|
Post by axeldonia on Jun 29, 2018 21:15:41 GMT -5
Town square, Mündungshafen, TitenfiscaThe great town square of Mündungshafen was truly a sight in the middle of the day. Countless little booths crowded the Square, full of wares from all across the island and further still. Kobold Jewellers worked their craft or scrutinized others with a keen eye and magnifying glass, whilst fur and cloth where stacked in rows upon rows to be measured and cut up or bought wholesale and shipped to some faraway land. Some rumors had it cloth and particularly ink reached as far away as the mystic lands of Kyras, where the cloth was allegedly used in ritual strangling, whilst the ink was consumed by the upper class as a powerful aphrodisiac. Regardless, the market was full of life all-year round, especially during the winter months when the appetite for warm clothes and firewood was unceasing. Among all this noise and movement a single Squid wandered towards a statue in the centre of the Square, depicting a group of triumphant warriors, both kobold and Squidspawn, flying their flags high after reclaiming the city. The lone squid brought with them a lute and as they sat down on the edge of the statue they tuned it and as a small crowd gathered they began singing. “To the port of Sinner’s Coven came a Squidspawn one dark day She was looking for a human, one who’d stole her love away He’d been taken in a slave raid, in a human slaver’s ship But the humans didn’t think of fair Erika with her ship Erika with her shiiip
It took many moons of sailing, guided by our Mother’s hand But in time she reached the Coven and she laid out one demand “Let the Squids across the town go, set them free of bond and whip” “Or I’ll tear this town asunder with my anger and my ship” Anger and her shiiip
All the humans laughed and mocked her Didn’t think she stood a chance Some did even try to catch her Wanted her and a “romance” But it soon became apparent That she feared not bond nor whip And that all who tried to catch her met a gleaming sharpened tip Gleaming sharpened tiiip
Then at last she found the captor Of the husband she held dear When the humans found him later He’d been sliced from ear to ear On the wall it had been written In the human slaver’s blood “Now beware those who opposed me” “For my anger’s mighty flood” Beware her anger’s flood
So at last came retribution For the years of whip and chain Soon the skies above the Sinner’s Cove Were filled with screams of pain All the Squids had now revolted They defied their master’s whip And they sailed away next morning with Erika and her ship Erika and her shiiip…” Grand Parliament, Mündungshafen, Titenfisca“Welcome one and all, to this special meeting we have prepared for you today. The topic for today and presumably at least this week is the issue of centralization among the Titenfiscan provinces and city-state. Before I open the floor, I will lay out some important details. If the centralization effort is approved, all representatives who believe it’s in their constituent’s interest to remain autonomous, they are free to not sign the agreement. For the remainder of us however, the agreement will only be ratified by two thirds agreement. I will now open the floor.” Gano tried his very best to keep his wings down and in place as the meeting proceeded, having noticeable difficulty trying to pry his gaze away from the large arachnid woman seated right next to him, herself deeply caught up in the debate. Gano found the meeting interesting and he saw many possible benefits it could bring, sure. But all his attention was currently focused on both not ogling his fellow monarch or causing a scene by virtue of unfolding his large wings in public. If he somehow made it through unscathed, he’d ask Myratnis to turn the damned things into fins. Southern Sea, Unknown Island chain.“It’s a bunch of Myratnis-be damned catgirls.” Oskar stared at the village through his spyglass in dispelief, his jaw halfway open. On the other end where indeed, a bunch of Myratnis-be damned catgirls, clad only in loose loincloths and chemises. Some were carrying fruit or tending to small farms, but the real activity was down by a small harbour, where a large number of strange canoes and boats with large sails conversely entered and left, apparently with large bounties of seafood, algae and other such things. “Do we-” “Full sail ahead damn it!” After around an hour of sailing the boat sailed close enough to make out the hustle and bustle of the villagers, many of whom had gathered by the beachfront to stare at the large ship approaching them. Setting down in a small rowing boat loaded with the washed-up cargo, a small group of Squids and Kobolds soon closed in on the shore, the tension between the two groups growing as they came ever closer. Finally, the boat came ashore and the group stepped out, led by Oskar. “My name is Oskar. I am here on behalf of the Most serene Republic of Titenfisca. Do any of you speak common?” “Why nyes, we do!” One of the elder women stepped forward, shaking Oskar’s hand with an eager expression. “Welcome to Purrlynesia, strangers!”
|
|
|
Post by Percyton on Jun 29, 2018 22:28:47 GMT -5
Royal Castle, Peel Godred, Dual Kingdom of the Isles
Percy of Avonsida
After three days of raucous celebration, the festivities were now over. Percy of Avonsida, public page and private confidant to the King, was standing in the throne room with the rest of the Locomati delegation to the festival. They watched as King Godred bid farewell to his friend Duke Adam, whom the festival had been thrown for.
“Thank you so much for visiting, old friend,” Godred said. “It was great seeing you again.”
“Likewise, Godred,” Adam replied. “It was good to catch up and reminisce on the old times. Although maybe we could do it with a little less fanfare next time.”
“Ah,” Godred said as he slapped his friend on the back, “where would be the fun in that?” Both heartily laughed. When they were done, Godred said “Take care, good friend. And keep up the good work.”
“I will. Until next time, farewell Godred!” And with that, Adam exited the throne room. The Locomati delegation, led by Molly, Countess of Claude-Hamilton, was next to approach the King of the Isles.
“Ah, Countess,” Godred began. “It was an honor to meet you, Your Grace. I hope you and your delegation had a good time, and I wish you a safe trip home.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Molly replied. “And while I very much enjoyed the festival, you needn’t wish me a safe trip home.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“I just received a letter from Grand Duke Thomas. He has appointed me as his permanent delegate to your court.”
King Godred smiled broadly at this. “Wonderful! We’re eager for you to join us! Ever since Murdoch of Evenington stepped down from the post, there’s been a hole, a void, in our court. We have other Locomati at court, but they just aren’t the same.”
“Hey!” Burnett Stone exclaimed from nearby. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Godred laughed. “I didn’t mean any offense, Burnett. I’m just saying I’ve missed having an official Locomati delegate in my court.”
“In addition,” Molly went on, “Grand Duke Thomas has assigned three delegates to stay here to serve as my staff: Stepney of Bluebell Valley, Flora of Tramingen, and Percy of Avonsida.”
At the mention of his name, Percy’s eyebrows went up. He didn’t understand. I thought Thomas wanted me for a short mission? Percy thought. To gather information and then report back to him when I got home. Is he extending my mission by keeping me here? Does he want me to do more?
While Percy was in thought, Godred responded “Excellent! I shall find lodgings for you and your staff to stay in! As to the rest of the delegation that is leaving, I wish you all a safe trip home!” The Locomati delegation then left the room, except for Percy, who hung around. Percy decided to approach fellow Locomati and Chief Driver Burnett Stone.
“So, looks like I’ll be staying here,” Percy began, “I’m a bit nervous, to be honest.”
“Don’t worry,” Burnett assured, “there’s nothing to be worried about. We’re a friendly bunch here. So you’re one of the people that will be on the Countess’ staff?”
“I am. My name is Percy. Percy of Avonsida.” Percy extended his hand, and Burnett shook it.
“Burnett,” Burnett Stone replied. “Burnett Stone. Chief Driver.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of you. It is a great honor to meet you. Especially after how well of a festival you put together.”
“Yeah, it was alright,” Burnett replied dismissively. “But it could have been better. I’m sure you saw some things go wrong.”
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Percy responded.
“I’m worried it was sabotage.”
Percy, sensing the secretive nature of this conversation, lowered his voice. “Sabotage? By who?”
Burnett looked around, seemingly making sure the suspect wasn’t within earshot. “Can you keep a secret?” Burnett asked.
“Of course.”
Burnett leaned in close and whispered to Percy. “I think it was P.T. Boomerius.”
Camelon Castle, Camelon, Lexidus
Dual Kingdom diplomatic delegation to Lexidus
Reynold of Killdane smiled at this warm reception. “First off,” Reynold began, “thank you for your openness and kindness toward us, Your Majesty. We are glad to hear about your southern expedition, and we think it is a very noble venture. Your expedition is welcome to rest and trade in one of the Dual Kingdom’s ports upon their arrival, and let us know if we can offer any assistance to this fleet.”
“As for the matter at hand,” Fergus of Cementia added, “we have a staff ready to set up a Dual Kingdom embassy in Camelon. With your permission, of course. The rest of us would like to rest and study the Noble Kingdom for a few days, and then move on to meet the other northern realms.”
Countryside near Middletown, Northern Locomati Island, Dual Kingdom of the Isles
Norman and Sidney
It had been nearly a week since Norman of Bulleida and Sidney of Darberton had fled for their lives from Count Philip’s court. The two disgraced courtiers, opposites in almost all ways, were now on the run together, wandering the countryside to avoid detection by the authorities. It was around 4 PM, and the two had stopped near a dead tree to rest. Sidney sat down against the tree, while Norman stood up and looked out for any signs of constables or guards.
As Sidney sat, he grabbed his left foot and struggled to remove his boot. He tugged and heaved as hard as he could, but no matter how hard Sidney tried, his boot was stuck. At least, Sidney gave up, sighed, and said “Nothing to done, I guess.”
Norman turned toward his companion. “Nothing to be done about what?” Norman asked, sounding slightly annoyed.
“My boot,” Sidney replied. “The thing is stuck!”
“Ah, bother your boot!” Norman snapped. “We have bigger concerns.”
“We do?”
“Of course we do! We’re on the run from a paranoid Chancellor, remember?”
“A paranoid Chancellor!” Sidney gasped. “That sounds terrible! I hope we never run into him.”
“We did, in fact…” Norman tried to explain, but trailed off. “Ah, nevermind. Nothing lasts long in that thick skull of yours.”
Sidney knocked on his head in confusion. “Feels like normal thickness to me. Let me check your’s.”
“Don’t touch my head!” Norman yelled. Sidney ignored this, however. He went over to Norman and knocked on Norman’s temples.
“Feels a little less thick.” Sidney reported. “Are you feeling alright, Norm?”
“I told you not to call me that!" Norman yelled as he pushed Sidney off of him. "And my head is perfectly fine, thank you.”
