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Post by Lex Caledonia on Nov 2, 2018 18:58:26 GMT -5
Crowley Pentagress, Camelon Castle - Lexidus
"The Northern Alliance will surely follow us Crowley" muttered Blair, poised over a map of Calveria in the war room. The room was a stark contrast of itself, merely a couple of months ago it was a decrepit and cobweb encased tomb. A relic lost to time in an age of peace. Now however, it was renewed. Papers were stacked a good few feet upwards, maps of the realm adorned various dark oak tables, torches burned bright and flickered constantly with shadows dancing around the cobblestone room. Crowley stood opposite of Blair next to the main table, scanning the giant map in front of him and his king. Four daggers had been placed in the capitals of each northern nation, Lexidus, Titenfisca, Fyllia and Asakor - representing each nation that would surely join the crusade. Crowley was very unsure.
"I understand that an attack on one of us is an attack on all... but Blair, this is Yrutas we're talking about. An expeditionary crusade into the heart of the Magna Tabes to kill..."
He petered off, suddenly aware of what he was saying, it dumb founded him. Why was he indulging Blair? This whole plan was bloody insane. He had been been a Royal Steward for the better half of a century and in all his years he had never had a king try and attempt something so outrageous. Then again, it was an outrageous time they found themselves in, his king was hurting and in his own way so too was he.
"...to kill a god" he finally spat out as he crossed his arms, his brow furrowing deep and hard.
Part of him wondered that maybe he too wished revenge for what happened. For what happened to his countrymen, to his friends. To Eimear...
Crowley felt a pang in his heart, like a violent pluck of a harp string, it was grief. If Blair was like a son to him, Eimear was like a niece. He had promised her uncle Chief Burke Nola to look after her whilst she was in the mainland, he had promised his best friend he would protect her and help her with whatever she needed. He couldn't bare the thought of facing Burke now. Having to stare into the eyes of his best friend and tell him that he failed him, failed her. Failed everyone.
"Crowley."
The old man snapped back into reality. Wiping away the traitorous tear from his cheek. He looked ahead, directly into the gaze of his king. Blair was staring at him but not with constant fiery resolve in his eyes that had been present since his speech to the people in the procession. Rather it was a sad and tired look, a weak and almost pitiful expression of grief and despair, bubbling under the thinly veiled surface of courage.
"Stay with me Crowley... I need you."
His voice bared all, he sounded exhausted and above all. Angry.
"Now more than ever we need to keep our heads and..." his fist slammed into the table, a stack of coins next to the map collapsing into a heap.
"We need to gather more allies. The Northern Alliance is not enough to take on Yrutas and his corrupt hordes. We need to send a message to all of Calveria and unite ourselves under the banner of ridding this world of Yrutas for good."
Blair leaned over the map once more, using the same fist he struck the table with to hold himself up.
"The Kingdom of Fyllia, the Sovereign Republic of Titenfisca, the Arctic Federation of Asakor, the Dual Kingdom of the Isles, the Righteous Kingdom of Veritious, the Republic of Kyras, the Kyasii Ahnsijnate of Asil and the Isle of Ukko. We must all crusade together into the heart of Calveria, into the Magna Tabes and kill the god of corruption."
Crowley stared at Blair, his face was now that of a leader again, determined and stoic. He knew however that it was but a facade for what went on underneath. A fury and grief that had not embraced a Lexidun king since the Unification War. Crowley knew he had a choice right now, to try and convince Blair and bring him to his senses, his mind was screaming at him to reject Blair's plan. To cast him aside and smack the king silly for the state he was in and the potential suffering he would bring upon the nation and the chaos it would bring. However, he did now. Crowley could not bear the harp in his heart, painfully pulling at his strings. His heart wracked with guilt and loss. Standing by whilst more die by Yrutas' hand? Could he stand that?
Crowley Pentagress decided then and there that this. This would and could not stand.
"I'll grab the messengers." Blair looked up at him, the two men hiding their pain together under a guise of fury.
"We've got a busy week ahead of us."
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Post by Andromitus on Nov 12, 2018 11:32:18 GMT -5
Ixaleft Thaur, Khaamūan Circuit
Cool air pushed down across their boughs as the Southern armada continued its journey toward Ixaleft. Having left Ixthenpijn only two days ago, the fleet had initially moved onward at a crawl, bundles of ships getting caught in the tangling transitionary caves the Jhàomuun (Ixthenpijn’s Capitol) ward inhabited. A good defensive position, yes, but it turned into havoc for a counterattack. But in the days since then the southern fleets had started to make serious progress, sticking along the quickly diminishing stretch of the Khaamūan interior. Stone columns jutted out from the water, plates of rock showing the stress points of the underground, with rolling hills and sudden cliffs meandered along the shoreline. Even at its end the interior caverns were gargantuan, but the air was suspiciously stifled. Like everywhere affected by the horde the luminescent underrivers has gone dark, and familiar spots of light emanations from plant life and worms, moss and fungi along the ceiling has gone dim. This did more than just make navigation difficult, and unease was quick to spread amongst the soldiers spread like wildfire. With only hours until their destination, the shriek of military whistles (a means of inter-soldier communication) made everyone alert. “Water…Attention...In water”. Rushing out onto the bough of her ship, Alzeih scanned the horizon in front of her; her’s was a main war boat toward the front of the pack, smaller river-craft surrounding them on all sides. It took only a second for her to notice what was off, at least from her perspective. The air reeked; a stench had been light in the air for the past several hours but suddenly it had crescendoed uncontrollably. Thumps suddenly grew and more whistles relayed their commands. “In-Water”. On cue long spears were trained with hair-triggered arms over the sides of the ships, and the pre-battle tensions set in. Time dragged on as Alzeih’s eyes scanned the waters ahead of them anxiously, soldiers on either side of her not bothering to tell her to back away at this point. A splash of water caught their attention, and a flurry of movement followed attempting to avoid the slashing of the river-creatures. What followed was still silence, then surprise. While the soldier in question had hit one of the long-necks, the body simply twitched, tangling limply as it was hoisted onto one of the ships. The convoy of ships was ordered to slow, and the situation was analyzed. Over the next several minutes night-black shapes were being pulled out of the water and onto the war boat. Objects in the water were slick with the black substance, and after cleaned off slightly with a rag the situation was understood. The bodies were charred, violently, and they weren’t only long-necks. There were Khemet bodies too; long planks assumed to be snakes were identified as wood; black bulges in the water thought to be blackened rocks were quickly noted as boats. This wasn’t just a graveyard; they’d found the 2nd Expedition. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • A dark sport in the distance marked the Ixaleft dockyard; built directly into the final edge of the Interior track, a long crevice in the rock was specially carved to mark the entrance into the city, and subsequently the Khemet Frontier. The beach around it had been built up, and long boatyards ran on either bank before converging into the watery grotto-city. Stone pillars were placed systematically in between the dock-spaces, with Zyān crystals atop each. Like everything around them though the crystals were dim, some refusing to shine entirely. A’yill, having formally cemented himself in the position of General, stood at the bough of the flagship. Alzeih stood beside him, each surveying the situation. The waters hadn’t so much cleared as dispersed as they grew closer to the city. Charred corpses lined the shore, and burnt clumps of the dark substance in the water floated in thick bergs through the natural harbor. The water was so clear in some places that a faint flicker of river light, long deprived of nutrients, just managed to break through. As they neared closer, dark shapes along the dockyards showed to be the charred remains of dock-spindles (devices used to hoist boats out of the water for repairs). Here, damage ranged from mild to catastrophic with some spindles represented only by black spots on the floor where their wooden forms had been anchored to the stone ground. A’yill let loose a whistle call –Halt– and the convoy of ships slowed to a stop. “Horn call, I want anything alive in there aware of us.” There was a moment of calm silence before one of the general saids pulled out a long bronze horn. A deep call echoed throughout the cavern, followed by silence. “We’ll send the 13th forward vessel for a column-sweep,” he said, glancing at a formation roster in front of him, “and have the 7th and 9th accompany. Command 14.” Another series of whistle-calls shattered the silence, and one of the forward river craft, a thin scout ship, broke rank. Two others on the opposite side of the spear-point (the front line of boats), moved to follow it after a few moments. Curving forward, the first scout disappeared into the city, leaving the rest of the Armada to wait in angst. It returned roughly 30 minutes later; having traveled down the main canal of the city, it was made to reasonably assume that there were no hostiles within. More so, the city was silent, totally abandoned. As per the plan, the forward most squadron of ships moved in first, with the second line –this time made up of two squadrons– followed suit, each group breaking ranks to file into the open dockyard. The flagship, housing Alzeih and A’yill continued forward toward the entrance, with the rest of the armada following suit, toward the interior dockyard of the city. Motion was fast, with open spots being filled, and ships being rapidly unloaded as men moved to help other ships dock, move debris out of the way, and begin setting up new dock-spindles. Meanwhile, 14 groups of soldiers were assembled to begin scouting the city, a relatively easy task given the settlements relatively small size. The troops assigned to scouting gathered into groups of 10 planned out before hand and fanned out, and almost immediately the mood was set. The devastation seen outside only worsened as they continued through the city, scorch marks flowed evenly along the walls and ceilings of the cavern; bridges across the many streams and canals were totally destroyed, even the inside of building were annihilated to the point of unrecognition. Almost was burned, apart from seemingly random amenities. Storages and even the core rooms of the central library had survived, protected by big and bulky metal doors, what’s more the fire seemed to have been concentrated outside of the buildings. With all these points together the only question asked, or better the only one that could be asked, was ‘what happened here?’. Meanwhile, groups of soldiers quickly took to unloading their ships, with spare parts from the dockyard as well as equipment brought along used to repair dock-spindles or make makeshift counterparts. With the coast clear from the first round of scouting, the rest of the Armada quickly filed into the interior dockyard, with various ships being hoisted out of the water to reapply Dàkn resin (a substance used to fireproof and protect the hulls of ships). As repairs went underway without any major issue, the various commanders and sub-generals as well as several scribes met with A’yill in the Command Ship. The group of leaders, 27 people in total, sat in a circle on thick mats on the floor. “Storage estimates? How long do we estimate we can stay here?” A’yill said. “With the storages we’ve found along the way, I say several weeks.” one of the scribes answered. “So we are in agreement that we can fall back on this settlement in case of retreat?” There was a few nods before one of the commanders spoke up, “With respect, both gates into the city are broken well beyond repair by our means.” A’yill thought for a moment before continuing, “what about the scouting parties? What else have they found.” “To put it simply,” The scouting-coordinator commander answered, “absolute devastation. The city is a wreck, soot cloud the air of the various interiors making tasks as simple as breathing fairly difficult. Whatever fire went through here was just gargantuan. What doesn’t make sense is that this isn’t a region usually predisposed to large fires like the Corridor up north. The fire also seemed to be concentrated outside of buildings, and the interiors of some buildings seemed to be spared with even minimal protection from the fire.” “So our verdict is…” “That either one, the fire was magical and used by the Horde; and idea that loses water when you see the general lack of a Black Horde anywhere near here.” “Our own equipment can be used against us? What’s to say Horde magic simply went out of their control?” One of the Priests was quick to interject, “Magical fires usually don’t work like our fire, much less fire employed by the source of Magic.” “Exactly,” the scout-coordinator said, “the nature of the fire also suggests that it was targeting, or at least focused around, something outside.” “The Horde…” realization began to dawn on A’yill, “What you’re saying is this was an Alchemical attack.” The coordinator nodded. “We saw what Alchemical fire did to the Horde in the battle for Ixthenpijn, why does it matter what caused the fire here?” one of the commanders spoke out. “Because,” responded A’yill, “it shows us that the Horde reaching Ixthenpijn doesn’t mean that everything south of Ixthenpijn has fallen; that then points to how the Horde is moving. It could be that the Horde was led to Ixthenpijn by simply avoiding areas could be defeated, chartering a path around more dangerous targets. It could be theoretically spread in every direction, but it didn’t; or at least we now think it didn’t. More so, it means that it could be avoiding places with high populations.” Alzeih perked up as A’yill was speaking, “Like the battle of Ixthenpijn!” There was confusion in the room as she continued, “the Horde could sense population centers and want to go around them, so it attempted to get to cover in the farming region.” “Yes!” A’yill said, finally, some progress on the matter, “which means that we can influence it. And if we can do that, we can corral it.” • • • • • • • • Four Days Later • • • • • • • • As supplies were reorganized, minor repairs implemented, and intermediate fortifications set up, the Armada was quick to move on. This time, its target was the Kātaak settlement. Like Ixaleft, it was on the smaller side; built into the rocky walls of the exterior caverns. Movement forward this time, however, was significantly stalled as the tight corners of the Exterior proved difficult for the size of the Armada. Things inevitably went ahead on the 4th day, when whistles blared the alert signal once again, but this time it was met with a real response. The forward line was a flurry of action as boats split up to allow for some space between them, the water transforming into a flurry of activity as the lashing necks of the horde split out, whipping around to grab the nearest target. Each attack was corralled in-between the ships before ruthlessly speared, the advance of the armada not slowing for a moment. 