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The Deserts of G'haz (IC/Fantasy/OPEN)

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The Central Fascist Empires
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The Deserts of G'haz (IC/Fantasy/OPEN)

Postby The Central Fascist Empires » Tue May 10, 2016 11:10 am

The Deserts of G'haz


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The Roleplay

For thousands of years the Deserts of G’haz stood as a testament to the strength of mankind. For thousands of years man travelled the barren deserts and called it their home. And for thousands of years man has struggled to hold their place against the other races and creatures that call this desolate wasteland their home. It is often said that the Gods themselves dare not venture into these cursed lands. Yet the native people of these deserts that have endured and build great cities and monuments that boast of their strength. To the North of the Desert lie the Great Plains where Orcish Warbands and Elven Kings make their home. Further North is the Bleeding Forest, a land of constant war, where the immortal Kingdom of Qyrys stands alone against hordes of Northman that raid its shores. To the East are the Kasqyn Mountains where Orcs and Dwarves clash for dominance over the jewels and gold trapped below. Yet it is here in this desert that history was changed. It is in this desert, lifeless and empty, that a Kingdom will fall. It is in the Great City of Iblid that the Noble Houses clash for control. The House of Alharis still wields tight control over the city and their subjects. Yet the noble houses grow bitter and tired of their place. The fate of this Desert City rests in your hands. Only the gods will tell whether your family will rise or fall or how your story will be told.
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Cresadine
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Postby Cresadine » Tue May 10, 2016 12:49 pm

Bayosh of the Western Lands, 50 Health
The Temple of the Morning Star, G'haz


The man is about seventy, maybe a little younger, sixty-eight or sixty-seven perhaps. His hair is a stark white and while not flying in all directions like a madman's, it is not neatly brushed either. His face has been recently cleaned. Piercing through the wrinkles and bush white eyebrows are two heavy and melancholy opalescent eyes, a characteristic of people from the Western Lands. Besides his eyebrows there is no other facial hair about him. His nose is not crooked like a hawk's but straight like a jay's. He wears nothing but a simple white robe, it has been cleaned and purified recently, as the rituals demand.

The whole room, and the Temple it is situated in is impeccably clean and pure, as the rituals and god demands.

He kneels on a cold stone floor, his knees scraping against the harsh stone - he doesn't mind though, he has done this for a long time. Gilded sunlight streams through two large open doors. Arches and columns form the body of massive windows which decorate the wall, nothing is decorated - it is just stone and sunlight. In front of the man is an altar, an unembellished altar of stone like the floor. Though this altar does have one ornamentation, a star made of simple blue stone picked from the banks of a river adorns its face. The Star has exactly one-hundred points to it.

Behind the man, who we have come to realize sits deeply in prayer, pray approximately two-hundred other individuals of his congregation. The man, who is called the name of Bayosh of the Western Lands, is the Priest of this Temple of the Morning Star, the Great Equalizer of Men and Beast. The Morning Star is a kindly god, who's most devout followers practice extreme asceticism and abnegation. He is a god fueled by good acts, and good acts there are plenty committed by the Followers.

Bayosh stands, but he has trouble, due to his age so a kind follower rushes up and helps him up, and then hands him his cane - that is two more good acts to fuel the Morning Star. Bayosh is a short man, only about 5'6 - but he is a commanding presence none the less, you don't start out as a missionary to a foreign land and gain hundreds, if not a few thousand followers without being a commanding presence. He does not appear harsh though, rather wise, humble and kind.

So he began his sermon, which was not really a sermon as much as a conversation with the Followers. His sermon drew about a hundred more new faces, some would dismiss him but others would take his words and God to their heart and would act as agents of the Temple, spreading their word through action and conversation. And when all was said and done he bid each and every Follower a goodbye with a handshake. Five young men stayed behind, they wanted to swear themselves to the service of the Morning Star. He smiled, most where not fit for the extreme self-denial of the Temple, most if not all of these boys would leave, but a few could and a few would.

And throughout the day, the Followers spread the word, and so the Temple of the Morning Star grows a little every day in G'haz. The peasants and the workers are mostly the ones who listen, but the Morning Star does not care, the Morning Star loves and accepts all.
He forbead þa heortas swylce eac þa baras, swa swiðe he lufode þa headeor swilce he wære heora fæder

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Anglo Saxon-Franko
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Postby Anglo Saxon-Franko » Tue May 10, 2016 1:18 pm

