The Long Winter [IC Thread]

[Everhall]

The Long Winter

Archives

IC

OOC

---

No one saw the winteer coming. No one did. Not even the most experienced elven mages of all Dallenclaw could have seen the coming of the ice. None could have foreseen the disaster that began the Long Winter. The Kingdom of Durrendel was the first to feel the fury of the gods, they laided waste to their capital, rasing the Great White Mountain in it's stead... but they didn't stop there... they spread the winter across Dallenclaw, interrupting the daily lives of the people, and even destroying the homeland of the Mijack. Many great nations split, and many lives were lost as Dallenclaw entered a new Ice Age.

It is now the year 402 LW, four-hundred and two years since those fateful events that shook Dallenclaw. The world is a changed place... The Ashen Empire and Northwall prepare to take up arms in combat to determine the fate of the continent, Southfall's ever ambitious King prepares to free his Kingdom from Northwall's grip....

And soon... the Lord of Destruction will return....

---

Emperor Alyari Ashen
Fort Skywatch, Ashen Empire;
[i]Two Days before the Main Story

"Well... you were right General Anarlo," Alyari remarked as he, along with a few guards and a general looked out at the world below from the fort, "the view is great. So what's your current report?"

"Our spys report that northern troops are still pouring into The North Wall and Fort Augustine. They've seen to it that they send their own spys, which have been dealt with."

"What about your troops?"

"We've gotten a steady stream of volunteers from both the main Empire, and the Archduchy of Westgrove. Our numders are nearing eight-thousand," the general replied,

"It's good to know our western border is guarded by the best. But I didn't come for conversation, I'm off to Westgrove..." the Emperor added as he began to walk down the main staircase of the fort to his horse drawn carriage.

[/u]Present Day[/u]

After two days of mountainous travel Alyari finally approached the Gates of Westgrove, not being stopped by his guards as his carriage rode into the city to the palace, only taking a few moments to reach it.

The Emperor disembarked and went to the doors.

[Kaidou]

6 years before the present storyline...

Krasnachesku, Kingdom of the East

The little town was hauntingly silent as men in the green uniforms of the Ashen 107th Cavalry Division strutted about proudly, some carrying weapons and wearing chain mail vests over their tunics, others carrying provisions or firewood. A handful of officers, wearing brown fur coats, stood here and there, observing the progress of the town. A large group of civilian men, young and old alike, were huddled together next to a large pile of firewood, a number of sentries standing guard.

The town of Krasnachesku had recently been overrun by the Ashen 107th Cavalry Division, dubbed the "Flightmares", after the mythical poison dragon from the legends of the Northern Kingdom which swiftly and silently ended its victims. Formerly under the protection of an autonomous militant group with links to the Eastern military administration, it was "liberated" by the men of the Ashen Empire for unstated purposes.

The officers reflexively stood at attention as a man on a magnificent white horse rode through the streets of the town, gazing upon his men and the spoils they had taken. Unlike the other officers, he was draped in a golden yellow fur coat, taken from a rare breed of golden wolves from the South. His thick mane of golden hair, almost glowing in the evening sunlight, had earned him the epithet "Golden Lion".

"Sir, we have rounded up the men and taken them into custody. The women and children have been put to work under supervision by our NCOs."

The Golden Lion nodded at his warrant officer, dismounting from his horse and clutching his sheathed sword with a muscular, fur gloved fist.

Gathering his men (those who weren't on guard duty), the Golden Lion folded his arms, standing erect in front of the 250 or so muscular, swarthy cavalrymen. "Gentlemen", he said sternly, his elocution flawless and commanding. "All of you have done well. You have captured this village quickly. Tonight, you will all be rewarded with a feast, courtesy of the villagers."

In any village that he occupied, the Golden Lion would put the villagers to work, getting them to cook for his men. Of course, he would also threaten them with death, should they attempt to poison the food.

Night slowly fell, and the soldiers got the feast they were promised; steaming pots of rich, creamy stew, along with fresh bread.

As they ate, the Golden Lion stood at the edge of the village, gazing into the forest. Something about the forest just didn't seem right; there were no sounds. Not the rustling of leaves and branches, nor the row of animals, nor the trickling of the creek. Nothing but silence.

"What the hell is that?"

A black figure had emerged from the forest. Throwing its head back, the figure revealed itself to be an old man wearing a black robe. With one casual wave of his hand, the old man summoned up spikes of ice from the ground, much to the horror of the Golden Lion. The two officers beside him were impaled and killed instantly, while a razor sharp icicle slashed across his face, barely missing his eye. Just as he regained his composure, a huge formation of men, all dressed in black robes, emerged from the forest.

No! Why are they here? My sources told me that they were trapped in the forest..."

Drawing his sword, the Golden Lion dashed at the mages, cutting down a few of the more inexperienced ones. Before long, however, he was stabbed in the thigh by a thin ray of light. Falling to the ground, he looked up as the mages trampled past him, oblivious to his status within the army.

That was the last thing he saw.

When he woke up again, all that was left of the village was a smouldering pile of wood. A huge pile of blackened bodies was piled up in the middle of the ruins, civilian and soldier completely indistinguishable.

107th Ashen Cavalry Division was no more...

---

Present Storyline

"Storm? I made you something to eat..."

"I'm not hungry."

The cold winter air swept across the icy plains of the countryside, the bare, treeless landscape pockmarked by little puddles of water. It was eerily beautiful, a great sight to behold; nothing but snow and boulders and little hills as far as the human eye could see. Such was the landscape of the Unoji Plains in the Kingdom of Northwall.

It was this very place that "Golden Lion" Helðurheimur Barius had decided to set up camp. With him was a silent, white haired boy of barely 11 years, his amber eyes shadowed and baggy. Wrapped in a brown fur coat, he sat silently on a small rock a few paces away from the tent, gazing blankly into the harsh tundra plains. He had been picked up by the Golden Lion just a few days ago, when the latter was on a road trip in the forest.