10 minutes later whistles blared again as the water began to churn ahead of the forward line; the Horde had arrived in full. Men covered their ears in shock as caverns shook with noice from the main war boat’s cannonade. After Ixaleft, A’yill had been the first to sponsor a new general strategy against the Horde. Canons mounted on war boats would keep the Horde from encircling the Armada, and gaps in-between ships would be used to trap aquatic monsters, who would be massacred with long-spears. Aerial creatures would be fought with auxiliary troops, and those climbing on the walls or ceiling would be targeted by non-active spearmen as well as the auxiliary troops. Finally, at the first sighting of a Ahkíp –a hereditary title active before Ahnsijn, and a name given to the giant creature that brought down the wall– canons would concentrate on it, and if necessary the flagship would deploy Alchemical fire. The cave shook again as another line of canons fired, accompanied by the shriek of the longnecks. The swarm ahead seeming to respond well to the canon-fire, piles of the monstrosities seeming to climb over-themselves to maintain the siege on the front, only to be battered by another line of canons to thin their lines. The plan seemed to be working; the battle started as longnecks and another creature resembling huge isopods attacked from the water, only to be hit with spears or the boats themselves. In some cases jars of oil were dropped onto large piles of writing bodies, columns of red fire spitting out from the waters below deck. The Horde wasted no time adapting; as if on cue the shrieks of the long-necks in the river were replaced by an army of high-pitched whines. Air ahead of them started to surge forward as it looked like the darkness was of the cavern itself was mobilizing. The first creature whipped by a soldiers head, nocking him off balance and he tumbled forward, head colliding with that of long-neck and he was pulled screaming off his vessel. The new monsters were small, about the size of a mans head, and looked like ovals fling on their sides, either end flapping like wings. Each was followed by a trail of black smoke that rippled off their bodies like water. Before long one turned to five, and five to ten, before a swarm of the beasts had not just encircled the armada, but enveloped it. The Flagship attempted to fire her canon only for the shell to crack in the flurry of bodies, the fire-ball being engulfed by the swarm, singed bodies of the creatures falling into the water. “DAMNIT!” A’yill yelled out, “DAMNIT ALL, FIRE ANOTHER VOLLEY!” Fire exploded several feet off the bough of the ship, but it seemed futile, no matter what happened the swarm of flying creatures seemed drawn to the canons, blocking the shells with their sheer mass. Shouts of surprise rained from either flank as the swarm of flying creatures began to limit the side-facing volleys; as if they’d been waiting for it dark shapes and splashing began to split from the main column of bodies in a crescent around the Armada. They were being encircled! “FIRE AGAIN!” Alzeih gritted her teeth against the flurry of bodies around her. She’d tried staying in the main cabin, but the need to see the battle had forced her outside. Like others on deck she’d taken to simply bashing at the swarm with her shield and stabbing them on the ground. The crack of canon fire then caught her attention, the entire swarm around her seeming to shift course midair toward the flash of light. Her eyes widened; “Wait!” Alzeih barked out from her cover, “General, what’s the brightest shell we have?” A’yill’s face showed understanding, “Men! switch to flares!” Minutes later Alzeih’s eyes were blinded but a flash of white light, flare-shells detonating into bright balls of fire in front of them. Flare-shells, metal casings filled with Túrr dust, were usually used to signal retreat or advance orders during naval combat, their unmistakably bright light visible from great distance in the dim land of the underground. The Swarm responded instantly, surging toward the command-ship. A’yill and other attendants on the deck began to back up and their visibility turned almost to zero, but what caught Alzeih off guard was that the general was laughing. “Send a message to the flanks,” he sputtered through the mass of flying, screaming monstrosities, “time their canons to fire after us!” What the General, and the rest of the command-ship, didn’t know was that several commanders on either flank had come to the same conclusion; As the sudden flash of white light was smothered by the aerial swarm, the creatures in the water suddenly became visible. As the first run of messengers prepared to boat-hop to their destinations a shockwave of sound accompanied the swarms departure toward the center of the column of ships, shells battering the flanks of the Armada as it trudged forward. With orders dispatched the process was repeated, the command vessel would distract the aerial swarm, while either flank would force the horde to attack the armada from the front. Not before long, the swarms numbers had begun too thin. Just in time, as the overrun city of Kātaak came into view. It was less condensed than Ixaleft, several open buildings being built in the large caverns ahead of them. A thin dockyard did little to promise an easy landing, but even from here the city could be seen. The Horde wasn’t a wall of flesh, and with any luck they could actually make headway against the next wave. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • The first of the forward line hit the stone bank with a crunch. Two lines of spears lowered their points, and with a yell charged off before the next line of boats pushed forward. The Armada turned into a drill, like most grotto-city, the main river cut through Kātaak allowing for the main load of soldiers too disembark and for the boat to continue down allowing for the next line to disembark as quickly as possible. Archer groups on some of the river-craft, and the occasional cannonade from the war boats provided background support for the assault. Groupings of spears and shields formed series after series of phalanx as the soldiers drilled their way into the city. In response the first wave of the Horde was to be expected, a line of crocodilians, several long-necks scattered into them. Within the first few minutes the forward line was stalling, the mass of enemy bodies crunching into their spear tips, and several shields splintered on impact. Fighting was slow and bloody, line after line of soldiers stepping over the bodies of beasts and their comrades alike. After almost two hours of fighting, a line in the enemy showed. Warrior-Caste apart of the initial assault could see Soldiers on the other side of the river pushing forward, their Warrior-Caste supports breaking through them in their pre-planed hunting parties. Soon their bank was doing the same, Warrior-Caste gathering in their specialized groups, death-squads, who breached the line to further thin the line. Phalanx groups started to follow suite, pushing through the main transit routes as the Warrior squadrons behind them started to fan out for the alleyways. Previous Yrutan attacks always scared the territories they afflicted, and the Kyasii in particular were careful recorders of each attack. This was no exception, and A’yill was glad to have records on hand to have at least a semblance of an idea of what to think next. This Horde was far removed from previous ones, but A’yill still had a hunch, hence the Warrior squads. His hunch was right. The Death-Squads of Nāhtsyk Warrior Castes began breaking down doors, pushing into cellars, and overturning wagons. Any and every nook and cranny was searched until they found them; they were in the cisterns. Nests. Hundreds of them; black pustules and polluted water, the entire structures covered in a thick, clear film. The air did more than reek too, visible clumps of particles floated aimlessly through air around the nest. Combat transformed from a grind against a wall of monsters into more of a wave. Pushed onto the defensive, members of the Horde condensed into uncoordinated hives, lashing violently against various organized assaults from the Khemet soldiers. Larger Phalanx were broken down into smaller groups the further into the city they reached; all in all the layout was simple. A basic circular-grid radiating out from the center. 4 larger open-air caverns at various depth lent room for formal buildings, the rest were either built deeper beneath the city –a’la the cisterns– or directly into the cavern-walls following the layout of the grid. Fighting was fiercest around these main caverns, with phalanx companies able to push through the tighter alleyways, which ended up constricting and negating the Horde’s chief advantage in the form of the Long-necks. A’yill was careful to take notes; especially now as the “natural expansion” theory seemed to hold weight. The Horde was coordinated, yes, but more emergently than hierarchically. That is to say, stronger or specialized builds found areas of the fighting best suited for them, the horde as a hole set nests into the most defendable positions in the form of the cisterns, and cluttered in the larger open-caverns. They followed the pattern given to them; that is, follow the path of least resistance. Clatter outside reassured him that his orders had made it through the chain of command. All along the central canal, now thoroughly devoid of enemy combatants, various divisions were set unloading various jars. Huge jars, in fact, each taking two men to carry. In total they’d set out 25, each filled to the brim with a thick green substance. The Warriors couldn’t enter the cisterns without being able to breath, and the guess was each was filled regardless. A’yill’s solution was simple in the extreme: if you can’t cut them, burn them out. Kùrin oil, an anti magical substance designed to burn on contact with an excess of magical energy; not nearly as potent as it’s close scientific cousin –Alchemical Fire– but anything more excessive might blowout the cisterns entirely. They needed the nests to burn, not explode. Likewise, in order to avoid risk, the jars were tossed down the wells into the cisterns directly, thick splashes of oil expanding rapidly, before igniting as quickly as it could touch the polluted water and air. A scream shook the entire cavern, the very air around all of them began to shake. The city itself seemed to finally react to the attack. Black smoke pumped out of the wells as the warrior-castes began to step back. More screams, now a growing chorus of horror, erupted from them. Deep beneath the feet of the warriors, the tough shells of the nest-eggs burst open, most of their contents dying on contact with the hungry flames. Black, oval bodies collapsing into the burning water; thin, bisecting maws splitting open for the first time to gurgle in pain; tri-segmented limbs, six in total, scratching furiously around them; two huge tentacles with padded tips located on the forward most shoulders thrashed around violently, a claw-tipped suckers trying desperately to latch onto safe land. It was like this that newest members of the horde died as quickly as they’d been conceived.
Kàhltchéht Thaur, Vkáhst Circuit
The smell of fire hung low over the open cavern; mixtures of river, alchemic, and firelight permeated the training grounds as the Northern Army prepped for its move on the south. Coal braziers were placed grid-like around the various camps in lieu of Zyān alchemic crystals, and a constant stream of boats flocked between various harbors. Kàhltchéht was an Interior Thaur, not too large in size, and consisted of a sole Main Temple, and three concentric rings of buildings built on artificial islands in the middle of the river. Smaller settlements dotting the banks and slopes of the river and cavern walls, were used as secondary storage for the Army. Fields of tents were set up along the thick riverbanks, met in ample size with farmers protesting their crops being trampled—although they were assured their regions quota would be reduced to compensate for the loss in yield. Kàhltchéht was the largest Thaur in the region, and an excellent midway point for gathering troops together given its central-orientation. Regardless, the Thaur itself was actually renovated by the troops upon their arrival, with the cities canals being quickly expanded, and new infrastructure added to the docks to account for specialized river-boats used by the military. Storages in the city were likewise expanded to account for the drastic influx in foodstuffs pouring into the city, and military hardware was likewise cleared out from the Thaur and surrounding storage facilities as troops picked up their allocated gear. Early-evening moisture clung to his gear as a man, followed by two aids, moved up the stone steps toward a command post on the southern riverbank. Red cloth underpinned the clink of alchemic bronze armor, flashing brilliantly as the triad passed the assortment of torches lighting the way. Pausing for a moment, Kii Òhnkuur Tām, general of the Northern Army, looked behind him to note the most recent brigade of ships in the distant; a myriad black spots followed by the iridescent blue flash of churning wakes of river water. The thick, wet Tsáy (a thick, rough cloth-analogue made of plant fibers) tent flaps parted as he entered, met by the curt bows of his subordinate commanders. Assortments of Zyān lamps emitted a familiar white-green light, and a variety of papers and maps were strewn over the table in the center of the structure, an equal number of men and women standing around it. As the meeting began, Kii began to gain a grasp on the mentality of his commanders. These men were war hungry. A flock of khat —a carnivorous beetle analogue— ready to land on the easy prey seen in the southern rebels, and for good reason. Already their numbers alone seemed insurmountable. The assortment of training regiments, readying of goods, and coalition of ship whole had been going on for roughly 5 months. As troops continued to stream in the sheer scale of the operation was becoming readily apparent to the residents of Kàhltchéht, as well as the Army itself. The majority of troops in the region, a force now counting upwards of 17,000 in total, were conscripts, with the secondary minority being built of non-conscripted Nāhtsyk—the Warrior-Caste. The vast majority of time was spent on a series of training sessions meant to drill the various sections of the army, as well as stocking up on a variety of military supplies which likewise provided some logistical hurtles. Regardless of the type, this large a buildup of alchemical weapons was, to say the least, a disaster waiting to happen. But as pre-war supplies began to dwindle, thoughts were being pulled away from training and onto the next point at hand: The assault on the Dāhrkom Gates. The maps in front of all of them showed the objective. The largest entrance into the southern Interior was through Dāhrkom, the cavern walls bottlenecking any attempt to push through, and with the Rebels known to be stunting access through the gates, releasing the strain on the northern supply of goods was paramount, as well as giving the north time to supply the southern armies. Or, that is, to assess the situation should the south begin to fall to the so-called “Horde”. But, by grace of God, if they could push through the Gates routing the undermanned rebel forces would be easy. Their conversation was ended abruptly as a messenger entered into the tent. He was short, wearing near all black and red attire, hood included. “Emergency dispatch to you General Kii.” taking no time to wait for a response nor introduction, the other men in the room knew immediately who he was by his outfit, the messenger extracted a long scroll from his pocket. “The Northern border has been breached,” an intake of breath escaped the generals lips, just what he needed, “the Asuur request reinforcements sent immediately. Information on the enemy is enclosed. This is not a request.” The man bowed curtly before leaving, the general gritting his teeth. Days before the push south and this band of plucky state-assassins decide now is the time to divert troops to the northern border? These brigand-raiders better be a serious threat.
