Elementals: The Black Beast (IC, Sign-ups only)
Posted: Tue Jun 11, 2013 8:39 pm
OOC/Signup Thread
Prologue
Norenhall
Hooves thundered along the road up to Castle Brackhall, stirring up the drifts of snow that had lingered on into spring, something completely ordinary this far north. Four riders proceeded through the castle gate, one of them dressed a bit more ornately than the others. It wasn't too noticeable, or to the point of detracting functionality from the armour, but there were slight differences-a slightly more elaborate horn on the steel helm, thin strips of gold artfully weaved around the scabbard of the sword at the lead rider's waist. The man dismounted from his steed once he reached the centre of the castle courtyard, handing the reins to one of the servants who had approached the visitor, and the other three riders followed suite. Walking into the keep itself he was surprised when the lord of castle himself approached him.
"Ah, Bismarke, glad to see you're finally here! I was worrying that you'd forgotten how cold the north could be and had frozen away on the roadside!" Lord Brackhall, the Duke of Norenhall said jovially, laughing a bit as he did so. Lord Brackhall was an old man, nearing his 74th birthday, but in spite of the snow-white beard that went from his chin to his collarbone and years of war he had been through he acted just like a small child at times. Brackhall's guest laughed as well.
"I'm not a Southeman, Olgraf, I know what snow feels like. Of course, I'm used to snow that has the proper sense to melt when spring comes," Bismarke replied, brushing off some of the clumps of snow from his heavy fur cloak.
"We'll have that private chat you wanted up in my quarters. Wouldn't want the wrong sorts of people to overhear our discussion, and I only bother using that room to deal with squabbling peasants and arrogant political gits sent up from the capital to poke their noses around the North," said Lord Brackhall.
The two men arrived at Lord Brakhall's chambers and walked inside, Bismarke locking the solid oak door behind them. Olgraf took a seat at his desk while the visitor remained standing, taking a moment to shut the curtains.
"So what was it that got you to ride all the way up to Norenhall anyway? It's quite the journey, even by steamship. It'd be nice if there was a railway up here, but with the state of the country these days putting rails up to Norenhall is the last thing on the Council's mind..." Lord Brackhall said, obviously a tad bitter about the lack of assistance his lands were facing now. The North would continue on fine as it was, but a man could dream of making his home better, couldn't he?
"Actually, that has quite a bit to do with my reason for visiting you, Olgraf," Said Bismarke, grinning a little under his white moustache.
"You came up here to talk about trains?" Lord Brackhall asked, quite puzzled.
"No, no, not the bloody railways. The state of this "united" federation. I have the feeling in my gut, Olgraf, and I've heard things from down in the South. War is coming, I can tell," Bismarke explained grimly.
"Bloody brilliant, we've had enough of those for a whole bloody century. What's it going to be for, hm? Conquering Eresiln? Yuelkelu? Or Host forbid, Halvefor or Elcrescia," Lord Brackhall grumbled.
"I think it's going to be a Galllian affair, just like the last one. Unless, of course, Garamiccia or one of the other militaristic nations decides it's a good time to acquire some Galllian colonies,"
"If this is a prank, Bismarke, it's not a very funny one. Just what makes you think any lord would be willing to start another blasted war, no matter how far his head is up his Southemen arse?!" Lord Brackhall said, fuming.
"I know for a fact that Lord Relden's been stockpiling weapons for some time now. Quite discreetly of course, nothing too noticeable at first-a few dozen swords unaccounted for in a weapons shipment from Beiriuk, or a merchant vessel carrying black powder from Sahranjja gets attacked by pirates, and a caravan departing from Visalheim with ore to be made into armour up in Liefenhall or Kreigpike gets robbed by remarkably organized bandits," Bismarke began to explain, pacing back and forth in the room. "I had thoughts about informing the council on my suspicions, but even if I did it in the most anonymous and discreet manner Relden's sympathizers would no doubt discover it, and claim I was a paranoid Northemen savage, intent on ruining the good reputation of House Relden. And of course, I doubt he's the only one engaging in this sort of thing anyway. The garrisons at Roalphan's Pass have been slowly increasing, as no doubt an fine old strategist like General Farongul can see what's going to happen as well, and being the federist that he is I have no doubt he intends to block off an anticipated marching from Liefenhall or Kotenshire. And, I've heard a few rumours here and there that Lord Kreigen has been building some sort of...super-ironclad."
Lord Brackhall burst into derisive laughter at his guest's suggestion of the new warship being constructed.
"They can barely get the normal ironclads to work half the time, how's Kreigen's big new toy boat going to work any better?" The man asked, calming down a bit. "And even if this wonder-ship of total destruction runs perfectly, why would Kreigen set it on anyone? He was one of the biggest advocates for the formation of the bloody federation, he's certainly not going to start a war. Just who would set off a cruopskastoerm like this, Bismarke?"
