|
Post by Unfallious on Jan 8, 2018 22:08:02 GMT -5
Rules: -OP is the God of Gods. You cannot comprehend the OP, but don’t worry he’s there. His apostles go by the name Co-OPs, they may act in the stead of the OP and may act independently or at the direction of his divine hand. Insulting the OP or the Co-Ops or going against their decisions is blasphemy. Blasphemy is punishable by having everything you’ve ever posted on the RP wiped out. Don’t do it. You may disagree with the decisions of the moderation so long as you do it civilly and in this thread. -No meta-gaming - Just don’t do it dudes. -No power-gaming - You’re not a God even if you do control the minds, hearts and souls of a Kingdom. You are still at the mercy of the land, the pantheon of Gods and of course the moderation. Acting as if you are a God is heresy, heresy will get you sternly shouted at. It will then get everything you’ve ever posted smited, so don’t do that. -Stick to the time period - We’re gonna be lenient here for the first few weeks of RP. I know some of you have never done medieval time period before and may have trouble adjusting, that’s fine. But if you continue to go against the period after you’ve been told that it’s incorrect I’ll direct you to the modern RP and tell you to piss off. We’ll go into what the period allows and does not allow later in this post. - No deal-making outside of the IC thread - This technically falls under meta-gaming, but many people don’t seem to see it that way. For those of you who took part in the ModernRP you will understand why this is a rule. I want an RP where we RP, not form alliances in OOC and then lightly threaten each other without RPing. I will deal with infractions of this rule on a case-by-case basis but I am prepared to take you off the map if you insist on acting in this way. If you want to build an alliance, make a deal or plan an attack you do it in the IC. If people try to meta-game because of the posts they read IC then we’ll deal with that separately and harshly. -Don’t RP outside of the established threads - The medieval RP is a strict closed RP where only those accepted by the moderation can take part and only posts made in threads sanctified by the moderation may go on to form the medieval canon. Please don’t form off-shoot threads unless you first run it by the moderation.
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Jan 9, 2018 10:37:54 GMT -5
"Lexidus thus declared these following words, In My Defens Myratnis Me Defend and the chiefs did listen. Nae One Can Harm Us Unpunished and the invaders did listen. Finally he declared that Our Might Is The True Right and the Noble Kingdom listened. We are Lexidus! Hear us roar! thus Lexidus and the white lion at his side did roar and so too did his country.
"Lions don't roar though."
"...eh?" squeaked the Royal Steward. The old man squinted at the monarch slumped on the throne, the King would usually just sit there clearly bored of approving Royal Bard Association songs and tales but for the first time in his 24 year reign he piped up.
"Lions don't roar. It's more of a bellow, comparable to a gruff bovine in heat." King Blair de Brus, still slumped in his throne, was furrowing his brown at the Steward. Clearly annoyed.
"Oh.. Erm..." Crowley Pentagress had been a Royal Steward for nearly half a century and appointed by Blair's grandfather Tommen de Brus. He'd dealt with nobility disputes, assassination attempts and plenty a drunken royal brawl but he had no clue how to respond to the incredulous king.
"In fact, how tae fuck did Lexidus get a hold of a lion? It's FREEZING up here! These tales are a load of old duff." The King sat up in his throne and wringed his hands. The old steward gingerly approached the king and leaned in.
"So... uh... shall I tell the Association that you don't appro-"
"Goddess above no!" blurted out the King suddenly and swiftly. "We'll never hear the end of it you and I. Tell them I said yes and they have my permission to distribute it to their bards."
The steward sighed in relief and motioned for a servant to fetch a messenger, then grabbing a quill and striking off the first arrangement on the agenda, he scanned the throne room. Unlike his grandfather whom Crowley served from 1076 until his abdication in 1100, Blair requested the throne room be decorated as sparsely as possible. The granite stone walls sparkling slightly in the candle and torch light. Opting for a more utilitarian look to his dwellings, he rubbed the nobility up the wrong way on numerous occasions, which he was fully aware of. This however did wonders for the king's image amongst his people and the various city-barons across the land. He was seen as the people's king. Truth be told, Crowley had been at the king's side since his coronation at just 10 years old. Going from being a young boy into an empathetic and compassionate man, Crowley admired his king. Well, when he wasn't starting fights with the nobility and unruly sorts, which he had to clean up.
"Crowley? You alright there? You're looking like yer with the birds!" Crowley snapped himself back to reality, he was getting bad for reminiscing in his old age. Blair smiled at him. "What's on the rest of the agenda for today?"
Scanning the parchment, Crowley turned to his liege. "Well there's the issue of the Forgotten Isles to the north, we need to discuss how we'll approach our colonising of the islands. We need to make contact with our friends the Titenfiscans and also the Kingdom of Fyllia to the north, to make sure they won't have any issues with our occupation and colonisation of the isles."
King Blair de Brus smile grew wider. "Well you better go grab some more messengers, we've got a busy day ahead of us!"
|
|
|
Post by axeldonia on Jan 9, 2018 14:16:24 GMT -5
Sound filled the parliament as the various delegates entered the room, taking their seats and sorting through the papers on their desks. The speaker took her place at the opposite the entrance of the circular room, a raised area containing the speaker’s chair flanked by two flags as well as two podiums for debate. As the assembled quietened down, the session began. Above this whole arrangement was placed a large circular balcony, today filled to the brim with Kobolds, though a few Squidspawn could be spotted among them. The reason for this particular audience and their interest became abundantly clear as the debate started: the topic of the day was the legal recognition of the various Kobolds Pluais and all that such an endeavor entailed.
While the recognition of the Pluais itself had near unanimous agreement, the entire noon was still filled with debates over semantics and peculiarities, particularly as party loyalties and factional infighting made themselves apparent. In the end, a lunch break was finally called and everyone slowly poured out of the room once again. Standing in line to the canteen was the Prime Minister Helena Lake, a female Squidspawn with bright red tentacles, blue eyes and a fair complexion, dressed in the same puffy clothes as everyone around her. She stretched and yawned, finally picking up a plate full of food and took her seat with the rest of the cabinet.
“Alright Squids, game plan?”
“I say we approve the current draft. To be honest, it’s barely changed from the starting document.”
“Ugh, indeed. I guess there’s nothing large-scale enough to warrant much debate.”
“Tell that to the Sea Party.”
The ministers nodded in agreement. Around an hour later everyone resumed their place inside the parliament chamber, whereupon the debate resumed. It was only late in the afternoon that the speaker finally announced with the slam of her gavel that the resolution had been passed, meeting cheers from the balconies. It was normally expected that the spectators keep quiet the entire time during sessions, but the representatives understandably let them indulge in this gesture of respect. After a small ceremony between the Heads of the Kobold Pluais and the Squidspawn ministers, the day was finally concluded. As the crowd stepped out into the night air, a pair of Kobolds stepped away into a small garden path.
“You see Finneas? There can be compromises with the Republic. The Pluais have served and will serve us well for untold generations, but that does not prevent us from changing them.”
The one speaking up was a Kobold with elegant emerald scales, clad in mail and a blue woolen tabard emblazoned with the seal of Pluais Gormgel, a short sword by his side. The red kobold besides him was clad in much the same way, his own tabard featuring the arms of Pluais Righean.
“We’ll see about that Chulainn. They expect the commonfolk to gain the same status as a head of the Pluais? Mob rule, I tell you. I’ll grant you victor in this, but Righean will not soon steep so low as to dissolve the hierarchy, mark my words.”