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Post by Chiernarosa on Nov 15, 2018 1:19:03 GMT -5
Qorti tal-Gvern Superjuri "As the last surviving member of the 576th Falanx, it is by my duties as Chairman of the Council to determine the composition of the 577th formation," Xalkayr stated before the assembled Council of Union, the individual representatives holding looks between abject boredom and barely-concealed anticipation: word of the mysterious deaths of the Falanx following the Battle of Varan had spread throughout the capital, Xanakht alone having begun to place bets on potential replacements. Many of the legislators had hoarded enough Ċinturini and additional currencies to begin the bidding process, while others had drawn up private militias in the forests outside of the city's borders. "Under the provisions of the Valdības un Savienības Pilnvaras, the office of the Chairman is entitled to select an ad hoc committee from the legislature to assist in electing the members of the Falanx," Xalkayr said as he reached behind him, revealing the embalmed head of Atek den-Ten'saii: the few murmurs of the crowd suddenly fell silent as they saw the warlord's head, "However, the Pilnvaras does not specify that the legislature in question must be the current session: under careful consideration with fellow officers of the Kyran Army and Republican Guard, it has been determined that this current session, the 1,125th Council, is lacking in moral fortitude and therefore unworthy to provide replacement officials to serve in the 577th Falanx."
The response was immediate: many of the legislators were up in arms, calling "Treason!" and such, citing the violation of the Pilnvaras. Xalkayr watched for a few moments before grabbing the head, placing it inside a sack, and whistling, the doors opening to reveal several Kotek guards and incendiary casters - silently stepping off the podium, he stepped out of the room, giving a nod to the commanding Kotek guard to ignite the casters. Walking away as the screams of the Council of Union echoed throughout the Qorti, Xalkayr stepped out and began to briskly walk to the L-ewwel Ġnien tal-Ħajja*, noticing the damage that had been wrought by the Valnare and Ten'saii's forces: while the invasion force in Varan had been exterminated, the much larger force that laid siege to Ronan had been much more difficult to dislodge, with a significant number of them reported to have entered the Underground, likely to bolster Azkalon's forces. Other reports had reached his desk, detailing a force of Arvesh and Desert Raiders having invaded Asil and laying waste to the Khemet towns, current status unknown, Xalkayr slightly suspecting that the remnants of Tensaii's forces moving to bolster them as well; another had come from a hertag surveying the border with Asil: a tribe of Scorched Ones led by a Roaming Merchant had attempted to pass through Asil, before an ambush by a Flesh Dragon coupled by the Khemet response using strange weapons decimating them - out of the survivors were the tribe's lead shaman and warrior, having been recovered and resting in the L-Ewwel Tempju ta 'l-Għaqda tal-Ħajja*. The hertag was insistent to gather a foot regiment and eliminate the Khemet that survived the Flesh Dragon's rampage: Xalkayr intervened and instead authorized a force of the Republican Guard to prepare a camp along the mire, determined to gain insight into the incident. Additional word had come from the west: the Lexiduns had been hit by a force of Yrutan warriors, laying siege to the country and its capital, repelled after great losses - reports were scattered, but Xalkayr was curious over reports of a Khemet warrior that had assisted the Lexidun king, as well as the country declaring Imperium, 'Great, another country being an upstart and declaring themselves beyond their overblown pretenses of divine rule.'
Walking up to the Tempju, he amicably greeted the Sisters conducting rites to Myratnis before walking to the Ġnien: entering the lush garden, he saw the table that had been placed in the center, the Lord Grand Master of the Temple of War, the Sister of the Mother, and the generals of Varan in the middle of the discussion. Coughing slightly, Xalkayr called attention to the group, who turned to face him: both the Lord Grand Master and Sister stood up, greeting Xalkayr, "Blessed Lord, Blessed Sister, a pleasure to see the both of you," he stated, gesturing everyone to sit, "Tislijiet, my brothers, a pleasure to see all of you in great health." With everyone nodding in agreement, Xalkayr started, "The business with the 1,125th Council of Union has been dealt with and hereby dissolved: measures will be taken to oversee the convention of a new legislature. Before we can get to that, however, we must come to an agreement with the political realities of Kyras.
"It is clear now that the decentralized system that has been utilized since Foundation is outdated and poses a risk to the security of the nation and Kyran race, the Pilnvaras is unable to compensate for these troubling times. As such, I propose that we, the Constitutional Convention of Kyras, hereby enshrine the Constitution of the Republic, effective immediately. All in favor, indicate support: all opposed, indicate disapproval." The table stood, the generals unsheathing their swords in agreement alongside the Lord Grand Master - the Sister, lacking a weapon, stated, "In light of the Ten'saii War, and in desire to improve the standards of living for all Kyrans, I vote in favor of enshrining the Constitution and replacing the Pilnvaras." Xalkayr nodded, "Motion passes unanimously. Next on the list concerns the Temples - consultation with the Lord Grand Master and the Sister of the Mother, along with the reports compiled by the late Grand Master, Vortex ka-T'Rigma, over divine intervention, has indicated the dissolution of the Temples in favor of an amalgamated body, both to streamline the ecclesiastical hierarchies and to make clear our beliefs. Lord Grand Master, Sister of the Mother, since the matter concerns the both of you, what have your respective councils stated on their positions to this measure?" The Sister spoke first, "The Central Council of our Mother, after a period of time deliberating over the measure, are receptive to the arrangement so long as autocephaly is maintained, that the office of Sister of the Mother is of equal stature with the Lord Grand Master of the Temple of War and that conclaves are maintained to elect the highest office in representation of this new body." Xalkayr nodded, the Lord Grand Master stating, "In consultation with the College of Electors and the Council of State, the Temple of War is willing to accept amalgamation with the Temple of Nature so long as our duties and charges to the Kyran Forces are respected and maintained, and that the Temple of Nature also maintain a similar stance with their Hospitallers." The Sister nodded in agreement, "We are more than willing to maintain Hospitallers for the Kyran Forces as much as the Temple of War is willing to maintain their priests in combat."
"By the expressed approval, the Constitutional Committee hereby dissolves the Temple of War and Temple of Nature, seizing all assets and transferring them to the Amalgamated Temple of Kyras, hereby affirmed as the national body of religion for the Republic of Kyras. Both the Lord Grand Master and the Sister of the Mother shall serve as temporary leaders of the Amalgamated Temple until further reformation is made. I propose, in respect to the Amalgamated Temple, the veneration of Vortex ka-T'Rigma as Earthly Representative of the Gods, and that additional heroes of Kyran history receive similar veneration." Voicing their approval, Xalkayr moved on, "Next proposal calls for the dissolution of the Government of Kyras under the Pilnvaras in favor of a renewed government - this government shall replace the Falanx with the High Council of State, led by the Chancellor; the Council of Union and by extension the House of Sovereigns and the Senate in favor of the Kyran Congress, with the houses succeeded respectively by the Federal Council and the Chamber of Delegates; and the Judicial Council in favor of the Apex Tribunal of Law. All in favor, voice approval, all opposed, voice disapproval." Agreeing to the measures, Xalkayr stated, "Next measure concerns the filling of these bodies - under prior agreement, I shall serve as Interim Chancellor for a period of three months until the High Council of State selects the successor. The Kyran Congress and Apex Tribunal of Law require immediate fulfillment, with 25 percent of seats granted to the Kyran Forces, and an additional 25 percent allocated to the Amalgamated Temple for the Congress. This will take some time, so let us start on the selection process."
Five hours later "-and that concludes the allocation of seats. Next measure is the Language Standardization Act, which calls for the official language of Kyras henceforth be Ilsien tal-Gwerra, and hereby forbids usage of Vaslen ag-Toden in the usage of Kyran documentation and naming." Voting in favor, Xalkayr announced, "With the passage of the Act, all Kyrans are hereby encouraged to change their names accordingly with government officials to Ilsien tal-Gwerra. Next measure is the Populations Act, with two provisions - the Population Provision, and the Tribal Provision. The Population Provision calls for an increase in birth rates and therefore encourages the adoption of polygamous marriage and access to Temple-mandated hospitals to encourage the Kyran population in procreation. The Tribal Provision, meanwhile, calls for the immediate dissolution of all tribes in Kyras excluding the Kotek, Geras, Verush, and Reya: said tribal nations shall be protected and guaranteed land, but all holdings of dissolved tribes shall hereby become Kyran property and distributed among the citizenry. All in favor of the Population Provision, indicate support, all opposed, indicate disapproval." The Committee agreed, "Provision passes with immediate effect - all in favor of the Tribal Provision, indicate support, opposed, disapproval." Signaling support, Xalkayr wrote the names of the dissolute tribes, calling a sentry over, "Deliver this to the Defence Sector, have them begin extermination measures by the end of the month. Provision passes, and by extent, the Population Act.
The final measure for today concerns the Asilic border: the proposal listed here calls for an increase in fortifications built along the border, along with apprehension of Azkalon den Kayros and the leader of the raiding party in Asil under Kyran law. Additional measures call for a delegation to attempt to start talks with the Asilic government over trade and the Kahmpet Incident - all in favor?" With unanimous support, Xalkayr marked off the measure, "Motion passes, this concludes today's meeting of the Constitutional Committee, we'll begin again on the morrow."
Asil 5,275 strong
This was what remained of both Atek's and Azkalon's forces: following the death of Atek and the collapse of the Siege of Kástro Ronan, the surviving forces had retreated, leaving the Verush to be wiped out to the last man by the enraged defenders. As word permeated the underground, a force of Kyran soldiers moved to take Reis'kjan under Republican control, leaving Azkalon and his men to fight alone - the collapse and end of the Ten'saii War had emboldened the native population to raise up arms against Azkalon's forces, finally climaxing to him and his men fleeing the Dead City.
The coalescence of both forces was by accident, but both sides had united in agreement to avoid collapse: the hertag supporter of Atek had led them to the tunnels that the raiders had gone through, finding the smoldering ruins of the border post: wandering through the tunnels into Asil, they began to follow the signs of the raiders, along with strange symbols of an unknown origin.
'Fresh tracks, less than 3 days old,' Azkalon thought, looking at the remains of a raider camp: while he had always seen the raiders as little more than savages, he did admit a form of respect to their tenacity and stubbornness in dying, especially with the large gains of land they had made. Standing up, he grimly smiled before he called for the forces to follow. 'Only a little while longer, then we make contact. From there? Anything better than dying at the hands of the Republic, that was Atek's fate, and I don't plan to let them take me back, dead or alive.'
1. L-Ewwel Tempju ta 'l-Għaqda tal-Ħajja - The ecclesiarchical headquarters of the Temple of Nature, the First Temple of the Goddess of Life is the most important building for Kyran worshipers of Myratnis. Unlike the High Monastery of the War God, the Tempju is confined to a single building, filled with a crypt to past heroes, an expansive library, and the First Garden. Built after the introduction of Myratnis worship in Kyras, the Tempju has since served as a home to many of Kyras's destitute and impoverished people, taking in anyone with ailments and treating them with utmost care. 2. L-ewwel Ġnien tal-Ħajja - The First Garden of Life, this large garden was erected early into the Tempju's history in dedication to Myratnis, preserving verdant life. At a size comparable to a contemporary city block, the Garden contains a wide variety of trees, bushes, flowers, and additional foliage, and has served as a gathering place for many Kyrans and residents of Varan to visit and relax in the beauty of Myratnis's bounties.
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Post by Percyton on Nov 15, 2018 16:59:07 GMT -5
Camelon Castle, Camelon, Lexidus
Dual Kingdom diplomatic delegation to Lexidus
After the delegation was waiting for what seemed like an eternity, the door to their small and dark room opened, revealing a soldier. “His Majesty King Blair says its safe for you to leave now,” the soldier said. “He has arranged a guarded convoy to take you to Radan, where you can go to your next destination by boat. King Blair will be able to receive you again at a later date.”
