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Post by yukona on May 7, 2020 8:32:14 GMT -5
The Coast of Northern Calveria
Rhodri lent on his spear, his oval-shaped shield resting against his knee. He felt a severe headache coming on as the rain hammered on his wide-brimmed helmet, creating an incessant hammering in his ears. His eyes scanned the large clearing around him, as if trying to pierce the darkness of the thicket and woodland surrounding him. It was no use, as the night slowly rolled in and the birds gradually grew silent, he wasn't sure if he hallucinating, but he certainly wasn't fit to guard anymore. He had been on post for what felt like an entire day now, hours at least. Still, with the advent of evening the activity around him, sawing, yelling, hammering, it all continued in earnest. He got a punch in the arm from his accompanying sentry, and with a sudden alertness recognised the captain approaching behind them.
"Evening," he greeted, with a knowing and critical glare on his face. "Feeling quite comfortable, guardsman?"
"As always, sir," Rhodri replied quickly, inviting another look of disdain from his superior.
The captain murmured in response, "yes...It's quite apparent. I suggest you straighten yourself out, you're the one who signed up for this expedition after all, are you not? I need not remind you that we know nothing of what lurks in the shadows over yonder," he said, waving his arm in a broad gesture toward the wood line. "Could wipe us off the fucking map for all we know, so start being a bit more awake or I'll have you put in the gallows, clear?"
Rhodri didn't feel quite brave enough to tell the captain that he was conned into this job. Accosted by some rogues in Lylith, his gambling debt remained a sore thought. Nevertheless, that same debt had brought him here, the arse end of nowhere standing in the pouring rain, taking orders from this prick. The captain pulled his cloak tighter around his neck and steadied the brim of his helm, before giving him a final look. With a turn of his heel, he trudged off into the night, toward a roundhouse further down the way that had been under construction for a few days now. It looked warm inside, the crimson hue of its fire seemed to leak out is doorway, painting the darkness around it in dancing orange and yellow. When Rhodri was told he was going to Calveria, he envisaged towering spires, luxurious goods, perhaps even a indulgent brothel here and there. Quite the opposite, he found himself staring at quite literally nothing, as the settlement grew around him, much like one of those statues, watching the world go by in the busy market of Lylith.
The rain was slowly soaking through his cloak, despite the man in the naval depot assuring him of its water resistant properties. Fucking hell, he thought, it rains here more than the Isles.
He turned his back to the inland forest, looking out over the beach that was down hill from the village. Far off, down the sweeping arms of the bay on either side, he could see lit fires flickering back at him. In a way, it amazed him that everywhere there was wilderness, but as the palleted-stake walls, gates and homes were being erected, so too was civilisation. Ultimately, as each village grew into town, and from that to maybe even a city, this was the beginning of the unknown becoming the known. He admired the far of lights for quite a while, glittering likes stars across the waters. Further out in the bay, large ships bobbed on the waves, their many lanterns making them appear as spectres of the night. Rhodri became distinctly existential as his mind wandered further from the task at hand, guarding this precarious and fragile outstretch of Glynic life. When he was long gone, hundreds of years from now, would this town still even be here? In Glynica, things seemed almost immortal, timeless. Very little was new, and much about was ancient. That's simply the way it was, is, and will be on the Isles. Here felt very different, for some reason he couldn't quite explain. He felt that as the Kingdom reached out, forces previously at bay across the seas would hear. In Glynica's eagerness to meet the world and seek its riches, he couldn't quite help observing the fact that there was something far greater than him, or anyone in this settlement for that matter, moving. Whether it was simply over-indulgent contemplation drawing him into this conclusion, he didn't know, but he felt that - whether in a year, a decade, a century or even longer - that this place would be very different indeed. Naturally, it would grow, but something struck him as peculiar. This was nothing like Glynica.
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Post by Andromitus on May 28, 2020 13:22:16 GMT -5
Post 41 Bakahn pre and mid battle, Kemeht politics, and the diplomats are on their way to Veritious
Voice of God III
• • • • • • • • Quijain • • • • • • • •
The air was colder here. Bakahn felt his nostrils tingle as he held a deep breath in; he could sense it on his skin, the subtle lack of moisture in the air becoming more noticeable the further along they went. He breathed out, repeating a prayer echoed by his followers. “God has created our homeland so as to train the faithful. We stand now in the presence of God.” Bakahn closed his eyes as the Rohzai echoed the prayer in response. They were situated around him in a oval-esque semicircle, the Karthagite core in the front, with rows upon rows of Rohzai flowing out across the camp, eating Kowtowing before raising to a meditative position. “Our words carry the Faith, they wield the wisdom of God. One must never doubt in the wisdom of God.” But that’s not true, is it? Because he doubted the wisdom, he doubted the revelation. Bakahn felt the smooth wooden grip of his spear resting horizontal in his hands. Why had the world-maker chosen him? A mercenary leader, a murderer? He’d had to spend half of his journey here memorizing the Rohzai prayers, they weren’t his words, they’re not his words. Were they? At least he didn’t feel like they were. The Rohzai echoed and kowtowed again before rising, their eyes closed. “We stand now before the chasm of a mighty struggle. With God as our light we shall face this scourge and root out its customs.” God had chosen him. This god had chosen him at least. He just didn’t, or couldn’t, understand why. He thought he understood in the Western Kingdom, and when he doubted himself he thought he understood when approaching the Rohzai Akhips. He thought he understood when he left his comrades behind in Karatha to spread the new word to his home people. First he told himself that he’d been granted a blessing to defend the Lexicon capital, but the blessing stayed with him; then he told himself that he was chosen to fight the grey-one, the great demon of the Tabes; but what happens thereafter? He was a soldier, he said, that’s why God had chosen him. But why this god? Why had the Warfather abandoned him? His own patron deity had left him and a new one stood in its place. The Rohzai lowered themselves again. “Breath in children of the Holyland, feel the light of God flow through your veins, feel it in the heartbeat of your comrades. Let your mind wander over the breadth of God’s being. Feel their presence all around us.” The holy army sat still, the silence deafening. He kept telling himself that the Maker-God had their reasons, that the being guiding him wasn’t just a Holy Spirit like the Karatha envisioned, but a world-god, a One-Spirit just as much him as he it. It was comforting. That thought of God everywhere. The brush of cool wind against his cheeks, wet grass underfoot, a piece of God in every stone, every trickling stream, every wave in the vast eastern ocean. He found is mind wandering like the Rohzai prayer told him too; he saw that white light inside everything, in-between every grain of sand, flowing like water through every leave and tree, resting inside of him like a vast pool. “There is no Gōgher or Tibür, there is only God.” He breathed in again. “There is no Beast or Man, there is only God.”
“There is no sky or land, there is only God.” He saw the oneness of everything overlapping in his mind as his own thoughts resulted with the prayer.
“There is no God but God, I am the voice of God.”
For the first time in days he felt calm.
Warzone
“AYUTHA AEL! AYUTHA AEL! AYUTHA! AYUTHA! AYUTHA!”
Lightning cracked over the roar of the crowd, arching through a half-second breach in the thin Karthagite Phalanx and smashing into the horde. The mass of them shifted like a wave, corpses of the monstrosities lined their makeshift trenches and earthworks so thick that either side could walk over them like flat ground. Another bolt shot out, guided by Bakahns will and striking squarely into the body of an Ork before the split another’s head. The Karthagites fought ferociously, Bakahn admitted; if they had had any reservations before the battle they were gone now. His men were fanatics, their war-chant ringing just as loudly as the sounds of the battle around them.
“AYUTHA! AYUTHA! AYUTHA! AYUTHA AEL!”
Ayutha Ael, god wills it, even the Rohzai were picking it up, but the war-chant was Karthagite through and through.
“KIYN ADAM AEL!”
The static anxiety rushing through Bakahns arms like electricity, tensing his muscle. He took a step back, parrying an oncoming battle-ax before plunging it into the chest of his attackers; he grimaced as he felt the bones crack and sinew tear. He backed up again, swinging the speartip over his head and grinning slightly as his hair stood on end; the air began to crackle, flashes of white illuminating the backs of his men as he leapt forward. Branching streams of staccato lightning jumped out from in front of him effortlessly, rippling out amongst the horde in front of him.
Junta
• • • • • • • • Volthazaan • • • • • • • •
A boom echoed over the vertical city, and all motion stopped. Panic struck first though, not amongst the throngs of lower-caste, those who were watched carefully by squadrons of Warriors stationed throughout the cities stone junctions and chambers, but amongst Ocullaries, temples whose sensory needles, highly specialized crystalline rods probing like eyes deep into the tabes, shattered on contact with the sudden wave of Aeth. Aeth compasses, a staple of Navigator and Warrior-Caste navigation technology, spun wildly out of control causing ships across the country to slow to a crawl as their captains lost their bearings.
In the following hours the de-facto military government controlling the Capital sent out a cease-action order to the various battle-groups preparing to leave for the Kyran Border, only two, the 2nd and 18th which were already en-route, were allowed to stay on course so as to intercept the foreign incursion and to secure territorial security. Scouting parties, originally set up to begin mapping courses along the Kyran underground, were suddenly and hastily refitted into Survey Corps alongside an array of scribes and warriors and started flooding south, hunting ruthlessly for even the hint of another Black Horde.
As all motion came to a standstill, the country braced itself for another incursion.
A journey outwards
• • • • • • • • Veritian Borderlands • • • • • • • •
It’d taken them the day to travel from the Capital in Volthazaan to the surface border; the Headmaster, Tiyn –amulet tow– and an accompanying trail of 2 Priests and 6 Warriors had set out as fast as possible from the High Temple, traversing the interior farmlands and terraces before taking the main route, a winding spiral of a cave, toward the surface. Commandeering a free Mirewalker was a simple task, simply waiving a Capital Cheque in the face of a crowd of surface navigator-caste –they really were an unruly lot weren’t they– was enough to guarantee them a ride; Cheques were after all, worth far, far more than the silk they were printed on. From there they departed, stopping in the city of Aliim’yhrall before continuing east.
It was a dreadful place, wasn’t it, the Headmaster thought to himself. He and the rest of his kin had had to wear an array of veiled, white and blue robes to protect against the surfaces “sun.” That accursed orb that blistered their skin and blinded their eyes, not to mention the ceiling on the surface. More than once did two of his own guards have to lie down in the shade, the sheer expanse of the ceiling, the “sky” they called it, making them dizzy and disoriented. The surface was a revolting, strange place with seemingly insane proportions, how could people possibly live here?
It was as they entered into the southern forests, climate warmed and the air grew more humid –not unlike home– that they faced their first interruption. The “forests” were a biome with a strange abundance of trees, vegetation not dissimilar to Kemeht Sprouting-Vines or thinner versions of the Rohzai Baobabs; their walkers just barely crested the smaller plants, allowing the canopy of leaves to form a kind of faux cavern ceiling; for the first time in weeks the Kemeht in the caravan could stand outside of the Mirewalker’s rigging tents and at least attempt to ignore the aching anxiety of a sky that was seemingly endless. The interruption began with a crack. A deep, air-splitting sound like the one made when someone kicks a stone inside a cave. It was followed, almost immediately, by an audible “whoa” from their rider as the second dial of his compass –a rohzai-kem’ hybrid design that fascinated the Kem Priests– spun wildly, and for a few moments they waited anxiously as the man regained his bearings. The Headmaster looked back at Tiyn. The poor man, already pale, started to sweat anxiously; his stress was palpable. Whatever had just happened, they had to keep moving.
The huge animal bucked underneath him, the Headmaster almost losing his balance, letting out a low, gurgling rumble as it took a turn down a rocky slope onto what looked like a proper pathway, a thin brook trickled alongside it, under-hanging a rotting wooden sign. That's when the old Kem' froze, squinting his eyes as a he made a new shape out from outside the trees: farmland. It wasn't anything like the farms from home, with its lines of strict terraces following the contours of the cavern walls, no. These lapped out, seemingly for miles, rows upon rows of haphazard plots of land rolling over a mass of hills in between thick lines of trees. As they continued, the Headmaster kept his eyes fixated on the landscape around him; it was completely foreign. Green ran on for miles in every direction, unlike any of the darker browns of Asil or the rich bluegreen of his homeland. Thick lines of smoke drifted up from what he could only guess were small towns.
How varied was this surfaceworld?
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Post by axeldonia on May 28, 2020 16:47:35 GMT -5
“What the mother gives, we take!”
The cry was repeated all across the battle line as the horde approached, the assembled warriors banging their weapons against shields, armour or even the ground which quickly grew into waves of a low, thundering sound. The air was filled with chants and the constant thrumming sound of weapons only thickened the tension that had descended upon the ranks of soldiers as the vast horde approached. Ominous clouds crackled above and various commands both shouted and in musical form were issued as the warriors braced themselves: a forest of pikes were levelled at the advancing enemy, the artillery and archers aimed their weapons and the cavalry began their maneuvers. As the mass of Orcs grew close enough that one could make out the individual charging soldiers the first volley of arrows was released all at once.
For a few moments, the air looked like it was filled with a horde of deadly locusts thinning the ranks of the advancing orcs, but as the shower subsided there were still thousands more. A last great thundering in the clouds above accompanied the final clash of flesh and steel as the melee began, with the Titenfiscan forces crying out in one voice as their lines met. As helena watched all this unfold from the camp, a shiver ran down her spine. Then someone in the camp picked up the chant, which quickly spread among the Titenfiscans until Helena herself finally joined in.
“We die free!”
The battle had begun.
“Sound the clarion, The enemy is overrunning our positions! Send a runner to the camp to- ”
Gale was interrupted as another group of Orcs approached, screaming and soaked in blood. Standing atop the smouldering ruins of the wagon they grabbed one of the loaded crossbows that was lined up against the wreckage and quickly dispatched one of the attackers with a bolt through the head, tossing it away and grabbing a halberd that had been lodged into the wood. Two more of the attackers fell as the halberd pieced their throats, but three more took their place. Gale’s muscles ached as they swung the halberd, keeping the three assailants at bay as the sweat and grime of battle risked clouding his vision.
Suddenly, he launched into a flurry of stabs and swings, striking down two of the three Orcs before their weapon entangled with the third and their fight devolved from martial contest into a brutal brawl on the ground. After just a few seconds of struggle Gale found themselves pinned to the ground under the sheer weight of the Orc, both desperately wrestling for control over the dagger in his hand which slowly lowered towards Gale’s throat. Finally, as the implement was nearly grazing their skin Gale closed their eyes and prepared for the pain, but was instead greeted with the sound of a hard, metallic smack and the feeling of warm fluid spraying across their upper body. Opening their eyes, they stared at the limp, heavy body of the orc sans one eye where a crossbow bolt had suddenly lodged itself from behind in a pit of gore.
The corpse fell to the side, revealing a half-armoured human soldier. One arm was in a sling, but the other held a firm grip on a crossbow which was doubtlessly the source of the bolt that saved their life. The human put down the crossbow and reached out to help Gale, smiling.
“Don’t give up on us yet pal, I have a bet with Drosh to win.”