Chulainn nodded solemnly, coming to a halt.
“Very well. Then I am afraid this is where we part ways for now. I must inform my people back home of the decision. Good fortunes, whatever you’re attempting.”
Finneas sneared as the two parted ways, walking down towards the moonlit docks as Chulainn departed for the crowd.
|
|
|
Post by Vista Major, MP on Jan 9, 2018 15:01:31 GMT -5
"Wer turen eura Holisherenes Muthera oshera (We pray to our Holy Mother) Fvor gideana thouren des, da kaltung al ferzegen tudra (For guidance through this, the cold and frozen tundra) Fvor pferor und strankeit (For power and strength) Fvor korga und noligen (For courage and knowledge) Fvar da niekacht ist daerung und feilen wit termenin (For the night is dark and full of terrors) Blaurung euch, Ladeung Myratnis (Bless us, Lady Myratnis) Helf Haer, Graunes Yrutas (Help Her, Great Yrutas) Fvar wer arz lotor al foremmer ak dur mercae (For we are loyal and forever at your mercy) Turen da Muthera alda Sonig, wer salten alerung osher (To the Mother and the Son, we shall always pray)."
The High Shaman, garbed in brilliant white and grey garbs, bowed before the assembled Askite Council, every bench filled with Askin, Barskin, and Hyarin chiefs from across the Great Tribes and the Capital, Askorus. From behind the High Shaman rose Torvus Delekarz, the High Chief. He walked forward and put his paws on the shoulders of the priest and smiled.
"Thank you, Mar'ar," Torvus said quietly and with a smile. The High Shaman turned around, greeting Torvus with a serene, cheerful grin. He held his hands up to the High Chief's face, pulling him in so that their foreheads were pressed firmly against each other.
"Until next time, Torvus. May the Mother be with you always, my friend," Mar'ra replied before pulling away, waving to the Council to bid them goodbye, and leaving the Citadel without another word.
For a slight moment, the expansive chamber was silent as Torvus descended from the altar, dark blue cloak billowing behind him. As soon as Torvus saluted the Council, voices rose high, echoing throughout the great hall.
"My brothers and sisters, be still!" Torvus barked, and the Citadel was silent again, and Torvus nodded his head.
"The Levy is ready for their journey, chiefs of the Great Tribes and Capital. At your command, we shall march and sail west with as many warriors as we can gather to settle further into the Arctic Lands. Before long, we should encounter the Kingdom Flyllia."
"But will we be able to oppose them?" Called Chief Coren from Polaron, the polar bear Barskin rising from his seat. "We have lived in these borderlands for ages, my brother. Many of us have voiced our opposition to this proposed expansion, and I stand here now to argue the same as the last! The Holy Mother granted us these lands for the Great Tribes and no more! I darent think what would happen if we continued to disobey her divine orders!"
"Coren, you and your lot are fools, if nothing else," retorted Chief Malon-ak from Svaltgard. "The Holy Mother has granted to us no decree. The High Shaman said so himself! We are blessed by the Goddess and known by Her Son; we have a duty to spread her good name throughout the continent and beyond!"
"I agree absolutely," said Chieftess Resis. "Who knows which heathenous traitor of Myratnis the Fyllians worship? It should be our goal as prophets of the Mother to do her bidding and let the land know of her glory."
"She settles it!" Cries Chief Aame of Wolvania. It is time for a vote, brothers and sisters!"
Thunderous boos and applause reverberate through the hall. It lasted for many minutes before Torvus lifted his hand to silence the Council.
"Is anyone willing to put forth the motion?" he asks calmly, with a neutral expression on his face.
"I do!" several voices yelled out, but one was above the rest: Chieftess Yolara of Arctika. "I ask the council to allow the Askin Levy to begin the expansion to the west."
Torvus nodded. "Your have been heard, Chieftess. Now, we must vote." Torvus spread his arms out wide, fingers pointed to opposite sides of the auditorium. "Those in favor will move to the my left. Those opposed will move to my right. Anyone without a vote shall be seated in the center... Begin."
Instantly, chiefs scrambled over each other to get to their desired sides of the hall, spewing insults at each other as they passed. No more than a minute later, there was no one in the center of the house. Torvus examined both sides carefully, his eyes counting every single head.
"My brothers and sisters..."
Suspense engulfed the room, the tension of the chiefs so concentrated that seemed as if the pressure would shatter the stained glass on the ceiling.
"The motion ascends."
|
|
|
Post by Unfallious on Jan 10, 2018 16:12:47 GMT -5
The Kingdom of Veritious has slumbered. For over 50 years it has sat in a state of stagnation. Stagnation. The term brings forth negative connotations, but for Veritious this is not so. The state has been peaceful, the Kingdom has not prospered, but nor has it degenerated. It has simply existed. Trade has come and go, mainly internally between the cities, but occasionally shipments from far away lands will find themselves in Veritious loaded with exotic and unusual commodities. The realm has made itself wealthy through this, and as a result the Arms Warehouses of Amnest have grown full with surplus weaponry and equipment. A Veritian is nothing if not prepared, after all.
In this sleepy Kingdom, kept safe from the rest of the continent from the North by its 4 defendable necks and secured from the dragon-worshippers of the South beyond the Myratnian River by a network of coastal castles, its people have grown comfortable, perhaps even complacent. Its mountains and valleys, its picturesque landscapes of rolling hills and deep forests, they all know no horror, no bloodshed. That is, of course, apart from the blood of witches.
"You will now face the wrath of the Divinus Supremus, the progenitor of life and the Lord of all. At his mercy, you will now be placed before. The almighty Zypnac, his wrath knowing no bounds but that of his mercy, will take you unto him and cleanse you of the corruption you have been tainted with..." The priest went on, his droning intonation accompanied by the backdrop of a hundred screaming people. Magic users. Witches and wizards. Heathens. Over 300 of them were gathered today in the Veritian capital of Amenest. Not by their own will, but as enemies of Zypnac for whom they will now be sent. In Veritian scripture, Zypnac is the producer of all man, but some of them are tainted by other gods in the waking moments of their birth. These people are what are known throughout the land as the magically-inclined. Those capable of magic. To be magically-inclined is not a crime, for their corruption is not their own choice but a curse placed on them by the other gods. It is only when one gives in to the temptation of magic and practices it that they commit an offence to the almighty and must then be placed before his judgement. As the first group of people are led to the 5th step of the temple of Zypnac the crowd gathered to watch the purge grow silent. There are 10 of them lined along the 5th step, the traditional place where individuals may be dispatched to receive the judgement of Zypnac. The 5 steps of the temple represent the 5 Gods of the Pantheon, with the 5th and final step, being representative of Zypnac himself, the highest of them all. Even the wails of the heathens have died down now, their eyes turned toward the 5th step. "Preparations for judgement will now begin. The Chosen will take their positions." From the temple came 10 men in bright white cloaks. They took up positions behind the heathens, one Chosen for every one of them. "Now we commit you all, lost, malignant, misguided or otherwise, to the judgement and mercy of The Almighty. May he cleanse you of your corruption, show you the error of your ways, purify your soul and accompany it on its journey to the Necrominus." The Priest raised his hands to the heavens above, continuing as he did so. "Oh blessed be to him, and as we use his gift to send these fallen children back to him we are thankful for the gift he has provided us." At that, the Chosen in unison plunged a hand into their cloaks and revealed dazzling daggers of pure white. Daggers of pure Acarate. "Chosen, send the fallen forth, send them to their judgement. Begin." In one fluid, well-practised movement the Chosen gripped the forehead of each of the heathens, pulled back and sliced their throats before pushing them quickly down the steps of the temple. The 5th step stood spotless, while the other 4 were stained with blood. "And now we begin again."