In fact, Barius would not have noticed the boy, had the tree next to him hadn't been incinerated in less than a split second. He turned to see a boy standing there and glaring at him, dressed in nothing but dirty rags. He wasn't even wearing shoes. Feeling pity for him, Barius had taken him home, but issues in his home village had caused him to take the violently protesting boy and leave.

Now, just half a week later, they had pitched camp some 49 kilometres west of the village.

The boy, Áðumbiænus Guðbrandur Stórmir, or "Storm", as Barius called him, had a dark past, a past which he had told nobody; that is, except for Barius.

He had not eaten for the entire journey, and Barius could tell that he was becoming weaker and thinner as the days went by. Every day, he had refused to even answer. Now, however, Barius was determined not to let the boy starve to death. As such, he had cooked a pot of corn chowder, hoping that the delicious smell would encourage the boy's belly.

"I don't want to eat."

"You've not eaten for 3 days; you need to eat something."

"Damn you, I said I'm not hungry!"

With that, the bowl was sent flying out of Barius' hand, the boiling hot soup splashing all over his bare chest and burning him. Screaming, Barius raised his fist and nearly struck the heavily panting boy on the log. He was unable to, however. His face contorted into an expression between anger and an anguished, poignant bitterness, the Golden Lion brushed his hair out of his eyes and clutched his left shoulder, which, along with his left chest, had been badly seared by the soup and the pot.

"Well... I cannot force you to eat..."

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

Southfall
Occupied Capital
Royal Palace Throne Room
Maulicius Lucius Mulciberus

The expansive, ornate chamber of marble was adorned with gold, blue stained glass, and fine statues lining the walls. Each stone man was in the likeness of the Kings of Southfall, however where names had been carved, all that remained was the Sigil of House Mulciberus hastily carved over the scratched out Southron History. Outside the single, expansive window one could observe the increased presence of Northern Legionaires as they marched through the streets, keeping the people of Southfall from even deigning the possibility of revolt. To the pale skinned man sitting beside the gilded throne, it was a sign of success. Assembled below the empty throne, stood numerous Northern Military Commanders in addition to the remnants of the Southron council that had stood as Regent before Mulciberus' conquest.

"Your Eminence, I understand the treasury is bearing the burden of..." The Nobleman below looked nervously to his compatriots, then to the sounds of barked orders and boot falls. "...Your most...successful campaign, however we implore you to reconsider this tax...let the peasantry take the brunt of this legislation, we ourselves are recovering from the previous taxes imposed by our King-"

"You are recovering from the taxes imposed by yourselves upon the peasantry to finance your futile resistance!" Mulciberus accused, rising from his marble throne to step slightly to his left, so as to stand directly in front of the empty Kings seat. Raising a thin, gloved hand he pointed one of his ghastly, long spidering fingers at the man below, malice and glee in his eyes at his exposure of the corrupt council's methodology. "And before you utter a pathetic excuse to what is obvious fact, perhaps you would have been able to stave us off for another year or two had you not filled your own coffers with the money of your people..." He turned to eye his Praetorian Guardsmen, who were all smirking and snickering among themselves. The Commanders below similarly, in their obnoxiously adorned armor, chuckled. Even the Southron commanders, who were significantly less amused, nodded and shook their heads in approval of the Vizier's courage, and shame at their countrymen. "If this were the North, your heads would be mounted upon pike by nightfall..." Maulicius sneered, resting his hand upon the deep red leather wrapped grip of his hand and a half sword. "However, seeing as you are currently serving under oaths of fealty I will grant you pathetic cowards mercy..." He looked to the empty throne. "Considering your actions led to my own victory, I will issue pardons on behalf of Cyhyraeth, Seventh of his name, of the Royal House of Lerácyntain to whomever surrenders the entirety of his treasury, peasantry, and resources to the jurisdiction of the Viceroydom of Southfall to be used to secure our united Kingdoms from the ever imposing Ashen threat."

"Your Eminence, please be reasonable-"

"In addition to this commitment, I will also require you send one male of proper age to serve on my personal staff, or to train at the Great Academy. I expect this decree to be fulfilled within one week."

"Please, let us reason with you-"

"One week!" He roared, losing his Southern Aristocratic, soft spoken tone and pronunciation in favor of a far more abrasive, loud, and unmistakably Northern accented dialect. "...You may go..." he lazily waved them off, watching as the sullen, red faced councilmen and women departed, some shaking from the effort of withholding their rage. Turning to his trusted man Paganio, he motioned for him to begin drafting the decree for the record hall, before turning to his chain of Command. "I want to see all of my commanders, Northern and Southern, to meet me in the Hall of Blades to discuss our next move. I will not tolerate truancy, and should one be unable to make it," He eyed the Southern men in particular. "Cousins or not, I'll have the left tit and right eye of each of your wives and daughters in lieu of my wasted time."

With a flick of his hand, they too were sent on their way. "Three hours!" He reminded as the door clicked shut. "Paganio, once you've delivered that missive I want you to send for his Majesty. He should be present at this meeting. He's a valuable ally, and methinks he and I have quite a bit to discuss in regard to that bloody council."

"Aye, it shall be done, Lord Maulicius." Paganio bowed, before turning on his heel to swiftly do his Lords bidding. With a smile of satisfaction, the Vizier moved to prepare a drink of coca, opium, and vodka before moving through his own passages to the hall of blades...

[Cuprum]

HOUSE RHEINFELDEN OF VALENK
TERRITORY: NEW VALENK
"Byddaf yn cynnal"

---

Malincar

A gentle sea breeze flowed off the water, carrying with it nothing but the salty scent of the ocean. Rudolf breathed deeply, mounted above the throng of merchants moving for the stalls within the cities mouth. It was early morning, and many of the merchants were still moving their wares within the walls where they would remain until the sun hung low in the sky.

