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The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness
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Founded: Dec 02, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness » Sun Jun 28, 2015 6:59 am

Volyoria, Kingdom of Gweylessa
Venniael Hezroze


"What, you?" The recruitment officer frowned, and almost burst out in laughter. "A woman?" Venniael nodded in reply. "Hmm." The man laughed and spat through his thick, brown beard. "What? You think we'll allow you army because you're pretty? Grow up, girl. This is the army, not some sort of adventure. Go find a nice hus-" The man was interrupted by Venniael, the vampire leaning down on the table the man sat behind. "No," she began, "you'll allow me into your little army because I can fight. I probably have a lot more experience than those farmer's boys you're letting in. I've seen war, and I know what to expect. More importantly, I have my own armor, weapons, and my own warhorse - you won't need to spend any of your precious supplies on me but for some food and drink, and payment. Fuck, I'll be cheaper than those sorry bastards you're arming with all the supplies you're sparing on. Besides, I don't recall there being anything that goes against allowing women into your army."

The recruitment officer shook his head. "Pfft. Fine. But don't come complaining to me when the boys get a bit wild." The man placed a paper on the table. "Just sign here." The vampiress did just that, signing the paper 'contract', now officially enlisted for the coming 'Exalted March'. The recruitment officer took it, and placed it on a massive pile of papers not much different from hers. "Alright, you know what do and when to report." The man made a gesture, bidding her to leave as he motioned for the next in line to come closer.

A slight smile plying across her lips, Venniael walked away, back towards the Inn she was staying at. It hadn't even been long and already she had found a job, and a good one at that - if she served well in this 'Exalted March', as the people were calling it, there'd be plenty of gold in it for her. Even better, nobody'd notice a severely wounded man or a prisoner disappearing from the battlefield or the camp - plenty of fresh blood abound, then. Indeed, coming here was already proving to be successful.
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Zoblus
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Founded: May 03, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Zoblus » Sun Jun 28, 2015 1:35 pm

City of Numera,
The Punic Republic
Senate Chamber, 625 AL


"By a margin of 78-22, the navy is to be expanded to accommodate an extra 91 vessels. These vessels will be fast moving galliots, as specified by Senator Tulle. You are all dismissed, enjoy the rest of the day," announced Senate speaker Hanno to the gathered Punic Senate. The members had been debating whether or not to expand the navy in order to better defend the coast, the merchant ships, and to extend their war capabilities. Presiding over the meeting was Suffete Hiram Zaracas of Genese and hearing that the session was over, he got up and moved towards the door of the Senate building. As suffete, he had approved the expansion of the Republic's naval power, for he understood, as many others did, that the Republic's strength lay in the navy, not the military.

Outside of the Senate building, Hiram called up his personal driver/slave Augustus to drive them home. Augustus was a Paletine slave boy of 18 years of age who had been Hiram's slave since he was 5. He was a tall boy, with brown curly hair, and green eyes. Though treated better than other slaves in Numera, he still yearned for freedom. Hiram lived in a nice house on a hill overlooking the city, a good 27 minute drive from the Senate building. It was still pretty early, the Sun barely rose over the buildings of the city, casting long shadows onto the streets. A good time for a pleasant carriage ride home, thought Hiram. He climbed into the teal carriage, which lacked a roof, and was being pulled by a pair of mules. Adjusting himself a bit, he leaned over to the slave boy and said:

"Take us home Augustus, I want to get home soon so I can have the day to myself," ordered Hiram politely, leaning back into his seat as he finished speaking.

"Aye sir. Is there anything else I'll need to do when we arrive at the manor?" asked Augustus, pulling the reins to get the mules moving.

"Hmm? Ahhh, yes. When we we arrive, I'll need you to go to the market and pick up some oranges for later in the day, I'm making me some juice," responded Hiram," when you finish that, you can have the day to yourself. You've earned a break for all your loyalty."

They passed several blocks of buildings as they spoke, and they observed the well kept nature of the houses and stores. The roads, which were made of cobblestone, created a sort of massaging effect on Hiram, and he became extremely relaxed. This was the first day in years that he didn't have so much to do and he was enjoying as much as he could. He finally had the time to enjoy the company of his wife and kids.

After some 20 minutes of riding, Hiram could see his home in the distance. It was a large manor, with a large central courtyard, huge garden in the back, and a pleasant little pond filled with fish. It was the perfect place to retreat to whenever life became too overbearing. They were at the entrance to the part of the city where the richest members of Numera's populace resided: a marvelous marble arch with carved reliefs of animals and plants. Passing under it, Hiram noted that a small group of birds had made their nest on top of one of the columns. They were a pair of lovely green parents and there was a collection of three eggs in their nest. I need to get some parrots, thought Hiram, they'll make a fantastic addition to the nature of the garden.

Stopping at the front of the manor, Hiram got off the carriage gently and was met by his wife Dara, a wonderful Anotan woman he had met during his youth. She was a slender woman, with curly jet black hair, blue eyes, and beautiful tan skin. She had been sitting on the porch reading when Hiram got home.

"You're home early, my love, what's the occasion?" she asked, grabbing his hands.

"There's not much to do today," answered Hiram, gently kissing his wife's bands," for once there isn't anything big to do. I can finally spend the day with you and the children. By the way, where are they?"

"In the back playing. Let's enjoy today, I don't think you're going to get another like it," spoke Dara, pulling her husband into the house.

Looking back at the slave boy, Hiram said, "Augustus, remember to pick up those oranges, here's 7 Shekels. I want one of those large bags."

Augustus nodded and he headed out to the market, money in hand, thinking about what he was going to do with his free time.


Lords Chamber
Bologne,
The Punic Republic, 625 AL


Hasdrubal, the great General of the Punic Republic, Count of Bologne, was sitting down at his desk in the privacy of the Lords Chamber. He was reading some reports that a couple of commanders had sent him regarding the suspicious movements of some Venezian ships near troop positions. The Venezians had been made bitter when they were forced to surrender Bologne and its island to the Republic, and have since been plotting to retake it. Let's see, they've been spotted off the coast of Bologne, but I know they aren't foolish enough to directly attack the city, thought Hasdrubal, they're probably trying to bait us into packing everything into the city, then siege it. Getting up from his seat, Hasdrubal went to the open door and called out to one of his staff:

"Greta! I need you to send a message to all the high ranking military officials on the island and the suffete in Numera," shouted Hasdrubal.

"What May that message be, my lord?" asked Greta, bowing to Hasdrubal.

"To the officers, tell them to position themselves anywhere a possible landing may be made. To Suffete Hiram, send the message that well need an extra 5,000 men for the time being. The Venezians seem to be threatening us with invasion."
"Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolutions."
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The Starlight
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Founded: Jan 11, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby The Starlight » Mon Jun 29, 2015 11:52 am

Rudaslavia wrote:-snip-

"The Dark Ones are the Dark Ones no matter who serve them. And you have failed to convince me that you have repented of the evils of both you and your ancestors. However, I am not fully decided. You shall have your answer in two days time, Voriel. Until that time you shall have a room, but any debauchery or unhonorable actions will mean that you will no longer be welcome in Valtmeris or the Empire. You may roam freely within the city, within reason of course, and two Blades will stand at your door and be your guides. There are to be no tricks, no magic and no seduction, nor anything else of the like. If you are found to be partaking in any of this, that will also mean in your explusion. My ears have heard the evil tales of Harkasia, and my eyes have read the records of your kingdom and people. Do not make me regret my hospitality." Saerondr said, dismissing him with a nod and summoning two Blades to show him to his room.

He spoke, when Voriel was gone, to another aide. "Summon the Council, we have matters to discuss. I shall be in the council room," Saerondr said, heading there now. Even though he was High Emperor, he could not manage the Empire, or at least his part of it, alone. In some matters, Saerondr often took care of matters himself, but when it came to their future and foreign policy, the Council was oft called upon.
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Rudaslavia
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Corporate Police State

Postby Rudaslavia » Mon Jun 29, 2015 1:25 pm

Imperial Palace
Valtmeris, Empire of Elvrion


Voriel was overjoyed by the Emperor's response; consideration was the first step towards agreement. Granting Saerondr a parting bow, he followed the Blades out of the chamber and through the palace halls. His steps were quick and filled with prideful entitlement. With his hand at the hilt of his sword, he whistled classical tunes aloud. They echoed through the imperial corridors, even reaching the ears of the High Lord of Ramiene himself.

"Come now, gentlemen," said the Crown Prince to his Blade guides as they passed Valuryan's balcony. "Do your gods restrain you from enjoying the bedazzling sound that is my music?" The Gorgos winked in the High Prince of War's direction, almost as if taunting the man's apprehensive reaction to his presence.

Upon reaching his room, Voriel closed the doors and observed the sprawling city from his terrace. "Valtmeris!" he cried to himself in excitement. "City of magic! City of kings and beautiful dames! I grace thee with my presence, capital of Elvendom! The Gorgos has arrived!"
Friends call me "Rud."

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Imperialisium
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Founded: Apr 17, 2011
Democratic Socialists

Postby Imperialisium » Tue Jun 30, 2015 8:40 pm

Ragnar's Hold

Maximilian rode into the city through the Eastern gate or Oesttor. His retinue rode in around him as the crowds of humanity parted. Some recognized the Prince's banner and called out to him. Others in alarm at the convoy as they rode past. Galloping through Ragnar Neustadt into the Alterplatz and thence through the inner curtain wall to the Schlossendistrikt. The Hold itself was an impressive fortification built in a small marshy swamp that has been domesticated over the generations. Forming a natural barrier and allowing access through the Langebrecke or Long Bridge that spanned the marsh. Initially until the 240's the bridge was wooden but over the course of time the bridge was rebuilt out of stone and more extensively fortified. The site during Maximilians conquest was a the scene of a four hour bloody stand off between the Imperialist missile troops and those of the defenders. Victory only attained when Baron Koenin vas Feldtstein led the Imperial charge under shield cover and managed to take the whole length of the bridge. Baron Koenin was slain along with 200 of the 250 man force he led across the bridge on that bloody charge. A statue of Koenin now stood in the Alterplatz to commemorate him and those soldiers sacrifice for the Imperial cause.

As the drumming of hooves carried across the bridge the Prince reached the Mittelmark. A fortified gatehouse located squarely half way between each side of the bridge. The portcullis rose quickly as the Prince rode on with a horn sounding to announce his arrive. The castle itself was could easily house and garrison 1,000 soldiers along with the lord and his attendants. Riding into the central courtyard the Prince was greeted by Herzogin (Duchess) Marie Viktoriana vas Zollen. The Duke having been heading to Old Sarin for a meeting of the House of Magnates.