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Jan 10, 2018 20:00:24 GMT -5
"Will that be ham or duck for your dinner today mi'lord?" King Blair de Brus jolted forth from his daydreaming, the word duck always brought him back from his reverie. The plump cook smirked and gave a small chuckle as the King sat up in his wooden throne. "I can guess already, duck from the lovely city of Deen, tender and juicy meat, crispy skin, and it's glazed with the honey-balsamic glaze you do so adore!"
The cook couldn't help chuckle in glee at the King's smile and shaking of the fist in an excited manner. The cook didn't need a vocal approval at this point, he had served the King since he was inaugurated as little boy, like all of the staff employed by the royal family. As he left the throne room, Crowley Pentagress the Royal Steward passed him and gave him a curt nod as he carried a sizeable stack of parchment.
"Well then Crowley!" the king barked, invigorated by the promise of a decadent meal. "Who shall we write to first? I recommend the Titenfiscans, we write to tell them of our occupation of the Forgotten Isles and our intention to colonise and turn it into a port for ships in the region for trade. They're more than welcome to join us on this endeavour and have their ships port there." The King leaned over slightly to the right, the Steward had quickly sat down beside his liege behind his small wooden desk and began to furiously scribble. "...and they're ALSO more than welcome to receive a low tax rate for all trades and goods traded there."
Pentagress stopped scribbling and sighed. "Blair. You're still not trying to prove a point to them are you?" The king gave a cheeky half-smile. "Blair, just because some random squidspawn noble at the royal function said you were seen as a barely tolerated friend of Titenfisca, doesn't mean you should be all blarney with them. It's unbecoming of you." Chuckling, the king reclined.
"Aye well. You know what they say. Kill them with kindness. If they want to talk nonsense about me, I'll show them why we're a noble kingdom for a reason. Make them feel how petty their comments are as we stay one of their most valuable allies in northern Calveria Alternis. We could be feral mountain shaggers like the Kyasii or cult worshipping lunatics like Veritious. No, we are Lexidus, noble and kind."
The steward couldn't help but roll his eyes, he was admitted many things due to his senior position and close relationship with the King, overwhelming exasperation being a cherish possession. "Blair. Titenfiscan's are republicans, they're naturally critical of monarchies like us. That's no reason to be giving them privileges left, right and centre." The king waved a hand and scoffed.
"I'm not giving them massive privileges Crowley! I am merely being cooperative with our lovely neighbours, quite frankly, they deserve the benefits of our friendship. Now lets continue." The scribbling began again. "Tell them I also seek an audience with their Prime Minister Helena Lake, I shall sail to their capital to discuss potential alliances, both military and economically."
"Excellent Blair, I'm sure parading yourself amongst them will show them how humble you are." Blair met the deadpan stare of his steward, where they held a long silence... and then promptly both burst out laughing.
"What can I say? I'm the people's king." A bell echoed across the castle, to which made Blair instinctively shoot out of his throne and towards the dining hall.
"Blair! What about the letter to the letter to the Kingdom of Fyllia?" The king stopped, his nostrils flaring as he pivoted on one foot and stared amusingly at Crowley.
"Just tell them I wish them a wonderful and prosperous future filled with peace and calm!" With this Blair disappeared into the warm glow emanating from the grand Royal Hall. Crowley chuckled to himself, finishing up the letter meant for the Republic of Titenfisca. His eyes wandered over his desk, strewn over the aged wood was cloth embroidered with the royal seal. Next to his bottomless ink well, was a piece of gray parchment, Crowley's brow furrowed in worry. Within that parchment was a report by the Royal Lexidun Navy, of sightings of potential Asakor ships scouting west towards Fyllia. He'd have to tell the king eventually, he'd have to confront his king with this news and guide him carefully, half a millennium of peace cannot be jeopardised. It cannot.
|
|
|
Post by Andromitus on Jan 14, 2018 21:53:03 GMT -5
Her eyes opened slightly, soft orange light and small, silent flames emanating from a gilded, shallow bowl at the center point of the room. She sat up slightly as her eyes readjusting to the low-light produced from the Saktet fire, the bowl, and she began to recognize her surroundings. The room was a small semicircle, a archway leading out too the hall was located in the center of the flat-sided wall. It was slightly smaller than other rooms, being located closer toward the center of the circular building which was evident by the lack of proper vents and windows. About 15 other cots, like hers, pointing toward the center running the length of the curved wall, only thin slivers of space between them. The room itself was carved from grey stone, thin bronze pipes barely protruding from the ceiling running from the wall into the hallway carried fresh air from the outside into the building to circulate the natural heat emanating from the buildings central column deeper inside. As she sat up the other Farming-caste’s in the room began to stir, grey-blue arms reach back to push thick brown hair back or to rub tired eyes; fastening small bronze and silver beads to hold hair back place and tiredly slipping on work-clothing. She slid toward the foot of her bed, opening a small leather-y sack of clothing and supplies and started putting on a pair of loose pants and a shirt made from a soft yet heavy and tough substance, Okaenoc-silk, before holding her hair back with a Nai Crest, a long ring of metal with two silver pins to fasten it —and loose hair— in a bun. Grabbing an empty bag from a string of poles near the archway, she shuffled out into hall, a long circular corridor leading toward a stairwell and inward/outward towards other rooms closer to the outside and center of the building. Now surrounded by a large group of people, she reached the dining hall at the bottom of the stairwell, a huge mass of tables and other men and women distributing food, which up most of the first floor. Cutting past the larger lines she met up with a Distributor near one of the large doorways leading outside. She was an older woman, with white hair and wrinkled skin, her elongated ears curving down slightly with age. "Anything interesting this cycle Ahnsei?" the Distributor asked "No, just Oil-filling, a Convoy's supposed to have arrived today and needs light." she responded curtly "Heh, you really missed out dear, when we were still'a colony..." "When we were still a colony your neck was on the line every time you stepped outside." she said before the woman could finish, the distributor had a knack for nostalgia Grabbing a small package of assorted fruit and a chunk of Stadaa flesh, a kind of bamboo-like vegetation, she walked outside. It was dark and warm, humid air clinging too her skin and she felt the dampened stone tiles making up the pathway against her bare feet. Ixthenpijn's cavern ceiling several hundred meters up could just be made out by the patchwork of glow-worms and luminescent mosses. In fact the moss was everywhere, taking up a majority of the ground and flashing brighter as more and more Veiman stepped out and onto it. The thin warm glow of the underrivers in the distance making up a majority of the light source, the rest being made up of large stone Saktet-beacons. She glanced backward to catch one last look of the housing tower before setting off her wake-cycle. The building was enormous, a wide, 15-story circular stone tower with 18 huge equidistantly placed doorways on the first floor. The tower was built in layers, each story being made up of concentric halls and rooms building out from the center. Glistening metal plates, air vents capturing outside air to filter out stagnant air from the interior-rooms, and grated-windows were placed intricately around the outermost layer. A mass of smoke and hot air could just be seen filtering from the top of the structure from a natural heat-vent the housing tower was built around. The outside was just as wide, a huge basin 5 meters below the rest of the