Sidney shrugged. “If you’re sure.” The dim-witted courtier then resumed sitting against the dead tree. There was a minute of silence. At last, Sidney spoke again. “Don’t those clouds remind you of something?”
“Remind me of what?” Norman asked.
“I don’t know.” Sidney sighed. “I guess there are a lot of things I don’t know.”
“Like what, Sid?”
Sidney rubbed his chin and thought. “I’m not sure. I don’t know what I don’t know, I suppose. I don’t even know what knowing is.”
“I know,” Norman replied.
“Know what?” Sidney asked.
Norman paused for a few seconds. “What were we talking about again?” Norman said at last.
“I don’t know.”
For a few minutes the courtiers were quiet again. Norman went back to scanning the horizon for danger, while Sidney lazily lounged against his tree.
At last, Sidney spoke. “Norman, what is Myratnis?”
Norman turned toward his partner. “What is Myratnis?” he repeated, clearly befuddled. “What kind of question is that?”
“It’s a serious question: What is Myratnis? I mean, is she this grass?” Sidney brushed his hand over the green grass next to him to emphasize his point.
“Sure Sid, Myratnis is the grass.”
“Is Myratnis the sky?”
“Sure Sid, Myratnis is the sky.”
Sidney stared at his companion. “Are you Myratnis, Norman?” he asked.
“Sure Sid, I’m – Wait no, I’m not Myratnis! I’m Norman of Bulleida!”
“Got it. So Myratnis is the grass and the sky, but not you?”
“Sure, let’s go with that,” Norman answered in an annoyed tone.
“That clears things up. Thank you, Norman!”
“No problem, Sid.” The two then resumed their previous activities. But they didn’t stay in that position for long. As Norman looked around, he saw three Locomati bodies floating down the nearby river. Each wore a uniform of Count Philip’s guard unit. “I think I see some bodies in the river,” Norman said to Sidney. Sidney got up, and both he and Norman went over for a closer look. They examined the slightly-decomposed faces of the guards. They seemed oddly familiar. “I think these are the guards who tried to capture us at Philip’s court,” Norman explained.
“Oh no!” Sidney cried. “What does that mean?”
“It means Diesalion probably had them killed for not capturing us. And if he was mad enough about our escape to kill them, he must really be looking for us. We should probably get moving.”
“Yeah, we probably should.” But they didn’t get moving. Instead, they lingered around the dead tree, Sidney sitting down against it, and Norman scanning the horizon.
|
|
|
Post by Unfallious on Jun 30, 2018 22:07:56 GMT -5
The Docklands, Amnest
The city was quiet. The Valleian army manoeuvred the streets in the way all newcomers do, blindly. From the docks the streets had bore them right, further into the docklands in the direction of Temple Quarter, the last Veritian-held portion of the city. As they went further and further in, they discovered that the sun and stars could no longer guide them, blue clear skies gave way to thick timber rafters and metal supports. Amnest was a city of layers, with streets build on top of streets, and the foreigners had set off into the heart of it. All that lit their way were a series of candle-lit lamps and recent circumstances had left many of them extinguished. Amnest was a bustling port city, the capital of Veritious, and yet now its streets knew a silence they had never before experience. Nothing punctuated the air except from the occasional inhuman growl. These noises seemed to come from all around, reverberating off the walls and street-ceilings of the city. It was an unnerving place to be, even for the most hardy of soldiers. As the entourage of armed men reached a small square the city ahead seemed to open up slightly. There were two main roads, one on the left and another on the right. Numerous other side streets and alleyways branched off the square deep into the city. A majority of them were unlit. It appeared that the soldiers would have to make a choice. To bear right or to bear left. Suddenly, a roar of cries filled the air, shattering the silence of the city streets. These were no monstrous horrors, however, but the sounds of man. It appeared all the familiar sounds of a battle, occurring not too far away, could be heard coming from the main road on the left, punctuated by the occasional cry of a beast.
********* Rohzai Caravan, Outskirts of Camelon, Lexidus
The night was calm, and the air was crisp. Calveria had began to shake off the cloak of winter and embrace the robe of spring, but there was still a sharp breeze in the air. Outside of Camelon, the capital of the hegemons to the North, lay the camp of a trade delegation sent from the hegemons of the centre. Their security was ensured by the Rohazi Karthagites, led by their war-leader Bakahn. As they lay sleeping in their communal sleeping tent, they had no idea of the turn their lives were about to take.
As Bakahn slumbered, his otherwise dreamless sleep was overtaken by visions. He saw visions of a land lit by light. This was a light that existed everywhere, leaving no shadows. It exuded a warm glow, a safe glow. It stretched across an untouched grassland and beyond to the horizon where a series of mountains ruled the sky. Bakahn stood on the summit of a hill overlooking this land. He felt at peace and safe. As he looked out onto the land, he came to see shadows take form. The light gave way to sunlight, and shadows began to take shape behind trees and rocks. The mountains in the distance cast the areas below them into darkness. He was now aware of animals in the clearing. Cows, and sheep, and goats. They came out onto the grassland to graze. As he watched, the sun seemed to take form in the sky. Although the light was no longer everywhere, he still felt at ease and safe. As he looked to his right he saw another man, on a hill not too far away. He watched as he approached the summit. As he did so he raised a staff to the sky, and a lightening bolt came forth from it. At once, Bakahn felt a new feeling. He was overcome with dread and fear. The sky darkened, the land below began to wither and die, as did the animals. The sun disappeared behind thick black clouds. He turned to look behind him only to be met with an overpowering white light.
Bakahn awoke with a start. He was covered in a thin layer of cold sweet and his sheets were soaked through. As he rose to his feet he saw that every other man in the tent had also awoken. As he looked to the opening of the tent he could see the shining dawn of a new day. It was just as he was beginning to forget about the dream that he saw the dawn light move. It moved into the tent, revealing the pitch blackness of a night time sky in the tent opening. This wasn’t the sun. The light was in the shape of a man, tall but without form. It moved silently and swiftly. It invoked a feeling of awe.
“Be calm,”
Its voice was a sound of authority, but it also brought peace. It felt like the voice of a father. “Bakahn,” it said, stopping at the foot of his bed.
“You are a man of strength and power. A man of honour. Your faith has been placed in the Lord of Fire. You align yourself with magic. Yet, this does not offend. I have come to you today to make you and your men disciples of the light, to cleanse your past transgressions and trust that you will choose a different path. There is a darkness coming, it comes imminently and it comes close. The people here are not prepared. They may succumb to the dark without your help.”
The figure looked towards the warrior’s spear and reached for it.
“A fine weapon. Yet, not enough.”
As he held the spear, its blade began to glow a blinding light. After a moment the light receded, leaving the spear with a white blade that glowed softly. The figure held it out to Bakahn.
“By taking this weapon, you commit yourself to my service as a guardian of the light. These men will follow you, I have seen their loyalty. These people, misguided as they are, will perish without the guidance of the light. Take this spear, enter the city. Purge the darkness.”
At that, the figure faded into nothing. All that remained was the spear, glowing warmly and floating in front of Bakahn.
*** Undercity Portcullis, Camelon, Lexidus
In the dark there came a light. The light of a sun long missing. Maech walked in front, sword in hand. Behind him came the Lord’s army, some of them formed by His hand, but others were the creations of the Mother, brought over to the Lord of Arcana by choice. He loved them all equally. The light was growing closer now, Maech could see that the sun was obstructed by a gate. A gate steel gate blocked their path. Though, Maech knew this, he had heard the men in the tunnel talk about the gate before he and his brethren sent them to the necrominus. They had fought bravely, and he took that to mean that these were a brave people. It was no matter. Brave or cowardly, tall or short, man or woman, if they would not follow Him, they would all die.
He stopped at the gate, it was right of him. His brothers stopped behind him. Maech considered that the more blessed could pull the gate over, their tentacles and their stature would easily overwhelm this gate of steel. But this could take time, and Maech knew that action had to be swift. Slowly, he placed his bloody sword into its sheath. The plating of his black armour clattered as he did so. He reached to the helmet hanging at his belt and placed it over his head. Fully dressed in his armour he blended into the darkness of the tunnel. A pure Black Knight. In mind and spirit. He raised his hands, and focused on the gate. At that, the ground began to rumble. The portcullis began to shake, slowly at first, but growing increasingly violent. The metal groaned and shook. Men on the other side of the gate began to approach cautiously, examining the gate. Suddenly, the sound of tearing metal pierced the air as the portcullis was torn from its grooving. Maech made a pushing motion and the gate shattered into several large pieces and went flying outwards, striking several soldiers on the way.
As the last obstacle in their path shattered in front of them, Maech’s army charged forth, swarming towards the tunnel entrance and out into the city. Maech just stood, a rock in the river of corruption spewing forth. He had his mission, and he would not require an army for it. He would require only a small squad of the faithful. As the river of beings, some human but many not, spewed forth, several other knights began to appear at Maech’s side, these dressed in normal, if heavily muddied plate armour. They all watched as their army ventured forth, before moving off in the direction of the castle they had been told would be waiting in the centre of the city.
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Jul 1, 2018 6:47:50 GMT -5
King Blair de Brus, Camelon Castle - Lexidus
"An embassy you shall have!" Roared Blair with delight as he dismounted the throne and shook hands with Reynold. "Rest, drink and be merry! For you are in the land of peace and-"
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Blair found himself interrupted by the distant but thunderous clanging of bells from what he assumed was the Grand Temple. How odd, he wondered. Noon had past quite some time ago.
CLANG. Clang.CLANGclangclangCLANG. CLANG. clang CLANG. clang CLANG.
More bells, smaller but more numerous, he recognized them as guard bells of all things. One would ring these bells in a watchtower in an area and city guards would converge to deal with a crime or disturbance. At this moment however, it sounded like all of them were being rung. Blair listened closer. He could hear screams.
As his stomach dropped, thunderous footsteps could be heard as Dumfries, Captain of the Royal Guard, barged into the throne room. His brass armour clanking as he came to a sudden and panting stop.
"Dummy?" Inquired Blair worriedly. "Whats going on?"
The massive framed man had clearly been running, in his armor no less, a testament to his sheer size and standing as one of the most elite guards in all of Lexidus. However, his eyes were filled with something Blair had never seen in the older man's gaze before, fear. Genuine and uncompromising fear.