Helena could feel her heart beating in her chest as the battle raged on around her. The battle had reached the walls of the camp and she could hear the screams and clashing of metal as she worked, patching up the wounded that were periodically carried inside the walls as the waves of invaders temporarily subsided. She glanced at the coronet lying on the table inside the tent, which she had been using until the start of the battle and now hosted several wounded as an impromptu medical station.
The rubies and polished iron glimmered faintly in the light of the oil lamps and she suddenly recalled the first time she had to wear it. Whilst the Titenfiscan ethos frowned against special treatment or symbols for those in positions in power, but it had been deemed necessary by the parliament that the Titenfiscans show that their duly elected leader was on the same level as any of the absolute monarchs of the mainland. Unlike the lavish golden crowns of these kings however, the Titenfiscan symbol of state was unassuming and made of only rubies and iron. The symbolism was obvious; this was a crown won and held by blood and steel, not thanks to some appointment from god or farcical aquatic ceremony.
She thought about that again for a moment. Steel, blood and struggle had expelled the human colonists. Steel, blood and struggle had won them their freedom. Myratnis might not be here to help them, but they still had blood, steel and struggle.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Jul 31, 2020 4:40:48 GMT -5
Quijaini Coastline"Ya Mulej glorioso, Hu li llevo l-Hacha Mbierka, Ibierdice estin e tierra u aqsam il-ban il los ikkonvertidos, u aqbad a los que jirresisten. Vigila attent għas-segwacidores tiegħek u concendinas l-paç f'din l-era, sabiex inkunu nestgħu nsalvar ix-xewqat tagħna fil-battalji fost los çielos, Nagħtu t-tifħir tagħna." ("O glorious Lord, He who wields the Blessed Axe, Bless this earth and protect the converted, and destroy those who resist. Watch over your followers and give peace in this era, so that we may save our desires for the battles in the skies. We give our praise.") The Shaman intoned as he finished his climb up the hillside, his prayer followed by the sign of the Axe. Behind him, the congregation of worshipers and soldiers were also ascending, the ships moored along the berth across from Talas.
"Father, we brought one of the men from the Zuun with us, he claims he can serve as a translator for the people here," a Sergeant called out, the cavalryman behind him walking forward, dressed in his traditional armor.
"Hail, Follower," the Shaman said, the cavalryman giving the sign of the Axe before replying.
"Hail, Shaman."
"The soldier claims you can translate for us?"
"Indeed, these people are from my clan, the Khorilar: they have sent many warriors to Kyras to serve the Warfather and provide remittances, if possible. They will be more than willing to cooperate towards an alliance."
"Excellent," the Shaman said, "Once they submit, we can-"
"Not submit, Shaman, cooperate," the cavalryman warned, "We Quijaini do not believe in submitting ourselves to a foreign power, but instead cooperate towards a common goal. Your machinations must respect that, otherwise not even the Khorilar will agree to what the Chancellor and his Council have planned."
"My mistake," the Shaman said sincerely, giving a bow of the head, the cavalryman nodding, "But the Council's word is law: they call for the land to be taken, but even I know the Quijaini will resist."
"Appeal to their hearts, Shaman," the cavalryman said, "These men already worship the same god, and many seek some form of authority after Amaraqai collapsed. Tell them that you can provide them a means to find security and a break from the endless wars, but do not attempt to subjugate them, they will grow restless. Offer autonomy: Kyras provides security for them, and they will be in line with you, but do not annex them and place them under the foreign generals."
"Your words offer a way through, Follower," the Shaman noted, "Now, where is the nearest settlement we can find. I know your people have the blood of nomads, but there must be some who choose to stay put."
"There is, Shaman," the cavalryman said, "Khamar Davaa, along the Khalkhgol. It is a moderate settlement, about a couple hundred people, but the fish are sought after, and they man an Örtege that connects to others in the center, so if we get the support of the clan elders there, word will spread fast, and more clans may come to accept the terms."
"Very well, if you know how we can get there, we can begin discussions."
"Follow me, it will only take an hour or two to get there."
Khamar Davaa Town Hall"Venerable Elders," the cavalryman said as he knelt and bowed towards the clan elders, who nodded and gestured for him to sit.
"Greetings, young one, you are Khorilar?"
"Indeed," the cavalryman said, "Khorilar Arslangiin Nekhii."
"Why have you come to us, Nekhii? Are you here to present something for the clan?"
"Indeed," Nekhii said, looking over to the door where the Shaman was, "Some foreigners have come to present a treatise for governance, they come from Kyras."
"The Republic sends representatives?" The lead elder asked, "For what purpose?"
"They are proposing an alliance, signed by their highest Council, between the Quijaini clans and the Republic, wishing to assist with the security situation concerning the bandits and barbarians that attack us since Amaraqai fell."
"Are the representatives outside?" Another elder asked.
"Indeed, he is," Nekhii said, "If you will allow it, I will let him in."
"You may, young Nekhii," the lead elder said, Nekhii standing up and opening the door, the Shaman stepping in and giving a bow.
"Hail, Elders. I am a Shaman of the Amalgamated Temple of Kyras, here to request an audience with you," the Shaman said in Ilsien, one of the elders replying in turn.
"We will allow an audience, for you are a guest of Arslangiin Nekhii: he claims you are here with a treaty to negotiate security issues."
"Indeed," the Shaman said, "I, Dwardu Buhagiar, have been sent from Varan by the Provisional Council of Kyras, in authority of Chancellor Kalċidon, to negotiate a political alliance between the Quijaini clans and the Republic."
"What are the stipulations of this treaty?" The lead elder asked, his words translated.
"The Republic wishes to arrange an autonomy agreement with the clan elders and provide an alternative to the various central governments here that have collapsed. I know you are aware that Imperial authority from Amaraqai has fallen and the city has not sent any word down the Örtege. We are both aware that bandits have taken opportunity to commit chaos against the clans of these lands, which includes yours."
"Unfortunately, that is true," another elder said, "We have noticed bandit attacks increasing from the north, and we believe some of the tribes are foregoing old treaties and alliances in favor of banditry. Some of our closest allies, including the Airi'ut, have fallen to this lifestyle, and they are taking to it far too easily. Some of the men in town have petitioned to attack, but the number of bandits far outweigh any potential responses, and we fear that moving would leave Khamar Davaa open to pillaging from the neighboring tribes."
"If you so desire, we can help you with the matter," Buhagiar said, "The Council has sent a Regiment, the 3rd Atake Rangers, to assist with the security matters. If you would allow it, the Rangers can chase after these tribes and bandits to ease tensions. In turn, they ask that they be allowed to set up fortifications upriver from Khamar Davaa, along with allowing some troops to reside within the town, to serve as a defence force."
"Allowing foreigners, even if they are Kyrans, to bear weapons within our town suggests to some the annexation of the Khorilar," the lead elder said, "If this is to annex us, we say no to it."
"The Council is not asking to annex the clan, only that they can assist and allow those from the Mainland to reside on this land. The Khorilar will be allowed to maintain their independence, and, if further, be given land to be solely under their domain."
"So you are suggesting we be given our own state, in exchange for foreigners to reside here, is that what this Council asks?"
"Venerable One, if I may intercede?" Nekhii asked, the elder turning to face him, "I wish to offer my own opinion to this matter."
"I will allow it: speak, Nekhii."
"My thanks, Venerable One. I have served alongside the Kyrans in their Army, they have set up Arban in their regiments, with some even being Mingghan. Men of all clans serve in these formations, and many are officers within their units. The Kyrans serve alongside us in these Arban, they give thanks, and they see us as equals rather than slave soldiers or auxiliaries. They provide aid rather than let us die, and we break bread and salt together: in the Army, we are brothers, regardless of our allegiances. Venerable One, their offer is not to subjugate us, but to work alongside us."
"Is this true, Shaman?" The lead elder turned to Buhagiar, "Does your Council provide our men the same standards as their men? Is their offer one of equals, or of colonizers?"
"The Army does value the Quijaini troops as equals, and the Council has provided their requests here," Buhagiar said, offering a sheet of paper, Ilsien and Quijaini scripts both noticeable as the elder reached for it, reading it silently alongside the other elders.
"In exchange for a political union, the clans will be offered a set amount of land to govern, and their political bodies of governance shall be maintained. Kyran forces will be allowed to assist in security measures and reside in Quijain, but shall gradually train and hand security matters to ethnic Quijaini forces. The clans shall be sovereign and allowed to negotiate with the Council and Government of Kyras as an equal partner. Free trade shall be allowed between Quijaini and Kyran merchants, and economic independence between both shall be upheld. Ethnic Kyrans shall not govern in any way, but must be recognized as equals by the Quijaini if they choose to reside within the borders of Quijain or are born on Quijaini soil. Those of ethnic Kyran and ethnic Quijaini parentage shall be recognized as citizens of both lands, and ethnic Quijaini as full citizens of the Republic," the elder finally said, turning to face both of them, "So we shall be given land to govern and be free of foreign influence in our decisions. Our standing will not change, and the kurultai shall not be abolished?"
"Yes to all of those," Buhagiar said, "If you agree to these terms, we can begin setting aside more land for the Khorilar to govern and for the Rangers to begin hunting down the bandits."
The elders chose to communicate with each other in Quijaini, occasionally looking at the document, Nekhii leaning over to translate for Buhagiar, "They are considering it, but it sounds like they will agree."
Finally, the elders broke and the lead elder spoke, "We have come to a consensus: Khamar Davaa will accept these terms and shall henceforth join the Republic as an equal partner. We will send a message out from the Örtege to the other Khorilar settlements to consider, but the elders will likely come to a similar consensus. If they agree, then the Khorilar will serve as an sovereign power alongside Kyras: if you want to uphold your side of the bargain, there are some bandits from the Buiri'ut to the northeast, and we believe they are working with the Airi'ut to harass Khamar Davaa - your Rangers may hunt them down and exterminate them, and we will provide them with what they ask."
"Excellent," Buhagiar said, smiling, "Venerable Ones, I believe this is the start of a long-lasting friendship between our peoples, Warfather permit it."
Varan, one week later"Members of the Council, our offer has been accepted by a number of tribes along the coastline and interior," the scribe announced, "The Khorilar are the first to accept our terms of agreement, followed by the Chonos, Noyakin, Khatagin, and Eljigin."
"The Council recognizes these terms of agreements and shall henceforth award these tribes the honorific, 'The Five Sovereign Tribes.' Land shall be offered for them accordingly and their respective states formed for representation within the Congress. We hope that these tribes will foster brotherhood and unity amongst one another, such as they shall with Kyras. The futures of Kyras and Quijain shall be unified from hereon out, and the Five Sovereign Tribes shall lead the way. Gentlemen, I believe our goal now is to assemble and show support towards our gallant Crusaders, and to eventually secure Amaraqai as the capital of these states, under a united banner. The Federal Republic shall stand tall among the brotherhood of nations in Calveria, and may our efforts provide for the eventual agreement of consensus among our nations."
"The Tribes request support in reining in the advances of the tribes that have refused this arrangement: they are beset by the Khaad and Taichiud, two powerful Quijaini tribes that have come to blows with them in the past."
"The Council shall move to send support and fight back these tribes from our brothers. We shall arrange for the Atake and Reya Regiments to assist in this endeavor."
Projected range of the first Qujiani Autonomous States
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Jul 31, 2020 14:22:45 GMT -5
Augustus Crowley Pentagress, Central Courtyard - Camelon Castle
He rubbed his face as he stared at the documents on his lap. Since Blair and Leanabh had been away he swarmed himself with paperwork as to not let his worry overtake him. It did little to help however, he was getting old and far too soft. He had to hold the fort for them and be a strong and calming presence back home, keep the merchants happy and the farmers fed. The lords on the other hand? They were chipping away at what little patience he had for them already. They circled the castle like vultures, asking over and over again the status of the king and his heir. Their disappointment barely hidden when he informed them of their keeping well. He wanted to be the young man he was decades ago, the man who threw his fists at those who dared showed contempt to the crown, he didn't care if they were nobles. Anything to alleviate the pit of dread in his stomach from something he had just read.
"Yeh look like yer aboot tae pass away auld boy." Came a deep yet soft voice from behind the old advisor.
"If I have to talk to another noble today, I might just do so." He tiredly responded.
Dumfries, Captain of the Royal Guard sat beside him on the bench. His large mass making it creak loud. His brass armour shone well against the overhead sun. "Brazen basturds, the whole of em. Ye'd think they'd keep their heids doon what with their precarious position as is."
"They're rattled old friend. Suddenly their family has no use to the crown anymore and they're confronted with an heir who might just... outlast them all." Crowley mused, stroking his white beard. "She'll outlast everyone that girl..."
Dumfries guffawed. "She'll definitely outlive you and me auld boy! Goddess above we're getting auld..." he trailed off, his cheery disposition slowly disappearing as he glanced between the flowers in the garden and then towards his old friend.
Crowley stared ahead, his eyes glazed over with deep thought, his brow furrowed. "Do me a favour old boy... keep the city guard and royal guard on alert, especially towards the castle."
The Captain crossed his arms and let his voice get serious. "You don't think...?" he stopped and just stared at his friend. Crowley slowly turning towards him and meeting his stern gaze, he took out a small piece of brown parchment and unfolded it, passing it to the captain. A gray lion rampant mirroring the white lion of Lexidus, below it was cursive in black ink. Dumfries read the words and his blood began to boil.
WE WILL NOT GO QUIETLY.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Sept 30, 2020 17:49:49 GMT -5
The Battle of Quijain - Part 2 Quijain
Dusk
The Orcish frontline was cleaved in half with the champions' spearhead, the orc's offence shattered and their organisation in complete disarray, their war cries being usurped by the crusaders' own. The Orc mages and their devastating magic were set upon by the elite units and champions themselves, cut down in a clatter of steel, arrows and thundering hooves. The crusader flanks charged inwards, corralling the Yrutan forces inwards and as they cut through their still vast numbers they began to slowly encircle them. The Western Forces on one side and the Eastern Forces on the other. The purple darts of arcane death that had reigned from above did so no longer, instead the dark sky now flashed with yellow lightning, red fire and blue ice as the champions rallied their men and women deeper and deeper into the now frenzied but disadvantaged orcs.
Meanwhile however, the defenders of the Crusader Camp were met with a charge against themselves and one of sheer brutality and horror. Charging over the bodies and their fallen comrades and sometimes straight through a bloodied wall of them stacked on top of gore filled trenches, the orc attackers managed to breach the camp's defences and a torrent of death began to flow into the camp. Commanders and leaders of the Calverian world, initially rallying their troops and helping to douse fires were now in the thick of the fighting, the defenders trying desperately to rally themselves around them and stem the tide of the orc assault. As dusk began to fade and the twilight gave way to true darkness, the blazing aura of orange flame and harsh flashes of magic bolts were all that lit the camp.
As the two nooses around the orc frontal army began to tighten, a reprieve arrived in the form of orcish attackers of the camp who made their way to the frontline to assist their disadvantaged brethren. Although the hit and run tactics of the crusader cavalry thinned their numbers, there were enough to cause confusion and panic in the backline of the crusaders' army, slowing their advance of surrounding the orcs to a halt as order began to truly break down on both sides of the fighting. Screams were heard from all sides as a cacophony of death erupted from all across the Quijaini plains. It was looking grim for the crusaders as their advanced stalled and the camp fell to disarray.
