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The Dance of Chaos [IC-Fantasy-OPEN]

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Tracian Empire
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 25287
Founded: Mar 01, 2014
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tracian Empire » Mon Aug 09, 2021 3:32 pm

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Grand Duchy of Wyzkia
Ⰳⱃⰵⰴⰸⰹ Ⰴⱆⰽⰰⱅ Ⱎⱏⰹⰸⰽⰹⱁⱃ
Grędzi Dukat Wyzkor


Vis e fidelitate efflorescit
Strength blooms forth from loyalty



A battle begins
A week after the Night of the Bloody Moons
The town of Łómyśl





As his undead moved forward, a large smile appeared on Celio's face, and even perhaps some excitement. He hated them, after all. All those who claimed to be good. All those who didn't deserve the love and adoration of the common people, who thought of them as brave and heroic figures. He had hated knights for as long as he could remember, he despised them and he feared them. Just thinking about them brought with disjointed memories of confusion, fright, and running through the night, being hunted for something he couldn't even remember. It was the knights and the heroes who had turned the people against him, it had been them who had never given him a chance, who had convinced everyone that he was nothing better than vermin. And it was knights and heroes who received everyone's love unfairly. Mercenaries? You couldn't trust them either. They would sell their own mothers for a good enough price, and every time he thought about them, the Archbishop couldn't help but be filled with disgust. He had seen what mercenaries do to innocent people time and time again. And as for the Cult of Virtues...he envied them, of course. They were freer then he could ever be, they were adored and almost revered by the people... and yet of course, he couldn't help but also hate them. They merely tried to crush down Sin, without understanding it, without understanding how it worked. But for a while.. for a while he had almost left everything behind. His hate, his envy, his jealousy. But now he knew. The Cult of Virtues was a den of lies and of broken dreams, filled with conceited and arrogant people. And he would never make the mistake of hoping again.


The smile slowly disappeared however, as the necromancer realized that this battle was going to be more difficult than he had expected. He didn't expect for things to just go smoothly, but still, most people lost their bravery when faced with undead, especially with such a large number. Instead, they seemed to be able to hold their ground and to fight back, and that cultist of virtue was leading them, informing them how to better deal with the dead. And even worse perhaps, they seemed to have at least one relic, if not two. The magic of the armored woman who had just appeared was very obviously that of one, and if the attacks of the Archbishop were any indication....the black haired boy tightly gripped the shaft of his scythe in frustration. And worst of all, it looked like the paladins were more than able to handle themselves. Although slightly isolated from the others by the initial wave of enemies, the three Wyzkians formed a close circle and were fighting very well, as one would expect professional warriors to - creating another circle of permanently killed undead around them. "Their physical abilities are enhanced with magic!", Rafal shouted, but just to further answer Stefen's question, one of the hooded undead rushed forward quicker than he was able to react, and tackled him to the ground with the force one would expect a Karaki to have, despite the fact that now, with the force of the attack tacking down its hood, Stefen and the others could see that the undead in question was a young woman. Or had been. "We must attack the necromancer himself!", the red haired paladin shouted again, as his jagged blade perfectly beheaded an incoming enemy. "It doesn't matter if they aren't his undead! Unless we incapacitate him, he'll just keep bringing or making more! It's like.."The boy was interrupted by a violent punch from another of the undead, but the female paladin next to him intervened and beheaded him. "During the war...", he continued, with a somewhat strained voice. "We need to attack him! He can't both control the undead and fight us!"

"You know too much, paladin.". Celio's voice could be heard from behind the horde. "And you, slave of the Virtues! You should stick to playing your role, like a puppet on strings. You won't be leaving this place alive anyway." The necromancer giggled. "Corruption and darkness, heed my call and fester! Keep them astray, wall of mist, and never grant them the peace of those above!"

The gentle wind that had been breezing through the city suddenly came to a halt, and the very air around them seemed to stop. And then from the ground below, a dark and murky fog started to appear, enveloping the entire town and covering the light of the sun. Rafal coughed, as it was now difficult to breathe - but the undead were unabated, and the paladin barely managed to swing his sword enough in order to cut its arm. He could barely see where the two other paladins were right next to them, let alone where the others were. And in the mist, the battle continued.
I'm a Romanian, a vampire, an anime enthusiast and a roleplayer.
Hello there! I am Tracian Empire! You can call me Tracian, Thrace, Thracian, Thracr, Thracc or whatever you want. Really.

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Elerian
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 11383
Founded: Aug 31, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Elerian » Thu Aug 12, 2021 11:45 pm

Wyzkia, Łómyśl


Irena almost felt bad for the silver haired dolt, almost. This Celio character was certainly not who Irena may have thought he was, something she might have foreseen. The girl on the other hand felt close to Irena’s own confused state. She saw a younger version of herself in this confused girl, but also a monster within her. A monster the two of them shared. Irena could empathize with her, yet sympathy and empathy were very different indeed.

"I have no patience for people who enjoy attempting to remind me of a past that I no longer do know....” It was funny to Irena that the necromancer boy, in his arrogance, had sacrificed the very memories that might have allowed him to know who he was threatening. In fact, the whole situation was laughable. The Unsterbs, whoever they may be, had sent an insecure girl who was wholly unsuited for the task, to treat with a child herald of a mighty sect of Sin. Celio likewise was giving away valuable information to Irena without any prompting. It was so easy, Irena was beginning to grow suspicious.

“Ooo, I see. Most serious then. If only you knew the irony of your words, child. It's odd. You are a necromancer, yet you do not seem to understand the degradation your cursed art does to the soul, and yet this Anselmian girl is still somehow more confused than you.” Irena knew she was playing with fire here, and there was a fine line she should not cross lest she find herself in more immediate danger. Her hands were primed round the manacles, should her magic be needed in short order.

Irena’s face, bent low towards the floor, in consideration of her next move, doesn't reveal much. “But very well, have it your way. If civilized is what you wish, then so be it. My name is Zuzanna,” she lied, “and I would very much like to know what it is you wish of me.”

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Zedeshia
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 142
Founded: Sep 25, 2019
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Zedeshia » Fri Aug 13, 2021 6:28 pm

Karaki Encampment

By the time Athyd had finished rummaging through the Karaki camp and all of the tents within it the sun began to lower towards the horizon and not a single place was left untouched. But despite this much to his disappointment there was not much that he could use. The red tent in which the Karaki leader had resided was a cluttered place, with various tools, trinkets, and trophies scattered about. Various torn banners, helmets, and pieces of armor laid in massive piles along one side of the structure seeming about to collapse at any moment, while smaller goods were strewn across the dirty floor. The only things that seemed to be in any type of order or cleanliness was the sturdy wooden desk which the Ork had been near before and a pile of warm pelts and furs laid in one section of the tent that constituted a bed. But despite all of this cluttered space there was little to nothing of legitimate value to Athyd. After scavenging through these belongings all he could find were a small handful of copper and silver coins and small crudely cut gemstones, their origin unknown. The other, more bare tents and buildings proved equally fruitless.

Stepping out near the slowly dying fire the Achysian mage extended his arm outwards. With a shrill cry Ixes descended and perched upon it and folded its wings, observing the encampment fiercely. Athyd sighed as he glanced at his opposite hand, both in relief and disappointment. One of the few items to catch his interest was a pair of leather-bound journals filled with parchment, which caused an insatiable hunger to rise within him. However, when he inspected the books more closely the mage soon realized that the pages were torn and burned beyond recognition. Remembering the image of ashen black paper drove Athyd mad, causing him to grit his teeth in frustration. However, there was something else among the Orkish leader's accouterments. Folded surprisingly neatly on the Karaki's great desk was a map of human make, displaying the region and listing unfamiliar landmarks in the thickly brushed Yazgirian script. Though rough in design Athyd found that it could be quite useful in the future. With this in mind Athyd slowly approached the final section of the Orkish camp he had not yet seen, passing the tree line and entering a flat clearing on the other side of the towering hill. Here were the horses of the Karaki band peacefully grazing, unaware of what happened to their owners. Among them was a steed that caught Athyd's eye, a tan stallion bearing a saddle and bag unlike those of the Karaki, likely a horse captured by the band sometime earlier. When the beast noticed him it panicked and attempted to shy away, but none the less Athyd was able to mount it on time, pulling on its reins and calming it before making his way downwards, disappearing into the night. With the new map in his hands he once again began to travel, but now on horseback.

Five Days Later

It had taken longer than Athyd had expected to finally arrive where he had planned to go not long before as he overestimated the stamina of his newfound horse. He could not even be disappointed. After all, what would a person who did nothing but wander through constantly shifting clouds of darkness know about regular endurance? At the thought the Achysian softly laughed under his breath. Eventually however he did make it here, and as the rising sun slowly let out bright beams of light over the cold landscape he prepared to complete the last stretch of his journey. Willing his steed to gallop even faster he followed the shape of a worn, overgrown dirt trail in the early light. Slowly moving higher and higher the mage moved upwards until at last with a loud cry from his mount he reached the crest of the surrounding landscape. Below, he could make out the shapes of tents and buildings. After more than a decade of being lost Athyd had at last returned to human civilization.
What happens when one combines the Baltic States, interstellar technology, vast amounts of wealth, and moderate Social Democratic policies?
Well besides an absolute mess, Zedeshia!


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Elysian Kentarchy
Senator
 
Posts: 4668
Founded: Nov 19, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Elysian Kentarchy » Tue Aug 17, 2021 4:11 am

Kingdom of Irhk wrote:
Elysian Kentarchy wrote:

The Last Admiral

Me and my companion, the maiden, ride together silently on the horse I borrowed, her head pressed against my back and her arms wrapped around my waist so she doesn't lose balance. As we ride I cannot help but contemplate her face that I have grown so familiar with, the parts of it that isn't covered by a mask anyway. Compared to how she looked three years ago, while her vestments and appearance remain clean, her black hair has grown threaded with grey while a few wrinkles have appeared, put there less by age and more by stress. A reminder that if we do not win this time then Achysia will be lost, because the Maidens and the Lord General are the last pure symbols of our people. Lord General de Velira, a hero and the heir of the Bearer Velira, and the Maidens, the symbols of purity preserved from the evils of the world and of our faith, both of them are completely irreplaceable and as time continues on the less time they have with us. I know that but it is still my duty to kill this irreplacable woman who has been my faithful confidant for so long should the worst case situation arise. But war requires sacrifice, those have been the words that the Lord General and I have lived by.