Rudolf was accompanied by Gustave, the swaggering elf that Edward had developed a liking for, and Nicholas, a massive Mijack. Nicholas was a former warrior, sold into the slave trade after the mercenary company he was with had been decimated.

Nicholas had been immediately elected a captain by his men, and his prowess with sword and shield had soon made itself evident. He was rapidly appointed to be among Rudolf’s men for when he departed, both to help protect Rudolf, and to intimidate any who may assault them with his formidable size.

He was indeed massive. Hugely tall, with a chiseled physique, he dwarfed most any men who stood before him. But his size was not what made him intimidating. His surprising speed did. He moved as swiftly as a leopard, and used his massive strides to close on any and all opponents.

He rode behind Gustave and Rudolf, his eyes wary for attackers. All they would see is many of the sellsword army Rudolf had ordered. While far from an elite fighting unit, they were all eager to serve, and took to their policing duties with vigor. They roamed the streets in packs, ever vigilant for criminal activity.

As eager as they were, there had been extremely few reports of them being abusive, something Rudolf had attributed to the discipline they had lived with their entire lives.

They had only been recently allowed to police the streets, a job typically reserved for the city watch. The Nativs had been uncomfortable with the sellswords moving in and out of his city. One in particular, who was apparently known for his brutality if the guards were to be believed, had the boldness to strut right within the city walls. A place Willas had decided he was not welcome.

He had immediately increased the presence of soldiers under his control within the city, both to make the public at large feel at ease, and to ensure that the sellswords did not get too wild.

Rudolf still remembered the conversation he had with Ferdinand regarding the man.

”If the guards are to be believed, he is a fearsome foe.” Ferdinand had said, a cocky smile plastered on his face. “But I don’t believe them this time. His reputation is that of a craven. He kills those weaker than he, never challenging a true opponent in battle. And he’s so fat that he can barely strap on his armor. No, he would fall at my blade with ease. As for his perverse aggression, well, I’d be willing to wager he’s overcompensating for something.”

He and Ferdinand had laughed at that, each jesting that the man’s cock was likely too small to see, much less play with. It was one of the few times the brothers had seen eye to eye of late.

Rudolf was brought out of his happy reverie by the appearance of his ship, resting nearly constructed in the dry dock.

The Summer Bloom was a massive vessel, built in the fashion of the swan ships of the South Islands. As a result, it was far faster than most ships of its size. The hull was stained in many colors, better to show off the flamboyance customary of the Natives. It also ensured the ship would be spotted from far away, something Rudolf himself wanted. He wanted his ship to be seen, and he wanted people to stand in awe of it.

Already the ship was the largest either at the docks or at anchor around the docks. Rudolf was certain only the floating fortresses of the main fleet were larger, and even then they sacrificed speed in their size. Not that it had mattered. In the most recent War the floating juggernauts had been nearly indestructable.

“What do you think Gustave?” Rudolf asked the man as he reined his horse up, watching the workers bring supplies up to the ship as their work continued.

Gustave whistled softly, as if he knew what he was talking about when it came to ships.

"She's a beauty," he said with admiration. The vessel was a far cry from the lumbering cargo ship that bought him here, or the sleek galleys that patrolled the sea.

Truly, Gustave von Wallenstein was more familiar with smaller boats - rowing boats, skiffs, and the occasional barge. He'd never seen a proper warship before, much less one the size of this.

"Leviathans would quake at the sight of her!"

He turned in the saddle to look at the gigantic Mijack behind them. Large ships need large men to crew them, it would seem...

"You there, Longsword!" he called out amiably.

Rudolf took had been a fearsome thing, heavily muscled with a temper to math his awesome physique. A pity, really, he had been so inept in the bedroom - the size of his manhood made the coitus excruciating, if not impossible. No doubt some noblewomen - or men, for that matter - would pay for the privilege, and Willas had reaped the benefits.

"Magnificent, is she not?"

''I have no words, please don't call me longsword. It's weird''

[Everhall]

Silencer Ri-Dar
Southfall, Kingdom of the South
New Winter (January) 16, 402 LW

Damnit! the young Mijack thought as an arrow wizzed past his head, "I can't believe I was so stupid! I never should have-"

"There he is! STOP THAT MIJACK!" voices yelled as a dozen men came around the corner to pursue Ri-Dar.

Seeing as they quickly approached, the assassin jumped to the nearby roof below him, slipping momentarly from ice before jumping from roof to roof, his pursuers not far behind from him, as he suddenly crashed into Maulicius.

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

Silencer Ri-Dar
Southfall, Kingdom of the South
New Winter (January) 16, 402 LW

Damnit! the young Mijack thought as an arrow wizzed past his head, "I can't believe I was so stupid! I never should have-"

"There he is! STOP THAT MIJACK!" voices yelled as a dozen men came around the corner to pursue Ri-Dar.

Seeing as they quickly approached, the assassin jumped to the nearby roof below him, slipping momentarly from ice before jumping from roof to roof, his pursuers not far behind from him, as he suddenly crashed into Maulicius.

Maulicius drew his blade, instinct taking over. Was he under attack? was the palace under attack? And if so, by rebel forces, Ashen, or Gods only knew what else? Regaining his senses enough to analyze the Mijak before him without carving him up first, he stepped back, keeping his blade level with his eyes.

"You, Mijak..." He studied the face before him, before beginning to hear the sounds of Praetorian and Palace Guardsmen's footsteps approaching. "As Regent of Southfall I order you to lay down your arms and state your business in my palace!" He exclaimed, cocking an eyebrow as he stared into the feline eyes of the strange guest.