Just then, a horn was heard from the darkness in an unknown direction, followed by the thunder hooves and clanking armour. Their war cries pierced the hearts of the orcs and lifted the crusaders. It was the Veritian Cavalry. They erupted from the darkness and smashed into the orcs who had seemed unstoppable. Pouring themselves into the main camp, their armour gleamed against the flicker of fires stretching high into the night sky, cutting down hundreds of orcs. With fortunes turned almost as quickly as they had previously thought been lost, the attackers were routed and completely wiped out as the crusaders pushed back with all their might, embolden by the arrival of much needed reinforcements. With the opportunity presenting itself, the riders exited the camp and charged towards the main battle. The entirety of the crusaders and defenders rushing out into the field with them, with mages and some soldiers staying to douse the flames and tend to the wounded.
The orc stragglers found themselves quickly dispersed as the crusaders' backline was reinforced by these reinforcements of Veritian Cavalry, Titenfiscan War Wagons and Lexidun Pikemen. The two encirclements began to tighten once again, Żaren's bombardments, Leanabh's storms, Bakhan's strikes rallying the men and women of the free Calverian world to keep pushing and to keep fighting. As more reinforcements arrived, with camp defenders now throwing themselves unto the fray, victory was so close. Somewhere far from the battlefield however, a fist clenches and angrily raises itself into the air.
Purple lightning struck from the sheer black darkness above, gale force winds slammed into the crusaders encirclements and broke them. With this, the orcs began a frantic retreat, crusaders attempting to chase them with all their might but to no avail as they were pushed back by the powerful storm. As the orcs ran into the darkness, the storm suddenly stopped and they were all gone. A silence finally fell upon the battlefield, the clouds began to part and the night sky glistened with a thousand twinkling stars. A lone cheer broke out, then other and another. The victors howled and cheered into the night sky.
The Crusaders had won the Battle of Quijain.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Oct 1, 2020 3:45:04 GMT -5
Battlefield, Quijain
"DIE, INFIDEL," Żaren roared, the ax effortlessly severing the orc's head in a squall of fiery gore, as he continued his charge into the fray of battle, his entourage of soldiers cheering in response while his steed unleashed another jet of flame near several orcs, the warriors flailing in agony before finally dropping dead.
Fifty meters away from him, Kyre let out his own roar as he fought against several orcs, sword swiftly impaling one orc's neck while he slammed his shield into another orc's face, right before charging forward, his sword impaling the orc's gut. Kicking the corpse away, he saw Varist in the middle of the battle as well, the officer shoulder-checking an orc and slamming his sword into the beast's face, only for another orc to grab him and toss him back several yards: picking up a nearby spear, Kyre let loose a loud war cry and charged, taking the orc by surprise and impaling the warrior, the orc trying to fight back with his fists before finally dying. Letting go of the spear, Kyre ran over to Varist, "Get up, Varist, these beasts are everywhere!"
"My thanks, Kyre," Varist muttered, grabbing his sword and getting back into the fight, Kyre moving to join several Lexiduns in the middle of their assault.
Back in the center of the camp, Kalċidon was directing the efforts to extinguish the flames, "Captain, that fire is getting close to the feed silos, take a team with you! Major, get to the ammunition dump and keep watch of our ordnance!" The shouting caught his attention and he swirled around, eyes widening at the sight of the orcs breaching through the defenses, coated in gore and quickly slaughtering the defenders closest to them. Letting out a shout of disgust, Kalċidon immediately rallied the men closest to him, "They have broken through! Men, raise your arms and declare your curses, HALT THEM IN THEIR TRACKS!" The soldiers replied with their war-cry, charging forward and meeting the beasts in combat, a number of orcs taken by surprise with the renewed resolve.
Charging forward himself, Kalċidon quickly slammed his fist into an orc's face, the beast recoiling from the cestus-laden hit, only to feel Kalċidon's entire weight being pushed into the kriegsmesser jammed into its throat, Kalċidon kicking the corpse off his sword and joining two more men as they charged another orc, the warrior ripping a Kyran mage in half with its bare hands, the orc roaring in pain as the three impaled it.
Blinding pain ripped through Kalċidon's right side and he collapsed, the two men immediately grabbing him before he could fall, the older man looking down and seeing that a bolt had managed to graze him: the wound looked superficial, but Kalċidon knew that there was more to it. Looking up, he saw Liena and Marija moving forward, Karmena and Elena following close by, the former ramming a sword into an orc's eye. "My Lord?!" Liena called out, seeing the blood already beginning to pool.
"Sir Liena, Sir Marija, I am in need of medical assistance, and fast," Kalċidon said through gritted teeth, the poison already starting to kick in, "Some damned pig-dog dared to shoot me with a poisoned bolt and didn't even possess the courage to face me afterwards: I need to be treated, fast."
"I know a purification spell," Marija said, kneeling down and quickly uttering a spell, Kalċidon relaxing as the pain ebbed, the poison secreting out and splashed with healing water, "There, I was able to extract the poison from your system, but the wound can't be healed yet."
"I can take care of it now," Kalċidon muttered, pulling a small vial of gunpowder out before spreading his aketon open and taking a breath, letting out a grunt of pain as he rubbed it into his wound, then pulled a bandage roll out and wrapped it around his side. Getting up, he saw the orcs were still charging, "No time to rest: Sisters, get to cover, my men still need me to fight."
"We will join you," Karmena announced, Elena giving a nod and pulling an ax up from the ground.
"All hands on deck, then," Kalċidon noted, charging forward and body-slamming an orc before impaling the kriegsmesser down its maw.
"Wait, you two," Marija said, both women facing their priestess, "I know this is a bit sudden, but I want the two of you to promise me something."
"Both of us are all ears," Elena said, noticing that Marija looked very much uncertain.
"I want the both of you to promise that you will make it back safe," Marija whispered, the couple looking at each other and nodding in agreement.
"We will make it through this night, along with the rest of this war," Karmena said.
"You took care of us when we were at Death's door, we won't die easy," Elena added on, now noticing that Marija's eyes were wet.
"I'll hold both of you to it," Marija said, right before taking the couple by surprise when she leaned in and kissed both women, their eyes widening in realization, "We'll talk more once the battle ends."
"Understood, Sister," Karmena finished, a smile on her face and her resolve growing while she summoned a layer of fire to coat her, Elena also doing the same before both women joined battle once more.
"So, you're finally committing," Liena said, having grabbed a bucket of water to douse the fire, Marija nodding.
"Mother knows those two need peace," Marija said, also grabbing a bucket, "Plus, we have gotten close to one another for weeks now, might as well say it now with the world at stake."
"I'll support you, plus I'd imagine Kyre will too," Liena added, quickly extinguishing a burning tent before filling the bucket up and tossing it over some burning hay.
"Thank you, Sister," Marija said, her own resolve growing as she joined in with the relief efforts.
The fighting showed no sign of stopping as the hours dragged on, the Crusaders acting with desperation as some of the orcs that were raiding the camp now joined the frontlines, the force fighting with vicious fury and survival at the head.
Żaren roared with blind rage as he blasted a pillar of fire against several orcs, the warriors screaming in agony while the Messiah charged at them, tearing into them with ax and sword, the enchanted blade of his sword doing just as much damage as his ax, Tyrant skin and blessed steel proving to conduct his ax's power rather easily. Behind him, Kyre and Varist had joined up with Erin, who was leading his force to try and make it back to the camp, additionally joined by several Republican Guardsmen.
"My Lord, the beasts are stubborn with their refusal to die: permission to engage further?" A priest asked, having changed out his robes for a set of plate armor, wielding a staff tipped with a steel coating and rings along the top.
"Don't need to ask about doing God's work," Żaren simply stated, charging back into the fray and jumping onto his dragon, the beast ramming into an orc and biting into his throat, additionally knocking another one down with a swipe of its tail. Żaren swiftly impaled the orc before jumping up and dashing several feet ahead, burning an orc with a fiery kick to the face before pinning another orc down and ripping its jaw clean off. Unbeknownst to him, a number of Honor Guardsmen had been following him, picking up severed body parts and heads from his rampage, tossing them into barrels and carts that they brought, keeping a tally of his kills.
Kyre dodged another strike from the orc fighting him, grabbing its outstretched arm and letting Erin take advantage by severing the orc's arm, the warrior screaming in pain only to be silenced when Varist's sword was impaled through its open maw. Ripping his blade out, Varist clotheslined another orc, the beast pushed back several feet, only for Kyre to jump on him, slamming him to the ground and biting his throat before ramming the edge of his shield into the open wound. Clambering back up, Erin dodged another orc's warhammer, instead strafing to the side and ramming the blade of his sword into its spine.
Further away, Karmena tanked a bolt to her shoulder, the metal armor joined by several cotton layers blocking it from going further: snapping the bolt out, she charged at the orc arbalist with a knife in hand, swiftly jumping on it and jabbing the blade into its eye before stabbing his throat. Falling down with the corpse, she suddenly heard the familiar twang of a longbow, the body of an orc slumping down, warhammer having been ready to crush her skull. Looking back, she saw Elena was joined by a Kotek soldier, one who Karmena noticed looked familiar.
"I recognize you," Karmena remarked, Elena helping her to her feet, the soldier draped with layers of fur over his armor, a large back quiver filled with arrows and his hands steadily holding the predator bow, ring sights in hand.
"I was the stagecoach driver for the both of you and the Sisters," the Kotek said, eyes still scanning for any orcs ready to attack, "Looks like I'm back in action once more."
"You're a good shot," Elena complimented, the man nodding before lifting the bow up and dropping an orc charging at several Kyrans.
"Army training helps out, plus I would join the War Temple priests in hunting along the banks," the man said, "Since we're all together right now, let me help you."
"Very well, lead the way. Also, I just realized we never got your name."
"Sikandar," the Kotek replied, "Now, let us continue to kill these monsters."
Up ahead, Kalċidon dodged the spear jabbed in his direction, swiftly grabbing it and pulling the orc close to him before slashing it across the eyes: another orc slammed its ax down, the spear snapping in half, Kalċidon simply gripping the bladed end and stabbing the orc's thigh and bicep before stabbing it through the eye. Another bolt flew past him, Kalċidon recognizing it as a Kyran bolt and spinning around, his adrenaline-fueled mind giving way to disgust when he saw Vyrodok approaching, Long Bow in hand and several Republican Guardsmen quickly cutting down several orcs with Long Bows and warhammers.
"Saved your life there, dear Brother," Vyrodok candidly remarked, reloading and hitting a smaller orc that was 25 meters out, Kalċidon getting up and throwing the broken spear at an orc, the beast slumping as its head was cleaved in half.
"Didn't need saving, Asfardan," Kalċidon stated, shoulder-checking an orc that had pinned down a Lexidun then hitting it in the eye with his flare tube and severing its burning head.
"You can lie to yourself, but the people know differently," Vyrodok casually stated, letting Kalċidon focus back on the fight before talking with one of his junior officers, "Next time, aim for the spine, leave him immobilized."
"I still feel that this is a bit too open to realization, General," the arbalist stated, "Why not let a hertag handle it?"
"The din of battle does well to hide efforts at assassination, Corporal, plus he lacks his entourage to back him up at this time. No matter: if this battle ends in victory, we can always go for another scrap."
"Understood, my Liege."
The battle had turned with the arrival of the cavalry, the Kyrans in the field immediately recognizing the standards.
"Well I'll be damned," Varist remarked, breathing heavily when he saw the familiar armor and standards carried by these troops, "Veritious finally arrives."
"Looks like it really is everyone," Erin noted, the orc underneath him weakly raising a fist up only to slump when the shield crushed its windpipe.
"Huh, we might actually take these orcs down right here and now," Kyre added, his own copy of Redentur's hatchet cleaving an orc's head open.
"Our Southern Brethren arrive to kill!" Żaren called out, punctuated with his dragon letting out a stream of fire into the air, the soldiers near him cheering as they saw hundreds of orcs being slaughtered by the incoming force, the Arban letting out their own war cries in union with their fellow cavalrymen. Focusing back onto the battle, Żaren reached for a lance and pressed forward, the dragon biting at several orcs before Żaren knocked and impaled several orcs near Kyre, right before his eyes noticed the cavalry were riding closer to them.
"Sir Erin!" A soldier called out, Erin stopping his fighting and giving a short salute to the man.
"Lieutenant, what's the matter?"
"The Kyran command tent was struck in the fighting: we have confirmed reports that Chancellor Kalċidon is still alive, albeit having been wounded in the fighting."
"What?!" Erin shouted, eyes widening when he saw the smoke coming from where the tent would have been, "Tell me, where did you last see him?"
"Near the southern quadrant, he was joined by the Temple of Nature delegation and the Republican Guards under General Vyrodok's command."
"Damn it all, I need to get to him! Kyre, Varist, I need to secure my Father before he gets attacked, I'll have to leave the fighting to you."
"We understand, Sir: go to him, make sure he is alright," Varist called out, Kyre giving a nod as well, Erin immediately charging for the camp.
"The infidels are now on the ropes, MEN, TO ARMS!" Żaren roared, summoning several bombardments of fire on orc positions, bodies flying from the impact as he jumped off his steed, fire quickly pushing him to the frontline, his dragon coming close by as it flew, unleashing a wave of fire as it strafed the enemy position. Behind the two of them, the soldiers following him quickly dashed forward, joining the main force as Żaren saw both Leanabh and Bakahn in the thick of fighting.
The final victory seemed certain, the orc forces quickly being overwhelmed, Żaren moving to synergize his attacks with the other Messiahs while the Kyran forces began engaging heavily. The lightning and winds that suddenly struck immediately put an end to the counterassault, the forces being overwhelmed as the orcs began to retreat into the darkness. Żaren snarled, mounting his dragon and charging forward, even with the winds rapidly succeeding in pushing him back: the dragon began to pant heavily, adrenaline rapidly draining from it while the storm continued to howl. Finally, he was forced to give up, instead moving to attack the remaining stragglers, setting them on fire before having the dragon pin one more down and chopping the orc's head off.
He panted heavily, the storm howling around him, darkness being cast away by the flames rising above him: the sky suddenly cleared, and he saw the stars once more, the night sky opening up and shining light down once again on the camp. Looking down, he grabbed the orc's head and stood atop his dragon: the forces near him now turned to attention, seeing their Messiah, coated in gore and fire, the stench of iron and burning flesh in the air while he panted, ax and head in both hands.
He raised the severed head up and let loose a wordless roar: it was many things, from rage to relief, bloodthirst to excitement, irritation to victory. The men in front of him roared, joined by the other Kyrans when they saw the Messiah let out his call of victory. Looking down, he saw Kyre and Varist approach, both men also roaring with him: jumping down, he casually tossed the head back and extinguished his flames before pulling both men into a hug. After a minute, he pulled back and looked at the men before speaking.