"Myratnis above sir... they're bleeding out from the portcullis, there's hundreds of them! Corruption! Darkness! Men and beasts!"
Blair exhaled sharply, his fear growing deeper within him. He held it within his stomach and furrowed his brown, adopting a stony expression. He had to.
Dumfries wiped the sweat from his pink brow, guards and knights started barking at one another as they ran in and out of the throne room, seeing to their orders and placements.
"As we speak my liege, a detachment of these corrupt spawn are ascending the royal mile, these are the men of which I spoke of. Clad in black armour. They're coming to the castle. For you Blair."
Blair swallowed the bile surging from his throat. He wanted to be sick. The fear circulated in his blood, ice flowing in his veins, anxiety tensing his shoulders. He had to stop this, he had to act. There was only one thing he could do to counter this, get angry. They were coming for him, that meant anyone in between them and him. His friends, family, confidants and his people. He had to get angry, to bury his fear and rally his people. No matter what they were up against.
"Reynold. You and your entourage will be escorted to the lower levels, there you will be safe until an escape route has been surmised." He steeled his gaze as he scanned across the men and locomati. "Captain Dumfries! Come with me."
His heart pounding and adrenaline pumping, they strode out of the throne room whilst the Dual Kingdom envoy was escorted below. They quickly ascended the stairs that led up into a tower over looking the city. As he entered the top battlement, he grabbed a spy glass from an aghast guard and peered through it. Chaos. The rolling green hills that were a backdrop to his city was blanketed by black smoke pouring from the new half of the city. He could see people fighting and fleeing in the streets, the cobblestone roads adorned with blood and a black substance.
"I ordered the city guard to protect those they could and retreat to the city walls. Get the people out, man the walls and stay elevated. Myratnis above Blair... they keep coming. Every one of them we put down, two more take its place." Dumfries gasped for air and wiped the spittle from his white goatee.
Blair continued to scan the city, turning his attention to the old half. Sure enough, steadily marching up the royal mile towards the castle was the black knight and his hanza. They cut down the various guardsmen and women as they approached. Blair stared at the black knight through the spyglass, for a moment, he thought the knight was staring back at him. The spyglass snapped in half from his grip, Blair's breathing grew more and more labored.
"Amass who you can and have them guard the frontal courtyard behind the grand gate, lock it down with all of your might and so we can buy them time." Blair paced past Dumfries who quickly followed, muttering.
"Buy who time?" Boomed Dumfries.
"Servants, staff, the Dual Kingdom Entourage and whoever was unfortunate enough to end up in the middle of a Yrutan siege." Blair was still breathing heavily, this time however, through gritted teeth. The fear deep within him fueling a now burning fire of defiance within him.
"Are you out of your mind?! My priority is to get you to safet-"
As they made their way to the bottom of the stone stairs, Blair turned to the Captain and stared at him. His face merely a foot away from the older man's. Despite his barrel chested stature and height advantage, Dumfries held his tongue and listened.
"You will find Eimear, Crowley and Leanabh. You will escort them to the central courtyard and use the hidden escape route there. Do you understand me?" Blair's voice was hushed but accented with righteous anger. "I will be going no where until they are all safe." Blair broke into another stride and made his way to the throne room, Dumfries followed, sobered by the king's words.
"As you command King Blair de Brus."
The banner of Lexidus, the albino lion with a black and blue backdrop, hung behind the humble wooden throne. The stain glass mural of Lexidus himself adorned the throne room's left hand side and to the right? Another mural, not of Lexidus however, this mural was of King Brus. The Uniter. A battered and brown bearded knight, wielding an axe as he brought it down unto a giant black handed ghoul, representing his defeat of the Black Hand Clans. To the right of the mural, was the handaxe itself. Blair yanked it from its mount, a metallic clang echoing in the throne room as the axe head briefly hit the stone wall as it was withdrawn. Blair pondered the weapon, feeling its weight in his hand. He was never good with swords, opting when younger to instead help lumber guilds with cutting down trees with sizable axes. One handed axes being his weapon of choice when confronted by duelists, bold highwaymen and enraged wild bears when hunting. He had killed before, sometimes for defense, sometimes for honour. This time however he realized, as he exited throne room and into the main hall, he would have to kill for his life and for the lives of others. Exiting the main hall, out the large lion crested metal entry doors, he entered the courtyard. He could hear clearly, the distant wailing of screams, yells and ungodly roars. Camelon's skyline pockmarked with billowing smoke. He scanned the courtyard, royal guardsmen and women were facing the grand gate. Their brass plate armour gleaming in the early afternoon sun, which threatened to retreat behind the smoke emanating from the besieged city. Some wielded spears, some wielded swords, archers on the gate's barbicans pointed their bows and crossbows inwards and outwards, poised and ready. Blair walked towards the middle of the courtyard, waving Dumfries away, who quickly trotted in doors in search of Crowley, Eimear and Leanabh.
He twirled the handaxe in his right hand, the fear within him was strong and still there but it was drowned now. Drowned with quiet fury, defiance at what was to come, he was to fight with his men and women. Hold out for as long as he could and get his loved ones to safety. That's all that mattered to him. All that mattered.
|
|
|
Post by axeldonia on Jul 1, 2018 17:24:39 GMT -5
Port of Mündungshafen, Titenfisca
The sea laid still and silent, only moving as sheets of ice drifted by or when the occasional flake of snow landed on the surface. Most of the day’s work had been done and as the noise died down a few squids lingered, staring out at the ocean in awe of the silent beauty. But suddenly, a faint sound broke the silence. Listening carefully, one could hear the ringing of a large bell, followed by many more. The assembled thought nothing of it, if they heard it at all. But then the last caravan of ships arrived, telling tales of smokes, screams and all the bells in the city sounding just a few hours after they left. Hurriedly the group gathered and began rushing into the city.
Grand Parliament, Mündungshafen, Titenfisca
The meeting was going well so far. A majority of the delegates had agreed to join the centralization effort right away, but some were still hesitant. Regardless, negotiations had just begun, so there was no need to rush anything. A common road and mail network had quickly been agreed on, along with the standardization of legal documents, but much remained to debate over. As the delegated prepared to conclude the meeting of the day, a series of loud footsteps came down the corridor and the door was nearly slammed open. In came a small group of Squidspawn flanked by a pair of guards. One of them, with a small frame and grey tentacles, stepped forward to address the crowd.
“Pardon my interruption delegates, but I bring worrying news from Lexidus. All the bells are tolling, including the ones on the guard towers and as far as we could tell through the night sky there was smoke coming from the city as well. We fear a fire, or worse, some sort of invasion. Whatever has befallen our allies, it’s not good.”
The crowd of delegates had been stunned to silence. After a few moment, Helena took to the stage, her face noticeably pale.
“I suggest we marshal the troop and set sail for Camelon first thing in the morrow. Since it is the capital that has been attacked, we face the very real risk that the Lexidun Royal family and by extent the government no longer exist or at least ceased to function. I suggest we temporarily appoint the Lexidun Republican assembly as a government in exile until we find out the status of Blair and the others. If he’s found, we thank Myratnis and cross that bridge when we come to it. Any objections?”
The crowd murmured, but no one raised any objections.
“I will take the lack of objections as an approval of the plan. I advise we wait until tomorrow to sail, tough though it may be. Night fighting is not our strong suit and the troops will fare better if well-rested. What troops do we have that could be marshalled within the morrow?”
Gale stood up, shifting through their papers.
“The Golden Trident is luckily here in the harbour and could likely sail within a few hours if necessary. Gormgeal is half a day’s ride from the capital, while we have the garrison, the royal company, the Lexidun free company and the Polerian hussars stationed in or around Mündungshafen. Considering the delicate nature of using Squidspawn volunteers, I suggest we only call upon volounteers and give them the best equipment available.”
Gano suddenly rose to his feet, though drawing attention to himself almost made him sit back down out of pure stage fright.
“Ahem, my armed escort and I will gladly join your cause. It is about time we show our commitment to the Titenfiscan Confederacy.”
He was suddenly joined by queen Zabaa, making his heart skip a beat once again.
“I will lend my entourage to your cause as well. It is only right.”
Gale smiled, scribbling something onto their collection of papers.
“Excellent. I will begin preparing a taskforce to sail to Lexidus immediately.”
Helena sighed, her face now full of worry.
“I believe that concludes today’s session. Do not toll the city bells until morning, our citizens deserve one last night of worriless sleep.”
A murmur once again rose from the assembled as they slowly departed the room, dreary thoughts filling many minds at they went to tuck in for the night.
Rafters of the Grand Parliament, Mündungshafen, Titenfisca
Two pairs of unseen eyes trailed the crowd as it exited the hall and had any of them looked up they might even have spotted a sharp, gleaming grin.
“Did you hear that sister? Looks like we’re in for a king’s breakfast tomorrow! Ahuhuhuh~” “Indeed. Based on the scent from across the ocean alone, I can tell this will be a hearty meal. Don’t get overconfident though. There are not as many of us as there used to be, so we’ll have to settle for following in the footsteps of the soldiers for most of the time.”
“Of course, sister dear. I promise I’ll behave. I can’t wait to sail to Lexidus, it’s been so long! Ahuhuhuhu~”
Faraway island, Purrlynyasia
Oskar yawned and opened his eyes, finding himself in a large pile of crewmates and these strange cat-creatures, all with less clothing than the leaves on a tree in winter.
“Myratnis be damned, I’ll stay on this island until the day I die.”
|
|
|
Post by Andromitus on Jul 2, 2018 11:47:29 GMT -5
Kahmpet Border Fortress, Kfam’brum
Dijn didn’t sheath her weapon, instead choosing to lower it slightly to ease the tension, her eyes narrowing at the spectacle growing front of her. Where had they come from? And what did they know about Corruption? But were not questions for her to ask as she glanced right toward her partner, his hand gripping his swords pommel in anticipation. She had to stop this exchange before it got any more out of hand. “The Authority has stated that we are to turn back all who attempt to cross the border. This includes subhumans, so now i'm ordering you. Turn back now.”
