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Post by Unfallious on Aug 7, 2018 11:53:46 GMT -5
Camelon Castle, Camelon, Lexidun
Maech entered the frey strong and powerful. His first attack on Blair was dodged, with the King moving in with a swift and powerful counterattack which the Knight blocked with a metallic clang. The King bellowed an order and the Black Knight immediately moved into an attack on a member of his opponent's Royal Guard which had come to their monarch's aid. He pushed his sword deep into the guard's belly before the man could have a chance to react. Pulling it out quickly, he then briefly locked swords with another member of the guard, he took advantage of a clumsy swing to bring the man to the ground and bury his sword into his throat, all in a few precious seconds. Then, he was back locking weapons with the King as a powerful axe-blow hit his sword.
Locked in combat, the three other Knights fought with determination and strength. Their armour, blessed by their patron, provided them keen protection from the repeated blows of Lexidun steel. Yet, their opponents were smart and it was not long before their numbers allowed one of them to score a blow between the armour of a brother bringing him down with a thunk. Losing a brother to the forces of the light was a painful experience, but Maech had no time to mourn. The slaying seemed to incense the wild King, who performed an excited, but hasty, swing. Maech jumped back, dodging the swing before slashing at Blair's exposed side while he recovered.
Elsewhere, the remaining 2 Knights fought fiercely. Outnumbered, they relied on their blessed armour to shield themselves from the blows. They both stood at opposite sides to Maech, attempting to shield him from attacks at his flank. The Knights fought their opponents well, bringing down a number of them, yet the loss of a comrade shook them visibly. The rage of battle continued until finally another well-placed slash struck the Knight on Maech's left, wounding him and bringing him on to one knee. He wildly slashed his sword, bringing another of the King's men down before another man bashed him with the hilt of his sword. The blow was strong and his helmet fell to the ground revealing a pale-faced and bald man, his cheeks marked by carvings of Yrutan symbols. He let out an beastly cry, clambering to his feet and bringing down a number of the King's men before a lance slashed his throat causing him to finally collapse to the ground. As he choked on his blood, his cries became increasingly watery, before turning into gurgles. Finally, he was silent.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Aug 7, 2018 12:39:19 GMT -5
King Blair de Brus, Camelon Castle - Lexidus
His people were dying. Their guttural screams of pain not lost on him. Everyone of them that fell made his heart sink further with anguish, he owed it to them to stay strong and fight with all of his might. That being said, he was merely buying himself time, he was exposing himself far too often and only dodging just in time. This Yrutan Knight was a tremendous foe. Suddenly another Yrutan follower fell, his blood filled gurgling catching Blair's attention. Only one more of the followers remained, goddess above, they were doing it! Emboldened, the king charged at the black knight, feigning a swing from the lower right hand side before stopping his charge for one step and spinning, letting his axe and body enter a pirouette to which he jumped out of to create as much momentum as possible. Roaring as he did so, his axe finally managed to slip past the Yrutan Knight's blocking and collide hard right between their pouldron and neck armour. It went deep and embedded itself within the Yrutan Knight. Blair's roar turned to triumphant laughter and then wilted into confusion and silence. His axe was stuck, he couldn't pull out, he was right next to the knigh-
His world blurred immediately as the Yrutan Knight punched square in his face with his off hand. Blair falling on his back as he clutched his bleeding nose. He could see the sky marred with smoke, fire and lightning. He could hear the moans of his men and women as they were being picked off by the final Yrutan follower. He squinted through his eyes which found themselves drenched in his nose blood, he witnessed 3 young guards all charge the head Yrutan Knight with their swords, in one fell swoop they were all decapitated by him as he stubbornly tried to remove the axe from his neck. Blair exhaled in despair, those 3 young guards were all cousins, they had only enlisted a week ago. He tried desperately to readjust himself and to stop he ringing in his ears, he tried to reach for a weapon, to no avail. There was a spear but it was out of reach and a couple of metres away towards the now destroyed gate, he couldn't reach it. He noticed however, a familiar hand with dirty blonde hair acquiring it. Before he could register who it was, he felt a cold metallic hand grip his throat as he was hoisted into the air at arms length.
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Post by Unfallious on Aug 7, 2018 22:27:40 GMT -5
Camelon Castle, Camelon, Lexidus
The courtyard had been reduced to a ruinous scene of blood and death. His brothers were strewn across the ground, surrounded by a myriad of the King's finest. They had gone down fighting, taking down 10 times their numbers, but they had still fallen. The men of this truly noble Kingdom had bested the servants of Yrutas himself. Their blessed armour and their weapons struck on his name had not saved them. It was a pity. If Maech were not a loyal servant, he may have left the King there and then. Yet, this was no such a time. At his feet lay the body of 3 of the King's men, their heads cleanly taken off by a fierce slash of the King's own axe as he finally wrenched it free from his armour. It had gouged out a wound in his flesh, yet the pain didn't both him, not in this pivotal moment. He let the axe drop to the floor as he strode across the ground to where his opponent lay. Even in the moment of his defeat, he could see the King scramble for a weapon.
His hand clamped shut around Blair's throat as he hoisted him up into the air. Behind him, the smoke of a burning city lit up the sky faintly, like the sunset of a warm summer's day. Smoke poked up above the castle walls in thin columns, twirling up and twisting up into the sky. He felt the King struggle under his grip. Blood streamed down from a broken nose. A look of resolute determination was strewn across the man's face. All signs of his joviality were gone now. This was a man prepared to fight to the death. Maech was a man prepared to grant him that. Bloody sword in hand, he reeled back, preparing to plunge the steel straight into the monarch's belly.
It was at this moment that Maech became aware of a cry. Coming from his flank, he turned his head just in time to see a spear plunge straight through the gaps in the plating of his armour and into his side. Het let out of groan and dropped the monarch in a heap. He stared at the woman, her face covered with the same determination that had been covering the King’s. He looked down to see he hands on the spear, its tip buried only a small way into him. It had caught on his rib, preventing it from digging in any deeper. He watched as the fire went out in the woman’s eyes, her expression going from determination and bravery to fear as she gave a tug on the spear. The blade now jammed between his side and the plating of his armour. It was stuck. Maech gave a silent thanks for Yrutas for providing him with this kind of luck. He stared at the woman, her eyes slowly coming up from the blade to meet his gaze. Then, in one fluid motion, Maech gripped the spear, ripping it away from the woman and simultaneously tearing it from his side. He flipped it around and plunged it into Eimear’s belly.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Aug 7, 2018 22:57:26 GMT -5
King Blair de Brus, Camelon Castle - Lexidus
He could do nothing. He watched every second of what was unfurling before him. The charge, him falling, the defiance of his saviour, the realisation of her and then the stab into her belly. He sat up and stared for a moment, the ringing in his ears now piercing. Time was at a standstill. Eimear.
He screamed.
With all of his might and frenzy, he tackled the Yrutan Knight, not caring that a blinding pain enveloped his shoulder as he collided with the heretic. He let all of his mass throw the Yrutan Knight away a fair couple of metres as the final of his guard engaged him. He did not pursue him, instead scrambling for his fallen saviour, for Eimear.
"No. Nononono. Goddess please NO!" He babbled as he collapsed to his knees and held Eimear. Her stomach was bleeding dark crimson from a unending wound, he pressed hard to try and stop the bleeding, to no avail. Her breathing was shallow and coarse, her mouth leaking the same viscous red blood that adorned her tunic. Blair looked into her eyes, she was staring right back at him. Her dull green eyes gazing back at his own, she winced and smiled.
"No crying till the end, numpty king." Eimear whispered as her breathing grew longer and shallower. Her eyes now unblinking.
"Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare Eimear. Get up, we'll get you help. You're alright. You're!... Eimear?" Blair muttered.
Her breathing had stopped and her eyes stared back, dull green to greyish blue. His hand in hers, her grip gone. Blair de Brus felt the tears in his eyes finally tumble from within him as they rolled down his blood spattered cheeks.
"Eimear?" He whimpered. The realisation slowly rolling through him in a wave of pure unbridled anguish and woe. She was gone.
He screamed. His head arched towards the sky, his voice raw and booming. He could do nothing.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Aug 8, 2018 0:37:27 GMT -5
Kástro Ronan
"ABANDON REASON; KNOW ONLY WAR," Atek screamed hoarsely as he saw the carts of ballistae and casters charging into the thick of the battle, firing at his forces. Hoisting the spear over his shoulder, he roared furiously as he saw a caster swing towards his direction, "Feel the Warfather's rage!" barely heard in the din of war as the spear flew forward, impaling the operator and sending a wave of flame right at Atek. As the flames licked at his flesh, Atek laughed madly as the eternal flame warped around his shoulders, the skin crackling as those nearby could only watch in shock, "I WILL BURN THIS FIELD TO A CINDER!" soon echoed by the cheering roars of his followers.
The Aven watched from afar, the caster burning at those closeby, 'By the forests of Velran, what will end him?' he thought before shaking his head, gesturing for the cart's rider to move towards the deranged figure as he tore through his enemies. Twisting the mechanism's crank, the blast of flame soon enveloped those unfortunate to be standing in its path: the cultists screamed in agony as their flesh melted off, those with metal armor gibbering as the plates melted into slag, seeping into open wounds. Any form of armor stood no chance of stopping the flames from gnawing eagerly at its targets, the few intact corpses trapped in a macabre form of pain, arms reaching out, melted swords buried into the mud, the morning fog sizzling from their heated bones.
The cart had reached Atek when the pounding of cannons suddenly hit the field, a ball suddenly striking the wheels of the carts. A piece of the cart impaled the horse's legs, the pained shriek of the horse cut off when it crashed into the mud, the Aven sent flying into the air as he saw Atek grin madly at him, following him as he hit the ground. The impact cracked several ribs, the Aven gasping in pain, moving quickly as he saw Atek grab a nearby sword and charging at him, the blade pointed towards the Aven's stomach. Kicking a leg up, the Aven smashed his foot into Atek's jaw, causing him to back away slightly, giving the Aven enough time to pull his sword out, eyes darting to see a ballista coming towards both of them, the spear pointing to an open barrel.
