. The trench stretched along the flanks of the camp as well as the rear, and behind them stood the fearsome might of the Kyran phalanx, volunteers from the Citizens Crusade, and Titenfiscan mercenaries. At the core of this defensive force, however, stood a mighty contingent of mages drawn from the collective might of the crusader nations. The great mirewalkers had been raised up to form makeshift archery towers, from where the crusader states had placed squads of their best marksmen. Within the camp, supplies had been triaged and prioritised. Essentials from the respective crusader states had been combined and stored around the centre of the camp, with the command tent at the heart. A contingent of elite troops had been stationed around this core to serve as a last stand in the worst case scenario.
The main bulk of the crusader forces: The Asillic Spearhead and the Western Troops, had been placed at the front of the camp. At the front stood the the infantry. This was a sight to behold, a multitude of races from all different creeds, from republics, kingdoms and theocracies, from squidspawn, to human, to elven. Side by side they stood, swords in hand. Shields at the ready. There they stood as the sun fell and the dying embers of the day flickered and died on the horizon.
From the other side stood the orcs, a horde which stretched into the distance. The inhuman cries of beasts, some of which had never stepped foot outside of the tabes until this moment, rang through the air. This was matched by the fearsome orcish battlecries, chants in an unknown language, but nonetheless still frightening to behold. These were the divine warriors of a different god, a worldy god. They were the the warriors whose patron's power ran through their veins, invigorating them, rejuvenating them, granting them the very semblance of life they now use to advance his grand plan.
It was dark now, the sun was only a line of orange on the horizon. The battlefield ahead was only lit now by the various bonfires both side had set up for visibility. The shadows played tricks on both sides, their enemies seemed to dance and flicker. It was hard to discern who was shadow or man, elf or orc, Rigamaran or Myratnean. As the appointed time drew near, a silence begin to grow. First, the crusader's side drew to a hush. Then, almost matching them, the orcish side too grew silent. It became quickly apparent that both sides were praying in their own way. Requests for mercy, blessings, power and victory sprung from one tongue to the next. The Gods were surely watching, and to them this was a cacophony of calls for help, guidance and mercy. But, to the mortals of Calveria, what rang out was silence.
This silence lasted only the briefest of moments. A horn rang out, shattering the silence and bringing every man back to alertness once more. In the distance, the crusaders on the front line could hear the unmistakable sounds of hooves on grass. They drew closer and closer, the sound growing louder and louder. On the frontlines the men shifted uncomfortably, the kind of shifting one makes when one knows that their very life could be snuffed out in a moment by a spectre from the dark. Just so, out came the undead steeds with the undeed orcs riding upon their backs. Spearmen in the crusader frontline lowered their weapons, in preparation to break the charge. The orcish cavalry charges were in the form of several distinct groups, hitting strategic spots along the frontline. Several groups smashed into the frontlines, cutting down Lexidun and Kyasii alike. Other groups found themselves repelled by the pointed ends of a dozen spears. As the dust settled from the first series of charges, the Crusader frontlines looked no worse than before. The casualties had been neglible. That was when the bombardment started. From out of the distance, soaring across the sky, came a dozen purple balls of energy. They left trails of magenta across the skies as they soared, arced and them smashed into the backline of the Crusader spearhead. Accompanying this was a renewed set of cavalry charges, this time hitting the crusader flanks. Immediately, the crusader commanders unleashed their own cavalry on the orcish riders. The orcs had already inflicted casualties as they found themselves suddenly on the recieving end of the charges. The Crusader cavalry not only managed to repel the Orcish attacks on their flanks, but now were able to execute harassing attacks on the orc frontline, which had begun to advance out of the dark.
Overhead, another volley of the glowing projectiles filled the air, they impacted the Crusader backline, detonating as they did so. This time, some projectiles managed to hit the outskirts of the Crusader camps, setting alight to tents and throwing the defence into disarray. That was when the orc line charged. The thundering roar of a thousand feet hitting the grass. A horn blast signalled the Crusader counter-charge. The two lines ran into each other in a fervour of chaotic battling. The darkness was punctuated by flaming arrows, magic projectiles and the thunderous impacts of the Yrutan artillery. The mirewalkers delivered highly effective fire on the orcs below, lighting up the frontline and thinning the orcish lines. However, there were simply too many of them and it quickly became apparent the orc line was able to stretch far further than the Crusader line could ever hope to match. Soon, the Crusader camp came under attack by Orc invaders, the trenches hampered their charge, with orcs falling only to be speared by the Kyran phalanx. The trenches quickly became a quagmire of Orc bodies, their momentum not allowing them to stop their charge in time to avoid it. What orcs that could advance over their fallen brethren would find themselves impaled at the might of the Kyran phalanx, or made short work of by Titenfiscan mercenaries. The camp defenders were able to maintain their positions, not giving an inch of ground to the orc charge.