The Duchess was an older woman and wise. Her hair having long since gone grey but never lost its shine or smoothness. Her face was fair and though beginning to sag and wrinkle still spoke of a strong woman. Her pinched nose gave way to a small smile of tiny red lips.

"Your Highness, my husband made me aware of your trip, I have accommodations prepared for your nights stay?" Maximilian unhorsed as a stable boy took the reins. His Guards either led the rest of the horses to the stable, took necessary provisions with them to their quarters or formed a loose cordon of security.

"Yes, I thank you most graciously for your hospitality?" smiled the Prince as he took the Duchess hand and kissed it gently. She giggled slightly as she received her hand and the Prince took her by the arm. She led the pacing as was respectful for she was the dame of the household and Maximilian would not disrespect her within the grounds of a woman's home.

"I must say Lady Wilhelmina will be overjoyed that you are here. You two used to ride ponies together and I have the portrait hanging in my study! What a great painter that Arosi was. Master of the true Volyorian art of face capturing. I was saddened when he past two springs ago."

Maximilian smiled all the way as they discussed their lives and recent events. Marie was a pleasant woman not prone to gossip.Some might say the Emperor respected her as much as her husband the Duke for her loyalty and no nonsense demeanor. But the Duchess was also a happy woman and Fyrdinand himself described how every man around her would jump to her defense if she took a slight from another. Not out of any sense of vanity, but a respectful woman was to be respected. Those words were drummed into Maximilian's mind over the years and unlike the womanizing Rudolf the younger Imperial Prince took those words to heart.

"And where is your lovely daughter Lady Wilhelmina?" asked Maximilian. Wilhelmina was always a frail woman given to illness. A small young lady but ever so sweet. Maximilian never fancied her romantically or even sexually. But they had been old friends for many years.

"Oh she is out accompanying the Master of the Hunt on the some errand. She loves to try and learn the finer points of hawk training. I don't understand that girl wanting to be around animals so much. Especially once's as dangerous as a hawk?!"

This statement earned an inner laugh from Maximilian. A trained hawk was dangerous to its master as a mouse was to an elephant if handled correctly. He was sure she was in good hands, "I am sure Lady Wilhelmina is in excellent hands my lady."

Thus they continued on to the dining halls...

Always Kills More

From the depths of the Khamul jungle something escaped. Concocted through nature or some sorcery no one could say for its origin. Like the Dark Ones themselves had unleashed such virility upon the world. It spread into the lands around the Khamul, spreading North and West to the Inland Sea of Ghora, a plague of such expedience it emptied entire villages. Entire villages around the circumference of the Khamul jungle became full of sick, coughing, buboes ridden, dying people. Their cries lifting up to the heavens. Merchants and travelers to that expansive jungle will no doubt tell horrible tales of this plague and the red rose kiss its leaves on a victims neck. For the sign of one infected with the plague is one that bears a red and yellow black mark upon their neck. Their joints swell and they are prone to nausea and vomiting followed by fever and fits of cold embracing their bodies. FInally, as buboes appear on their bodies Death claims them and their souls race to Avalar's Halls.

Valtmeris

High Prince Valuryan of House Tamerian strode into the Council Room with displeasure clearly on his face. He would not try to cover it up with false faces of impassivity. He was an honest Elf like his father Azuryan had been. That was probably why Irithren valued his counsel and now Saerondr. Valuryan could hide his moods when needed, but to the High Emperor he would show its emotions as respectfully as possible. Giving Saerondr not only council but honest answers. Using historical context to back up his council provided the balance Azuryan had taught him. That was why Azuryan kept an extended library at Ramiene and in Valtmeris. Knowledge was power, and to guard it well was to tell it in ways that could not be misinterpreted.

"Your Imperial Highness. Reporting as summoned." No doubt Saerondr would easily catch on that Valuryan had seen Voriel.
Last edited by Imperialisium on Tue Jun 30, 2015 8:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Zoblus
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Founded: May 03, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Zoblus » Mon Jul 06, 2015 1:56 pm

City of Numera,
Suffete's Office,
The Punic Republic, 625 AL



"Master Hiram, there's a message here from General Hasdrubal and it looks urgent," said Augustus, holding the letter out to Hiram.

A good three days had passed since his short break and he already missed it. He so deeply enjoyed the fact of not having to do anything for the whole day and had been a bit unwilling to do work now. But a letter from General Hasdrubal was something that could never be ignored, no matter how unwilling one was. He was in his office today, sitting down at his lavish mahogany desk, reading official dispatches from the various governors of the Republic.

"Let's see it then," responded Hiram, taking the letter and opening it. He got up from his desk and slowly, carefully began reading.

"What does it say master?" asked Augustus

"It's a request for extra reinforcements to the city of Bologne, apparently the Venezians are making some aggressive moves near the city." quietly responded Hiram, keeping his eyes on the paper. Hasdrubal apparently felt the need to have an extra 5000 or so soldiers stationed at the island in case of an attack by the Venezians. Hiram was shocked that such hostilities were beginning to boil once more between the Republic and the Venezians, but he had always been prepared for such.

Turning quickly to Augustus, who was standing beside him on the left side of his desk, Hiram said to him:

"I need you to go to the Tower of Partha at the center of the city and ring the summoning bell. That will call the Council and the commanders here in the city to a special meeting," commanded Hiram, grabbing Augustus by the arm and turning towards the door." They have to be informed about the situation at Bologne, I can't just go ahead and move troops."

Moving swiftly, Augustus exited the room and began running towards the exit of the Granite Lodge, the Administrative Building of the suffetes. It wasn't far from the center of the city, and only taking two minutes, Augustus reached the tower. It was a large building, made of limestone, carved with intricate designs and highly stylized. It had been built to commemorate the work of Partha, a nun who had gone around helping the poor and sick during the days of the united Volyoria. After the formation of the Republic, the tower was converted into a summoning bell tower for whenever the Suffete needed to use it.

Image

Wasting no time, Augustus ran quickly into the tower and up the many spiraling steps to the top. Once there, he could see the large bronze bell hanging above him. It was a typical looking bell, nothing special or distinguishing about it, except that it was rather large. At the right of the entrance to the bell was the lever that rang the bell, which Augustus ran towards and grabbed. Pulling with all his strength, the lever was lowered and the bell slowly began to ring. Soon the nobles would be assembled and the meeting would be underway.

City of Numera,
Emergency Council Chamber,
The Punic Republic, 625 AL


"Today, good people of the Republic, I have called you to inform all of you that a request for additional troops has been made by General Hasdrubal," announced Hiram, addressing the gathered nobles and commanders of the city. They were sitting in the council chamber, a large room within the Senate building adorned with gold pillars, rows of the finest chairs, and a large central area where the Suffete stood on an elevated platform. There were around 400 men and some women assembled today, all confused as to why they had been called. But hearing the words of Hiram, they now understood.

"How many soldiers is he asking for?" asked Commander Zahra, looking at Hiram with curiosity.

"He is requesting an additional 5000 Punic Regulars to reinforce the garrison at Bologne," bellowed Hiram, raising in his right hand the letter that Hasdrubal sent him. "He wrote a letter to me requesting 5000 troops."

"5000? That's ridiculous!" exclaimed Elder Astegal, rising from his seat in disbelief. "There is already a garrison of 1000 city guards, plus a contingent of 2000 regulars stationed at Bologne. What reason is there to send another 5000?"

At that moment, several members of the collected audience started to nod their heads in approval, others voicing their approval. The whole room began to question why so many men were being requested, for they believed that the standing force at Bologne was good enough. Hiram, though frustrated by the actions of the assembled, understood their apprehension, and he allowed them to ramble a bit before saying:

"The Venezians seem to be preparing for an attack on Bologne and the island," Hiram echoed after the room settled, " several of their warships have been spotted making passes at the island and teams have been observed probing the beaches for landing points. An all-out war with the Venezians seems eminent."

These words had the effect that Hiram expected on the assembled. They instantly became worried/serious, whispering to each other, discussing what they had heard. Some appeared shocked, possibly thinking that a war with the Venezians was impossible, since the last one had occurred only recently. Others appeared glad, possibly taking delight in the thought of having the opportunity to capture more land. The assembly as a whole was sent into a frenzy, all talking frantically about the prospect of another war. The assembly took another ten minutes to return to normal, with Elder Astegal once again speaking:

"After hearing what you had to say and discussing a bit with my peers, I must say that I wholeheartedly support the request for another 5000 troops to be deployed to the island."

"That is fantastic, but I must know if everyone else feels the same. Does the rest of the assembly agree?" inquired Hiram, once again standing up from his seat.

A unanimous "Aye" echoed forth from the assembly, all agreeing to the deployment of an extra 5000 troops to the island where Bologne. The details of where the troops would be pulled from were quickly resolved after a brief meeting with the assembled Commanders shortly after the assembly disbanded. The 5000 would be taken from Lost Watch and Genese, transported to Bologne, and reassembled once arriving at Bologne. A total of 33 transport vessels from Numera would be used to ferry the troops, with 450 pounds of provisions packed in each. If war were to happen, the island and Bologne would not fall.
Last edited by Zoblus on Mon Jul 06, 2015 10:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolutions."
- Khalil Gibran

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Augusticinia
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Founded: Mar 26, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Augusticinia » Wed Jul 08, 2015 6:06 am

Near the Palendar River

Ininduul's horrible side affects had finally ended and he made a recovery. He had spent the last few days feeling like he was burning, vomiting, and tiredness. He was moving south with his tribe when he thought to himself. "Why am I looking for the Wild Hunt?" then he remembered an old story that his mother used to tell him. It was that the Wild Hunt were once friends with the first men. He finally found a good spot to settle and yelled,"Kiale." The tribespeople began to stop moving and began to unfold their tents and rugs. He knew that they were tired from walking. While walking back to his tent he felt an awakening. They were over an ancient tribes sacred burial ground. They would have to hold a ritual tonight to keep the other tribes ancestors from killing them. Ininduul held the ritual of the dead. No man knew the sacred rituals better than Ininduul. After hours of walking swinging the fire of the dead the tribe was finally safe. Ininduul was almost a god to his people and he felt happy because of it.

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Krugmar
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Postby Krugmar » Wed Jul 08, 2015 3:31 pm

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The Dwarven Hegemony
Act 1: Reclamation


625 AL
Durognarin Gates
Durog VI


Waiting for the levy to be prepared had not been as torturous as Halzmar had expected, yet no news had arrived from any of his wayward sons on their gallant, yet extremely dangerous quests. He had faith in them, a faith that could not be shaken by a silly fear for their capabilities in battle and leadership. They would hold thrones of their own soon, and they would understand the burden that he carried, of leading his people to a better future. Yet here he was now, leading the young and old alike to a war that didn't truly concern them. Domination of the Wildlands was necessary, too long had the constant raiding on small holds and traders been given no thought. Unfortunately his attempts to create order had only pushed the entire region into anarchy, now the Dwarven army was being mobilised, ready to show the world that the Dwarves were not a race ready to recede into the background or slowly fade away.