“Thank you,” Reynold of Killdane replied. “Thank you to yourself and to your monarch for ensuring our safety.”
The soldier paused and stared, as if having a remembrance of a dark and unpleasant memory, then responded. “It wasn’t easy, but as long as our King stood firm, so did we. Long live King Blair!”
“Long live King Blair indeed,” Fergus of Cementia echoed. “We look forward to meeting with him again soon.” The soldier helped the delegation out of the room, and their journey began in earnest.
Countryside near Workston, Northern Locomati Island, Dual Kingdom of the Isles
Norman and Sidney
Despite some delays, Norman and Sidney were on the road again. While they hoped to reach a coast and catch a boat to some distant land beyond, they had been absentminded (Sidney out of ignorance and Norman out of frustration with Sidney’s ignorance), resulting in them traveling in a circle and ending near where they started: Workston, whose castle Norman and Sidney were kicked out of and nearly killed in. The two courtiers didn’t realize that, however.
The two were on the edge of the town, Sidney pondering the mysterious ways of seagulls, when Sidney’s tummy rumbled loudly.
“I must be hungry, Norm,” Sidney announced.
“I can hear that,” Norman replied. “Well, you’re in luck. We’re at a town. We can get some food there.”
“I would love some town food!” Sidney squealed. “But how are we gonna get it? We don’t have any money, and I’m afraid to go into town in case they recognize us.”
“For once you have a good point, Sid. Hmmm.” Norman pondered. He looked to his left, and a few yards away was a clothesline where some clothes and fake beards were hanging out to dry. “Bingo!” Norman said, quietly but triumphantly. “Follow me, Sid.” The pair crept closer, and as they did they heard a voice coming from the nearby cottage.
“I still can’t believe our play was rained out!” a female voice said in exasperation. “It looked clear earlier, and the soothsayer predicted sun and good tidings all week!”
“I always had my doubts about that supposed fortuneteller,” a male voice replied. “She’s closer to a witch, if you ask me. Anyway, with that heavy rain the night before the costumes will likely take a while longer to dry. Why don’t we head into town and check the clothes when we get back?”
“Good idea. Maybe some shopping in the market would improve my mood.” The pair of players then left their house and journeyed toward the town center by horse-and-buggy, while Sidney and Norman hid in a bush behind the house to avoid detection. Only once they were sure the couple were gone did the courtiers step out and approach the clothesline. Norman felt the clothes.
“I don’t know what he was talking about,” Norman said. “These clothes seem perfectly dry to make. Although, I wish we had a better selection.” Norman looked down the clothesline and saw all the outfits were either a century out of date or more, or were too colorful and outlandish to be inconspicuous.
“Well, choosers can’t be beggars, like you always say,” Sidney replied.
“The saying is ‘beggars can’t be choosers.’”
“You mean there’s a difference?”
Norman thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose if you analyze the implication there may not be a big – No no, we don’t have time for this! Just pick out something that fits and isn’t too crazy and let’s get out of here!” And so they did, Norman picking out an overly-colorful shirt and pants set which hadn’t been in style for over a hundred years, and Sidney picking out a tunic and shorts worn by ancient Islander warriors.
The pair then went into town, strolling down the streets. “We got our disguises,” Norman muttered, “but we still need some money to buy some good food. Hopefully there’s some way to make money in this town.”
“Like what?” Sidney asked.
“I don’t know, Sid. We’ll just have to… Sid? You alright?” Norman noticed Sidney had frozen in his tracks, starting at a wall. Norman came closer and saw the object of Sidney’s concern: On the wall were two posters, one with Norman’s picture on it, the other with Sidney’s.
“Looks like a wanted poster,” Norman said quietly. He stepped up to the wall to take a look. Below Norman’s picture was the following text:
Wanted: Dead or Alive. Wanted for Treason and Conspiracy against Count Philip. Described as tall, thin, and angry. Unibrowed. 5,000 gold pieces reward.
Under Sidney’s picture, the poster said:
Wanted: Dead or Alive. Wanted for Treason and Conspiracy against Count Philip. Described as short, thick, and forgetful. Not very bright, but do not underestimate him. 5,001 gold pieces reward.
“This is an outrage!” Norman complained to Sidney. “Me? Angry? Nonsense! And I think I’m worth far more than 5,000 gold pieces! And why in Myratnis’ name are you worth one more gold piece than me?”
Sidney still didn’t respond, until he whispered. “They found us.”
“What are you talking about? Why do you think they’ve found us?”
“With us here and the poster over there, I’m sure they’ve already recognized us and are getting ready to arrest us. They’re closing in on us right now.”
“Sid, stop talking nonsense. We’re –”
“THEY’RE AAAFTER UUUSS!” Sidney screamed in terror as he ran through the streets, villagers staring at him all along the way. Norman ran after him. At last Sidney ran out of town into a field, where a flock of crows were resting. Sidney’s approach frightened them off, and they flew away into the sky.
By now Sidney had worn himself out, and he collapsed into a sitting position on the ground. A couple seconds later, Norman finally caught up to Sidney, nearly out of breath.
“There – *huff* – you – *huff* – are – *huff* – Sid,” Norman said between breaths of air. “I was worried I’d never catch you.”
“Will we be alright, Norm?”
“Of course we will, Sidney,” Norman replied as he sat down next to Sidney. “I’d never let anything happen to you. Look, why don’t we just rest in this field for a bit and then find another town? Does that sound good?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks, Norm.”
“No problem, bud.”
Temple of Myratnis, Workston, Northern Locomati Island, Dual Kingdom of the Isles
Diesalion X
While Norman and Sidney were messing around with crows, not too far away, Diesalion X was on a mission to the Temple of Myratnis. Diesalion had been bidding his time for a revolt against the Dual Kingdom government, but he was running out of patience. So now he was heading to the local Temple of Myratnis to see if the omens were good for war. Upon reaching the temple, Diesalion went up a staircase to temple’s tower, where an augur was preparing his tools.
“Welcome, my lord,” the augur said as he bowed before Diesalion. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the Chancellor?”
“I seek to go to war against the Dual Kingdom of Thomas and Godred,” Diesalion replied. “I want to know if the Holy Mother would approve such an undertaking.”
“Of course,” the augur responded, “and you are a pious man for doing so.”
The augur went into a closest and pulled out a large pot of water, some incenses, and a few bottles of special spices. He dropped the spices and incense into the water, then stirred the mixture with a large pole. When he was finished stirring, he looked up toward the opening in the ceiling, raised his hands palms-up to his shoulders, and cried out “Spirit of Myratnis, I call to you seeking approval for armed conflict. The noble Diesalion X seeks to dethrone Grand Duke Thomas and King Godred of the Isles. If your feminine will approves of this, then send all the black birds into flight and spread their darkness above us!” As soon as the augur was finished speaking, a flock of crows flew overheard, nearly covering the small opening in black.
“Myratnis wills it!” The augur declared.
Diesalion smiled. “War it is then.”
Vicarstown Castle, Vicarstown, Northern Locomati Island, Dual Kingdom of the Isles
Mavis Anopheise
The sun rose, and the Governor of the Northern Locomati Island Mavis Anopheise rose as well. Mavis was a noblewoman from a merchant background. After her husband died, she used her background in money to skillfully manage the family’s estates, bringing her new power and prestige. She was also an early supporter of Grand Duke Thomas, so when Diesalion X was removed as Duke of the Northern Locomati, Mavis was quickly installed as the first Governor of the island, becoming the Northern Locomati’s first female leader is several hundred years.
After rising, a couple of servants helped Mavis get dressed, then escorted her to the reception room for the day’s business. After a few of the usual grievance seekers complaining about things like land and proper fencing, a more well-dressed man carrying a piece of paper came in.
“Oh?” Mavis said in surprise. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“Ulli Crewington, Your Excellency,” the man said. “I was sent by Chancellor Diesalion X on behalf of Count Philip of Vicarstown with a message. He asks you surrender the city to him and his army now or face the consequences.” Ulli passed the paper to Mavis. “Here are Diesalion’s terms.”
Mavis took the paper, looked it over, and laughed. “Diesalion X? An outlaw who wormed his way into becoming a chancellor is now dictating terms to me? Surely you’re joking?” Mavis asked in disbelief.
“This is no joke, Your Excellency.”
“Is that so? Then what force does Diesalion have that would compel me to accept?”
“See for yourself.” Ulli gestured toward the window, and Mavis approached the window and looked out. She saw just over the horizon a mass of soldiers coming over the hill toward the castle.
“But how?” Mavis asked.
“My lord has a way with convincing people,” Ulli responded matter-of-factly. “And skepticism of the current government certainly doesn’t hurt.”
Mavis grunted, then abruptly turned toward Ulli. “Tell your lord there will be no peace! Vicarstown will resist this illegal rebellion led by a wanted criminal!”
Ulli nodded and bowed his head. “As you wish, my lady. I bid you well in your upcoming next life.” Then the diplomat scurried out of the throne room.
When Ulli was gone, Mavis called over her military adviser Metrovickus Bo’Conius. “How many do you think there are?” Mavis asked.
Bo’Conius scanned the approaching army through the window. “By my estimate,” he replied, “I’d say about 3,000 men.”
“Compared to our 500. Not exactly appealing odds.”
“Very few things in life are,” Mavis’ political adviser Derek replied. “But they’re still worth doing, Your Excellency.”
Mavis chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Mavis then looked intently at her advisers. “We shall fight! Here and now is where we will make our stand.” Then she turned to a scribe sitting nearby. “And send word to Grand Duke Thomas and King Godred. If we fall, hopefully others can at least take up our fight.”
On Mavis’ order, the 500 troops manned their positions along the castle walls and towers, as they watched the numerically-superior forces of Diesalion march closer and closer. And then, they heard the war cry from the enemy general. It had come.
Shields and swords clashed, metal banging against metal. The battle was fierce and hard-fought, the defenders refusing to make things any easier for Diesalion’s force. Unsurprisingly, Diesalion’s forces prevailed at first, but the Vicarstown soldiers help their ground, and for a moment, the battle seemed to be turning in the defenders’ favor. Mavis, who was watching all the action from the castle’s highest tower, smiled at this. But her satisfaction did not last long.
As she was watching the battle, the door to the observation room burst open, and standing in the doorway were five soldiers from Diesalion’s army. They held their swords at Mavis’ throat.
“It’s over, usurper,” one of the men said. “You are now our prisoner.”
“The battle may be over,” Mavis replied, stoic and unemotional, “but the war is far from over. Your victory will not last. But, for now, I surrender myself and this city.”
The men smiled, as they tied up Mavis’ wrists behind her back. They did the same with Bo'Conius and the rest of Mavis' advisers, except for Derek, who had slipped away while the men were distracted. The men then displayed Mavis in front of the window, and the group's leader shouted “Vicarstown is ours!” A roar of approval came from the invading army. The siege was over. Vicarstown was once again in the possession of Diesalion X, and the rebellion claimed its first prize. Diesalion hoped it would not be the last.
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Post by Unfallious on Nov 19, 2018 13:55:41 GMT -5
Outer Amnest, Veritious
From a hill overlooking his capital Viceroy Absalon studied the scene. Smoke rose softly from a gaping gash in the Royal Palace. The Beam, once a soft blue, stood out in its crimson bleakness. It dominated the Amnestine skyline. From his position Absalon could see Crown gate. The portcullis was sealed. Though the reports said Crown Quarter was only partially overrun, it appears the gatehouse had been in the part that had fallen. According to the stories told by his men 30 soldiers had died making sure both Crown and Arms gate remained sealed. The Viceroy thought it nonsense that the rank-and-file would have such information, yet from the official reports on the state of the Siege, such a story didn’t feel so far-fetched.
It had been but a week since the horde had come, Absalon, from the far north, must have been among the last of the Viceroys to arrive, having answered the call the moment the banners had been raised. Stretching across the road in front of him, his army marches slowly towards New Gate in Temple Quarter. The only part of the city left standing.
“I feel this approach will be the last peace any of us will feel for a while”
Absalon thought out loud, pulling on the reins of his horse.
Cathedral of the Father, Amnest
As soon as Absalon had entered the city, he had been called to the Cathedral for an audience with the King’s War Council. The Viceroy readied himself for the carnage of bringing together the country’s most powerful men and placing them into a single room. Absalon had never been one to cause a fuss or to take part in high stakes political debates. Or any debates for that matter. Absalon was a quiet man. His family in Vengerheit had been one of the few viceroyalties in the Kingdom to have managed to retain their title for an extended period of time. Partially this was due to the distinct lack of rival Great Vengerhegen Houses for which the King could transfer the viceroyalty to upon succession, but Absalon liked to think that the honesty and reliability of the Lund House had also counted for something.