Over on the frontline, the story was a different matter. The Crusader centre began to cave, allowing orcs to flood in to fill the space left behind by the crusader withdrawal. Whilst the flanks held firm, the centre was collapsing quickly. Orc mages unleashing fierce barrages of energy and arcane powers upon frontline Crusaders, destroying not only their bodies but their very souls. The fighting was fierce but it seem to be advancing in the orc's favour. That was, until the frontline in the centre met the Crusader core of elite troops and cavalry. Contained right in the middle of the Crusader centre was a core of cavalry and elite troops, the Champions themselves among them. As the Crusader frontline grew close, the cavalry unleashed a mighty charge, carving a hole in the centre of the Orcish line and allowing the elite troops to charge through. It looked as though the Orcish force may be cut entirely in two...
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Post by Chiernarosa on Apr 15, 2020 5:01:47 GMT -5
Battlefield, Quijain - Three Hours before the Battle
"Alright, Black Guards, listen up!" Varist called out, the men assembling before him, "Most of us have been selected to serve as the phalanx for the defenses, and we're one of the units: I want all infantrymen and weapons specialists to take position in the trenches; medics, we're drawing lots for those staying with us, about half of you total, the other half will be transferred back to the camp to provide support to the Aven and Kyran Honor Guard, those will be tasked to give support to Kyran and allied units. Any medic who are with us, if you see a man from another army go down near you, lend support to them."
The medics nodded, taking lots and being assigned to their respective areas of operation, Varist continuing, "Arbalists and archers, we need you to man the Mire-Walkers the Rozhai brought with them: we're looking for those who can fire fast and accurately, we're counting on you lot to keep the enemy lines spread thin. Everyone else, if an enemy falls into the trench, you kill the bastard. Say your prayers, compose any letters to your loved ones, get any supplies if you need them, we are going in for the long run."
"Yes, Sir!"
"Captain Varist," Kalċidon called out, having emerged from the center of the camp to oversee the supplies, "A moment, please."
"Yes, Sir," Varist said, climbing out of the trench, "What do you wish of me?" Noticing General Erardi, Varist saluted the officer, "General Erardi."
"At ease, Captain," Erardi said, "Besides, it'd be best to avoid saluting, lest the enemy understand."
"My apologies, Sir," Varist said, before turning to Kalċidon, "So, what do you need, my Lord?"
"I was discussing with General Erardi about our combat situation and the possibility of casualties in this battle," Kalċidon started, almost cautiously, but Varist picked up on the implications immediately.
"Sir, you are in a tenable position, better than most of us: besides, handling logistics is something that probably won't see too many casualties."
"I understand you see it that way, but I need you to listen, preferably in a closeted location," Kalċidon said, motioning for the men to follow him into a nearby tent: closing it, he gestured for them to sit down before closing the flap and sitting, "I need a bulwark for the possibility of my death, especially if it occurs within the camp."
They recognized what he meant: Vyrodok. "Sir, with all due respect, the Honor Guard should provide the defense," Erardi said, "Besides, I do not think Vyrodok would be able to spare any Republican Guardsmen if they caught in the middle of a fight."
"Erardi, you know better than anyone else that Vyrodok would be willing to try anything to get an edge against me, even if the end of the world rests upon our shoulders." Kalċidon remarked, pulling the flap back to take a look at the General in question, his scarred face sweeping over to look at his men, who were busy taking position near the center of the camp. "What I am asking of both of you extends to the security of the Republic, and must not leave this tent: Erardi, in the event that I am killed during the fighting, I ask that you take command of the Conquest Force - I have a letter, affixed with my seal for the sake of verification, that grants all authority to you. If we succeed and all of you return home, you must present a second letter to the leaders of the Amalgamated Temple and the generals in charge of security for Varan and its associated islands: there, you will present the letter providing my recommendation that you succeed me as Chancellor."