I dismiss those thoughts from my mind and continue to ride, I have continued the war and sacrificed everything possible, embracing the role of the Last Admiral, so we could have this chance of victory. Even with the Emperor as dead as the other two Emperors we remain, even if we are on the edge of the abyss, we cannot go quietly into the darkness.

We arrive and, after I help the Maiden dismount, we approach the man waiting for us and the Maiden calmly sits in the grass while I take in the sight and the air. "You were right in your description of this place, General de Villegaignon, it is... calming... and something I have not really seen since I have departed for the sea and I was never fond of palaces and politics, preferring to leave such things to Lord General de Velira. He sends you his regards by the way, Duke de Bellegarde."


Éric de Villegaignon

"Oh, my upbringing taught me to be careful with blades and words, for both can start and end wars. That's what my father used to say, a long while ago... That's the terrible part of getting old, it seems... you fail to perceive that something you recall being not so distant is older than someone you know... time is a tricky god, it seems. Please, both of you, take a seat. Enjoy the view a little... you spend a lot of time in the sea but you never get to properly enjoy it. See, the waves form patterns... they come and go, as if they gently push the breeze towards us, pulling it back gently... well, I digress, as I believe that you are here to ask me something."

Éric took a deep breath, as his eyes watched the sea come and go in a peaceful pattern that slowly disappeared into a seemingly endless blue, as he drank something from a bottle he had below his leg. Even if he was alone with two Achysians, the man seemed completely relaxed, holding the sword within its holster on his lap, but keeping his eyes on the horizon.

"Oh, yes... so you do know the General de Velira. Send my regards to him the next time you're in contact, as he gave to me an excellent fight, something I can't say I am frequently involved with. Modesty set aside, swordfighters across the world tend to be reckless... there's no study of the method, no planning, just an everlasting addiction to the adrenaline of seeing a blade directed to him... I digress once again. The title is not yet restored properly, so it is Constable de Villegaignon, as you can notice by Audace back here and the brooch. But please, allow me to ask you something... Are you acquainted with the mademoiselle Illania de Velira? I didn't get the chance of talking too much with her, given a series of events I may or may not speak about in this conversation. What do you wish to know of me, Admiral?"



The Last Admiral

He guides the blind maiden to a seat before taking a seat of his own. Behind his mask his mouth twitches down into a frown. "Seeing as her father Asterius, may he rest in peace, named me and my late wife her godparents when she was born I would say that yes, I know young Illania well, I have never had the pleasure of knowing a more kind and gentle woman than her but war changes everyone. Which on the topic of her, how is she? Is she even still alive or was she handed over to the Faith to be 'saved' as was done to her great-aunt back when war raged on the mainland?" The Last Admiral's tone isn't hostile per se but it is one of someone who is remembering an extremely bitter event. And why wouldn't he? Lady Julianne de Velira did not deserve what happened to her, even as a full grown woman she had maintained her childlike innocence and gentleness that disarmed even the most hostile of men and beast... and Augustine's rage at what happened to her terrified everyone, friend and foe, to the point even the Lord Mavrakis was worried that Augustine would burn the Haliarchy to the ground in a fit of madness, such was the vengeance he unleashed.


Celivaia wrote:"Today is a great day. Recently, we completed a project that will greatly help the Salarian Union in it's fight, and while I cannot divulge information about this project, I am pleased to announce that this project was no small feat, and for his dedication, work, and pure, brilliant genius, we have a special award for this Salarian. We cannot divulge the name of this operative, but we have given him a special award, the "Star of the Union," and as an added bonus, we have decided to rename this, our home planet, after him. As of this moment, you are now standing on Solus'Kesh."

Philosophy and Religion Major

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Kingdom of Irhk
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6326
Founded: Aug 30, 2015
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Kingdom of Irhk » Tue Aug 24, 2021 10:46 am

Elysian Kentarchy wrote:
Kingdom of Irhk wrote:
Éric de Villegaignon

"Oh, my upbringing taught me to be careful with blades and words, for both can start and end wars. That's what my father used to say, a long while ago... That's the terrible part of getting old, it seems... you fail to perceive that something you recall being not so distant is older than someone you know... time is a tricky god, it seems. Please, both of you, take a seat. Enjoy the view a little... you spend a lot of time in the sea but you never get to properly enjoy it. See, the waves form patterns... they come and go, as if they gently push the breeze towards us, pulling it back gently... well, I digress, as I believe that you are here to ask me something."

Éric took a deep breath, as his eyes watched the sea come and go in a peaceful pattern that slowly disappeared into a seemingly endless blue, as he drank something from a bottle he had below his leg. Even if he was alone with two Achysians, the man seemed completely relaxed, holding the sword within its holster on his lap, but keeping his eyes on the horizon.

"Oh, yes... so you do know the General de Velira. Send my regards to him the next time you're in contact, as he gave to me an excellent fight, something I can't say I am frequently involved with. Modesty set aside, swordfighters across the world tend to be reckless... there's no study of the method, no planning, just an everlasting addiction to the adrenaline of seeing a blade directed to him... I digress once again. The title is not yet restored properly, so it is Constable de Villegaignon, as you can notice by Audace back here and the brooch. But please, allow me to ask you something... Are you acquainted with the mademoiselle Illania de Velira? I didn't get the chance of talking too much with her, given a series of events I may or may not speak about in this conversation. What do you wish to know of me, Admiral?"



The Last Admiral

He guides the blind maiden to a seat before taking a seat of his own. Behind his mask his mouth twitches down into a frown. "Seeing as her father Asterius, may he rest in peace, named me and my late wife her godparents when she was born I would say that yes, I know young Illania well, I have never had the pleasure of knowing a more kind and gentle woman than her but war changes everyone. Which on the topic of her, how is she? Is she even still alive or was she handed over to the Faith to be 'saved' as was done to her great-aunt back when war raged on the mainland?" The Last Admiral's tone isn't hostile per se but it is one of someone who is remembering an extremely bitter event. And why wouldn't he? Lady Julianne de Velira did not deserve what happened to her, even as a full grown woman she had maintained her childlike innocence and gentleness that disarmed even the most hostile of men and beast... and Augustine's rage at what happened to her terrified everyone, friend and foe, to the point even the Lord Mavrakis was worried that Augustine would burn the Haliarchy to the ground in a fit of madness, such was the vengeance he unleashed.


Éric de Villegaignon

Calmly, Éric listened to the tale of how Illania was a gentle and kind soul: certainly something that could scare a young soldier, but the years showed him that the seasons could indeed change drastically one's way of perceiving the world. The Admiral clearly had no hostile intentions towards Éric, yet the bitterness was clearly kept alive - as expected from someone who lead the Achisian resistance against those who won - throughout the years.

"I am sorry for your losses, Admiral. Even more for those lost to the Faith, an institution I do not enjoy that much myself. But mademoiselle Illania, last I saw her, was alive and well... extremely talkative, but no, she didn't give up any of your plans. I cannot say if she is under the Faith's watch right now, since I left Duivene quite some time ago, but I believe the Princess took a particular interest on her worldviews. So I may say she is, until further notice, safe and sound.

Does the maiden accompanying you have any questions to me, Admiral? Or do you wish to discuss something else?"
Nothing to see here, move along.

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Ormata
Senator
 
Posts: 4643
Founded: Jun 30, 2016
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Ormata » Wed Aug 25, 2021 3:32 am

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Briste of Thyria
Wyzkia, Łómyśl
One Week After The Night of the Bloody Moons


A tomb in the eastern haunts of Wyzkia lay open and to the north flew something not seen in thousands of years. It avoided the usual cities, avoided the places where humanity had staked its claim over the land, and among it stood but one living being. Black dots in the sky, that is what these things were, a flock that flew on on featherless wings and made no noise, and what few hunters which caught sight of it either paid no mind to that cluster in the distance or saw it close enough for fear to strike into their peasant hearts. It was a procession, one which booked no interruption to the proceedings, and to make mention of it felt as though one were signing their own death warrant. It flew from the east, over forest and fane, and all save two were unthinking in that group.

Dead hands gripped at each rein, unblinking eyes searching the sky for still-breathing brothers, and loose tatters, rags flapped in the wind while chain shifted beneath. Pikes, their pennants torn and blackened, drew up into the sky about each bloodied beast, their own skin and bone bare to the sky. They made no sound, no seethe as some might think the restless dead make, no groan as others think mindless zombies produce, no creak as bones strained against unseen forces. These were the dead, by most accounts, and in their master’s opinion the dead make no sounds. They flew true, though, as the ragged wings of each griffin beat against the air. Most of their wings lacked feathers, though here and there the diseased remains sprouted black and white, and their reasons for beating such useless wings into the sky could only be answered by their own natures. They were griffins and, when griffins fly, they beat their wings. The dead hold much the same logic, enforced not by the physics of the natural world but by the power of will and magic, by the caster’s edict. They did not disagree.

Robes fluttered behind one, a staff joining a pike, and dead eyes, too, looked out onto the land. Skeletal hands gripped the simple length of wood, the other wrapped about the rider securely, as the land below was surveyed. Girdled about the being included a simple sheath and blade, neither particularly ornate and both bearing the signs of wear and age, though the robes themselves spoke of an old clergy long considered dead. In the distance, to the head of the flock, flew a smaller bird compared to the griffons. Golden eyes searched the sky there, too, for prey and sport, for new things in a seemingly new world, and golden-white feathered beat against the wind with an eagerness unparalleled. It was the first time he had seen such sights, seen the open air and green trees, and she was glad he could do so in a small, childish sort of way.