[Everhall]

The asssassin quickly brought his blade to meet Maulicius' blade,

"I don't plan on dying at the hands on some puffed up diplomat. Or answering to one any time soon..." Ri-Dar smirked, his Ashen Steel sword gleaming in the sun

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

The asssassin quickly brought his blade to meet Maulicius' blade,

"I don't plan on dying at the hands on some puffed up diplomat. Or answering to one any time soon..." Ri-Dar smirked, his Ashen Steel sword gleaming in the sun

Maulicius grinned at his words. "Then perhaps the hand of the man responsible for conquering the very land upon which we stand?" He asked, slowly beginning to circle his opponent. "Ashen steel...uncommon for one of your..." He gave the man a once over, snobbish sneer curling his lip, "Station..."

As he finished speaking, the doors burst open, a contingent of twenty Guardsmen coming from one end of the corridor, another ten Praetorians at the other. "Ah, it seems once more, men of your station rush to the aide of those of mine...Now, lower your blade and I just might find a use for you, provided your people still covet gold...or continue to press the Gods and see to it you meet them."

[Everhall]

At the word of gold Ri-Dar's feline ears perked for a second before going back to their combat ready position,

"I'm listening...."

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

At the word of gold Ri-Dar's feline ears perked for a second before going back to their combat ready position,

"I'm listening...."

Maulicius' sneer morphed into a death mask like grin as he took a half step back. "As the ruler of this city, I have control of the captured vaults belonging to southfall. As we speak, my men are adding to them bountiful plethora taken from the corrupt council members villas outside of the city." He sheathed his blade, holding his fist in the air to signal the men to halt their advance. "Maulicius Mulciberus." He extended a hand, palm up, with a single, solid diamond. "I am always eager to save twenty soldiers the burden of thinking, of strategy..." He jabbed his free thumb back at the palace guard. "And send in one good man-" He grinned to himself. "Or Mijak for that matter, who will ensure the success of the mission." Turning to the Praetorians, he ordered. "See him fed and provided with accommodations, wine, women..." Turning back to the Mijak, with his cunning grin, he added. "Await summonings, feel free to take contracts as you would, however one rule-never move against my men or myself...in exchange, we can turn a blind eye to any minor scuffles or disappearances...all you need to is brief myself or Paganio, none other, and it shall be taken care of."

[Everhall]

"...Will my other Creed members be apart of this deal?" Ri-Dar asked noticing as his previous pursuers rounded the corner where they spoke,

"Sir, that many is a dangerous Creed Assassin! I-.... I see you have it taken care off..." the Guards saluted as they talked

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

Ashen Empire
Archduchy of Westgrove
Battalion Commander Vatiatus Sanguinae

Lord Vatiatus was pleased to greet the warmer, well relatively warmer, climate of Westgrove. Compared to the Northern Reaches of the Empire, it was heavenly. Well, if not for the constant sleet that poured down from above. Drawing in his dragonwing cloak, the elf Lord busied himself with a Cannabis pipe beneath the safety of his hood. As the city walls loomed ahead, Vatiatus prepared himself mentally to speak with the Emperor. He'd been on campaign nearly one hundred years, and as such had lost his patience for the honeyed poison known as political discourse. After arranging with his Adjutant to begin finding accommodations for his 800 horsemen and warriors, He began the ride to the palace without even a thought of washing the mud from his ornate campaign armor, or even wearing his leather ceremonial suit.

He received odd glances everywhere he rode, eyes seemed to burst from skull at the lanky elf atop the massive white, black maned Destrier. As he was admitted into the inner Palace gates, he rode past the attendant, into the palace and down the corridors, dismounting in a loud squelch as mud and filth spattered onto the floor upon his boots impact. Stowing his pipe, he tossed back his wet cloak, before pushing past the formal announcer halfway through his name top burst into the room. Bowing before the emperor, and rising with a snap and flourish that wet the surrounding court-members, he pleasantly smiled. Despite his savage appearance from many years at war, one could see he was indeed of the highest birth outside of the direct Imperial line simply by the way he carried himself and spoke.

"Your Imperial Majesty, Lord Vatiatus Sanguinae, Battalion Commander of the 249th Hussars, reporting as commanded." He announced himself, resting his hands atop the pommel of his blade.

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

"...Will my other Creed members be apart of this deal?" Ri-Dar asked noticing as his previous pursuers rounded the corner where they spoke,

"Sir, that many is a dangerous Creed Assassin! I-.... I see you have it taken care off..." the Guards saluted as they talked

"Any and all who shall agree and abide by the terms set forth shall share in it." He confirmed, meeting the Mijak's eyes. "I certainly look forward to working with you and your brethren...meet me in two days time for your first assignment, I'll send Paganio to fetch you when dinner is served and we'll discuss it over a fine meal and even finer wine."

[Asterdan]

Arentus Aventino
Temple of Dov
Northwall

"Brothers and Sisters," Arentus said, looking over the group of Dovists, "The Dov shall always watch over us and Northwall, just as they have since the Gods abandoned us. We shall prevail over the followers of the old Gods, we shall see this winter end, and we shall see the rise of the Dov!"

The men and women in the temple began to cheer on their leader, charismatic and almost handsome, even with the large scar across his face. Arentus, or Aren as most people called him, smiled as he dismissed the cult, who walked around to various shrines to pray. He walked among them, talking for a short time and getting to know his brothers and sisters better. After a few minutes of small talk, Aren left the Templ of the Dov and made the trek to the palace, where he would be speaking with the King about his crossbow designs some more.

He said a small blessing before being escorted in. He was hoping this would be their last meeting before they could actually begin producing the weapon. There were a few kinks that needed to be worked out with the arrows, but he was sure that could be fixed during the building process.

Rilamus "Ril" Andalara
Two weeks ago.

A little to the right. A tad bit to the left, aaaaaaaaaaand...

The lock popped open and Rilamus, the Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild, opened the ancient chest. He had caught wind of an ancient treasure hidden within this burial temple. The rumors said that this came from before the Winter, and if that was true then these would be well worth the trouble of getting in here. Shuffling through the contents of the chest, he sorted through all that was in it.