"Men, we have fought hard, and God heard our prayers, we have achieved victory!" That was punctuated with the cheers of the soldiers, "Unfortunately, Yrutas, the coward he is, decided to pull his beasts back, to reconvene and make our goals more difficult to complete. Yet, while this battle was just the first of many, we have shown him that we will not falter so easily. Lives were lost, brethren that gave themselves up for faith and fatherland, we must not squander their sacrifices: men, God looks upon us and gives us strength, and at the end of the day, when we assemble on Yrutas's fortress in the Tabes, when we shall finally cast him down to the ground, we shall have our communion! FOR THE WARFATHER, FOR CALVERIA!"
In the camp, Erin desperately rushed among the burned tents, the destroyed supplies, frantically looking for Kalċidon amidst the ruins: finally, he came across the sight of Kalċidon laying down, being looked at by Liena and Marija, a layer of bandages cast aside and red flesh peeking through blackened skin. "Father!"
Kalċidon looked up from his position, wincing as the two Sisters cleaned his wounds with water before preparing the sewing kit, "Son, you are okay."
"That does not matter, what happened to you?!" Erin cried out, kneeling down and holding Kalċidon's right hand in both of his.
"Poisoned bolt, immediately after the beasts broke through the camp defenses," Kalċidon simply replied, "There was no time to be lost, everyone had to fight."
"No latent effects?" Erin asked.
"Luckily, no, plus I would assume all the fighting helped get it out of my system," Kalċidon added, right before gesturing him to lean in, "Once we finish for the night, I need you to come with my tent, alongside Erardi, Varist, Kyre, and Żaren: we have much to talk about."
The group stayed silent for several minutes, hearing the cheers of the Crusaders once the fighting had ended, Kalċidon punctuating the silence with an occasional grunt of pain as his wound was sewn shut, concluding with him rising up slowly and taking a drink of Ilma tan-nar (Aguardiente) that was offered. A flare shot up, the group looking to see a familiar trio emerge, worn out and covered in blood.
"Oh sweet Mother," Marija said, tears ready to spill as Karmena and Elena approached, joined by Sikandar: both women rushed forward, bringing the Sister in a hug, the robed woman quietly sobbing in their arms, the rest of the group giving them time to themselves, Sikandar approaching Liena.
"Sister, a pleasure to see you again," Sikandar said, giving a salute.
"Ah, Sikandar, you managed to survive the fight?" Liena said, giving the man an embrace.
"Indeed I did, alongside our two esteemed guests," Sikandar said, before directing himself to Kalċidon, "Chancellor."
"Young man," Kalċidon nodded, "You serve alongside Sister Liena?"
"Indeed: Sikandar Ikhtiyarpatra at your service, I am Sister Liena's bodyguard and one of the Hospitallers Militant - I came to serve the Temple rather than the Army, namely to fulfill treaties signed between my people and theirs."
"Understandable," Kalċidon nodded again, "You helped to defend alongside Sirs Karmena and Elena?"
"I did, plus I was their stagecoach driver coming to here."
"I believe a promotion is in order for you, then," Kalċidon remarked, stroking his beard.
The trio had pulled away from their embrace, Marija managing to calm down before looking at both women, the two nodding before leaning in and giving her a kiss in turn, Marija pulling away and finally speaking.
"Well, here we are," Marija said, a small chuckle managing to come out from her throat, "We managed to survive this night."
"We did," Elena said, placing a reassuring hand on Marija's shoulder.
"Marija, I'm guessing you've been wanting to say this for some time now?" Karmena asked, the shorter woman nodding.
"All the sex jokes and teaching aside, I've come to value both of you: before all of this, I was content with living by my own, in service to the Temple. I never even dated anyone before, but part of me always held out, believing in those old fairy tales of girls finding their true love, even when I came to serve the Temple and cast those desires away. I know the both of you are married, but I felt this closeness between the three of us, something I hoped for a while now would become something far more."
"Marija, like we said before, we don't mind if you joined us," Karmena said, "And I know that it could be misconstrued solely as having sex, and in all honesty, it's partly true, but there's more to it: when the Temple rescued us, we both felt that we shouldn't have been saved - Tahra and our tribe were gone, our village cast us out for not being reliable, and our home was destroyed by the monsters. Yet, after all that happened, we were both spared and brought to what looked like Paradise, with so many people looking after us, taking care of us and promising revenge against those that had wronged us. Even then, throughout all of that, we were more inspired by what you did for us."
"Karmena's right," Elena continued for her wife, "We will always be grateful that the Temple did everything they did to help us, but we found more comfort from you being there and nursing us back to normal: we always had to fend for ourselves, and in the years after Nation died, our people became less caring. But, there you were, after we should have been left for dead, treating us like we were your own, taking time to teach us, giving us hope, and just letting us be what we always were. Marija, we will always be grateful for you, and if letting you join us will be what you want, we will be happy to accept."
Marija nodded, tears streaming down once again, "Yes, I do, I want to be with both of you."
Both women nodded, their own tears beginning to spill as they pulled Marija in another embrace, this time not to comfort each other from the end of battle, but to solidify their union together.
A cough came in, the quartet turning to see Żaren, Kyre, and Varist, the three men worn ragged from combat, sweat mixing with blood and gunpowder. Liena immediately stood up and rushed to hug Kyre, "Kyre, thank Mother you're okay!"
"Indeed I am, Liena," Kyre chuckled, giving Liena a kiss before pulling Żaren close to him and Liena, "Żaren proved himself out there in the fighting, same with Varist and Erin."
"Żaren, you're okay? No wounds or anything?" Liena asked, giving Żaren a once-over, the latter giving a dismissive wave.
"I'm fine, Omm: I'd rather drop dead than have one of those beasts give me even the slightest wound. Looks like everything's okay on this end."
"Sir, are you okay?" Varist questioned, suddenly noticing the bandages and bottle of alcohol Kalċidon was carrying.
"I am fine, Captain Varist," Kalċidon stated, "Some motherless cur decided to attack with me a poisoned bolt not long after the camp defenses fell, but luckily the Sisters were able to stop the poison."
"We were lucky that the poison was a slow-acting one, and one from poisoned berries," Liena said, "Otherwise, it likely would have ended very badly for the Chancellor."
"So, who's the Kotek man?" Żaren asked.
"Sikandar Ikhtiyarpatra, bodyguard to Sister Liena," Sikandar replied, Kyre immediately perking up.
"Son of Ikhtiyar?" Kyre asked, "Pardon my prying, but was Ikhtiyar the same son of Ashkan?"
"Indeed," Sikandar said, now noticing that Kyre looked familiar, "13th Red Mariners, served in the Grey Ravens campaign, you know him?"
"I do indeed," Kyre said, a smile breaking out of his face, "My father, Redentur, served with Ikhtiyar during that War, all the way to the Tidfadl, I remember he told me that Ikhtiyar had been wounded in the battle to take the Tidfadl, so he gave his own father's Writ of Trade to Ikhtiyar to help him out: last I heard, his family was managing trade to Kep'l Merta."
"Well I'll be damned," Sikandar said, a grin coming through, "A pleasure to meet you, Tarkhom (Brother): I had heard Redentur passed a while back, and my father had pressed for the Sequin (tribal chief) to send a khachkar in his honor - I presume you still have it?"
"I kept with me all this time," Kyre said, "From Xanakht to my farmstead a ways down from Velran, I always made sure the khachkar would be the first to come with me and the first to be displayed. I even kept the Ċinturin Pa earned from the War."
"You'll have to show me, then," Sikandar said, before noticing Żaren "I believe this is your son?"
"Indeed he is, Sikandar: Żaren, Sikandar's the son of the Kotek soldier Grandpa Redentur fought alongside with during the War of the Grey Ravens. Sikandar, this is Żaren, and I'm guessing you already know who he is?"
"I do, especially with the ax," Sikandar said, holding his hand out to shake Żaren's, the younger man nodding and giving a firm shake.
"I never thought I'd see someone who was connected to my Grandpa, it's nice to meet you, Sikandar," Żaren said, turning to see Marija embracing the two Scorched Ones, "Hey Omm?"
"Yes Żaren?" Liena asked, seeing where he was looking.
"Did Sister Marija finally confess?"
"Yes she did, Żaren," Liena confirmed, a smile on her face, "She finally did."
"I'm happy for her," Żaren added, before looking at everyone, "I'm also happy that we're all okay, though we have a lot ahead of us."
"Indeed we do, Master Żaren," Kalċidon, "Though, for now, let us enjoy our happiness. We'll meet with the others in a little bit to formulate our next course of action, plus figure out a means to fix what was lost this battle."
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Post by Percyton on Oct 13, 2020 10:45:43 GMT -5
Lake Percival, Northern Locomati Island Lady
Lady stared at the longsword in front of her with widened eyes. She looked all around the grassy field, and then to her teacher Stacy Jones. The clear blue sky provided little comfort to Lady, and if she was able to she was sure she would be sweating as the Sun beat down on her. “I don’t know about this.”
“You’ll be fine,” Stacy replied as she buttoned up her light brown vest. “You want to be able to fight Boomerius and his goons, right? Well, since magic companion folks can’t do magic themselves, and I’d say I’m one of the slickest swordmasters in the South, this be our best bet.”
Lady let out a heavy sigh, then gave a nod. “Ok. I’m in.”
“Well? Don’t be shy! Pick up that there sword and let’s put you to the test.”
Lady gulped. Slowly, she bent down and grasped the handle of the weapon. She tried to lift up the sword, but found she could only raise it a foot off the ground. She then dropped the weapon. “Oh my, I didn’t expect this to be so heavy,” Lady said between pants.
Stacy nodded. “Yep, it takes some gettin’ used to. Before you can even use a sword, you gotta have the strength to lift and hold it. Give it another go.”
Lady took a deep breath. She grabbed the sword again, and this time she held it for a second in front of her stomach before dropping it again. The sword barely missed her feet.
“Be careful!” Stacy said. “Don’t strain yourself. You’ll just get hurt.”
Lady sighed. “This is tiring work. I need a break. Maybe while I’m resting you could tell me an inspiring story?”
Stacy rolled her eyes. “You ain’t paintin’ a picture, for goddess’ sake! It’s a sword!”
“Come on, hear me out! Lily seemed to respond well Burnett told her an inspirational story.”
The Locomati woman scoffed. “That gonna be a problem then, since I ain’t got no stories to tell.”
Lady put down her sword. “There must be something you can tell me. Maybe why you became a vigilante in the first place?”
Stacy sighed. “It ain’t pretty. You won’t like it.”
Lady stepped closer and put a hand on Stacy’s shoulder. “It’ll help. Please, I don’t have any stories of my own, so I need something.”
The vigilante chuckled. “That be the life of a magic tree woman, I s’ppose. Alright, let’s take a seat pardner.” Stacy escorted Lady to a nearby wooden bench and patted the seat. Stacy took off her wide-brimmed hat and began to tell her story.
Indona Valley, Southern Locomati Island Stacy Jones Streaks of moonlight shone on the thatched roofs of Indona Valley. A young girl, clad in a long white gown and a black veil over her hair, leaned against the wood walls of one of the houses. She gazed up at the full moon in front of her. She let out a small sigh. The girl looked into her bag on the floor, peering inside to see her bow and arrow set.
Suddenly, the girl stood up. She heard footsteps. She put her bag on her back and peeked around the corner of the house, and saw striding toward her a bear of a man, with a bushy beard, a brown tunic, and a warm smile. “Well, if it isn’t little Anastasia Jones,” the man said.
The girl walked out from behind the house and sighed. “Hi Uncle Harry.”
“What are you doing up so late, miss Stacy? You gotta be up early if you’re going to leave for the nunnery at Goddess Falls.”
Stacy stepped closer to her uncle. “I don’t know. I’m startin’ to have second thoughts about this whole nun thing.”
Harry put a hand on Stacy’s shoulder. “Well, you’re nearly thirteen now. Gotta think about what you want to do with your life. And I thought you said the nunnery would be a chance for you to get away from home and from village life?”
The girl fidgeted. “Yeah, but I’m just thinkin’: What if there are other ways to get away from home? Especially since what I really want is to see the world. I ain’t able to do that cooped up in a nunnery.”
Harry chuckled as he patted Stacy on the shoulder. “That’s my girl. Always lookin’ for adventure. But you may find adventure isn’t all it’s cracked up to be once you find it. And at least in the nunnery you can find some adventures in them books and sermons.” They looked into the horizon toward the moon.
“Like, take that there moon for instance,” Stacy said after a moment, pointing at the celestial object. “How often would I be able to stand outside staring at the moon when I’m stuck in a nunnery? I bet I wouldn’t even be able to step outside after the nunnery’s curfew.”
Harry laughed. “You have a point, dearie. Maybe we can…” Stacy’s uncle trailed off. He stared ahead and squinted his eyes. A faint horn sounded in the distance.
"What is it, uncle?"
Harry took in a deep breath. “Bandits.”
Stacy’s eyes widened. “What? Here? How can you tell?”
“I recognize that horn anywhere. That’s how they signal to their fellow thieves they found a nice, juicy target.” Harry took a few steps forward. “Stay close to me, Stacy. I’ll take care of them.”
Soon came the sound of hooves slamming against the ground, growing louder, and louder, and louder. Then they stopped. Standing before Uncle Harry was a group of about fifteen horses and their respective riders. On the black lead horse was a man Stacy recognized: A tall, long-haired figure in fur robes and a red headband. Attached to his headband were a pair of feathers, which gave the man his nickname: Billy Twofeathers.
Billy looked Harry up and down. “Ah, it’s good to see you Harry, my old friend. It’s been too long. I assume you know the drill by now. Hand over the money and we’ll be out of your hair.”
Harry sighed. “I’m afraid things have been tough lately. We don’t have the kind of money we usually have.”
Billy shook his head. “Tsk tsk tsk. Always excuses. No matter. Give me everything you do have.”
“It’s in the storehouse.” Harry turned and waved his arm. “I’ll take you there.”
The bandit leader nodded and jumped off his horse. He grabbed his spear and pointed it at Harry. “Just as a precaution, you know?”
Harry said nothing. With Billy’s spear at his back, Harry walked to the storehouse, Stacy slowly following behind them. Her heart raced with fear, but she tried to calm herself. Surely Uncle Harry knew what he was doing.
A little down the road they arrived at a long stone building. Harry pushed open the door and then stood aside. “Take a look for yourself.”
Billy stepped inside the storehouse and looked all around. From her vantage point Stacy could barely see piles of wheat and barley, along with small stacks of gold and silver coins. The bandit leader rubbed his chin. “Yes, I think this will do it.”
Harry frowned and hung his head low. “Alright then, take it all. Just take it and get out of here.”
Billy walked out of the storehouse to face Harry. He looked Harry up and down. “Actually, there’s one more thing I gotta do.” Stacy’s eyes widened as she saw Billy lower his spear. Harry tried to run away, but he was too slow to react. The bandit plunged the spear into Billy’s back. Stacy could only quietly gasp as her uncle’s body went limp, then fell to the ground. The bandit leader walked up to the body. “Sorry Harry. You were a good man, but I knew you’d only be an obstacle going forward. Now then, to finish the job.” As Billy turned around and walked back to the rest of his gang, Stacy dove into a bush. When she saw Billy has passed, the girl crept out and began to follow the gang leader.