The ballista fired, missing its target and impaling the ground next to Atek, who swung at the horse in return, the blade just missing the horse's leg. The second spear hit its mark, embedded into the puddle of fire-water. Rushing forward, the Aven grabbed the spear, striking at the metal tip with the pata and generating sparks, lighting the spear. Holding it in his hand, the Aven pointed it towards Atek, who chuckled and coughed as the broken rib continued to dig into his chest, grabbing a double-edged sword from the corpse of a kavan, charging forward and screaming wildly.
Pulling the spear near his face, the Aven pulled out a vial of fire-water, ripping the paper seal off from the top and pouring the concoction into his mouth. As Atek neared him, the Aven spat towards him, the spear's fire turning the spittle into a rain of fire, spraying at Atek and hitting the left side of his face, only for Atek to ram the sword into the meat of his lower jaw, pushing the blade up into the Aven's head before hoisting the corpse up, ending the warrior's life. For Atek, he felt blinding agony, his left eye burning fast as the flames licked at his face. Grabbing the first spear, Atek lifted it up and stabbed into his ruined eye, pulling the organ out in a spray of blood. As the mist cooled the eye down, Atek turned to face the ballista cart, now barreling towards him again; grinning madly, Atek devoured the eye and threw the spear at the driver, the gurgling shout of agony as the driver fell off met with a sigh of relief. Climbing onto the cart, another cultist followed, grabbing the reins as Atek manned the ballista, now barreling towards the gate.
The gate crashed open as the horses slammed into the metal, the guards firing madly as the cultist horde streamed in, tearing at their foes, several carrying torches and barreling towards the caches of fire-water. Jumping off, Atek rushed forward as he saw the Fog Splitter still in dock, the Red Mariners hastily pulling at the ropes still tied at the docks: grabbing a Kyran Long Bow and several bolts, he fired at the Mariners untying, hitting a few as they returned fire. Running into a nearby building to reload, several katet joined him as they fired, striking their targets in volleys. Before the last of the ropes could be untied, Atek jumped onto the deck, striking a Mariner in the throat with the Bow before tossing him into the water, a boarding party soon following as they fought the Mariners.
Slowly but surely, the cultists overwhelmed the Mariners with numbers, the corpses of both sides littering the deck as Atek executed the last of the Mariners aboard. A detachment of the Mariners on land soon spotted them and began to return fire, only to watch as the last ropes were cut and the Fog Splitter began to sail away, the cultists and Verush still within the citadel keeping a counterattack at bay. Atek sighed as he slumped against the spar, a cultist wrapping the open socket with cloth and handing him a bottle of mead, Atek chugging it as he felt the rising pain dull into throbbing. Looking at the citadel as the echoes of battle continued, he chuckled as the Fog Splitter directed its course: Varan Island.
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Post by Andromitus on Aug 10, 2018 19:26:21 GMT -5
Camelon, Lexidus
The Rohzai Legions were stretched over three streets, the Vanguard and central Battle-Group leading the charge along Camelon's main road, the four other battle-groups marking the corners of what had formed the basis of Bakahn’s urban strategy; a giant, porous Phalanx. Each corner handled its own immediate confrontations, then splitting and drawing larger groups of enemies toward the central column to be either torn apart by those in the middle, or be eviscerated by Bakahn’s spear. The battle had been pushing for what seemed like an eternity, a mixture of the insectoid creatures, corrupted civilians, and anything else the False Divine could throw at them being funneled into the human-equivalent of a meat grinder. Twice however Bakahn been forced to pull in the corners of his formation, the makeshift army shaping out like a drill to punch through or just outright avoid higher concentrations of enemies. Regardless, they were unstopping, unwavering in their advance, but they were far less than invincible; already Bakahn was starting to worry about his troop count, constantly eyeing the the sky ahead for the giant to reemerge or for any new horror to appear on the horizon. By the time they’d reached the cities interior, Bakahn had ordered the front two battle-groups to circle around the external edge of the palace while the rearguard were to remain stationed near the entrance; together the four Battle-Groups were to form proper defensive perimeter while the central Group would accompany the vanguard into the structure and mount the exterior walls to aid their comrades on the ground. Finally, Bakahn and his elites in the Vanguard would push into the structure to rendezvous with whatever central authority was left in the city, from there he hoped to increase his own troop count and begin clearing the city of the corruption from the interior out. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The clang of blades echoed in the distance as Bakahn charged into the complex, his feet sliding too a halt as he round the first bend, coming eye to eye with what he’d thought was a Lexidun guard. They were tall, equal in height, but almost instinctively the Karthagite knew something was wrong. The shadowy figures drew their blades — suddenly the emptiness of the complex’s exterior made quite a bit more sense — only to be met by a sudden flash of light, the ground shook with a boom as lighting arced its way over to the Yrutan Knights, no doubt drawing the attention of every other enemy in the near perimeter. Charging forward Bakahn parried the second figures blade before plunging his spear into it’s exposed chest, the darkened metal crumpling like paper as its magical defenses where nullified. The Vanguard continued its charge into the castle, encountering mixed resistance before the Karthagite leader ordered it’s own stall. A lone man’s cry shook the air around them, a cry not of pain but the universal and unmistakable sound of loss. The group continued on, eyeing the landscape around them before they reached the exterior courtyard and was met with the remnants of a battlefield. Bodies were strewn over the floor, one man lay kneeling on the ground bleeding from his side, cradling a corpse and crying relentlessly; then there was the other, shrowded in similar coverings to the array of knights already encountered. Bakahn didn’t wait for a sign. “AĒL IH’MAHN!” His war cry surged through the courtyard, quickly being echoed by the other Rohzai before the Vanguard broke ranks. Four dualistic pairs charged forward in different directions to disorient the last man standing; With a second cry Bakahn rushed the figure, raising his weapon in a downwards slash, sparks of electricity coiling around it’s white blade.
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Post by Unfallious on Aug 16, 2018 15:53:19 GMT -5
Maech rose from where he had been thrown. He glanced quickly around as the men rode in. They looked like savages, horseriding barbarians from the centre realm. What could they be doing here? He scarcely had time to ponder the question when the lead man ran at him with a fearsome war cry. Maech brought his sword up to meet the spear and impacted with a clang and a fizzling spark. That was when Maech noticed the magical properties of the lead man's weapon. He had been so caught up in the arrival of these mysterious new men he had scarcely registered the sheet white blade and its coiling electricity. This wasn't just a magic weapon conjured by the cheap tricks of some necromancer, this was a divine relic. It was godly. He went in on the attack, slashing and thrusting at the man, only to have his attacks parried and blocked. His sword no longer felt blessed with unending sharpness and strength. It felt....nullified.
As the man blocked another of his attacks Maech let out a cry. "Who are you?"
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Post by Percyton on Aug 18, 2018 0:09:55 GMT -5
Royal Castle, Peel Godred, Dual Kingdom of the Isles Burnett Stone and Percy of Avonsida
It had now been a few weeks since the end of the festival and Duke Adam’s departure. Chief Driver Burnett Stone and Locomati page Percy of Avonsida stood in a dimly lit room, in a room filled with potions and maps. While on paper Percy was a staff member under the new Locomati ambassador to Godred’s court, Countess Molly of Claude-Hamilton, in reality, he was a confidante and agent of Grand Duke Thomas, seeking information on the fugitive Diesalion X. Burnett Stone likewise sought to capture Diesalion and bring him to justice, but he also had his own goal: neutralizing the sinister P.T. Boomerius at court and exposing him for his misdeeds (whatever they were; Burnett had yet to pin anything definitive on Boomerius, though he had his suspicions). Percy and Burnett had grown close, establishing a partnership to eliminate their respective enemies and protect their monarchs.
Today, the two were looking over a map of the Locomati Isles, tracking rumors and reported sightings of Diesalion. But Burnett wasn’t too optimistic. “It’s all just noise!” he cried. “Just people being paranoid and seeing things which aren’t there. I bet more than half of these are of people who aren’t Diesalion.”
“There’s a good chance a lot of this is false, that is true,” Percy replied, “but there’s also a good chance at least some of these reports are on to something, and we need to examine each one.”
“I suppose. I just wish we had more solid information. Chasing Diesalion is like chasing a phantom, and pinning something on Boomerius is just as difficult.”
“Be patient,” Percy consoled. “We’ll—“ Before Percy could go on, he heard footsteps coming down the hall. Without a word, he and the Chief Driver hastily attempted to hide their maps and other work. But they had only partly finished that task when the door creaked open, and a young Locomati girl appearing to be around young teenage stood in the doorway.
“What are you doing here!?!” Burnett demanded angrily. “This is a private meeting, and you’re not allowed here!” Percy stood calmly and silently; he was actually rather confused, as he somehow recognized this girl.
“It’s okay,” the young girl replied. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Is that so?” Percy asked. “And what do you think we’re doing?”
The girl paused before saying “I think you’re talking about how to get rid of Boomerius and Diesalion.”
Percy and Burnett stood in silence. They were stunned that this barely-teenage girl has correctly guessed, but they were hesitant to confirm her suspicions. “And what made you suspect that?” Burnett asked.
“I overheard you two talking in the west hallway a couple days ago. You really need to be more discreet with these kinds of things.” Percy and Burnett blushed and awkwardly made circles with their feet. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell,” the girl added. “In fact, I want to help you two.”
“And why should we accept your help?” Burnett asked.
“Because,” the girl replied. “I’m Boomerius’ daughter.”
There was a long silence.
“I… I don’t understand,” Burnett stuttered.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” the girl explained. “And I’m not actually his daughter; it’s more of an adoptive thing. My name is Flora, by the way. Flora of Traimingen.”
“That’s where I know you from!” Percy cried. “You’re one of the fellow members of Countess Molly’s staff.”
“Yes,” Flora replied. “Guess you didn’t notice me much, seeing as you’re always busy with Burnett elsewhere.”
“But how did the adoptive daughter of P.T. Boomerius end up here?”