Saxon Clique
The Gold Quarter


Saxon had just left their house, their parents had amassed a small bit of money and he used some of it to buy the house he and his sister lived in. The rest of the money went to paying taxes as well as getting their charter for the Oakleafs. They may be a group of soldiers for hire, but they were good at doing their jobs and they did it to a T. Or at least that is what they strived for. Their little company had been doing good, they had enough people to handle the contracts that were coming in. Though it could always be better, it paid the bills and kept a roof over the Order's head and a roof over his sister and his head. So he didn't care about that too much, his sister was two years younger than him and she was the business mastermind, while Saxon was the bronze. It had worked extremely well for them, Saxon's mother had died during childbirth giving birth to his sister. Their father had never stopped blaming his sister for the death of his wife. But Saxon knew that it wasn't her fault even at a young age, it got so bad to the point that Serena started to believe that it was her fault. One night their father went to the tavern to drink away his sorrow like he always did when he wasn't working. But Saxon ensured that he wouldn't come back, he waited outside the tavern for his father and he had only planned on scaring him. But things took a turn for the worst, he scared his father and his father fell backwards and hit his head on the wall of the tavern. Though he had only wanted to scare him, Saxon ensure that his father wouldn't come back. His father died that day and Saxon took off before someone saw him. At the age of 16, he was the head of his family. It was up to him to ensure there was food on the table. So he turned to mercenary work for awhile before he decided to open up his own company. He called it the Order of the Oakleafs, it was a vision in which later his sister joined and kept the book records and wasn't allowed in the field until she was 18. Though this had been years ago now, but that night still haunts him til this day and doesn't make his life any easier.

Serena Clique
Clique's house


Serena woke up to find her bed empty and that was how she preferred it. She wanted the men to leave before the morning it would be much easier to sleep that way. She rolled out of bed and covered herself as she walked over to her dresser and quickly got dressed. She grabbed her dagger which she kept beside her bed, you never knew what could happen at night especially if a unwelcomed visitor would enter. She saw Saxon's door was opened and she knew immediately that Saxon had left without her once again. She hated it when he did that and she would get him back later for that. She quickly munched down on a loaf of bread before she rushed out the door into the crowd of people. It was a bit of a walk to the headquarters, but it wasn't that far and she didn't mind the walk.

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Postby The Central Fascist Empires » Tue May 10, 2016 1:34 pm

King Cyrus, 50 health,
The Kings Palace


Cyrus of Alharis, the First of His Name, King of Iblid and the Desert of G'haz, Forty-eighth of his Line, and Thousandth Ruler of this Great City. He always despised his title. Cyrus was a simple man despite his immense riches and power and the titles he was born with and given. He spent his time doing what most men in this city did. He drank, he gambled, he whored, he fought, but above all he was humble. He was well liked by both commoners and by his lords for this trait. He did not need much to please him other than a drink and a good fight. In his forty years of ruling G'haz he had seen many great fights and the scars across his chest bore testament to that. Most days he would sit at the Tavern of the Drunken King, named after King Brandon IV of Qyrys who drank himself to death in the tavern, drinking and reminiscing of old battles with his friends. Cyrus was a good ruler by all standards. He was both strong and charismatic and had a deep and authoritative tone. Tonight was the same as every night.

"Fuck off you bastard," Jassim laughed. "It didn't end that way,"

"I could have swore it. I heard Cyrus throw his sword across the room and hit the bastard right in the stomach." Jon said.

"Now tell me. How could a man, even if he is the size of Cyrus, throw a sword, a great sword mind you, across a bloody room and hit him in the stomach. Cyrus charged him and gutted him." Jassim explained.

"Tell 'im Jacob." Jon said as he turned the Innkeeper "That's not how it went. You were there weren't you?" Jon asked.

"Aye, I was. I fought with him up at Kheidr's Pass. We beat the Orcish horde in the field and they retreated into the Pass. They made camp once they thought we had left..." Jacob said.

"Fuckin' Orcs," Jon muttered.

"We rode in at night and butchered them as they slept. The thing is that I wasn't there when Cyrus confronted the Warlord," Jacob laughed.

Cyrus heard the entire exchange as he took a piss outside. Not a very dignified thing for a king to do but he did not care. Had he spent his life caring about what people thought he would have gotten nothing done. He walked back into the tavern and took a seat next to Jassim. "Jon is right," He smiled.

"That's bullshit," Jassim said.

"Do you doubt the words of your king?" Jacob jokingly asked.

"I do not doubt the words of my king. They are, as a matter of fact, bullshit. There is nothing uncertain about what I said," Jassim said.

"While I appreciate your loyalty Jacob and yours Jon, Jassim is right. No man can throw a sword across the room and cut his enemy in two." Cyrus said.
Last edited by The Central Fascist Empires on Tue May 10, 2016 1:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Camelone
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Postby Camelone » Tue May 10, 2016 6:30 pm

Conrad and Miles Alder, 50 health each
The Harbor
Two figures were leaning next to each other against a wall, shadows kept their identities hidden from most observers and the ones that could make out who they were they knew better than to say anything. The smell of the harbor hung heavy in the air, that and the smell of piss and vomit as a tavern was close by and drunkards just seemed to flock to the harbor. Both of the men were looking across the street down the harbor where a ship sat peacefully in the water, on that ship their prize sat. The Explorers Guild was in search of a treasure in the Deserts of G’haz, something that an upstart pirate crew thought they could steal right from under their noses. Well they would be in for a very rude surprise once Conrad and Miles Alder teach them a lesson in respect and the flaws in being overtly ambitious against the Alder family, nobody messes with the Alder family without feeling cold steel.

"Miles do your thing son." Conrad said as he nonchalantly pushed himself off the wall and began walking the streets to their predetermined drop off point.