Kantchenkamaal, Alkhraum Thaur, Vitesk Region
News of the raiders had reached the city within days; a war-band of Kuora savages running amok, attacking near anything that moved and sticking with whatever settlements they came across. Each cycle brought new horror stories of violent killings, men and women regardless of caste being stolen away, Priests raped and murdered. It was both the horror story most feared, and the kind of gossip seldom seen in Alkhraum’s capitol city. But with the majority of forces recalled to the interior, the big question on everyones mind was what was going to be done. Civil reports stated anywhere from 100 to 1,000 based on the scarred yelling of those that’d escaped, and if any of those numbers were to be true it could spell far more danger than what defenses the city had might be prepared for. Kantchenkamaal itself was a small city, only roughly 15,000 people total, being dominated by a small elect of Priests and Scribes, but a majority of the population being dominated by Artisan and Navigator Caste. It was after all, a trade-hub, exporting goods from the farms and beyond toward the Interior for processing. The city itself lay in the crossroads of three major Channels, thick ravines travelling north, south, and east — Like other cities in the region it was semiaquatic, canals instead of roads dissecting the stone platforms housing everything from major buildings to marketplaces, each loosely connected by a system of bridges and boatmen. In short, it was far less than readily defensible apart from a series of towers placed near the entrances to the ravines — a point the upper echelons of the city were all to aware of. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • “They’re sticking along the major channels.” Soft orange light ebbed over the array of maps and notes from the array of Saktet-Braziers —a kind of oil-lamp— placed around the room. The disturbances had only been for a few weeks at this point, but it had taken barely a few days to figure out what was going on. With the majority of armed forces taking part in training exercises with the now fully mobilized Northern Army, weakened border defenses had left several gaps for what looked like foreign raiders. “Looks like you were right, Xyn, they’re running blind.” With that the woman, Syll, lent back in her chair, bronze plates gleaming in the firelight over a green-cloth. “Have we brought in the most recent field reports?” Xyn asked, his face buried in a pile of papers and vertical columns of text “Sanza and Vabür were stationed in Alkhraum when the raids started, so far they estimate anywhere from 140 to 150 total. Their the ones who called this too our attention.” Another man, Alkrah, stated bluntly, “Those two were also the ones to make the first few captures.” “So that’s all we have then, a fairly large war party of Kuora rampaging through the rough assortment of farming villages and partially abandoned forts along the northern border; they don’t have any real knowledge of the landscape, and have been sticking to the larger Channels and Tunnels, most assuredly to keep from getting lost, and…3 captured raiders…Anything else?” The others around the table shook their heads, “Okay…we’ve worked with less, lets start with getting those prisoners talking, and keep the heat on them? If we’re right and they’re more or less running blind then they don’t even know we’re here.” “You’ve got a point,” Xyn started in, “there’s fifteen of us total but if need be we can push the Capitol to send more, provided of course they’re not currently in use with that whole “Southern Rebellion” deal — but we’re only really putting up terror-tactics. Yea it’ll break enemy moral, terrify the weak-willed, but it won’t hold off the inevitable. The channel their running down, if not this month then the next, always ends in the City.” “We can attempt to stall them?” Syll piped up, “If we play our cards right we could preoccupy them with their own security as to give the City enough time to prepare?” “We’re definitely gonna have to go down that route Syll, but at the end of the day I don’t know if the City has enough defenses to hold off an attack.” “It has too.” • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Since they’d passed the first set of border forts something had seemed amiss for the raiders. Few formal soldier outposts and barely any fighting apart from the occasional Asilic retaliations played stark contrast to the often volatile Kyran-Asilic Border. At one point a hotspot of border friction, expansion, raiding, and detraction suddenly had fallen deadly silent. And yet, something was still there. Etch-markings set on the cavern walls to keep the group on course would be chipped away moments after their setting; poor blokes gone off to piss in the rest-hours never returned; and any time anyones eyes left their array of food stores and loot barrels, one would be missing, slashed, or burned. Whatever it was it came in the night, or whatever could be called night in the underground, or when the mist hung thick in the air — it slashed at them relentlessly, never enough to turn them back, but always enough to keep them tired and alert. Something was stalking them, eyeing them, keeping them humble. Far too often had some of the stray local priests or guards had their throats slit before they could grapple any information out of them. And then there were the Eye’s. A single eye with a black pupil, it was drawn everywhere: carved onto the walls and barrels, slashed into tent posts. It was just as plentiful as the damn diamond insignia, but at least that they knew had religious purposes considering it was in every temple, this…this was just too disconnected, too random to be accounted for.
Camelon, Lexidus
Cold sweat continued to drip down his back as Bakahn sat up, shifting onto his knees as the glowing figure stepped forward. His instinct told him to squint but the bright light caused no pain and its warmth flowed around him like water. The other men in the Letz —A Yurt-like communal tent— quickly fell out of their beds, collapsing too their knees as they bowed before the figure; few men had seen them, but a Divine is apparent when they appear. “I’ve come…to cleanse you of your past transgressions.” No fear filled his mind as its energy filled his Spear with light, and no sound filled his ears as the figures voice, deep, stoic, and calm, echoed in his mind. “A darkness is coming.” His eyes floated towards his hands as the being grew brighter; darkness? What sort of darkness? The beings final order still burned in his mind; “Take the Spear.” “Take the Spear.” This. He knew who this was; he didn’t know how but his mind raced as the weapon hovered still in front of him, soft white light emanating from its bleached-steel blade. He remembered the teachings of his people, Karatha temples and symbology placed around the hills, trees, and streams of their lands. Practices he’d taken part in for his entire life, sacrifice and celebration of Ororaug the God of War and Fire. He remembered first his surprise upon entering the Cities under Consulate Rule, then the shock at learning about the strange people who lived beneath the soil, the ones who believed not in Ororaug and the glory of combat. This. This was their God. He knew it. “Save them.” A name burned in his mind; he knew little of the Earth-Folks language but he’d seen enough to recognize a particular symbol. A diamond within a diamond; the sign of their God. The Creator. Their Father. “Aēl.” The name breached his lips as he looked to the men around him, their eyes staring at him in shock and surprise. Bakahn placed a foot forward, shifting onto one knee; his arms hesitated, then moved forward. His fingers closed around familiar wood and he breathed in as everything he thought he knew washed away. His mind raced and his eyes closed on a man across from him. “Ready the Men. I’m… I’m calling a Forum.” • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • There were 85 of them in total now gathered around a hastily prepared fire; most of them still rubbing their eyes from being jostled awake. But the call to order had been called, so to order they’d came, and their eyes widened as the spectacle in front of them came to light. Bakahn, Co-Captain and Warlearder, as well as the other high-ranking warriors sat cross-legged on personal carpets at one end of the fire. In his hands his Daraq —A Traditional Karthagite Spear— a favorite of the Warleader, glowed softly, its dull grey steel replaced with a brilliant white sheen. Gasps and whispers of confusion rang through them circle of men as Bakahn stood. “Men of Karatha.” He paused for a moment, truly he barely knew where to start. “We’ve received a message that can only be interpreted as divine.” Whispers went around the circle of people as the situation dawned on them. This was why they’d been called so early? Almost immediately lone voices began to ring out with questions; “When did this happen? What did it say?” Bakahn attempted to raise his hand for silence, but one last voice questioned, “We’ve received a direct message from Ororaug?” “No.” Silence echoed through them? What other message could be interpreted as divine? “On the eve of a darkness, as it was called, the Warfather has turned silent. Men, as the others of my Letz can attest, I have received a divine calling from…one God. This God is the creator, the one who stands in opposition to the Dark Lord of the Corrupt Arcane, the one worshiped by the High-Men beneath the earth of our homeland.” “Bakahn,” one of the voices called out, “we’ve received a Divine intervention from…the High-Men’s God.” “The High-Men’s God no more.” He retorted bluntly, “I have been gifted a weapon of heavenly design and a message from God…the God. He warns of a danger, a darkness that plans to fall upon us soon.” “Insanity.” one of the others sitting on a carpet next to him stood up to meet his gaze, “You’re posing an insult to the Warfather with this Bakahn. You’ve gone too far!” “You doubt me? Fine then. All of you take a step back,” with that his eyes fell back on the man already standing, “Cast fire on me.” “Gladly.” As the men around the fire took a step back, all to aware of the rules of ritual combat, the circle of men quickly enveloeped Bakahn and his challenger, Okhumor. Taking ten steps back from where they’d started, Bakahn gestured for the man to take the first shot. Grinning, Okhumor took a combat position and with two steps released his palm. Sparks of light flittered across his palm but died faster than they’d formed. His face unchanged, Bakahn raised his weapon — it glowed bright as energy formed at the base, ebbing and circling up the long hilt before releasing a bolt of lightning. The other men took cover as the air charged with electricity and flashed with light. When his eyes adjusted, Okhumor stood back up from a kneeling position, the ground beside him glassed and charred. He flicked his palm back, the sparks of his spell dying yet again as he looked toward Bakahn. The Warleaders voice boomed over them, “This God has delivered us all a message; with his gift we are to stand stoically against an enemy yet unseen. But to receive his proper blessing and traverse onto this new battlefield we must give something in return. This God demands you to do as I have, to forever now stand in opposition to the practice of Magic and the gifts of the Warfather.” “You mean…” Okhumor started, “he wishes us to convert?” Bakahn didn’t respond, “All who wish to head this message fall to your knees.” There was a moments pause, before each of the 85 Karthagite warriors, long hallowed for their faith and combat style, took to their knees in conversion. Bakahn grinned slightly, “Now. We must begin to plan.” • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • That morning, the Rohzai traders awoke to Karthagite warriors — they were ordered to begin packing, and were warned to not enter the city. The Warleader and his Chieftains were already in the process of meeting with the other Caravan leaders bearing a single request. The Warriors ordered the traders to move their camp two kilometers from the city for but a while; although this request began to seem far less than voluntary with the addition of Karthagite weapons during the meeting. Finally, a messenger was dispatched to the Lexidun Capitol-Building in an attempt to warn the leaders of this western nation of a danger they knew nothing about. Yet, the messenger was ordered to wait as the King met with strangers from a land more distant than even Asil; so the messenger attempted to convey as much as he could to the guards which held him back. “Be prepared; and steel yourselves against a coming enemy.” Bakahn’s head turned in surprise toward the ringing of a thousand bells, and a steady column of smoke rising in the distance. Shouting toward his men to get with their groups, he unclipped his spear from its “sheath” on his back and set off toward the city limits.