With the toughest, thickest and best armour in Dwarven opinion, and good luck to the poor sod trying to argue against the point against one who delves deep, his army looked magnificent. The beating of the drums kept a discipline unmatched by most armies, though often Halzmar worried whether the humans had already gotten the better of them. Stories reached him of the Paletine Republic, their fierce 'enlightenment' of both his own people and others, of the Alfheimr Empire and their fierce Nordmen, the religious zeal that inspired the Kingdom of Aerusalem. Yet in his opinion they all lacked the loyalty, the courage, the stubbornness of his own people. The Dwarves had been the only force to challenge the Elvirion Empire all those millenia ago, and they had truly suffered for their attempt at keeping order. The other races had scurried away, faded away or were destroyed. But the sons of Durog were far more resilient than that, and here they were again, a might empire stretching from mountain to mountain. It was still not enough.

Strength had to be shown, no matter how brutally, how cruelly or destructive. All these wild folk knew was how to raid and pillage, against such an organised army they would melt away like flies. Halzmar had been so focused upon his own thoughts that he did not even notice his own daughter, Sigrun, standing next to him. "Father, you seem worried" she said softly, lacking the harsh voice of an elder Dwarven matron that wold likely afflict her later in life.

"These are all my sons and daughters, are they not? How can a father let them march off to a war that needn't concern them?" he said, reopening his earlier dilemma. How had his father coped with such questions, or had he not coped with them at all? Most historians looked damningly upon Izzun, his later madness and harsh conquests blurring a successful and peaceful rule of fifty years. How would they remember Durog V? A benevolent ruler, a cruel tyrant, loving father or murderous conqueror?

"They fight for you, you are Durog reborn, in you I think they see a chance to return to the glory of the old days. I don't think they are wrong" she said, stunning Halzmar with her intelligence and warm message. Truly out of all his children she had been blessed with his love of the scholarly arts, yet she was able to perfectly blend such knowledge into charismatic speeches in a way he had never been able to.

"Aye, then I shall give them this glory. I will return soon Siggy, you have my word" he replied, pulling her in close for a quick embrace before dismissing her kindly. One last look at the fifteen thousand who would accompany him to war and death, before he mounted upon his favoured steed and set off.

625 AL
Battle for Dur-Ganar
Prince Gorvan


"What of the eastern barracks? Have we taken them yet?" roared Gorvan, standing and shaking a makeshift command table. The runt of a captain next to him squeaked out an excuse as to why the area had not been taken yet, causing him to shout in frustration. Progress was slow.

"Prince Gorvan! The western barricade is failing, three more infernal golems have joined the assault, they tore Zakhvast the Indomitable apart!" shouted a lowly sergeant, his armour blackened with soot from the constant fires bellowing in the distance and his face covered in blood and spit.

"Divert thirty berserkers to the western barricade, and one of the iron golems. That is all I can spare right now" replied a very tired, and therefore bitter, Gorvan. The assault had become a damned siege, and they were still trapped in an unfavourable position. He had miscalculated, believing that the enemy were weakest in the eastern pass yet three days of constant fighting through rubble and ruin had resulted in little ground being taken. Almost half of his berserkers were dead, and his message for reinforcements to the humans of Alfheimr and the King of Dur-Fulgrun would take weeks to arrive at best.

"My Prince, the Wyrdlocks are in position!" shouted one of the Wyrdseers. They were a new invention, and quite a strange one that had amused and shocked all who had seen them. Round and monstrous things which, when a magical surge was sent through them by the Wyrdseer, shot out runes carved with rather explosive messages into crowds of foes. They were also especially useful in breaking down stone structures, though the traditional catapults were far more adept at this task. Three of the machines had been set up, with a further five yet to be readied. Two had already failed, the spirits inside them fading away as the battle disrupted the tender connection that some of them displayed.

"Faaaahr!" shouted an elderly Wyrdseer, causing those at the command table to plug their ears as the deafening noise erupted around them. A large rune flew through the air, over the massive hole that separated them from the Dur-Ganar Citadel, before it smashed into a huge crowd of Spreeks. Bodies flew everywhere and screams were thrown about as much as limbs as chaos broke through their ranks. Another blast, and again, and soon their war machine was in tatters.

Gorvan turned to one of his captains, "Push three companies into the eastern barracks, from there they will make their way into the marketplace and clean up any resistance, before heading around into the noble quarter and then the Citadel", the man nodded and threw himself to the task. "Delvar, take four stone golems and six companies to the western barricade, overwhelm them while this chaos lasts. Make straight for the citadel, this is our last chance" and the captain nodded, barking orders to his men.

"Valak, gather the wyverns, we make for an assault right there" he said, pointing his arm at the mighty gates of the Citadel, "If we disrupt their command chain we break them into little more than a rabble. I have observed that the weaker ones can do little without being commanded by the golems or the strongest of their kind". Valak sprinted towards the wyverns, leaving Gorvan to gaze across the abyss that he would soon be crossing. A true leader leads by example, his father had always told him, now he understood.

625 AL
Dur-Vezjan Camp
Prince Bezzuli


It was a crude wall, having been hastily constructed by Korzikuan and the orc Burguk Jregh to keep adventurers out of the sacred ruins of Dur-Vezja. Yet Bezzuli knew the truth, a truth known only to a few chosen by his father Durog to hear it. The place had been infested by a monstrous race, ones who had created the Soulforge in an attempt to become gods. Had they been warped by their own creation, or punished savagely by the Vaulted Ones? Nobody knew, and according to his father the blighters weren't very talkative. He would have to wrench it from their screaming last breaths, in an attempt to sate his curiousity.

Oh, will you? whispered the wind, a voice so malevolent it made Bezzuli shudder. He looked around, but he could see nobody but Korzikuan stood beside him. "Who is there?" he asked, demanding an answer from what was possibly a simple breeze.

"It is just me, Master Bezzuli, there is no-" replied the ever vigilant golem, before it uncharacteristically paused in the middle of it's sentence. It too looked around, and Bezzuli almost thought he could see a hint of fear emanating from the, now slightly dimmed, green eye markings that emanated from its face.

"Korzikuan?"

"I have not felt this fear since..." muttered the golem, a being that was not meant to feel fear in any case. His own name meant Bringer of Fear, yet here he was the one feeling it.

"Since you were last here, with my father Durog" he said, correctly surmising the situation. The golem nodded, which made Bezzuli feel even worse. How could he succeed where his own father, the mighty Durog V, and the venerable Bezzuli Nikunzav, failed?

You reek of fear little prince screeched the wind, causing blood to slowly dribble from his ears. Bezzuli wiped it away quickly, shaking his head as if to remove the demonic voice. "You will pay for what you did to our people, monsters" he muttered.

Come then, son of Durog, and meet your people sounded the piercing scream that pushed Bezzuli to his knees, leaving him clueless as to what they meant. He didn't even realise that his eyelids were slowly closing, and would only vaguely remember Korzikuan grabbing him and carrying him to the camp below under cover of darkness. His campaign would begin in the morning, yet he already felt as if he had been defeated.

625 AL
Battle of the Lesser Palendar
Archprince Vikram


"Get those shields locked together, hold Dwarves hold! Captain Gulur, direct fire to their western flank now! Chieftain Zhavesh, send your swordsmen to the centre, have them fill in the gaps now! Fulkam, don't let them breach through our eastern wing. Fulkam, Fulkam! Bollocks, somebody take up his command" bellowed Vikram, watching one of his favoured captains lose their heads. The battle was a complete disaster, he watched with disdain as the beastmen rampaged through his eastern flank and ran straight into his rearguard, threatening his supplies.

"By Falk this is hopeless" he muttered, watching as Zhavesh's inexperienced and cowardly tribesmen were cut down by their own kin. Zhavesh had abandoned his brethren to join him, and now Vikram knew that it was because the beast was a coward rather than a loyal subject. It was only a matter of time before he turned upon them.

"Your Majesty, should were abandon the field?" asked one of the junior captains, suggesting a tactical retreat that was not unwise, but unacceptable for a King of the Dur-Zennar to initiate.

"No, I will join the fray myself. They will know the meaning of fear. Axes mates, let us tear these beasts apart and remind them why they submitted to us in the first place" he growled, brandishing a very large battle-axe of a great quality and standard, yet it's ornate presence was "ruined" by blood stains from recent battles. Vikram thundered into the field, the lines having broken away and the battle having devolved into complete chaos where commands meant little and only the valour of the soldier and sheer numbers of the armies meant anything. He waved his axe around crazily, decades of combat experience paying off as he felled weak tribesmen pressed into a war they didn't truly understand. They were made for simple pillaging of defenceless merchants, not fighting battle-hardened dwarven princes with an appetite, a lust, for battle.

"Chieftain Saljeel, face me you spineless coward. I'll rip your spine out and strangle you with it, tear off your limbs and beat you to death with them, burn you alive with the fiery hate of my heart!" he roared, beating his chest and sending those closest to him scattering. They had heard tales of the Warmaster.

A tall creature, with tufts of black hair scattered around its body, two mismatched horns sprouting from its head, one huge one covering its left eye, with two goats legs adorning its bottom half. It bore a frayed cape made from the skins of unlucky travelers, and it snarled an inhuman challenge as it brought a scimitar, likely taken from a caravan, to battle. Vikram charged toeards it, bellowing a hate-fueled cry which rallied his forces behind him, smashing any Oguin stupid enough to be in his way, as he made his way towards his adversary.

625 AL
Siege of Dur-Targen
King Fruhar "Blackflame"


"Volley, now!" shouted Fruhar the Black Flame of Dur-Targen, usually shortened to 'Blackflame' for the sake of time. His love of using fire in combat, and his midnight beard which curled erratically had earned him the nickname. Bolts whirled into the enemy forces below, sending Oguin and Orcasi alike scattering as they sought cover. Trebuchets rained fiery death upon the savages, flaying the skin with the most horrible heat and crushing those stupid or unfortunate enough to be in the way. Such a mess earnt a childish laugh from the King, raising the spirits of those near him.

The enemy force numbered around twenty thousand, a significant force but not one that could likely take his city. Dur-Targen was a maze, hard to navigate at the best of times, an invasion of any Dwarven stronghold was tough, to put it lightly. No, there was no serious chance of them losing this assault, and a series of sallies would break any attempt at a prolonged siege, that or reinforcements. Soon he would be able to take to the field, and hunt the monsters down in a more jovial and spirited manner.