“I’ll start from the beginning,” Flora said, as she started her tale. “You see, I’m from a subspecies of the Locomati known as the Tramini Locomati.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of them,” Burnett interrupted. “A bit smaller and a bit more square in shape than a regular Locomati, but otherwise extremely similar.”
“Yes,” Flora confirmed. “As I was saying, I lived with my fellow Tramini in the city of Tramingen. However, one day, when I was just past a toddler, something strange happened. I had gone to a faraway village to stay with some family friends. When they brought me home, the village was in smoldering ruins, and my parents and almost all of the people in the village were gone. Only a handful of people were left, including the Grand Duke’s current interior minister Toby of Ulfstead.”
“What happened?” Percy asked.
“I don’t know. They weren’t any reports of raiders or enemy armies nearby, and none of the nearby settlements reported a natural disaster like an earthquake. I met Toby and some of the other survivors a few times afterwards, but they were never willing to talk about it. As for me, the family friends tried to raise me as their own, but they were killed a few days later by bandits, leaving only a brief note explaining what had happened to anyone who found me. I was left alone. That is, until a dark and mysterious bearded man saw me and took me in.”
“P.T. Boomerius,” Burnett seethed.
Flora nodded. “He raised me as his own, and while I was at first afraid of him, I soon found out he could be a very kind and gentle man. And while I quickly came to love him as a father, I noticed how he would often withdraw to his private study to practice his strange magic. I knew from a young age that this magic was nothing good, and that it could only lead to bad things. Eventually, Boomerius told me of his ambition to spread Yrutan corruption over the land and make the whole world a dominion of Yrutas, and he said he wanted me to help him reach that goal when I was older.
“At the time I said I would do it, but only because I felt I had no choice; how could you possibly refuse the man who was your father in all but name? I didn’t actually want to help him, and I tried to figure out a way I could escape from him without him suspecting anything. That was when I saw a poster in the town square recruiting for the Locomati Foreign Minstry. I knew this was what I was looking for. I told him I wanted to join the diplomatic corps, and eventually, he agreed. This was just before Boomerius went to offer his services to King Godred, so I guess he figured it would be a good way for me to stay occupied while he did his work, and that he could just come and get me when he needed me.
“Ever since then, I kinda just kept my head down at the diplomatic service and hoped I would never run into Boomerius. Obviously that didn’t work. But when I heard you two discussing Boomerius and Diesalion, I knew that this was my chance to stop his evil plans.”
“But Boomerius is only half of what we’re doing,” Percy explained. “We’re going after Diesalion, and Diesalion is arguably the more pressing target.”
“You act like the two are separate.”
“What do you mean?”
Flora sighed. “A couple days ago,” she said, “Boomerius pulled me aside about a vision he had. He mentioned something about how a clawed figure would serve as Yrutas’ agent on Earth and bring about the corruption. He thought the dominance of Yrutas was coming. Diesalion is missing around the same time, Diesalion has a claw birthmark…”
“You think Yrutas had a vision of Diesalion?” Percy asked.
“I’d say so,” Flora responded. “And when the time is right, I think Boomerius will try to team up with Diesalion.”
Burnett was still skeptical. “I don’t think a supposed Yrutas vision is a reliable source,” he scoffed. “And even if the vision is true, Diesalion is a Myratnis worshipper I believe, not a Yrutas worshipper.”
“People can be converted,” Flora replied. “It wasn’t too long ago that the Locomati followed Rigma. And if the rumors about Diesalion are true, he may be quite receptive to a powerful and dark deity like Yrutas.”
Burnett shook his head. “I still think this is all just conjecture. We can’t verify any of what Flora is telling us.”
“That may be so,” Percy said, “but it’s the best we’ve got, and I trust her. I think she could be a big help.”
Burnett sighed. “Fine! She can join. Welcome to the Anti-Diesalion, Anti-Boomerius Team, Flora.”
Camelon Castle, Camelon, Lexidus Dual Kingdom diplomatic delegation to Lexidus
Reynold, Fergus, and Paton were startled. Corruption? Darkness? Beasts? What was happening? The delegates had barely begun processing these events when two courtiers scurried them and their small staff out of the throne room toward the lower chambers of the castle. The group practically ran down stairs and secret passageways, until arriving in a small, dimly-lit room a few levels below.
“You should be safe here,” one of the courtier who escorted them said. “When the coast is clear, we shall get you out of the capital, and preferably on the next boat out of Redan.”
“Thank you very much, kind sirs,” Reynold replied, still somewhat shaken. “We are indebted to you.”
“Think nothing of it,” the second courtier said. “We’re only serving our liege King Blair.”
“I hope the King will be alright,” Fergus de Cementia interjected. “I’m worried he’s going to try and fight this strange army.”
“Our King is a brave and courageous man!” the first courtier insisted. “He will defeat these monsters, or die trying!”
“Die trying is what I’m worried about…” Fergus replied before his words drifted off. There was a long silence. At last, Paton of Brendam spoke up.
“Whatever happens,” Paton says, “we can’t abandon Lexidus. There’s still hope.”
“Agreed,” Reynold of Killdane responded. “Here’s what I’m thinking: When the coast is clear, all of us will go to the Port of Redan. Fergus and I will catch a boat to the islands known as Titenfesca. They’re not far from here, and from the reports I’ve heard, the Titenfescans are allies of Lexidus, and we can ask them for help on Lexidus’ behalf.”
Fergus nodded at this. “We will make sure the Titenfescans spare no expense in aiding the noble Lexidun people!” he exclaimed.
“As for you, Paton,” Reynold continued, “if you’re up to it, I’d like you and most of the staff to stay behind in Redan. You’ll set up a makeshift embassy there and keep on top of Lexidun affairs as best you can. Consider yourself the Dual Kingdom’s chargé d'affaires in Lexidus until things settle down. It could be dangerous if the corruption spreads outside of Camelon, so it’s entirely up to you if you want to take the risk.”
Paton nodded. “I’m up for it, Reynold. I won’t let you or the Kingdom down!”
“Your kingdom or ours?” the second courtier asked.
“Both,” Paton replied with a smile.
Countryside near Middletown, Northern Locomati Island, Dual Kingdom of the Isles Norman and Sidney
The sun rose on another day. The fugitive courtiers Norman and Sidney were still by the dead tree, Norman standing and keeping watch, and Sidney sitting under the tree trying in vain to remove his boot. After much struggle, he gave up. “Nothing to be done,” Sidney said to himself.
“You still trying to remove that Myrantisforsaken boot?” Norman asked, his voice a mixture of confusion and annoyance.
“Yeah,” Sidney replied.
“Why?”
Sidney thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just a habit at this point.”
“A habit, eh?” Norman questioned as he turned to face his companion.
“Yep.” There was a pause. “Do you have any habits, Norm?”
“Well,” Norman began as he thought. “Sometimes when I’m feeling down I’ll pace the floor.”
A look of understanding dawned on Sidney. “Oooh! It all makes sense now! That’s why you were pacing last night!”
“I wasn’t pacing!” Norman replied angrily. “I was just keeping watch from multiple perspectives.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“You never know when or where Diesalion will strike. He’s like a snake that way.”
“But snakes aren’t chancellors. And they don’t have claw birthmarks.”
“It was a figure of speech, you dolt!” Norman shouted.
“Pipe down, Norm,” Sidney whispered in response. “You never know who could be listening. It could be Diesalion.”
“Oh, so NOW you’re worried about Diesalion? How typical.”
“Typical of what?”
“Typical of… of…” Norman stuttered. “Ah, forget it! It’s not worth trying to explain it!”
“Ok,” Sidney responded. There was a silence. Finally, Sidney spoke up again. “We should probably get moving soon.”
“Yeah, we should.” This time, however, they really did get moving, though not until the next morning.
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Post by Andromitus on Aug 26, 2018 14:35:26 GMT -5
Camelon, Lexidus
Bakahn took a step back, twisting his feet to maintain his momentum before blocking one of the mans attacks and thrusting forward, his blade glancing off the side of his armor — where cracks starting to form? He could barely tell, but he could feel himself relying on the Spear’s anti-magic more and more; no wonder the Rohzai appealed to the Forefather. He recoiled slightly as the shroud-of-a-man went on the offensive. Bakahn blocked the first attack and shouted a command to the rest of the Vanguard to stay back — the last thing he needed was to get them in range of this corrupted monstrosity. That was when he noticed the obvious, he almost laughed that he hadn’t seen it earlier; just as he began to put weight on the Spear’s abilities, so too had this man put his weight on magic. Magic that was suddenly far less than reliable. Bakahn parried then pushed forward again before the man spoke. But he spoke in Karatha? “Who are you?!” the Shroud yelled out, the surprise alone took him aback — he could understand what the man was saying? Bakahn cried out again, taking a sharp step back and shifting his stance to slash from the side. The air around him started to hum as static began to coil up from the base of the spear toward its tip. The white-blade hissed sideways through the air in a “C” motion; a sharp clang rang out as it glanced against the mans sword in armor, volts of electricity discharged in an instant flowing through the mans blade into his metal armor. The accompanying shockwave shook them both as pockets of air heated and cavitated; Bakahn recoiled before widening his base in another combat-stance, retorting in his mother tongue. “Bakahn al-Kwharafi, not that it’ll matter for much longer.”