Miles nodded and walked to the edge of the harbor and discretely slipped into the water, placing his mask over his face and casting the spell that would allow him to breath underwater. Swimming in a way that stressed stealth he approached the ship that held his prize, an ancient map of the inner desert where a treasure of great worth was hidden, a treasure that could strengthen the Alder family immensely. Reaching the ship Miles began to climb up the side of the ship his concentration fully on getting in and out as quickly as he possible could.

Well that plan ended as soon as it started as right when Miles pulled himself on deck a pirate noticed him immediately and began screaming "Intruder! Intruder!... By the Stars it's Sea Reaper, the Alders are here!" Fear was evident in the mans voice as the Alder's have a reputation of brutality and martial prowess almost unmatched by any family. Unsheathing his sword right as a pirate charged him he put a nice deep cut in the mans gut before he began whirling and dancing across the deck, the deadly dance of combat. His footing and sword movements were expertly adapted to the swaying of the ship and his rapid observations of his surroundings, after kicking some crates into a few pirates he dashed inside the hold of the ship and began searching for the map, he had to stop every now and than to either incapacitate or kill an attacking pirate. After a few stressful minutes he located the map and ran back to the deck. Lowering his shoulder he flipped a pirate over him and kept running. Running to the side of the ship he jumped from the ship to the docks and with a quick roll he got up and began running again. Hearing the pounding feet behind him he knew for a fact that those pirates were running after him. He certainly was making a scene with a group of at least 6 pirates chasing a man in complete black dripping wet from seawater and holding a bloody sword.

The Gold Quarter
Conrad was smoking his pipe at the drop off point as he admired the wealth around him chuckling to himself about the lecture Miles would be giving him about the evils of lusting after wealth reinforce the Corruption. Soon his peaceful thinking was ruined by the commotion of his son running towards him with the map and a pack of those damned pirates after him. Swearing to himself he walked to the middle of the street and drew his sword as his son got closer.

"Catch old man." Miles said tossing the map to Conrad who caught it and quickly put it in his pack before he and his son where surrounded by the pirates. Standing back to back with each other swords raised and ready to fight Miles said "So you ready for some exercise father?" Lifting his mask up with a grin to which Conrad had to give a humorous snort.

"You know for a man of faith you really are a violent man." Conrad said as he deflected an attack and pushed the pirate back to the group before another one attacked him, though this one received a sidestep and a sword straight through the neck killing the man who choked on his own blood. By the sounds of it Miles already dispatched 2 of the pirates. The two Alders moved in a fluid rhythm with each other shifting positions and protecting each other showing off the martial prowess that has made the Alders infamous. Soon only two of the pirates remained standing and another was dispatched with Miles sword through his gut. The final pirate grew scared and began running away from the two Alders. "Miles we got a runner!" Conrad yelled to Miles as he kicked a dead pirates dagger up to him.

Catching the dagger Miles threw the dagger at the fleeing pirate which went right into the mans back sending him toppling to the ground in a yelp of pain. The crowd dispersed as the two Alders began advancing on the withering pirate, Miles kicked the man over on his back earning a blood curdling yell from the wounded man. Kneeling down next to the man Conrad had a malicious grin on his face and Miles stepped off to the side beginning to pray for the man as he knew what his father was about to do.

Standing up again Conrad took his pipe out again and lit it, taking a few puffs from it, the crowd that started forming around them was whispering about what Conrad was about to do. Taking his pipe out and exhaling the smoke he stayed silent for a while milking the silence, though his son's prayers could be heard, the pirate knew the prayers also and wheezed out "Great Creator forgive me through the Savior."

"You shouldn't have messed with the Alder's boy." Conrad said menacingly before he spilled the contents of his pipe onto the man's face, who proceeded to scream as the skin of his face was being lit on fire, slowly being reduced to the muscle, and some people in the crowd shrieked at what was happening, but Conrad watched unblinking bringing his foot up and slamming his heel into the man's face ending the screaming as the fire continued to burn. Walking over to Miles he put an arm around him and began walking through the crowd "Come Miles we have a fortune to make! Haha!" He said joyfully as he lifted the map into the air triumphantly as they made their way through the Golden Quarter knowing, and not caring, that guards would be coming soon.
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Badafar
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Postby Badafar » Wed May 11, 2016 8:31 am

Leo 'The Old' Barion of Broadmoor
The Harbour


A snaking tower of thin, white smoke waved gently as it rose to the ceiling of the dimly lit cabin, filling the air with a musky aroma as the dried Elfs' leaf burned away in the round bowl of Leo's pipe, giving the old mage a shroud of warmth, picking up his senses and lifting the tire of his morning wake, his old bones were becoming restless and travelling a week across water under mixed conditions had taken it out of him. However there's nothing like a few breaths of Elf leaf to wake a sleepy man up and get him prepared for the rest of the day. The rocking of the boat would have once made the old man nauseous, but annual trips across the coast had gotten him used to the rocky waves and salty air, and he couldn't help but find comfort in the expanse of the royal blue sky and similarly blue ocean. A lifetime is wasted if not spent on the open seas, his long gone father once told him, an avid sailor and hobby fisherman who often spent every hour of his free time by the coast and was responsible for giving Leo the discipline which he has carried throughout his entire adult life, who in turn has passed on to his students over the years. Leo glanced around the cabin in the hull of the boat, whilst certainly used to bigger rooms back in the Guilde chambers, Leo was humble enough to stay in, and even enjoy the hammock life in the past week, despite the occasional pools of sea water seeping in and whatever critter came with it. It was about time he left, a yell on the upper deck gave him the signal that they were about to dock, and so Leo stood up from his bunk and retrieved his belongings and personal effects stashed aside his drawer and made his way, at his own pace, to the upper deck.