cavern floor, stone pathways leading into wide tunnels flowing out from the Tower and cutting through to the rest of the cavern floor. The floor itself was hundreds of meters below the Halthaur's ceiling, the shape of the Southern gate leading toward the Frontier could just be made out in the distance. An enormous structure, reachign halfway to the cavern cieling, its metal plats catching the ambient light from the underrivers. This was compared with enormous natural stone pillars could be seen in the distance, their locations betrayed by glowing moss and fungi that revealed their colossal structures. As she reached one of the pathways leading up out of the basin she stopped by a squat stone building to pick up the supplies she needed: several vials of oil and a lighting rod, a thin metal band made to load beacons with oil for lighting. Afterwards she set off down one of the tunnels running beneath the farmland, a wide road in the shape of a trapezoid made from similar grey stone as the housing tower, kept alight by flaming beacons similar to those in the Basin carved equidistantly into the walls. Stopping every-so-often to fill beacons with the oil she was carrying. The job took most of her waking-cycle, passing by large circular "roundabouts" connecting the tunnel with others passageways, filling beacons, torches, and other lights with oil. But by the end of her cycle, she reached her final destination: another basin with a collection of three Housing towers and a ‘surface’ passageway toward the Underriver. There was far more light here on account of the rivers volcanics and luminous algae, and the sulfur-rich soil allowing for much brighter mosses and vegetation. Dropping the rest of her Oil with the local Distributors, she moved down the path toward the River, its orange and blue hues competing for space in an array of swirling light fixtures and the previously tamed farming plants gave way to much larger fungi and large plants. As she neared her next job came into view, three enormous wooden boats were docked, four banners hung the length of each boat marking them as farming vessels under the Lignan Order. As she grew closer more features began to come into view, strange etchings and blotch-marks lined the boats seemingly at random, large ballista and arrow-ports were strewn about the deck alongside a variety of nozzles, metal rods, spears and polearms, and a variety strange ropes. Apart from the farmers and unloaders helping take large sacks of seeds and spores other figures were marching the length of each vessel, with similar groups patrolling the docks; They wore hide, cloth, and metal armor, each armed with anything from swords and daggers, to crossbows and whips. Ohnzaur. They were Ohnzaur soldiers no doubt about it, but Ixthenpijn is no where the Frontier, and the Sh’zekt Forthaur is north of here, so what were the Hunting-Caste’s doing so far from the battlegr… As she neared the docks it hit her. Claw-marks. Those etchings and blotches… they’re claw-marks. As she continued forward the marks grew more and more pronounced, long curving indents into the wood, the blotches, what she could only assume was blood, was sprayed along the sides of the boat like paint. The Ohnzaur themselves didn’t look much better, damaged equipment, their clothing and armor cut and torn; She saw two men red-stained bags into a cart, what could've done this? She was approached by one of the dockmen, a small yet burly Worker-Caste with dark hair tied into thin dreads running the course of this scalp, soft grey-blue skin illuminated by the river-light; "Business?" He asked her in a rough voice, he smelled like Opix* "Lighting-oil," She replied, "Where's this convoy coming from?" "E-erm, Dotarikt," he stuttered, glancing left toward the soldiers, "h-here, that man over there," he pointed to a rather tall man in formal green and gold robes near the water, "He's our Keeper, he'll tell you where to go." Dotarikt? A mining colony was sending seeds to the Interior? He was obviously lying but lying about what? If there was a breach in the front line they'd have to tell us. Regardless, the man she was sent too, the Shipping Keeper, was down my the riverfront. He was a Scribe-Caste, significantly taller than the laborer she had just met, stand just over her. He wore long green robes with an ornate golden golden design, a green silken shirt and black pants. He turned as he heard her approach; she instinctively bowed. "My Ahkthzain," She spoke formally, "sorry for the disturbance but I have lighting oil for the Convoy?" "I see." He paused for a moment, "you have my permission to board the vessels, the canisters are on the bough-deck." "Thank you sir." She moved to go but hesitated, "Well?" "E-erm with all do respect my Ahkthzain, what happened?" He scowled, quickly responding in a gruff voice, "Fill the canisters, know your place." before turning back around. She hurried toward the first boat, the last thing she needed in her life was a Scribe with a grudge. But as she boarded her curiosity only grew, scratch and burn marks were strewn over the deck, the wooden banisters torn and stained an unnatural blue and yellow. She was already beginning to grow tired as she finished filling the last boat before large bells could be heard in the distance, her ears perking up to know the time. 1-2-3-4, she halted for a second, she heard a second set of bells in the distance, 5-6-7-8, why are the Western bells ringing?9-10-11-12-13, thirteen bells? She stood up, and she noticed the other workers, soldiers, and even the keeper doing the same, all looking into the distance, waiting for something. A loud moan echoed over the cavern, then a second time; It took her a second to recognize it but it was the sound of a Church Horn. It called out twice more before a deafening snap sounded from downriver. The sound of stone on stone grinded through the Halthaur, twice more the church-horn sounded. "On Yigmarra they're closing the southern Gate."
|
|
|
Post by axeldonia on Jan 15, 2018 17:14:43 GMT -5
The sun shone brightly in the midday sky as Helena sat together with Katia, a tan Squidspawn of about equal size and deep blue tentacles flowing down her back. The pair where seated at a table by the edge of the sidewalk, eating some fried fish as they watched the boats sail by.
“So, how was yesterday’s parliamentary session?” Katia smiled, turning her attention back to Helena.
“Ugh, don’t get me started. It’s a day of work, but it always feels as long as the rest of the week. And the air in there is awful; you can barely breathe in there. I’d propose installing some windows or something, but Myratnis knows it’d take up half a year’s worth of parliamentary sessions just to decide on where they’re placed.”
Katia laughed and Helena was just about to ask her about her day when the sound of hooves against the cobblestone announced the arrival of one of the city messengers, sitting atop a pony dragging a wagon full of sacks behind him.
“Any news for us today, Friedrich?” Helena got out of her seat, running over to greet him with a kiss on the cheek.
“Indeed, you’ve gotten a letter from across the channel. Royal seal on it, too.” Friedrich reached into his coat to retrieve it, handing it over and giving Helena a kiss in return.
“Sorry, but as you can see I’ve got a lot of things to deliver today. Hopefully I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
“Alright, just stay safe out there!” Helena and Katia waved as Friedrich rode along the streets, occasionally stopping to reach into his bag and give someone a letter or package. Helena returned to her seat, opening the letter with a specially-prepared letter opener. Royalty was awfully stingy about everything they put their mark on. She folded the letter open, scanning it for a moment.
“What’s it about?”
“It’s nothing much. The Lexiduns are asking if we approve of them colonizing the northern islands. I’m glad someone’s putting them to good use.”
“So you’ll approve then?”
“Of course I will. Better them than anyone else. I’ll write back offering ships and lumber of course, as well as propose the construction of a Titenfiscan trading post and drydock.” She folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket, the pair finishing the last of their food and getting up.
“Well, it was lovely that we could meet like this, but I’ve got a letter to write.” The pair embraced in a short kiss before parting ways, Helena walking back towards the large parliamentary building. This had been a productive morning.