He looked below, from the high walls he and his senior commanders were perched upon. The gate to Dur-Targen lay below them, but that merely led to a series of underground forts ready to accommodate any trespassers. They were not as ornate as the ones in Durognarin, nor as sturdy as the ones packed in Dur-Zennar, but they were many and they were guarded by his loyal lads. Nothing could-

"Your Majesty, get down!" shouted one of his lords, piling in to him and whisking him away from the balcony as a stone rune thundered into it an exploded. The devastation came to him immediately, the bodies of his senior commanders were strewn about, and the lord perched above him who had just saved his life now sported a large rock jutting into his back. Guards pulled Fruhar from the destruction, as a few of the other survivors limped away and brought awful news to their king. The gate was breached, the enemy were pouring in, he had misjudged everything.

625 AL
Battle of the Lesser Palendar
Lord Marshal Zavost


"Looks like Bonny Prince Vikram needs our help" chuckled Zavost, watching the calamity of a battle unfold from his excellent position nearby. With him stood four thousand of the aptly named Wildland Legion, Dwarves who lived in the harsh hills of the Wildlands with rights and traditions of their own. When promised security and new lands by Durog V, they had quickly sworn their fealty and been rewarded with large swathes of hills rich in goods and farmland. Now he was fulfilling another promise that he likely didn't know about, their secret desire to kick some Oguin and Orcasi butt.

"We gonnae join 'em Zavvie?" inquired one of his marshals, a young lad with few scars to prove his mettle. Perhaps today he would be blessed with one, or a few, then he would definitely gain a woman if he hadn't already got one. Zavost gave no answer, instead he gripped his spear tightly and began a quick jog towards the enemy lines. Tactics and planning was overrated, especially in a battle that had already devolved into a chaotic and mindless field of slaughter such as this. His jog became a sprint, and his sharp breathing became a raging warcry.

How the Oguin had not spotted the Legion coming from a mile away was a mystery, yet with little wish to fight other than fear of their leader, the chieftains had not bothered to send out scouts other than in the direction of the Archprince. They barely scrambled together a resistance as thousands of screaming Dwarves rampaged into the midsection of their army, causing chaos and disrupting any semblance of order that the force had. Those at the back simply bolted, chieftains among them, while those at the front were pushed further in. Some desperately tried to throw down their arms, but the bloodthirst of the Durognar was strong that day, and blood flowed across the green fields as if it would never stop.

It did not take long for the battle to end, a miserable and blood soaked field littered with Dwarven and Oguin dead. Nearby were a few chieftains, kneeling before the Warmaster, gripping the head of an unusually deformed Oguin as a trophy. They bore his shouting, roaring and spitting as he cursed them for their treachery, before accepting their pathetic excuses and ordering them to rally their clans in support of the Hegemony. Then he began thundering towards Zavost, and his heart skipped a beat.

"By Durog, he is scary" he said, earning stunned looks from his marshals who had never known him to feel fear. But who couldn't feel fear in the presence of the aptly named Warmaster?

625 AL
Northern Orcasi Wildlands
The Vizolsh


"Slaves, that is what they made you, but is that what you chose for yourself? No! This is why we take arms, this is why we will strike back at those who have oppressed us! We are not savages, we are a Federation, a united front against those who have tortured us, murdered our families and pillaged our villages. Stand with me, and we shall forge a new nation from the ashes of their old empire! Stand with The Vizolsh!" shouted an unusually tall and muscular orcasi. His skin was a very dark shade of green, and he had the same brutal features that marked his race. Yet this one was different.

He had seen much of the world, and little of it had been to his taste. He had served as a soldier for the Paletine Republic, as an auxiliary, and those years had pressed into him an education and understanding of war. He still wore Paletine inspired decor in his clothing, yet most of it had been changed to a more traditional Orcasi style to promote his representation of his people. He had returned several years ago, seeking to bring a similar enlightenment to his people, though his would start with the freedom of his race from the well forged Dwarven chains.

Before him, chanting his name, were sixty thousand of his followers. They came from all walks of life, from both genders, any age as long as they could carry a weapon of some life. They shared his dream, even if most of them couldn't truly understand it. Freedom was to be theirs, and it would come with the burning of every Dwarven city. First they would destroy the Targennar, who had ruthlessly been purging their kind for a millenia. Then he would set Durog V's head upon a spike, and show the Dwarves that their God-Ancestor was not so invincible. Then the rest would fall, and out of their screams and agony a new nation would rise up, much like the phoenixes which he had read about.

The reclamation had begun.
Liec made me tell you to consider Kylaris

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Dixmix
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Founded: Apr 22, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Dixmix » Wed Jul 08, 2015 6:34 pm

The Coalition of Valsh

The Coalition was on a grounds that was deemed holy by the Engarians and was seen as the only place that both parties were able to sit through and decided the peace deal. The kings and tribes of the South and came to meet with Ze'vash and his Werewolves to stamp out their resistance in the form of autonomy and vassalage to the Southerners and this agreed with a little threating involved allowed them to secure the power of the Cult in Engar and have done something that couldn't have been done in over centuries ago. They unified Engar under paw and steel, but it only made the final act of the Runehiem's Prophecy and the visions of the past came true for Kagos. Ze'vash had been the one of his grief, he killed his daughter and he became a werewolf to hunt down his killer and he helped his killer conquer his homeland. No more, he will avenge his daughter and end his killer, once and for all.

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Zoblus
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Founded: May 03, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Zoblus » Wed Jul 08, 2015 8:51 pm

City of Bologne,
The field to the south of the city,
The Punic Republic, 625 AL


"General Hasdrubal, the reinforcements have arrived," said Daniel, messenger of the Punic Army," 5000 regulars and their supplies."

"Excellent!," responded Hasdrubal from the seat of his war horse, in full armor," and not a moment too soon. The Venezians have started forming their lines, it'll only take them 30 minutes to be fully prepared for combat. Are the reinforcements getting formed up?"

Image

"Yes sir, they're forming their lines and marching towards the field as we speak," answered Daniel enthusiastically.

The Venezians had landed earlier in the day, around 10:00 a.m., and had demanded that the city be immediately surrendered to them or face total destruction. They had landed with around 9000 troops; 5000 of them levies, 3000 mercenaries, 500 archers, and 500 mounted knights. The defenders of Bologne had managed, now with the reinforcements, to amass an army of 8000; 5200 Regulars arranged in separate units for swordsmen and pikemen, 1000 Punic Guards, 1500 skirmishers armed with javelins, 200 light cavalry, and 100 heavy cavalry. The Venezians had numerical superiority by only 1000, the fight would be a close one.

Hasdrubal observed the enemy as he waited for his own army to form. They were different from the last time the Republic had fought the Venezians. They wore chain mail with a sort of thick jacket on top, steel helmets that covered more of the head, steel shinguards on some, a mix of different shield shapes abounded, and this was only the levies and the mercenaries. The archers carried steel chestplates, wore steel gauntlets, chain mail beneath the breast plates, steel helmets, and carried large bows. None of his troops were equipped with bows, Hasdrubal understood that the archers would be a pain in combat. But what surprised him the most were the cavalry.

The cavalry men, knights he soon found out they were called, were the most well armed of the Venezians. They wore full suits of steel armor, from head to toe, encased in a shell of steel. Even their hoses were armored, protected on all sides by steel. They would pose a problem, and a big one as Hasdrubal saw it.

"The reinforcements have formed up with the rest of our forces and ate ready for battle, sir," announced Daniel, running up to Hasdrubal and his horse.

"Good, then let's waste no time. Have the men advance on the Venezians as soon as a blow my horn. They should follow the plan," responded Hasdrubal.

The men of the Punic Army were organized as follows:
A line of skirmishers with their javelins at the front of the forces, ready to engage the enemy from a distance. They were organized in a line of two men deep. Behind them was the rest of the the army organized as follows:
At the center stood three squares of pikemen, spears up until battle started.
On the flanks of these pikemen were two long rectangles of swordsmen, set there to insure that the pikemen weren't flanked, and to engage the enemies that they could not.
On the farthest wings of the of the infantry line were the light cavalry and the heavy cavalry, with the heavy cavalry behind the light cavalry. They were to engage the enemy cavalry and disrupt the infantry formations.
Behind the infantry and defending the rear of the rest of the forces were the Punic Guards.

Hopefully I have enough soldiers to defend the city with, thought Hasdrubal, looking back at Bologne. Though he worried about the enemies numbers and equipment, he was sure that his tactics would win the day.


City of Bologne,
The field south of the city,
The Punic Republic, 625 AL


Both sides were worn thin by the fight, four hours of killing had reduced thousands of men to pitiful heaps of flesh. Hasdrubal himself even joined at one point in order to rally his forces, even he didn't escape without being injured. He had taken an arrow to the shoulder and a cut to the thigh before being able to escape from the fight. The battle had not gone well for either side, but Hasdrubal's forces had suffered worse than the enemy. They hung on though, resisting the enemy and their attacks.

The battle had gone as follows:
Hasdrubal, in order to weaken the Venezians , had his skirmishers advance in front of the main force and when within range, throw their javelins. However, when they neared the range of their javelins, the archers opened fire, decimating the skirmishers. Very few managed to throw their javelins and return safely. Seeing this, Hasdrubal deployed his cavalry to engage the enemy cavalry and possibly get around to destroy the archers. While this occurred, he marched the infantry forward to smash the Venezians, all the while using his remaining skirmishers to try to deplete the enemy ranks.

The heavy cavalry engaged the knights, while the light cavalry was to swing around and destroy the archers, which were located behind the infantry. When the heavy Punic Cavalry met the knights, they were devastated. Their superior numbers, armor, and weapons quickly resulted in the deaths of all the heavy cavalry, while only inflicting minor casualties on the knights. The light Hasani horsemen quickly attempted to engage the archers while they were chased by the knights, only being able to kill about 134 archers before being routed by the knights. The light cavalry, forced momentarily from the field reorganized while the battle continued.

The cavalry charge proved helpful, as the Punic Regulars, with the supporting skirmishers, smashed into the Venezians. The fighting proved fierce, though the Venezians had the obvious upper hand in the melee. While the infantry was engaged, the knights, having routed the cavalry, came around and hit the Regulars on their flanks. They attempted to move on to the rear and encircle the Punic Regulars, but the quick actions of Hasdrubal and the Punic Guards saved the army from total encirclement. The Guards and Hasdrubal fought fiercely, finally managing after taking 672 casualties to force the knights into a retreat. At that moment, the reorganized light cavalry charged once more into the archers, killing many of them before being forced once more to leave. Only 7 managed to escape to safety.

The infantry then fought the rest of the fight, intensely shedding each others blood. Now Hasdrubal ordered the remaining forces to retreat and reform quickly in order to battle the last of the Venezians.