"Sir, I-" Erardi began, Kalċidon holding a hand up to preempt his protest.
"Erardi, there is no one else I can trust to take over in my stead should I die: if you survive and our goal is reached, you must carry on with my work. No one else would assume you to be my successor and you are the only one truly separated from the internal politics there. I have a number of documents in my office detailing reforms: I have given a key to Erin for safekeeping, seek him to receive those documents. Above all else, I need to put faith in someone who can resist Vyrodok if I die: too much power has been put into my hands, and it could endanger the stability of the country if succession plans are not formulated and Vyrodok decides to lead a coup. Erardi, it is an order."
The General paused for a few seconds, looking lost. Finally, he snapped out of it and nodded, "I understand, Kalċidon: if you fall, I will do what you had planned."
"Thank you, old friend," Kalċidon replied, before looking at Varist, "Varist, I had you join me for several reasons: I need someone to provide verification in case resistance is met against Erardi. Second, I need to entrust a lower-ranking officer for some additional plans of mine, and third, in case Erardi does not make it, I need you to link up with Erin, Kyre, and Żaren - they will provide support for you to launch a counter-coup against Vyrodok."
"Sir, wouldn't that be more entrusted to a cadre of Generals?"
"Having one General among you will grant you authority, plus they would not expect a response from a lower-ranking officer, a non-commissioned officer, and the Messija," Kalċidon noted, before placing a hand on Varist's shoulder and looking him in the eyes, "Varist, in case I die, I am entrusting authority in you to serve as Vice-Chancellor for Erardi: the scouts have told me you do not have a family and have been in the Army for most of your life, I cannot think of any other to take over for the position."
"Expendable, am I?" Varist snarked.
"In the world of cutthroat politics, yes, but you are the one I can trust to lead this country if I die," Kalċidon countered, "Like with Erardi, that is an order."
"Understood, Sir."
"Good," Kalċidon stated, opening the tent, "Now, return to your positions, there is a battle to wage."
The Battle
"Hold your positions!" Żaren roared as the battle began, having taken his place with the other Champions and the Kyran Honor Guard, the Republican Guardsmen providing a secondary defense. He had finally outfitted himself for war: his aketon had scale armor plates inserted above the iron plates, followed by a lamellar armor layer. His vambraces had miniature shields placed along the top, chains linked to the interiors of his braces, to which he had attached the ax to his right hand, and a modified Tyrant sword crafted from the hide of the dragon, joined by enchanted steel, on his left. His belt had Redentur's hatchet looped, along with Kyre's hunting knife, a stiletto, a dagger, and several potions. On his back, another ax was placed there, a two-handed ax with a head composed of a sharpened ax blade and reinforced dagger tip. His legs had an emphasis on additional armor, enchanted so as to not melt if he were to set his legs ablaze.
The fire he sheathed himself in glowed bright, enough for it to pierce through the dusk air and provide a visual aid for the soldiers around him. The roars of the orcs charging came in, their cavalry visible to him. Quickly, he roared out, "KRIEGSALDREN, ØKESADREN, IWAQQAFHOM!" The units guarded, attempting to ward off the orc riders as they began to cut through them, having been joined by the strange artillery. Looking over to Kalċidon, Żaren called out, "ĦAŻEL L-ARBAN!"
Kalċidon nodded and lifted a flare tube, additionally calling out, "Żjieba, iqabbdu lil dawn il-ħlejjaq, flimkien mal-linja ta 'quddiem, huma jibdew jimxu' l quddiem!" ("Riders, engage those creatures, along with the frontline, they are starting to move forward!"). The Arban shot forward, the defensive line allowing them through as they began to cut through the orc cavalry, the undead beasts unable to counter the speed of the steeds, arrows and swords cutting through their masters as they moved forward, pushing towards the orc frontline.