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Jan 20, 2018 15:20:06 GMT -5
Unyielding mist rolled over the Forgotten Isles, the pale northern sun giving the islands a dull orange glow as it sank unto the vast sea, yielding to the cold night that was to come. Waves lazily collided with the boat that was approaching the sea haar blanketed islands. That boat was the of the Royal Lexidun Navy, nicknamed "The Lady of the North", due to it and its crew's frequent sailing of the North Star Sea. Stood at the tip of its bow was a woman wrapped in multiple layers of fur clothing, her face masked by a tartan shawl that wrapped around her head as well, not one inch of skin was exposed to the brisk dusk air that blew past her. Before long, the ship's sails were furled up and its speed reduced as it approach a lone port on the eastern isle. As the ship approached, the woman scanned the area through the thin slit of her head-wrap. The port and subsequent settlement surrounding it was larger than she thought, she was under the impression that she would be arriving to a small fishing hamlet or maybe even a small village with little activity but what greeted her instead was a bustling town filled with people. As she and the ship drew closer, she noticed there were in fact merchants, farmers, workers, fishermen and even children running around. It was then she also noticed alongside the Royal Lexidun banner flew alongside the flag of Titenfisca, subsequently she started noticing the squidspawn crafts and trade people running about the populace as well.
"So that explains it" she thought out loud to herself. Looks like the King had been busy since he assigned her to meet with the settlement's chief. As a royal ambassador, she commonly found herself to sometimes be outmatched by the speed of messengers nowadays. She had pointed out to King Blair de Brus that it might be more expedient if a letter was to be sent in her place but he wasn't having it. He specifically requested her, that usually meant he needed something done and completed with expert diplomacy. There was definitely something more going on here that needed her skills, not only was she a shrewd negotiator but also a keen problem solver. Blair had sent her here for a reason and she was itching to find out. Rather, she was itching all over her face due to the course material in her shawl, Myratnis take her, now she was sweating under her bulky layers of clothing. Wrestling the shawl wrapped around her face, she breathed in the cool sea air and smoothed out her messed up short blonde hair, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
"Hail Eimear! I trust the sea wasnae too harsh on ye?" Eimear turned towards the port, which the ship had docked with whilst she was pondering her situation. Upon it, standing with his fists pressed against his hips as a torrent of deckhands unloaded the ship, was Chief Burke. A man of impressive stature and lack of hair on his head but with a big black beard to compensate, he stood out amongst even the hardiest of sailors. The size of his grin only matched by the broadness of his shoulders, he offered a hand to the ambassador. Eimear couldn't help but smile back as she took it and disembarked from the Lady of the North, giving the chief a brief hug.
"Hail Burke, no the journey was fine, made the mistake of putting far too many layers on and now that we've not got the wind blowing on us I feel like I could melt." Removing a large fur coat, Eimear revealed her rather fine blue and black raiment decorated with various tartan trimmings and the Lexidun Lion adorning her silver necklace pendant, dennoting her as a representative of the crown. The Chief took the coat from her and folded it over his arm as they began to walk away from the port and into the town.
"Aye, most mainlanders get the impression because the sea is cauld that the islands are gonnae be freezing too, which isn't the case. Am an Ooter Isles boy myself and let me tell you, our wee islands are no too different from here. Its that wee bit more brisk up here in the Forgotten Isles and aye the winters are caulder, but when its no winter up here, its almost the same as the rest of Lexidus." Gurgling and yelling were heard from a nearby market stall as two merchants, one a human Lexidun and the other a Titenfiscan squidspawn argued with one another, throwing hand gestures at one another. Their arguing was eventually drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the town as Burke and Eimear made there way towards the centre. Laughter could be heard from taverns and inns as humans, squidspawn and even kobolds made there way home for the night and to the inns for merriment.
"I take it we came to an agreement with Titenfisca then?" Eimear enquired.
"Aye, after sending the letter out, they swiftly got a reply offering ships and lumber for the construction effort as well as building a dedicated trading post and dry dock for themselves. The king accepted and now we've got some much needed extra supplies and work force, including the go ahead to go further in land. Soon this place will be a bustling trade city, the jewel in the crown that is Lexidus!" Reaching his arm out to the side and sweeping it across the townscape before him and the ambassador. Before stopping outside a quaint little tavern with a thatched roof. "Drink?" he enquired, jabbing his thumb towards the door. Eimear nodded and the two of them entered into the gentle orange glow as the sun finally disappeared into the sea bound horizon.
The tavern was a charming yet humble establishment, the grey stone floor featured rugs of various furs, both bear and goat. The wooden walls were adorned with heads of said rugs along with various swords and banners, most notably that of the Royal Lexidun Navy. A sizeable circular hearth-fire dominated the centre of the tavern, giving it a comforting glow and warmth. "Old navy friend of mine runs the place, best mead in all of Lexidus I say. Here, lets place ourselves down here."
Taking her place opposite of the Chief, who ordered two large meads, the ambassador rubbed her eyes.
"Myratnis take me Burke, I'm knackered but I've been yearning for a good drink for a while so I may as well have a couple."
Chuckling, the chief drew out a piece of fine parchment from his pocket and placed it in front of her, emblazoned on the wax seal was the royal symbol. Wearily she took the parchment, broke the wax seal with a flick of her finger and sighed as she read. Her dull green eyes scanned the letter meticulously and she adopted a blank facial expression as she began to process the letter in her mind.
"The Polar Dominion of Asakor? He wants me to request an audience with them?" she drawled, furrowing her brow and staring sharply at Burke who at this point had his contagious grin plastered across his face. "I bloody knew it, he knew I'd kick up a fuss so he sends me up here to-" she raises both her hands and makes quotation gestures with them "-check up on you. When we both bloody well know you're doing fine up here. I've said it before and I'll say it again, let sleeping dogs lie, we leave Asakor alone and they'll return the favour. It makes sense and it has so for over half a millennia!" Lowering her hands onto her face and groaning, she planted her face onto the table.
Without letting up his smile, Chief Burke leaned back into his wooden chair. "You're the best Eimear. Everybody knows it. I know it, the king knows it, Maither Kin'est even knows it. With us going up north its gonnae to put us even closer to the Alkin and we cannae afford to be passive with them. They're a sizeable and somewhat formidable force in the area and we're next door to their territory." At this statement Ambassador Eimear raised her face from her cupped hands and stared at the chief with scepticism. He wasn't sure if it was for his statement of Asakor or the compliment he just dealt out.
"...so what's the king up to whilst I'm up here dealing with the Alkin?"
"He's making preparations to meet with the Prime Minister of Titenfisca, he's just waiting for the go ahead from Helena Lake herself."
It was at this point, a barmaid approached the two and placed in front of them two massive glasses filled with amber coloured ale, Burke only withdrawing his grin when taking swigs from his glass. Eimear, royal ambassador to his majesty King Blair de Brus and right bastard sometimes, let out a sigh of resignation. "Alright, I'll write to them seeking an audience to discuss our new territory and asserting ourselves in the region. They'll then know we mean business, then we could discuss potential trade agreements and the usual. Myratnis take me yet again, I'm definitely going to need warm clothes." Picking up her glass she raised it towards Burke.
His smile reaching almost ear to ear, he clinked his glass with Eimear's. "That's my niece, yer maw would be so proud of you right now if she was here."
A sad smile briefly made its way across her small lips as she took a hearty swallow of mead. Wow, she thought to herself. This really is the best mead in Lexidus.
|
|
|
Post by axeldonia on Jan 22, 2018 17:01:16 GMT -5
The halls and corridors of the grand parliament building bustled with life as Squidspawns and Kobolds rushed around carrying various decorations, cleaning or organizing the aforementioned activities. Helena was in the middle of this frenetic activity, carrying five parchments underneath one arm while trying to simultaneously direct the conversion of the dining hall and writing her official invitation to Blair de Brus.