|
|
|
Post by Vista Major, MP on Jul 4, 2018 16:05:11 GMT -5
Hall Regalista, Nekatria, Svorand"You want to what, again?" The Aeisakarians sat around a grand roundtable, opposite of them K'na Akamoro and Cassara Hrolend, separated by a vast plain of dishes piled like snow upon mountains with meats and beefs, seafoods and vegatables, fruits and breads, and many a dessert and drink. At least half of the food served was foreign to the Aeisakarians, whose common palette consisted almost entirely of an abundance of fish, some poultry and rodentmeat, and bread on occasion. "Xzaren, of course I wish to go to your capital," K'na said after biting into a crispy, ruby red apple. "The time of our isolation is over." "You are right..." Xzaren tread, cautiously. "But didn't you believe it to be wise?" "I believe it to be preordained by the Father," she responded. "Darkness rises up in the land, nations to the south stir from long slumbers, threatening the north - we must ally ourselves." "And to what extent?" Ks'roth interjected. "It could take ages to trust your nation with such an alliance! I mean by that no offense." "None at all, Barskin. What I can promise is that our might would be yours to command. The Father told us that, when the time came, we would need to surrender ourselves to out brethren - whomever they may be - to fight back and grow stronger." "So you're suggesting merger?" Venix and Ath'ra asked. After a moment of contemplation, K'na nodded. "You see," Hrolend said. "We've been waiting for this moment for generations. The day when we would be called upon to carry out the Fallen Prophecy under the leadership of our mortal comrades to face whatever threatens this world we share. It is only fitting to believe that your Aeisa'kar is where our comrades are - your people are our descendents, of sorts." "And you believe this absolutely?" Gregor'vre asked. "I mean, this is so much to process. I can only imagine how our Chief will react..." "This is nothing to worry about," K'na said. "We will talk very soon, I would hope. And if this banquet that he is having does not faulter, I would very much like to make an appointment." "Nonsense!" Xzaren exclaimed. "I apologize, Queen Akamoro, but you can't just walk to the Chief and expect an audience!" "Actually..." Gregor'vre began to correct his colleague. The banquet *is* open to the public, with no restrictions explicitly made. Technically speaking, the Queen could-" "Well, that's besides the point!" Xzaren barked. "Imagine, one of her kind - a foreign monarch of them, no less - sauntering forth to the capital and wishing to speak to our leader! There would be confusion and anger, at least!" "I trust that all will turn out well in the end, Hyarin, Father willing," K'na said without a hint of upset in her voice; instead, there was only a patient serenity coupled with powerful certainty. Her face and body language exuded absolute faith and unwavering confidence, the likes of which held everyone in the dining hall at attention. "I trust in Him..." "I-I do, too..." K'na's eyes darted in Gregor'vre direction. "Oh, really?" She questioned, raising an eyebrow. "I knew you were interested in our ways of worship, but what led you to abandon your old faith?" Gregor'vre shook his head solemnly. "I've felt so disconnected from my religion for so long now, as if the old gods have abandoned me. But, when I went to the temple with the Governess, I felt an energy beckoning me forward, seeming to demand my faith. And I know I'm not the only one - there are many back home who believe themselves to be abandoned... Maybe your god, your Father, has answers to questions we never yet asked." A small smile appeared upon Akamoro's lips, indicating a subtle, amused satisfaction. When she looked out to the other Aeisakarians, their expressions were not of malice - instead, almost empathy. "You all feel the same?" Silence, stillness, for a moment. Then nods that were almost unnoticeable, except from Ks'roth and Xzaren - the former growled lowly, and the latter merely pondered. "However your faiths evolve, Askin," Cassara said. "You shall hear no argument from us. I do wonder, however, how your Chief will feel on the matter." Palace of the Chief-Protector (Cheftkratkorcastelen), Adkora, Aeisa'kar"No word from King de Brus?" "Nothing, sir." Torvus Delakarz and Fvoren sat across from each other at a small ice table on a table overlooking the capital's port on the Ice Sea. It was four days before the banquet was to be held - everything was already in place, except the confirmation letter Torvus sent to Blair had apparently not been received, as there was yet no response from the Lexidun monarch. The Chief-Protector was getting concerned. "Very well," Torvus replied. "I will give him another day or two; after that, his invitation will be revoked. With or without him, I will make my announcement. Now, any updates from Nod'ren?" "There is, my Chief. The Aeisakarian Forces have successfully asserted themselves within the tribes. There has been resistance to the martial law, especially from those closest to the elders." "But no major travesties, I would hope?" "None. Have you chosen new leaders yet?" "I have, Fvoren. But I've decided to change course a little bit." "Oh?" "I am not appointing seven hundred and more masters to rule over the tribes. Instead, I am declaring seventy of such, and over the next few months, the tribes will be consolidated. My hope is that they will develop into full-fledged towns before too long." "And what of the Viceroyals?" "There will still be five Viceroyals - one for each province. But the position names are changing. I will finally shed my temporary title of 'Chief-Protector' and become, more permanently, Chief Consul. The Viceroyals shall be Viceconsuls, and the masters will be deemed Proconsuls. In addition, I have ordered the commission of capitals for each of the provinces, which shall be renamed as well. It will take some time, but I am to make sure that each Viceconsul will have a basic palace of power within a couple months. No longer will Adkora be the only metropolis in all of Aeisakar. All will be formally announced at the banquet." "Very good, sir. Anything else you wish to discuss?" Torvus pondered for a moment. "The Eastern Expedition. How fares it?" "Well, my Chief. We have received another update that they are meeting with the Svorandian Queen, and that Her Majesty wishes to come to Adkora as soon as possible." Torvus raised an eyebrow. "Very interesting. Well, she can absolutely come whenever she so chooses. I am eager to see what arrangements our two nations can make between ourselves. Oh, what these Yrutken could share with us, I simply must know... that is is, Fvoren. Carry on." "Have a blessed day, my Chief." "And you as well." Frost Sea, en route to LexidusThe Barskin pilgrims sailed on their great ships, pockets of corruption growing slowly in the crevasses of the vessels. The travelers, of all ages, were increasingly disfigured - discolored eyes, molding fur, and monstrous figures were increasingly common. They continued to chant, nonstop, in the gelid breeze of dawn. In the near horizon, a band of Lexidun ships could be seen, beyond them the shore of Nola. The warriors among the Barskin mechanically grabbed for their weaponry and raised the flag of their religion - no hint of the Holy Mother could be found upon it; only the bloody hand of the Barskin upon the black canvas dedicated to Yrutas.
|
|
|
Post by thevalleianorders on Jul 16, 2018 19:14:23 GMT -5
Part Seven The Docklands of Amnest, Veritious: Cries. They began to reverberate from a seemingly distant part of the bowels of the city. The horrid cries of man and beast wrung from the far remainders of streets and edifices; sounds that could not conceivably cry out from an abandoned city. No one spoke it, but they all new: these creatures had no soul. This was not life as they had known, as the Cosignors had defined. It was tainted. Impure. Corrupted. “Dye, Synn, Dye, Synn, Halt!” The Captain Pytyyn’s voice cut throught the faint, soulless, screams for but an instant. Staring at the intersection in front of him, he conulted with the Ecclesiastical Committee members that had followed this part of the Expedition. “What do you make of these sounds, Prystyrs?” The Prystyr Annytya spoke for her colleagues, “I can faintly make out the desperate screeches of souled beings with my Soulfinder Dedication.” She felt the bandaged part of her palm, and continued, “This could be a remnant of this afflicted realm’s government. Shall we pursue? ”The Captain Pytyyn turned around to face his troops. In front of him stood lines of men bearing shields, spears, swords, crossbows, and torches. Lanternlighters were dripping their way closer to the main force, desperately trying to light the desolate lanterns of the streets. “What stands in front of us is an intersection. At one side, our fellow man. On the other, darkness. Indeed, darkness and unknown wait on either side of our path. They await the light that we bear. Now, men, shall we go forth and bring light to no one, or shall we share it with the world?” He paused for a bit, then asked, “Do the Lanternlighters require time to catch up with the Primary force?” “No, Captain Pytyyn,” answered one of his subordinates. “Onwards we go then,” was the Captain’s reply. “Dye, Synn, Dye, Synn...” The march through the dark streets continued onwards. The now distant blare of the ships’ horns mixed in with the commands of the Captain and the footfalls of the ranks of delegates made warriors. The alleyways and thoroughfares snaked along as they made their ways ever closer to the spectral sounds, with Lanternlighters hurriedly trailing their way behind the main column. As their feet pounded through the quagmired streets of the abandoned city, thoughts bombarded each soldier’s mind. “What effect could our weapons bear on such beasts?” “Are the cries of foreign man that of rage or pain or anger or, even worse, transformation?” These fears could and were only restrained through faith, that the Vytyylic Cycle would march on. And so, they marched. They marched towards allies, enemies, and monsters. -------------------------- Secondary Guild Halls of Welakia, Trade District, Edinginia: It was a typical day for the great city of Edinginia. The sun was shining, the winds were breezy, and it was hot and somewhat humid. The Ordtyryt of Edinginia went about their daily lives in the Trade District, one of the nine various districts the city was divided into. Artisans sold their goods in cramped stalls situated inside otherwise empty walls. Offices of finance and commerce were filled with hushed chattering as each of the many trading firms’ representatives attempted to give the best deal. Few workers walked the streets of this district; barely any of the sturdy structures of this part of town sustained minor damages due to the quakes. “Thank you, kind sir,” a disguised Grandmaster Sylias gratified to the boatman that took him up the canal and into the district. The Grandmaster took his small bag out of the boat after exiting himself. “Of course,” the boatman replied as he gratefully extracted his payment from the hands of the Grandmaster-in-disguise. He sailed off, never the wiser that his most recent passenger was a close confidant of the Imperator. Grandmaster Sylias walked swiftly down the smoothly cobbled avenue; his plain- wrapped toga barely having enough excess cloth to flap through the air. He turned left at an intersection of avenues and continued to the outer wall, entering the Collective Guild Hall of the Welakian Order. Upon entering, he withdrew from his bag a band of red, and finally put it on. The doors were shut behind him. “Grandmaster, you’ve finally made it here.” a voice said from in front of him. With his eyes still adjusting, the Grandmaster replied, “Hello, Gatzyrmytr. Or should I say, Gutnyer?” “You never fail to recognize the voice of an ally,” the Communal See said as he stepped into the relative brightness of the entrance hall. “One should recognize the voice of an enemy as well,” the Grandmaster replied cryptically. A moment of awkward silence followed, and then, laughter from both men. “Enough with the jesting,” Gutnyer began, “that can be done later. Shall we discuss the final arrangements for the construction teams and material?” “Ah, yes.” The Grandmaster said as he followed Gutnyer into one of the many empty conference rooms of the guild hall, for many of the Gatzyrs had left to oversee their operations closer to home. The two men sat down in plush chairs that surrounded one of the many smooth, wooden tables. “Have we the ships to transport the digging materials ready?” Asked the Grandmaster. “Also, are the actual supplies readily available?” “I’m grabbing as many extra ships as the Order can muster; in the worst case they’ll be ready by the end of the month.” the Gatzyrmytr continued, “Materials shouldn’t be too difficult to come by.” The Grandmaster smiled. “So this project of Aparaius is imminent, huh?” With the glad nods of Gutnyer, the Grandmaster continued, “Shall we return to the North to oversee this project?” “When were you expecting to depart? In a fortnight?” The Gatzyrmytr asked with slight concern. “That is far too late!” The Grandmaster exclaimed. “Make preparations for departure within the week. I don’t want to wait here for more than three days!” “Gladly, if you insist,” Gutnyer replied. The two then got up to prepare for another journey to the North. -------------------------- Beginning of the Five Hundred Fifty-seventh Local Vytyylic Conclave of Syurthyas, Lingneic Order:
Silence filled the small Monastic Hall of the Syurthyan Monastery as the Prysmytrs of the See began to file in. Their many Prystyrads , Scribes, and other Adyt class assistants scuttled in from the various side doors that stood on each end of the Hall. They all began to file into chairs set up especially for this occasion as the Belfry’s bells began to sing. Seventeen Prystmytrs arose as the Rytyr-Prysmytr (chairperson) of the Local See processed in.