Absalon and his personal guard were now riding along the main gate-road of Temple Quarter, near the quarter’s centre. This was when the Viceroy had begun to notice just how empty the place was. Not in a general sense, the city streets were bustling the civilians, most of them were refugees from the other quarters who had taken to living in the covered side streets. No, what he was struck by was the military emptiness of the place. Where were the soldiers? All the Viceroys of the land were supposed to be here, hundreds of thousands of soldiers should be manning the battlements and keeping order in the streets. Yet, he could see only several contingents of troops, worn out and battle weary. Most of them still dressed in the distinct garb of the city guard. Entering the square outside the cathedral saw a noticeable uptick in military personnel. It appeared that the square had become an ad hoc military camp with an array of makeshift tends and cooking-fires set up all over the place. Yet, this was still only a few hundred at best, coupled with the soldiers he’d seen on the way through Absalon estimated that there could be no more than 1,000 soldiers in the city. Absalon himself had brought 4,000, his entire retinue. Was there some big military offensive going on that he had somehow missed in his initial scouting of the city? Perhaps. A meeting with the War Council would clear up his queries, at least.
Dropping down from his horse, the Venderhegen took a few moments to stretch his legs before heading inside the cathedral, bringing 3 of his personal guard with him. He felt nervous. Meeting ones King always was. Yet, stepping through into the nave of the cathedral quickly replaced the man’s nervousness with fear. The cathedral had become a makeshift hospital, blood coloured the floors and the moans of the injured filled the air. Where pews had once been there now was hospital beds, where the most grievously wounded lay. The pews themselves had been shoved into the aisles of the cathedral. Here, the walking wounded sat, awaiting their turn to be treated. There was at-least half as many men in here than there were out in the square.
“There was a major offensive yesterday. As you can tell, we took heavy casualties”
The voice had come from Absalon’s right. Turning to look he saw a bald man. His face was wrinkled and aged. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
“I’m the Captain of His Majesty’s Household Guard. I’ve been sent to take Your Grace to the war room.”
Wordlessly, more out of speechlessness than anything else, Absalon nodded to the man, who proceeded to walk down the through the nave towards the choir.
“It’s Ser Carl Hansen, by the way, Your Grace. We’re glad to have you here.”
“Anything-,” Absalon only now realised his mouth was completely dry. Clearing his throat, he tried again.
“Anything for the Crown & Throne.”
Hansen glanced back at him.
“You get used to it,” he said.
“It’s only been a week,” Absalon said, surprised.
“This city has seen enough death in that week to last a millennium.”
They continued on in silence. At the choir they headed down to the ambulatory. At this end of the cathedral it was quiet deserted, Absalon took some relief in the return of silence instead of an air filled with moans. Behind the ambulatory, Hansen led the Viceroy and his bodyguards down into a side room where the steps to the crypt lay. It seemed oddly fitting in a morbid fashion that the King would hold his war room in a crypt. After a winding set of steps the two men finally stood at the entrance to the crypt. Without much ceremony, Hansen knocked loudly on the door before lifting the latch and showing the Viceroy in.
The crypt was lit by candlelight. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls around them. The tombs of bishops, war heroes and even some of the earlier kings of Veritious were set into the walls on either side of him. The bishops and the kings had doors to their own dedicated rooms. The war heroes just had a drawer with a stone marking their name and a short description of their deeds. Six pillars, three on either side of the room, separated the tombs from the centre of the room. There, a small simple table sat. At the head of the table, rather unceremoniously, was the King of Veritious. King Petyr. Crown adorning his head, he wore simple clothes and was seated on the same wooden chair as everyone else. On his left hand side there sat his song the Crown Prince Johalas. To his right the king’s guard, Absalon’s grim guide, Ser Carl Hansen, took his place. And then, at the other end of the table there was an empty chair.
This was the War Council.
“Where-“ His throat was dry again. “Where are the other Viceroys?”
There was an awkward silence. Absalon had the sinking feeling that he had just asked a question that had reverberated about these walls more than once in the last few days.
“They didn’t answer the call,” Petyr said, eventually, “they are traitors to this Kingdom and they will be dealt with later.”
He sensed bitterness in the King’s words, and a hint of betrayal. Petyr was old enough to have personally appointed or confirmed the succession of many of the current Viceroys.
“Please. Sit.” The King gestured to the seat at the other end of the table.
Reluctantly, Absalon took his seat. There was another elongated silence.
“You come at a fortunate time, my Lord. We’ve low armour, low supplies and low morale. It may now seem it, but the sight of your men approaching raised the spirits of the city for the first time since the start of this godforsaken incursion.”
“Venderheit always answers the call, Your Majesty.”
The King nodded thoughtfully.
“And this City will never forget it. But it’s time to talk liberation. We’re going to attack the Arx, gain access to the Palace and bring this nightmare to a close. There’s just the minor issue of armour and weapons to take of…”
3 days later
Arms Quarter, Amnest, Veritious
Sword met claw. Monstrous roars interspersed with the battlecries of men filled the air. Absalon, together with Crown Prince Johalas fought side by side, their personal guards supporting them in their attack. Absalon thrust his sword into the fleshy abdomen of a Yrutan creature resembling some kind of humanoid octopus. It walked on two legs, but instead of arms there were only tentacles with sharpened tips. As he thrust the creature let out a roar and fell backwards. These octomen had been the main threat in this part of the city. There were others, of course. Some looked almost human and fought with black swords. A pack of Rabid dog-like creatures with multiple heads acted like a perverse kind of cavalry. They had pounced on the group a few streets back from an open window in an abandoned building. Since then they’d been harassed mercilessly. Now they were here.
“Your Grace, behind you!”
Absalon turned around in time to see a black sword come crashing towards his face. Before he could react the sword was blocked inches from his face by his guardsman’s sword. The Viceroy was quick to exploit an opening to thrust his sword into the humanoid creature before it could recover from the block.
“We need to reach the end of the street, push!”
The voice was Johalas, authoritative as ever. He was enmeshed in combat, several feet in front of his own personal guard. He seemed to be engaging in an exotic dance, swinging around and slashing at the humanoid octopi. His sword was constantly in motion, almost a blur. There was no doubt that he was an exceptional swordsman. Absalon pulled back behind his line, pulling aside one of the guardsmen at the rear of the line.
“Run to the right flank, tell them their Prince has made an opening and they are to exploit it. Return to me once you’ve done so.”
The man nodded and ran to the other side of the street. Absalon reached to his belt, pulling out a small bugle and placing it to his lips. He played a small tune, and watched as a set of guardsmen set at the rear of the line pulled back and pulled a bow from their backs. He thought a quick volley of arrows would be enough to break the back of the Yrutan defence. The thing about the creatures is that here was no morale with them. They simply attacked until they were slain or until it became advantageous to them to retreat. They were mindless, merciless creatures. But they weren’t stupid. They would feign retreat to ruse their enemy in to a more advantageous location. It may look like they fought like feral beast, but look closely and you’d see no gaps in their misshapen line.
He blew another note on his bugle and a moment later a volley of arrows flew over the Veritian line and impacted into the mass of the horde. They were making quick progress now. He could see the warehouse at the end of the street coming closer and closer.
He blew another note, sending a second volley soaring over their line.
The guardsmen Absalon had sent out earlier came running back over. Looking to his right, he could see that their right had made massive progress in only a few short moments.
“Head over to the left flank, tell them to push at the sound of the horn, got it?”
“Aye, Sir”
Absalon watched as the guardsman sprinted over to the left side of the line. The street was cramped and, if it were just a little quieter, the Viceroy probably could’ve just given the order from here. He waited a few moments to make sure the message got across before raising the bugle to his lips.
As he blew a third volley of arrows soared over the line followed by a push from the left. As he had thought, it appeared that enemy had been supporting their failing right flank with creatures from the left, and now they’d opened themselves up to a pincer.
Absalon blew a different tune on his bugle and the bowmen quickly threw their bows over their shoulders and pulled their swords out. This was a battle won. It would be over in minutes.
**
“You’re a good fighter, Your Highness,” said Absalon. The Prince’s armour was stained with a thick black substance. His blond hair was matted and tangled, and his face was covered in sweat. Yet he looked in high spirits.
“My father was a good teacher,” he replied. “I dare say without your command we’d be down a lot more men”
Absalon had always preferred command to the thick of battle. He had a knack for tactics and getting men where they needed to be. He could handle a sword, though. Any good Veritian could. They approached the large double doors of the warehouse. A group of soldiers strained to pull the doors open. With a large creek, the doors began to give way. Inside the building seemed to go on for several hundred metres. There were about 4 aisles, each one held a set of 4 shelves pilled high with boxes.
“Armour’s on the right, melee and ranged weapons on the right and shields in the middle,” Johalas said, directing his men with a vague wave of his hand.
Absalon looked around in wonder. He had heard of the fabled arms warehouses of Amnest, but had never had the opportunity to see the interior of one.
“And this is all Acarate?”
“There’d be no point storing anything else,” Johalas replied, “you might just be looking at some of the last Acarate in Calveria.”
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Post by Percyton on Nov 20, 2018 1:31:11 GMT -5
Royal Castle, Peel Godred, Dual Kingdom of the Isles
King Godred and Burnett Stone
It was mid-morning in the royal capital. The large doors of the throne room flung open, and to the sound of blaring trumpets, King Godred Crovan entered the room. He sat down on his throne and declared “The royal court is now in session!” As Godred settled down, he looked around the room, taking stock of who was there. Something was off. “Hmmm…”
“Is something wrong, Your Majesty?” asked a page.
“In a way. Boomerius seems to not be here today. He almost never misses court.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Countess Molly, the delegate from the Locomati court, replied. “Boomerius probably took a day off. Maybe even a holiday; I’m sure a man like him needs his rest, being so busy with his rituals and all.”
Godred seemed to accept this. “Perhaps you’re right, Countess. Probably nothing to worry about, just seemed a bit strange.”
Chief Driver Burnett Stone also thought this was strange, but he was far less accepting than his monarch. Burnett Stone felt sure something was going on, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He knew Boomerius was up to no good, but he couldn’t figure out what exactly he was up to. Burnett’s pondering, however, was soon interrupted. A messenger frantically ran into the throne room, waving a piece of parchment.
“Goodness, man!” Godred cried. “You were running so fast I thought the demons of the underworld were after you! What brings you here in such a hurry?”
The courier took a few seconds to catch his breath, then spoke. “News from Vicarstown!” the messenger explained. “Count Philip has risen up, and his forces captured Vicarstown! Governor Mavis Anopheise and her court were taken prisoner!”
Gasps went out throughout the court. Godred lunged forward from his seat. His eyes widened. “WHAT!?!” he exclaimed. “How did this happen?”
“There’s more,” the messenger went on. “Philip is being assisted by his new Chancellor, Diesalion X.”
Suddenly, the King understood. “Of course,” Godred muttered. “The young Philip and his strong base of support were just what Diesalion needed to get his power back, and with his charisma and military skill he was able to rally a large enough army to take Vicarstown. Why didn’t I think of this?” Godred sighed as he put forehead in his hand. “I could have prevented this.”
“You did the best you could, Your Majesty,” Percy of Avonsida said. “Grand Duke Thomas didn’t have much luck finding Diesalion either, so you’re not alone.”
Godred raised his head and shook it. “You may be right, but I do feel some responsibility for this. But, I must make up for it now.” Godred stood up from his throne and turned toward his page. “Send word to Ogmund! Tell him to mobilize the military! We shall be sending an army to help the Locomati!”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” the page affirmed as he rushed out of the room.
“The rest of you can go,” Godred continued. “I will need to consult with my advisers on this matter, so court is dismissed for the rest of the day.” With that, the courtiers started shuffling out of the throne room. All except Burnett Stone and Lady, who instead approached the throne.
“Your Majesty,” Burnett said, “I would like to request leave for a week.”
“Leave?” King Godred questioned as he sat back down. “What ever for?”
“For a holiday, my liege. My dear Lady grows tired of the bustle of court life, and she would like a rest in the countryside.” Lady was perplexed at this comment, but nevertheless went along.
“Indeed,” Lady confirmed. “I think some peace and quiet in the countryside with Burnett would do me good. All this stress is not good for a woman, my lord.”
Godred thought for a moment. “I would have appreciated your aid during this time, but I cannot fault you for wanting to take a holiday to ease your companion’s burdens. Very well. You are granted leave for one week starting this evening.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Burnett said as he and Lady bowed before the King. “I assure you, you will not be bereft of capable advisers while we are gone. You will still have Ogmund, and I think people like Percy of Avonsida and Flora of Tramingen will be of great assistance to you.”