She flew north for the survivors had fled north, and the abandoned packs left behind by the grave-robbers had given some little resources to aid her. Coarse woolen shirts bore chest hair caught in the fabric, blankets hair from their heads and elsewhere, and by her own magic she had determined their escape to the north. It was a strange route, one which could only be presumed to lead to a regional leader or something of the sort, though she was convinced that those she hunted knew those who knew what she desired. They had to. No matter how mystifying the Cult had built its organization, leaders had to know who was over them and, through this, a bloody swathe could be cut right to that top. She wanted heads. She would get them. Bone fingers gripped the staff tight at that thought, at the thought of her triumph against the Cults, at the thought of them being put down like the dogs they were. Anger against such pervasive things, such things that seemed to poison the very people, this was an easy anger to the figure. It had so many things it could do and chose to instead eat at the hearts of men and, so, she was angry against it.

She was Briste of Thyria.

Her eyes passed over the land below, the lush green of trees, the blue waters. It had changed much for the better, changed to become something other than what she could remember. In ages past, the trees bore monsters, the forests making mincemeat of any unprepared person who dared to venture into its shadows, and no peasant would pass too far from their homes for fear of those same monsters. It all seemed far tamer, far more calm. Smoke rose here and there, campfires and hearths in the distance as daub and wattle homes sheltered beneath the tall oaks, and though they avoided passing too close over such things she could still see people working here and there between the foliage. They were almost like ants in that far distance, though Briste couldn’t help but wonder.

Did they think and worry as the people she knew once thought and worried? Did they act as people once acted? What ailed them in the forests, in the fields? She had caught sight in the distance of a city in passing, a monolith of buildings spread out over the landscape as though an architect had poured them out from a great sack which rivaled most places in the ancient lands of Wyzkia. Such places were still dwarfed by Thyria’s cities, gleaming as they were with the power of magic infused into every street and shop, marketplaces a wonder unto themselves, but still it was amazing to see something even slightly comparable to what she had accepted to be dead simply to be alive. What did such folk in the cities worry of? What were their nobles and kings like? Doubtless some would be consumed by the faint trickle of power they possessed, arrogant and thinking themselves cunning, but...were there others of a different type? They couldn’t all be like the worst Thyria had produced, all be hungry for more, more, more. There had to be others. How had the people changed?

Her own certainly had. Briste could still not shake the thought of how the man had reacted when he saw her standing, saw her moving. He took a knee as though in fealty, took a knee and did not turn his eyes up at her until she finally made a point to allow it, to tell him to stand, to bid him to tell her of the world as it had turned into. He treated her as though she were royalty, not speaking as one might to simply...a religious leader, but more akin to a saint. He spoke as men once spoke to the Apostles, to the Emperors themselves, saying that actions and events were “by your grace” when she absolutely could not have had any hand in the outcome. Some of the Companies, two in fact, had survived “by your grace”, and he dared not question any command she made of him. When it was off-handedly mentioned that the Companies appeared to have failed in their mission of guarding the tomb, of ensuring robbers did not breach it, his eyes widened and it was plain to see the fear in his heart. He’d been terrified. Did they think of her so highly? It had been thousands of years, a time and a half that no mortal could really fathom. Knowledge more than likely had been twisted in its passing and, in the end, belief had driven the Companies to continue to survive. They had taken their oaths seriously and, it seemed, had been driven to fervor. That might do well to make things easier in the short term, but...she harbored some fear of it. It did no good to allow such rabid zealotry in the ranks, but would they ever truly believe Briste if she told them she was not so great, not so majestic? Would they think it a test? She couldn’t tell. Zealots died before such things could become an issue usually. There was little experience to be had in such things. Yes, things had certainly changed but she shook her concerns off like a dog shook away water. It did nothing to fear, to worry. It did far more to act.

For that matter, how had the land itself changed? Briste could recall rivers she knew no longer flowed as they ought. Mountains might now be ground to dust by the rain and wind, the lines of the coast farther inward. Here and there you could see where the land had caved or been uplifted, and it somewhat annoyed the woman. Knowledge about such things to understand what precisely people were saying, what their concerns might be, was necessary. If a land was mentioned and it was halfway around the world, she would need to know of it, of the name, of the route. She needed a map, that’s what was needed. Of course, in that drive was also the simple fact that Briste did not enjoy being ignorant about such simple, common facts. It was uncomfortable.

The wind whipped about her, tugging at the cloak and robe, and she could feel the magic twirling about the hair in her hand go loose for a moment. The direction faded for a second, grew just a tad more uncertain in her mind; they were growing old, the hairs, losing their connection to their owner. It was doubtful they had much more time to them and the rest of their abandoned gear would have the same fate. Briste was loath to depend on such inaccurate magic, especially when but a hair off would mean miles distant, and the quick answer came to her easily: ask someone who had seen their passing. She wouldn’t dream of asking anyone living, in that technical sense, no. She was going to ask a forest spirit, one of those who watched and watched forever and a day until the forest burnt or broke, until the waters came to scoop them from their hiding places. She was going to ask one of those Fae of their passing. That would be a breath of fresh air, she thought, summoning one of the forest-things. They were static among a shifting landscape, always had been, though of course it could be generally said that everything had the potential to change. No, though, the natures of the forest hadn’t themselves changed aside from the notable lack of monsters, and so those who represented it wouldn’t have changed. Briste reminded herself though that even when they were considered unchanging those spirits were still temperamental. A thought and the mount slowly began to glide down, the rest of the riders staying airborne and circling about. Something caught the eye and soul though, something was amiss. She could sense magic at work. She could sense her own magic at work, a cruel fog about a town and the sounds of battle at play. The tops of buildings peeked up through the thick smoke, the blackness lingering at clear edges, clear lines. It was compelled to linger, Briste could sense that much, and the tower of a Church jutted out from that smog like a spear in the marsh. Figures moved here and there as the smog flowed past their forms but ignored the wind. Someone had given their casting a good deal of effort for such a thing. Someone who...was quite powerful. She could feel it even up from high above.

As the rest of the undead griffons and their riders stayed aloft, high above among the clouds, she and hers began a steady dive downwards to the fighting. A strong will pushed her own magic deep underneath the surface, her concentration likening it akin to pushing another into the cold sea. It did her little good to give no surprise to the many questions which were present. Undead were already present, some form of mage controlling them, and if it was who she guessed it was, their soul was more than enough to sate her hunger. The potential for answers only furthered her curiosity.
Last edited by Ormata on Wed Aug 25, 2021 11:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Tracian Empire
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 25287
Founded: Mar 01, 2014
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tracian Empire » Wed Aug 25, 2021 2:37 pm

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Grand Duchy of Wyzkia
Ⰳⱃⰵⰴⰸⰹ Ⰴⱆⰽⰰⱅ Ⱎⱏⰹⰸⰽⰹⱁⱃ
Grędzi Dukat Wyzkor


Vis e fidelitate efflorescit
Strength blooms forth from loyalty



Three days after the Night of the Bloody Moons
Earlier than the arrival of a certain group
The town of Łómyśl


The black haired Archbishop sighed deeply, clearly not enjoying the situation he was in, but he still remained surprisingly calm. The same however couldn't be said about the serpent, which continued to hiss angrily, louder and louder. The boy himself however seemed to be deep in thought, ignoring his magical serpent's wrath, and of course, all the hooded and masked figures which were also sitting at the table hadn't moved, breathed, or said anything ever since the meeting began, making the hissing-interrupted silence around them rather unsettling. "Calling someone by their occupation is disgraceful. You can not reduce a being to a single aspect of their existence like that..", Celio eventually murmured, his eyes seemingly staring somewhere in the distance, but he immediately smiled, having apparently reached a conclusion. "You need a name, a real name, and if your actual name is reserved for your mistress only, then I will give you a name that I can use. Hmm....Nunzia. That should work pretty well. As far as I am concerned, you will be Nunzia from now on. So, Nunzia, I know things. I can sense them. I am after all, an Archbishop of the Cult of Sins. But you don't need to worry about anything. Humanity is a rather fickle concept..", the crimson eyed boy told her, slightly leaning forward, revealing what looked to be a rather ugly scar, normally hidden behind his metallic collar, going all around his neck, which made it look as if his head had been rather violently cut off at some point in the past. "And I know a little more about not being fully human than most."

Another deep sigh followed, as Celio could feel a slowly developing headache, and it had nothing to do with after-effects with from his violent death all those years before. Arrogance was something that always angered the black haired Archbishop, and being called a child by someone who was about his age and who was also bound and pretty much at his mercy certainly wasn't something that he could easily stomach. "What do I wish of you, Zuzanna?", he asked rhetorically, his voice growing a little colder than before. "For you to better understand the position you are in. For if I am a child, then you are just a lost little girl. I am all too aware of what using necromancy entails, but I also know that I have nothing to fear. I can break my soul, for it belongs to my goddess in its entirety." And as he said that, for a fraction of a second, both Irena and the girl now called Nunzia were able to see ethereal chains behind him, bound to the metallic remains of the chains bound to his cuffs and collar. "As for the second thing that I'd like, is for you... to stop lying." As soon he said that last word, the black serpent that had been coiled around his arm dissipated into black smoke, and appeared out of a sudden on the table, right in front of Irena, poised to leap at her and to bite her. "Think about it. Despite being the Archbishop of Invidia, I still have some patience left."

Celio then turned around to look at the envoy of the Unsterbs again. "Your mistress is wise, for I would have certainly not followed instructions from anyone besides from my goddess. However... I dislike Anselmians and their coins. Not all of them, obviously, but their sellswords, and the notion of using Anselmian money for anything... leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. However...knowledge and information are extremely valuable for any mage." Again, silence followed for a moment. "There is a vampire under the protection of the Unsterbs, who is dabbling into dark magic. I'd like to meet her, and for her to answer my questions...what would your mistress say?"
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Remnants of Exilvania
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Postby Remnants of Exilvania » Tue Aug 31, 2021 1:08 pm

Wyzkia
Łómyśl
More snark, more hostility and very serious Archbishops


It was probably a given that with all the undead crawling around the premises, that the silver haired girl was anything but shocked by Celio's scar. Besides, his words made plenty of sense too. With all these undead around, probably undead sitting at this table, it was likely quite easy for someone who mastered all of this to discover that her humanity hung on by nothing but a fickle thread. Alas, at least his heart didn't seem too far off the right place...or perhaps her perception of such things had simply become skewed over her years in Anselm. But it was most polite of him to at least try to name her. Many would be content with merely giving her some derogatory title and discarding her.