The top deck was busy to say the least, thudding feet against the wooden panelled deck filled the air against sounds of big mouthed sailors, the crash of waves against the rocks and the grinding of rope and sail. Leo picked up the faintest of sounds, his senses honed from years of disciplinary training gave allude to several rats in a crate of dried meats, which quickly scurried away with loud squeaks as Leo tapped his finely smoothed wooden staff on the boxes side panel, earning Leo a slight chuckle of amusement. The bright sky and deep blue ocean was at Leo and the Crew's back by now as they pulled into the harbour and weaved between floating markers and other ships coming or leaving the docks. Large trading vessels carrying cargo from distant lands lined the north eastern docks, marked by wooden cranes and flags of major houses enforced by a troop of men clad in chainmail and armed with spears. Soon enough, the ship had found itself a spot on the docks and was swiftly tied up to several posts with thick mooring rope knotted by the hands of thick, bronzed hands of the sailors. Leo both had a sense of relief that he had arrived, but also a sense of sadness as he looked back onto the deep blue with a longing gaze. Whilst he was free to do what he want, he had guild work to be done in the city, and trivial pursuits of adventure were far less important.

An altercation between several men suddenly became the focus of the old mage, watching a dripping wet man run from a band of sailors, possibly pirates due to their clothing and weapons. Whilst whatever was going on seemed interesting, the old mage decided to avoid intervening, as his intrusion would be an invasion of someone else's business, a business he didn't want a part of. Leo turned his head soon after watching the fleeing man and turned to the dock authority office, a two story building of inter lapping, finely cut stone bricks and marked with the flag of the Harbour Authority, guarded by two mean looking soldiers. Leo entered through the front door, a seven foot high wooden panel in the side of the tower only sticking out due to the bronze door knocker fastened with a polished bulls head. The interior of the office was small but tidy, light brightly by two lamps that hung from the ceiling which shook gently upon Leo's entrance, sending a dance of light over the room. Despite being a small office, it was crowded by around six exhausted looking men and women with possibly professions ranging from wealthy merchants to ageing fishermen. On the far wall ahead of Leo lay a long oak wood desk polished to a golden brown and waxed impeccably clean despite being covered with disorganized documents and ledgers. Behind the desk crouched an old, wiry clerk in crumpled blue robes with a tired but concentrating face adorned with thin magnification lenses held in a coiled copper frame. An immediate scent of alcohol, sweat and hard labour held stagnantly in the air accompanied by a single sound amongst the quiet, the scratching of an inked quill on parchment paper.

Leo approached the balding man at the desk and decided to speed up the transaction process by sliding a pre-written letter of docking he'd created earlier that day, claiming his arrival with a wax stamp in the style of the Guilde banner. At first, the man ignored the parchment but was quickly persuaded upon the noticing of a pile of coins beside it. "Welcome, Guilde master." the clerk said with mock enthusiasm, glancing up from his interrupted work with a half-assed smile. "Yes, well.. I have work to be done. I wanted to sign myself and the crew in as soon as possible.." Leo said in reply, tapping his veiny fingers against the gold coin. Tink tink. Amused, seemingly for the first time in his miserable life, the clerk scratched the thin hairs that stuck out from his pointed chin, nodding with approval as he pocketed the money and slid the parchment into a big drawer on his right. "You're free to enter the city." the clerk finishes, eager to get back to whatever paperwork he was doing. "Have a nice day." And with that, Leo left the office building, grinning subtly as he walked past the snaking queue of bored sea farer's and business brokers.

Now free to enter the city, Leo stepped back out in the salty air of the dockland and headed left along the cobblestone pathway into the Gold Quarter, and more importantly, in the direction of his Guilde Outpost.

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The Central Fascist Empires
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Postby The Central Fascist Empires » Wed May 11, 2016 4:59 pm

Jassim Al-Khaz, Health 50,
The Gold Quarter


"Out of the way," Jassim said as he charged down the Harbor and towards the Gold Quarter. On both sides he was flanked by two guards. Jassim, while not a noble, had risen far in the world. Born to a merchant the world of trade was not his place. He was a warrior at heart. Now he was a captain of the guard. Not a high position but it was as far as he could go with his background. Despite this his name carried weight in G'haz. He was, after all, a friend to the King and because of that titles did not matter.

The crowds parted to reveal corpses laying strewn. Blood had slowly trickled into the cobbled stones. It was not a particularly brutal sight and the city had seen worse. Jassim was surprised to see the corpses had not yet been looted. Most times the crowds would gather and by the time they had dispersed there would be little left. He dismounted with his spear in hand and approached a man laying on the floor. He had been screaming for so long his voice had worn out and he could barely make a sound. "He's gone and woken up the entire bloody city," Jassim said leaning towards the man. "Who did this?"