"A few purses full of ancient coins, a few jewels, and a golden amulet." he shrugged, taking his spoils and putting them in his pocket.

Ril was about to leave when he noticed something reflecting just a tiny glint of light from under the bottom board of the chest. Ril pulled out a dagger and began prying at the board, trying to see what was reflecting under there. After a few minutes of working around the edge, he was finally able to pull it out of the box. As the board came out, the elf's eyes went wide as he looked at what was glowing in front of his eyes.

It was an amulet, star-shaped and with a purple stone spinning in the center, light emanating from the stone. Ril stared at the amulet, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. Could this really be it? Could this truly be the most valuable amulet in history? The one thing that could help the King run Northwall out of the South forever? It matched the description perfectly! He had to see the King of Southfall.

Ril Andalara
Today

After two weeks of travel, the thief finally made it to Southfall, where he would go to see the king. Of course, he wanted to make sure the king was alone, so he sent in a peasant with a letter, a message hidden inside telling him to go to his bedroom and that the Thieves Guild had something that would interest him greatly. He waited a few minutes after the peasant entered the palace before breaking into the room of the King of Southfall, looking the amulet over carefully and smiling at his good work.

[The Clockwork Cities]

Ashen Imperial Palace, Phoenix

Raven had spent most of his week filling out seemingly endless amounts of Paperwork for the Emperor, only directing those that of major importance to the Emperor himself. As a result Raven had not eaten for a good week and a half, and he knew he had not, and he knew he had to, but a better question is would he? It was unlikely, but alas, after a few hours he had finished, and went down to get himself some food, before he dropped dead.

As he made his way down the hallway walking towards the Palace kitchen, he noticed how empty the Palace seemed. It was clear he had not caught the time, it was little more than a few hours after midnight. So he just made his way into the the empty palace kitchen in order to make himself something to eat. Afterwards he went towards the main hall in order to see if his lord was there, again nothing. So he would making his way back to his chambers.

[Max Empire]

Archduke Max Porphyrogenitus
Archduchy of Westgrove, Vassal state of the Ashen Empire

Looking out the windows of the Palace in Westgrove , one could see that it was a bustling town with wide stretches of farmlands in sight. One could see farmers moving carts filled with food and even the occasional lass lending a hand to their fathers and brothers. Most people would just sit there and enjoy the beautiful view, but not Max. All he saw were numbers. At that very moment he was trying to find a way how to slash spending, despite the fact that he had already done so by over 30% since his accession to the rule of the West. Minding that, he had also increased Westgrove's revenue by 40% by simply getting rid of corrupt officials, appointing outward bureaucrats instead of members of the court and relying more on the minor nobility instead of the large landowners to collect taxes.

In the name of the Ashen Empire, Max was going to turn the Archduchy of Westgrove into the most prosperous region in the world. If it wasn't that already. Despite opposition from the majority of the Archduchy's powerful nobles, the royal court and established trade unions, Max was instituting reforms at an alarming rate. Now these factions had begun petitioning the Emperor to remove Max from the throne in Westgrove and keep the status quo. Max was content with ignoring these factions and all the Empire's politics along with them. He just wanted to work in peace.

Standing up from his chair, Max walked back to the throne room where the court was at. Knowing of his disinterest in the court's intrigues, politics and plots, the present members simply acknowledged his presence before continuing with their current devices. Then he remembered, the god-damned Emperor was going to visit Westgrove. He quickly looked at one of the courtiers.

"Have you prepared for the Emperor's arrival?", he looked at him trivially.

"Yes My Archduke. We've spared no splendor. He will probably never receive such a grand welcoming ceremony again!", the courtier beamed at Max, only to be disappointed by his reaction.

"Well, at least the court it useful for something.", he replied looking as if about to fall asleep out of boredom. "Anyway, call all the ministers to the throne room. I'd like to discuss the latest sets of reforms with them. Land reform is on the list this time."

The entire court quieted down at looked nervously at a grinning Max. They would probably appeal to the Emperor against Max's reforms. If he managed to pass this, he would distribute land in the most efficient way, meaning that everybody would have to give their land to the Archduke for redistributing. This meant that he would give it to his supporters and institute a new "order" in Westgrove. The only hope to stop this would be if the Emperor stepped in, but that wouldn't stop Max. He wasn't going to let the Emperor dictate to him how to rule. He was a Vassal to The Ashen Empire, not a citizen of it. Westgrove was not Southfall. It still hat it's own degree of independence and Max was going to keep it like that.

It didn't take long for the ministers, all bureaucrats who staunchly supported Max's reforms, to arrive at the throne room. He immediately had a map of Westgrove pulled out on a nearby table and began planning the new distribution with them. Until the Emperor arrived.

[Everhall]

Emperor Alyari Ashen
The White Palace, Archduchy of Westgrove
New Winter 16, 402 LW

"Yes Commander, walk with me." the Emperor stated as he continued to walk towards the dining room were Max was,

"As you know, conflict is fast approaching with Northwall, and there has been activity around the border. Our spys have intercepted Northern Courtiers trying to covince the Eastern Kingdom to join in a coalition against the Empire which will put them on equal terms on account of troop numbers, we need the Dwarves on our side."

Ri-Dar
Southfall, Viceroy of The Southern Kingdom

"Don't bother, I will find you on my own terms..." Ri-Dar responded as he threw a smoke bomb, gone when the smoke cleared

[Ancian]

Northwall, The Palace of Kings
King Ragnar Stark

The King frowned sitting on his throne. So much petty counter moves were making him more irritated then his usual bad humour was at its best. Moves and counter moves with the Ashen Empire was underway. The smallest trace of a smile touched his mouth, he would much enjoy the subduing of those bastard elves. The fakes would soon roll away into the order of war and the Ashen Empire would break on the might of Northwall, proving their dominance. At southwall all that remained was the city itself, the rest of their lands all but his. And when the city was his he would show no mercy.