"Men!," yelled out Hasdrubal, ridding in the front on his horse," we have fought bravely for hours and though our numbers have been depleted, we must not forget that behind us now lies our homes, our families, our lives. We can not afford to lose now and allow the enemy to take all that we hold dear. My comrades, let us march towards glory and show those Venezian bastards that if they intend to win, that they'll have to march through the flames of eternal anguish to get it!" Hasdrubal charged forward, the reorganized infantry line following closely behind.

The Venezians, seeing the charging mass of infantry, quickly formed a protective pike square, pulling their remaining archers to the center in order to protect them. Swiftly countering the square, Hasdrubal slowed the charge and commanded the remaining pikemen to form into the Punic Square: a formation where the swordsmen and pikemen form a solid square and the javelin throwers flank them to provide cover. The pikemen slammed into each other, several men dying by the ends of the pikes. For a solid 5 minutes did the two sides ceaselessly stabbed each other with the pikes.

The knights had dismounted, and thy joined the fray, quickly ending may men. They proved hard to defeat, their armor blocking nearly all blows. But when they strayed in front of a pike, they were destroyed. Seeing this weakness, Hasdrubal had the pikemen reform and charge the knights, while the swordsmen, Punic Guards, and the last skirmishers crashed into the other infantry. Hasdrubal succeeded in destroying the troublesome knights and refocused his attention on the remaining infantry. As he had the pikemen turn to engage the Venezians, a horn was blown, signaling the remaining Venezians to retreat to their ships. Wanting to peruse and completely annihilate the fleeing Venezians, Hasdrubal was about to order a total charge, but saw that his men were tired, in absolutely no condition to continue fighting. He turned about, having dismounted to fight on foot, and said to his men:

"We have won! Those capable of walking, enter the city and rejoice in the victory that you have won! The Guards and I will stay to tend to the wounded," said Hasdrubal, removing his bloody helmet. The men cheered, throwing off their helmets, and thrusting their weapons into the air.

They had defeated the Venezians and destroyed what new inventions they had thrown at them, though not without heavy losses. 7239 of the total 8000 man force had died, more than 90% of the total force. The Venezians had suffered heavily as well, losing around 7394 men. The Punic Army had suffered more, it was evident to all the weapons and armor of the Republic weren't suitable anymore for combat with other states. Hasdrubal understood this and after moving countless dead, treating the wounded, and returning home at last, he got to writing a detailed report of the battle. He included a section detailing the failure of the Punic armor and weapons against those of the Venezians, drawing even detailed sketches of the wounds inflicted on his troops.

"Greta! I need you my dear," Hasdrubal called, as he slowly rose from the table in his office. He had gotten his wounds treated, though he would have to rest for weeks in order to heal.

"What do you require my lord?," asked Greta, coming slowly into the room.

"I need you to take this to Suffete Hiram," he said, pain surging through him as he moved. "It's of dire importance."

"Yes sir, I'll get it to him," she obliged, taking the thick pack of paper in her arms. "You need to rest my lord, your wounds require you to do so."

"I know Greta, I know," gruffly answered Hasdrubal. "I'll rest. Just send the report to Hiram and ask him to find a way to quickly end this thing with the Venezians. Force, it seems, won't work for us now."

Greta quickly shuffled out of the room, leaving Hasdrubal to lay in his bed and attempt to sleep through the pain.
Last edited by Zoblus on Thu Jul 09, 2015 12:37 am, edited 2 times in total.
"Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolutions."
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Elerian
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Founded: Aug 31, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Elerian » Fri Jul 10, 2015 2:26 am

Bloody Bitch
Crown Prince Alarin Greysong
Great Royal Road


Alarin sat his horse looking glum as ever, as he and his men rode West for the River Glaslyn. There was an ancient bridge there that stood as the de facto territorial marker between Volyorian, and Ungarn lands, though Gweylessa still laid claim to the lands beyond. Upon each bank of the Glaslyn sat a stone fort, jointly named the Bloody Bitch. There were other fords and crossings, but at this time in the Spring they would all be flooded, making this the only viable crossing this far north. The Bloody Bitch was held by King’s men, who extracted a handy amount of silver from any passersby, at least if there had been many. There was little traffic going too and fro, not least because of the mutual sentiment held by many Volyorian and Ungarn individuals.

Alarin had been to the Blood Bitch several times before, but he’d not crossed it until long after he was a man grown. While he was no craven, he knew well the dangers that came with leaving the safety of his father’s lands. But, today he would do much more than simply set foot on Ungarn land, his mission was to raid, subjugate, and divert. With two thousand men at his back he was to raise hell for the Ungarn, and so he would.

Though he was duty bound to head this foray, he would have much rather have been at his father’s side, he’d said as much but even still he was rebuked. His duty lay to the west, his father had said. As much as he loathed the duty that this foray required, he would obey and lead his men to victory.

Glaslyn Highway
King Raolin Greysong
Socae River Delta


The creaking of wagon wheels, whinnying of horses, and the shouts of rowdy men overwhelmed the senses as the Exalted March got underway for the day. Raolin had tried to stop anyone he heard calling his army the Exalted March, but had soon given up after it caught on. On the day of their departure everyone who owned even a strip of red cloth wore it proudly and flooded the streets. Anyone who didn’t already own red clothes had crowded the markets in search of a thread of red. Merchants made special trips to other towns and villages all around just to get in on the craze. However, as the army marched from Volyoria, all one could see all around was a sea of red. They were all there to see their sons, fathers, friends, and brothers off, and for some that would be the very last time.

Raolin was bedecked head to toe in red, and the horse he’d chosen to ride out of the city with was even red too, and all the smallfolk ate it up. At the behest of his son, he unleashed Fervor, its fiery glare got the crowds screaming ever louder with joy and awe. They all believed he would be able to bring down the Ungarn menace, and as much as it pained him to do so, Raolin fed their hopes. Although he’d never been beaten in battle, Raolin was unsure of his abilities. He’d always led by example, showing his men the way with his own courage and strength. While his courage had not been extinguished, his strength had long since been diminished by old age.

Even still, Raolin took heart from his people’s courage, and so long as he lived he would not fail. Too many lives were at stake, and after word of the Exalted March spread, even Rhedun pledged two thousand men to the campaign. While he would have much preferred ships, they would make a fine addition to his army. That put his forces at over twenty six thousand men, and only further slowed his army’s already slow pace. And, around the time the Rhedun soldiers arrived his engineers had completed the first catapult he’d ordered them to construct. It was an impressive sight, but it was damnably slow.

However, Raolin was still optimistic that he’d take the Ungarn by surprise. He’d prevented all traffic on the highway west until the day after the Exalted March had already left, thought there had been little traffic to stop as it was. Thus, he hoped that word wouldn’t reach the Ungarn until it was far too late. And, with Raolin enroute to Ungarn lands to the West of Volyoria, the Ungarn would be hard pressed to defend itself. Now, all Raolin had to do was win the coming siege, a feat in itself.
Last edited by Elerian on Fri Jul 10, 2015 4:16 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Dixmix
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Founded: Apr 22, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Dixmix » Fri Jul 10, 2015 1:12 pm

The Palesoul

The full moon was high and a archaic shrine was constructed in order to worship the Werewolf Spirits and the Runehiem as a means to try and finish the Prophecy with the entire tribe and many of the Human Engarians that were conquered to see it become true. However, no matter how much he tried it failed.

" Why? Why does it not work?!" He was trying to pour energy into the totem but it had deflected the power but he saw that the moon was shining on Kagos and his eyes widened," you? You are the bringer of the Prophecy? That's not possible. I was the one that it was supposed to bring the new golden age for our kind! Me!" All eyes were between Kagos and Ze'vash as the two were standing in anger.

" I don't care about your stupid Prophecy! I want justice and you are my daughter's murder. You care for this Prophecy that you effect my kind with your curse! Effect me with your curse! I saw your Prophecy and what it wanted. Your Totem and your Spirits have made their choice, they want new blood. I will give them what they want and I will get what I want!" They both transformed as the beast overtaken them, and soon they battle as wolves do.

Ze'vash was naturally stronger than Kagos as he was being tossed around and being bit deep within the hide of the werewolf. It was only by the magic of the Runehiem gave him the edge to bring the fight and a cheap shot by throwing Ze'vash to the ground and started to rip open his chest and exposed his beating heart in the midst of pain whales of Ze'vash and Kagos ripped it out from its arteries and veins, sill beating the blood out of the heart and he walked over to Runehiem and swallowed it whole.

Kagos howled to the full moon but it started to choke and feel hot. Something strange was going on as its dark fur started to change into pale white. He started to grow larger and his eyes glow until he was larger than any other werewolf. Mael went up to try and snap him out of it but he attacked him, biting him in the neck. Mael started to change into a much larger werewolf than normal and started to attack the others werewolves and the Humans ran as the Werewolves transformed and became different. Some were normal and just a little larger than the normal werewolf, some were actually large wolves, and a rare few were considered giants.

It took them a while to come back together and they realized that their bodies were beastly, but their minds were mortal. " What happened? Is this what the Prophecy meant by our embrace? We are cursed with our minds trapped in these bestial forms forever!" Kagos howled and the others howled at the full moon but Mael came to him," no, we are Werewolf reborn. You are our leader, it has to be for you were the one who completed the Prophecy and helped us gain our minds. Besides, we have done many impossibilities like united our people and have broken the Old Curse so that we may build a nation for our kind."

Kagos took a sigh and clinched his elongated claws," I didn't asked for this, just to get my vengeance. I don't wished this on anyone. I will be our leader, our adviser, our Palesoul. Mael, bring me the Engarian Humans." The Humans leaders came and they were afraid of what they saw. " I am the Palesoul, Kagos. I was once one of you Engarians but I have became lost in a mad man rise to unite our lands. However, we are no longer beast thanks to liberating our lives against the mad man to become a new race. Our name is .... Talmori, the Children of the Pale Moon. And I, as the Palesoul, make a holy promise. A Hunter's Promise that no Engarian would be subjugated to being forced into our kind unless they want to.

We shall join in fellowship, both of us will build our nation as a New Dominion. One of no kinstrife and fellowship between everyone." The Werewolf Alphas and the Palesoul bowed to the Human kings and chieftains as they bowed back, as a sign of equal respect to the Talmori as a new nation was forged at the sight of the Pale Moon.