“No, the three-seat table goes to the left! The Lexidun banners are in the west wing! Watch the glass!”
She ducked underneath a swinging ladder, entering the kitchen where the staff was currently busy carrying large sacks of brightly coloured and exotically smelling spices. The head chef waved her over, presenting her with a large menu. She nodded approvingly, finally managing to slip out the back door to get some peace and quiet. She stared up at the clear azure sky for a moment before turning one of her tentacles black, gently coaxing a drop out of it and catching it perfectly with her quill, whereupon she began writing.
“Your Royal Majesty Sir Blair De Brus, the parliament of Titenfisca and the Prime Minister hereby formally invite you to our capital to more deeply discuss the matter of colonizing the northern isles, along with a state dinner and all appropriate accomodations. You may arrive in any manner you seem fitting and stay as long as you deem necessary, our only request being information about the potential duration of your stay to make appropriate accomodations.”
She scratched her forehead a moment before shrugging and folding it, tucking it into an official seal and stamping it. She smiled to herself for a moment, again admiring the sight before her. The clear sky merged with the blue sea almost seamlessly as boats drifted across its gentle surface. If all this busywork was needed to sustain this, so be it. She stepped back inside, seemingly reenergized.
|
|
|
Post by Unfallious on Jan 24, 2018 12:34:46 GMT -5
"Your Majesty, the Bishop of the Subterranium has submitted an urgent request for an audience." King Petyr grimaced. The Subterranium, what could they possibly have to say that would drive them from their darkened hovel? An urgent matter, no less. "Bring him to me," he replied. Within a few short minutes Bishop Joseph Austius stood in front of the King. He was a short man, with pale skin and receding hair. His ceremonial attire was smart, yet worn, and he leaned precariously on his staff. Standing in front of the King, framed by the ever-steaming and enigmatic Chatter-Script Throne, he looked awfully small and insignificant. This was intended by design, as was the throne room's sparse use of light. Apart from two large torches by the door, the room was lit entirely by 4 large windows, two on each side of the room, and the thick sapphire beam of the Acarack streaming straight through a gap in the ceiling behind the throne and into an identical gap in the floor. The beam continued, straight through the palace and into the ground below where it hit the Acarack forges, where Acarate was forged, and then further still to the Subterranium itself. Crown, military and religion, the path of the beam mirrored the very hierarchy of Veritian society. "Your Majesty, I beg your pardon for alarming you with my urgent request to see you, but I'm afraid it is of great importance that we meet today," the Bishop wasted no time getting straight into the point of his visit, "The Subterranium is of the opinion that Veritious, nay, Calveria is in danger. Grave danger." "Is that so, Bishop Austius?" Petyr was not convinced. The clergy of the Subterranium were known to be quite zealous and eccentric. "And how has the Subterranium come to be of this opinion?" Austius shuffled uncomfortably on his feet and reach into his robe for a handkerchief which he used to dab at his forehead. "Your Majesty, the Subterranium has been listening to the Acarack. Sire, its tone has shifted. Zypnac grows concerned. We fear dark, dark forces are at work and that we must warn the Kyasii. "The Kyasii, Bishop Austius? And why must be warn them specifically?" "Sire, we believe the darkness..." He cleared his throat and dabbed at his forehead again. He was sweating profusely and struggling to finish his words. "...we believe the darkness is centred on the Magna Tabes. We must warn the Kyasii, as gatekeepers and fellow believers in the Almighty." Petyr sat in silence for a few moments. "Bishop Austius...I believe the clergy of the Subterranium has spent too long underground. You are obsessed with finding something in nothing, my dear friend. I suggest you take a break, clear your he-" The King was interrupted by a mighty roar, like a thunderclap but closer. A mighty wind gust through the room, turning the light of the torches out and plunging the room into darkness. The King rose from his throne, stepped forward and turned around. The Acarack, it was gone! "By the Almighty...." said the King, stunned into silence. Before he could continue the thunderclap was repeated, and the room was once again filled with a Sapphire glow as the Acarack returned. The room was silent. No doubt the whole city would've witnessed their divine light snuff out for a few terrifying moments. The King turned to the Bishop and looked at him, fear etched into both their faces. Then he shouted for a messenger. "Travel to the Kyasii Dominion at once...." he began.
|
|
|
Post by Andromitus on Jan 26, 2018 14:24:15 GMT -5
The Gates themselves were enormous, huge dam-like structures built over the different River-entrances into the Thaur. They reached from the Cavern floor half-way up to the ceiling, secondary fortifications such as the main tower were built right onto its surface. It towered over the Underriver, acting as a natural entrance into the Hold and led out of the Cavern into the web of ravine’s connecting the Dominion. Each side of the structure had been carved naturally from the rock-face, the rest being put in place over the first half-century of the Halthaurs early colonization period. Lining the bases of each were 84 large stone plates, 42 on each face of the structure and each tipped and lined with iron. They were to act as the actual gate, and were designed to be naturally opened and closed by diverting the flow of the water. A loud metallic screech echoed throughout the Thaur from the Western Gate as the fibrous locks holding the Plates in place were loosened and they began to lower into the river, the current taking hold, swiveling them into a locked position. Along the internal structure, water surged back as it was disconnected from its source, splashing along the harbor of the interior. On the opposite side of the Thaur the Eastern and Southeastern Gates, smaller twin gates built out of similar ravine entrances, began to dislodge several of the locks holding their own gate-work in place and Naval-military craft began to set a course for the Western entrance. The sounds of Horns soon replaced the Gate’s screeching, and Men and Women quickly began to rush around the many roadways, urbanates, and common-spaces making up the Thaur. As the farming and working Caste no doubt began to cease work and move toward the Capital city of Ixthenpijn, Jodenhaur, a different conjunction of people began to center in Yuln, a small trade-based urbanate built around the West-Gates Harbor. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • “Councilor Itekt, er .. m’Lord, if you could just wait for a moment you’re needed at th..” He continued forward along the harbor, ignoring the Scrawl-Caste trying to get his attention; as a Scribe he didn’t need to be told where he had to be. He already knew what the messenger was going to say and without saying a word he waived the Low-caste away before moving toward the Yuln Sanctum, a large domed structure acting as the politico-religious center of the township. The Urbanate herself was a small town and the chief city of the westernmost region of Yuln it was built around the steadily curved harbor of the Riverhead leading out of the Thaur, from her the water flowed into three tributaries, left and right along the base of the Cavern walls, and out toward the caves center. The town was divided into two districts, the Right and Left wings, divided by the outward-bound tributary. The whole complex simply reeked of the Authorities careful planning, each district was built around a general Hexagonal grid to minimize necessary space, with most big structures being housed below the cavern floor, or in the case of docks, jutting out into the water. He the traditional garb of a Scribe, dark green robes with Golden designs forming the symbol of the Ixthenpijn Authority, a branch of the overarching Kyasii Authority. His dark brown har was cut back and hidden beneath a stylized headpiece, and his right ear played host to three gold rings, a symbol of power. He quickened his pace, other scribes were no doubt gathering in the Sanctum to decide what to do, and from the report he’d gotten from he Scrawl the situation seemed dire. They’d received the command to close the gate only a few minutes before the last trading convoy entered the city, the threat was still undetermined from their perspective, and with still no word from Jodenhaur nor the K'zahn, the Dominion military, their options were limited. The building was a domed structure built on a small landmass cutting through the middle of the outward river, being in neither the left or right wings of the