Khampet, Kfam’brum
Dijn knew what was coming before she saw it, the roar itself was unmistakable for those working along the border — Kamahn. She turned around with a jolt revealing a silver whistle hung around her neck, releasing three long notes the fortress behind her responded by snuffing out the lights, every torch, brazier, and candle along its exterior centers was cut out just as the monstrous creature came crashing forward. It took her only a moment to regather her thoughts as one of the outsiders got his chest torn open, in front of her the gates of the fortress began to slide vertically, thick metal plates pivoting and sealing against each other forming a single unbroken sheet of alchemical bronze. Above the keystone, holes in the wall defended with metal bars allowed for a long-range counterattack against would-be invaders; just as the Gate began to slide shut the gleam of Ballista came into view, each being loaded with thick bolts filled with green liquid. Northern Kamahn where distant cousins to their Asilic varieties but unlike their relatives to the South who favored ambush predation, they where far more aggressive — although this mean they required a much larger stream of oxygen to stay active. There was a second whistle in response to hers by the time she passed through the closing gate view of the battle behind her turning grim; Even if they were beasts, Dijn couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry, War Alchemy was rather general in who it targeted. The Gates locked with a loud click, at this point resembling a single metallic sheet; another whistle rang through the cavern over the beasts roars and the Ballista fired their first volley. 5 sît —bamboo-analogue— bolts slid through the air, each was almost as long as a person but none seemed to aim for a particular target, instead each landed with a thud in a rough line along the battlefield around the creature. The bolts splintered on impact, the liquid inside fizzling and boiling on contact with the air forming thick, foamy clouds of green smoke. The smoke spread over the battlefield, quickly engulfing the Kamahn; the hot gas clung to the monsters chitinous hide, sticking to every pour and clogging its tracheae. The monster reared and slinked back away from the smoke roaring as a thick wall of green separated it from its prey; flesh rats, smaller creatures, found their joints and porous hides filled with the weapon — individuals inside the veil backing away to get out, coughing violently as the gas clung to their skin like a paste. A second whistle call and the creature, expecting another volley, roar again in anticipation, continuing to back up, scratching wildly along its head, joints, and side trying desperately to scrape the substance off. The Gas was quick to begin dissipating, breaking up and clinging to the caverns ceiling, walls, and floor, the cloud itself only filling a small fraction of the cave, but the effect in and of itself was noticeable. All along the Asilic side of the fighting, an uproar of whistles and strange clicking could be heard as the gas began to dissipate; almost in response the creature reared on its hind legs in fury. The Asil responded with a second volley, this time from a dispatch of crossbowmen, and standard steel bolts cut through the lowlight toward the creature.
Volthazaan, Arcthaur
The Lawspeaker stroked her chin as the other members of the High Curate streamed into the building. She leant back toward the assortment of Generals around her, asking on an array of topics from the size of the mideastern rebellion to the progress of the Southern Army. "Again, Lawspeaker, the Rebels make communication difficult but from what we've gathered they're less of a rebellion and more of an armed militia controlling key arteries along the Verdant Corridor (a wide strip of highly arable land connecting the north and south of the country). But because of the regions they've chose, we're essentially cut off from the Southern Army in its entirety." "That's not all Sister," one of the Generals interjected, "we've received the first message from what we believe to be the rebel leadership; they've listed demands." She let out a sigh of exasperation before raising her hands to the mass of people walking into the room; "Thank you Curators, if you could all take your seats we can begin—" She was cut off by one of the men below her, "Not so fast, Sister, since we've arrived you've given us half the information we need." She pursed her lips, great, a ringleader, "now, there are raiders pushing past the Northern Border, we plan to slaughter our own citizens to break a rebellion, and we're no closer to choosing another Ahnsijn than when we started!" There was a chorus of approval from the other Curators, "So now, as I believe I speak for all of us, we have our questions for you; what is your plan? who is the prospective Ahnsijn? and where, where, Sister, is the other Lawspeaker?"
Tahkametz, Tzypet Thaur
• • • • • • • • Four Days Earlier • • • • • • • •
The orange glow of braziers poured out from the thick, wide stone archway in front of them. Kosa let out a breath of releif as their riverboat slid through the gate and into the long, carved docks of Tahkametz. Since their turn-away from Ixthenpijn, Kosa and the rest of the Frontier-Survivors had since pushed toward the city, a small fishing settlement, to gather medical supplies for their journey toward the Tzypet interior. Like Ixaleft, Tahkametz was a small grotto city, all of it's buildings and roadways coming in the form of chambers and tunnels snaking along a pre-planned grid around the underriver. There was very little natural land in this region, the geography around them confined to tight, snaking cavern tunnels filled with water — all in all the quintassential stereotype of the Underground. The water shimmered brighter as their long craft jostled the blue-green bacteria of the river, the riverboat cutting left as it chose to fill one of the –surprisingly numerous– open spots of the harbor. They were met almost immedietly by city officials, clad in red-brown robes with a yellow trim the group of four men approached them hesitently, members of the local garrison eying the craft and its inhabitants suspiciously. Kosa didn't bother getting up to greet them, letting the Ixaleft officials that escaped with them do the talking; although with his lack of knowledge on the Southern-Asilic tongues, he doubted he could contribute much to begin with. He felt someone patting his shoulder, one of the Ixaleft officials signaled for him to get up, at this point he was fit enough to help unload alongside the others. They worked in groups with the natives, helping to carry the army of sick and wounded off of their thin riverboat and into the cities kfahl, or hospital. Children watched, wide-eyed at the procession dragging through the wide plaza-chambers of the city center. The construction was standard of the modern regime, the cavern floor and walls were kept separate by thick drains cut into the ground to outflow water. The floor itself was made uniquely flat, religious symbology and calligraphs carved at the Plazas epicenter. The city itself was practically defined by these Plaza, interconnected by thin allyways and themselves acting as marketplaces or wells, leading to differently elevated levels of the city — if Tahkametz could even be called that, especially after everything going on. With failing investments and little profit in the warzone that was the Frontier, merchant-caste activity had all but ceased in Tzypet. The Authority's Iylmirix Policy probably hadn't helped with the situation either. As they passed into the cities Marketplace, one of two, it became blatantly obvious. Most of the shops and set-ups had been dismantled, and from the looks of the different lines and activity presented by City-Officials, the community had taken to the use of rations. Pray to God their harvests continued to bear fruit. Cutting a path in between through an ally, the Kfahl came into view; it was elevated off of the floor, archways beneath it leading into it's storage places, and easily took up most of the cavern wall, three huge stone staircases led into its wide entrances, masses of people streaming in and out. Kyasii banners hung inbetween trapezoidal stained-glass windows, hung taught and barely swaying against the cavern air. Different groups of people parted as they approached, and quicly they were met by a vareity of Kfahl practicioners, sending aids to prepare beds and supplies to help, as it seems, they weren't the only patients flooding the house of medicine. It hit like plague, they said, two of the cities three districts had been set to quarentine as the sick were cleared out, but by this point they only knew it was in the water and that it could be avoided by a mixture of boiling and imbued idolaltry, both of which were readily available.
Kaaln, Ixthenpijn Interior
Sounds of dockwork permeated the air, harbor locks resembling hollow spiders composed of thick metal rods hung over each of dock ports. Ropes running from wheels at the top rapped around extended spines of each boat, hoisting and suspending the vessels out of the water. Squadrons of Workers fluttered around the harbor, stacking crates of foodstuffs and military equipment while applying extra layers of knackra resin (a flame retardant) to the undersides of the ships. A'yill stretched his arms as he stepped out of his cabin, a raised structure near the stern of his vessel which one of the only ones in the water and being properly stocked, having just finished what little paperwork was left. Looking out he saw the entire operation, supplies that'd come in over the past few months from other Thaur, as well as the expanded pool of Soldiers available put them at the largest the Southern Army had been in decades, easily dwarfing the two previous expeditions against the Horde. He stopped as his eyes fell on the girl, Alzeih; she'd been given a similar uniform to him and was standing above the docks observing the entire operation. Unbeknownst to him, with the help of the Priest-caste Girl she’d already begun pouring over the different records of the Armada, maps of the region, and any scraps of knowledge available to them on the enemy. How was he going to do this...she may be blessed but God doesn't give reward freely. He sighed, she was only accompanying them his disciple but even then she could barely read. He stretched his arms up again as the horns for midday prayer echoed throughout the cavern, this campaign was going to be something else isn’t it he thought as he followed the other workers finishing up the last bits of their jobs toward prayer mats provided along the docks by the Temple. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Zaham was enthralled by the girl in front of her, she'd given her as much information as she could about combat and the growing armada below them and Alzeih had soaked it up like a moss. They were both roughly the same age, sharing the light blue-tinted skin of Southern Veiamarr setting them apart from their greyer northern cousins. There was something about this girl that set her apart from the rest of her Caste — it wasn't some work of God, but a combination of a stellar memory and a brutal intellect hidden deep behind the poor education afforded to her people. It really was fascinating, the modesty of the Lower-Caste was still stuck in her mannerisms and her accent was as thick as any other of her people, but she lacked the usual complicity of the under castes. Although she couldn’t help but feel a little out of touch with her new disciple — Alzeih would be far less then a stellar footnote in her record if her divine intervention turned out to be plain luck. The Lower-Castes did always have a knack for that didn’t they. “Sister?” Alzeih’s voice caught her attention, “would you help me with this?” In her hands was thin field notebook handed out to lower-ranking commanders; in particular she was pointing to an array of 5 Characters — ēel akáar váaom poor nākra’àma. “3rd Era Naval Strategy….” She paused, the final two characters didn’t make sense. War Alchemy? • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The first official meeting was held in the flagship, a mixture of the Upper-Echelon Commanders, Corporals, members of the Priesthood, and of course, Alzeih. The room itself was actually rather cramped for so many people, the ship around them a mix of Sît —a wood native to the Underground— and plates of steel. To begin the discussion all present had put forth a nomination to appoint a new Admiral — the nomination going to A’yill as the eldest and most experience among them from his time along the western border with the Magna Tabes. Although apart from the recently filled General’s Desk, there wasn’t much in the way of furniture for all of them, as such many resigned to take seats around the room either on small stools or mats on the ground. Alzeih glanced to the Priestess, Zaham, beside her who happened to look just as, if not more, confused as her. In all reality before the enhanced Fire, whatever it was called, used in the Battle for Ixthenpijn the most “Alchemy” she’d encountered was the Sahktet fire used to illuminate the Jodenhaur Interior (the portion below ground). But after what she’d seen she guessed it made a kind of sense? Alchemy specialized in warfare; Alchemy specialized to kill. “What else are we armed with?” A’yill spoke up, “Alchemical Fire’s never an all-battle option so we’re going to have to get creative.” That’s what it was called, Alchemical Fire — she winced as she remembered the writhing masses of the Horde, white-blue fire licking at their hides with a malice. Another few voices picked up, listing a variety of names off the tops of their heads, chief among them (and the quickest to be confirmed by the Priests): Saána Gas. Lucky for her Zaham spoke up first; “Saána Gas?” “It’s a green, light liquid that boils on contact with the air; relatively easy to produce with a proper Alchemic-Forge; but importantly for us it settles quickly after deployment.” A’yill responded, “it stings the eyes and chokes on contact, clinging to the skin and clogging ones orifices. It’s used in the north to repel wild animals moving south from Kuora.” “And how much of this Gas do we have?” Alzeih spoke up, eyes glanced toward her (some in annoyance) but A’yill continued on unfazed. “56 Crates holding 50 Canisters; more than enough for a string of battles but the problem is extent — we’re talking about an entire campaign here without a formal resupply.” Through a collection of murmurs a Marshall spoke up, “Then we can isolate our usage to siege events and focus on Oils and brunt force for open encounters; for a fact we’re landing in Katakaf along the Tzypet border with Ixthenpijn, we know the Horde is weakened and avoids anti magic so there’s a good chance that Temple and perhaps even the storages were ignored meaning depending on the damage to the settlement we could hope for a proper resupply on wares there.” More mumbles of approval shot around the room, A’yill himself nodding his head in agreement before raising his hand to hold a vote. 7 of the 30 Commanders and Priests kept their hands lowered. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The last boat hit the water with a loud crack, and as if on cue it was met with an army of Laborers filling its storages to the brim with everything its crew would need to join the rapidly advancing force designated as “The Southern Armada”. The fleet consisted of 45 “long-bough” warships located in key positions at the corners, sides, and center of the Fleet; accompanying the primary vessels were a total of 178 lesser warships, each vessel holding a mixture of Warrior-Caste and Conscripts. Alzeih breathed in the watery air, being this close to the rivers meant a near constant state of extreme humidity but at this point she was fairly used too it. Located on one of the interior Warships, she looked around her, the Armada quickly gaining a proper heading as it barreled through the channel leading into the Eastern-Jodenhaur River. There was a deafening crack in the distance, all eyes quickly looking ahead, the blue-light of the river streaming toward a shift in the cracked rocks forming the cavern wall. The smooth stone blocks of the Eastern Thaur-Gate towered overhead, a huge Ihlmket taking up most of its center. Just ahead of the Armada the water started to churn, huge black spots on either side of the gate burst open as a flood over water surged through the locks, another crack ran through the air as the stone plates began to unlock, swiveling on their axis, water suddenly rushing through into Jodenhaur. With another crack the 82 stone plates began to lift themselves out of the water, the forward, middle, and latter boats all quickly rocking as the surge of water reached them.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Sept 26, 2018 0:12:24 GMT -5
Varan Delta "Ready the lines, the Fog Splitter comes for us!" Xalkayr watched as the messengers rode through the assembled forces, the 1st Kotek Honor Guard among them, applying war paint and attaching feathers to their armor as the priests moved among the lines, anointing them with blue and white paints. Placing his helmet on, Xalkayr looked in the mirror: a coat of plates covered the blouse and trousers he normally wore, while a scaled cuirass laid above it. His legs were covered with cuisses and greaves, his arms with spaulders and vambraces. His helmet was mostly flat, save a shock of feathers and straightened horse hair, dyed black and running vertically down. His left shoulder held the head of a kamahn, while wolf pelts ran down to his legs.
Nodding, he grabbed his swords and shield, the shrunken pavise covering the hilt of the kaskara, while the double-edged sword rested on his back above the pelts, and he gripped the kriegsmesser in his left hand. Stepping out, he found Vortex standing in front of him, having discarded his robes in favor of a long cloak, a scaled cuirass covering his body while he also shared the cuisses/greave set. His arms were bare, however, and he instead held a spatha on his right hand and a shortened ax on his left, his entire left arm covered in throwing knives. Nodding, Vortex stated, "We gathered enough people willing to summon a Valnare, my duties have been prepared, and the last orders I have penned are being sent to the Temples across Kyras: allow me one last prayer to the Warfather and I will join you to kill the heretic." Xalkayr nodded as well, "The sacrifice that you will make today shall be sung for all time: may you forever be known not as Vortex ka-T'Reinat, but as Vortex ka-T'Rigma, Son of the Warfather and Herald of His Messages. Make your prayer, and ensure that he will oversee our victory against Atek den-Ten'saii."
Vortex walked from the camp overlooking the delta and found the statue of Rigma before him, less of the recognizably-human snarling figure inside the Librerija, but more of a giant winged beast, the armor usually associated with Him now covered in chains, skulls, and spikes, one of His massive arms hoisting a fallen warrior clad in armor, the other wielding a serrated ax with ease: from the angle at which he saw Him, Vortex felt that the visage of Rigma was now swinging His ax at him, almost as if turning on his loyal follower. Bending to one knee, Vortex drew the spatha across the palm of one of his hands, the blood now pouring onto the pedestal of the Warfather, whispering as he lifted his hand to feed Rigma his blood,
"Feroten Vest-na, Kanakht Haiten Xarot Veresh'ak Jaran Za'val Horot, Ak-Voron Kan Met-ka Zavan Ko-jan Het Varet, Ye 'Na Kodan Xoval Kanakht Fer Tev-at, Arv'ashan Et X'arvat Nok'hat Dren'an Orox, Haren Kentan Eret've Heret vek Aeran, Arv-khot Shan Met Za-ek Xet, Teme Oron Kan Shanat, Shanat, Shanat, Shanat, Shanat, Shanat, Shanat (Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill)"
He felt himself grow weak, the statue seemingly glowing at its eyes, only for him to feel the familiar wave of heat as his vision instead swam towards the Magna Tabes, a beam of light coming from the center as the familiar roars of the corrupted hit his ears, a figure of fire and ash walking towards him: he felt no fear as the visage neared him, maw dripping with blood before him, calmly reaching a hand out as he whispered, "That lunatic has got you all wrong, we are presenting what you truly represent to the people, your eons of slumber are at an end, and the slaughter shall wash over this continent of madness. I give myself to you, Father, lend me strength for my last battle, and I will give you the blood of Ten'saii."
The figure nodded as it bent over, stabbing a finger through Vortex's hand, "Arga-e Tovot, Shanat ka Veirut," (Rip and tear, kill all before you), before unleashing a deafening roar of ash into Vortex's face. The world swam back to him, and he stood as he saw the hertag and Aegelse before him, hands linked and holding a scroll before him, "Grand Master, the message has been delivered to the Monasteru, they have agreed to the ecclesiastical terms." Vortex nodded, grabbing the scroll and stating, "Both of you are excused from this battle: join the civilians and ensure that your lives are forever in peace, for your duties to Him have been achieved. Ten'saii will die today, I will see to that." They both nodded, walking away as he walked back to Xalkayr's side.
"I trust that He heard what you said?" "A thousand times over, General: He has given the orders to kill, Ten'saii is and never was His messenger - are the members of the Falanx here as well?" Xalkayr nodded as the bruised forms of the other Generals and Admirals laid before them, "They are: once they are delivered, you will have the first blood for the summoning and the reforms can begin." "Very well, I shall go now to do my last duties." "Grand Master." "Yes, Xalkayr?" Vortex turned, Xalkayr drawing him into an embrace, "May you forever bring the Words of War to His foes." Vortex smiled as he returned the embrace before pulling away, "I will make certain that when your time to deliver vengeance comes, that there are still enemies of the Warfather for you to slay."
The line saw the Fog Splitter finally come forward, Ten'saii standing behind the draconic figurehead, arms splayed out as he roared, "HAVE YOU COME TO DELIVER YOURSELVES TO HIS GRACE, DEAR BROTHERS?!" Xalkayr walked forward, firing back, "NO: RATHER, HIS DELIVERANCE STANDS BEFORE YOU, ATEK DEN-TEN'SAII: YOU HAVE FORSAKEN HIM AND WILL PAY FOR IT IN BLOOD!" Vortex approached as well, yelling, "ATEK, YOU STAND BEFORE THE MORTAL REPRESENTATIVE OF THE WARFATHER'S JUDGMENT: HE HAS DECIDED THAT YOU WERE NEVER WORTHY OF HIS WRATH. HERE IS HIS BENEDICTION - ARGA-E TOVOT, SHANAT KA VEIRUT!"
The response was swift: Atek roared in outrage and turned his head back, growling, "FIRE ALL WEAPONS UPON THESE FOOLS: GIVE HIM RUIN AND SATE HIS HUNGER WITH THEIR BLOOD!" The archers began to prime themselves: Vortex saw this and turned to the arbalists standing before the sacrifices, who promptly fired upon the bounded crowd, their blood pooling as Vortex finally felt the rage surge within him, finally turning to face the Fog Splitter, "HE GIVES HIS CALL OF RIGHTEOUSNESS - MAY YOU FULFILL THE PURCHASE OF TREACHERY WITH YOUR ENTRAILS!"
He felt his right arm dissolve, the flesh and bone now wreathed in flame as they baked first into ash, then sand, and finally, glass: the bodies began to face a similar fate, a strong gust now gathering the remnants. Swinging the stump in the direction of the Fog Splitter, Vortex grinned madly as he roared, "TRY TO FORCE THROUGH THIS STORM, SON OF TEN'SAII!" The Valnare roared with natural hunger, the gust swinging from the delta's banks to reach the small flotilla of ships, a rain of glass smashing through the wood. The twing of the strings echoed with futility as the Valnare swallowed them, the screams of the rebels coming as the ships began to snap.
Atek saw the massive wall of sand and yelled out, "JUMP OFF: WE'LL FACE THEM WHEN THE STORM WEAKENS," before jumping off the side of the ship, looking from the waves as the sand turned the surface into mud. Vortex whipped the mud with the wind, sending the newly-formed pillars into the hulls, sparks from the glass and metal setting flame to all that could feed it. More men began to jump off, swimming to the shore as the ships were destroyed: as they emerged from the waves, the lines finally broke off to fight them, the regimented approach beginning to snap as the Kotek felt their rage boil over, especially as they saw the Verush emerge from some of the ships.