The explosions knocked Żaren out of his attention, directing him to the projectiles setting the camps ablaze, "Gwardjani, itfu dawk il-fjammi misħuta!" ("Guards, extinguish those cursed flames!") As the Guards moved to cover them, he could see the orcs at the rear tripping into the trenches, the Kyrans and Titenfiscans slaughtering all those that fell in: he let out a bellowing laugh, along with a call to them, "Int issa tilħaq it-tmiem tiegħek, xjaten! (You are now meeting your end, devils!). BRETHREN, KILL THEM ALL! DO NOT LET A SINGLE ONE SURVIVE ENTRY! BRING SLAUGHTER TO THOSE HELLSPAWN!"
"Sir, I would not celebrate yet!" The Honor Guardsman next to him called out, joined by Żaren's dragon, which drew a worried growl towards the front: looking forward, he could see them, the Orcs crashing through the center, mages exterminating the Crusaders. While they were not his kin, he could sense the mages destroying the soldiers, not only ridding their corporeal forms, but even their souls. "OUR BROTHERS HAVE FALLEN, MEN, BE PREPARED TO ENGAGE," Żaren roared out in rage, joined by the Honor Guard as they let out their own cries of anger and hate. Looking to the cavalry, Żaren gave the word, "ĠIB VENDETTA GĦAL DAWK KOLLHA LI WAQGĦU. IL-BHEJJEM SERQU L-ERWIEĦ TAGĦHOM, TFARRAKHOM!" ("BRING VENGEANCE FOR ALL FALLEN. THE BEASTS HAVE STOLEN THEIR SOULS, CRUSH THEM!"), the riders charging forward and cutting the invaders in two, the Guards charging forward in their rage. Rearing his dragon back, his steed unleashed a jet of flame, Żaren pulling his ax and sword out from their scabbards as he prepared to join the fight, the ax lighting up along with him, 'Be all my sins remembered, I will cut as many of these monsters down. FOR YOUR GLORY, GREAT WARRIOR, AND FOR THE WAR'S REACH!'
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Apr 18, 2020 12:58:28 GMT -5
High Admiral Hunter MacLeish, Colony of Feurach - Mainland of Calveria
Selyf's horse came to a slow trot as its hooves struggled in the verdant wetlands that extended beyond him. The Quijani mounted beside him pointed to the confluence of the snaking river, which meandered its way through the undulating countryside. At the river-mouth in the near distance a settlement, as promised, was slowly being built. He could see the area abuzz with activity, as workers crawled around rickety scaffolding, tending to the slowly rising houses.
Coming closer, two guards, stood resting on halberds, their faces flashing with alarm as they suddenly realised his approach. Raising a hand in greeting, Selyf shouted across the wind lashed fields.
Hunter rubbed his eyes slightly as he sat next to the map, ink wells, feathers and reports scattered across the grand table in the town hall. He was just about to yawn when a guard entered, a burst of cold air entering the large but cozy room. "Admiral! We believe the Glynican representative has arrived."
Standing up and uncreasing his uniform slightly, Hunter waved his hand in approval. "Bring him here, we don't want to keep our new friends waiting!"
With this, the guard disappeared back out into the mild coldness of the settlement, closing the door behind him with a firm swing. Tale Fang jolted awake in from of the fireplace, a book having been perched on his snout. He, almost panicking, lunged for the book and grabbed it. Quickly standing to attention. Hunter laughed.
"That book a bit too dull for you tastes Tale?"
Tale Fang relaxed, letting his shoulders sag as he came to his Admiral's side. "A bit sir. Who knew 'The Guide to Settling' could be so languid."
"What's about to happen will be far more exciting I assure you." Hunter smiled, just as the Town Hall doors swung open again. This time with the Glynican and the Lexidun escort who promptly excused themselves as they shut the door and left the elf alone with the human and the kobold.
"Greetings! Welcome to the Settlement of Feurach, the newest colony of the Lexidun Empire. You must be the representative from Glynica, a friend of Carwyn I assume?" Hunter walked across the hall and offered his hand to shake.
Selyf grabbed the Admiral's forearm in greeting, bringing Hunter into a close hug. Taking him by surprise with his familiarity, he recalled that this was how Glynicans greeted one another. "How b'on, my liege. Allow me to introduce myself! My name is Selyf af Tyndaly, I have come here on orders of the King of Flowers and Glynica. I believe this is to be in your hands." Selyf crouched and slung his knapsack onto his raised knee, pulling out a large cylindrical casement of a foreign metal, intricately embossed with natural imagery. He flicked a catch, opening the top with a clang and presented it to Hunter.