That the snake turned out to be magical and poofing around the place didn't seem to faze Nunzia either. With how the snake had acted and whose arm it was on, this too was predictable for anyone with two braincells. Nor did the revelation that "Zuzanna" had lied surprise her. People normally acted differently when saying the truth. Not this arrogant unless they were showing off...which "Zuzanna" hadn't been.

"I believe you have been misinformed. My Mistress would be furious if she were to hear such accusations levelled against her. Cooperating with a vampire, why, no way would she ever stoop so low."

, Nunzia said quickly, as though to make sure that Celio didn't continue speaking, her hood turning in the direction of "Zuzanna" as he talked.
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Faal Lot Himdah
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Postby Faal Lot Himdah » Thu Nov 04, 2021 4:03 pm

Kazimiera Baltozyte, The Archbishop of Industria
The Town of Łómyśl
New Arrival




"From what I can tell, there are still civilians here." Kazimiera said as she cut through another undead. As the paladins spoke, Kazimiera nodded. Yes, they needed to deal with Celio, and he would definitely struggle controlling the undead while being attacked.

Before she could act, Celio covered the area in a toxic, dark mist. The mist made breathing difficult, but from the moment it appeared, Kazimiera began to dissect it. The mist was completely magical and rather simple. What really got Kazimiera's attention was the potency of the mist. The mist wouldn't kill or cause serious harm to them. From what she could divine, it was only meant to incapacitate. With all this in mind, dealing with it wouldn't be too difficult.

"Surge forth and resist." Kazimiera spoke, focusing on all the aspects of the magic she divined that created the mist, and slashing her sword through it while taking the head off of another undead. As she did, the mist split and faded away just as something dived into the fray.

Looking at it for a second, it looked like an undead griffon, crashing into the undead with a mysterious rider on top. Battle was chaos, and it seemed like the chaos was just getting started.
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Postby Elerian » Fri Nov 05, 2021 6:50 pm

Wyzkia, Łómyśl


“Despite being the Archbishop of Invidia, I still have some patience left…" Her head still bent low, Irena listened to Celio’s words. Her disposition was different now, and she replied in a gentle but sad tone, like that of a young girl. “My grandmother was a wise woman who once told me that temptation lies in the forbidden. 'Do not follow me,' she said, yet I did not heed her words and slipped into the shadows. It was not virtue that saw me through to this day."

A smile then creased her cracked lips. There was nothing sinister in the smile; nothing evil, nothing fake, nothing in that smile that didn’t indicate that she was anything other than purely happy.

"You look upon the world around you and think you know it well.” Her voice began to change, subtle at first, but growing in intensity. “I have tasted power and reveled in its corruption, heeded with open ear what fate the cruel gods may give unto me, prowled shadows that you never dreamed existed."

Her body shook and she rose to her feet with a violent jerk, eyes shooting open and blazing with light as she lifted and hovered off the ground, crackling with ethereal energy. The chair she had been shackled to moments before crumpled into a smoldering mess, similarly, the manacles clasping her hands melted into molten iron and dripped onto the floor.

A terrible light came forth from within Irena, an aura illuminating her figure like that of the rising sun. Her voice rose ever greater in strength, like a great storm rumbling the very foundations beneath their feet.

“I was once wreathed in shadow, but now I am free. Lament your fate, wretch, for your cries will echo in eternal sleep.”

The fury of the Damsel had awoken, her dominion was that of fire and blood, unwearied would she be til the gods woke once more.
Last edited by Elerian on Fri Nov 05, 2021 6:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Faal Lot Himdah
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Faal Lot Himdah » Sun Nov 07, 2021 6:33 am

Pynus of the Wind
Merckburger Fen
After the Communing




"You can say that," Pynus said as she looked back to the house where Adelheid. Before she continued, she approached the window of said house and looked inside. "You could say, I got a lot of something. Three visions so to speak. The grasses can confirm, the Fen is definitely growing in size. Shadows came to this village from the Fen, and seemingly attacked the village. I then saw the Black Band arrive in the village, murdered the village elder and took the rest of the villagers away."

"What the grasses showed me next... well, it must be of a past long ago." She said with a shrug, "Soldiers of the Empire of Thorns, then Paladins with out of date armour arriving in the village to the sound of celebration."

It was then that Pynus paused for a minute, as if to collect her thoughts. "And then came the final vision, the grasses showed me a pale lady, with black hair. She was wearing dark robes and furs. Which does not really seem out of the ordinary, but then I saw the eyes. Yellow and glowing as she seemed to look directly into my own eyes. All three of these visions must be connected in some way..."

"What do you think?" Pynus asked, looking at Adelheid.
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Remnants of Exilvania
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Postby Remnants of Exilvania » Sun Nov 07, 2021 2:51 pm

Anselm
Merckburger Fen
Village


Pynus' words only made Adelheid's concerns grow. Something wicked was indeed afoot in these parts and it lined up with the childish pictures she had found. It was clear from both the drawings and the visions that the Fen was growing and its monstrous creatures becoming more aggressive in their activities. But how did this fit in with the Black Band and their strange behaviour? What did Pynus' visions of the past mean?

After realizing that she had spent far too much time with her own thoughts, leaving Pynus without any sort of answer, Adelheid exhaled before trying to make some sense for what she had seen:

"I...I am not certain. Obviously we now know for certain that the Fen is growing in size and foul things crawl out of it once more. We just don't know why? What is causing this? Then there is the Black Band...what role do they play? Are they villains or ruthless heroes? Or do were they simply at the wrong place at the wrong time and have nothing to do with any of this?"

She walked away from the house as she did so, looking around to see wherever the rest of her group had gone. The Archbishop and Marina hadn't moved an inch from their spot, thank the gods. If something were to happen to the Archbishop while she was nearby and could have given her life to stop it then she would have never managed to live with herself. Yakr still appeared to be on the lookout as well. She called for them all to gather at the well on the village square, deciding it was time to share what information they had. Once everyone had been gathered, she began:

"Alright. So Lady Pynus and I have managed to confirm the rumours with our more solid evidence. The Merckburger Fen is growing and its creatures are on the prowl even beyond it's boundaries. So once we continue rounding the Fen to reach the road, we should be wary for anything that decides to come crawling out of those murky waters.

Pynus has also informed me that the Black Band is operating in this area. I do not know what they are doing here but these are the finest soldiers money can buy on this continent. It'd be in our best interest to avoid meeting them, let alone a confrontation if it isn't absolutely necessary.

Now Pynus also learned some more information while communing with the grass. Scenes of the past, of Paladins, of soldiers of Tharnria, of a yellow eyed woman. I...these events she saw must have taken place centuries ago."

She decided to pause for a moment and took a seat. She wasn't sure how well versed her companions were in the history of Tharnria or Anselm or any history in general beyond the broadest strokes. But she had to try and explain this somehow.

"The War of the Dying Gryphon was not the first war to be fought primarily between Anselmians and Wyzkians. And Konstanze Unsterb is not the first Unsterb to own this decrepit region. Nor is it a coincidence that her family has been one of the most influential in Anselm ever since its founding. Her family holds a claim to this region going back to the founding days of Tharnria itself. And the Unsterbs have a history of opposing the Crown of Thorns.

About 400 years ago, near the beginning of Tharnria's decline and in the wake of the Hollow Wars in Velikiya, an Unsterb incited a rebellion in Tharnria with the aim of claiming the Crown of the former Emperor Remigil and the entire Empire with it. Their supporters had apparently long waited underground in a network of cells and cults not unlike the Cult of Sins we struggle with so much today and the decline of the Empire swelled their ranks enough that they dared to come out into the open. They were called Tormentils, after a flower that grows here in the Fen.

The point is, there was a war in Tharnria and for a while it looked like the rebels would actually succeed...but the rebels' main army was completely annihilated on the field of battle, just shy of seizing the Imperial Capital. After that the war was lost for them, despite their ever more desperate attempts at regaining the upper hand. The Unsterb grew so terrifying in how she treated friend and foe alike, she soon earned herself the moniker of Dread Empress and has been called so ever since. It was here in the Fen that the final confrontation between that Emperor of Thorns and the Dread Empress was to take place...though it didn't. Records aren't clear but it is said that the Imperial Army won that day and the Dread Empress destroyed herself in her own hubris, her followers drowning in the murky waters of the Fen.

It could be that this is what Pynus was shown. Scenes from the Weeds' War as it has been called by Tharnrian sources. And a lot of other names by other sources. I know for a fact that the Unsterbs sponsored a chronicle that portrayed them as historical proponents of Anselmian independence... But what this has to do with all of this I am not sure. The Dread Empress was destroyed and the Tormentil Cult with her centuries ago!"
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Intermountain States
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Capitalist Paradise

Postby Intermountain States » Sun Nov 07, 2021 6:54 pm

Somewhere in Anselm
Asche


Asche has been walking for a few hours in the trail. Either she's been out longer than she thought or Kaesar is pretty fast for being a giant. She assumes the former since it wasn't as if she could keep track of time in this world. She continued on the trail, summoning the canteen to take a swig of water as she goes on to quench her thirst for a time.

The trail stopped at two paths, the one on the left appears to have a lot of footsteps. The left path may bring her to a town perhaps, anywhere that would lead her to people. She could go for some resupplies if there is a town nearby.

The other path has a sign. Whatever message it originally said was painted over with the words saying "BEWARE!" and "THE TREES KILL!" Perhaps she should take the route that doesn't have the sign warning of killer trees. Without any hesitations, she went with the left route. She would take her chances with people than whatever the right route offers.