Atek emerged, standing as he felt the sand scrape at his skin, holding his sword and ax in both hands, "XALKAYR! I AM HERE: IF YOU ARE TRULY THE STRONGEST OF THIS FALANX, THEN FACE ME NOW!" Xalkayr gripped his kriegsmesser tightly, teeth bared with the hunger of war forcing through, "I SHALL, YOU LOWLY RAIDER SCUM." Pushing through the lines, the two met and the clash of blades commenced. Vortex felt his strength ebb: while he had destroyed the ships, enough men had the power to swim from the wrecks to face their last battle, fighting with the ferocity of animals. By now, the summoning had taken the entirety of his arm, the right side of his face and right eye, along with his legs and some of his organs, leaving an open maw of red on the left side of his torso, but he persisted. Gathering the last of his consciousness, he directed a gust of wind and pushed it towards the attackers already on the shore, knocking some back a few feet or sending them to the ground, "XALKAYR!" The General looked back, watching as Vortex finally slumped to his right side, the crackling skin turning into ash, "I have done my duty," he whispered, vocal cords now beginning to dissolve, "Make my sacrifice whole and kill that bastard once and for all," he said as he smiled one last time, finally bursting into a cloud of ash.
Xalkayr watched for several seconds, only to turn with a snarl of rage, red filling his vision as he ran towards Atek, who had been brought to his knee by the blast, wheezing as he felt his fractured rib snap off and dig into his lung. Looking up, he grunted with pain as he felt the kriegsmesser embed itself under his lungs, Xalkayr pulling him up as he pushed the kriegsmesser through the bone and metal, "I will not surrender to you, Xalkayr: kill me now, but heed my words. All you have done is prove me right: peace is impossible, war is necessary. You will lead this country to destroy all who stand against us, just like He wanted. Rigma is a fickle god, but his hunger for blood, fire, and war overrides who feeds him his desires. May you forever kill all that stand against you, General." Chuckling madly, Atek watched calmly as Xalkayr ripped the blade out with a roar, throwing it aside and pulling the double-edged sword from its spot and hack into him, spurts of blood and the ripping of tendons not disturbing Atek. Finally, with one last grunt, he slammed the sword into the back of Atek's neck, grabbing the blade with his hands and yanking forward with all his might: Atek's head fell off, landing at Xalkayr's feet - lifting it up, Xalkayr let out a bellow of success, "ATEK DEN-TEN'SAII IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE REPUBLIC: LONG LIVE THE WARFATHER!"
Kahmpet Tahra gasped with agony as she felt her lungs fill with fire, the tribe only able to let out gargled yells as they felt themselves beginning to suffocate: whatever the Asilic warriors had fired was killing them along with the beast. Turning around, she saw the Warrior limp towards the Seer, both now reduced to pitiful and terrified creatures as they huddled together, seemingly accepting their fate, looking at Tahra with understanding eyes.
'I tried,' she thought as thick tears, now mixed with blood, began to run, 'I tried to save all of you, to give a better life for everyone, to leave the thought of battle behind, but they just couldn't let us through. Looks like Asil and Kyras really can't get along.' Feeling the ebbing fire inside her beginning to dissipate, she lifted a hand up and prayed as hard as possible, hoping that a spark could come. The tribe now did similar, small flickers emerging as they began to light the air. The wave of fire washed fast towards the creature, burning the gas up, roasting the Flesh Rats and their offspring alive. As Tahra slumped to the ground, she felt the comforting void and flames of the Warfather finally envelop her and the tribe.
The beast growled, feeling the bolts rip through its flesh and the horrid air burn at it: looking at the quarry it had been following, it sensed that they had all succumbed to the same thing. Chemicals activated inside of it, enzymes coursing through its blood vessels as it began to resist the air, the fires cooking the integument and washing the substance off. Spotting the gate closed and the figure slipping through, it let out a deafening roar as it charged upwards, coiling its tail to reach into the post, tearing one of the arbalists in half and sending her corpse into her compatriots. Barreling through, it tore at the warriors, tracking the first one by the scent of dried blood: spotting her, it roared as it leaped, its one remaining front talon disemboweling her and tearing one of her legs off, ripping into her with ravenous hunger.
Alcove above Kahmpet "By the Warfather, a fucking Flesh Dragon tracked them down before we did," the hertag whispered in shock, watching as he saw the gas finally dissipate and the beast force its way into the fortress. As word of Azkalon's rebellion went above ground, the Monastery at Kep'l Merta had dispatched him to track down Tahra an-Fenrox and bring her in for questioning. His attempts at getting through the cave-in had been for naught and was forced to barrel through an unexplored cavern linking to it: having stumbled out, he was preparing to retrieve them when he heard the roars of the Flesh Dragon before him. Now, he could only watch as the Asilic guard killed his fellow Kyrans: anger boiling out, he suddenly retrieved a strange tube with fire-water in it. Grabbing a rock, he jammed it into the tube before lighting the bottom of it, sending the rock forward as a streak of bright flame: grabbing a fungal stalk, he dipped the larger tip of it into the puddle, lifting it up before yelling out loud, "HEY, ELF BASTARDS: YOU JUST KILLED MY PEOPLE! YOU MOTH-FUCKERS CAN EXPECT A FOOT REGIMENT TO COME HERE SOON - BETTER HOPE THAT FLESH DRAGON KILLS ALL OF YOU BEFORE WE GET HERE, OR ELSE YOU GOT A FIGHT ON YOUR BLOOD-SOAKED HANDS, YOU FUCKING ANIMALS!" Tossing the stalk down onto the marsh, he ran back the way he came, now intending to make due on his promise.
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Post by Unfallious on Oct 8, 2018 6:23:44 GMT -5
Camelon Castle, Camelon, Lexidus His world ended with a sharp hum and a flash. The jolts of holy electricity coursed through his armour and into his body. Falling to his knees, smoke snaking out of the slits in his armour, the last words he heard rang in his ears: "Bakahn al-Kwharafi". Zypnac's champion. Then, all was black.
The Black Knight fell facedown into the dirt. As if sensing this, the Yrutan forces signalled a general withdrawal soon after, retreating back into the undercities from whence they came. Although their mission had not been successful, it was not done in vain. One of the shining capitals of the northern states lay in ruin. Finally, Yrutan influence had spread beyond the centre regions of Calveria.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Oct 8, 2018 10:49:09 GMT -5
King Blair de Brus, Camelon Castle - Lexidus
He held her for quite some time. The world muted around him, the cries of foreign tongues and inhuman guttural yelling lost on him. He was lost in a sea of darkness, a wave of despair flowing through him constantly as he was on his knees clutching her lifeless body. Blair rocked back and forth, muttering words that even he did not register, he felt something begin to burn in his heart. Rage.
The world around him became clear as he gently laid Eimear down and closed her unblinking eyes. Smoke billowed from his city, the screaming had stopped and an overbearing silence remained, all that remained was the clattering of armour of what remained of his Guard and the panting and foreign chattering of his saviours. He did not wipe the tears or blood spattered across his face as he picked up his axe, his hands trembling from adrenaline and something else deep within him. Rage.
The heretic lay dead, face down in the courtyard, his corpse smouldering with holy energy, killed by the leader of this pack of Rohzai. He paid his savoir no heed however, as he lumbered towards the fallen murderer and kicked him onto his back. Blair stared at him, his body as lifeless as Eimear's, how dare he. How fucking dare he. How dare he die as quickly as he did. How dare he not hold on so he could finish him himself. He should have suffered tenfold for what he and his monsters did to his city, to his people, to Eimear. His whole body shook as his face was contorted with rage. He brought his axe down onto the corpse, rage consuming him, it did not matter that his assailant was dead and would not heed what he was doing. The king was doing this for himself.
The axe impacted into the armour as he aimed for the neck, it was no longer bouncing and what ever was preventing his steel from making a dent was gone. The armour was still tough however as he brought down the axe again, this time faster and harder. Again and again he hit the armour which began to buckle and break, then as his axe contacted flesh, he was screaming at the top of his lungs would let him as the axe began to lose structure. With one final lunge and bellowing cry of anguish, the head of the heretic had been cleaved from its body, helmet included. The axe of King Brus shattered as Blair let it fall from his blood soaked hand. He picked up the head and stared into its lifeless eyes. His breathing wild and frantic, face pink and teeth clenched.
"...so long as I live. I will end your kind. I will seek your brothers and your sisters and I will slaughter you all. I don't care who sent you or what you lot want, I will destroy you. No matter what it takes, no matter who stands in my way, I will chase you all to the end of Calveria and smite you. YOU HEAR ME?! I WILL RENDER YOU ALL ASUNDER. YRUTAN. FUCKING. SCUM!!"
He threw the head to the ground as he bellowed this null statement, the murderer was long dead and it fell upon deaf and foreign ears. The rage within him regressed and the black sea of despair rolled over King Blair de Brus once again. He stared into the sky, still enveloped in the smoke of his capitol city. He stood there, listening to the distant shouts and moans of his people. Both fallen and alive.
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Post by Andromitus on Oct 18, 2018 16:43:09 GMT -5
The side of his mouth twitched as the king swung his axe onto the corpse. Straightening himself, Bakahn slammed the base of his spear onto the ground, electricity pounded into the air and a boom shook the courtyard. Twisting the weapon around in his arm, he extended it outward and slid it through the twin leather hoops on his back; the familiar weight of the weapon was a comfort, at least for him. Stepping forward slowly he grasped the shoulder of the Lexidun, catching his axe-wielding arm. He was stuck for a moment, unsure of what to do, before simply speaking to the shaking character in front of him.
“Come now young Ahkíp. Vengeance can be served later.”