Hunter was almost taken aback with the warmth the elf exuded, a far cry from many previous diplomatic missions where he often faced either icy glares or superficial pleasantries, the Glynicans however exuded genuine amiableness. "Ah! Your country's gift to ours is most welcome and appreciated Selyf!"
The High Admiral laid the foreign maps and documents on the table, taking special care to keep them separate from his own, he took particular care in the handling of the river valley sketches.
"Tale Fang. Be so kind as to acquire some drinks for all three of us, including yourself." Hunter beamed.
"On it sir!" The Kobold chirped, making his way through a nearby wooden door into a pantry.
"In Lexidus we have a custom where the guest chooses the first drink for a welcome toast. Tell me Selyf, is there a drink you're fond of? Ale, cider, vodka?"
"Cider, of course. I suppose our brewing methods haven't made way to your people, yet," he mused. "O' Sweet nectar, I must declare it the favourite past-time of our people. Do you mind?" Selyf revealed a long wooden pipe from his leather belt.
"Not at all." Hunter smiled and even offered a match to Selyf. "Navy Cannon Matches, bit of wood with the tinniest bit of cannon powder stuck on them. Far more effective than flint and steel. Watch out though, they sometimes make a sharp cracking noise!" Hunter chuckled.
Tale Fang returned with three dark green half-pint glasses and an accompanying bottle of cider. Pouring a glass for the three of them.
Hunter raised a glass and toasted. "To your health Selyf!" Taking a deep gulp, the admiral shook his head slightly and gestured his hand towards Tale Fang. "Agh. Where are my manners, this here is my 1st Mate Tale Fang, my right hand kobold!"
Selyf struck the match and it burst into flames with a bombastic puff, only to go out again. "Hah! I'll take another, I 'spose", he chuckled. "To your's as well", Selyf gestured, raising the tankard in commiseration. "Blessings upon you, Tale Fang, it is an honour to meet you."
"Allow me to draw your attention to our map", Selyf said as he pointed toward the casement in Hunter's hand. "This document is of the upmost importance, and it's critical we keep this in safe hands. Regardless, if you care to peruse it, you may Glynica's settlement on the opposite end of this strath, and more importantly - you will see the plans for a trail I have personally mapped out, that led me here."
Selyf took a heavy toke on his pipe, smoke caressing and curling around his bearded, friendly face. He smiled at Hunter and gave him a pat on the back, "this could do a lot of good for us both," as he lent over the parchment paper, his globed knuckles resting on the table.
"Here!" Hunter quipped as he gently threw a box of the matches at Selyf. "Keep them, a souvenir."
Tale Fang smoothed out the Glynican's map next to the larger one of the Lexidun variety, he have a toothy grin as the realisation hit him. "Hunter! The Quijaini were right, there is a passage!"
"That they indeed were. Not only that, our plotted route meets up nicely with our friend over here's trail." Hunter mused, stroking his chin as he scanned the two maps. Looking up to Selyf, Hunter straightened his posture and clapped his hands together.
"More than good Ser Tyndaly! Your trail leading your settlement to ours follows along a very special passage of lakes indeed. I guess now is the best time to tell you of Lexidus' plans in the area and our ultimate goal!" Taking a feather and dipping it in jet black ink, he leaned across the large map and circled a piece of land separating two lakes by a couple of miles. "Selyf my friend. That right there is the North-Eastern passage. A piece of land that could connect our two nations via a waterway. Currently there is no link between the two suitable for the level of ship activity we have in mind but..."
He paused, a little for dramatic effect, he couldn't help himself. "With enough resources, manpower and cooperation, we can set up workers in the area and dig up a link between them. A canal!"
Selyf once again let out a huge puff of smoke as his faced formed into a wry grin. "This will make both our kingdoms rich. May our friendship forever prosper," he declared as he motion his pipe in a vague form of celebration. "So that's it, then? I assume I can take this news back to Lylith with full confidence in Lexidun partnership? I must say, how are we going to organise this?"
Hunter clapped his hands together. "That you can my friend, full cooperation and partnership. An alliance between our two countries. I will be organising the Lexidun half of this operation, we will establish a forward operating base in the land where the canal will be constructed and said base will also be your base as well. There we can be in close contact with one another and allow for ease of communication!"