The visitor had a solemn look on his face as he pulled out a stack of parchment that had been hastily bound and covered, placing it on Lord Brackhall's desk.
"It's some sort of...I don't know what to properly refer to them as. A cult, a paramilitary order, a philosophical movement, I don't know. I just know that revolutionary idiots like this are far too dangerous to have mucking around in dire times like these," said Bismarke.
"Hmm...." Lord Brackhall murmured, lighting a candle on the desk to see better and putting on his thick reading spectacles. "Watchtower...." the duke said, his brow furrowing in displeasure as he began reading the report Bismarke had put together on the group.
Haventown was nice, tranquil place, with a population of 24,700. It prospered with the river trade down the Albras, bringing ores and metals to Carogne and Erinhall, and sent the goods of the caravans of Galabow down the rivers as well to the ports. Located in a valley formed in the mouth of a massive, ancient volcano that had died millennia ago, it had been always been a natural fortress as well, defying every besieging army during the Great Galllian War. The townspeople lived orderly, content lives, as Northermen have always done, far removed from the greater level of instability in the southern parts of the continent. And what better place to start off a story? A story about good and evil, love and hate, friendship and betrayal, destruction and renewal, the return of the Daemons and the Elementals, and the unlikeliest of heroes saving the world....
Haventown, south of the Albras Mountain Range
Aldraniri Alsvidster had been at the forge for the last three hours, pumping the bellows and shovelling in coal like he usually did throughout the morning after breakfast. Taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, the boy leaned on his shovel to rest his tiring arms from the heavy labour, when he began hearing bells toll outside. After the eleventh ring a grin spread across Aldraniri's face as he put the shovel down against the wall and began walking towards the door of the smithy.
"Boy, get me some fried chicken!" Rolphus Jarnsmon barked out over the noise of his hammer striking the blade of the longsword he was forging. "And don't spend too much time talking to that Heilaga girl, I don't want to have to re-heat my food in the bloody forge. My teeth are old, the last thing they need is to have to chew through soot," the geriatric blacksmith added on, knowing full well that his apprentice would ignore it. Aldraniri shut the door behind him and began walking down the cobblestone street towards the Market Square where he usually bought lunch. As he passed by the inn The Galloping Mare a blonde girl stepped outside, holding an empty basket in her hands.
"Hullo Aldry, off to get lunch as well?" The girl asked cheerfully, fully knowing the answer was yes.
"Of course! I'm bloody starving. It's a shame Master Jarnsmon doesn't let me eat on the job," Aldraniri grumbled, causing the lass to giggle.
"Well, I don't think you could shovel coal very well if you had were chomping down mutton and had greasy fingers from some fried fish, could you?" She said.
"Yeah, I guess you're right Heilaga...." Aldraniri admitted. "Now I'm really hungry, from talking about mutton and fish..."
"You sure do like eating, don't you? Cooking for you when we get older is going to be rough, isn't it, my Rosen?" Heilaga replied, taking a few moments to realize what she had said aloud. "Uh...I mean...if you...uh...come by the Mare...sometime or..." She stammered, her cheeks flushing as red as her barmaid's dress, her eyes nervously looking down at her feet. Of course, Aldraniri was being as shy as Heilaga, nervously scratching the back of his head.
"Yeah...dinner with you sometime would be nice ," the boy responded, although that certainly didn't do anything to help the situation. Thankfully, the couple arrived at the Market Square, giving them a chance to escape their awkward situation.
Market Day always brought in a mass of travelling merchants and travellers, and today there seemed to be even more people in town than usual. The multiple bakeries were all cooking away, their chimneys releasing smoke that seemed to carry the scent of the bread loaves, rolls and all sorts of sweet confections with them. The blacksmith Ysdaun was hammering away, crafting yet another short sword to sell to people wanting an adequate weapon for fighting off footpads. Travelling traders brought in their foreign wares, directing interested customers to their caravans parked outside the walls of Haventown, promising all manner of exotic spices and trinkets, while the local farmers tried convincing shoppers that their cabbages were much better than the rotting green hunks you'd find at Farmer Jimberly's stall, or that Alguo Farm cheese was infinitely superior to the rancid butter that Cransworth was selling. Northemen farmers could sometimes take their friendly rivalries a bit too zealously. Heilaga looked around at all the different people and shops, wondering about which shop to get groceries from for the inn, as Aldraniri gleefully began buying up fried chicken, sausage rolls and cake.
"Come on, I'm still on lunch break, let's find something to do," Aldraniri told Heilaga after she finished buying some bread loafs, sausage chains, carrots and cabbage heads. Nodding in agreement, the girl followed the blacksmith's apprentice as they began wandering through the square.