"A..." The man sputtered blood. He was too weak to speak and before he could say more Jassim plunged his spear into the mans heart.

"Captain, the man was about to speak," One of the guards spoke up.

"Did you see the man Aldric?" Jassim asked. "Did he look like he was in any state to speak. Poor bastard was going to die anyways," He turned to face the crowd. "Now does anyone know who did this?"

Scarcely a voice was heard from the crowd. "The Captain of the Guard speaks and you will all do best to answer," Aldric said.

An old man pointed towards down the street. "Pirates, mayhaps, but I could have sworn they went down that way," He said in a tired voice.

"Well where else could they have gone. Else I would have ran into them," Jassim said.

"You asked and I answered. If you knew then you should not have asked, hm?" the old man chuckled before hobbling back into the crowd.

"There is nothing better to do," Jassim sighed. "Come men," He mounted his horse and rode down the street to find those who had killed the pirates. "Out of the way" Aldric shouted.
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The Central Fascist Empires
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Postby The Central Fascist Empires » Wed May 11, 2016 5:35 pm

The Commoner,
The House of Priests


The man leaned, beaten and bloodied, against a follower of the Morning Star. The follow helped him through the crowded House of Priests. Through the narrow streets, past towering temples, great monuments, and altars to the various gods of G'haz. The man stumbled and muttered prayers as he walked. "My daughter," he cried. "by the gods,"

The follower carried him up the steps towards the Temple of the Morning Star where he hoped to find Bayosh in prayer. The follower entered the room and helped the man up as he fell to his feet.

"Bayosh," The follower said. "I apologize for disrupting your prayer but this man needs our help," The follower nodded to the man and urged him to speak.

"I am a poor man. I work the mines and bring what little money I have to feed my family. I pray to the Gods of the Desert to give us help, to keep us fed, and keep us well. Still I am a a poor man." He cried. "My daughter and wife trade goods at the market for the Al-Khaz family. A wealthy merchant family. We are hard workers. My daughter returned home to feed her brother, a boy of five years, but on the way a man harassed her. Common in this city and she ignored him. But he was a guard. He defiled her and when I demanded justice this is what justice the guards saw fit to give," he spat. "I did not know where else to go but here. I heard your followers speak and so I thought maybe you could help. Your words carry weight with the commoners. Maybe not with the merchants, nor with the king but it may be enough to get justice for this crime. I beg you. Go to the court and demand justice. I beg you and I will forever be in your service," He pleaded.
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Cresadine
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Postby Cresadine » Wed May 11, 2016 6:32 pm

The Central Fascist Empires wrote:The Commoner,
The House of Priests



Bayosh of the Western Lands, 50 Health
Temple of the Morning Star


Bayosh motioned for the Follower, who helped him to his feet, another good deed to fuel the Morning Star. He was an old man - though he was still very active for his age. He had trouble walking for long distances after an injury in the service of the Morning Star a while ago. Since he was only walking across the floor of the temple he leaned his cane against the altar and walked over to the man.

Bayosh walked over to the man and took him by the hands, "you did not interrupt my prayer dear man, if the you are here then that means the Morning Star guided you to me. The Morning Star needs no payment and his Priests need no servants, all the Morning Star asks is that you do good deeds. We shall march with our people to find justice for your daughter, dear man. We shall do you kindness as we do to all, dear man, just spread kindness and we shall be content and rewarded."

Bayosh motioned for the Follower who began to gather most of the priests who resided in the Temple, and the sweet sound of the bells of the Temple rang throughout the city calling all the Followers there. Within half an hour a large crowd had gathered. The procession began to move, more Followers joining a long the way. All the Priests wore the long and simple grey and white robes of their position. As the priests marched they rang bells at regular intervals and prayed silently in unison to their God.

They arrived at the gates of the Kings Palace district after a long and pious march, which had gained a few hundred more men as they walked. "Summon the King," said Bayosh to the Guards "we are the devout of the Morning Star and we seek justice for an innocent of G'haz where the common justice has failed him."
Last edited by Cresadine on Wed May 11, 2016 6:38 pm, edited 1 time in total.
He forbead þa heortas swylce eac þa baras, swa swiðe he lufode þa headeor swilce he wære heora fæder

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The Central Fascist Empires
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Postby The Central Fascist Empires » Thu May 12, 2016 1:12 am

The guards stood staring at the massive crowd. Never before had they had such a large entourage demand audience with the king. He had finally be raised to the Kings Guard and this could be the day he lost the job.

"Do...do," He sputtered. "Do you have a royal decree?" The guard asked.

He stood waiting for a decree to be handed to him.

"Does the man look like he has a decree?" A man shouted from the gatehouse above. "Or do you expect one from all of them," He joked.

"My Lord, I cannot let them through," The guard said.