Tale Fang, leisurely took notes on the meeting, keeping a rough transcript of what was occurring. Part of his duties included informing the Royal Advisor Augustus Crowley of how the project was going, seeing as Crowley was managing mainland Lexidus affairs whilst the King was away on the crusade.
Hunter poured a glass of cider for the three of them and raised it. "You can take this news back to your King; we won't keep you for any longer than you need us to. Great things are upon us, let us begin with haste and confidence in our hearts. Cheers!"
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Apr 28, 2020 19:02:36 GMT -5
King Blair de Brus, No Man's Land - Quijain
"HOLD YOUR GROUND. DON'T GIVE THEM AN INCH OF YOUR LAND PEOPLE!" Blair boomed at the top of his lungs, the galloping of his horse's hooves thundering beneath him as he dashed behind the defenders in camp. He, somewhat clumsily, darted between tents and rushing soldiers, rallying the defenders to the best his moderate horse riding abilities could allow him. Morale and the defences seemed high, until the bombardment hit, the violent balls of energy smashing into the camp and causing momentary chaos and confusion. With multiple rapid fire tugs of the horse's reigns Blair dodged the stray artillery by the skin of his teeth; the earth below him pelting his face painfully. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he commandeered a group of Mages of Myratnis to douse the flames caused by the bombardment and to help the wounded. Dismounting his horse as he did so, he picked up a soldier who had been knocked back a good couple of metres by an especially viscous blast, unsheathing his axe he ran towards the defence where some Titenfiscan Mercenaries who were unloading an ungodly amount of crossbow fire into the never ending torrent of Orc warriors. Cleaving an Orc's head clean off as he assisted whatever point seemed to be overwhelmed.
"THE TRENCHES ARE FILLING UP. GOOD! LETS TURN THIS TRENCH INTO A WALL; MAKE THEM CLIMB OVER THEIR DEAD!!"
The adrenaline was pouring into his veins, with each swing of his axe he yelled at the Western Forces to keep fighting and to keep their mind away from the flames behind them. He had to make sure fear would not grip their hearts. Fear, which to his surprise, the People's Crusade had little time for. It was no secret they were no where near as professional the Standing Army but the way they fought proved otherwise. Their resolve was strong and this filled Blair with pride; their bravery emboldened him.
A break in the fighting let him catch his breath and help up those who were injured, mounting his horse once more to survey the frontline happening in the distance.
"Myra. Keep Leana safe..." he muttered to deaf ears as the war cry of the Orcs returned, matched by the Defenders and himself as he darted across the camp once more.
Princess Leanabh Yola Lexidus, No Man's Land - Quijain
She could barely keep track of what was happening. The initial wave of combat had overloaded her sense as Donn Myra, seated behind her, steered the horse.
"Keep your head down!" Donn Myra barked, leaning over Leana as she controlled the neighing mare. Leanabh held her breath as she saw the balls of purple energy smash into the soldiers behind them and even into the camp.
"STEADY FOLKS! KEEP FORMATION!" the bellowing of General Lewis could just barely be heard as the Orcs and Crusaders smashed into each other. The Champions and their special forces bided their time as the battle took place all around them. Dunsley was to her right below him, breathing through his nose and then out through his mouth, catching her staring at him.
"Deep breaths. Inhale count to four; exhale count to four. We'll be alright." Dunsley spoke, somewhat calmly and reassuringly to the Princess. The slight shakiness in his voice giving away his true subconscious feelings, but that in a way made her feel slightly better. Her heart was pounding.
The horse whinnied and was disturbed slightly as a particularly violent push by the Orcs shook the front line, Donn Myra bringing the horse quickly and deftly back under control. Leanabh was stunned, Myra many months ago didn't even know what a horse was on account of living underground. Now she could ride one with ease with a few months training. Hopefully her knack for quick learning had rubbed off on her, Leanabh gulped. She felt somewhat confident with her short sword and the advanced techniques her Royal Protector ardently taught her... would it be enough?
Żaren's piercing roar could be heard as flames adorned the dark skies, it was time.
"See you on the other side your highness?" Dunsley enquired, giving her the widest smile he could. His and the armoured peoples faith in her shining brighter than any flare streaking across the battlefield.