“You may all be seated,” the Rytyr-Prysmytr said to his colleagues. After they all took their places he continued, “I have summoned you all to place forward your Authority towards the calling of a Vytyylic Conclave.”
One Prysmytr began to ask the Rytyr, oblivious to current events, “Rytyr Garia, what warran-“
“The Prystyr will suspend. Debate has not been opened.” The Rytyr Garia sternly responded at the calling of his name. Seeing a face of pure confusion that still plastered the Prysmytr’s head, he continued, “Such will be explained, Prysmytr. A Vision has been reported at the end of a Dedication ceremony in the Mercantile See of Fontyas of the Welakian Order.” Hushed whispers began to grow among the many Prysmytrs in attendance at the mention of a Vision. Only a few of them had heard the rumors of a new Vision, and they wondered of its validity and commonality.
A group of Prysmytrs asked, attempting to further understand this crisis, “Has such a vision been seen in any other Dedication ceremonies recently?”
“I am afraid so,” the Rytyr Garia answered, at the dismay of the many other Prysmytrs. “These visions have been confirmed at twelve other Dedication ceremonies in the past three days.” Immediately, the Chamber erupted into a flurry of chaotic questions. The other Prysmytrs of the See had no idea of this occurring, and demanded to know why they had been left in the dark. Over all of the newly unleashed torrent of fury, the Rytyr yelled, “There will be Order! The Prysmytrs will suspend!”
Silence was only achieved for one second, until a Prysmytr declared, ”Recognizing that our queries can only be answered during a Conclave, I move to initiate the Placing of Authority!”.
“We second the motion, recognizing this valid truth!” a few others exclaimed only seconds after the proposal of the motion.
“In light of this motion of the most August body, I place forth, by Life and Death, Myrat yt Decidyi, my Authority as the Rytyr of the Syurthan See to the calling of a Vytyylic Conclave, thus initiating the Placing of Authority.” the Rytyr Garia promply decreed to the small chamber. “May the Roster of Prysmytrs be opened for the calling of all Prysmytrs of the See, so that they may declare their Authority For or Against the calling of a Vytyylic Conclave!”
“Hear, hear!” the other Prysmytrs of the Chamber exclaimed, and the Placing of Authority was begun.
|
|
|
Post by Chiernarosa on Jul 19, 2018 23:43:52 GMT -5
Outskirts of Kantchemkamaal
"Son of a Rozhai whore," the warlord hissed as the young Raider jabbered and pointed at the slashed barrel of mead, the contents now long dried out. Ever since they had breached the borders, the raids were compounded by a series of strange events: after they had razed several of the villages, taking their spoils of battle with them, three of the Raiders abruptly disappeared from the warband, no sign of a scuffle or any missing items, just gone. After that, the straggling Raiders and Arvesh that joined them reported that the markers and fires they laid out to give a path were snuffed out, prolonging the time it would take to consolidate his men; those who had to take a piss or shit were found dead in their piles of excrement, arrows or slit throats indicating that something was following them.
Now there was this: the supplies were slowly being destroyed, either slashed, burned, or just missing, with the patrols unable to even note what had happened. Grumbling to himself, he nibbled on a piece of Veiamarr jerky made from one of the priests: while the grey skin and large ears put some of the men off, the taste was mostly the same to them as human flesh - it was a damn shame to him that a crate of the stuff went missing, he had grown fond of the taste. Shrugging his mind off, he noticed the same symbol that kept appearing each time something had happened: the drawing of an eye with a black pupil, similar to the diamond insignia that appeared on Asilic flags in prevalence.
Gesturing for his underling to come close, he whispered into the man's ear, "We're being stalked: looks like the elves caught on faster than expected and are trying to wear us down. Clever of them, but they're the only people here smart enough to do that and with us folk of all people." The underling nodded: one of the men who disappeared was Arvesh, a close friend of his, and the use of symbols coupled with the people they attacked spelled out sabotage, "I agree Sir, but how do we catch them? They know the routes better than us and are able to sneak around us before we can expect them. We could put fires out, but they could snuff them out, and the patrols can't catch them even if they do their routes at a faster pace."
The warlord nodded, stroking his chin as he looked at the barrel and symbol, before stating, "Have some of the arbalists join the patrols, and have some of the Raiders stand guard over the supply caches with archers hidden away. If anyone tries to sabotage the supplies, we'll shoot them and get the information out. Understood?" The underling nodded, bowing his head before barking out orders with the men.
Dusk The shouts came out as the warlord nodded his head open, rolling off the damp floor of the tent and stepping out: several Arvesh ran past, carrying torches and spears, running to one of the caches. Drawing his sword, the warlord saw the archer, a grim fellow with his hood on, still aiming an arrow at one of three figures on the ground. By the cache was the Raider, unfortunate to have had his throat slit, but near him were two Veiamarr, gasping in pain at the arrows embedded into their chests. An eye with a black pupil was on the crate, still being stenciled before the archer took them down. 'Looks like we found our stalkers,' the warlord thought grimly as he walked towards them, fiery rage glowing in his eyes.
Kahmpet
Tahra growled at the guard's mention of 'subhumans' and was prepared to answer sharply when the roar echoed through the cavern, followed by clicking noises. Turning around, she saw the Warrior and her band now setting up a defensive line, the Seer ushering the gibbering warrior and the rest of the tribe away from the line. Before them, coming from one of the ledges, was a beast far larger than anything they had encountered, bright colors made vibrant even in the low glow of the fungi and fires. Stalked eyes peered at them atop a chitinous head, small pincers lining a large maw, two of the three jaws appearing more like a sharpened beak lined with ferocious spines, while the third jaw was a fleshy palette-like structure lined with additional spines. Six limbs lined its crooked body, the two forward-most limbs ending in absolutely massive blades, piercing the soft rock with complete ease, while the remaining four ended in two raptoran toes, each hosting a sharpened talon the size of hands. Four eyes peered from its body at the hips of the last two limbs, while its tail was crouched underneath its massive body, coiled up and tense.
Before anyone could react, the beast roared again before jumping down, the tail pushing with ease. Landing with no issue, the beast barreled towards them, the tail pushing along with the limbs as the creature's bulk betrayed its swiftness. Tahra turned back to the guard, "Okay, let's drop the border crossing issue at the moment and kill this thing," the string of arrows from above seemingly being an indication. The beast gurgled with rage as the arrows embedded themselves into its integument, the shrieks of Flesh Rats echoing as they crawled out, running from the bulk of their host, a few snatched up into its jaws as it continued to hurtle towards the group.
Time seemingly slowed down for Tahra as the beast was finally upon the line, rearing its body upwards, the massive blades of its forearms bearing down upon an unlucky warrior, a spray of viscera coating both Tahra and the guards as it ripped the warrior in half, who was unable to even scream as the creature swiftly tore him apart. Falling backward, Tahra could only watch in shock as the beast ripped into the man's flesh, the cracking of bones echoing in the chamber as it swiftly devoured his corpse, lifting its head up in a roar before turning around again.
Kástro Ronan
Atek roared as he swung the ax down, a spray of blood coating both flesh and metal as the figure below him gurgled in pain, his forces pressed against the wall of defenders as the morning fog contrasted against the scene of war. Ripping the blade out from the warrior's chest, Atek swung at another fighter, the serrations easily tearing into the man's stomach before Atek ripped to the side, leaving the fellow to kneel down and desperately grasping at his intestines. Running forward, he saw an økesadr, lumbering through his men and dispatching them with ease. Grabbing his ax with both hands, Atek charged at him, tackling the økesadr and swinging the ax into his neck, sawing down slightly as he pulled away.
A shield pounded against his face, knocking him off the økesadr, sending his ax flying away. Growling, Atek picked himself off his feet, turning to see the kriegsaldr glaring at him, the warrior pointing his spatha at him, left arm holding the shield. Planting himself into a fighting stance. Atek swung his leg downwards, knocking the kriegsaldr back slightly. Grabbing the økesadr's ax, he swung forward, the kriegsaldr lifting his shield above him to absorb the blow: Atek punched forward, hitting the kriegsaldr in his solar plexus, sending the man reeling back slightly, dropping his spatha by accident. Grabbing the blade, Atek swung down, hitting him in the shoulder, the blade embedded into the shoulder. Ripping it out amid the kriegsaldr's screams, Atek tore into the man's throat, ending him.