"Send the old man. It's not like he can do much. Send the rest away," The man said and he disappeared from the window only to appear from behind the gate. "I will escort you to the Kings court. The rest must leave," He said.
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Levis Avara
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Posts: 1248
Founded: Aug 10, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Levis Avara » Thu May 12, 2016 3:43 pm

Talinus Jorthar stood on the quarter deck of his massive ship the Phoenix, which swayed calmly in the dark blue waters of the open sea.She was a magnificent ship 3 towering masts, red sails,and a bronze phoenix at the start of the hull.The waves made calming crashes,against the sides of the ship,the sun shining brilliantly in midday,below the sailors where cursing, shouting,and spitting has usual managing the sails and rigging, yet he was lost in thought seemingly oblivious to the world around him.For years he had lived his life has a adventurer,trader, and thrill seeker exploring exotic far away lands,battling pirates,serving in wars,whoring and drinking has if his life depended on it.Now he was back in the land of his birth,and every time he came here to conduct business, there was this strangeness that he quite simply could not shake off,so many questions left unanswered,how had he escaped?,he grew up a poor street urchin from the commons yet had managed to escape that life to become the wealthy merchant he is today.

Of course it was Quintus his mentor and father figure who had saved him from the streets,impressed when he had saw Talinus 14 years old convincing 3 guards that he had not stolen a bag of apples,which he did. Knowing he had the silver tongue to become a successful trader,it was Quintus who groomed him to become a great sailor, and instilling in him a hard work ethic,and a deep love for the seas.Talnius would work his way up the ranks until finally by his late twenties he could afford his own ship,and be his own captain.Yet he was truly amazed by the sheer luck of it all,by all odds he should've been buried ten feet under years ago.

"There she stands the grand jewel G'haz!" a sailor shouted and soon the harbor appeared, the towering buildings of the legendary desert city emerged from the morning mists,and all types of ships from foreign lands could be seen moored at the harbor. Talinus chuckled at the title G'haz was was anything but grand and was certainly not a jewel,but this opinion was purely from the memories of growing up dirt poor in the commons struggling to make ends meet.Has the sailors began carrying the cargo of salt,spices,and pepper from the region of Vos Nith,to the market which would be sold for a hefty sum of gold,Talinus walked from the ship into the streets of the harbor, which where lined with many inns and shops, and markets all manners of people where found here from commoners,pirates,and prostitutes to wealthy merchants such has himself,he made a mental note to send his sealed papers to the guild headquarter later but he wanted to make a stop to the commons before hand.He heard some people talking of "pirates",and a confrontation with a mysterious masked assailant,but cared little for such trivial matters, crime and death where far too common in G'haz, for something like that to give off a red flag.
Has he continued walking he finally made his way to the commons.While many tales of the commons where often exaggerated there was no doubt that there was anywhere else in the world you would rather live then in the poorest section of the city.The buildings looked has if they where stacked un top of each other,without any care at all,has if the wind would blow and they would all fall over,mangled carcasses of dogs littered the path ways and the filthy people looked starved and absolutely miserable. Suspicious individuals snickered and shouted at him from the shadows, he kept a hand on his scimitar for safe keeping.This was the place where he had grown up , yet it seemed it had gotten even more shittier then before he left.

"You look lost mister need any help?" a small skinny looking boy in rags ,with curly hair and curious eyes said behind him. Talinus startled turned and almost drew his sword but relaxed when he saw who it was."No...no just lost in memory,listen lets make a deal? I give you a denar and you go buy a loaf of bread or whatever ,and you promise me to never speak to strangers again?,sound good?"

"Promise!" the boy said smiling."That a boy,now get out of here!" Talinus said has he threw a silver denar at him,the boy catched it and looking triumphed ran down the streets to show his friends. Talinus soon walked back to harbor to rent a room at a inn it was getting late, and one did not want to be out in the commons at night.
Last edited by Levis Avara on Fri May 13, 2016 2:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Camelone
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Founded: Feb 20, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Camelone » Fri May 13, 2016 7:34 pm

Conrad and Miles 50 health each
Gold Quarter

Conrad and Miles were walking further away from the mess they left in the middle of the street and once Conrad noticed that the pirate finally stopped screaming he chuckled and said "Somebody must have finally taken pity on the poor lad. A shame he made me an enemy, remember Miles an Alder never lets anybody insult the family honor and at times the only way to make up for dishonor is blood... You still disapprove of my methods don't you?"

Miles stayed quiet for a bit before he spoke up "Yes sir, what you did back there was an excessive use of force and an uncalled for way of executing him. A sword would have been more merciful than spilling demon spice on him." A harsh and condemning tone could be picked up as Miles made his opinion noted.

"Well once you become the patriarch of House Alder I hope you reign in better times than I, otherwise the world will break you with heartache and chaos, things that the Great Creator can not deliver us from on this mortal plane infected by the Corruption." Conrad said cynically before he spotted a horseman coming towards them "Oh crap, Miles we got to get out of here they have literally brought the cavalry." Though his voice carried some caution a general sense of ease could still be picked up as he did not think that the horseman would cause them to much trouble.