"CRUSADERS." General Lewis yelled.
"See you on the other side Dunsley." She declared. Unsheathing her sword as Donn Myra did the same.
"CHAAAAARGE!!"
All of them charged, the Spearhead thundering and clanking as the special forces of the Crusaders struck deep and hard into the oceanic wave of Orcs. Myra and Leanabh swinging their swords at alternating sides of the horse, acting together as a singular mounted unit and cutting down countless orcs. Leanabh had little time to muse over her first kill and subsequent kills, she had to fight, for everyone was counting on her. With a every second swing she slung a bolt of ice out from her palm, using the power in her blood to cast as much magic as possible; they had to keep this momentum going!
Dunsley disappeared into the wave of clashing bodies alongside General Lewis. The Kyrans and Lexiduns working in tandem with one another and continuing their strike into the Orc frontline.
Leanabh screamed as hard as she could. "FORWARD CRUSADERS, KEEP PUSHING, EVERYONE IS COUNTING ON YOU!" Donn Myra leaned over the Princess again to dodge an arrow that got close.
"I can see their back line! We're about to split them into two!" Myra barked. "Get ready Leana!"
"I'm ready Myra!"
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Post by Percyton on May 1, 2020 23:24:30 GMT -5
Battlefield, former Quijain King Godred
The King of the Isles looked out across the plains, over the heads of his men and toward the Orkish horde before him. On either side of them were dense forests, with a handful of grey mountains far in the distance. Godred stroked his white horse’s mane. “Steady Cronk,” he said to the beast of burden. “We’ll win the day before long.” The monarch then mounted the steed. He turned to his historian, who was on a horse next to him. “You best be going, Eamon,” Godred said. “Battle will come soon. Stay in the command tent. I’ll relay the events of our triumph afterwards.”
Eamon of Suddery nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.” With that, Eamon galloped away from the frontline.
Godred inhaled deeply, then looked down and closed his eyes. “Mother Goddess favor our fight on this day.” Just as Godred opened his eyes and looked up, he heard the unmistakable horn of the Ork forces. The attack had begun.
King Godred was positioned just behind his infantry. Alongside him were his Dwarf Locomati bodyguards standing alert, with Duke mounted on a slightly smaller horse directly next to Godred. The King raised his sword. “Steady men! Hold firm and we will win this day! Do not yield to the Orkish scum! They will die without honor, and we will live on as legends!” Shouts and hollers rang out in reply, and the spearmen in the front knelt down to face the enemy charge. Godred squinted his eyes as the Orks came closer, and closer, and closer…
Crusader camp, former Quijain Dennis of Bulleida
Dennis took a deep breath. He wondered how he had found himself here, in the wildlands not from the Magna Tabes and facing off against a Mad God and his divine slaves. Dennis was the commander of the Dual Kingdom Expeditionary Magic Corps, yet he still felt like he was in place he didn’t know, for a reason he didn’t quite understand, with a rank he wasn’t sure he deserved. But, Dennis couldn’t do anything about that now. He looked around him, seeing his men standing firm on all sides of him, backs away from him. Their goal was to protect the camp and provide support as necessary, but not to engage head-on like the infantry. At least Dennis wouldn’t be directly facing the enemy. At least he had some safety here in the back.
Dennis’ musings were interrupted by the roar of a horn. “It has come,” the commander whispered. He rubbed his hands together, then spoke to the soldiers. “The enemy are coming up to the front line! Hold your ground and focus on defense. Don’t let them get near the camp!”
“Yes sir!” the magic soldiers replied in unison.
Dennis could hear the shouting and cries of the soldiers as the Orks hit the front line. Dennis faintly smiled; with any luck he wouldn’t have to do much, and the soldiers in the front would bear the brunt of the Orkish attack. Maybe things wouldn’t ---
BOOM!
“Explosive projectiles!”
“Take cover!”
“No, we need to counter-attack!”
One soldier ran up to Dennis. “What is it, Stuart?”
Stuart saluted, but quickly dropped his hand and began panting. “Sir, the men are in a panic! What should we do?”