“Is that so?” Godred asked, a tone of intrigue in his voice. “I will have to keep Percy and Flora in mind. Thank you, Burnett.”
“Any time, Your Majesty,” Burnett said as he and Lady walked out of the room. Burnett felt pleased with himself, but Lady was still puzzled.
“Burnett, what are you doing?” she whispered as they neared the throne room exit.
“We are going after Boomerius,” Burnett whispered back. “He’s making his move, and we need to stop him.”
By now, the two had left the throne room, the doors closed behind them, and they found Percy and Flora waiting for them. “Burnett, are you crazy?” Lady cried. “We can’t take on Boomerius! Not now!”
“This is our best chance,” Burnett said. “If we don’t stop Boomerius now, I fear he will become more powerful than ever, and defeating him will become impossible.”
“What’s going on?” Flora asked. Burnett and Lady explained.
“I agree with Burnett,” Percy said once everything had been explained. “We can’t miss our chance, and I think Burnett and Lady are ready. Me and Flora will hold down the fort and help the King.”
Lady sighed and looked at the floor. “I still don’t know about this.”
“It’ll be fine, my dear,” Burnett responded as he lifted Lady’s head up. “I’d never let anything happen to you.”
Lady smiled and looked Burnett Stone in the eyes. “Ok, Burnett. I trust you. Let’s do this.”
Near the village of Shinington, Northern Locomati Island, Dual Kingdom of the Isles
Burnett Stone and Lady
Burnett and Lady traveled far and quickly to catch up with Boomerius. But by now, they were getting tired, and so was their horse. Up ahead, they saw two men lying against a tree.
“They seem like they know the area,” Burnett said to Lady. “Let’s ask them for help.” They strolled their horse over to the men. “Excuse me, gents. My companion and I have had a long journey and are very tired. Can you tell us where the nearest way station is?”
“Way station?” said one of the men, who was dressed in the uniform of an ancient warrior. “What’s a way station?”
“Seriously Sidney?” griped the other man, wearing a colorful and out-of-date jester’s outfit. “You don’t even know what a way station is?”
“I really don’t, Norm. Guess I never needed one. The farthest I’ve ever traveled is between Vicarstown and Workston.”
So much for knowing the area, Lady thought to herself.
Norm explained to his ignorant friend. “A way station is a stop along a road, where people can rest, get refreshments, and change horses. And I think a saw a sign for one just up the road. It was called ‘Shiningtim’ or ‘Shiningen’ or something.”
“You mean Shining Time, Norman?”
“No, it definitely wasn’t that. That would be too stupid a name.”
Burnett chuckled. “Well, whatever it’s called, I think you’ve answered my question sufficiently. Thank you, Norman and Sidney.”
“Any time, bud,” Norman replied.
“Happy to help!” Sidney added. And with that, the Chief Driver and his companion continued on.
It took less than an hour for them to reach the sign Norman and Sidney mentioned, and it actually said ‘Shinington’. However, Burnett and Lady didn’t see a way station. Instead, they saw what looked like the charred remains of a way station, along with several other buildings in a similarly devastated state. “Oh Myratnis,” Burnett said quietly as he and Lady dismounted. “What happened here?”
“I’ll tell you what happened!” exclaimed an elderly Locomati woman as she approached the former waystation. “We were destroyed by one of our own! And his name was Peter Lennoxtar!”
Burnett was about to leave, wanting to get away from this angry and possibly-crazy old woman, but Lady held him back by grabbing the reins of Burnett’s horse. “Now hold on, Burnett,” Lady said. Then she turned back to the woman. “What did this Peter Lennoxtar do?”
And so, the woman told them the story: “Peter was my nephew. He seemed to have a promising future; the second son of a noble family, he would likely assist his older brother in managing the family estates.
“But then Peter got interested in this dark magic. He said it was from the god Yrutas, and to honor Yrutas and spread his power, Peter would spend hours or even days at a time in his room, engaged in strange and sometimes barbaric religious rituals. When he did come out of his room, his words were darker and more ominous. Peter had changed.
“One day, Peter’s mother, my sister, and his father confronted their son about this. They wanted to understand why Peter was doing this, and how they could get him to stop. Peter lashed out, first murdering his parents, then all his siblings. Then Peter went even further, releasing a huge amount of energy and power that destroyed our town. I was one of the few survivors, and I saw how much Peter had changed. Not only did such a huge exertion make Peter appear older and more haggard, but he declared he would take on a new name. Petrarch Tiberius… something. Boomer? Bomer?”
“P.T. Boomerius,” Burnett snarled.
“Yes! That’s it! Now I come back here twice a year to salvage what I can from my old home.” Before anyone could say anything else, they heard a faint clapping. Clap. Clap. Clap. They looked, and saw none other than Boomerius himself, standing in what was once the main road of the ruined town.
“A truly fascinating story, Aunt Martha,” Boomerius said mockingly. “Too bad it’s almost completely false. My family didn’t understand my new and better lifestyle. I saw a new way of life, a path to salvation, while they saw a threat. When they tried to infringe on my rights, I had no choice but to defend myself.”
“You call THIS defending yourself!?!” Martha exclaimed.
“Perhaps I did go to extremes,” Boomerius replied, “but this town needed a fresh start anyway. A fresh start in the image of Yrutas. In fact, the whole world needs such a fresh start, and you two are standing in my way.”
“We won’t let you go any farther,” Burnett proclaimed as he took out his staff. “We know what you’re up to, and it ends now!” Burnett stood in a fighting position, and Lady followed his example.
Boomerius laughed heartily. “Oh really? You think you can stop me?”
“Yes, I do.” Burnett then blasted a ray of blue energy at Boomerius, but he absorbed it in his hands and redirected it at Burnett. Burnett shielded his body with his staff, which dissipated the blast.
“Not bad,” Boomerius said. “For a beginner.” Burnett, angry at this back-handed compliment, fired another blast, but Boomerius dodged and jumped into a tree.
“How underwhelming,” Boomerius remarked. “I feel sorry for Tasha that she married a weakling like yourself. Perhaps that’s why she died.” Burnett was enraged now. No one could insult his wife, or the deep affection he had for her. Burnett couldn’t take it. He fired his biggest blast yet, this time red in color. Boomerius picked up his staff and used it to absorb the blast. Then he pointed his staff straight at Lady and released the energy. Burnett rushed to defend his companion, but it was too late; the blast hit Lady right in the chest, knocking her down as she yelped from the impact. As Burnett and Martha kneeled around Lady, Boomerius just laughed maniacally.
“A pathetic performance,” Boomerius taunted. “And as I expected, you can’t defeat me.” Boomerius ran off, but running wasn’t necessary; Burnett was too focused on Lady to chase after Boomerius.
“Lady? Lady! Are you alright?” Burnett cried.
Lady moaned in pain. “I.. I… don’t know.” She tried to sit up, but instead she groaned in pain and lied back down. Burnett put his hands over Lady’s wound and tried to use his healing powers from Myratnis. A glowing blue disk appeared over Lady’s wound. It helped a little to ease Lady’s pain, but as Burnett was not a trained healer, Lady would need professional healing attention soon.
“It’s a miracle he didn’t kill her,” Martha remarked. “He’s certainly capable of it.”
“Regardless,” Burnett said. “We’ll have to go back home. We can’t follow Burnett like this, and I need to keep you safe.”
“No, Burnett,” Lady weakly protested. “That’s what Boomerius wants. He knew if he killed me, you would continue tracking him with a vengeance. If I remained alive, you’d feel obligated to take care of me and turn around.”
“Well it worked. Even if we kept moving, with you like this, we’d have to slow down, and we wouldn’t be able to catch Boomerius anyway.”
“Then leave without me,” Lady said.
“No! You’d die!”
“It doesn’t matter, Burnett. You should –”
“No!” Burnett insisted. “You are returning to the capital with me and that is final!” Burnett lifted Lady back on to the horse, and then got on in front of her.
“My new village is just up the road,” Martha said. “There’s a healer who can help your companion, and then I can give you and your horse some food and water for your return journey.”
Burnett nodded. “Thank you for your kindness, ma’am.” The three then went along the road toward the village.
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Post by Percyton on Nov 22, 2018 13:29:12 GMT -5
Depotis Field, near Vicarstown, Northern Locomati Island
Grand Duke Thomas and Gordon of Doncastburgh
Thomas, the Grand Duke of all the Locomati, and his chief general Gordon of Doncastburgh were mounted on their horses, standing firm at the top of a hill. Just below and in front of them was their army, which they had quickly mobilized and rallied when news of Diesalion’s capture of Vicarstown broke. The army marched north from Ballahoo, crossing the channel that separated the two Locomati isles and marching on Vicarstown. They met Diesalion’s forces at a field about 10 miles from the city walls. The government army numbered 10,000 strong, compared to Diesalion’s 7,000 strong force. Strong odds, Thomas thought to himself, but not certain. Diesalion is a crafty one, and he can inspire great passion in his troops.
Gordon spoke up. “We shall win this, Your Majesty,” Gordon assured, sensing his lord’s uncertainty. “Our cause is a righteous one, and Myratnis will ensure our victory.”
“The fact that we have to rely on divine intervention in order to triumph does not reassure me, Gordon,” Thomas deadpanned.
“My apologies, sire,” Gordon replied. “That was not my intention. But regardless, I am confident we shall prevail over our foes.”
Thomas put on a small smile. “I can admire your optimism. Some might even say it borders on cockiness.”
Gordon chuckled. “Guilty as charged, Your Highness.” Thomas’ smile grew a little broader, but then he looked to his other side, and saw a servant boy. But it wasn’t who Thomas would have liked to seen there.
I wish Percy was here, Thomas thought. He’d understand. I hope he’s doing good work at Godred’s court.
Gordon looked toward his Grand Duke. “Are you ready, my lord?”
Thomas nodded. “Yes, I am.”
Gordon nodded in return, and picked up a cone-shaped bullhorn. “Listen up, men!” Gordon shouted. “On my signal, we charge into the enemy lines. Just like we’ve discussed.” Gordon paused, then began his countdown. “Ready… steady… CHAAARGEE!” The men wasted no time, charging into battle like the legions of old. With determined looks on their faces, the infantry ran into battle, swords and pikes clashing against shields and armor. The cavalry stood on a nearby hill, a reserve that Thomas would call upon when needed. The battle to determine the fate of the Locomati had begun.
Diesalion X
From another hill on the opposite side of the battlefield, Chancellor Diesalion X watched the battle with his nominal lord/de facto puppet Count (soon-to-be King, it was hoped) Philip and their top general Bowlerius, all three on horseback. From their vantage point, things seemed to be going well. Diesalion’s men were motivated and loyal to both Philip and Diesalion. They fought hard, and it seemed to be paying off: Diesalion could see the Grand Duke’s line was beginning to bend. The center of Thomas’ forces seemed to be moving back, Thomas’ right flank was becoming increasingly disorganized as rebel forces thrust through it, while only Thomas’ left flank appeared to be holding firm. It seemed like Thomas’ forces still had a chance for a comeback, but otherwise the forces loyal to Count Philip were prevailing.
“The men are doing a fine job, my lords,” Bowlerius announced. “A little more pressure, and we can break them.”
“Quite so,” Diesalion agreed. “Let’s finish the job then. Bring in the cavalry and have them attack the Grand Duke’s left flank.”
“Of course, sire!” The order was soon relayed through the blow of a horn, signaling the cavalry charge. That’s when things went wrong.
“Can I ride with them?” Philip asked excitedly after the horn was blown. Philip had no experience with battle or fighting of any sort, and Diesalion knew this. A royal-led charge was too big a risk.
“That won’t be necessary, Your Royal Majesty,” Diesalion responded. “These troops can manage fine, and you’re an inspiration right where you are.”
But Philip disagreed. As he saw the cavalry approaching, he whipped his reins and charged his horse down the hill. “I’d be an even bigger inspiration if I charged with them!” Philip called as he rode off.
“Philip, no!” Diesalion yelled. But it was too late. Philip emerged at the bottom of the hill just ahead of the cavalry. The cavalry grew bolder and more inspired at the sight of their count, the one they all wanted to see on the Locomati throne, leading them into battle.
“CHAAARGEE!” Philip cried as he and the cavalry hit the grand ducal left flank. Some of the left flank were intimidated by the sight of the Count and his cavalry, but not all were frightened. One of those who remained undaunted managed to get close enough to Philip and his horse, and with a great heave, thrusted a pike into Count Philip’s neck. Another man got close enough to stab Philip’s horse, causing the great animal to fall down on top of its rider. A third infantryman put a pike through the Count’s forehead just to make sure. If he wasn’t already, Count Philip of Vicarstown was now dead.