Prologue
Norenhall
Hooves thundered along the road up to Castle Brackhall, stirring up the drifts of snow that had lingered on into spring, something completely ordinary this far north. Four riders proceeded through the castle gate, one of them dressed a bit more ornately than the others. It wasn't too noticeable, or to the point of detracting functionality from the armour, but there were slight differences-a slightly more elaborate horn on the steel helm, thin strips of gold artfully weaved around the scabbard of the sword at the lead rider's waist. The man dismounted from his steed once he reached the centre of the castle courtyard, handing the reins to one of the servants who had approached the visitor, and the other three riders followed suite. Walking into the keep itself he was surprised when the lord of castle himself approached him.
"Ah, Bismarke, glad to see you're finally here! I was worrying that you'd forgotten how cold the north could be and had frozen away on the roadside!" Lord Brackhall, the Duke of Norenhall said jovially, laughing a bit as he did so. Lord Brackhall was an old man, nearing his 74th birthday, but in spite of the snow-white beard that went from his chin to his collarbone and years of war he had been through he acted just like a small child at times. Brackhall's guest laughed as well.
"I'm not a Southeman, Olgraf, I know what snow feels like. Of course, I'm used to snow that has the proper sense to melt when spring comes," Bismarke replied, brushing off some of the clumps of snow from his heavy fur cloak.
"We'll have that private chat you wanted up in my quarters. Wouldn't want the wrong sorts of people to overhear our discussion, and I only bother using that room to deal with squabbling peasants and arrogant political gits sent up from the capital to poke their noses around the North," said Lord Brackhall.
The two men arrived at Lord Brakhall's chambers and walked inside, Bismarke locking the solid oak door behind them. Olgraf took a seat at his desk while the visitor remained standing, taking a moment to shut the curtains.
"So what was it that got you to ride all the way up to Norenhall anyway? It's quite the journey, even by steamship. It'd be nice if there was a railway up here, but with the state of the country these days putting rails up to Norenhall is the last thing on the Council's mind..." Lord Brackhall said, obviously a tad bitter about the lack of assistance his lands were facing now. The North would continue on fine as it was, but a man could dream of making his home better, couldn't he?
"Actually, that has quite a bit to do with my reason for visiting you, Olgraf," Said Bismarke, grinning a little under his white moustache.
"You came up here to talk about trains?" Lord Brackhall asked, quite puzzled.
"No, no, not the bloody railways. The state of this "united" federation. I have the feeling in my gut, Olgraf, and I've heard things from down in the South. War is coming, I can tell," Bismarke explained grimly.
"Bloody brilliant, we've had enough of those for a whole bloody century. What's it going to be for, hm? Conquering Eresiln? Yuelkelu? Or Host forbid, Halvefor or Elcrescia," Lord Brackhall grumbled.
"I think it's going to be a Galllian affair, just like the last one. Unless, of course, Garamiccia or one of the other militaristic nations decides it's a good time to acquire some Galllian colonies,"
"If this is a prank, Bismarke, it's not a very funny one. Just what makes you think any lord would be willing to start another blasted war, no matter how far his head is up his Southemen arse?!" Lord Brackhall said, fuming.
"I know for a fact that Lord Relden's been stockpiling weapons for some time now. Quite discreetly of course, nothing too noticeable at first-a few dozen swords unaccounted for in a weapons shipment from Beiriuk, or a merchant vessel carrying black powder from Sahranjja gets attacked by pirates, and a caravan departing from Visalheim with ore to be made into armour up in Liefenhall or Kreigpike gets robbed by remarkably organized bandits," Bismarke began to explain, pacing back and forth in the room. "I had thoughts about informing the council on my suspicions, but even if I did it in the most anonymous and discreet manner Relden's sympathizers would no doubt discover it, and claim I was a paranoid Northemen savage, intent on ruining the good reputation of House Relden. And of course, I doubt he's the only one engaging in this sort of thing anyway. The garrisons at Roalphan's Pass have been slowly increasing, as no doubt an fine old strategist like General Farongul can see what's going to happen as well, and being the federist that he is I have no doubt he intends to block off an anticipated marching from Liefenhall or Kotenshire. And, I've heard a few rumours here and there that Lord Kreigen has been building some sort of...super-ironclad."
Lord Brackhall burst into derisive laughter at his guest's suggestion of the new warship being constructed.
"They can barely get the normal ironclads to work half the time, how's Kreigen's big new toy boat going to work any better?" The man asked, calming down a bit. "And even if this wonder-ship of total destruction runs perfectly, why would Kreigen set it on anyone? He was one of the biggest advocates for the formation of the bloody federation, he's certainly not going to start a war. Just who would set off a cruopskastoerm like this, Bismarke?"