township. Ixthenpijn Authority banners hung from the assortment of pillars placed around its circumference, four large entrances leading into the debate hall inside. The hall itself took up the total space of the ground floor, stone bleachers running along the walls above the entrances, and from the ceiling hung a green stained-glass chandelier illuminating most of the meeting room. On the far western side of the buildings interior, the point facing toward the Gate outside, stat an ornate throne, the seat of the Olesijn, above which was the insignia of the interior Kyasii Authority. Other Councilor’s and high-ranking officials were already streaming into building as he he took his seat; the sound of Vei’asil, a tongue spoken uniquely by those of the Scribe Castes, continued to grow as the Veiman grew more and more disturbed by the off-hand information regarding the closing of the gate. The sound continued to grow until a hush fell over the crowd of seated officials as a new figure entered the building. Easily distinguishable from the others by his dress, the figure was an old man, noticeable by his long white beard, short stature, and aged features. He was dressed in a long, purple-blue robe with golden seams underneath which was a light green tunic and pants; Apart from the jewelry he wore on his hands and beard, he wore an ornate egg-like headpiece with a crystalline Authority-insignia on its crown. The man moved to the center of the hall, scanned the crowd, and began to speak; “Councilors, Planners, Guardsmen,” he spoke in Vei’asil, letting out a breath, “I am Aazall of the central Ixthenpijn Authority, and I apologize but we must begin in lieu of traditional ceremonies. We have received a report from the K'zahn Vvain of a currently unknown threat beyond our border,” gently pulling out a thick scroll of parchment he continued, “I was personally requested, and subsequently released an order, for the closure of the Western Holdgate.” A slow murmur went through the crowd; “To begin with, I would first like to release the Authorities plans for Yuln, the most pressing of which being the preparation of your food stores in the event of the closure of the Eastern and Southeastern Holdgates. Equally, the Authority wishes for the redistribution of K'zahn Soldiers across the greater Yuln region. Before I continue” he turned to face the Olesijn,” it is my duty to ask if you or your people have any quarrels with these decisions?” After a moment of silence, the Olesijn shook his head slowly. “Excellent. I have also come with news in regards to the shut-down of the Hanfeln and M’kaein urbanates. In essence, all major production will cease until further notice.” • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • One Week Later;Compared to the Thaur below, Jhall found his surroundings less than magnificent. The cavern itself was no doubt large, but after being stationed in Reithaur, being able to run from one side to the other in less than a minute dispelled any sense of “grandeur”. Although, in defense he wasn’t all that surprised, the city could barely be called an Urbanate. The Settlement, Shzahkt, was really only a small Fortress-city located just below the surface, dependent on the thin trickle of barterers and traders coming in from the outside world. Being this close the surface meant that the Scribe’s had to work with pre-existing cave systems to build off of, bringing up big materials and worker-brigades simply wasn’t practical. The Cavern was wide, illuminated by the occasional Saktet beacon, with several branching tunnels going off in any given direction. The floor was carved and smoothed down, a thin stream flowing through a shallow path dug along the left side, and small buildings were cut directly into the cavern walls. Bigger structures like food-stores, armories, and Caste-housing were probably located deeper within the complex, but in all honesty he doubted the Scribe’s bothered with them to any meaningful extent. Then again, it’s not as if they would be needed, if the city was overrun her inhabitants could flee deeper underground into the Ixthenpijn and Yitapti Settlements, it’s not as if it were a Thaur that had to be evacuated. The march of boots pulled him from his thoughts as a group of Soldiers came into view; Like him they wore standard Vvain equipment: black, high-collar Gambesons with the K'zahn Vvain insignia under the right shoulder; weapons ranging from swords to crossbows hung from their backs and belts, but each had a common trend of either long or short range weaponry. He started too look around for groups heading in the opposite direction, but he figured that the day-watch had already taken position outside. Behind him stood the other 6 members in his patrol, other Soldier-Caste’s, but unlike the Day-watch that was possibly stationed topside, Jhall’s group had a very different assignment. They were being sent outside the Walls. The Authority usually was hesitant to send unaccustomed Soldiers to the Frontier-Surface, that is the regions at the edge of the Dominion, without previous experience. However with traditional Vvain forces being relocated to guard Ixthenpijn, Jhall found himself on only his third patrol of the outside at Sunrise. Thank Yigmarra it was a common foot-patrol and not a formal raid. Jhalls breath sucked in as they started marching forward, moving through the winding halls of the Cave-city. Passing through the different passageways, the familiar interior air was soon replaced by crisp, night winds as they reached the Marketplace. His heart began to pound as the light switched from the natural Saktet fires to a greyish-blue hue before they finally reached a wide entrance, moon and starlight pouring into interior. He’d been stationed outside before but he could never get used to just how… alien it all was. The entrance was a large, circular opening in the wall, slits in the floor showing the location of the metal bars usually lowered during the sunlight hours. Grates above it allowed even more outside air and light to pour into the marketplace to increase airflow. As his patrol stepped outside his eyes played host to the strange landscape of the Surfaceworld. In the distance, past the exterior walls of Shzahkt, he could just makeup the faint outlines of hills of rocky terrain. There was no ceiling when he looked up, instead he was met with a seemingly never-ending expanse of sky; Looking down he saw the surface-portion of Shzahkt. The exterior was shaped like a misshapen semicircle, an enclave carved into the side of the Mountain-face. He could, at least, find some comfort in the security of the stone for a little longer, but the sheer emptiness of the sky was still unnerving. The garrison continued down steps carved from the hillside, passing by large stone towers and garrison buildings, before reaching the final gate, and suddenly the security of the mountain was gone. And eager to replace it was the vast emptiness of the Surface. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • They had been on patrol for several hours before he heard a slight whistle, an “About face” sign from one of the other squadron-members. His eyes moved quickly to the left and, after a moment of searching, he saw it: The slight glimmer of armor in the distance. Reaching for a small telescope he saw a humanoid figure atop a strange beast that could just be made out through the early daylight; “I don’t know what it is sir, its humanoid and riding…something, I-im unfamiliar with surface-beasts.” “Give me that thing Jhall,” his commander barked, “and they call them horses; Arde, can you see specifics on the figure? It’s, too foggy for me.” Jhall stepped back for a moment, thinking it best to leave the identification to the veterans. He figured by this point that it wasn’t apart of a trading caravan, and if the Mounted-patrols let him through then it was their duty to escort him. They continued down over the rocker terrain of the Surface until they reached the traveller, speaking in Iedic, the most common Asillic language in the Frontier territories, the Commander initiated with the stranger on ‘horseback’; “Business, Traveller?” All of them paused, waiting for a response but the confused look on the mans face showed he didn’t understand word spoken too him. The Commander spoke again; “State your business, outsider.” Stepping forward Jhall presented himself before speaking in somewhat broken Common-Tongue; “He asked your business, interloper.”
|
|
|
Post by Unfallious on Jan 30, 2018 15:29:42 GMT -5
The rider looked at the figures in front of him. The under-people, as the Veritian slang word went, were strange to him; their virtual self-imposed isolation all too well-known. In fact, it was almost all that was known. Not much at all was known about them and far less had ever been witnessed. Up until now, Veritious have been content to simply trade with their above-ground settlements. Money was money, and if the under-people wanted to be mysterious, that was fine by them; so long as the currency kept coming, of course.