Łómyśl, Wyzkia
Stefen Rogalski


As the group of the living took on the horde of the undead, black fog begins to envelop the entire town. A few of the humans coughed at the potency of the toxic black air. It was also difficult to see as Stefen saw nothing but black fog and an occasional undead body part. Even Vicki was affected, albeit she was holding it better than most of the humans.

"Master," she called out to Jean-Marc. "Channel some of your mana to protect yourself from the mystic fog. I can handle the fog but not for long." Although weakened, she was able to lop off three heads of the undead.

"Understood," Jean-Marc answered before muttering an enchantment to temporarily protect him from the fog. "Stefen, cover your mouth and nose. It's the best thing to keep you in the fight right now!" He shouted when he heard Stefen's loud coughing.

"No need to tell me twice," Stefen responded weakly. He pulled up his shirt to cover the lower part of his head as he staggered back. That only helped a tiny bit and it didn't do anything about not being able to see a few feet in front of him. Compared to the other fighters in the group, he is the most vulnerable due to the nature of him not having any magic abilities nor protected by armor plating from head to toe. His inner thought screamed at him to fall back to the wagon where there is a better chance of him being at a safer area especially if he's on top of the wagon. However, he doesn't know how far the group ventured from the wagon and that could mean abandoning his friends. Besides, the fog is pretty difficult to see through regardless of whether or not he would make a dash for the wagon.

Three undeads made a beeline for Stefen and he quickly beheaded one and stabbed the other in the head. This time, it felt slower and unlike before, he felt dizzier. One undead punched Stefen and fell on his back, already disoriented from the fog. Thankfully, the undead was beheaded by Vicki and her and Jean-Marc arrived to his rescue. Vicki checked his pulse

"He's still alive, Master," she confirmed. "He just seems disoriented from the fog."

"My mana is good enough for us to negate a significant amount of the fog's effect, we should protect my friend until we could see the others," Jean-Marc commanded.

"Master, it's not too late to use the weaker setting of my holy form," Vicki said. "We would still have some mana to keep us going."

"But the potential for friendly fire," Jean-Marc protested. "We can't see the others."
Last edited by Intermountain States on Sun Nov 07, 2021 6:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Tracian Empire
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Postby Tracian Empire » Fri Nov 12, 2021 4:35 pm

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Most Sublime Republics of Calaria
Ⴑⴓⴁⴊⴈⴑⴑⴈⴋⴄ Ⴐⴄⴔⴓⴁⴁⴊⴈⴙⴄ ⴃⴈ Ⴉⴀⴊⴀⴐⴀ
Sublimissime Repubbliche di Calaria


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NEL NOME DEI PIU 'SUBLIMI ARCONI DELLA CALARIA
IN THE NAME OF THE MOST SUBLIME ARCHONS OF CALARIA


AI POPOLI DI CARTARA
TO THE PEOPLES OF KARTARA


We, the Most Exalted Archons and Lords of the Most Sublime Republics of Calaria, through His Eminent Highness, Ercole Castaldi, Duke of Pekastro, Her Highness, Ornella Sorokas, Captain General of the Realm of the Sea, and His Excellency, Orsino Mosca, Sage of the Seas, wish to transmit the following to the peoples and leaders of the realms of Kartara that lie outside of our domains.

Alessia Hightide, corrupted mage of Achysia, evil sorceress, traitor towards all mortal races, war criminal and monster, has been surrendered to us by those Kartarans, men and women of honor who decried her crimes and the deaths of so many innocent civilians, Calarians and Katarans alike. She is now in the custody of the Bastarii, and she will be sent to the city of Arelano, where she will face a fair judgment under the eyes of the Exalted Archons and of the Gods, and if she will be found guilty, she will be thrown inside the Crystal Chasm, to fall forever through it until the last end of all days.

And for the people of Kartara, we will grant mercy. The Republic always honors its promises. Since the insane Achysian mage was surrendered to us before the day of the Holy Augur Megara the Enlighter, the Republic's forces will upheld their end of the bargain. In full accordance with the orders of his Eminent Highness, Ercole Castaldi, Duke of Pekastro, the troops fighting under the banner of the Most Exalted Republic will stop their campaigns of hunting and punishment in Kartara and will withdraw into the territories under the full control of the Republic. Peace will, for the time being, return to the islands, in the name of the First of the Augurs.

May the Sixteen and the Exitheon grant us many years of peace.





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Grand Duchy of Wyzkia
Ⰳⱃⰵⰴⰸⰹ Ⰴⱆⰽⰰⱅ Ⱎⱏⰹⰸⰽⰹⱁⱃ
Grędzi Dukat Wyzkor


Vis e fidelitate efflorescit
Strength blooms forth from loyalty



Earlier than the arrival of a certain group
Three days after the Night of the Bloody Moons
The town of Łómyśl


"Your grandmother was indeed wise, but sometimes... sometimes temptation grows stronger precisely because what is hidden is forbidden. And that in the end, only serves to strengthen what you try to keep secret.", the black haired Archbishop answered in a voice that was slowly but certainly growing colder. "The Faith, in its foolishness, has refused to accept that humans are equal part sin and virtue. You can not be a saint without also having sinned, and you can not be a sinner without having dreamed of virtues. If you try to keep people away from knowledge, that is exactly what they will try to obtain." For a moment there, the boy almost seemed to be stuck in his own monologue, no longer paying any attention to the world around him. But as Irena suddenly rose up, her eyes filled with light, the smell of melting iron mixing with that of raw magic, the necromancer jumped back, as all the other cultists sitting at the table stood up as one. The serpent coiled around Celio's arm turned into smoke and then the smoke came together in the form of a long, black scythe, as the boy just looked at her, in silence. For a moment, it looked as if he remembered her, or something about her.. but glint in his eyes disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared. Instead of saying anything, he simply snickered, desperately trying not to laugh.

"It seems that you are a monster too.. how beautiful.. that means that all of us here should be able to understand each other. If you know what corruption lies within true power, then you should what sacrifices must be done in order to be strong. You don't need to serve cruel gods, when you could serve the only deities that are honest with their mortal servants - the Sins. Give in, surrender to your sins, and you will be free - truly free. You won't need to worry about your fate, much like I don't need to lament mine. Envy poisons you, consumes you like venom. My fate belongs to my master, Invidia, She Who Gives What is Due. " The Archbishop laughed again, clearly not expecting a positive answer. But despite his rather carefree behavior, while he had been talking, he had been slowly backing away, one step at a time.

"But if it is a fight you want, a fight is what you will receive. Not with me though.. if you want us to play our roles, we have to play our roles. If you are a champion of the Gods, then I am but a mere necromancer, and necromancers are the most cowardly of all mages. It is my servants that you shall fight. " As Celio mentioned them, the cultists around the table took off their hoods, as their masks dissipated into white smoke, revealing the faces of not evil cultists - but of what looked like villagers, even teenagers and children - with the hollow, empty eyes of those who were no longer alive. "And you, servant of the Unsterbs,", Celio continued as he looked at the other girl, "You get to choose what role you'll play.." The sound of a bell was heard, low and deep, and the undead unsheathed their swords, hidden beneath their robes, and rushed towards Irena, trying to cut her into pieces.




Mist and fear
A week after the Night of the Bloody Moons
The town of Łómyśl


The mist started to split and to fade away around Kazimiera, which allowed her to see part of the undead, and behind them, a clearly very irritated Archbishop of Envy, who was certainly not expecting someone to counteract his spell so rapidly, without even mentioning the undead gryphon that he had barely avoided while hiding in the mist. But it wasn't like Celio was just going to give up. Instead of trying to resist his enemy's spell, he simply focused on moving the mist away from her, so even as it was fading away, all of the mist that remained continued to concentrate along the areas where her comrades were - not allowing them to see even one ray of light, as the undead themselves moved back into the mist. From in between the buildings, Kazimiera could also see hooded figures, wearing black robes - cultists, who started to chant and to mumble, helping their Archbishop and creating more mist. Others started to weave a different spell, cutting their wrists and using their blood and magic to create huge spikes which they started to throw in the sky above, trying to pierce the undead gryphon and to force it to crash.


Meanwhile, seeing as the other issues were being taken care of, the crimson eyed boy started to slowly but certainly walk towards Kazimiera, tightly gripping his scythe. "You servants of the Virtues really seem to have an obsession with messing with the plans of others. All of you.", he told her, hate seeming to poison every word he said. And yet despite that, he didn't rush forward to attack her, nor did he start chanting a spell to throw at her. The black haired Archbishop seemed to be heavily conflicted about something, and he eventually stopped, halfway through, right next to an unconscious little boy, laying on the ground. Trying to smile, Celio put his scythe's blade right at the boy's neck, and the blade, despite being made of what was now an inanimate, black metal, seemed to be shivering and screaming for blood. "Let me put this in another way, maybe this will help you understand the stakes here. If you and your friends don't leave this town right now, never to return, I will kill all of its inhabitants that are still alive, and I will block their souls in this mortal world forever. What will you do, servant of the Virtues?"

The town seemed to be divided into two. Outside the mist, where the two Archbishops were, it was almost quiet, save for the chanting, but within the mist, it was chaos. Blood-curling screams from the undead, metal hitting metal, the smell of scorched ash and death. "There are still.. civilians here.. yes..", Rafal tried to reply, coughing, desperately parrying strikes he could not see, piercing undead bodies with his jagged blade, hoping that the others within the mist could hear him. "But we can.. shield them... but we need.. we need something big.. to kill the undead.. to lower their numbers.. otherwise.. we'll be overrun.. like in the war.." A rough scream was heard, as if someone was making a huge effort, and someone watching from above or beyond the mist could have seen a rather large undead Karaki being thrown in the air and crashing back into the mist. "We need a mage to do something, if not, we try to withdraw. ", the loud and booming voice of the older paladin could be heard. "There is nothing honorable in being massacred in the dark, but we have to.. we have to fight! For the civilians!", the already somewhat exhausted voice of the third paladin followed. "We can try... to... regroup! Follow my voice!", Rafal ordered, but that was interrupted by the screeching, almost animal-like sound of an undead, and then the paladin's scream of pain and shock.
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Intermountain States
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Capitalist Paradise

Postby Intermountain States » Sat Nov 13, 2021 12:09 pm

Near the Village, Anselm
Asche


It was getting dark in the trails and Asche's stomach begins to rumble after not being fed for hours. She summoned her sack for an on the field dinner of bread and cheese. Unfortunately, her sack was empty. Her water pouch was also running low on water and she had to yet to encounter any rivers. Right now, hunting down Kaesar takes a backseat to finding a form of civilization where she could stock up on food and water. Continuing along the trails, she noticed a village from the distance.