Billy arrived back at the town center, where his gang was waiting. “It’s about time,” one of them said. “Did you get it done?”
Billy Twofeathers nodded. “It is done, Horace. Now let’s move on to looting this rinky-dink village.”
Stacy watched from a bush just behind Billy. She clenched her face. She couldn’t take it anymore. “STOP!”
The bandits looked, and saw the young girl standing a few feet away from them. “Well well well,” Horace said. “Now what do we have here? Don’t worry boss, I’ll take care of her.” Horace was about to jump off his horse, but Billy put a hand in front of his underling and stopped him.
Billy put on a small smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met, ma’am. And you are?”
Stacy let out a small growl. “Anastasia Jones. And I’m not gonna let you destroy my village like this!”
The bandit leader chuckled. “I’m sorry little girl, but you can’t stop up. Though I must say you are a fine-looking specimen. Perhaps I can offer you a… position with me?”
Stacy scowled at Billy. “I am not a ‘fine-looking specimen’! Could a fine-looking specimen do this?” Stacy dropped her backpack and took out her bow and arrows. She pointed her arrow at the sky, and after finding her target, fired at a pigeon flying overhead. She hit it in the middle of its body, sending the bird tumbling to the ground.
Billy nodded. “My my, that is impressive. I could use a markswoman like that in my group. Our old archer just fell in the line of duty, you see. What do you say?”
Stacy sighed. She looked at the furrowed and tight faces of the bandit leader, and then at the smirking face of Billy. She shook her head. “Fine.”
Billy clapped his hands together. “Excellent! With some training, including from yours truly, you could become a real member of your group. But for now, you have to start at the bottom.” Billy turned to two of his subordinates and pointed at them. “You two! Guard Miss Jones. The rest of you come with me.” The bandits did so, dismounting their steeds and grabbing Stacy by the arms.
The rest of the bandits fanned out across the town. Many carried torches in their bags, and after lighting them with matches, threw them at the thatched roofs of the houses. The reflection of the orange flames shined bright in Stacy’s wide blue eyes. As the fires engulfed the village, people ran out in a panic, only to be stopped by the bandits. Usually they just robbed them or their valuables, but a handful of women and children they took captive. The sight both horrified and captivated the young girl. As she watched her hometown be destroyed, a few tears bubbled up in her eyes. She closed her eyes and looked away.
Lake Percival, Northern Locomati Island Lady
Lady stared at the vigilante. “Oh Myratnis,” the enchanted companion said, putting her hand over her mouth. With her other hand she wiped some tears from her eyes. “Stacy, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. It must have been awful to see your uncle killed and your hometown destroyed. But I don’t understand why you joined Billy’s gang after what he did.”
Stacy shook her head. “Believe me missy, it was a tough choice. But as creepy as he was, he did recognize my talents, and the only other person who had done that was Uncle Harry. Don’t get me wrong, I still hated the guy, but I knew I could use him. I trained him under him, I served with his gang and fought in their raids, and in fact it was Billy who done taught me to use a sword when he decided archery wasn’t enough for me. And when I was all grown and ready, oh boy, then came the fun part!”
Lady raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Stacy rose from her seat. “You see, Billy trusted me, so if I was alone with him no one was suspicious-like. So one day when no one was watchin’…” Stacy slashed her sword through the air in front of her. “Well, let’s just say Billy Twofeathers sorely missed his head when it was separated from his body. I even kept his feathered headband as a little trophy of sorts.”
Lady recoiled. “Oh. Well then, it sounds like an… interesting tale. You’ll have to tell it to me sometime. So what did you do then?
Stacy shrugged. “Well, I was already in trouble with the bandits at this point, so I figured I might as well keep goin’ after them. I knew undercover wouldn’t work anymore, so I decided to go open and be a vigilante. And, here I am now. Goes to show that anything’s possible if you put your mind to it.”
“And that’s it? That’s the only reason you’re doing this? You got your revenge, and isn’t that the whole reason you went down this road? Why not quit?”
Stacy let out a hearty laugh. “You’re full of questions, aren’t you Lady?” The vigilante put down her sword and stretched her arms above her head. “Come on now, we gotta get back to your trainin’.”
Lady nodded as she got up from the bench. “Right then. I think that helped.” The enchanted companion ambled over to where her sword was and slowly picked it up. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Well,” Stacy replied, “now that you’re startin’ to lift that thing, give me a nice firm swing.”
Lady deeply inhaled, then exhaled. She put her sword in front of her face, and then with a great force, sliced the air in front of her. “How was that?”
Stacy smiled. “I think you’re getting it.”
Lily
A couple of weeks went by. Throughout their stay with Isla, a constant feature of the group’s life was a hearty breakfast, with the group sitting around the wooden table every morning to chow down. On this day, Stacy finished chewing on a biscuit and then turned to look at Lily Stone. “So Lily, I’ve been hearin’ that you’re gettin’ pretty good with this magic stuff.’
Lily nodded rapidly. “I am. I think I’m getting a lot better.” She turned to the magical companion. “What about you, Lady? I hear you’ve been getting pretty good with a sword.”
Lady smiled. “I’d say so. It helps that I have a really good teacher.”
The vigilante chuckled and gave Lady a playful hit on the shoulder. “Aw shucks. You’ll give me a big head. Well, bigger than I already have at least.”
Just then, the door flung open, and there stood Burnett Stone, sweating and holding a scroll. “We have to leave. Everyone finish your breakfast and then pack your bags.”
Lily gasped. “Oh no. What happened, Grandpa? Did someone find us?”
Stacy Jones smirked. “If someone did find us, they’re gonna regret it. Me and Lady will give them a taste of cold steel, isn’t that right?” She glanced toward Lady, who gave a slight nod.
The Chief Driver shook his head. “No no, no one found us. I got a message from Queen Helga. It’s a long story, but the short version is that Boomerius and the Order of BR are planning an attack on Grand Duke Thomas. We need to get to Ballahoo as soon as possible to protect the Grand Duke.”
Stacy smiled broadly. She pumped her arm in the air. “Alright! Finally some action! When them cultists see what me and Lady can do, they won’t know what hit ‘em!”
Burnett’s granddaughter frowned. She looked up at him. “I don’t know, Grandpa. We haven’t been training for that long. I’m not sure if I’m ready.”
The Chief Driver got on one knee and put a hand on Lily’s shoulder. “My dear, I’m not sure if anyone is ever truly ready for something like this. But I’ve seen you get so much better over the past couple of weeks, and I’ve seen your magical abilities truly shine. I think when the time comes, you’ll surprise even yourself.”
Lily put on a faint smile. She took a deep breath. “Ok. Let’s do this.”
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Oct 17, 2020 6:58:25 GMT -5
Princess Leanabh Yola Lexidus, No Man's Land - Quijain
With every swipe she took and every spell she casted, Myra was there. Every bump, every dodge and every scream Donn Myra was behind her. She was an extension of her and her shield, a wild arrow almost piercing her torso, instead deflected with grace by the puldron of a hawkish Myra. She had killed for the first time in her life but had barely anytime to register it, for she had lost herself to battle and her main instinct, survival. Now however, as the storm subsided and victory was won, she dismounted the horse and looked around at the cheering men and women around her. Their eyes frenzied with the victory of battle, faces coated with blood and mouths spitting saliva. Leanabh breathed in deep and closed her eyes.
She then promptly threw up on the ground.
"My lady, here, drink. A warrior must stay hydrated." Myra gently cooed as she handed a flask to the shivering princess, adrenaline shaking her hands as she took massive gulps of the lukewarm but welcome water.
"We... we won! We did it!" Leanabh panted as she wiped her mouth and spat on the ground.
A similarly haggard voice called out to her. "We did, in no small part thanks to you!" It was Dunsley Hovis, covered in mud and blood, thankfully the blood was clearly not his own.
"Dunsley! You made it!"
"That I have... you know, up until now I'd considered myself lucky to have made it this far, now though? I'm beginning to think I'm blessed and you're the one blessing me." He chuckled; buckling over himself to catch his breath.
"She blesses all of us!" A Lexidun soldier cried, a score of men and women joining them in a cheer. Leanabh looked around in wonder at the men and women cheering, people much older than her and wiser, yet here they were shouting her name. She turned her gaze to Dunsley who looked up at her and smiled.
Donn Myra saddled the horse and offered her hand to the stunned princess. "Come Blessed Champion, its time we return to camp."
King Blair de Brus, No Man's Land - Quijain
He sat on top of what remained of the outer-camp wall, a mixture of corpses littered all around him, the air still thick with the smoke of now extinguished fires. His arms were tired and his back ached, a dozen injured dragged to safety here, a dozen orcs slain with an axe swing there. He was exhausted, a mixture of feelings surging throughout his body, of disgust, relief, sorrow and happiness. He watched as his men and women marched back into camp, tired but elated to have won. He too was exhilarated but it sat second place to another feeling he found himself swimming within, peace. No voices or doubts in his head. Just, peace. For the first time in what felt like years, his heart did not ache as hard and his mind was clear. He and his allies were righteous and they would save this land from clutches of Yrutas. He will mourn, he knew this but that will come later. Now was the time to act, to charge forth into the Magna Tabes and finish what had just begun here.
"General Lewis!" he called, the grunting general picking off pieces of orc gore off his armour as he approached his king.
"Aye my king?"
"Spread the word to the other nations, we are to meet in the central command tent, recover and then decide our next move."
"Aye my king." With a nod, the general rallied those around him and sought the leaders of Calveria.
He still sat there, taking a deep breath and exhaling out his nose. Watching as more and more of the frontline flowed back into camp, Kyrans and Lexiduns grabbing each other by the shoulders and embracing one another, laughing hard and loud into the night sky. Then came a horse with two familiar figures, who dismounted and approached him. Donn Myra and Leanabh. He hopped off the wall and hugged Leana who practically tackled him, a loud OOF being pushed out of him as both of them proceeded to laugh with the soldier around them into the night as well.
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Post by axeldonia on Nov 10, 2020 20:07:21 GMT -5
Quijain
It was a strange place for a celebration.
Helena had feared the battle was lost when the camp was suddenly torn by wind and the air outside filled with thunder. It was only when the cheering didn’t let up that she began to suspect otherwise and she could finally let out a sigh of relief when said cheering spread to the camp. Even so she didn’t feel like cheering even when an excited soldier entered the tent and teary-eyed proclaimed that the battle had been won, which was of course followed by exclamations of joy and relief by everyone gathered inside. All of them that could still cheer, anyway.
She finished wrapping another layer of bandage around the stomach of the Gano splayed before her on the stretcher. This time the bandage retained its pristine colour, indicating the bleeding had finally stopped. The warrior had taken an incredibly lucky stab to the gut; it had pierced both his armour and natural shell, but the blade had miraculously avoided any major internal organ. Assuming he had no other wounds or afflictions they had not discovered, he would live. Others would not be so lucky. Helena let her eyes briefly drift across the tightly-packed rows of stretchers filled with beings from all across the coalition. They still had enough concoctions on hand that the only ones screaming and writhing were the new arrivals, but it also made it harder to separate the dead.
A Titenfiscan officer waved at her from the entrance to the tent and she excused herself. But before she exited the tent, she took a final look at the rows and rows of stretchers and the multitude of lives that had been scarred, ruined or lost. Her heart stung with the guilt. She’d done this. She knew that on some level it had been inevitable. If she’d refused, the crusaders would only have been more outnumbered and countless lives would still have been ruined. She knew. But during the hours working tirelessly to mend limbs and save lives, she still wondered. Doubted. Did she do the right thing? Was it all worth it?
If this was victory, what did defeat look like?
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Post by Percyton on Nov 17, 2020 19:49:51 GMT -5
Battlefield, former Quijain King Godred
The King and his cavalry pounced on the Orks’ flanks. Seeking to keep their distance from the overwhelming enemy hordes, the cavalry engaged in a series of hit-and-run actions, charging the lines, retreating before getting bogged down in melee, and charging again. The fighting was fierce, but little-by-little, the Crusaders pushed back the Orkish forces, their ranks growing thinner. Godred himself helped in the fighting, though his Dwarf Locomati bodyguard unit ensured the King was never in too much danger.
As the horsemen withdrew to a small patch of forest to regroup, Godred couldn’t help but smile. Though the infantry remained bogged down in a vicious slog with the Orkish forces, the King was confident that the Crusader cavalry would turn the tide of battle. “Excellent work, my men!” he shouted to his horsemen. “Our foes are on the backfoot now. Let us finish the job. Glory to Myratnis!” Cheers and hollers rang out. The King raised his sword before lowering it and pointing it forward. Then with a terrifying yell, the horsemen charged again.
Crusader camp, former Quijain Duke
Duke strode into the Dual Kingdom command tent. He looked around. Sitting at a table, shakily drinking a cup of some sort of alcoholic beverage, was the Locomati commander James of Lanksharn. James’ face was tensed, his face contorted into a nervous smile, the nobleman softly muttering something to himself. Duke sighed and shook his head.
Sitting across from James was the historian Eamon of Suddery. “Thank goodness you’re here!” he said as he got up and approached Duke. “Poor James is a nervous wreck. He’s refusing to go out in the field, and nothing I say can convince him otherwise.”
Duke grunted. “I knew this would happen.” The Dwarf Locomati chief walked over to the general. “Come on James, snap out of this!”
James’ body quaked as he shook his head. Tears rolled down his cheek. “I… I can’t, Duke. I just can’t. When I saw all the people being slaughtered, all the bloodshed and misery, I realized I… I didn’t belong in this horrible place.” James leaned over and buried his face in his hands. “I’m not a general, Duke. I’m a noble prick who’s in way over his head. I’d be more useful sitting in this tent.”
Duke took a deep breath. He put a hand on James’ shoulder. “James, look at me. Look at me, James.” James slowly lifted his head up. “I’m gonna be brutally honest with you: You’re partially right. You are a noble prick who doesn’t belong here. Why you were entrusted with this army I’ll never know.” James was about to speak, but Duke interrupted him. “But that doesn’t matter now. You’re here, and there’s no going back. You have an obligation to your men to be there for them. You may not be able to strategize an attack, or coordinate complex troop movements, but there’s one thing you can, nay, must do: Lead.”
James wiped a tear from his eye. “I... I don’t understand.”
Duke flashed a small smile. “From one leader to another, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. Leadership isn’t just the actual responsibilities and duties that come with being in charge. It’s also about being there for your people, inspiring them, and rallying them around a common cause. You may know you’re just an ignorant nobleman, but your men don’t have to know that. Go out into the field, encourage your men, rally them around you, and then you’ll be a true leader.” Duke took his hand off James. “So what do you say? Are you going to be a leader?”
James sighed. “I don’t know. Even if I did do what you said, from what I heard King Godred is doing very well already. What does he need me for?”
The Dwarf Locomati chief nodded. “That’s a fair point. But not all leadership roles involve commanding. You gotta find where you’re most needed. For example, when the battle is over, someone needs to look after the wounded and encourage the men for the next phase of the battle. Do you think you can do that?”
James rubbed his chin. “Well, I suppose so. I don’t have much experience with that kind of stuff, but I can try.”
Duke gave James a hard pat on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now come on, we have work to do!”