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The Starlight
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Posts: 10422
Founded: Jan 11, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby The Starlight » Fri Jul 10, 2015 1:14 pm

Imperialisium wrote:-snip-

Valtmeris
High Emperor Saerondr Tarembor


"High Prince Valuryan. Greetings. While we wait for the rest of the council, we can talk on this Voriel. From the displeasure on your face, I sense that you would rather have him out of here. While I have mostly made up my mind, High Prince, and despite my word being absolute, I have an Empire to rule, and I have always tried to take counsel from those with more expertise in certain matters than myself, thus, the Council summoning. But I shall state my personal opinions, I would rather have him spitted on Siryamíl, and thrown into the Great Sea. However, the fact of the matter is that this Harkasian is a Master Mage, and charging in like a wild bull will do us no good. So, I intend to have him brought before me and rejected, politely, but firmly."

Looking up, Saerondr beheld the rest of the Council taking their seats, and, after explaining the situation and the proposal by Voriel, he looked to Valuryan. "You have permission to speak freely, High Prince Valuryan, if you wish, on this matter."
Last edited by The Starlight on Fri Jul 10, 2015 1:14 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Krugmar
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Postby Krugmar » Fri Jul 10, 2015 3:44 pm

[quote="Krugmar";p="25192931"]
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The Dwarven Hegemony
Act 1: Reclamation


625 AL
Shadow Pass Slaughter
Durog VI


The battle had been short, if it could really be called a battle. Three thousand unprepared and undisciplined Orcasi tribesmen had been surprised by a vast army of 20,000 Falknar, five thousand of which were the legendary companions. There had been little tactic in the Dwarven plan, a simple charge had broken the morale of the Orcasi and sent them scattering. Half had fled into the human lands beyond, while the rest, around a thousand, had surrendered and joined their former foes as unpaid mercenaries. They would earn their freedom through fighting their kinsmen. Halzmar disliked pressing them into service like this, but news had reached him of a vast army heading towards Dur-Targen. Now that Durognarin had been lifted from a potential ambush while it was mostly defenceless, they could now make their way and ambush this Orcasi army.

Around him stood his silent Falkharu, one hundred of the elite warriors protecting their king in battle. He had left around fifty in Durognarin to protect the rest of his family, while the other fifty were split between his various sons. He worried for them, as any father should, but for now his mind was focused upon the safety of his people. With a single motion he gave the order for the army to move out, a quick march to Dur-Targen to defend it against the savages. No march would be complete without a song to raise the spirits of his men. One of his lords motioned for one of the current favourites, For the High King.

Destruction, hear your country call you,
Up, lest worse than death befall you!
To arms! To arms! To arms, Durognâr ai-mênu!
Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted,
Let all hearts be now united!
To arms! To arms! To arms, Durognâr ai-mênu!

Advance the flag of Durognar! Hurrah! Hurrah!
In Dwarven lands we take our stand, and live or die for the High King!
To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Durog!
To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Durog!


The effect it had was immediate, and it brought a smile to his lips. In the plains they would soon meet up with the Karznar army, likely numbering around ten thousand. Such an army was unprecedented, having not been raised in thousands of years. Yet this was a desperate time, calling for desperate measures. The Orcasi would soon be liberated from this false prophet, order would be restored and the Hegemony would be at peace again.

625 AL
Old Sarin
Vazhut Kalbik


The dwarf had little understanding of human customs, cities or anything in fact. He was a traditional Falknar dwarf, standing slightly taller than his kin with a great pride and sense of duty that was unmatched throughout the Hegemony. His armour bore new scars and burns from his brief fighting in Dur-Ganar, but still showed the ornate craftsmanship of the dwarves. He strode through the streets pinching his nose, the smells offending him. Human architecture was so crude, thoughtless and sprawling compared to the delicate planning that went into every dwarven building. He was unsure if he was in the slums or the noble quarters of the city, they all looked the same to him. He didn't even think they had a smiths quarter, or at least one of any note at all.

Due to his unfamiliarity with the city, it took him a long time to reach what he assumed to be the keep. To his eyes it was just as shoddy as the rest, but he would have to keep his opinions inside lest the humans become offended. Strangely they took offence to constructive comments, and an emotional and wailing man was something to be avoided. The guards shot him a strange look, likely due to the wretched state of his armour. "What is your purpose here dwarf?" inquired one of the guards.

"I bring news from King Gorvan Falkunzavbrik of Dur-Ganar, and request entry to your fortress to speak with your King or someone of appropriate rank" he replied, handing over one of his letters with a quick signature and seal to prove his authenticity. The guard entered the fortress to relay the news, and the dwarf patiently awaited to be given entrance and an audience.

625 AL
Siege of Dur-Targen
King Fruhar "Blackflame"


"Deliver us" muttered Fruhar, watching the devastation below as the first keep was assaulted by thousands of angry and raging orcasi tribesmen. They were without proper discipline, but in the chaos that mattered very little. They climbed up on crude ladders, pouring into the undermanned fort and butchering the defenders. They had not been prepared for the gate to come crashing down so quickly, and only now was the second keep almost fully garrisoned. The screaming from the first keep ruptured his soul, yet his men kept fighting on bravely, delaying the wild host for as long as they could. Within twenty minutes the battle was over, and a crude red hand flew over the fort.

"They still have to break through another four forts, then fight in the city itself" mentioned one of the lowly soldiers standing near Fruhar. He turned, smiling towards the man, and clasped his shoulder. No words were said, but the message was clear. He made his way through the crowd away from the overlook towards an elevated height.

"Targennar, before us stands a mighty host intent on tearing apart our wondrous city. We may be the outcasts, but what does that make this rabble before us? They are vermin, disobeying the orders of Durog, a crime no living creature should ever commit. It was his father, Falk, who delivered us to these lands. Now I mean to fight to preserve them, let us remind them why this is our city. Let us remind them of our unity, our strength! Prepare the drums, I believe you all know the Falkukmath. Chant with me Sons of Targen, and bring down the wrath of the Aesir upon these savages!" he shouted. The Falkukmath was an ancient war song with a great morale effect upon the troops. It reminded them that it was their land they were fighting for, and could often turn the tide of a battle when used correctly.

Feel the sting of the cold breeze on my shoulder
With the chill of the rain on my brow
Falk, Lugnel, can you hear your people cry?
Help us now!
This dark hour
Listen now, and deliver us!
Hear our call, deliver us!
Father of All, remember us in this freezing land!
Deliver us! There's a land you promised us!
Deliver us to the promised land!

Deliver us!
Hear our call, deliver us!
From these famished years as wanderers, we've grown too cold to stand
Deliver us! There's a land you promised us!
Deliver us to the promised land!


Fruhar sang along with his troops, and it slowed down the pace of the orcasi as they marched through the gargantuan tunnel towards the second fort. They were confused, why were their foes singing at such a time? It did not sound like a normal war song that they had heard before, full of despair and idle hope instead of savage crying and blood curdling screams. Yet it had done its work, and the once terrified Targennar now rushed to their duties, arming Wyrdlocks, catapults and crossbows.

"Faaaahr!" shouted a veteran Oathsworn, causing a volley of bolts to fly into the air and find their marks in the putrid bodies of the savages. The Wyrdlocks discharged deadly runes, causing calamity and great damage to the ranks of the host before them. A few exploded in their holds, while a few didn't fire at all, but the cost was worth it. The more reliable catapults also sent their rocks into the wild host, sending some of the orcasi to oblivion. Yet they kept on through the hellish atmosphere until they reached the gates of the second fort. Crude ladders were pushed up, and rams used against the sturdy wooden gates.

"They don't breach the second, you hear me?! Send these vermin to Aval-Hal! Durognâr ai-mênu!" shouted Fruhar, brandishing his sword as he charged towards the overlook as an orcasi bobbed his head over. His bodyguards frantically tried to keep up as he made his way through the crowd, intent upon killing as many of the blighters as possible.

625 AL
Dur-Fulgrun
Lord Endrok Balkhunzav


Ten thousand of Dur-Fulgrun's finest now marched through the Kalzmere Mountains, heading towards the Orcasi Wildlands. They had received no orders from the High King, yet they felt obliged to join in and help put down the rebellion. It was for more selfish reasons, the chance for glory and presenting their newly reformed army off to the other dwarven nations, rather than any selfless act. But their King was also closely linked to the Falkunzavbrik family, and felt a personal need to keep up the alliance. Lord Endrok had been chosen to lead the army, due to his military experience and lack of political ambition which meant that the King trusted him. He was honoured by the assignment, and of course a little eager to tear some beastmen and savages apart.

"Drums, sound the drums! I want them all to know we are coming, and start a song, get the men into a continuous beat" he dictated, knowing the importance of an ordered march. It helped them arrive at their destination quicker, with a fresh army ready and eager for combat. The song chosen was a classic, Off to Battle We Go, one with a quick beat and small amount of words. Within a few minutes it was being chanted throughout the entire army, and the pace seemingly quickened.

Whoa dwarves
ho dwarves
off to battle we go!

Farewell the lass
goodbye the brats
off to battle we go!

Sharpen your steel
and mount your ram
off to battle we go!

To kill an orcasi
maim a mari
off to battle we go!

We fall and die
to fend our homes
off to battle we go!

Whoa dwarves
ho dwarves
off to battle we go!


"Begin turning north, we will march more quickly through the plains of the human territory. We shall go through Eastfall Pass and from there into the Wildlands" ordered Endrok, leading this change himself mounted upon his glorious white ram with a splendid golden armour.

"What if the humans think we are invading their lands?" inquired one of the lesser lords attached to his command, whom he had forgotten the name of.

"As if they have anything worth invading" chuckled Endrok, before muttering seriously "They will send messengers I presume, if they adhere to a civilised code of war, and we will mention our reason for entering their lands". He was uncertain if they would do that, but if they turned on him he would earn the first victories in the first Durognar-Human wars, though he would prefer to fight one enemy at a time.
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Imperialisium
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Postby Imperialisium » Fri Jul 10, 2015 4:22 pm

Valtmeris
Council Room


Valuryan kept his thoughts to himself throughout the entire council meeting. Sitting back silently and eyeing the other councilors. When Saerondr spoke to him directly, only then, did Valuryan speak. Speaking plainly, "Your Majesty, Councilors, it is my advise and council that we simply execute him by any means necessary. I speak in rejection to this expedition after all we may just be providing a man elf with more resources to conduct what nefarious task given to him by his...Masters."

To utter the name of the Dark Ones was even frowned upon. Lest they seek to influence you or their Demons come after you. It may be just old elfwives tales but Valuryan remembers seeing the terrible wounds suffered by his father when he bested a Demon. However, a gut feeling in his stomach brooked the idea of opportunity.

So he spoke up again, "However. Even if Voriel speaks the truth and has forsaken his dark masters he can still be used to accomplish our own agenda. We give him a single ship. Not a full expedition. He will journey to the Shrouded Lands and if he survives all that, if he comes back to us faithfully and with proof of it being worth the effort, then we mount an expedition after we've put his head on a spike."