A blast sent him flying, the metal coils absorbing the blows of the impact, yet leaving him with a shattered rib. Lying on the ground, rattling breaths betraying the agony of the blast, Atek looked up as he saw the cannons blasting into the field, striking at the hordes below. Lifting himself up, wincing at the pain, Atek looked for a weapon before finding a spear: grabbin it, he charged forward alongside the men around him, undeterred even as the blasts continued to rip into them.
"Fucking Necrominus, they won't give up," the Aven hissed as he saw the men continue to get up: behind him, the White Arban and the Death Guard were assembled, both forces rallying their equipment and specialties before the gates opened. Looking to the sides, the Aven ordered the men to load the ballistae and incendiary casters along the fortress walls, fuel barrels and bundles of spears placed next to each one of the weapons.
Hopping down, the Aven grabbed his bladed galea helmet, the sharpened plate of metal in front serving well against unarmored foes: the commanding officers of both units were drawing up battle plans, maps spread out as the pounding of cannons continued to rain upon the cultists and the Verush. Placing his helmet on, the Aven gestured for the units to follow him, the guards manning the gates opening them, the guards placed behind delivering suppressive fire as several cultists attempted to rush forward.
Stepping out, the Aven finally gave the order, the Arban charging forward, their swords ready to strike at the foes: the Death Guard manned the ballistae on the carts, the drivers pushing behind as well. Jumping on one, the Aven grabbed the incendiary caster, sending a wall of flame against the cultists, flesh melting in the air as the counteroffensive began.
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Jul 20, 2018 16:02:03 GMT -5
Burke Nola, Nola - The North Star Isles
"Oh bloody fuck." Muttered Chief Burke Nola as he peered through the spyglass, still registering what he was seeing. These were no ordinary Barskin, certainly not friendly, their banner of the bloody hand certainly brought that across. For a split second, Burke recalled his time as a pirate hunter in the Southus Sea, he always followed a rule of thumb. If its got a scary banner, you should sink it, ask questions later. But could he afford to? Could he risk blowing the ships out of the water and risk a diplomatic incident if they were just a bunch of grumpy Barskin and a bloody hand was just their standard banner? The unsheathed weapons convinced him otherwise, these Barskin were out for blood. He had to act. "Sound the horn! The Barskin on that ship are hostile! Sound the fucking horn! Don't let those furry bastards into the port!"
A ear splitting rumble emanated nearby as his shouts were acknowledged. The navy ships breaking away from the port and approaching the aggressive vessels, turning to face it with their cannons. A sizable force of the Lexidun swayed on the waves, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
"Shall I give the order to fire sir?" Uttered the guardsman to Burke's left.
He hesitated. Was he overreacting? As he peered through the spyglass one final time he peered at one of the hooded figures that brandished its weapon. His leg might have been gimped but his eyes were still as sharp as ever. He stared into one of the Barskin's eyes through his spyglass, he swore it was staring right back at him. He saw its discoloured and corrupted eyes. He knew what he saw within an instant, corruption. He felt a primal fear grip him, envelope him almost. Fight or flight Burke, now or never.
Chief Burke Nola the Protector of the Southus Sea never fled.
"SOUND THE HORN, FIRE AT WILL, SINK THE YRUTAN SCUM."
CRA-KOOM
King Blair de Brus, Camelon Castle - Lexidus
The axe felt heavy in his hand. Adrenaline poured through his veins and pumped into his rapidly beating heart. He stood ready, two royal guardsman at his side, their brass armour dirtied with soot and marks of battle. It had been a while since he had sent Dumfries away to look for Eimear, Crowley and Leana. His heart stopped. What if they were outside the castle? What if they had gone out into town whilst the Yrutan hordes poured out from wherever in goddess' name they came from? Panic began to grip him as his defiance and anger began to fade, fear gripping him.
No... he had just talked with Leana before meeting with the Dual Kingdom entourage, she would have been in the castle. Crowley was seen an hour ago tending to his ledgers, he would have stayed in his study... but Eimear.
His breathing grew heavier as he heard screams from beyond the castle gates. The Yrutan Hanza was drawing near. He cursed under his breath.
Where was she? Where could Eimear be, goddess above let her be safe. He shook his head and assumed a ready stance. No. Now was not the time to panic, he had to remain strong and hold them off with his men and women. No matter what the cost.
...Eimear please be safe. Ruby Hollins, The Sixth Island - The South-Eastern Passage
"It's beautiful. Isn't it?" Muttered Marie Gillespie as she sat down next to a very tired Ruby Hollins. Ruby's hair, which usually sat in a neat bun on the back of her head all tied up, was frizzy and split. She stared ahead and responded with a quiet grunt. Before her lay the greater continent that was Calveria, a large river piercing into it, the passageway into the south-east. It was real and they had found it, surveying the island that acted as a border between the Western Sea and this large river inland, a perfect place for colonization. The stars twinkled in the beautiful night sky, their backdrop of purples and reds in the distances of space made the sight breathtaking.
Ruby rubbed eyes and opened her ledger, marking off the 6th island. 4 more to go.
"...you should get some rest Rubes."
Ruby responded with a snort and let herself recline on the bench, lying down and staring into the night sky. Her eyes felt heavy. The ship deck was level and waves were almost non-existent. The air was warm but not overbearingly so. She felt herself drifting away. Marie's face smiling down upon her as she let sleep overcome her.
Marie stayed by her side for quite some time afterwards. Giving the sleeping Ruby her cloak as a blanket. She then stared into the night sky, not leaving her side.
|
|
|
Post by Unfallious on Aug 6, 2018 13:25:05 GMT -5
Camelon, Lexidus
The air was thick. Smoke and an atmosphere of dread seemed to permeate the entire city of Camelon. By now, the hordes of the blessed had spread across the city. They attacked shops, houses and fortifications. Some lucky inhabitants would be offered the honour of conversion, but many would be put to the sword.
The especially blessed children of Yrutas dotted the landscape, their dark purple appendages curling themselves around buildings and people. One in particular appeared above the cityscape. It looked formless. A mass of tentacles, claws, and flesh. It thrashed at the ground and roared into the air.
On the other side of the city, Maech and his group ignored the chaos around them, dead set on the mission they had been given. Alongside the Black Knight were 3 more men, each as heavily armoured as he was. Their armour was a dull, muddy, silver. Alongside them, a number of Yrutas’ children also followed along. They skittered along the ground on a set of arachnoid legs, leading up to a humanoid chest with a set of eyes and a mouth set in the middle of their stomach. A number of spiked appendages splitting out where their arms should be. They marched on ahead of their marauding army towards the castle.
Growing closer now, they began to meet some resistance from guards and soldiers who had been nearby when the chaos had arrived. The black knight and his armoured entourage simply stopped, took a step back, and allowed the arachnoid creatures to dispatch them. They did so with ease, stopping to feast on their corpses as the Black Knight pressed on.
They reached the castle far ahead of the rest of the army. The dark group stood outside the vast gates of the Castle and Maech stepped forward. Raising his hands, he began to focus on the gate. The gate lurched forward, catching on the barricade. It groaned, but held its place. Maech leaned forward, his hands shaking slightly as the gates continued to hold firm. After a few moments, Maech stopped and lowered his hands, seemingly giving up. From out of the blue, he leaned back and then made a pushing motion with his hands. This time the gate lurched forward violently, hitting the barricade and shattering it before swinging open. Maech and his knights were then face to face with the King of Lexidus, standing in the middle of his courtyard, axe in hand, and ready for battle.
The world seemed to pause in that moment. The Black Knight and King Blair, face-to-face. The King’s glare pierced the armoured faceplate of Maech’s helmet. It was almost as if he was looking him straight in the eyes. They strode in through the open gate and joined the King and his men in the courtyard.
“Where’s the Mother on this day?” Maech asked simply, drawing his sword.
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Aug 6, 2018 13:49:22 GMT -5
King Blair de Brus, Camelon Castle - Lexidus
Blair swallowed, hard. The grand gate was nothing to the Yrutan hansa but a pebble being kicked way. Now its leader was addressing him, in common of all tongues. His hand with the axe shook with adrenaline and fear, Blair making sure to maintain eye contact with the interloper. Where WAS Myratnis? Had she all but abandoned them? Maither Kin'est abandoning her children to the snapping jaws of Yrutan dogs? The question chilled him to his core but he couldn't panic. Not now, his men and women needed him, their fearful eyes glancing at him.
"The mother? To which mother might you be referring to? My mother lies at the bottom of the Southus sea. Your mother on the other hand lies with sea men at the local brothel. I suggest you go look for her there."
He forced a laugh from his belly, grinning his teeth as much as possible. Hoping to engage in a cycle of insults as to buy as much time as possible. He could hear in the distance behind him, the smattering of feet in the castle, people were still evacuating. He could barely hear the deep grumble of Crowley and the high pitched pleas of Leanabh. But no Eimear.