"As you wish father, I will distract him, you get to the gate... I'm faster than you so don't argue." Miles said right before Conrad was about to argue, closing his mouth Conrad nodded and started making a dash down the street pushing pedestrians down behind him to prevent the guards from chasing after him at full gallop. Miles ran the other way unsheathing his sword and putting his mask down "Oi! Over here! Betcha can't catch the Reaper of the Sea! Come and get some!" He shouted before running to one of the buildings on the side of the street to climb up and get to the roof, negating the guards horse advantage.
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Zoblus
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Founded: May 03, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Zoblus » Fri May 13, 2016 9:50 pm

Jezebel, Marezana of the Golden Oath, 50 Health
Sanctuary of the Golden Oath,
G'haz


Image


In a shaded portion of the House of Priests, the temple district of G'haz, stood the small Sanctuary of the Golden Oath, home to Jezebel and gathering place for the small group she called her flock. It was minimally ornamented from the outside, its smooth sandstone exterior devoid of any sort of decoration along any of its four sides, save for the small windows carved into the higher portions of the walls and barred with iron. The building possessed a squat bell tower jutting from the center of the roof, containing at its apex a pair of minuscule brass bells, antiquated in appearance and of foreign design, brought to this place when the first Keepers wandered into the desert so many centuries ago. Past its solemn walls, surrounding the plain building, was a low wall painted alabaster white, architecturally simple in design, standing at about below the waist and rounded at its top, its small, roughly crafted iron gate, housed within a simple archway a bit taller than a man, leading to the equally small yard in front of the sanctuary. Past the gate and into the yard, there was a great multitude plants growing in it, of great beauty and number, with several species of roses, tulips, marigolds, and poppies growing vibrantly, creating a sea of red, purple, blue, and gold beneath the blank walls of the sanctuary. Alongside these wondrous emanations of natural beauty a single, massive fig tree grew in the yard, surrounded by the dizzying array of colors and framed in the backdrop of the plain sanctuary walls. Its branches were laden with ripening and ripe fruits, some drooping to arms reach on the lower branches, while others hung high in the upper echelons of the canopy, forming a great aerial sea of emerald green, mustard yellow, and blood red. Beneath the lively branches of the fig tree were its mighty roots, bulging out from the ground, accentuating the natural curves and bends of the mighty tree. The trunk, strongly shaped though light of color, shone healthily beneath the swaying leaves of the branches, devoid of gouges and slashes, its smooth exterior equally as welcoming as the calm, cool appearance of the garden and sanctuary as a whole. However, all this beauty could barely conceal the decrepit slab of rotting cellulose that was the main entrance to the sanctuary, whose blackened exterior, coupled with its several holes and other marks, clashed so strongly with the overall appearance of the holy refuge.

It was a tired old thing, dragged, as it appeared, from the darkest recesses of some hostile and desolate bog. Its rotting planks were irregularly shaped and crooked, busted in several places and left seemingly unrepaired, while its rusted hinges held meekly unto the door frame, creaking softly yet noticeably at every single miniscule gust of wind, and groaning madly whenever someone entered. It possessed no handle or doorknob of any kind, for such a rude thing such as itself deserved none and it was instead opened by unceremoniously pushing it aside. It did, however, lock from the inside by means of a great wooden board, equally tainted dark in colour, heaved into place at the closing of each day when the sun bowed curteously beneath the distant horizon.

The inside of the sanctuary was almost as plainly decorated as the exterior, though a few religious motifs and other symbols graced the walls, doors, and rooms of the cramped interior. Four squat doors, two on each side past the door, marked the entrances to four cramped rooms, originally dedicated to serving as living quarters, but now only collect dust as storage rooms. Heavily stylized eyes, painted in blue and embellished with gold leaf, graced the walls just above each door, fiercely staring into oblivion as the days passed by slowly without notice. The floor was made of thick wooden planks, neatly arrayed against the ground and each other, forming an unbroken face of dark, smooth wood, though a semi-thick layer of dust and dirt had begun to accumulate on its surface. Neatly stacked up against the walls and softly gripping the floor were two rows of ancient looking wooden chairs, a row on each wall and numbering an even twenty two. They were of varying craftsmanship: some were obviously laboriously carved from the richest of woods, seats carved down to the smallest detail of excellence, polished to perfection with the finest tools, and coated in an even coat of heavy, rich tarnish, while others looked roughly hewn from the sickliest of cedars, legs haphazardly stuck here and there, crooked, backs sloppily whittled with crude designs, and seats made brittle by inexperienced hands. They stood silently at attention, cold and unmoving, though they had a certain charm about them that was irresistible, as though they had been charged with holy energy just through association with this holy place. Past the musty chairs stood the altar of the Golden Oath: a large, richly decorated recess in the wall that contained a few plain candles, flower offerings, votive figurines, and a few pieces of jewelry, all standing in front of a small, commanding idol. The idol was simple in construction, for it was a plain representation of a strong, bull-headed figure in the seated position, made of the whitest marble available and standing firmly on a mahogany stand. The figure's eyes were constructed using small pieces of jade, whilst its upturned hands and feet bore ankles and wrists with built-in bracelets of gold. In its seated posture, it commanded the attention of whoever walked into the sanctuary, its piercing green eyes holding both innumerable wisdom and uncountable tortures, beckoning forth whoever looked at it directly. On either side of the idol and its recess, plain and without doors, stood two identical doorways. One led up towards the second floor, the sleeping quarters of Jezebel, while the other led to a small, private confession room, where Jezebel listened to the sins of her flock and offered guidance to their weary souls. The wooden ladder to the second floor, a sorry old thing made of ash, was a simple step ladder, nothing overtly fascinating in appearance or function.