For the Gods had not shown him the slightest wiff of mercy. His family wiped out and him left alone to strike out at the world. Frowning more, he casually wrote a quick letter and handed it to a courtier. Or he appeared to, the letter was gibberish, smart gibberish, well concealed and nearly believable. 75 percent of the letters sent to the dwarves in eastmarch were of that type, only a small portion was real. Letting out a cold laugh, he imagined the Ashen Empire trying to figure out what was real or fake. In truth he did not like nor wish well towards the dwarves. Eastmarch had always been a Human Kingdom, however, they would prove useful if convinced to join them, and who knows? He thought to himself, perhaps after they serve their usefulness he could reinstate a human king. But first he must win, and that would prove legendary to state the least. His troops dominated southwalls lands and clustered on the Empires borders.

His musing was interrupted when he remembered his appointment. Ah the crossbows. .... they would be most useful for his army. He intended to approve it as long as Arentus didn't make him look like a fool. The process of course had kinks. All inventors seemed to have kinks, most annoyingly. But it would be interesting to hear the man's case. He sat up on his throne as he watched the man walk down towards him, the process somewhat reminded him of walking down the aisle after graduating from the academy, where he learned his combat skills. Giving a slight shake of his head to get rid of the thought he prepared for the meeting.

[Kuhlfros]

On the Ruined Roads of Timedar, Traveling North
The "Kindly Ones" Mercenary Company
Commander Tyr Mendir

The commander of the infamous mercenary company nodded off quietly on horseback, they were almost to the next settlement they were to stop at, and he could get some rest once again. But for now, he and the 1,000 other well equipped soldiers marched or rode on horseback north, to the mountains that split Northwall and the Ashen Empire,

"Commander? An outrider has returned, should we send him to you?"

Startled, Tyr woke up with a jerk and glared at the person speaking from under his hood, a junior serjant, from the looks of him in Tyr's highly organized hierarchical company, a young man whom had been hardened and scarred from war, but no elite soldier yet. After a few moments, Tyr replied in an authoritative voice,

"Yes, send him over immediately the sooner we get to the camp spot, the better."

Moments Later
"Sir, the hills which you described are two leagues from here, I was sent back with that news, while some of the others set up camp for our arrival."

Tyr replied, "That is excellent soldier, but I have a new task for you and your fellow riders, go out into the Ashen Empire and Northwall, and hunt down rumors of either looking for Mercenaries to bolster their numbers, if you do, bring the news back and whom I would need to speak to be hired."

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

Emperor Alyari Ashen
The White Palace, Archduchy of Westgrove
New Winter 16, 402 LW

"Yes Commander, walk with me." the Emperor stated as he continued to walk towards the dining room were Max was,

"As you know, conflict is fast approaching with Northwall, and there has been activity around the border. Our spys have intercepted Northern Courtiers trying to covince the Eastern Kingdom to join in a coalition against the Empire which will put them on equal terms on account of troop numbers, we need the Dwarves on our side."

Ri-Dar
Southfall, Viceroy of The Southern Kingdom

"Don't bother, I will find you on my own terms..." Ri-Dar responded as he threw a smoke bomb, gone when the smoke cleared

The White Palace
Lord Vatiatus Sanguinae

Vatiatus walked beside the Emperor, leaving a trail of muddy footprints in his wake as he and his steed traversed the hallway. It was indeed a slight toward Westgrove, having been viewed by his Lordship as a lesser, inferior state as it was only a Vassal to the Imperium. Listening intently, he nodded whilst pondering the coming conflict.

"Your Majesty, with all due respect, the Dwarves are an even older enemy than the humans, surely they will side with no one." He mused, "I am ready for whatever outcome transpires, and only seek orders. We can be ready to ride in two days time, provided supplies and our mounts are well rested."

Southfall
Vizier Mulciberus

The Vizier sheathed his blade after the smoke cleared, leaving Paganio and himself looking weary, with the other men looking downright nervous and in some cases incensed.

"Well that was...interesting." Paganio snorted, before turning to his Praetorians and the Palace Guard. "Find your stations, await my orders there."

"Aye, Commander." The men chanted in unison, going their respective ways. Paganio bowed, then departed himself, leaving the Vizier to make his own way to his offices in the Vaults below the Keep.

[The Wolves Maw The Hillholds]

The horns sounded,
the clank of steel and the sound of boots,
Several weeks of marching and terrifying small villages by it presence,The army was migrating South.

A few years ago, many small clans fought over a small stretch of villages and hilltop strongholds.
A few years ago there had been many Chieftains,
And what feels like decades ago Taras Vukasin had been Chieftain of one of those small Clans, and when the dust had settled he was the Chieftain of many.

Thoughts went through Taras's head as he walked,yes walked,
marching on foot makes a man stronger the elders would say,
and there would be no place for weakness in the old Hillhold's
this is the way it has always been and the way it would always be...no horses.

Years of battles,raiding and uniting the clans just to fight for some foreign lords coin.
Taras laughed in the back of his mind.

well now that we all fight together Warriors need something to do.

The Horns sounded,
it was time for a rest.

"Taras!" A voice came from behind,it was his blood sister Aria and his blood brother Granston.

"I was wondering when you'd catch up with us"

"Yeah well the warriors came across a patch of blueberries and started filling their fat faces!" said Aria

there was a moment of silence

Aria was the first to break out laughing,Granston and Taras joined in,

"how much further now?" Granston interrupted

"Not much further now we should reach a place called "Northwall" in a little more than a week"

"Is it true what they say? they have piles of gold and herds beyond counting of sheep and goats?" asked Aria

"That's what they say,though that may be further south"

"So who will we fight for then?" Granston added

"I don't know, when we get there we will look at the situation and decide then,I hear whats coming could go a few ways so we don't want to hire ourselves out to a dying Kingdom,hire ourselves to the desperate we get better pay if we choose the stronger they'll pay us less we need a middle ground"

The horns sounded.