Bakahn stood slowly, hoping the Lexidun could understand him as the dark-one had. Then his eyes moved to the Corpse. He didn’t even know this woman! He cursed under his breath, who am I to feel despair for an outlander. But he already knew why, the constant, low hum of the blade behind him reminded him of that. Invincibility. Demigodhood with the flick of his wrist and yet a thin trickle of blood pooled around his feet. Even with the power of a God he’d been too slow; these innocents caught in the crossfire between two clashing worlds, these people who’d go without their families send off to spirit hood.
He finally understood the cries of the many Rohzai Ahkíp who so long tormented his kin, the squabbling of the Gods…no, the warring of the divines did this. How many countless died today because he was too slow to stave the…the territorial advance of a decrepit demon. Kneeling, his throat clenched, he placed his on the heart of the woman in front of him; a woman he didn’t know, but mourned for, whose flesh was still warm, but long since passed. His eyes looked to the smoke in front of him, he finally understood what Ael…no…what God was trying to explain too him. But first, the people of this city needed a proper funeral.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Oct 28, 2018 20:27:31 GMT -5
Ruby Hollins, The Final Island - The South-Eastern Passage
It was a beautiful sight. The sun gently kissed the bow of the boat as the vast expanse of the southern sea stretched before her. The previous 7th, 8th and 9th islands were of fantastic predisposition, with fertile land, newly discovered tropical fruit and exotic animals and their unique pelts. This passage would become one of the most significant trade routes in Lexidun history, Ruby thought to herself. They'll surely promote her for this back at the Trade Association, maybe she'll make Chief Merchant! She smiled, her cheeks stinging slightly from the sunburn, her face now freckled and tanned. She had been given the honour by the crew to name the 10th and final island in the passage.
The previous had been named via a raffle of the various crew members, the first being named the Southus Isle. The second: New Titenfisca (surprisingly named by a human sailor who fancied a Titenfiscan lass back home). The third: Almaius Island. The forth: Great Donn's Landing. The fifth: Savage Island (in honour of those who attacked the crew when they landed). At this point the raffle was discontinued due to the lack of agreement between the crew (Captain Andross' drunken rants about republicanism being bullshit aside) and instead the Captain began to assign who would name the new territory actually in and around the passage. Andross got to name the sixth: Myratnis' Gate. Marie Gillespie named the seventh: the Heartland. The eighth was named Opportunity by the lute playing Paul and the ninth was called Dòchas (Celtmaric for Hope).
Agh. What ever would she name it? Maybe New Redan? No no no too cliche. Maybe named after Grandpa Chuchter? Goddess no. What about naming it after the lush grass on the island? Greenland? ...yeah no.
She furrowed her brow and lent on a banister and stared at the humble island. The construction and colony ships had finally caught up to them and were in the process of colonising the islands and making them suitable for eventual trade. She pondered for a while. This island could be one of the furthest reaching areas of Lexidun culture, would people after her go further than this? Surely not.
Ruby Hollins, stood upright and took a deep breath, making history as she spoke aloud. Kingdom's End.
Crowley Pentagress, Great Camelon Market - Lexidus
It was a beautiful day, all things considered. The weather was wonderful, with the sun adorning a cloudless blue sky and a gentle breeze rustling the trees. Many of which however, were burnt. Their black leaves scattered amongst the soot and rubble that laid haphazardly across the capitol city of Lexidus. Workmen of all races rushed around, some rebuilding vital infrastructure and housing, whilst others helped carry around the injured. It had been barely a week since the attack but there was a sense of normalcy, the city was bustling with people helping those who they could. Merchants gave away what stock they had to those who needed it with the Merchant Association reimbursing them as much as possible. Mages of Myratnis roamed the streets in search of wounded as to heal them to the best to their abilities and flushing out what trace amounts corruption remained before heading to the grand Myratnis' Holy Temple which was now the biggest makeshift hospital in Lexidus. Soldiers of the Free Squidspawn Company were the first to arrive during the tail end of the siege, suffering losses of nearly 10% of their 1000 number, sacrificing themselves as to relieve the besieged Camelon City Guard and then driving off the remainder of the corrupt-spawn back underground. A detachment of the Standing Army of Lexidus arriving only arriving a hours later. They guarded the Grand Undercity Portcullis, sending men in with workers as to help the reconstruction effort.
Crowley sighed. He could distract himself no longer. Hundreds died in the Yrutan Siege of Lexidus, maybe even a thousand, he wasn't sure. Now he was managing a huge procession, bodies were burning in various piles in the Grand Camelon Marketplace, people all around were wailing and some even protesting at their dead loved ones being burned to ash before them. He stood beside the young Princess Leanabh, who held his hand constantly, rather they held each other's hand constantly.
He and Leanabh had cowered under the castle, mere days ago, as Blair stood against the horde, only returning to the surface when a white faced Captain of the Royal Guard Dumfries urged them. He collapsed when he saw Eimear's lifeless corpse on the ground of the castle courtyard, his silent bawling shaking his entire body as he tried to raise himself. He could not stand and instead sat clutching his hands together over his mouth as to hold the silent stream of sorrow within his body. A small hand met his and he shook himself from his despair, Leanabh guided him upwards, her small frame seeming mighty and strong compared to him. He could not bare to stare at Eimear any longer and instead stared at Blair, of whom was talking to a dark skinned bearded man. He couldn't see Blair's face.
"Crowley." Blair stated with an almost monotonous voice. The old man tried to see his king's face by taking a step to the left but was stopped by Leana, who gripped his hand with all of her might.
"Take Leana and yourself back to your quarters. We need to burn all of the dead, make the necessary arrangements. Make sure the people see."
"A-all of them?" croaked Crowley.
Blair turned to him and Crowley Pentagress swore in that moment, until his dying breathe many years later that his heart skipped a beat at what he saw. His boy, the man he had helped raised, his face was covered in blood and his eyes were not that of his boy, of Blair.
"All of them." Stated the King of the Noble Kingdom of Lexidus.
Donn Myra, ? ? ? - Lexidus
"Fool." She muttered to herself as she hid behind a small boulder as what seemed like hundreds of corrupt-spawn zoomed past her. They were a common occurrence in the Underdark but this close to the Undercities? Something was off. Ever since her run in on the surface with the Dubh, the secret police of the dead old king that was Petre the Eternal, she had made slow and gruelling process. She had to lose them in back in the Undercity and its winding tunnels, making her way south as to thrown them from her scent. She prayed day to day, week to week that she would find Leanabh again. That was then she heard of a surface king escorting a young girl, who matched the Leana's description, down south towards the surface capital. She was lucky that she understood surface speak, her peers were not afforded the same luxury under the command of her king. She needed to head south and the tunnels were dangerous, even more so than usual.
Raising herself away from the boulder she proceeded down the open passageway, being careful to cross the cross-section with quiet care as to not attract any more unwanted beasts. Before long the tunnels grew larger and larger and she could hear workers in the distance as torches began to signify the transition from Underdark to Undercity. Climbing a ladder that led above, she rather carelessly shoved the audit entrance open and climbed up. Only to be greeted with nearly ten crossbows pointed at her alongside angry gurgling.
"Halt! Identify yourself, in the name of the King and Free Squidspawn Company!"
"Amadan..." she sighed in Celtmaric whilst raising her hands in the air. An older squidspawn with white tentacles, tilted his head and gurgled or what rather more sounded like a growl.
"...does anyone here speak Celtmaric?" Growled the older squidspawn. The others gave shrugs and quiet nos as their responses.
"I speak Common, sea creature, lower your weapons. I mean no harm."
"Do ye aye?" Spat the squidspawn commander, his iron breastplate heaving up and down as he began to laugh. "Sea creature? Fuck me lads that's a new one." His compatriots began to laugh alongside him. Myra groaned, she didn't have time for this.
"I mean no disrespect, for you see your kind are literally referred to as sea creatures in our langua-"
"Aye aye, shut it. Lads and lassies! See this intruder to a captain of the guard upstairs."
Donn Myra did as the crossbows told, making her way into the surface of the city of Camelon.
Bakahn, Camelon - Lexidus
Bakahn took care to walk in line with the rest of his men; following the procession of peoples through the city, the Karthagite warriors hoisted their losses on thin hide stretchers; their armor was removed but clothes remained, hilts and spear poles were lain alongside them. It was all Bakahn could do to glance at the array of these strange peoples lining the streets of their procession — it wasn’t the humblest of deaths for his peoples, but Karthagite war bands were used to modifying their rituals to those they were accompanying. Although there was one aspect he refused to let go; as the southern warriors reached the marketplace, he led his group to an outlet opened for them before place the bodies down on a series of wooden piles. Each corpse was situated by battle group, the surviving members of that group standing with them as the ceremony proceeded—even in death they would not stand alone. Behind them, the other members of the Caravan gathered in file.
Grand Magister Griffon, Great Camelon Market - Lexidus
She stood motionless next to her king, he had barely spoken to her since she arrived the city a day ago alongside her convoy of aid and mages. People from all over Lexidus and the other cities brought themselves to help in the effort. It was quite the sight seeing all three main roads leading in and out of the capitol being flush with people, all willing to help their fellow countrymen. The navy had arrived from the north and helped move people in and out of port as well, it was the busiest she had ever seen the heart of Lexidus ever be. Now however, as she stood next to her king and the royal entourage, she knew that heart was aching. The king had ordered everyone burned, no ifs and or buts, everyone. The act of cremating was seen as a foreign and perverse process. It was the opposite of what was taught in the temple of Myratnis and resulted in not a body returning to the earth from whence it came and giving their life back to Myratnis but rather, it destroyed that child of Myratnis and resulted in ash that could not be returned to the earth for it would choke the life from it and make it barren.
She dared not defy the king however, she blamed herself for what took place, for keeping the outbreak in Bluxa a secret for so long and for Drake's demise. She was one of the very few people who the King was very frank and stern with due to her bickering with her former peer. Now however, she did not bear to even utter a word to him. His eyes were that of another. They bore deep into her and she knew that the King had suffered loss, that something had happened to him, whether or not that something snapped, broke or even awoke with him. She did not want to suffer his ire. Stepping forward she raised her hands to the heavens and boomed her voice as loud as she could.