To kill someone who had returned in trust was a heinous idea. But worshiping the Dark Ones, even if it was just formerly, was to forsake ones immortal soul and be more heinous by a substantial degree. They where playing with fire when it came to Voriel, and the Valtmar had been burned in the past by giving blind trust, hopefully history was not bound to repeat itself.

Old Sarin
Eagle's Claw Keep


Emperor Fyrdinand was in the throne room, looking up at a statue of his father when the guard entered and whispered into his ear. Immediately the Emperor cocked an eyebrow and looked at the square jawed soldier. "A Dwarf? Send him in." As the guard quickly paced away Fyrdinand took up his position on the throne. Arms resting on arm-rests and feet placed firmly on the polished marble dais the throne rested upon.

The guard returned to the Dwarf and opened the gate way speaking, "The Emperor, His Serene Majesty, Fyrdinand, First of His Name. Will see you now."

Guiding the dwarf about the large castle the guard led him to a second pair of ornate oak doors. Displaying the Dragon and Eagle on the left and right door frames respectively. Each animal was clutching half of a multi-rayed sun that was split in half by the door when it opened. Before them stood a marble hall of polished stone.

"When you approach, kneel before the throne, and rise only after the Emperor states so." The guard stepped back with his right arm outstretched to beckon the Dwarf to enter.

A herald announced the Dwarf's presence, "Before you Your Imperial Majesty is an emissary from King Gorvan Falkunzavbrik of Dur-Ganar!"

The Emperor waved his hand and simply said, "Speak."
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Krugmar
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Postby Krugmar » Fri Jul 10, 2015 5:03 pm

625 AL
Old Sarin
Vazhut Kalbik


The marble hall was certainly something spectacular and Vazhut gave it a mental nod of approval. He looked at the figure before him, but thought little of his appearance or stature which did not concern him. Humans and elven leaders never radiated the same authority that his own lieges did. They lacked any sense of understanding the true hardships that came with ruling, being frivolous and cowardly. These were definite sins and likely the reason the lesser races had never reached the glory of the dwarves. He slowly knelt down before the human leader, though his face betrayed his distaste for the act. Dwarves only knelt when they had committed crimes, they showed respect to their leaders through salutes and words. No true dwarf king needed his subjects to bow down before him like slaves, a true dwarven leader knew he had power and his subject would feel the majesty that emanated from within him.

"Zê Fyrdinândetnar*, I bear a message from Gorvan Urtag Falkunzavbrik, King of Dur-Ganar, Prince of the Hegemony, Honoured of the Beserkers and son of Durog VI" he started, looking at the scroll in his hand. It was written in Baldul, and it was unlikely that the Alfheimr Emperor could read the runic scribbles. "He requests that you send troops and supplies to aid him in the conquest and colonisation of the lost city of Dur-Ganar. The fight against the Infernal King and the Spreeks has cost the expeditionary force dearly, and it is to his regret that he must ask for reinforcements. In return for the honour of aiding him, the city of Dur-Ganar will be open to trade with the humans of Alfheimr with relaxed tolls on merchants, within twenty five years. He will also pay handsomely to recuperate the costs of the reinforcements, and here is the pledge signed by my King, along with several lords and a Stoneseer as witnesses" he continued, before passing a separate piece of paper also with Baldul writing with a few hastily drawn signatures adorning it.

"Zê Fyrdinândetnar, you will also be given the greatest honour ever bestowed upon a human. You shall be given a stone golem, specially made for you with an instruction manual including a guide on Durogvem commands" he said, sounding displeased as he uttered the words. No non-dwarf had ever been given a golem before, it was unthinkable, but the troops of Alfheimr were near to Dur-Ganar, and they could change a hollow defeat into a glorious victory. Every sacrifice was worth it. "I await your reply with eager anticipation, may Aval-Hal keep you safe Gabiluzbad**.

*Fyrdinand the Supreme Man, First [of his name[
**Great King
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Dixmix
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Postby Dixmix » Fri Jul 10, 2015 5:04 pm

Talmori Wildlands,
The Site of Palmontin


The nation was new and Kagos had started building their first city called Palmontin and it would be the holy city of the Talmori as they started to build their culture. Mael Senshar had started to pick a mate as he started to make a hierarchy caste for the military while the society is mixed with both but the Talmori were that of a wolf pack and much economy was slowly coming back but it will take years,even decades to be powerful in the lands.

Word had came to the ears of the New Dominion and Mael believed that it will be a good idea to shape. "No! The rebellion is not our concern. Our concern is our nation,making our lands good for the future generations. The Dwarves have handled their rebellion before they can handle it." Kagos was lifting a block of wood with other Talmori and Mael kept walking, "listen, the other packs need to be fit for war or our enemies may come after us. Please, just a Rumpaw and some merc work fighting for the Greenskins. Just let me march,"

The argument lasted for hours until Kagos caved in," alright Ravnir, you make take your mate and Rumpaw,but they are on your hide. Do me justice and take head on who you choose to serve and who you site for once you come back, no one will be allowed to leave in fear of the damn Vaulted Ones."

Mael Senshar agreed and took 10,000 Talmori and started to arm themselves with modified and heavier weapons and armor a that were newly crafted arms as a emissary was sent to the Vizloh in the Northern wildlands and Mael was sent with him in order to represent the mercenaries. He also sent a letter to the head of the rebellion about their coming.

To the leader of the Federation of the Oppressed,

I am Mael Senshar, Ranvir of the Talmori.

I have came from Engar to the wildlands looking for coin and men only to see your rebellion and is interested in offering my services. I must warn you though, my troops and I are Born of the Moon and will not be tolerated by being cut down like so many would do. I am coming to where you so that we may talk about how we may help your cause and my pay.

Mael Senshar,
Ranvir of the Talmori
Last edited by Dixmix on Fri Jul 10, 2015 5:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Mesrane
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Postby Mesrane » Sat Jul 11, 2015 6:13 pm

Eszog, League of Tolna
625 AL


The silence of the plains was shattered by the thundering of two scores of horses as a mounted party made its way down the road that the Ungarn called the Gold Way, towards that same people's capital, the city of Eszog.

Part of Markus Karpaty didn't want to be riding in this direction. He had just returned from an inspection of the defenses along the fords of the River Dráva , the waterway that served as the main boundary between the Ungarn confederation of clans known as the League of Tolna and the Volyorian kingdom of Gweylessa, two states that were often at war with one another. The earthen forts on the Ungarn-held west bank were in an atrocious condition, and it had been unfortunately necessary to task the Clans Angyal, Baranyi and Molnár to see to their repair. But of course in order to get them off their rear end and do that, he had been forced to travel to each clan's seat in turn and convince them of the importance of the forts and the threat that the Volyorians posed. All that forced politicking had delayed his return to the capital by several days, and besides enabling the repair and renewed garrisoning of the forts, it had alerted him just how much he needed to ride to every seat of every clan, talk to them in person, and ensure their loyalty to the League. Ungarn unity was never a certain thing, and when it broke down, disastrous results for most or all of the clans typically followed.

But another, more powerful part of him wanted to return to his family as soon as possible. If everything had gone according to plan he would be with Csilla and the children now. Not only that, but the beautiful city of Eszog, with its many silver spires, was the League's capital and political center. From here he could at least react to everything with equal speed and enjoy the advice of his councilors; if he was riding in the western provinces when something happened in the east, he would find out about it late and react to it late.

The portcullis slowly cranked open as the guards at the gate caught sight of the Hetman's black stag banner held by one of Markus' Falcon Guard men, fluttering in the midday wind. Soon after they passed beneath the ancient stonework and rode through the cobbled streets. Eszog was defended by two walls, the second higher than the first, with most of the city huddled behind the second. In between the first and second walls stood Eszog's poorest neighborhood, with the very original name of Walltown. As one rode past the second gate and moved closer and closer to the city's towering citadel at Silver Keep, the homes became finer and the inhabitants richer.

As Markus and his guards pressed deeper into the city, the tense atmosphere that pervaded a people on the brink of war made itself known. A sort of expectant silence had fallen across Eszog, as if an army might arrive at the city's gates any day now. The usual plethora of hawking merchants in Gyula Square had decreased to a trickle, and the streets seemed much emptier than they had been before.

As his party entered the Silver Keep, guards rushed out to take his horse as Markus dismounted. He hardly waited for a trio of his guards to catch up before he shoved open the door the to the castle's great hall.

Seated at a trestle table in front of the Hetman's throne, were Markus' advisers; János Antall, the League's treasurer, Áron Gereben, the First Marshal and Géza Nemes, spymaster. They're afraid, he realized as he approached them.

"Hetman," all three men inclined their heads and preformed the Ungarn salute; a single beat of the left hand upon the right shoulder. There were no bows here; a Hetman was not a king.

Markus returned the salute. "Gentlemen," he began, "I've spoken to the Dráva clans and convinced them to re-garrison the forts along the western bank of the river. The forts themselves are in poor repair, but I've set the clans there to repairing them. The forts on the western side of the Rába bridge along the southern highway are fully manned and can be repaired quite easily. In the five days it has taken me to reach Eszog the task may already be done. The northern forts are more problematic as the woods of the Royal Reserve obstruct a clear view of the eastern bank. I've set the garrisons there to firing the opposite bank with fire arrows in order to clear out as much brush as possible around the various crossing points."

Gereben pursued his lips. "All of the fords will be flooded this time of spring. They'll cross using either of the two highway bridges across the Dráva or not at all. At least if King Raolin wants to cross with any great host. And if the river clans did as you asked then we have both bridges fortified. There is no other way to bring a large host into Tolna from Volyoria. But if they took the mountain passes . . "

Nemes was already shaking his head. "No. If they were gathering an army near Thorn for a thrust through the mountains our Grey Bands would've sent word already. They keep the watch on the Grey Mountains and they do it well."

Markus was skeptical. "We do not even even command these rangers and vagabonds-."

"-And yet they've flocked to the League's banners every time it has gone to war," finished Nemes. They do not suffer authority well I grant you, but no men among the Ungarn are so skilled in woodcraft as the men of the Grey Bands. No men make better scouts in the woods where our cavalry lose much of the advantage they hold on the plains. They may forever remain uncooperative and stubborn, but if there is a war my Hetman, they will come."

"They will," Gereben agreed. "Strange and surly men they might remain, but the League has never fought a war they failed to partake in. They will come."

"Very well," conceded Markus, "I'll put them to use when the time comes."

Antall, who as Treasurer typically had little to contribute to military discussions, broke in with his gruff, booming voice. "When might the Volyorians be coming, exactly?"

Nemes shot Markus a sympathetic glance. "That's the greatest issue, really. We don't know. It's almost certain they're preparing for war, but we don't know whether old Greysong is still gathering a host or whether he's already marching."

Antall was not satisfied. "Well what do we know, then?"