"Time to walk"

[Derpopoliss]

A fist crashes into Jensen's face as he flies into the dirt. "Get Back Up! I bet good money on you!" A man from the sidelines yells out. Jensen gets up and another fist smashes into his face. He staggers and regains his balance. "Is that all you got!" He yelled out, taunting the opponent. The other fighter tries to punch Jensen, but He grabs his fist and flips him over. When he gets up Jensen starts pummeling him mercilessly. He pulls back with a final punch and shatters the fighters jaw. He gets up and wipes the blood on his fists on his shirt. He looks around, "Well! Does he live! Or does he Die!" The crowd starts cheering, "Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" Someone tosses him his spiked gauntlets as he walks up to the man, begging for mercy. He pulls back his fist and punches the ground, "He's not dying! I want a rival!" He gets up and collects the money. All of this money to spend! I can't wai... He thinks before seeing a little girl alone in the rain. He walks over and reaches out with his hand. "Come with me."

[Cuprum]

HOUSE RHEINFELDEN OF VALENK
TERRITORY: NEW VALENK
"Byddaf yn cynnal"

---

Malincar

Aksel ''the lawgiver'' Airo had served his lord, Rudolf Rheinfelden, for nearly six years, earning his name as guard to his liege during the Siege of Malincar, at which House Wittemberg had distinguished itself against the Mijacks. The lawgiver, a fearsome warrior then, had since been routinely dispatched to adjudicate disputes amongst the smallfolk - his gruesome black mace had become a symbol of the lord’s justice, but it was the trail of thieves’s hands and murderer’s blood that made him known to the smallfolk. In truth, however, the ‘Lawgiver’ was perhaps better known as ‘the Mangiver’, especially since the Spring Without Sun: Aksel fed the garrison with captives, taking pride in his role as recruiter to the brotherhood of Tall Trees, and pleasure in breaking those who preferred a more immediate justice.

The Lawgiver was a fierce man, lowborn of a whore and some poacher, whose severed hand had decorated the castle walls at New Valenk (if the simple stone fort could be called as much) for years after Aksel had been born. Aksel was picked at an early age to serve in Longsword’s personal guard in spite of his dishonorable birth: the boy was short but stocky even then, well-muscled and violent-tempered. His head was balding, but with a massive beard, a burnt brown and flecked with grey strains. With age, he had begun to put on weight, but remained relatively fit.

“The Battenberg have arrived,” he said, nodding from his raised wooden platform to the banner of House Battenberg, a black ship below three black stars, all on a white background.

Lord Rudolf ''Longsword'' Rheinfelden, seated on the same platform, hidden beneath the shade of a dirtied tarp, barely moved his eyes from his old map of the Confederation holdings. The Lord of Holyhall was a tall, lanky man, with a thin grey widow’s peak and deep brown eyes, shadowed beneath a harsh brow. His chin was specked with whiskers, but no beard, and his skin was old enough that it was beginning to turn the color of his hair. All the same, the man had sustained wounds in two recent wars, and his body had yet strength for a third. Rudolf wore dark gray, tight-fitting plate armor, cloaked beneath a brown leather jerkin.

“How many does Ser Erich have in his number?” Rudolf asked, his voice greasy and bitter, yet strained by some aging, like olive oil on gravel.

“Twelve - no, fourteen,” Aksel surveyed the landless knight’s party.

“That brings us to a little more than two-hundred men,” Longsword rose from his seat, leaning over his map.

“If the guilds deliver enough sellswords-“

“If they deliver,” Rudolf grumbled, running his index finger over the southward path of the region. “The guilds can compromise with the boy-loving Maester whenever they please - they’ll be swayed by nothing but gold. House Rheinhardt - any word?”

''Yes, they will arrive in three days''

“Bring me ink and parchment for a letter, and fetch Maester Paul. Bergman will return south with no fewer than three hundred sellswords, or I toss this lot of luckless cutthroats out to fend for themselves and forget this messy business altogether.”

New Valenk

Lord Michael Owen watched the courtyard sternly from the shade beneath a column, Ser Clarence grinning widely at his side. Cirilla ''Ciri'' Rheinfelden, the heiress of Longsword’s, was performing well in his sparring against the Owen guards - impressively, even for a girl with some knightly training, ahe was managing to keep his footing, even sneaking an occasional strike with his blunt sword on the hobilars.

“You like the girl?” Michael asked, nodding to Ulbricht.

“Aye, she’s a good lass,” Clarence replied. “Dutiful and grateful for what you’ve given her. Can’t say I’ve met many girls who forgave their father’s enemies so quickly.”

Owen raised an eyebrow, looking at his adviser like a wounded dog.

“Meant no offense by it,” Clarence digressed.

“None taken,” Owen returned his gaze to the girl. “He reminds you of your son, doesn’t she?”

By no stretch of the imagination could this fit young squire-to-be remind Clarence Ulbricht of his son: Richard had lived to the ripe age of nine before fever took him. But Owen could see the same paternal concern his advisor had shown in those grim days leading to Richard’s death now fixing themselves on this girl.

“In a way, I suppose,” Clarence finally managed.

“Though I am your commander, I will admit that you have become a friend to me,” Owen said unfriendlily.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Clarence chuckled heartily.

“But I’m also a pragmatist, and I would never let my affections - for you, for my wife…” Owen bit his tongue, grimacing. “… for my people, or even myself - distract from my duty to the Confederacy and the Great Antler. I allowed the lass into my service for the sake of restitution - and because she may have some part to play in service to the Realm. I will grant her my protection, but never my trust. Steel yourself to do the same.”

Clarence paused a moment, inhaling deeply, then turned to face his lord.

“As you said, the girl is a ‘penniless pup’. I won’t trust her till she’s earned that trust, but for now she’s no threat. I like the lass, but I won’t be blind to her.”