"Maither Kin'est. Please forgive us today for the children we send into your arms once again. It is there we hope they will find everlasting peace, to escape from the horrors that was unleashed upon them these few terrible days. Know that despite all that has happened during this tribulation, know that your children still love you and will follow you without pause."
She could feel the eyes on her, wails and quiet swears were coming from the crowd, all of them not good. They were taking their loved ones away from them, no body or grave for them, just ash amongst hundreds of others. It was what the king wanted.
She lowered her hands towards the crowd and gave one final statement.
"The Maither be with you."
"And also with you." Replied the crowd solemnly, nearly half of them however did not speak at all. Griffon felt a lump in her stomach as she stepped back next to her king. Crowley, Leana were to his right. With herself and the foreigner to his left.
The foreigner, Bakahn waited patiently for Griffon to finish her speech before turning to his men, motioning for oil-drenched cloth veils to be lain over his people's corpses. The leader of each squadron then set about lighting torches and dropping them onto the wood piles, the oil-soaked veils lighting almost instantly. The men of Karatha let out a low hum, taking quickly to comforting each other as Bakahn stepped forward;
“Northmen, I thank you for letting me speak. I will not drone to you about your lost loves, nor stammer about my men, but I too will not stay silent; my people are honed in the arts and intricacies of war, and while God has humbled us, and done well to bring us closer to a new purpose, the events here have taught us of the brutality those standing against God will employ. This was not a war, this was a slaughter, and I employ the people of this city never forget what forces Magic can bring to you. If I ask for anything at all, it’d be solidarity from this point on; from the Earthquakes to the Hordes, events like these will not stop unless we make them.”
King Blair de Brus, Great Camelon Market - Lexidus
He turned away from the grand fire pit in front of him, of which other pits burned the corpses of the dead, the Khemet wood piles burning alongside them. A single wrapped up body lay on a bench, stripped of its clothing and jewellery, her jewellery. He picked up Eimear's wrapped body and turned around, the soft linen pressed against his trembling hands as he cradled her in his arms. He walked forwards to the large central fire pit. He hesitated, instead hugging her one more time as he whispered to her.
"I love you. I never got to tell you that, didn't I? I was going to ask for your hand in marriage and I just couldn't work up the courage to say it to you." He choked back the tears but they fell in spite of him, in front of all his people.
"Now you're gone... the one good thing in my life and they took you away from me. You didn't deserve this. No one did. Which is why I have to do, what I'm about to do. In a way... maybe it's fate that you're gone now. You'd go crazy if you knew what I was about to do."
Tearing himself away from her body, he finally threw her into the fire, staring into the blazing mass as he did so.
"...because I'm going to kill a god."
He turned to the crowd, he let the tears fall and his teeth be bared as he snarled and boomed to his people.
"Know this and know this well. From this day forth we will never be weak again. We will never let the savage hordes of Yrutas terrorise us anymore. From this day forth, we will be stronger, we HAVE to be stronger. We have striven to be a noble kingdom and we have earned that title. But for Yrutas? We have no use for this title, or use for nobility or virtue or honour. We will not hold back as we drive our sword into the corrupt heart of Yrutas and his heathens. We will stop at nothing to gather our strength and allies, march ourselves into the Magna Tabes and eradicate corruption from our world forever. Whether it be on horseback with lance, on foot with sword or on hands and knees with bloodied fingernails and teeth. Yrutas will die by our hands, screaming out in vein in futility. Then and only then when the world is free from his menace, will we see ourselves as being fit as to call ourselves noble once more."
His people were silent and awestruck, their wailing and protest ceased. Their breath abated.
"From today onward, we are no longer the Noble Kingdom of Lexidus and as I speak our brave colonists sail south to the South-Eastern passage to spread our influence across southern Calveria. Our culture grows and more will join our patrimony and will continue to do so. For you, me and all of us are a part of the:
Empire of Lexidus"
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Post by axeldonia on Oct 29, 2018 21:58:04 GMT -5
Central Mündungshafen, Titenfisca
”Is this really practical? Seems a little… Exposed.”
A slender, blue-tentacled Squidspawn stepped out of the small changing room and into the shop he and his compatriots were currently browsing through. The two of his companions turned to face him, barely able to conceal their surprised reaction. The Squidboy was dressed in a one-piece suit that could best be described as two long, thin straps stretching across his chest and converging at his groin in what could best be called a “minimalist codpiece”. The contraption itself covered only the minimum of his unmentionables and seemed an impossibly tight fit.
“I dunno, seems perfectly practical to me” One of his compatriots snickered, her eyes leisurely wandering across him.
“Are you crazy? What if someone swings at my chest?”
“You have the straps, don’t you?”
The Squidboy only responded with a silent glare before turning to face the counter.
“Hey, shopkeep!”
A small kobold peeked over the gray stone counter, grabbing a couple of tools before skittering over to the trio of Squidspawn.
“Yes? Is there an issue?”
“Are you kidding? How is this any sort of combat-worthy outfit?”
“Oh, it’s plenty combat-worthy. It’s especially designed for… Intimidation.”
“Intimidating in the sense that someone wearing this must be crazy, or did you have something else in mind?”
“Heh, I uh-“
“Just please get me something more… Substantial.” The Squidboy sighed and gave a resigned gesture towards his current garments.
“Erm… That’ll take a while, I’m afraid.”
“What? There’s plenty of armour here, surely you have something I fit in!”
“Well, I have nothing else that accommodates your… Physique.”
“Excuse me?”
“Y’know…” The Kobold gestured downwards with his head.
“Are you seriously saying I can’t wear normal armour because of that?” The Squidboy let out a string of gurgles that made the two girls accompanying him cover their mouths as he re-entered the changing room.
“I bet you didn’t even make this yourself anyhow.”
The kobold clutched his chest in indignation at the comment.
“Why, I never-”
“You’re wall to wall with a love shop. It’s not a mystery were you got the gear from.”
The Kobold finally admitted defeat with a sigh.
“Fine, you got me. I’ve never had a male adventurer commission something for me, so I panicked once I saw you coming and got that thing from the shop.”
At this point the two girls burst into hollering laughter, making the squidboy roll his eyes inside the changing room.
“Just give me a regular set. I’ll be fine, trust me.”
Central Mündungshafen, Titenfisca
One blue-tentacled boy, one green-tentacled girl and one orange-tentacled one. Strange. This was the fifth band of would-be adventurers Katia had seen wandering around Mündungshafen just today, which was unusual, especially seeing as all three were Squidspawn. Most often adventurers would be humans and their kin, often coming to Titenfisca from adventures overseas. It was the first time in recent memory that Squidspawn donned the emblem of the adventurer’s guild, though these were unusual circumstances. The poor Lexiduns were still recovering from that awful disaster and ships with supplies and squids of all manner of trades still left the harbour daily to help their kin across the channel. Then again, there were a great many Squidspawn living across Lexidus with ties home and vice versa, so it wasn’t as surprising as it may seem on the surface.
Lost in her train of thought, Katia nearly bumped into a Kouleva carrying a large sack of something strong-smelling across her shoulder, undoubtedly herbs of some kind. With a few quick excuses Katia continued quickly down the street, her feet pattering against the cobblestone as she held her own small bag close to her chest. She sighed in relief as she saw the familiar light brown outline of the brick house she called home along with Helena and Friedrich. As she entered and began cutting up the vegetables she had bought at the market, she glanced at the stairs leading to the second floor. Helena had practically locked herself into the small study of the house, doing nothing but writing orders, requisitions and reviewing legislative proposals, not uttering a word, save for what Katia swore was sobbing when Helena thought no one was home. She hadn’t yet mentioned it and she didn’t look she’d been crying when Katia came up with food, but she was still worried. Friedrich was swamped with mail and deliveries to repair the still destroyed Cove, so he hadn’t had the time he wished to be at home.
The smell of vegetable soup snuck pleasantly into her nostrils as it finished cooking and she poured it into a bowl to bring up into the study. Sliding the door open with one of her feet, she gently put the bowl in a small clear spot among mountains of paper and gave Helena a kiss on the cheek before leaving. The Squidgirl barely looked up from her work, stopping only occasionally to rub her baggy eyes or playing with the now loose collar on her shirt.
Camelon Docks, Lexidus.
Gano stepped back up on the Golden Trident with sluggish steps, having just shown a Kouleva carrying medical herbs the way to the city centre after a full afternoon of planning. He was as hungry as a hornet in a beehive and eagerly sat down in the small kitchen on the ship, only to be greeted by an upside-down Queen Zabaa.
“May I join you?”
“Oh, of course. You may want to get down to the floor first though.”
Zabaa climbed down with a chuckle and managed to seat herself on the floor in a comfy manner, eschewing the far too small chairs.
“I’m sorry for my discourtesy. It is just not common for Enekebe to be out at sea, so our sense of up and down get a little distorted.”
“Oh, is that so? Seafaring is a new phenomenon to the Gano as well. We abandoned the craft several hundred years ago, so seasickness is rampant.”
“Wait, your people are called the Gano? But isn’t that your name as well?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Fair enough. Anyhow, have you ever seen a Squidspawn get seasick?”
“Never. Though it doesn’t surprise me, seeing as they are half-sea creatures and all.”
“That’s true I suppose. What I don’t understand is their rampant nudity.”
“Oh, tell me about it! Frankly, I’m worried for them. What if they get sick? It’s a wonder the Coves over there aren’t crowded in wintertime.”
The Queen responded with a chuckle as she began cutting up her food, nervously avoiding the gaze of the Gano across from her.
“Well, that’s actually how Kobolds and Enekebe first became allies. Our silk made far better clothes than they had ever made and their fine craftsmanship is unmatched across the land.”
Ganos antennaes visibly perked up at this and he leaned forward somewhat, swallowing the last of the leaf he had been chewing on.
“Fascinating. I read about your culture on the way here, but nothing in the way of history. Care to enlighten me?”
The Queen got a faint blush across her cheeks but finally met his gaze, obliging him.
“I’d be delighted to, but it’ll take a while.”
“I’ve got nowhere to be.”
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