"Thank the Gods or Ed. Finally, some civilization in sight," Asche muttered. She summoned her coin purse to count her money. Hopefully, they would be enough for some supplies and a good nights rest. Alternatively, if the villagers need something done, she could offer her service for some food and water. That worked pretty well for her before she had a stable employment at Rogalski's and Associates. Speaking of, hunting down Kaesar has been the longest bounty job she's ever taken. She hopes that Stefen didn't write her off as dead since it's been a few days. Asche shook her head at the thought.

No, Stefen had mentioned that Kaesar wouldn't be an easy target to hunt down compared to other bounties. He even stated that he expects headhunters to play the long game against Kaesar with stakeouts and observations. A quick battle would usually end poorly for the headhunting against a man with the strength and money such as Kaesar. A few days would be the absolute minimum for a target as dangerous as Kaesar.

As the distance between her and the village gets shorter with each step, she noticed something off. The village appears to be empty, save for a few individuals at the village square. Could they be the villagers or guards? It is getting dark and they could be militiamen or mercenaries hired to protect the village. Hopefully, the people at the square are friendly and aren't brigands whom just ransacked a settlement. Cautiously, she approached the gate of the village, exposing herself to the people at the square.

Łómyśl, Wyzkia
Jean-Marc Courvoisier


The battle was not looking in their favor. The undeads were already many and the appearance of the mist has made it more difficult. Stefen was already on the ground, incapacitated from the mist. He could hear the paladins yelling for the team to regroup, even with the animal like screams from the undead. Jean-Marc heard one paladin shouting for something that could take out multiple undead with ease. He has that weapon but he was afraid. He knows of his powers and most of the innocents are on the ground. They would be safe from a well aimed beam from Vicki's sword form but there could be civilians in the buildings and what if the buildings were hit?

"Master, we could still utilize a weaker form. We have to do this to save more lives," Vicki said. Jean-Marc took a deep breath.

"I really don't have a choice, do I?" Jean-Marc asked. "Activate the holy sword." He commanded as Vicki turned into her sword form. He grasped the sword and faced towards the direction filled with the noises of the undead, away from the human voices.

"Breaking the first seal," he started. Both he and Vicki began their chant.

"This is the fight that will not harm the innocent, approved."

"This is the fight against enemies stronger than oneself, approved."

"This is the fight for life over death, approved."


"First seal, broken. Other seals remain intact," Vicki said as her blades begin to light up, shiny brightly and illuminating his surrounding. Even at Vicki's weakest form of her powers, her sword form was able to pervert the mist long enough for him to see the others. Surprisingly, they're not too far off from each other.

"Holy sword, limited restraints rescinded," Jean-Marc continued. "VICTOIRE!" He shouted with all of his might as he swung his blade at the direction of the unholy noises from the undead. He could only see the bright whiteness from the beam coming from Victoire, the lightly colored beam contrasting with the dark mist. After having neglected that power for years, it was released even in its weakest form to conserve power. It was still beautiful to see that power unleashed.
I find my grammatical mistakes after I finish posting
"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed"
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If you try to blame me, I will laugh in your face. I'm glad she lost. I got half my wish. :)
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Zedeshia
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 142
Founded: Sep 25, 2019
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Zedeshia » Tue Nov 16, 2021 5:05 pm

Settlement of Setteri, At the Fringes of Yazgiria

The exhausted horse and its rider slowly approached the outskirts of the town at a light trot while the sky was painted with streams of vibrant red and orange, casting a long-reaching shadow that darkened the path ahead. As the man grew closer and closer the finer details ahead could be seen. Setteri, the place whose location he had learned from what little of worth he could find from the encampment, was a small, quiet place; barely anything more than a far-flung outpost isolated on the vast plains that encompassed it. Surrounding its central hall, the only building within leagues that was constructed fully of wood, laid perhaps two dozen rough cloth tents, some reaching sizes capable of hosting multiple families, others so small that one could hardly believe two could fit within them at the same time. But to any weary traveler that came across it it was like an oasis in a vast desert, one of the few Yazgiri settlements far to the east that had not been abandoned or razed to the ground by looting Karaki. Unsurprising, as the Achysian mage could clearly distinguish the trails of smoke from dying lookout fires and the figures of men, many on horseback themselves, watching unrestfully along its perimeter with flashes of steel at their sides. To Athyd, as crude as it was, it was a sign that his time stranded had at last ended. He fastened the mask that he found along his way firmly over his face, obscuring his features. The less those passing knew of his identity the better, especially when war may still be waging in his fatherland.

The guards lingering near the furthest reaches proved to be much less of a problem than Athyd had originally anticipated. As he neared them he could distinctly hear the drawing of blades and the hushed muttering of men ready to face battle. But when the early light revealed the mage to be not an encroaching group of Karaki or a bandit all too eager for blood, but merely a passing traveler, and an incredibly worn one at that, they lowered their weapons and parted as to let him pass. With a indignant snort Athyd's steed eased to a slow walk as it continued on, seemingly miffed by an inconvenience stopping it from reaching a place to finally rest. Athyd himself meanwhile, simply gave a silent nod of acknowledgement before turning his attention back to the matter at hand, ignoring the harsh whispers of some of the youngest who still gripped the hilts of their weapons while glaring onwards in suspicion.

Further he continued through the well-treaded dirt clearings that constituted the streets of the village, glancing thoughtfully at his surroundings. Inside the boundary Setteri was crowded with all types of equipment: racks meant for tanning leather not unlike what he had seen among the Karaki mixed together with carefully placed wash bins, baskets, and the like much more instantly recognizable as human. With the coming of morning a few of those who lived in the village had begun to leave their humble abodes and begin their daily work, those that encountered the stranger giving glances equally curious and wary.

But not once did they speak a word to him. Instead, only silence permeated Setteri, cast upon it like one of Athyd's spells. It was clear to him that visitors were never welcome for long, but the mage himself found, somewhat alarmingly, that he could not care about that fact in the slightest. Unlike what he had anticipated, he could not find any sense of joy or jubilation in his heart, simply a mild relief of once more being amongst men and an urge to continue towards much higher, greater things. Even after years upon years Athyd's temperament had remained the same as before, all for the better he supposed.

Reflecting on this for a moment his thoughts were at last shattered when the mage reached to the opposite end of the settlement. Along the back wall of Setteri's central hall an unexpected cry snapped the mage's mind back into full focus.

"Saqandlegh taruludan adaşt? Karat marukan eiqholovrai etin!"

It was a merchant, his wares tightly packed to a sturdy cart tied together with horsehair rope and covered in relatively clean furs. Behind him was a row of creates and supplies being carried by a pair of men who appeared to be under his employment. Underneath the mask Athyd frowned slightly before answering. The merchant had questioned him in his native Yazgiri if a traveler he was and the mage responded in kind, albeit haltingly. Like many of the tongues of man he had studied the language, but disliked the barbaric speech in comparison to his own eastern Achysian, and his lack of practice while trapped in that endless sea of black and grey had made him more than just a little rusty.

"...yes, I am a traveler, if that is not apparent enough. For... some time I have been out alone in the empty east, I'm afraid."

At those words the merchant raised his brow in a questioning manner before ushering Athyd forwards. With a toothy grin he shouted brief commands to those laboring at his back before turning towards the Achysian mage once again.

"Aye, I can see that at the least. Not many dare to venture off into the steppe and come back untouched, even if fortune smiles in their favor. Your gear be' tattered and much of your garb is shredded, and I doubt ye' have much food to keep well for much longer. So..."

The man gestured towards the goods in which he had brought out: dried meats, traveling bread, bitter Yazgiri horsecheese, clothes, and many smaller trinkets abound.

"...as a fair merchant of these lands who wanders far and wide I am more than willing to provide ye' with all that you need, for the right price, of course."

Athyd quietly sighed as he saw greed flash into the merchant's eyes while he glanced at the fine cloak and adorned staff that the mage carried with him out of the Shadow. The man very clearly thought that despite the torn state the Achysian was in he still had more than enough to pay whatever prices he demanded. Words of harsh refusal laid for a moment on his lips. However, once glance towards what he did possess quelled any thoughts of the merchant as a swindler. His wares were of decent quality, likely the closest thing a civilized man could hope for in these reaches of Yazgiria. Not only that, but there was something much more valuable he could buy from a merchant who never stays in one place for too long. After a short second of consideration he at last replied with a slight hunger in his words.

"Very well then."

Shifting through his loosely collected belongings he at last found his coin purse, something he had never paid mind to for a time even he could not reckon, and gave to the merchant a single silver piece of his homeland. From the wearing of much time and likely from the Shadow itself its brilliant shine had long dulled to a color like that of iron, slight bruises and marks ever so slightly distorting the images of an owl bearing a scroll minted on one side and the visage of the Mage-Emperor on the other. But nonetheless it was genuine, and in Athyd's eyes worth much more than what he would receive in return. Unlike his expectations however when the merchant caught sight of the coin a rapid series of emotions appeared on his face: first disbelief, then doubt, then scorn, and at last when he had unconsciously seized it and inspected it tentatively under the rising sunlight while speaking to himself soundlessly, acceptance. An inexplicable sense of dread overtook Athyd for some reason he did not quite know, breaking his usually cold demeanor, but casting it aside as nonsense he spoke.