It didn’t take long for the other cavalrymen to notice, and the effect was almost instant. The boy they were fighting for, their whole reason for being here, was now dead on the battlefield. Chancellor Diesalion inspired both respect and fear, true, but without Philip, they saw no reason to follow Diesalion or any of Philip’s officials. The cavalry lost heart and fled, Thomas’ left flank running after them. Soon other parts of the army saw the fleeing cavalry, and seeing the force that was supposed to finish their victory fleeing after having just joined the battle had a devastating effect on morale. First Diesalion’s left flank fled, then the right flank, and then the center, sending the whole army into a chaotic rout. Finally, Grand Duke Thomas sent in his cavalry to finish the job and catch some of those who were trying to flee.
Diesalion watched all of this unfold from his hill with Bowlerius. Diesalion had a look of anger and disgust on his face, while Bowlerius’ face was one of fear and panic.
“Ah!” Bowlerius screeched, high-pitched, as he saw the fleeing men. “It’s over! We’re done for!”
“We can still rally the men back!” Diesalion barked. “Come on!” Diesalion gestured for Bowlerius to follow, but instead, the general charged down the hill in the opposite direction, routing with the army. Diesalion grunted, and realizing he had no chance of victory with Philip dead and his general and army both in flight, Diesalion too charged down the opposite end of the hill away from the battle. It was over. Grand Duke Thomas had won.
Grand Duke Thomas and Gordon
Thomas smiled as he saw his men chasing after the shattered rebel army. “Today is our day of triumph!” He shouted at no one in particular. He rotated his body and hugged Gordon from their horses. Gordon was surprised at this gesture of joy, but smiled at his lord’s overwhelming happiness.
“Yes, it is Your Majesty,” Gordon affirmed after the hug had ended. “But I do have to temper your enthusiasm.”
Thomas was puzzled. “Explain, Gordon.”
“We won, but at a high price. The battle was bloody for both sides, and our forces took quite a beating. Heavy casualties. We should stop and rest rather than chasing after the remnants of Diesalion’s forces.”
Thomas looked solemnly at Gordon and nodded. “You’re right. We can’t afford to give chase, and with Philip dead, I expect the rebellion is dead as well. We shall stop here.” Thomas turned to a servant. “Send the order! Halt the troops and stop the chase!” A horn was blown to relay the signal, and all of the Grand Duke’s forces stopped in their tracks. They watched as the rebels forces fled in all directions. The main rebel army, and with it the rebellion, was gone.
A few days later… Diesalion X
Once Diesalion was sure Thomas’ army had left and returned to their base, Diesalion returned to the battlefield with a few bodyguards. They all rode to the scene by horse and inspected the area. A few minutes in, Diesalion dismounted after seeing a familiar corpse. He looked down at the body, and saw Count Philip, bloodied and with a look of terror frozen on his face. Diesalion shook his head.
“Pathetic,” the former Chancellor muttered as he kicked the corpse’s torso. “That’s the last time I work on behalf of a pretender.” Diesalion got back on his horse and led his bodyguards to a shady spot under two trees just beyond the battlefield. Diesalion dismounted, as did his bodyguards, and set up a small chair that one of the bodyguards had been transporting. No sooner had Diesalion sat down when a familiar face approached him.
“Roderickus?” Diesalion asked. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard all about your little battle,” Roderickus explained, “and I came here as soon as I heard. I’m ashamed of you. First you take my job as Philip’s chancellor, and now you’re responsible for the death of the rightful ruler of the Northern Locomati people.”
“Not true!” Diesalion protested. “Philip charged into the battle on his own accord, and I actually tried to convince him to stay put and keep himself safe.”
“If you hadn’t launched this ill-conceived rebellion, Philip wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place!” Roderickus shot back. “It’s honestly astounding how this could have been avoided, how Philip could have still been alive if you never showed up.”
“You still haven’t explained why you’re here.”
“First, to tell you off, which I just did.” Roderickus seemed pleased with himself as he said this. “Then to collect Philip’s body and arrange for him to have a proper burial. Myself and the remnants of the movement will have to go underground now, but at least we can take care of Philip’s body and legacy while we wait for the right time. You, on the other hand, are no longer welcome among the legitimist movement.” With that stern pronouncement, Roderickus stormed off.
“Ah, who needs you?” Diesalion retorted. “I was done with this whole legitimist thing anyway.” Once Roderickus had left, Diesalion settled back into his seat to rest. But only a minute later, one of his bodyguards came up to him.
“You have another visitor, sir,” the guard said. “He says he’s from King Godred’s court and he wants to help you.”
“Is that so?” Diesalion questioned, at least a little skeptical. “Bring him over.” The guards did so, escorting a wrinkled man in dark clothing to Diesalion’s resting place. “What is your name, stranger?” Diesalion asked.
“P.T. Boomerius, at your service,” the man replied with a light bow.
“I understand you want to help me.”
“Indeed. If we work together, we can achieve amazing things.”
Diesalion was doubtful. “Is that right?”
“It is. But first I want to ask you something, Your Majesty. What are your thoughts on religion?”
Diesalion shrugged. “I was born a follower of Rigma and followed his rituals, and then when the Locomati islands converted to Myratnis I did the same and followed her rituals, but I’ve never considered myself especially religious.”
“I see. And tell me, what are your thoughts on… Yrutas?”
The next day… Norman and Sidney
Diesalion left in the company of Boomerius that same day, and the day after that, the exiled courtiers Norman and Sidney arrived on the battlefield while wandering. They looked at the sea of dead bodies.
“Dear Myratnis,” Norman said quietly. “This is terrible. I’ve never seen so many dead bodies.”
“Neither have I,” Sidney replied.
“This is even more corpses than that time my parents took me to a mortuary when I was a child.” Norman paused. “I never understood why they did that.”
Sidney interrupted. “Hey Norm, come take a look at this!” Norman looked over, and saw Sidney was pointing at one of the bodies. “That body looks familiar,” Norman said.
“That’s what I thought!” Sidney responded. “I think this is Count Philip’s body.”
“It’s a little hard to tell, but I think you’re right Sid. Shame what happened to him.” Norman shed a couple tears.
“Are you crying, Norm?” Sidney asked.
“Me? Crying? Of course not!” Norman insisted. “My eye’s just a little irritated is all.”
Sidney seemed to accept this. “Ok.” Sidney sighed. “I can’t believe Philip is really gone. He was such a happy and energetic kid, and now he’s lying here.”
“Yeah, I can’t believe it either. Shame Philip had to get involved in this Diesalion mess. If he hadn’t, Philip would still be alive, and we’d still be courtiers at his court.”
Sidney smiled at those memories of better days. “Yeah, that would have been nice.”
Norman took one more look at the dead count’s body. Then he turned to his companion. “We should go, Sid. This place is depressing.”
Sidney nodded sympathetically. “Ok, Norm. Let’s go.”
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Post by Unfallious on Nov 30, 2018 22:59:43 GMT -5
Cathedral of the Father, Amnest
The crypt was more populated today. The simple table had been swapped out for a longer, slightly more ornate table. However, the simple, battered chairs remained. There was just more of them now. The additional seats were to accommodate the regimental commanders of the combined armies of Veritious. Or rather the ones who had shown up. Absalon sat near the Crown-Prince and the King at the head of the table. To his right sat the overall City Guard commander and across there sat Ser Hansen of the King’s Household guard. The rest of the table was taken up by various commanders of each of the city’s Quarter Guards. An empty chair sat at the far end of the table. A symbolic gesture meant to represent the commander of the Arx Quarter Guards, who had been completely wiped out in the early days of the siege.
“Thank you all for coming, Sers,” The King said, authoritative as ever. “I trust the full detail of tomorrow’s assault has been delivered to your respective chambers, and that you’ve all had a chance to read it.”
There was a round of nodding from the table.
“And I trust you all understand the parts you are to play?”
“Your Majesty…” The Quarter Commander for Crown Quarter spoke up. “Are you sure it’s wise to split our forces like this?”
The King looked at the Commander thoughtfully. He was a young man. Probably the third or fourth Commander for his quarter since the incursion.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Valdemar, Your Majesty. Felix Valdemar.”
“Commander Valdemar, if we are to achieve victory we will need to distract our enemy. Our numbers are strong, our armour is acarate, and our enemy thinks us weak. If we open with an attack on Crown, which has already been weakened by our raiding operations, they’ll think we’re making a push for the quarter. That’s when we’ll hit the Arx.”
Valdemar frowned. “And what about those of us tasked with distracting the enemy, Your Majesty. Are we to be fodder for the beasts?”
“To die with honour in battle for your country is a fate precious few get,” the Commander for Temple Quarter said, a tone of disdain in his voice.
“To serve is an honour in itself,” the King said, “no one here is to die. Not today, not tomorrow, and not to them, nor to any enemy.” He looked back to the young Commander. “You won’t die tomorrow son, you have your armour, and 400 good men.”
“What about the Palace, Father. The Portal?” Johalas asked.
“Hansen.” Petyr turned to the Commander of his Household Guard as he rose to speak.
“Your Majesty. Your Highness. Our scouts report that the Palace is in a state of advanced disrepair,. The throne room especially. It seems when the portal manifested it took a toll on the place. A strong man and a warhammer with a head of acarate on a few load-bearing beams and you could bring down the throne room at least. Maybe even half the palace. It’ll definitely seal the entrance to the portal, anyway.”
“You want to bring down the Sapphire Palace?” Johalas rose to his feet, alarmed. “This is your big plan? Destroy the heart of this city?” He turned to his father, “and what about the Throne? You can hardly rule the land with only the Crown, surely?”
“The bishops have been consulted,” the King replied, solemnly, “so long as one of the instruments of state survive, our house can still be coronated. A new throne will be cast.”
“Father, you can’t be serious! The Viceroys have all but abandoned us, they’ve already defied the will of their King, and now you wish to destroy the legitimacy of the succession? There must be a better way-“
“There isn’t.” the King replied.
“Then we need more time, we’ll need a new pl-“
“THERE WILL BE NO NEW PLAN,” the King bellowed. His voice echoed off the walls of the room.
There was silence. Absalon and the Commanders alternated between looking down at the table, and looking straight ahead into space. The Crown-Prince looked at his father, half dazed. The King regained his composure.
“There is nothing else we can do, my son. This city has been pained for too long. If the succession be cast into doubt then so be it for if we do not cleanse this threat from this city and from this land then you will preside over dust and ruin.”
At that the door to the Crypt opened and a guardsmen rushed in, breathing heavily. “Your Majesty, it’s a messenger. He says it’s urgent.” Behind the man, Peter could clearly make out the grizzled and worn appearance of Insignas. He rose to his feet.
“By God, Jacobi. Where have you been?”
Insignas pushed past the guardsman and into the room. He took a seat at the empty chair at the opposite end of the table from the King and breathed a long sigh.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. The journey back was long and arduous. I heard of Amnest’s troubles from the outer towns. I’m sorry I could not be here sooner.
“Nonsense, it’s good to see you. Tell us, did you deliver the message? Did you make contact?”
“Yes,” Jacobi said, rubbing his temples, “I did.” He looked up at the King, “They let me in, I thought I was getting through to them. And then they threw me out. Not just me, it looked like they were expelling a great many people. I don’t know what’s going on over there in that strange land, but it’s not peaceful.”
The King thought on what he had heard. It was disappointing, but hardly surprising. He had never expected their help, but he had at least expected some kind of information. Advice, even.
“Absalon,” he said at last. The Viceroy looked towards his liege. He had been following along, if somewhat confused. “Yes, your majesty?”
“I want you to pick 50 of your best men. I want you to provision them for a month, and I want you to place them under the command of Insignas. He’s a good man, and I trust he’ll take care of them.”
“But sire, the attack-“
“The attack will manage. Insignas, how early can you leave?”
“At first light, if need be,” the tired man replied, somewhat wearily.
“It does. Get some rest. I want you to go back, and I want you to make them understand what has happened here. You tell them how they corrupted the divinity of God. You make them understand that if Yrutas could do that to us, imagine what he could do to them.”
“And if they refuse to listen?” Insignas asked, cynically.
The King rose from his seat and looked at Insignas with a face of grave determination. “Then you tell them, if they want to succumb to forces unholy then that is their prerogative. But when we’re done here, we’re coming. They can help. Or they can get out of the way.”