“That’s all I ask. Go, speak to your pup. I am going to my chambers.”

With that, the Lord of the Low Trees retreated to a winding staircase, leading to the tower in which he conducted his affairs. Ser Clarence approached the sparring guards, raising his hand to halt them.

“Oi!” he shouted to Ciro. “Well done, my lady. You’re picking up quickly. Nobody knows about your royal blood?”

“Good to hear, Clarence. I'll eliminate my father enemies inside the court” Ciri replied, her spirit dampening a little.

“Aye, the plan is going perfectly,” Clarence could tell. “You’re fourteen, yes?”

“Fifteen at week’s end.”

“Then it’s been decided,” Clarence patted the girl on his shoulder. “You’ll serve as my squire. I’ll have John the smith outfit you with some armor and find you a decent weapon. Leave my men to their bruises for a moment and come with me - we’ll pick out a horse for you.”

[Asterdan]

Northwall, The Palace of Kings
King Ragnar Stark

The King frowned sitting on his throne. So much petty counter moves were making him more irritated then his usual bad humour was at its best. Moves and counter moves with the Ashen Empire was underway. The smallest trace of a smile touched his mouth, he would much enjoy the subduing of those bastard elves. The fakes would soon roll away into the order of war and the Ashen Empire would break on the might of Northwall, proving their dominance. At southwall all that remained was the city itself, the rest of their lands all but his. And when the city was his he would show no mercy.

For the Gods had not shown him the slightest wiff of mercy. His family wiped out and him left alone to strike out at the world. Frowning more, he casually wrote a quick letter and handed it to a courtier. Or he appeared to, the letter was gibberish, smart gibberish, well concealed and nearly believable. 75 percent of the letters sent to the dwarves in eastmarch were of that type, only a small portion was real. Letting out a cold laugh, he imagined the Ashen Empire trying to figure out what was real or fake. In truth he did not like nor wish well towards the dwarves. Eastmarch had always been a Human Kingdom, however, they would prove useful if convinced to join them, and who knows? He thought to himself, perhaps after they serve their usefulness he could reinstate a human king. But first he must win, and that would prove legendary to state the least. His troops dominated southwalls lands and clustered on the Empires borders.

His musing was interrupted when he remembered his appointment. Ah the crossbows. .... they would be most useful for his army. He intended to approve it as long as Arentus didn't make him look like a fool. The process of course had kinks. All inventors seemed to have kinks, most annoyingly. But it would be interesting to hear the man's case. He sat up on his throne as he watched the man walk down towards him, the process somewhat reminded him of walking down the aisle after graduating from the academy, where he learned his combat skills. Giving a slight shake of his head to get rid of the thought he prepared for the meeting.

"Sir," Aren said, approaching and saluting the King of North, "I thank you for this meeting, and I hope it to be the last before the building process begins. I present to you the final calculations and diagrams of the crossbows. This design provides more power and range than our bows could ever come close to providing. In the hands of experienced marksman, this could turn the war for good, and Northwall would finally see its destiny come to light.

As you can see, the crossbow is a bow mounted on a stock with a mechanism in it which holds the drawn bow string. My original designs featured a slot in the stock, down into which the string was placed. To shoot this design, a vertical rod would be thrust up through a hole in the bottom of the notch, forcing the string out. The rod would be attached perpendicular to a rear-facing lever called a "trigger". If you'll recall, this is the design that has been seen throughout our previous meetings.

Recently, however, the Dov showed me a different, improved design. This one implements a rolling cylindrical pawl called a "nut" to retain the string. This nut has a perpendicular center slot for the arrow, and an intersecting axial slot for the string, along with a lower face or slot against which the internal trigger sits. It also has a strengthening internal "sear" or trigger face, which we can use metal for.

These "roller nuts" can either be free-floating in close-fitting hole across the stock, tied in with a binding of sinew or other strong cording, or mounted on a metal axle or pins. Removable or integral plates of wood, ivory or metal on the sides of the stock kept the nut in place laterally. These nuts can be made of antler, bone, or metal. Bows can be kept and ready to shoot for some time with little effort, which will allow our crossbowmen to aim better.

I also made a few design changes to the bow itself. The bow was originally intended to be made of a single piece of wood, such as ash or yew. However, I think I have found an even better design for the bow. I call it a 'composite bow'. The newer design will be made from layers of different material—such as wood, horn and sinew—glued together and bound with animal tendon. These composite bows, made of several layers, should be much stronger and more efficient in releasing energy than simple wooden bows.

The crossbow prod is very short compared to ordinary bows, resulting in a short draw length. This leads to a higher draw weight in order to store the same amount of energy. Furthermore, the thick prods are a bit less efficient at releasing energy, but more energy can be stored by a crossbow, leading to more powerful shots. The prod will be lashed to the stock with rope, whipcord, or other strong cording.

The only problem I am currently facing is with the arrows. According to my calculations, the crossbow may actually be too strong for the simple arrows. The Dov are yet to provide an answer, but with your permission, I would like to make a pilgrimage to the White Mountain. I believe that there I can find the clues to an ancient artifact that this kingdom once held, and with it, none shall be able to stand against the might of Northwall."

[Everhall]

Emperor Alyari Ashen
The White Palace, Westgrove

"They wouldn't join on account of being friendly with the Kingdom, but the gain they could make from the war..." the Emperor explained as he stopped before the dining hall, "But Eastmarch isn't your most important task... your main task is the Southern King. You must represent me when I say we will fully support them with supplies and weapons in any move they make against Northwall. I will answer any questions after I speak with the Archduke."

Alyari opened the ornate doors of the dining hall and walked towards the Archduke, responding to pleas of the nobility,

"Archduke Porphyrogenitus, we have something to discuss. Privately...." The Emperor growled slightly, slightly sheding his Elven Acent for the more rough tough he had aquired in his years in The Great Northern Academy.