All this had changed now, however, The Subterranium had been spooked, the King had been spooked by the Subterranium and now it was done to Jacobi Insignas to spook the Kyasii. Jacobi had been briefed before his departure, both in the message he was to deliver and the context surrounding it. A trusted and loyal aide to the King, Insignas had always been more of a diplomat than a messenger and his diplomatic precision would come in deeply useful when dealing with these illusive and enigmatic people. If anyone could convince the Kyasii to gran and audience and hear the King's words, it was him. "Good day, gentlemen," he started, loosening the white-knuckled grip on the reigns he had managed to retain ever since leaving Veritious. "I come on behalf of the Crown and Throne of Veritious with a matter of great import. I seek, and humbly request, an audience with your liege-lord at the earliest convenience." He flashed a courteous, if somewhat tense, smile at the figures as his bright blue eyes flickered between them. He tried to gauge a hint of what they might be thinking, but he was instead met with stoney faces.
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Jan 30, 2018 16:46:39 GMT -5
It hadn't been the worse night sleep he had ever had but it was one of the most bizarre. He could recall a strange dream... or was it a nightmare? A mother, basked in a godlike glow, tending to her children, he was one of those children. The mother turns to face him, her face is warm and kind like the light surrounding her. However, her expression of love and care is quickly replaced by one of shock and horror as he feels a cold and ominous presence behind him. The mother reaches out and yells to him a warning, he cannot understand her and turns towards the sharp freezing sensation behind him. Darkness consumes him, enveloping him completely and then... he woke up.
King Blair de Brus blinked rapidly and rubbed his tired eyes, the sea air made them water a little, he was no sailor like his father and mother but he had basic sea legs. Standing on the bow of the royal flagship, he gazed upon the capital city of Titenfisca, Mündungshafen. He recalled some of his earliest memories, sailing in the Twin-city Strait between the Lexidun city of Harbourton and the Titenfiscan capital with his father and mother at the helm of a cog. Sailing from Harbourton to Mündungshafen every Sunday, he loved it. The way his father laughed heartily as his son squealed when water splashed on-board, his mother holding his hand to steady him as the waves got rough. His parents had served together in the Royal Lexidun Navy and married soon after their early retirements, Blair followed shortly after, their sole and most cherished child. They died 1 year before his coronation, he was just 9 years old, a freak weather storm in the Southus Sea wrecked their ship as they sailed without him to a noble function in the city of Redan. He missed them, even to this day.
"Reminiscing are we Blair?" croaked a deathly pale Crowley Pentagress, Royal Steward and certainly not a sailor that's for certain
Blair turned to the slightly hunched figure, he couldn't help but chuckle as Crowley attempted to keep his balance and, mainly, his lunch in his stomach. "Aye, about Maw and Da, about the trips we used to take." He paused, scanning Crowley with a furrowed brow, which pressed against his golden crown. "You look like you're about to take a trip to a bucket... you didn't have to come you know? We both know how badly you fair on ships."
Raising a hand to the king and another one to a handrail, "I can managed. Besides? Who else would stop you from bending over backwards for the Titenfiscans?" muttered Crowley. They both attempted a chuckle but the Royal Steward began to convulse and Blair felt it too cruel to laugh at such a moment. Before long, they were interrupted by the encroaching sound of cheering as the ship finally approached the capital of the squidspawn.
Looking ahead, he gazed upon the bustling city. He always found squidspawn architecture fascinating, their unique construction and style gave the city a foreign yet quaint aesthetic, an almost artistic visual when compared to the utilitarian buildings dotted across Lexidus. Squidspawn, Kobolds and Humans lined the port into the city, cheering and waving with both Lexidun and Titenfiscan banners. Blair waved back, beaming at the broad range of friendly faces, wondering what the day would hold for him. Crowley was wondering when he was going to get off this Myratnis-forsaken boat.
Following their disembarkation from the royal flagship and the docking of their escort ships and subsequent royal guard, Blair and Crowley made their way up the main street of Mündungshafen. Stopping occasionally to shake the hands of the various onlookers, including a young squidspawn who wished to touch the King's crown. He obliged the cute scamp, kneeling to them and letting them admire the symbol of Lexidun nobility. There was no singular set crown that adorned the heads of all of Lexidus' monarchs, rather, each new king or queen had their own crown made to their own request and specifications. Blair's was a rather modest, as far as crowns go, golden band with various jewels adorned across it, with four arches marking the front, back and sides of the headpiece. He remarked to the young Titenfiscan that he found it comfortable to wear on his "big noggin'", to which the child replied with giggling and gurgling, to which the King couldn't help but chuckling alongside with.
Crowley as usual was keeping a stoic and rather serious expression as he walked by the left hand side of his king, keeping behind slightly as to allow Blair ample waving room. The Royal Steward intermittently hung back even further to converse with the captain of the Royal Guard. Better safe than sorry was his mantra, sure they were in an ally's capital city with a sizeable guard and Titenfiscan escort but he could never risk it. Never.
Before long, the king and his escort found themselves outside the Grand Parliament, its impressive architecture enrapturing Blair once again. Two sizeable banners were draped above the entrance, the Lexidun Lion and the Titenfiscan Squid. It was about mid-afternoon and the sun above shone brightly across a pale blue sky, basking the two symbols in a warm glow. Approaching the equally as grand doors of the parliament, the king entered along with his entourage and was greeted by a range of gazes from various Squidspawn, some welcoming and others... not so much. Directly in front of him stood a red-tentacled and fair skinned squidspawn woman, whom of which Blair instantly recognised, meeting her expectant gaze with a hearty smile.
"Prime Minister Helena Lake! It is good to see you once more! Might I just say, Mündungshafen is looking absolutely astonishing this time of year!" he roared with delight.
|
|
|
Post by axeldonia on Jan 30, 2018 18:50:14 GMT -5
Helena quickly turned around to embrace the man, complicated somewhat by the fact that she only managed to lean her head against his stomach height-wise. “Blair! It has been some time since we last met. I hope the trip wasn’t too ardous. Was the capital to your liking?” She interrupted herself with a giggle, finally letting go of him. “Ah, we have so much to talk about and we haven’t even gotten seated yet! Come, this way.” She smiled, gesturing down the main hall. “Our food isn’t quite done yet, so I suggest we take a seat somewhere until they announce it.” She stepped down the stairs and assuming the king followed her headed for a small arrangement of two big green sofas facing each other across a polished but sturdy oak table.
One thing that seemed rather out of places was the abundance of Kobolds, almost matching the Squidspawn in number and from a variety of social positions, including such wildly different things as an inner-city clockmaker in a puffy feathered hat and a small golden gear hanging from a necklace to a dragon-priest bearing ceremonial robes and religious face-paint. The main hall itself was by far the tallest part of the building, consisting of a large rectangular area adorned with banners and a long red carpet covering the finely-polished stone floor. Six silver-coloured pillars faced each other along the carpet, creating an odd feeling of privacy in conjunction with the long banners hanging from them. The whole scene was lit up by a large glass dome, surrounded by intricate artwork of not only water imagery, but things like scenes from the tales of Mother Sea Queen, artistic depictions of the Kobold dragon pantheon and historical events like the defeat of the red hand.
|
|