"Is something the matter?"

The merchant snapped back into attention upon hearing his voice. Tone at first dry he soon returned to his mannerisms from shortly before.

"No, its simply that it has been a long time since I saw an Achysian coin last used. Still, gold is gold and silver is silver. The goods are all yours, and more than just that."

The man gave Athyd what he needed and at his request for some time spoke of everything he knew, from Yazgiri travel routes to recent battles to fleeting rumors. Only a day later the stranger was gone, his caravan once more taking a course to some unknown place in the inner countryside. Soon after Athyd set his steed into an open stable and after two nights had passed departed himself as quickly as he had appeared, beginning his long journey southwest to port and sea. For a time the village folk would speak of them in hushed voices at their homes to one another, but in time this ceased and their memories of the men faded as all things do.
What happens when one combines the Baltic States, interstellar technology, vast amounts of wealth, and moderate Social Democratic policies?
Well besides an absolute mess, Zedeshia!


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Faal Lot Himdah
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 20111
Founded: Jun 12, 2014
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Faal Lot Himdah » Tue Nov 16, 2021 7:07 pm

Pynus of the Wind
Merckburger Fen
A New Face




"Well, perhaps, and may this is a long shot, but... what if she and these Tormentils weren't destroyed?" Pynus said after taking a moment to take in all that Adelheid had said and process it, "As you admit, the records aren't clear. That lack of clarity could easily be enough for funky dark magics to go unnoticed. Maybe this Dread Empress did something that was precieved by outsiders as destroying herself, but actually didn't. Undead or in some magic sleep until recently. But then again, I am no expert."

"But perhaps we should hold this conversation." Pynus said as she saw a new figure approach the village. Last time someone arrived at the village, there was a fight. So, of course Pynus was on guard, and stood ready to pull her weapon as she stepped away from Adelheid and slightly closer to the new person. "Well, good afternoon. Stop there, last person to come in started a fight with us and I personally don't want to get into another. Who are you and why are you here?"



Kazimiera Baltozyte, The Archbishop of Industria
The Town of Łómyśl
A Poor Situation




"If you wanted to kill them, they would already be dead." Kazimiera said as she took a step forward and sighed, "Unfortunately you miss understand the situation... They don't take orders from me. So, even if I said we'd leave, I have no authority over them and thus can not make them. But that's not really an answer to your question of what I am going to do next..."

She paused for a moment, what she would say next was meant to distract Celio, if even for a moment, "I am going to get between your scythe and that boys neck. And then, you and I will settle this Archbishop of Invidia to lowly servant of Industria. Ultimately, I will win. After all, I accept who I am and the role I play, while you do not. You will either be forced to retreat or fall at my feet. Afterwards, I will see to the treatment of the survivors in this town, and then go on to avenge those who have already died. I swear on this, by the wings of the Falcon."

With that, Kazimiera surged forward with explosive speed, putting more mana into her enhancement than normal. During the surge, she swung her sword, hoping to connect with the scythe, and that the momentum would be enough to knock it away from the boys neck. If she wasn't fast enough, at least she would be close enough to properly engage Celio. But the ideal situation was that her answer would distract Celio for just long enough that it would slow his reaction speed, and let her save the boy from his scythe.
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Charlia wrote:Faal Lot Himdah - A wizard. Possibly evil. Seen associating with Charlia, who baas at him a lot when he doesn't feed her enough. #BlameVoid

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Intermountain States
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1973
Founded: Oct 12, 2014
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Intermountain States » Tue Nov 16, 2021 11:13 pm

The Village, Anselm
Asche


Asche was greeted by a blonde Loroi female with a weapon on her hand. Asche held up her hands to show no ill will as the blonde asked for her name and intention.

"Calm down, I mean no harm," she responded. "My name is Asche and I am just a traveler. It was getting dark and I was simply approaching this village with hopes of seeking a place to sleep in." She omitted the part about her being a bounty hunter tracking down Kaesar. For all she knows, they could be in cahoots with her target. Of course, withdrawing a piece of that information would do her no good if they are working with Kaesar and he gave them her physical and facial features. It wasn't as if she has a forgettable feature that allowed her to blend in with the crowd. Her stomach growled, likely begging her to not think about Kaesar and more about food.

"And I was hoping to buy some food and water for dinner and to stock up on for my travels," she continued, slightly embarrassed from the noise her stomach made.
Last edited by Intermountain States on Thu Nov 25, 2021 2:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.
I find my grammatical mistakes after I finish posting
"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed"
Lunatic Goofballs wrote:I'm a third party voter. Trust me when I say this: Not even a lifetime supply of tacos could convince me to vote for either Hillary or Trump. I suspect I'm not the only third party voter who feels that way. I cost Hillary nothing. I cost Trump nothing. If I didn't vote for third party, I would have written in 'Batman'.

If you try to blame me, I will laugh in your face. I'm glad she lost. I got half my wish. :)
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Ormata
Senator
 
Posts: 4643
Founded: Jun 30, 2016
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Ormata » Wed Nov 17, 2021 1:52 am

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Briste of Thyria
Wyzkia, Łómyśl
One Week After The Night of the Bloody Moons


As she made her dive and the wind whipped about ruined hair and flesh, the rider’s cloak began to trail behind them, the lance began to dip down slowly, steadily, down to earth, down to the fog, down to the enemy. Tero, perched as he was upon her arm, began to lean into the wind as it turned golden feathers into dancing, shimmering mirrors, wings outstretched as he looked down to the village with curious, darting looks, eyes far used to the dark. Briste could feel more magic being worked down below, feel a clash of wills as the mist down below seemed to weaken in its potency while others worked to make more and more of it. Blood, she could feel blood far below, before then feeling intents directed to the sky above. They’d seen her, sensed it, and with that notice came a different sort of magic. It was far more concentrated and, upon that outer periphery of the mist, Briste could spot a few moving shapes here and there. They wore black robes, the movements among them shifting, fluid, and small, hard to spot so close to the toxic cloud to which they produced. Some continued to aid in their mist, producing it at hurried rates, while others began to weave their methods.

Tero screeched, wings flapping in anger for a brief breath before Briste hushed him, low and as soft as her coarse tones would allow, and the first projectile screamed upwards against her in silent fury. It was black, black as shadow, though as it neared so close she could sense what it was. It wasn’t as black as shadow, no, but shadow itself, and a smile curled against the corner of her lip. She sent a thought away, a command to those high above. Her prey had made the first move and it had been a poor one. A staff raised up into the air by her ruined hand, the runes about and inside it igniting to life, smoke shifting from the wood as the paladin rider set the griffin into a spin, and Briste concentrated about the air with the world turned to a blur. She poured herself into it, forming it as though a mold before will and energy were her molten materials. Heat grew about her, far enough to not touch the rider, nor the lance he held, nor the griffin, nor Tero, grew and grew as the world seemed to shimmer and dance by the rising air. Flames soon broke-out in the mid-air, formed as they were in a ball of violent, bright fury, steam peeling off and away as the water in the air was flash-heated, and the fireball diving down against the earth. Briste’s eyes opened and, though they were diving down with nothing in sight, she could in some ways see through it. Speed, distance, these were the things known, and the lich counted down as good as she could, sensed for the earth’s oncoming.

Shadowed projectiles impacted against the fireball, breaking against it as though rain against the roof, the mages continuing to try as one slowly, painfully began to form a long spire of earth to fling forward, inexperience in the magic hampering his efforts. They broke the outer edge of the mist, light shining through the enclosure as bright as it could allow, and a through set the rider into action. A skeletal hand jerked upwards, the griffin bringing its wings upwards to land, and it slowly came down to land upon four rotted legs, the lowest portion of that fireball scorching against the ground. They were facing…yes, Briste thought, it was the right direction, and she gathered about her wits to turn the static into the active. She dredged her will through the sphere of fire, collecting it from the very back before moving forwards, and with an effort it turned in the briefest moment from a fireball, spinning about that single point, into a long wave of liquid, orange heat baking the air as it flung forward above the heads of those within the mist.

From the outside, she could only guess that most of the cultists hadn’t exactly seen the wave, some having the sense to prepare their defenses, some reading offensive magics, while others were still concentrated on producing more and more mist. What Briste did know was that screams began here and there across their line, the mist obscuring such a sight into something more easily compared to torches in the distance, moving here and there in panic, trying to put themselves out in some cases while others drew out knives to stop the pain. That smile stayed curled about the corner of her mouth, Tero flapping his wings as he looked eagerly about, eyes darting here and there, and the griffin let out a bloodcurdling roar as it took a step forward, eager to find blood for the first time in millennia. Briste turned her will yet again, this time to the cracks in the magic about the mist, and broke it as one might break a rusted, ruined lock. As it slowly dissipated, revealing outlines of warriors here and there, she could hear a voice speak amid the clamor.

"If you wanted to kill them, they would already be dead. Unfortunately you misunderstand the situation... They don't take orders from me. So, even if I said we'd leave, I have no authority over them and thus can not make them. But that's not really an answer to your question of what I am going to do next..."

"I am going to get between your scythe and that boys neck. And then, you and I will settle this Archbishop of Invidia to lowly servant of Industria. Ultimately, I will win. After all, I accept who I am and the role I play, while you do not. You will either be forced to retreat or fall at my feet. Afterwards, I will see to the treatment of the survivors in this town, and then go on to avenge those who have already died. I swear on this, by the wings of the Falcon."

An Archbishop. That was the source of the power Briste had felt…an Archbishop of Envy. It was an interesting thing, though a part of her felt the rise of another power nearby, the expansion of it into being. The woman speaking, perhaps? She flowed more power into the spell, dissipating the mist as fast as possible, and soon enough the lich could see the events unfold before her. A man stood, scythe raised to the neck of an unconscious child in his hands, another rushing against him with blade in hand. She sighed...though it would be fine if she somehow killed the being, in some ways she wanted to kill him herself.