The visitor had a solemn look on his face as he pulled out a stack of parchment that had been hastily bound and covered, placing it on Lord Brackhall's desk.
"It's some sort of...I don't know what to properly refer to them as. A cult, a paramilitary order, a philosophical movement, I don't know. I just know that revolutionary idiots like this are far too dangerous to have mucking around in dire times like these," said Bismarke.
"Hmm...." Lord Brackhall murmured, lighting a candle on the desk to see better and putting on his thick reading spectacles. "Watchtower...." the duke said, his brow furrowing in displeasure as he began reading the report Bismarke had put together on the group.
Haventown was nice, tranquil place, with a population of 24,700. It prospered with the river trade down the Albras, bringing ores and metals to Carogne and Erinhall, and sent the goods of the caravans of Galabow down the rivers as well to the ports. Located in a valley formed in the mouth of a massive, ancient volcano that had died millennia ago, it had been always been a natural fortress as well, defying every besieging army during the Great Galllian War. The townspeople lived orderly, content lives, as Northermen have always done, far removed from the greater level of instability in the southern parts of the continent. And what better place to start off a story? A story about good and evil, love and hate, friendship and betrayal, destruction and renewal, the return of the Daemons and the Elementals, and the unlikeliest of heroes saving the world....
Haventown, south of the Albras Mountain Range
Aldraniri Alsvidster had been at the forge for the last three hours, pumping the bellows and shovelling in coal like he usually did throughout the morning after breakfast. Taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, the boy leaned on his shovel to rest his tiring arms from the heavy labour, when he began hearing bells toll outside. After the eleventh ring a grin spread across Aldraniri's face as he put the shovel down against the wall and began walking towards the door of the smithy.
"Boy, get me some fried chicken!" Rolphus Jarnsmon barked out over the noise of his hammer striking the blade of the longsword he was forging. "And don't spend too much time talking to that Heilaga girl, I don't want to have to re-heat my food in the bloody forge. My teeth are old, the last thing they need is to have to chew through soot," the geriatric blacksmith added on, knowing full well that his apprentice would ignore it. Aldraniri shut the door behind him and began walking down the cobblestone street towards the Market Square where he usually bought lunch. As he passed by the inn The Galloping Mare a blonde girl stepped outside, holding an empty basket in her hands.
"Hullo Aldry, off to get lunch as well?" The girl asked cheerfully, fully knowing the answer was yes.
"Of course! I'm bloody starving. It's a shame Master Jarnsmon doesn't let me eat on the job," Aldraniri grumbled, causing the lass to giggle.
"Well, I don't think you could shovel coal very well if you had were chomping down mutton and had greasy fingers from some fried fish, could you?" She said.
"Yeah, I guess you're right Heilaga...." Aldraniri admitted. "Now I'm really hungry, from talking about mutton and fish..."
"You sure do like eating, don't you? Cooking for you when we get older is going to be rough, isn't it, my Rosen?" Heilaga replied, taking a few moments to realize what she had said aloud. "Uh...I mean...if you...uh...come by the Mare...sometime or..." She stammered, her cheeks flushing as red as her barmaid's dress, her eyes nervously looking down at her feet. Of course, Aldraniri was being as shy as Heilaga, nervously scratching the back of his head.
"Yeah...dinner with you sometime would be nice ," the boy responded, although that certainly didn't do anything to help the situation. Thankfully, the couple arrived at the Market Square, giving them a chance to escape their awkward situation.
Market Day always brought in a mass of travelling merchants and travellers, and today there seemed to be even more people in town than usual. The multiple bakeries were all cooking away, their chimneys releasing smoke that seemed to carry the scent of the bread loaves, rolls and all sorts of sweet confections with them. The blacksmith Ysdaun was hammering away, crafting yet another short sword to sell to people wanting an adequate weapon for fighting off footpads. Travelling traders brought in their foreign wares, directing interested customers to their caravans parked outside the walls of Haventown, promising all manner of exotic spices and trinkets, while the local farmers tried convincing shoppers that their cabbages were much better than the rotting green hunks you'd find at Farmer Jimberly's stall, or that Alguo Farm cheese was infinitely superior to the rancid butter that Cransworth was selling. Northemen farmers could sometimes take their friendly rivalries a bit too zealously. Heilaga looked around at all the different people and shops, wondering about which shop to get groceries from for the inn, as Aldraniri gleefully began buying up fried chicken, sausage rolls and cake.
"Come on, I'm still on lunch break, let's find something to do," Aldraniri told Heilaga after she finished buying some bread loafs, sausage chains, carrots and cabbage heads. Nodding in agreement, the girl followed the blacksmith's apprentice as they began wandering through the square.