James put on a small smile as he stood up from his seat. “Thank you, Duke. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Duke chuckled. “Now now, don’t jinx it. Let’s just get going.”
Eamon stood and clapped. “Good luck to you brave heroes! I’m sure you’ll make the Dual Kingdom proud!”
Duke and James waved goodbye to Eamon, and then set off. The two jumped on a horse parked in front of the tent, Duke in front with James sitting behind him. Duke whipped the reins, and with a shout from Duke, they were off. The two rode through the battle lines, swords, polearms, and maces clashing all around them, as men and Orks fell from blows or from arrows.
At first, the pair were able to navigate a path around the fighting. However, as the frontline of the Locomati was in sight, Duke and James were stopped in their tracks by three burly Orks wielding battle axes. Duke gripped the reins and tried to turn the horse. The Orks charged at the duo, one of them nearly grabbing their horse. Duke pulled out his spear and struck the Ork in the neck, sending the Ork falling back. The other two came rushing forward. Duke plunged his polearm into the chest of one, sending him stumbling down. While Duke was distracted, the third Ork swung his axe, aiming for Duke’s head. James rushed into action, unsheathing his own sword and using it to block the axe. As James’ struggled to withstand the pressure of the Ork’s axe, Duke dismounted and stabbed the Ork in the leg, sending him tumbling down.
As James panted and caught his breath, he met the eye of a smiling Duke. “Nice work there, James. You did well for yourself.”
James returned the smile. “Thanks. You were a big help too.”
Duke chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. It was—“
James’ mouth fell agape as an arrow struck Duke in the leg. As Duke gripped his leg, an Orkish swordsman fell upon the pair. James jumped off his horse and put up his own longsword. However, it wasn’t quick enough. The Ork managed to slash Duke in the leg before making contact with James’ sword. James pulled his sword back and swung hard, knocking the greatsword out of the Ork’s hand and forcing him to flee. James stared at the wounded Dwarf Locomati chief sprawled out on the ground, a tear in his pant sleeve revealing a deep red gash. “Duke! Duke!” James kneeled down and cradled the bodyguard leader in his arms. “Oh no no no. Hang in there! I’ll get you some help!”
Battlefield, former Quijain King Godred and James of Lanksharn
A horn sounded in the distance. The King watched as the Orks beat a hasty retreat, their exit covered by a purple storm cloud of Yrutan origin. “They’re falling back!” Godred said as he turned to his troops. “They’re retreating into the Magna Tabes!” Shouts and hollers rang out from the army, the soldiers raising their weapons and pumping their arms. As Godred scanned the horizon, he saw the distinctive red tunic and cape of James of Lanksharn, the general riding toward him at a tremendous speed. The King smiled and called out to the Locomati commander. “Ah, James! Glad you could join us at our moment of triumph!” However, Godred’s smile fell as James came closer, and the King saw the nobleman’s panting and the panicked look on James’ face.
James rode up to Godred. “It’s Duke!” James said, sweat dripping down his face. Godred glanced behind James and saw the Dwaf Locomati leader propped up on the horse. “He’s hurt bad!”
Godred’s face went pale and his mouth hung open. Then he shouted to his bodyguards. “Come on! Let’s get Duke to safety!” Skarloey and Rusty rushed over to Duke, and with the aid of James, lifted the Dwarf Locomati chief’s body and carried him to a tent at the Crusader camp, where they gently set him down on the grassy floor.
Skarloey touched Duke’s cheek. “Duke. Duke! Speak to us!”
Duke smiled. He feebly attempted to raise his arm, but then let it drop with a wince. “You’re a good man Skarloey. It was an honor to serve alongside you. Now I want you all to listen closely to me.” The Dwarf Locomati all leaned in toward Duke and listened to his now raspy voice. “When this is over and Yrutas is defeated, I want you to bring me home and cremate my body. After you've sent me on to the next world, you’re gonna need to elect a new chief, and I hereby nominate my only beloved son… Luke.”
Skarloey’s eyes widened, as did those of the rest of the Dwarf Locomati. “I don’t understand. Your son? Luke? Why do you want him to be your successor? Please talk to us, Duke!”
Duke said nothing. He simply looked up at Skarloey and smiled. Then Duke closed his eyes as his body went limp.
Skarloey put his fingers to Duke’s throat, feeling for a pulse. Finding none, the Dwarf Locomati lieutenant turned to the others and shook his head. “Oh dear.”
Godred looked at the faces of the other Dwarf Locomati. Rusty and Duncan struggled to hold back tears and remain stoic, Sir Handel stroked his chin, Skarloey and Rheneas each shed a few tears, and Peter Sam buried his head in his hands as he openly wept. The King kneeled down next to Skarloey. “What was Duke talking about? Who is Luke, and why is him becoming chief an issue?”
Skarloey sighed as he wiped away his tears. “We thought Luke was just Duke’s ward, an orphan boy Duke took in. But it seems we were wrong. And while hereditary rule may be the law of the land in your realm, we Dwarf Locomati do things a little different. While Duke did take power after his father, who took over from his father before him, the idea is that merit and experience also play a large role in who the people elect as chief.”
The Dwarf Locomati strategist Sir Handel interjected. “In other words, a young boy like Luke with no experience is completely unqualified to be chief! Why Duke nominated him I’ll never know. Maybe dying made him feel sentimental.”
Skarloey narrowed his eyes as he scowled at the strategist. “DO NOT INSULT THE DEAD, SIR HANDEL! And in any case, now’s not the time to debate Duke’s nomination. We still have work to do.”
“I agree,” Godred said as he rose to his feet. “You all can sort out the succession later. Right now Yrutas is still out there, and the remaining Orks have withdrawn to the treacherous Magna Tabes. Duke died a hero, and now he would want us to finish the long fight ahead of us. This also means I’ll need a new bodyguard commander.” The King turned to the deceased chief’s lieutenant. “Skarloey, would you be willing to take over?”
Skarloey nodded. He kneeled before King Godred and bowed his head. “It would be my honor, Your Majesty, though I know I shall never be able to fill the shoes left by Duke.”
Godred smiled. “Arise, Skarloey. There’s no need for such deference. I considered Duke a trusted adviser and peer, and I shall accord the same respect to you.”
Skarloey flashed a small grin as he stood up. A tear rolled down his face. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t.” Godred patted Skarloey on the shoulder. “Now come along everyone. We have work to do. I’m going to check up on Thorkell and the cavalry, and then I need to find King Blair to discuss our next move.” The King of the Isles and his Dwarf Locomati bodyguards then filed out, leaving James alone with Duke.
“H-hi Duke,” James said as he approached the chief’s body. “I just want to say thank you for everything you’ve done for me, everything you’ve taught me. And… I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. That I couldn’t help you when it mattered most.” James looked down at Duke, and thought he saw a faint smile still on the old chief’s face. “I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow.” James leaned down and patted Duke on the shoulder. “Rest easy, old chum.” James then walked out of the tent and hopped onto his horse, riding off toward his soldiers.
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Post by Percyton on Dec 18, 2020 15:08:25 GMT -5
Stanley Castle, Great Waterton, Northern Locomati Island P.T. Boomerius
A door creaked open, and into the potions room stepped the crinkled figure of Petrarch Tiberius Boomerius. The Yrutas mage smiled as he stared at the bottles and flasks of potions and magical elixirs on the shelves, covering nearly the entire wall of the rounded room. He reached his arm up as he ran his hands along the smooth glass surfaces of the bottles. Finally, he stopped at one bottle in particular. He rubbed the container as he took it down from the shelf. It was filled halfway with a dark green liquid and a cork covering the top. A bronze plate on the front of the bottle bore an inscription written in Old Locomati script, which Boomerius quietly read aloud: “Praise be to Yrutas, for he is the way.”
Boomerius pulled the cork open and inhaled the aroma of the potion, smelling like a combination of blackberries and alcohol. “Excellent.” The mage lifted up the bottle and took a swig. Then he sat down on an embroidered purple rug in the center of the room. In front of him Boomerius placed the still-open bottle. He stared at his reflection in the bottle, seeing his long black robes and short grayish-black beard. After a few seconds, the mage crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and began to chant, repeating the same mantra that was written on the bottle. Visions of purple clouds and flying lights filled Boomerius’ mind, dancing and gliding back and forth. A soft voice repeated “Awaken, my son.” As if compelled by the voice, the Yrutas mage opened his eyes. After a moment, the mage saw the green liquid in the bottle shift into a dark purple, and then a purple cloud rising out of the container. Boomerius scooted backwards, clutching the rug as he did so. As the smoke filled the room and surrounded Boomerius, he thought he saw a face in the cloud, a young-looking man’s face with smooth features. The face carried a neutral expression, as it called out in a refined-sounding voice “The god Yrutas approaches you.”
Immediately Boomerius dropped to his knees and prostrated himself on the floor in front of the face.
The voice came again. “Arise, my son.” Boomerius rose up and looked at the face, now wearing a soft smile. “I am glad to see you, P.T. Boomerius. You have been carrying out my work well.”
The mage rapidly nodded. “Y-yes. Anything for my lord.”
“The time has come.” Boomerius felt the room shake as he heard those words. Boomerius saw the bottles and shelves vibrate, but nothing moved from its place.
“What do you mean, great Yrutas?”
The faced cloud swooshed to the side, leaving behind a cloud trail. These pieces of purple clouds merged together into a picture: Two bearded men, whom Boomerius recognized as King Godred Crovan of the Dual Kingdom and King Blair de Brus of Lexidus, standing on an open plain, laughing and smiling, a mass of human and Locomati soldiers standing at attention behind them. “The Crusaders have arrived,” Yrutas said, his voice now deeper. “Their forces have scattered my armies, and the path lies open to my home in the Magna Tabes. It’s only a matter of time before they march in looking for me.”
Boomerius’ face contorted into a scowl. The sight of the two human monarchs, so proud, so arrogant, almost made him sick. “Those impudent kings. When will they learn their lesson and submit to your divine will?”
“Soon.” The cloud came apart and back together again, showing a different image: jagged rocks, erupting volcanoes, a barren landscape, darkened skies, and in the middle, Godred and Blair lying on the rocky ground – the former with an arrow in his forehead, the latter with a spear jammed into his chest. “The Crusaders will never survive the Magna Tabes, with its ever-changing nature and dangerous features. My home is an impenetrable fortress, which mere mortals have no hope of breaching unless I allow them to.”
Boomerius grinned. “All in accordance with your plan, great one.”
The image disappeared and was replaced with Yrutas’ gentle face. The god now spoke in a softer tone. “Yes, but my plan is not yet complete. There are still obstacles to my dominance. One in particular you may be aware of is the so-called ‘Chief Driver’, Burnett Stone.”
The dark mage snorted. “Ah yes, old Burnett. A nuisance no doubt, but I dealt with him in our last encounter. I put him out of action for you, my lord.”
The face shook from side-to-side. “Only temporarily. Burnett Stone has recovered, and he intends to put a stop to our plans. While I dispatch the foolish Crusaders, I am entrusting you to deal with Burnett Stone once and for you all.”
Boomerius nodded as a devious smile came over his face. “Of course, great Yrutas. I will deal with him.”
“And to ensure you will deal with him, I am offering something to you. I am giving you a small piece of my powers, which will make little difference to me, but to you will make you more powerful than you could ever imagine. Only the strongest of magic users could hope to best you. If you accept my gift, you will become tied to me. You will triumph as I do, be victorious as I am.”
Boomerius kneeled down before the deity. “Of course, great one. I could never turn down a chance to be closer to my god.”
Yrutas smiled slightly. “Excellent.”
That word echoed in Boomerius’ ears, as he lifted himself up to his knees. Then the mage felt himself rising, a purple, rotating cloud engulfing Boomerius’ lower body and lifting him into the air. Boomerius saw all his potions, his rug, even the bottle of green-purple liquid grow smaller, as his head approached the high ceiling of the potion room. Then the cloud with Yrutas’ face rose too, coming eye level with Boomerius. Yrutas opened his mouth wide, and a purple beam extended out from the mouth toward Boomerius, absorbing into the mage’s face. The mage closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Boomerius opened his eyes as he felt his cloud lowering him back to the ground, placing him on his hands and knees back on the rug before dissipating.
“Go now, my servant,” Yrutas’ voice boomed. “I expect you will meet Burnett Stone again soon. Vanquish him.”
Boomerius lifted his head up, only to see the purple clouds and Yrutas’ face gone, and the once-purple liquid returned to its original green color. He looked at the back of his hand, and saw a swirled symbol marked into his skin. The mage smirked. “Yes, I will.”
Diesalion X
Diesalion strolled down the white-walled halls of Stanley Castle. He looked at the portraits of the castle’s former lord and his ancestors and family hung all along the wall. Diesalion felt them staring down at him, as if the burden of history was upon his shoulders. Diesalion tried to ignore them and stare straight ahead.
Finally, Diesalion came upon the Grand Hall. Soft couches and chairs covered in fabric sat on either side of the wide and long hall, and in the middle hung a large glass chandelier. Standing directly under the chandelier was the human mage Beechtorius, the gray-haired, clean-shaven man wearing a dark green robe over a brown tunic, and holding a silver chalice. The banging of Diesalion’s pointed shoes and gold-tipped dress cane against the marble floor alerted Beechtorius, who turned toward the approaching former monarch. “Ah, Diesalion my friend. It is good to see you.”
Diesalion gave a curt nod. “Likewise. Apparently Boomerius wants to see us.”
“Yes, so it seems.” The mage took a sip from his cup. “I don’t know for what, though. I do hope it’s important.”
Diesalion was about to respond, but before he could, the large wooden doors at the end of the hall flung open, revealing the figure of P.T. Boomerius. “Sorry to disturb you gentlemen, but we have urgent business to attend to.”
Beechtorius smiled. He walked over to a small side table and put down his chalice. “Of course, my lord. It is not a problem at all.”
Boomerius stepped closer. As he did so, Diesalion could see the purple pupils in the Locomati mage’s eyes, which shone brightly and almost appeared to be glowing. A strange symbol was carved deep into Boomerius’ hand. Diesalion took a few steps back and recoiled, his face turning into a grimace.
Boomerius stopped a few feet in front of Diesalion. “It is time, my companions,” the mage said. He looked up toward the ceiling. “Yrutas has spoken to me. He told me the Crusaders have defeated the Yrutan forces and are approaching the Magna Tabes.” Diesalion opened his mouth to speak, but Boomerius put up a finger to shush him. “But do not despair. In fact, now is the time of our victory. While Yrutas pushes back the Crusaders in the Tabes, we spring into action. With the powers of Yrutas at my disposal, we shall put my plan into motion, attacking the Locomati Grand Duke and his court and destroying their capital. And I promise you, once this is over, you will all have exactly what you want.”
Diesalion glanced at Beechtorius, whose mouth shifted into a smirk. “Power,” the human mage muttered, dragging out the word as if relishing in the sound.
The former ruler turned back to Boomerius. “So does this mean I’ll get my throne back?”