Dennis’ eyes darted all around. His hands and legs and trembled. “We should… oh, um… think Dennis, think!” Dennis pounded on his forehead. He looked around. Some tents and defense structures were ablaze, but no casualties among his men. He straightened up and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Stay calm everyone! They’re just hitting the camp, not us. Those closest to me grab buckets and put out the fires! The rest of you hold firm!” The handful of soldiers immediately surrounding Dennis furiously rushed off to find buckets, cups, and anything else that could be used to douse the flames. A few even brought to life rocks and stones to jump on top of the fire and smother it. Dennis put his hands on his hips and grinned.
Then came a whirring, starting out low, and slowly becoming louder and louder. “Commander, look out!” But the warning came too late. The grapeshot dashed into the center of the magic corps’ formation, with one piece striking Dennis in the forehead. He fell back and hit the ground with a thud. “Commander!”
Dennis raised his hand. His vision was becoming blurry, everything looking out-of-focus. He felt dizzy. He managed to make out Stuart and one other soldier rushing toward him, with Stuart on Dennis’ left and the other on his right. Dennis coughed, then lifted up his head. “I’m… sorry,” he said, his voice becoming hoarse. “I failed you all.”
“Don’t say that!” Stuart said. “You were a fine commander.”
The other soldier turned his head back. “Someone get a healer! Quickly!”
Dennis shook his head. He thought back to all the people he would never see again. He thought back to his brother. His dear brother, who had went his separate way so many years ago, with the only contact the family had with him being the occasional letter. Now his brother’s unibrowed face was just a faint memory. “Please… tell my brother…” There were a few seconds of silence as Dennis struggled to form the words. “Tell Norman… that I… I’m sorry. Sorry I couldn’t talk to him one last time. Please…” Dennis weakly lowered his hand, then his head. The raucous sounds of the camp faded out. Then darkness.
Battlefield, former Quijain King Godred
Godred held tightly onto the reins of his horse. The Orks continued to press against the Crusader front line, as the smell of blood and dead bodies grew stronger. With the initial cavalry charge by the Orks having been repelled, it was now an infantry-on-infantry battle, with the King of the Isles behind his men rallying them on. “Show no mercy! The disciples of Yrutas deserve none!” However, the Crusader line was slowly being pushed back, creating a gap that allowed the Orks to pour into the camp. Godred looked behind him at the rushing horde of Orks. He shuddered, and his face grew paler.
As the Crusaders fell back, a lone rider, a young corporal from the Magic Corps, rode up to the monarch. “Corporal Stuart, sir!” the soldier said after a few pants. “The Magic Corps is in trouble! Our commander Dennis of Bulleida has fallen, and the entire corps is in disarray!”
Godred looked at Stuart and raised an eyebrow. “Is it now?” Then the King looked to his left, aiming his gaze at the Dwarf Locomati magic expert Rheneas. Rheneas noticed the King’s glance out of the corner of his eye and turned his head, having faintly overheard what Godred and Stuart had been talking about.
Rheneas looked to either side, checking to see if Godred had actually been staring at someone else. “Your Majesty, are you saying—“
“No time for questions! The Magic Corps needs a new leader, and I have one right in front of me. Now go!”
Rheneas grinned from cheek-to-cheek and saluted. “Thank you, Your Majesty! I won’t let you down!” Rheneas then hopped onto Stuart’s horse and held on to the corporal’s back as they rode toward the camp. Godred watched with a small smile as a Rheneas galloped away.
However, Godred abruptly turned his head the other way when he heard deep-toned yell. He saw coming up fast a contingent of Lexidun and Dual Kingdom cavalry, including Thorkell. The cavalry crashed into the Orks’ front-line, numerous enemy combatants falling upon impact, with more being cut down by the horsemen. Godred clapped his hands, then straightened himself up to peer over the heads of the troops. “Well done, Thorkell! Keep it up! We’re breaking them!” Godred whipped the reins of his horse. “We got some work to do too. Ya!”
Godred and his horse took off, joining the charge into the Orkish line. The King raised his sword high. “For the gods!” Godred then lowered his sword again and proceeded to slice and stab through the Orks in his path. His Dwarf Locomati bodyguard soon caught up to the King, putting themselves between the Orks and Godred, and pushing off the Orks that came upon them. Godred smiled at the sight of all the Orks being cut down. Victory felt close at hand. Nothing could stop them.
Then an awful thought struck Godred. He turned to Duke. “Where is James?”
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