He kept the smile going but now his heart sank further than before. Where was she? Where was Eimear?
|
|
|
Post by Andromitus on Aug 6, 2018 15:33:30 GMT -5
Camelon, Lexidus
Wind rushed through his hair as the band of Karthagites and Rohzai charged toward the city, black plumes of smoke billowing in the distance. There numbers had swelled since the night before, almost 25 able-bodied men had chosen to take up arms alongside them. For once Bakahn did truly thank the Divines for the Rohzai, those that he so often scorned for their worship of the Deep Folks God. He had broken the group of almost 105 Holy Warriors into 5 groups of 21 which themselves would divide if necessary into co-operative squadrons of 7; his personal Squadron he made up of the groups different elites to act as a vanguard. This gave them ample time to diffuse the undertrained Rohzai into the Karthagite ranks, and gave him the excellent ability to link up and break apart in the tight, close-quarters combat that was to be expected of "Urban Warfare". It was the Elites that worried him, Karthagite Battle-Tactics mandated an emphasis on Speed and Strength, hit hard and get out fast and their style of Magic reflected this; Elites from Karatha were almost exclusively magic-users but suddenly that entire style of warfare wasn’t viable. Bakahn lent his head down, seemingly to combat the wind, before discreetly filling his lungs with air as he anxiously tightened his chest. The white blade of his Spear stung angrily against the morning sun. Something about all of this was wrong, wether it was the coming of some new and unseen enemy, the blessing of his heirloom weapon, or the literal appearance of a (or "the", he hadn't quite decided yet) God, or some combination of all three impossibilities, he was unsure. He was never a man of faith, and yet he still found himself sprawling as a different way stood in front of him and ordered him to take up arms. No matter what he showed to his comrades, he was still going to be fighting for something he didn't quite believe in yet. • • • • • • • • Several Hours Earlier • • • • • • • • Amón blinked his eyes tiredly, early morning light shining through the flaps of his personal tent; he sat up groggily as the sounds of commotion outside brought him ahead. Standing up angrily he tossed on a thick fur robe and made toward the tent’s entrance before the flaps were torn open in front of him and he stumbled back in surprise, closing his eyes in anticipation for the wave of sunlight to pour in. He waited for a moment before opening them…it was still night, but pale white light filled his room. “What in the—“ he cut off as Bakahn stepped into view. He was surrounded by the Karthagite Elites, plumage on their masks differentiating them from their comrades, but it was the Spear that caught his attention. It’s metal blade glowed fervently, “how in the world are you doing that…Bakahn! What is this Karthagite magic, we had a deal remember?!” “This isn’t the work of the Warfather Amón,” Bakahn swung the blade forward so it was parallel to the two men, “Look at it and tell me who’s touched it.” Amón paused for a moment in confusion, this had to be some kind of trick, some double-handed gesture from Karatha to confuse him…then his eyes widened in understanding. “By the will of God…i-is, is that what I think it is?” For the next hour the different members of the Caravan were woken and ordered by a mixture of a shaken Amón and a squadron of Karthagites to begin packing and to get clear of the City; The Trade Leaders were pooled together afterwards as they all began the long retreat to a site 2km away that Bakahn had chosen personally. The 15 of them, Bakahn and the Caravan leaders, talked with a fury about what the Karthagite had seen. Unlike the men of Karatha, the Rohzai followed a faith similar to that of the Deep Folk and had forbidden the use of Magic while the Caravan was in motion; it came nonetheless as nothing but shear excitement when the Lord they so revered had come to civilize the “backward” men of the East. Before they’d even reached the site, Rohzai men where already circling around Bakahn in awe, and once they did finally settle down, 42 had decided to take up arms alongside the Karthagites (although to their dismay, 7 had to be turned down for their age, and 10 were asked to stay behind to guard the Caravan). From there Bakahn met with the other Karatha leaders as they devised a plan of attack — they would split the Rohzai up between Karthagite squadrons to keep them from becoming too much of an issue, and from there they’d set up a standard siege formation. But they were inevitably faced with an issue, 4 of the elites they’d taken were magic users, and were as such hard-pressed to give up their profession on a simple whim. They were ordered to stay behind to help guard the Caravan with the other Rohzai that’d been stationed there. For the rest, Bakahn personally set about divvying them up into proper Groups and Squadrons and educating the Rohzai on the standards of Karthagite siege-warfare. Individual feints, backslash, pincers, and flood techniques where drilled into their head for the next few hours. To end it all, Bakahn ordered every man first be equipped with what armor they had, and then ordered them to place their chest pieces —be them steel, veiamarr bronze, or gambeson— on the ground in front of them and to paint an enclosed Diamond, the one used by the Veiamarr, on its center. Bakahn realized after this, just as the sun crested over the eastern hills, that he didn’t have a prayer for this new God, so he asked one of the Caravan leaders to lead prayer with him. And so, to the gawking eyes of the Rohzai, the men under Bakahn’s command raise their arms to the sky allowing a low sound to seep through their chests before releasing a long “Om” and Kowtowing in the style of the Rohzai. He’d hoped that if he mixed customs from Karatha as well as proper procedure from the Rohzai, he could cement the minds of his kin for the upcoming battle, and for the most part it’d worked. • • • • • • • • Present Hour • • • • • • • • The Gate stood stoically in front of them, and as its iron lock came into view Bakahn’s vanguard charged forward at speed, his spearpoint glowing hot and fizzling against the air as he plunged it into the metal holding, sparks flight out as electricity poured through, superheating the iron until it cracked against the pressure of gas forcing its way out. Another slash and the gate pushed inward and Bakahn’s eyes turned wide; they charged in as one of the plumes of smoke in the distance began to harden, as the archway of the gate passed over them as the smoke condensed into the sky, dark tendrils slashing out as the shadows condensed into flesh, the stem forming a loose tether tying back to the earth, the beast taking “form” above them in the distance releasing a cry like a hurricane. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The Dark Group locked eyes with the Lexidun King, exchanging few words either side steeled themselves against the other before a flash of white disrupted their meeting. A shockwave rippled through the air followed by another flash of white, threads of electricity arced through the sky toward the dark morass that’d appeared only seconds previous. A second shockwave shook the air as the beast roared, electricity and anti-magical energy rippled over its shadowy flesh. The Karthagites and their allies surged into the courtyard beyond the cities outer gate getting their first sites at the scene around them. The two external groups fanned out toward the alleyways, two other surging ahead to do the same while the final Group advanced down the center road, following the Vanguard. The Battalion took a circular formation the first group to detect and enemy would send scouts to the center and the group would come to their aid, this focused their attention on immediate threats while allowing them to continue a charge toward the cities center. The Vanguard stayed in the lead, but for the most part they only encountered fleeing civilians, but the sounds of war in the distance was unmistakable. Bakahn let loose a second electrical volley at the sky-beast before the first enemy appeared in the distance; it was a straggler, alone chasing a rather scrawny Lexidun man in his late 20’s. Bakahn stood horrified as he looked at it, 8 spider-like legs, a humanoid body with a mouth in its stomach, countless dagger-like appendages for harms running down its sides like a centipede. Screaming wildly it lunged forward toward the man before Bakahn charged into it, thrusting his weight into the hilt of his weapon, its white blade shearing through the beasts chitinous armor. The creature screamed as the ordained metal plunged into its back before the weight of the Karthagite on top of it forced it onto its side, it’s legs curling as it died. More of the creatures appeared in the distance, harkening to the cries of their comrade; Bakahn didn’t falter, shifting his weight he flipped over the corpse and pulled his blade with him, the spear flew through the air before its tip pointed toward the assailants, the air screaming as electrical energy arced toward creatures; fronds of energy split apart, each flying toward a target as a responsive shockwave tore through the air, the smell of ozone filling the Vanguard Karthagites noses. After the Vanguard it was the left-forward group that encountered the enemy; They instinctively into their individual squadrons, running in all directions and drawing the spiderlings into the center before engulfing them in a final encirclement. The creatures were wild, chasing after anything that moved making it easy for them to be corralled. One of the Squadron members charged forward toward one of the creatures before pivoting on his heel and dodging one of its spines, two men behind him countering the creature, iron rods plunging into its exposed shoulders. The others copied this move, feinting the creatures into awkward positions, corralling them into a tighter and tighter circle before crushing them under the weight of their own bodies. Then realization hit them as one of the Karthagites moved in for a high-swipe —a standard Karthagite tactic. He charged forward ducking low readying himself for a magical response from one of his comrades before he remembered their situation, the creatures arm plunging down onto his side. Neither of the two lived long, his comrades were quick to come to his aid but the damage was done. It wasn’t the Warfather aiding them this day, and now they were reminded of it.
|
|
|
Post by Unfallious on Aug 6, 2018 16:23:58 GMT -5
Camelon Castle, Camelon, Lexidus
Through the lifeless, stoic black mask of the Knight came a low rumbling laugh. For a moment, it looked as though the man had been so amused by the brazen courage of the King that he'd drop his sword then and there and take him out for a pint of ale. Yet, it was not to be.
"Laughing at the jaws of death. Admirable. I hope you have made peace with the Mother, and paid homage to the Lord of the Necro-"
Maech was interrupted quite suddenly by a flash of light. Quickly turning to look back through the open gate, he could see one of his Lord's most beloved servants, one of his most blessed, recoiling in pain. He could see the crackle of lighting, of a light so bright its origin could only be divine, coming from the ground and piercing the flesh of the creature. Moments later it happened again and then again, the crackle of a fierce energy pierced the air followed by the cries of the beast. He watched as it tumbled to the ground, alive but severely wounded. There was something else divine in this city. Had the Mother responded to his taunts?
Maech turned back to face his opponents quickly, so as to not give them the chance to rejoice at this small victory. He let out a cry, and charged. Followed quickly by the rest of his men. Entering into the fray, he cut down a brave soldier standing between him and the King before swinging his sword down on Blair with a heavy hand.
|
|
|
Post by Lex Caledonia on Aug 6, 2018 17:00:48 GMT -5
King Blair de Brus, Camelon Castle - Lexidus
Blair barely had time to register what was happening before the Yrutan Knight was already upon him. Was this divine intervention? Was the Maither here? No matter, his foe was overcompensating his attack, he could utilise this. As the knight brought his blade upon him, Blair stepped to the side quickly barely managing to dodge the blow. His footing was wrong and he had to compensate, his dodge turned into a pirouette as swung his axe around. This technique was a better use for swords and it showed, by the time he brought the axe towards the knight, it was simply blocked with an almighty clang as Selkirk steel collided with a dark sword. Blair slid back and bellowed.
"LEXIDUNS! LETS SHOW THESE YRUTAN CUNTS HOW WE DO!"
Yelling erupted from all around him as the Royal Guard and surviving Town's Guard took to combat. Roaring at the top of their lungs at the Yrutan knight and his hansa. 9 guards armed with sword, axe and lance kept the 3 Yrutan followers occupied whilst Blair and 6 royal guard took on the lead knight. They quickly found, to their dismay, that some of their blows were doing little damage. Swords would scratch the dark armour and not slash. Lances would bounce or slip off. The only real slight equaliser was the axe wielders and their crushing blows, doing their damnedest to hit the same place they struck before as to penetrate the armour. 4 guards fell before an axe wielding guardsman managed to bring his axe in between a section of the Yrutan followers armour, embedding it deep within the heretic and finally claiming a kill.
Blair who had been dodging blows and making dents with his axe too, saw this spectacle and grinned as far as his mouth would let him. Staring at the Yrutan Knight.
"Ah. So your friends bleed? Lets see if you do too!"
King Blair de Brus then swung his axe from the right. Aiming in between the Yrutan Knight's dark plates.
|
|