Boomerius raised an eyebrow. Then after a second of pause, he let out a hearty laugh. Diesalion felt the ground below him shake as Boomerius let out his loud guffaw. When the mage was done, he looked Diesalion straight in the eyes. “Oh, my foolish Diesalion. Nobles like you truly are ignorant. What use is a throne? A crown? A royal scepter? All are just objects, pitiful symbols of the real thing.” Diesalion glanced down at his cane with a sheepish look. “In my world, in Yrutas’ world, there will be no need for kings, dukes, counts, or any other petty monarch. True power, the power that can only come from divine will of the great god himself, will lie with us as his agents. We will destroy this old world, and rule over a new one, guided only by the will of Yrutas.”
Diesalion looked down at the floor. He softly whispered to himself: “This isn’t what I wanted.”
Boomerius leaned in toward the former Locomati duke. “Did I hear something from you, Diesalion? Weakness, perhaps?”
The Locomati monarch looked back up. “N-no, Boomerius. I guess I’m just… unsure. But I assure you, there will be no issues.”
Boomerius shook his head. “I have my doubts about that. Let’s try this again, shall we?”
Diesalion suddenly let out a gasp, as he felt his throat tightening. He clenched his neck as he struggled to breathe. As he did so, the former duke looked down and saw his feet rising off the floor. Diesalion looked up and saw the ceiling get closer and closer. Then the duke looked at Boomerius, grinning as he raised his right hand, which was now glowing a bright purple. Meanwhile Beechtorius stood by the table, a slight smile on his face as he looked up at Diesalion and took a sip from his chalice.
Diesalion squirmed and shook, struggling to get free. He froze when he noticed he had stopped rising, the top of his head mere inches from the glass chandelier. His eyes widened, and he looked back down at Boomerius, who flashed a broad smile and was enjoying every second of this. Diesalion stared at the mage, silently pleading with him to end this torment.
Boomerius let out a loud cackle. “Well, this is certainly fun. Let’s see what I else I can do.” Boomerius flung Diesalion to the left side. Diesalion closed his eyes tight and braced for the impact, but he stopped just short of the wall. Then the mage flung Diesalion to the right side, again halting just before he collided with the wall. Diesalion’s vision blurred and he grew dizzy with all the jerky movements.
“I can do this all day,” Boomerius called. “So perhaps I need to make myself clearer: We are all acting of agents of Yrutas, and it is our job to ensure his will is carry out and that his domination of Calveria is achieved. Any resistance must be made to submit to his divine power.” Boomerius clenched his first, causing Diesalion’s throat to constrict even more. “Now I’ll ask you this once: Will you carry out Yrutas’ plan without question?”
Diesalion hurriedly nodded as he squirmed his legs and grabbed his throat. His face began to turn blue, and his nods began to slow.
Boomerius smirked. “Wonderful.” Then the Locomati mage lowered his hand and the glowing ceased. Diesalion slowly fell to the floor, but he still landed on his knees with a thud. As the color began to return to Diesalion’s face, the Yrutas mage walked toward the former duke. “I believe we have an understanding now. And thank you for being such an excellent test subject for my new powers. They will work wonders, I’m sure.”
Diesalion raised his head and looked up at Boomerius’ grinning face. “Yes, my lord,” the Locomati duke said weakly. He slowly lifted himself to his feet.
Beechtorius put down his chalice and walked over to the other two. He patted Diesalion on the shoulder and then turned to Boomerius. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, we best get moving as soon as possible. It could be a long journey to Ballahoo.”
The Locomati mage chuckled. “Not as long as it could be. But I’ll show you that later. I’ll also introduce you to some friends who can help us.” Boomerius turned around to leave. “For now, pack only what you need for the journey. I’m sure we’ll have no problem resupplying once we are victorious.” He opened the entrance doors. “Good luck, and praise Yrutas.” With that, the mage exited, the large doors slamming shut behind him.
Beechtorious looked Diesalion up and down. “Well,” the human said, “you heard what the boss said. Let’s get a move on.” As Beechtorius walked away in the opposite direction, he turned his head back to the former Locomati lord. “Oh, and well done on being such a good sport earlier.” With that, Beechorious also left the room.
Diesalion was left alone. The Locomati man let out a heavy sign. He took one final look at the scowling portrait of Lord Stanley, then with his head hung low, walked back to his room.
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Post by Unfallious on Dec 19, 2020 23:47:45 GMT -5
Amnest, Veritious "Lord Regent! My lord!" The messenger shouted, bursting through the ornate double doors at the end of the room. Absalon jumped, knocking over a stack of papers and spilling ink all over the desk. It wasn't the first time a messenger had burst into the room, yelling his uncomfortably lofty new title in a tone of urgency. Absalon winced as he prepared to hear more bad news. Had another piece of the Sapphire Palace collapsed? Was it showering the busy streets below in shards of metal and stone? Or perhaps another pocket of festering corruption been discovered by some children in the dark underbelly of the city, spilling unholy horrors into residential areas and across school playgrounds. Absalon hadn't asked for this job, he hadn't asked to be put in charge of a bustling city recovering from an incursion of the angry hordes of a dark god. He was a country duke, used to rolling hills and dealing with disputes between farmers. He almost resented Johalas, his King, assigning him the title of 'Lord Regent' and then running off into the horizon to chase glory.
"It's the Kyasii! A delegation of them has been spotted, they're heading this way!"
"Who?" Absalon said, thinking out loud. He noticed ink beginning to drip from the edge of the table onto the decorative, 200 year old rug that the High Priest had bad a point of saying was very expensive. He dived out of his sit, cupping his hand over the edge of the table as the first droplets begun to form. The Priests were already annoyed with him, he didn't want to get kicked out of the nice office they had given him in the Temple. He looked up to see the messenger looking down at him, his face contorted into an expression of confusion.
"My...Lord?"
"Ah." Absalon dabbed at the ink with a stack of papers before resuming his seat. "Sorry, what do you mean by Kyasii?"
"They're the underground folk. The ones who live to the North?"
Absalon regretted not really paying attention to external politics. "Of course....Uhm, do we know what they want?"
"No, my lord. They were spotted by a patrol crossing the border, they've been taking the main road to Amnest. They'll be here within the hour."
Just what he needed. City under siege from within and some underground folk decide it'd be a great time to make a state visit.
~~~ Some time later~~~
The approach to Amnest was a deceptive one. The city was originally a fort, and as such it was situated right on the coast behind a set of rolling hills. In the old times, guards could see approaching forces from the top of the Sapphire Palace, whereas any approaching force could only see the spire of the Palace until they crested the hill, where the true extent of the city and its defences would reveal themselves. Times had changed since then, the city had long since burst through its walls and small satellite settlements dotted the landscape in the lead-up to the city. This had been a problem, as these settlements liked to insist they were not citizens of Amnests, all while commuting in to sell their wares and clogging up the roads and thoroughfares. So, a few hundred years ago a decree had been issued that stated that anyone who lived within sight of the Sapphire Palace was a citizen of the city. Since then, the city's residents had been divided between those who lived 'within the walls' and those who lived 'in the shadow of the Palace'.
All that had changed with the destruction of the Palace. As the Kehm delegation approached the city they would not be greated by the sight of the Palace looming above them, its beam of light shining into the heavens. Instead, as they crested the final hill, they would look down upon a city in ruins(https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/310709060511072257/530579574736683028/Amnest_post-Yrutas.jpg?width=507&height=676). The area that once housed the palace was now a gaping pit, a hole carved deep into the undercity. The inner city walls were covered in gashes and holes where errant pieces of the building had fallen. "Was this the great city of Amnest?" they must have thought. "One of the great wonders of Eastern Calveria?" No, this was an open wound.
~~
Absalon stood within the Gatehouse of the Main Gate and watched the approaching entourage with intense fascination. They were still quite a ways away, having just crested the final hill overlooking the city, but he was already feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement. What were those things they were riding upon as if they were horses? And their robes, could they not handle sunlight? Did they truly live their whole lives beneath the ground? Like...like moles? He had heard about them, of course. He had learnt about the underground people as a child, how we had done trade with their more normal looking counterparts on the surface for hundreds of years. As a child he would listen as his father told him stories of vast undercities, and how they had farms where they grew mushrooms instead of wheat. It was said that no Veritian had ever looked upon their capital. He thought that quite unfair, here they were looking at his right now.
They were quite a bit closer now, he could see that there were about 10 of them. Absalon was so engrossed in his ponderings that he scarcely noticed the High Priest appear alongside him. "Unusual, aren't they?" he said, "do you know they worship our God? They have a bit of an unusual church, but it's the same one." "Really?" Absalon asked, surprised that he actually shared something in common with such an alien people. "Indeed. Best not to bring it up, though, they are a very zealous people."
Absalon continued to peer out at the people as they approached. The Priest's words had only made him more interested.
~~~ Outside the Main Gate, Amnest, Veritious
The route to the main gate had been cleared of traders and residents. The usually busy entrance way into the city was deserted, save the mass amounts of soldiers that lined the road on the final approach to the gates. Absalon looked at them as he stood under the archway of the Main Gate. It was the head of the City Guard's idea, 'to show strength' he had said. Absalon thought it was a silly idea. This was pretty much every soldier they had left in the city - Not only was it not a very convincing show of strength, but now the rest of the city had to go without its guard for the hour or so they were standing out here. Absalon hadn't objected, though. He felt the soldiers needed something to do other than pulling bodies out of wreckage and dealing with a city in chaos.
After what seemed like a lifetime, with nothing but the sounds of the city behind them and the noises of whatever these people were riding on, Absalon was finally face-to-face with the the people from the underground. He waited for someone to step forward, assuming they would be the most senior individual and then he introduced himself.
"I am Duke Absalon of High Crest, Lord Regent of Veritious. Welcome to Amnest." He held a hand out in greeting.
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Post by Andromitus on Dec 31, 2020 15:31:15 GMT -5
Combat on the Battleplains
• • • • • • • • Quijain • • • • • • • • AEL ADAAAAAAAAAAAHHMThe war cry ripped out over the battlefield, Karthagites and Rohzai alike screaming in a rush of victory-fueled adrenaline; a thumping sound echoed over the battlefield as the surviving soldiers began slamming the flat of their blades against their shields, the buts of spears into the ground, shouting the war cry again and again. Bakahn, on the other hand, was simply tired, breathing out a heavy sigh as the mass of Orks began a shambled retreat back toward the Tabes. His hands jittered slightly, static shooting up and down his arms in the post-battle rush. He grabbed his sub-commander’s shoulder, “have the men begin collecting their wounded,” his voice was gruff from the hours of shouting orders, “each cohort tends to their own, and have them treat the foreign soldiers in-kind.” His eyes began instinctively scanning the horizon as the Rohzai battle-lines began to adjust themselves; individual squadrons of 15 men breaking out in a chaotic-yet-organized morass; each knew their task and simply acted accordingly. Groups of battle-engineers began to fan-out over the battlefield, inspecting the state of their rudimentary defenses before industrially stripping the mangled enemy corpses of anything they could find useful; armor, weapons, arrow tips The most intact Ork bodies were carried into engineer-tents as they began to be examined. Rolls of brown, Kemeht paper began to be filled with sketches of body-structure, muscular proportions, tooth and jaw size, skin toughness. It was a practice learned from the underground; some of the most coveted Kemeht texts among scholars and the general literate alike were Kyasii Bestiary documents, standardized catalogues of flora, fauna, and monsters outlining physiology and behavior; either culture were ones with long histories of magical incursion, understanding the enemy was, by now, standard practice. As the stream of injured began to be funneled into the camps multinational infirmary, the various armed squadrons began to fan back out over the decrepit battle field, now however, to take on a much grimmer task: collecting the dead. Since the battle, the army had become a strange fusion of Rohzai and Karatha culture. Along the outskirts of the camp, Asilic corpses were being stacked with tinder into awkward pyramids, Rohzai ceremony-pyres, with soldiers shuffling through the various tasks of carrying, heaving, and fitting bodies into the structures in a macabre solidarity-building exercise – a decidedly Karthagite mortuary ritual. Each soldier was expected, with their pointer, middle, and ring fingers, to smear a black lacquer being passed around by the priests onto the forhead or hand of one of the dead. Kyran and Lexidun dead alike were treated with the same reverence, being carried solemnly to their respective dead with the same black markings as found on Asilic bodies. Within a few hours, four Pyres had been erected, each a mix of raised dirt and stones, branches, and bodies. One long, scarf-like strip of golden silk fluttered on the peaks of each mound, and Kemeht Ideographs had been drawn on the exposed arms of the bodies and now covered the structures - ‘soul’, ‘rain’, ‘holy’, each carried with it a different underlying message and was chosen by the members of the fallen’s squadron. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Bakahn found himself pacing anxiously around the makeshift stables; if nothing else the incessant, low rumbling of the mirewalkers provided enough white noise to drown-out the dull roar of the camp. He felt his mind drifting back to the same place it always did whenever he was alone; self-doubt rising in his chest as the entire world seemed to press inward. All his life he’d been a general, a commander, a frontlines soldier; he’d crushed fortresses and villages alike, during the Rohzai’s succession crisis he’d gotten rich raiding along the coastline and throughout the mire’s of the country’s interior. But a priest? How many nights now had he stayed up learning the prayers of this foreign god? The proper rituals and ceremonies? As always he felt out of his depth; The world-god had come to him in a dream and gifted him a holy weapon; since then when he’d meditated in the Rohzai-style he’d glimpse visions but never anything clear. He felt lost, like he was walking through a haze; his god wasn’t his own. He’d felt the presence of the war-father before; he’d felt the wave of calm fall over him in his youth, the pulse of adrenaline as his Dagaam -a heavy, axe-like sword– splintered an enemy’s shield. That feeling of a God watching you was a hard one to forget. To him, Ael, the creator god, had always been a foreign one. They were the Rohzai’s God, the Kem’s God; the God of Clay, the Deep-Spirit. They were the Grandfather to the Warfather and Spiritmother, sure, but always one aloof, separate from the world of men. He’d scoffed on joint-campaigns when the Rohzai prayed to a God he’d never heard before. And yet, whose light but theirs appeared before him? But it wasn’t the same. He felt estranged from his own deity - the Warfather, in his time of need, was absent even after a life of service and in his stead was the World-Maker. He felt himself questioning his position more and more now as his campaign continued, did he believe in the light of his god, or was he simply following their orders? And what of his men? His thoughts drifted over to all the eyes looking at him when he made his speeches. How did the Rohzai see him when he spoke? And what of his own kin? Did the Karthagites feel the same? HIs fists tightened; his own men were foreign to him. He was ashamed to admit it but it was true; his Karthagite war-brothers were his own but the Rohzai were like adopted sons. But this shame ran deeper than that, because he knew his brothers didn’t feel the same. What welded his men together now was more than just fear of the enemy; not even hatred, no, what they felt was something deeper. It was a kind of excitement, an explosive drive to act, to push forward; an electrical feeling he’d felt before on the battlefield a thousand times in his old life. The Karthagites called it war-joy, an electrifying sensation that made one feel invincible; when one’s drive and the war-goal merged, making one’s companions feel like extensions of oneself. The motion of the army became an organic expansion of one’s own motion; it was empowering, it’s what transformed soldiers into brothers. But he didn’t feel it. There was a sound behind him which pulled him out of his own mind. “Warchief,” one of his aids started in, “the other leaders have begun gathering and request your presence.” The burgeoning prophet nodded as one of his aids directed him to the command tent.