"We know that nothing is happening in the Grey Mountains; they won't be moving an army through the passes. We know that it's the middle of spring and therefore most if not all of the fords are washed out for the next three weeks at least. They'll have to take the bridges on the Dráva to take a large host across and we've fortified both the north and south bridges. These will be held against them and the defenders will need to be dislodged if they want to cross in force. And . . well that's it really. If Raolin is actually moving to strike us-which I'm still not fully convinced of-then he's done a good job of keeping his muster quiet. We don't know where he is - we only know where he won't be - and if we don't know that then we can hardly estimate when he'll show up on the banks of the Dráva." Nemes shook his head again.

"If it's conquest he's after he'll need a mighty big army," growled Gereben. "And that takes time to raise. More like than not he's still gathering his forces. Best send a force out across the Glaslyn"

Markus spread his hands in exasperation. "Have you not just heard our spymaster, Marshal? We haven't heard anything not because the Volyorians haven't done anything but because we haven't been allowed to hear anything. I'm convinced he's marching. When I was talking with the Dráva clans just five days ago they had no more intelligence than we did. It would be madness not to raise the hosts of the clans at once. If I gather the armies of the League and this all turns out to be nothing at all then I will gladly face the anger of each family in turn."

"If you wish to send out the Gyors Lovasok to each clan, I'll order them forward at once," suggested Gereben.

"Yes, this very instant," Markus agreed. "The forces of the river clans should be just about raised by now. Small as they are a company or so ought to venture into the disputed lands between the Dráva and the Glaslyn. See if we can't spot the Volyorian host."

Antall looked troubled. "My Hetman, those lands are lightly peopled but many of the villages there, perhaps even most of them, are populated with Ungarn. Is there naught we can do protect them?"

"No," Markus was a blunt man who gave blunt answers. "No, there is naught we can do for them. The Volyorians hold both sides of the Glaslyn and will cross that river unopposed. Most of the men in who live in the eastern reaches of the old royal wood might be Ungarn, but they administer themselves and have never lived under the laws of the League."

"What of the Glaslyn before the Dráva branches off?" Inquired Nemes. "The northern highway does not cross the Dráva."

"But we still hold the western end of that bridge," said Markus. "If they take it then they'll be in the forest for quite awhile no matter which way they go after they cross. I want your people to find these Grey Bands and bring as many as possible south into the woods. I know a few hundred already inhabit it, but I expect we'll need more."

Nemes bowed. "It shall be done, my Hetman. It shall be done."

Vicinity of Eszog

Marshal Gereben's Gyors Lovasok shot from the city like birds as the magnificent Ungarn steeds carried each man of the League's elite messenger corps towards a village or town in the immediate vicinity of Tolna's capital. They brought their black war horns to their lips and blasted long, mournful notes for all to hear. Fegyverbe! Fegyverbe! Háború és tűz esetén a Liga! they cried. To arms! To arms! War and fire is upon the League! The men entered each settlement in pairs, one to inform the local nobility and the other to rouse the commons.

In each village or town they stopped to nail copies of a notice to the doors of temples or place one at the gates to the local stronghold.

Men of the League,

By the order of Hetman Markus Karpaty, the First Marshal of the Realm, Áron Gereben, shall henceforth raise the full armies of Tolna for potential war. Every one of the League's twenty clans are to raise their armies and ride to Eszog. Responsibility for the muster will be delegated to the heads of the clans who may use whatever means necessary to bring three quarters of their muster to arms. Report to the village of Komló just west of Eszog in three weeks time. Those who refuse to ride in defense of the League of Tolna will be considered oath breakers.


Each messenger would then find a comrade in the corps at the nearest Gyors Lovasok station and bid them continue the ride. The new messengers would grab fresh horses and spread news of the muster further. The League was going to war.
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Postby The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness » Sun Jul 12, 2015 7:28 am

Glaslyn Highway
Socae River Delta
Venniael Hezroze


A marching army was always somewhat of an unique experience. Men shouting, convoys of wagons, hundreds of horses on the move... Indeed, there wasn't anything truly like it. Venniael had seen that pretty much everyone was wearing at least something that was read, Greysong himself leading his Exalted March even dressed in the colour completely, a whole personality cult forming around him, the masses he was leading clearly adoring him, cheering as if their very lives depended on it whenever the man unsheathed his fancy sword. The vampire, in contrast, found herself lacking anything that was colored red, and didn't have any particular urge to go hunting for something that was, either. This did mean that she stood out a bit from the others, but, she decided, not all that much - some of the poorer men in this Exalted March hardly had any red, either, lacking the funds to buy something more obvious or something that wasn't the faded red they had now.

Sitting on her horse, Venniael decided that she really didn't enjoy being part of a marching army, despite the uniqueness of the whole experience. Travelling by day meant that she was always either wearing a large leather hat or her hood to protect her precious skin from the sun, and laying down truly was so much better when done in a bed rather than on a patch of grass. Granted, blood was easy to come by - plenty a soldier walked away from the main group for a piss, making easy prey - but it wasn't a very enjoyable experience for the vampire. All in all, however, Venniael found that she shouldn't complain: she had decided to come here and embark on this march herself. Positioning her hat a bit more comfortable, her blond hair sticking out from underneath in a ponytail, Venniael rode on, part of Raolin Greysong's glorious Exalted March.
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The Starlight
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Founded: Jan 11, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby The Starlight » Wed Jul 15, 2015 5:03 pm

Imperialisium wrote:Valtmeris
Council Room


Valuryan kept his thoughts to himself throughout the entire council meeting. Sitting back silently and eyeing the other councilors. When Saerondr spoke to him directly, only then, did Valuryan speak. Speaking plainly, "Your Majesty, Councilors, it is my advise and council that we simply execute him by any means necessary. I speak in rejection to this expedition after all we may just be providing a man elf with more resources to conduct what nefarious task given to him by his...Masters."

To utter the name of the Dark Ones was even frowned upon. Lest they seek to influence you or their Demons come after you. It may be just old elfwives tales but Valuryan remembers seeing the terrible wounds suffered by his father when he bested a Demon. However, a gut feeling in his stomach brooked the idea of opportunity.

So he spoke up again, "However. Even if Voriel speaks the truth and has forsaken his dark masters he can still be used to accomplish our own agenda. We give him a single ship. Not a full expedition. He will journey to the Shrouded Lands and if he survives all that, if he comes back to us faithfully and with proof of it being worth the effort, then we mount an expedition after we've put his head on a spike."

To kill someone who had returned in trust was a heinous idea. But worshiping the Dark Ones, even if it was just formerly, was to forsake ones immortal soul and be more heinous by a substantial degree. They where playing with fire when it came to Voriel, and the Valtmar had been burned in the past by giving blind trust, hopefully history was not bound to repeat itself.


Valtmeris
Council Room
High Emperor Saerondr Tarembor


"That sounds most reasonable, my lord Councilor." Saerondr, nodding to Valuryan, turned to the elven Councilors of Economy and Trade. "My lords, can our coffers and economy withstand the loss of around 700 marks?"

The Councilor of Economy did not immediately respond, most likely doing some figures in his head, before responding. "I believe so, as trade is at an all=time high, as the Councilor of Trade can attest to," he said, the Councilor in question nodding in agreement.

"Very well," Saerondr said, "That matter is decided. There is another matter that concerns the entire Empire as well. My sister has sent a missive, stating that it is time again to reengage with Alfheimr in negotiations for our ancestral home of Altma. I need not tell you of Altma's significance, or the further unity it could bring to Elvrion as a new capital. Are there any thoughts that you have, or suggestions to ensure that this does not lead to war?"
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Imperialisium
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Postby Imperialisium » Thu Jul 16, 2015 9:36 pm

Valtmeris
Council Chambers
High Prince Valuryan Tamerian


Valuryan was silent until Saerondr spoke of Altma, the ancient capital of the Valtmar Empire and one of the crowning jewels of the far past even by Elf standards. Alfheimr was both a boom and a terror in its own right. That human Empire was obviously in the ascent, and could be a strong ally, but also a deadly foe if angered. Elvrion was not yet in position to make demands, at least from the military view point of Valuryan, but he was not only schooled in the military spheres. Economically the trade routes of the Empire were divided into two by the Empire of Alfheimr. A war would cause devastation on both sides and Valuryan feared that the humans would probably be triumphant in any war of attrition. There was just not enough Elves to keep them at bay for forever. Eventually the Asaheim Mountains would be breached and the armies of Man would pour forth like a tidal wave in which even the defenses of Valtmeris would be overwhelmed in time. But that was true for any realm these days. The Dwarves were also in a tenuous position as Durog VI sought to forge a new Hegemony. The Dwarves where in more straits than the Elves where in Valuryans mind. No, to Valuryan the Empire of Elvrion needed the Humans on their side no matter what until the time was right to say that Saerondr held all the cards.

"Alfheimr will reject that missive like they have in the past. To them the ruins themselves personally mean nothing, true, but it is a bargaining chip they can hold over us. They will not simply give that up nor cede the territory dividing our two halves of Elvrion. Nor, do I fear we are in a position to make demands upon them. They are a friendly relation we cannot part with so readily, not with ever present threats to the North and beyond. Yes, my scouts report a Necromancer has arisen in the North in the Ice Fang's. His undead legions near 100,000 in number and he holds the Northern human villages under his yoke. If he were to march South...I fear we would be hard pressed to mount a large, lethal, offensive without Alfheimr at least blocking his passage along their own borders. Alfheimr forms a buffer between what lies to the far North and our Wood Elven brethren. We play to that advantage for as long as possible....In terms of colonies we have no port suitable. Daynar is in ruins and also within the territory of Alfheimr with Palan's Landing in immediate vicinity. Any product from the colonies would have to also pay Alfheimr tariffs to pass down the Atanos."

Sitting back in his chair Valuryan closed his eyes.

Old Sarin
Throne Room
Emperor Fyrdinand vas Alfheimr


Fyrdinand was silent for a long moment while looking at the Dwarf. The Dwarves would be better neighbors than those foul creatures any day of the week. It would shore up that part of his Eastern border easily enough and allow increased trade and gold into his coffers. He wasn't a greedy man, but he could see the value of such a bargain, and knowing the Dwarves they would keep any mutually profitable bargain for as long as possible.

"Very well Dwarf. I will arrange for several Regiments to march to Dur-Ganar to the aid of your liege. I trust the honor of the Dwarves on this matter, I trust I will not be disappointed with the results of this...mutual endeavor?"

Fyrdinand was playing to the Dwarves sense of honor. For if they broke their end of the deal than they could be slandered as dishonorable, liars, and lose the trust of Alfheimr. A political blow Durog VI would probably seek to avoid in the foreseeable future.
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