The Next Day
The Arx, Amnest
The Valleian Expeditionary Force could hear the shouting grow louder and louder as they approached the centre of the city. The screams of man intermingled with the cries of the unholy. At points, they could barely tell the difference. As they winded through the city streets in a quick march their hearts filled with a mixture of fear and excitement. Many of them had heard of Yrutas and his horrors. Few had seen them.
**
The square was a bloodbath. The battle had raged for an hour, and the King’s men had made staggering progress. The distraction caused by the attack on Crown Quarter and worked perfectly and almost 3,500 men had managed to break through into the wide street leading up to the square outside the Sapphire Palace. Yet here they had been halted. The upper level of the city had collapsed at the end of the street creating a small passage way which functioned like a bottleneck. Furthermore, it appeared the back alleys had also been similarly blocked. This was no coincidence, it seemed.
“Push in men!” Johalas cried, sword drawn as he jumped into the foray at the mouth of the bottleneck. He could glimpse the vast gates to the palace through the opening in the rubble. The gates fell open to reveal the palace square bare and the doors to the royal residence wide open. They were so close. Yet, between him and his home there was a vast horde of the Yrutan menace. They clambered over each other in a fluid-like mass, scrambling with a kind of feral eagerness for blood. Try as they might, cutting through the horde was like trying to cut through water. Each creature that was struck down was immediately replaced by another. The same could not be said for the Veritians. Every casualty they took dealt a blow, both tactically and in terms of morale. Absalon stood near the rear of the formation. He could see the struggling at the front to get through the bottleneck. Every time it seemed like a group would get through they’d quickly be overrun and consumed in the overflowing mass of the horde. This looked hopeless. Even if they had taken them by surprise, there was no way they would be able to push through this chokepoint. He couldn’t even spy the King. Could he have seen that the battle was lost?
As if in answer to his question, he heard a strong bugle playing off in the distance. This was followed by the cries of men and the clatter…of hooves? There was a shout from the front, then another. Was that cheering? Absalon pushed his way to the front. He climbed onto the debris and clambered up to the top. Then he saw it. The King had, in the middle of battle, left the main squad and instead gone through Crown Quarter on horseback, where Valdemar and his men were drawing the attention. This had allowed them to rush onto the square from another side. As they rode in the sun seemed to shine on them, the King’s crown gleamed in the sunlight. They came in with a brutal crash into the rear of the Yrutan line. The impact had an almost immediate and strong impact on the horde. Their line crumbled under the cavalry charge allowing Johalas and his guard to take the opportunity and push through the bottleneck. This was followed by the rest of the men, Quickly the Yrutan horde had gone on the retreat, pulling back towards the palace gates. The King and his guard had damaged the Yrutan line, but in doing so had separated themselves from the main group. As the horde pulled back to the palace gates the King and his guard had no choice but to pull back too into the courtyard. Absalon watched as they jumped off their horses and ran out of sight into the palace.
Absalon, still atop the bottleneck, watched the men continuing to flood in. The horde was holding at the gates, but the Veritians had established a strong hold in the square now. The cries of battle were all around him. The cries of men, the shouts of beats. He had trouble telling which was which. That was when he heard a new sound. A trumpet playing a tune he didn’t recognise. A battle cry in a language he didn’t know. He was suddenly aware of a new formation of men descending on the horde. They had come from the dock.
The Throne Room, Amnest
“Close the doors!” Petyr yelled to his men as they ran hurriedly into the throne room. Behind them the mad cries of the inhuman rung out through the corridors. With a bang, the door silenced them. Inside the throne room it was unusually quiet, save for the distant sounds of ongoing battle.
The room was a mess verging on unrecognisable. The floor and walls were painted with a mixture of blood and a reddish-brownish-greyish substance. It coated everything. In the middle of the room stood the throne. It was untouched. Not by corruption, nor by damage, nor even by dust. Petyr had always thought it were a relic of divine origin. Maybe this was proof. He walked over to it, running his hands over the arm of it. He remember when he used to take it for granted. This throne, and the crown atop his head. These were his birthright. The door behind him banged loudly.
“They’re trying to get in.” Hansen said, alarmed.
“Let them try,” the King replied, “those doors are lined with accarate. They’ll be there all day.”
The King drew his attention towards the beam. This close to it he could see that instead of a crimson, it seemed to be a kind of blood red. It seemed to have flecks of greyish brown impurities running through it. The portal in the centre stood open. A black hole, no doubt straight through to the tabes.
“We need to close this.” The King thought to himself out loud.
“The reports were correct, sire,” said one of the guardsmen, inspecting the side wall of the chamber, “this can’t take much more. I reckon we could collapse this room, maybe even the palace itself”
“Should’ve we ought to think of our escape plan, first.” Said another guard.
“Well we’re not getting out through the front door,” noted Hansen as the noises of clawing and banging at the door continued.
“We can try the passageway down to the Subterranium, there we can get out through one of the surface entrances.” One of the guardsmen said, making his way towards a small door at the side of the room.
Pulling on the door, the guard was met with a wall of rock. Through cracks in the stonework he could tell that the stairwell down to the forges and the Subterranium had collapsed on multiple levels.
As the guardsmen debated their options, the King took a seat on his throne. He looked up. The ceiling was adorned with religious imagery and the legendary tale of the foundation of Veritious. As a kid he could remember lying on the floor and going over the tale many times. The wars against the unjust, the protection of the weak through the sacrifices of the brave. He was raised on these tales.
“We’re not leaving here, gentlemen.” The King said, finally.
The guardsmen stopped their debate and looked over to their King. Any other man and they’d have objected. Any other man and they’d be abandoning the mission and holing up inside the room. Maybe the others would get inside before some horror crawled through the portal. Any other man, and they’d take the selfishness of survival over the honour of bravery. Except it wasn’t any other man. This was Petyr Lockwell. Their King.
“You all have your hammers, I presume?”
The men pulled out the warhammers they had strapped to their back. Veritian warhammers were only about the size of a mace, but the accarate tip packed a powerful punch. They set up in positions across the room, nearest to the weakest of the chamber’s beams. Standing by, they looked to their King, still seated on the throne.
“Appreciate these moments, men. For now you are living legends.”
They paused in this position for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably more like 30 seconds. Then, seemingly in synch, they drew back their warhammers and swung them with an almighty cry.
The Arx, Amnest
Johalas was in the thick of it, as usual. His sword cut and sliced, his face one of determination. He was in the centre of the line, nearest to the palace gates. He had seen the entry of the strangers on the left flank, but his attention had quickly been turned elsewhere. He was determined to break through, to get to the palace. To aid his father.
“Push on men! Victory approaches!” He cried, almost in a state of joy. Johalas was most alive in battle.
As his sword plunged into the belly of a beast with no head, he became aware of a low rumbling. This was quickly accompanied by a cracking noise. Within moments the cracking noise grew into a crumbling. Removing his sword from the beast he looked up to see the Sapphire Palace above him, shining iridescent in the sunlight. Then, it seemed to wobble slightly. All at once, the main structure of the palace began to crumble inwards. The main spire bent towards the square. Its brickwork cracking and the outer metal bending and tearing. It looked as if it would detached from the building and tumble down towards the square, towards Johalas in the frontlines. Then, a pulse shot up the beam, sending a red-blue shockwave rippling through the clouds. A moment later the pulse reversed, converging inwards. The spire dislodged, falling towards the square. Moments later, the pulse shot down the beam, hitting the ground and causing everyone in the area to lose their footing. The collapsing palace, the falling spire, they were pulled inward in an implosion that rang out in the air.
Then. Silence. Smoke and dust filled the air. Even the horde seemed to be dazed. Many of the creatures were sprawled out across the floor, scrambling to get their bearings.
Johalas jumped to his feet. His sword dropped. “FATHER,” he cried out, bursting through the disorientated horde’s lines towards the ruins of his home.
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Post by Lex Caledonia on Nov 30, 2018 23:06:21 GMT -5
Dearest Helena,
I hope this letter finds you well. We here in Lexidus have not had the luxury of describing ourselves as such in these recent weeks. The rebuilding process is slow and painful, Yrutas' minions took many lives and destroyed much but the city is healing. I wish I could say the same for myself. Eimear is gone. Slain by the Yrutan scum in a bid to save my wretched life. I was in fact saved by a band of Rohzai warriors, their leader being a man by the name of Bakahn al-Kwharafi. He wields a weapon that can destroy Yrutas' influence and his minions. The power of Zypnac flows through him and his spear.
That is why I am writing to you today. Not for pity, not to convey my woes and grievances to you. No. This is a call to arms. Helena, I am calling a crusade against the mad god Yrutas, a war which will see every nation in Calveria united and marching into the Magna Tabes. To end the god of corruption once and for all. The Northern Alliance shall follow us, I will send similar letters to every corner of Calveria calling them all to arms and to a meeting. We will hold this meeting of leaders in the former lands of the Quijain, now no man's land, just east of the Lexidun border. You'll find the location attached to this letter.
Know this Prime Minister, we must act now or lose Calveria to a deity who only grows stronger and bolder daily. I cannot and won't lie to you, this crusade will be unlike anything we have seen before, blood will be spilled and it will be our own. This is necessary. We need you now, more than ever. I need you.
Regards,
Your friend always, Blair
Dear King Godred of the Dual Kingdom,
It was an honour to finally meet the representatives of your fine nation. My sincere regret being their swift and panicked exit from my capital after the Yrutan attack. I believe your nation and your people to be good friends of Lexidus. Which is why what I'm about to ask of you is about to be a true test of our flourishing friendship. Yrutas is rising and we need to put and end to the mad god. How? A crusade. I am assembling all of the nations of Calveria together to destroy Yrutas once and for all. Every day he grows more powerful and attacks more nations. We must unite and march into the Magna Tabes.
The leaders of various Calverian nations will meet just to the east of the Lexidun border in no man's land, a quiet valley which you will find located on a map attached to this letter.
I know this is much to ask and I will not fool you, this will not be lossless battle we shall face. But it would be my honour to forge an eternal friendship with you in a battle to end all other battles. We must fight together or die alone.
Sincerely,
King Blair de Brus, King of Lexidus
To his Majesty of the Righteous Kingdom of Veritious,
I pray this message finds its way to you. I have understood that for quite some time you have been under siege from Yrutan forces. This is something we both have in common. Day by day, night by night, he grows in strength. Yrutas the god of the arcane and corruption needs to be stopped. The only way we can accomplish this is if we, all the nations of Calveria, unite and crusade against the mad god. Ending him once and for all. You and I both are witnesses to the destruction we all face if we let this continue. The leaders of Calveria will meet in the location marked below in this letter. I know I must be asking so much of you, especially during your dire straits. Know this, Lexidus pledges to support you and help retake your kingdom from Yrutas. You can then gain strength and together we can sink our blades deep into the heart of Yrutas.
Gods speed,
King Blair de Brus of the Empire of Lexidus
To the ruler of the Republic of Kyras, Xalkayr
Hail from the Empire of Lexidus. I shall not wax lyrical or sugar coat what I am about to ask of you. Our nations have had very little to do with one another, we would not be engaging with one another right about now if it were not for the extraordinary circumstance that currently grips both you, I and the whole of Calveria in a stranglehold. Yrutas grows stronger everyday. First it was Veritious, then it was my own Kingdom and soon it may as well be your nation too or anyone else. We must act. We must unite in crusade against the mad god and drive our armies into the Magna Tabes. We must kill him. I know we all differ and maybe the thought of working with those you despise sickens you to your core.
Understand my words. We will all perish if we let Yrutas grow stronger and continue to spread his corruption. All I ask is for a meeting, marked in this letter, no man's land. Where we shall all be equal. As we plan on how to commit deicide.
May Myratnis guide us both,
King Blair de Brus of the Empire of Lexidus
To the Highest Eminence of the Kyasii Ahnsijnate of Asil, Our nations have regrettably had little to do with one another. Lexidus only recently came in contact with the Rohzai whom fall under your dominion. They saved my life during a Yrutan attack on my capital and for that I am eternally grateful. I write to you now with urgent appeal and heeding. Yrutas is a threat and he is exerting his influence far beyond the Magna Tabes and within your dominion. I shall spare you any condensation, I understand your nation and its people have been fighting Yrutas' spawn far longer than any of us have. Which is why we need someone as powerful and accomplished as yourself by our sides in crusade. Let all of us in Calveria unite against Yrutas. Our gods and ways of life may be different but our blades clatter and slice all the same, let us turn them away from one another for just a moment and banish Yrutas from this world once and for all. Below is a location where we, the leaders of Calveria, shall meet. I understand your need and want for introversion and lack of surface interaction. Even if it is just a representative of your state, it will be sufficient. Gods guide us all, King Blair de Brus of the Empire of Lexidus
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