Standstill
• • • • • • • • Volthazaan • • • • • • • •
There was a loud rapping on the door before a violent crack as it was kicked in. Four large men, soldiers, walked into the Minister’s home with swords drawn. “Minister Avaad Emedi,” one spoke gruffly, reading from an unraveled scroll, “You have been accused of conspiracy and treason against the Kyasii Authority on grounds of collaboration with active heretics in the absence of a clear Ahnsijn.” The minister in question, a short, stoutly man with a long beard befitting both his age and rank, could barely mumble out a word before weighted, iron shackles were locked around his wrists. The soldier speaking continued, “you will be placed under arrest and in temporary confinement while awaiting trial before the acting emergency tribunal.” A shove later and Emedi was outside, his home one of a full district of upper-level officials carved into the cavern-wall overlooking Volthazaan. All around him there were shouts as groups of soldiers forced their way into each home in this cycles latest mass-arrest. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The minister himself was one of thousands taken into custody as the new military government under General A’yill solidified its grip on power. Since A’yill sent out the call to begin the Ahnsijn process, Volthazaan itself had been transformed into half-prison half-ritual site. The steady stream of confused priest-caste under the previous government transformed into a flood as festivities began to be held across the city, and soon spread country-wide serving as equal parts moral boost and grasp at legitimacy. The Alchemists’ buildings, in the sudden absence of their own core ministers, had been transformed into veritable dungeons. “Temporary housing facilities” A’yill had named them just after barring their windows and locking political prisoners inside. A’yill himself had remained cooped up in the High Temple for most of the time itself, pouring over state-records, trying to garner at most a grasp of the sheer severity of the situation. The entire affair added up practically to an attempted political coup, a ramping up of general repressions, complete isolation from their surface contacts, not to mention the sudden lurch in dual-power as mid-level scribe-caste found their roles in constant conflict with an ever-more agitated army of priests pushing to micromanage beyond boundaries their sacred roles. “The state’s departments are obviously the first things needing immediate attention,” Commander Idika started in, ”as would be securing the countries borders which, despite the closed-country edict, are now, well, to say the least, in shambles.” The five of them, Commanders Ixi, Tayar, Idika, and Yura, alongside General A’yill, had been the spearhead of the military’s effort to reestablish some sense of control over the country. The situation was, as was becoming ever clearer, disastrous; the state of the surface was virtually unknown, incursions all along the anti-Kyran defensive line, the utter state of incompetence on behalf the conspirators was, at least from his vantage baffling. Either the opposition truly had their hands well and tied or they were some of the most bumbling morons to ever walk the hallowed halls of the capital. “To list at least a few points in our favor,” started Yura, “Most of the Northern Army command has been been secured with southern officials and sent out to hold key regions throughout the country, with a few expeditionary forces sent to the southernmost caverns to begin re-purifying the land. So far as we know, there’ve been no further horde sightings since we excised them in our final assault.” A’yill shook his head with a grunt of approval, glancing back to Idika, “what of the refugee camps?” “Agricultural production has, over the course of these past few weeks, been reshuffled to meet shifting demand but with a quarter of the country’s labor force in disarray we’ve had to begin cutting into the food stores.” “And the grain supply?” “So far untouched, although granaries in the far south seem to have caught the blight but from what we understand not enough to beat compensation.” A’yill was still for a moment, glancing down at the array of papers and maps strewn haphazardly on the desk in front of him. Another expedition of northern soldiers with a southern command had been sent to reinforce Kahltchet after news of Kyrans forces entering the fray had been sent back, but to make any decisions now would be rash. They had to keep in mind that new reports were still coming in, if the old news was true, and Kyran military ships had been seen pushing into the holyland directly, his hand would be forced into a proper confrontation. He was caught, he couldn’t sacrifice his veteran southern core with the threat of the horde still present, he could barely trust his northern troops, leaving only the western contingent and the hodgepodge of troops he could scrounge. At the same time, retreat simply wasn’t an option. To allow heretical blood to pass into the holyland unchallenged, nay, more than that, to allow a challenge to the capitol to go un-escalated would be to put the Kyrans in the position to escalate the confrontation themselves, not to mention only exacerbate the political situation. The last thing they needed was the capitol to be perceived as weak, not with the south in disarray and the east so quick to rebel. His thoughts drifted as he took another look at the map in front of him; dots in a sloppy crescent marking the various towns, cities, and trade-hubs resting along the surface. Capitol-priests, the upper-ranking warrior-caste generals, and certain sections of the scribe-bureaucracy were the most informed in the country on the real nature of the surface. Navigator-caste, in their irregular contact with Kyran traders of course spread rumors, but rumors were little in comparison to, like all things Kyasii, the mountain of scrolls detailing the Asilic surface’s political makeup, culture, economy, and specific organizations and contacts the Authority used to keep tabs. The military-police, the Kyasii’s secret police network, had contacts all along the trade routes, but from their position, information was shared with the surface priesthood. The distance it took for information to travel between either section of the country granted the surface considerable level of autonomy. Agents on the surface collected their information, sending detailed reports to the surface priests with general updates to the government beneath the soil. The situation, A’yill began to realize as he poured over the most recent reports, was grim. In the absence of a clear chain of command linking the government in Volthazaan to its primary outposts, the main trading cities seemed to be forced to play a delicate balance between an emboldened, already politicized warrior-caste. The Rohzai warriors had always been an unruly bunch, God knew the borders between castes were flimsy at best, but even this was new. And of all things to occur, this one was unlucky, his eyes honed in on the string of reports to his left. A self-proclaimed prophet, a Karthagite no-less, one of the border cultures, practically a rump-state, had whipped the Warrior Ahkips into a frenzy, and a joint military expedition between the major warrior-states was sent to Quijain, the northern plains. A prophet? He needed to know more.
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Post by Percyton on Feb 23, 2021 3:23:03 GMT -5
Royal Castle, Peel Godred, Big Island Queen Helga
The Queen knocked twice on the wooden door - first a soft knock, then a harder one. She brushed off her blue gown and straightened her posture as she patiently waited, eager to meet with the man on the other side. The cold autumn air nipped at her skin and caused the Queen to involuntarily shiver; Helga was starting to regret not putting on a coat today. Standing next to her was her handmaiden Mary, putting a hand on Helga’s shoulder and with her other hand lightly brushing the Queen’s hair. She gave Helga a small nod. “It’ll be alright. He’ll help us.”
Helga sighed. “I hope so. We need all the allies we can get, and who better than my husband’s half-brother?” A few seconds later, the response came in a deep-toned voice: “Yes, come in!”
The Queen opened the door and walked into the office, with Mary following and closing the door behind them. The room was surprisingly small for someone of this man’s rank. All along the walls were charts of troop information, maps of the Dual Kingdom, and diagrams laying out battle plans. Even more parchments were scattered half-rolled all over the floor. The window on the right side of the room was closed, something Helga silently gave thanks for, as it saved the room from being even colder than it already was. At the opposite end of the room was a sturdy wooden desk covered in documents, and sitting at this desk was the burly and imposing figure of the half-Locomati General Ogmund, wearing a green tunic with a brown coat. His hair was slightly unkempt, and he was slouched over as he jotted down some notes. The top commander glanced up at the figure standing before him, and went wide-eyed as he saw who it was. He hurriedly got up from behind his desk, buttoned his jacket, and kneeled before the Queen. “Your Majesty, it is an honor.”
Helga nodded as she raised up her hand. “Arise, Ogmund. I’m afraid my business here is urgent, so I don’t have time for the usual formalities.”
Ogmund stood up. “Yes, of course.” He walked back to his desk and sat down. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Majesty?”
The Queen and her handmaiden stepped closer to the desk, the Queen’s dress trailing behind her. “I need help. I’m sure by now you’re aware of what happened to me.”
Ogmund shook his head. “Indeed. It’s a travesty how Chancellor Cormac betrayed you, Your Majesty. But rest assured, you still have my complete support and loyalty.” Ogmund gripped his quill pen and held it near a blank piece of parchment. “Just say the word and I’ll issue orders right away.”
Helga smiled. “That won’t be necessary, Ogmund, as much as I appreciate the offer. Issuing orders for the troops to rise in support of me will only lead to bloodshed and civil strife, and the last thing we need is internal fighting when our best soldiers are away along with our King fighting in a distant land. I was just hoping you’d be able to pull some strings to help me.”
The general let out a small sigh as he put down his pen. His tense posture almost instantly loosened up. “That’s a relief to hear, Your Majesty. To be honest, I was worried how well our attempts to rally the troops to your side would work anyway.”
Queen Helga raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Please, tell me more.” Helga glanced toward her handmaiden. “Mary, would you be so kind to grab chairs for the two of us? We have much to discuss.”
With a quick nod, Mary went over to a corner of the room and grabbed two wooden chairs, which she put down in front of the desk. Mary sat in one, and Helga in the other.
“You see,” Ogmund began as the ladies sat down, “shortly before the meeting of the Regency Council, Cormac had his own meetings with middle- and lower-ranking officers. Cormac promised them and the common soldiers under them promotion and grand rewards if they would stick by him and support him militarily if needed. A few resisted, and those who did told me what happened later, but most took the Chancellor up on his offer.” Ogmund leaned in closer to the Queen. “Myself and the rest of the top officers are still your loyal servants, but I’m sorry to say a decent chunk of the rest of the army have switched their allegiance to Cormac. If you did tell me to issue orders to raise the troops in support of your cause I would do it, but I’d be doubtful if I could raise many before the troops mutiny in favor of the Chancellor.” The commander let out a deep sigh. “You said you wanted me to pull some strings, but at this point, I’m not sure how many strings I have left to pull.”
Helga shook her head. “Dear Myratnis, is there nothing Cormac won’t stoop to?”
Ogmund crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s not right, but it is clever. He needs some support to keep his position, and since he knows me and the generals can never be bribed or won over, he’s working from the bottom. Now if we’re going to take down Cormac, we need to bring the soldiers back in line somehow.”
The Queen was about to respond when she heard of the sound of the door opening behind her. She turned around in her chair and saw the familiar figures of Norman and Sidney standing in the doorway, dressed in their finest tunics and with large smiles on their faces.
Ogmund let out a growl. “I’m a bit busy at the moment, Norman and Sidney. You shouldn’t be in here. Was knocking not common practice at Count Philip’s court?”
Sidney rubbed his chin. “Well, not really. Diesalion just barged into whatever room he pleased.”
Norman gave a sharp glare to his portly friend, jabbing him in the side as he turned to him and mouthed ‘not helping’. The pair walked over to the desk and turned to Ogmund. “Sorry about that, general,” Norman said. He looked at Helga and gave a slight bow. “Your Majesty, it’s good to see you.”
Helga smiled. “Likewise, Norman.”
“We came by to offer our services for the Queen’s cause. We heard about what happened to her at the Regency Council with Chancellor Cormac, and we are just as appalled as you are! We want to do whatever we can to restore the rightful regent!”
“Yeah!” Sidney chimed, a big grin on his face. “Plus it would be a nice adventure.”
Ogmund looked down at his desk and rubbed his temples. “I appreciate your interest you two, but now is a bad time. This is a delicate situation, and there isn’t any role for you two right now.”
“Still,” Helga said warmly, “it is very kind of you to want to help. I will keep you two in mind.”
Norman smiled. “You’re the reason we finally found asylum here, Your Majesty, so we’re much indebted to you. Anything you need, just say the word and we’ll do it.”
“Yeah, what he said,” added Sidney.
The general rolled his eyes. “Great, wonderful. And what we need for you right now is to get out and leave me and Her Majesty alone.”
Norman gave a nod. “Right, of course. We’ll take our leave now.” The courtier grabbed his friend by the shoulder. “Come on, Sid. General, Your Majesty, it was good seeing you.” With that, the two left the room, closing the door behind them. The two Locomati men’s voices slowly faded out as they walked away; Helga thought she heard something along the lines of “I told you we should have knocked!”, but after that their conversation was inaudible.
Ogmund stared at the door. Once he was sure the two courtiers were out of earshot, he spoke up. “Mary, lock that door, would you?” As the maidservant did so, Ogmund turned to the Queen. “You aren’t seriously considering their offer, I hope?”
Helga paused for a moment. “I haven’t decided yet. While I’m not sure if I fully trust those two, they seem like honorable men. And they must be clever, having gone from fugitives on the run from Diesalion the Tenth—“
“Only because he didn’t consider them important enough to hunt down,” Ogmund said.
“To enterprising con artists—“
“The reports indicated they were very simple scams that only the most gullible would fall for.”
“To here at court.”
“They wouldn’t have made it here without Bear’s connections.”
Helga chuckled. “Always have to find the negative, don’t you Ogmund? Maybe you should lighten up and give Norman and Sidney a chance before you put them down? They could even be useful.”
The general snorted. “Norman and Sidney useful? I’ll believe it when I see it. Let’s just move on. We can talk about those two later.”
Helga nodded. She turned to Mary, who had just sat back down, then to Ogmund. “Anyway, what I was about to say is that before we try to undermine Cormac’s support base, we should appeal to him directly. I’ve known him for a while, and he’s loyally and ably served my husband for years. Perhaps the Chancellor is simply misguided.”
“And how do you plan to convince him then?”
“I have evidence of an Order of BR conspiracy at court. I believe if Cormac sees the evidence of this conspiracy, and my role in uncovering it, he’ll recognize my abilities and restore me to my position. He’ll see I’m not a feeble pregnant woman, but a capable political actor who just so happens to be pregnant.”
Ogmund shook his head. “I think you give Cormac far too much credit.”
“I have to agree with General Ogmund here,” Mary said, turning to Queen Helga. “Your Majesty, I know you want to believe Cormac is still the loyal man who aided your husband, but he isn’t. He overthrew you on the slightest pretense and essentially bribed the army so he could keep his power. That doesn’t sound like someone who can be reasoned with.”
Helga patted her handmaiden’s hand. She looked at Mary, then at Ogmund. “I appreciate both of your concerns. But I’m not going to give up on Cormac so easily. Not unless I can be absolutely sure he’s beyond reason. I’m sorry, but I just can’t give up on the man who has so ably assisted both me and my husband.”
The general shrugged. “I still think you’re making a mistake. But you are the Queen, so I shall obey your wishes. But you must promise me you will have an armed guard with you at all time, especially when you’re talking to Cormac.”
The Queen nodded. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but I’ll do it.”
Ogmund shuffled in his seat and leaned closer. “So how do we prove there’s a conspiracy?”
Helga put a hand on her chin. “I’m not sure yet. But I do know two people who are experts at unraveling plots.” Helga got up from her seat, with Mary following the Queen’s lead. “I will speak with Percy and Flora and see what they think. Perhaps they have ideas on how we can lure Stepney and the other Order members into a trap.”
Ogmund chuckled. “We’re forming a little cabal here, aren’t we?”
The Queen gave a sly smile as she turned to leave. “You could say that. We can only hope our plot pays off.”
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