The still living cultists about the edge of the battle were made busy by the silent, diving paladins upon their mounts, the dark shapes against the sky juking and dodging about haphazardly, screaming downwards. Tero flapped his wings, taking flight from Briste’s outstretched arm to lunge out against the distracted magi as she dismounted. What came next could not be done from the back of a griffin. She concentrated her power, closing her eyes as the now lightened griffin and rider kicked against his mount to speed past, the wind rushing against her dead face. In a smooth motion it reared up, falling down with fore-paws onto two undead while the lancer speared a third with his tool, dragging it down into the ground in a blooding mess as he urged himself forward, forward. She concentrated her power, balling it up, molding it, and the air crackled with energy about her. The lich’s eyes opened, squarely staring upon the two combatants.

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Kylantha
Minister
 
Posts: 2309
Founded: Jan 22, 2015
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Kylantha » Fri Nov 19, 2021 9:54 am


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- Soren -


The mercenary leader launches his flame-cloaked spear at Soren. As it cuts through the air towards him, Soren slowly brings his right hand to his chest, palm held flat. He appears to utter two words, waiting for the spear comes within a foot of his head before he completes his spell. A dome made of pure energy instantaneously appears in front of him, stopping the spear mid-air. The contact between the two forces of magic causes the shield to explode instantly afterwards, forming a cloud of white smoke that envelops Soren.

The leader of the mercenaries seemed to be unfazed by the magical shield which stopped his spear and by the subsequent explosion, as he continued to charge forward, unsheathing his sword in a single, smooth move, aiming straight for the cloud of white smoke that was hiding his enemy.

But then ut of the cloud of smoke, Soren jumps directly towards him with such speed and force that the cloud he had just been standing in disperses in an instant. The mercenary leader would have not much time to react as Soren got close enough that he could see the bard’s eyes.. Unlike before, they were emotionless and deep as the abyss.

And then, as that smoke dispersed, for a moment, the mercenary and the bard looked straight into each other's eyes, and for that brief heartbeat, the warrior's expression changed. As he saw his enemy's emotionless and hollow eyes, a flash of fear seemed to appear… Replaced instantly by the fierce determination of someone who had faced death countless times before.

Just then, the bard started to swing his staff, magic, and wind around it. It moved too fast for the man to be able to use his sword, to try to parry, and it seemed like this would be the end of his life…. but a green light started to glow below his plate and mail, right above his chest. The talisman. And right as the staff hits him, a shield of green light appears above his armor.

He was thrown away and in the air, and crashed rather violently right near a tree a good ten meters away, with a metallic crack that made his men stop in their tracks.

While they were distracted, Soren continued to surge forward like a storm and began to slaughter the mercenaries. Whether they were attempting to attack him no longer mattered. His inner hunger for bloodshed awakened, the bard wrought havoc on the pursuers indiscriminately.

Eventually however, the mercenary leader slowly stood back up, holding his clearly wounded left arm with his right, his armor horribly dented and stained in blood. And yet… he was alive. More than just alive, he seemed to be able to move around, and he didn’t seem to have all his bones broken, as he should have after such a hit. He staggered a little, looking in the distance as he seemed to realize that Soren was now violently killing his men. Some would have just turned around and ran away, others would have recklessly charged into the battle again. The man however... just stood there… and then he started laughing. “That’s it, that’s it little bard! You’re feeling it, aren’t you? The thrill of battle, the beauty of shedding blood. Kill them! Kill them all!”

Thankfully, the mercenary leader was much too far away to be heard, and Soren was dead-focused on those in his immediate vicinity. His movements were visibly graceful, yet each strike seemed to carry the force of a thousand winds, causing serious injuries and instant deaths when vital points were hit.

This continued for several minutes until no mercenaries were left standing. There was only the young bard, slowly turning his head from left to right. There was a slight grin on his face and that same look in his eyes as he seemed to scan his surroundings for more game. After moments of finding none, his bloodlust quickly began to recede..

Soren recoiled at the scene before him. Had he done this? His hands began to shake as he slowly stepped backwards. He had not intended to cause this much damage. Trees and shrubs were in tatters and the dead and dying were littered across the forest floor. The bard then took a tentative step forward, his guilt driving him to help those he had hurt.. But he remembered the situation. Clenching his fists, he turned around to face the escaped slaves with a hint of tears in his eyes.

At that same moment, a light rain began to fall and a low hanging mist filled the surrounding wood.

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Remnants of Exilvania
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 10694
Founded: Mar 29, 2015
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Remnants of Exilvania » Wed Nov 24, 2021 4:14 pm

Anselm
Merckburger Fen
Village


"Not destroyed? Impossible! The accounts may not go into great detail but they are very insistent that the Dread Empress destroyed herself. If she was as the chronics say then I doubt anything but her destruction could have prevented her from clashing with the Imperial Army."

Adelheid turned away from Pynus for a moment, holding her chin in thought as she silently muttered:

"Oh Konstanze, what are you up to? You shouldn't be playing with powers you can't understand..."

Before she could tell Pynus about her thoughts and final decision, the pirate sellsword adventurer suddenly drew her relic and pointed it...at a newcomer. A young woman by the looks of it, perhaps roughly her own age and also bearing striking, white hair, albeit paired with darker skin, making Adelheid wonder if one of the Galarai had come here. Though it seemed unlikely, given how her ears appeared quite rounded. Still, they had already run into what had undoubtedly been Unsterb agents, this could be another one coming to check up on them so she could absolutely understand Pynus' reaction.

But the newcomer didn't appear hostile and certainly showed a demeanor quite different from how Unsterb lackeys usually acted. Normally they were either slimy as sin or they were arrogant, knowing the richest merchant and greatest single political power in the League behind them. This was...relatively humble and non-confrontational by those standards. Still, Adelheid remained tense and wary...up untill the newcomer's stomach growled, the sheer comical stupidity of it all washing over her and making her chuckle before putting a hand on Pynus' sword, a gesture asking her to lower it. Now in front of their merry group, she greeted the newcomer, saying:

"Well, welcome to this forlorn place then. I am afraid you won't be finding much in the way of food that isn't rotten or filled with maggots here but perhaps we could share some of our provisions with you. As for sleep..."

Adelheid turned slightly to look towards the slowly setting sun.

"...I suppose there are enough beds here and I do not wish to camp out in the wilderness if we can avoid it. It's dangerous around here. Perhaps we should all camp out in this village for the night, utilize our strength in numbers if something should happen and get to know each other more.

Speaking of which, what is your name young lady?"

Wyzkia
Łómyśl
More snark, more hostility and very serious Archbishops


Events suddenly all transpired very quickly, far too quickly for Friederike, who stepped back as soon as Irena started hovering, the chair she had been in suffering a fate Friederike did not wish to share. She had considered diving under the table but given the chair's sorry state, that idea had gone away as quickly as it had appeared. And now...now the Archbishop of Envy just vanished and left his undead puppets, because of course they had been undead, what else was one to do with the corpses of a town, to fight Irena. Well, at least they didn't turn against her.

The Archbishop had granted her leave if she so wished...Friederike could just go. Leave Irena to her fate and go away.

Yet after a few steps away from the ensuing battle, her legs did not wish to go further. Which was odd. It wasn't likely for them to hold opinions or morals, certainly none that could be measured by human standards. Was it perhaps some part of her...some part from...before? Either way, try as she might, her feet refused to move.

With a sigh she let her shoulders drop...a little further than was biologically possible. She had been against the whole idea of allying with the Cult of Sins, even if her Lady had already made first forays. There were crooks and...and normal people. Normal, flawed people who hated her for what she was. But they were always better than the Cultists for they...had surrendered to their Sins. They were all Sin, just how the Virtues tried to enforce all Virtue on people. No, for the sake of her Lady, this alliance would not happen!

With a sudden, jerky motion she was on the ground on all...fours? It was hard to tell with her cloak hiding so much of her body. However, in the next moment she sped over the ground on all her limbs before coming upon the undead standing furthest from Irena. In one of her hands was suddenly a bug, a strange, horned creature with six legs and a chitinous body. And in the next moment that horned creature had been driven through the zombie's eye socket and deep into its skull. And it wasn't even dead, continuing to move, its horn pureeing the brain matter left inside the undead skull as the bug attempted to extricate itself from the skull. He was just the first victim of Friederike's...unusual killing methods, though she had to be more...original than usual as her opponents were now undead.
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REST IN PEACE HERZOG FRIEDRICH VON WÜRTTEMBERG! † 9. May 2018
Furchtlos und Treu dem Hause Württemberg für alle Ewigkeit!

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Intermountain States
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Founded: Oct 12, 2014
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Intermountain States » Thu Nov 25, 2021 3:02 pm

The Village, Anselm
Asche


As the blonde Loroi pointed her sword at Asche, a gray haired lady and a few others also stepped from the village square, likely to see the commotion and to inspect the new visitor. The tense moment was interrupted by Asche's stomach rumbling and a chuckle from the gray haired lady. The lady explained that while the village itself has little in edible foodstuff, the group does have some provisions that could be spared. Asche nodded with some form of relief with such news.

"As mentioned to your blonde friend, my name is Asche," she answered when the gray haired lady asked for her name. "I'm a simple woman, making her way through the universe. I can make due with a little bit of provisions and a place to stay in. While I do have my own callings, I am not one to not pay for one's hospitality. I can stay a bit to help out with the group for a brief amount of time.

"You've mentioned that it is dangerous around these parts and that there's not much in food. Am I correct in assuming that you folks aren't the original inhabitants?" she asked. "Could this have anything to do with some of the signs I've noticed far back from the trails warning people not to venture over to one path around the woods near Anselm?"
I find my grammatical mistakes after I finish posting
"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed"
Lunatic Goofballs wrote:I'm a third party voter. Trust me when I say this: Not even a lifetime supply of tacos could convince me to vote for either Hillary or Trump. I suspect I'm not the only third party voter who feels that way. I cost Hillary nothing. I cost Trump nothing. If I didn't vote for third party, I would have written in 'Batman'.

If you try to blame me, I will laugh in your face. I'm glad she lost. I got half my wish. :)
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