The second floor was plainer than the first, only possessing the barest of all furnishings. A dreary bed, its frame old and worn, stood at the far corner of the floor. It was nothing of special note: its mattress was made of a stiff linen, stuffed with straw, its pillows merely rough sacks filled with cheap feathers, and its blanks nothing more than large sheets of worn out cotton. Opposite the bed and beneath a window, stood a large desk made of oak, coupled with a sturdy yet tiny chair. It possessed a few heavy drawers, with handles made of old iron, filled to the brim with copious amounts of paper. The top of the desk was also extremely cluttered, with mountains of letters, sheets, drawings, books, and pens gracing its surface, along with an antiquated glass lantern and iron tray. Sitting right beside the desk was a squat bookcase stacked to the brim with all sorts of religious and secular manuscripts, some even in foreign tongues. The bookcase was newer than the other furnishings, bearing none of the marks of continuous use that everything else in the sanctuary had, and still maintaining its glossy look that it had when Jezebel had picked it up from a traveling merchant. The owner of all these things and sole guardian of the sanctuary, Jezebel, was below, tending to her daily duties before going out to speak with the other priests and priestesses.

She was an average sized woman, standing at a height of five feet, four inches, with a long flowing mane of hair and brilliant eyes. She wore her hair loose today, letting it fall freely to the small of her back, brushing gingerly against the red robes, extending down to just above her delicate looking ankles, she had donned earlier this morning when she awoke to greet the first rays of the sun. Her red veil, usually covering her face whenever she entered prayer, was folded back over her left shoulder, balanced expertly and moving barely as she sweeped the dusty floor with a feather broom. The veil, along with the robes, were intricately decorated with golden embroidery, forming elegant curls and stark lines upon the satin red of the robes, evoking a sense of bliss as one's eye's lost themselves in the soothing intricacies of the lines. She wore scant few pieces of jewelry, save for a simple necklace made of leather, a pendant of an eye hanging from it. It was made of jade, though of lower quality that that of the eyes of the idol, carved into the same stylized form as the eyes that hung above the four doors.

She was walking barefoot across the wooden planks of the floor, passing the feathers of her broom wherever the dust and dirt seemed thickest, sweeping this way and that to disperse the offending particles of filth. As she toiled away, she hummed a short little melody, a lovely little song that her mother once sung to her as a child all those years ago. She didn't remember the words, or even what the song was about, but the melody and rhythm stayed etched into her mind, an undying memory of those peaceful years of her youth when her mother's love radiated past everything else. As she hummed, she couldn't help but lose herself as she reminisced about those distant days. Closing her eyes slowly, she breathed in a long, deep breath, and as she released it slowly, she could see in her mind her mother, along with her father and siblings, in front of their long gone home. Her father was tending to the fields of corn that grew alongside their house, hacking away at resilient weeds with a hoe, while her mother came walking back down the narrow dirt road that led from the center of their village to their home, basket of goods on her head, while following close behind her was Jezebel's younger self. She could see her brothers, only a few years older than herself, busily playing with the friendly stray village dog, an elderly mutt that roamed from house to house looking for both food and play, both which it found in the gleeful and energetic personalities of her brothers. Though it was all a blur, details fading in and out as she wandered mentally through the memories, her mother was the only thing that remained truly constant and defined. She could see the wrinkles in her sky blue dress, the dirt the crusted at the bottom of it as she walked down the dirt road, as well as the individual stitches in her white woolen shawl that her own hands had made one winter morning. She could hear the soft crunch of her sandals as they moved with grace over the gravel of the road, splashing here and there when she had to step through a small puddle on her way home from the market, as well as the soft words that escaped her lips as she spoke kindly about the day and the weather. She could feel the softness of her hand as it embraced hers, the warmth that emanated from it as it held on her firmly to her little hand, and the vibrant love that surged gently forward whenever she glanced down at her with her big, caring eyes, brown hair swirling in the wind as she smiled a great loving smile that exposed the pure whiteness of her teeth, the fullness of her lips. But as these wondrous memories drifted in and out of her mind, a kaleidoscope of happiness and joy, other darker, more nefarious memories began to drift forward, tainting everything with an indescribable layer of sorrow and fear.

The sky darkened rapidly, the wind, only a soft breeze beforehand, picked up strength and ferocity, began whipping up great clouds of dust and what quickly became obvious that was smoke. The air became cold and cramped, stinging viciously as the wind lashed out against everything around it. Great columns of smoke began to appear everywhere, wherever she looked, smoke and flames jumped forth in the distance. A shout, then a blood curdling scream, echoing in the air. Panic. Flames began to spread wherever there was anything that could remotely be set ablaze, and the wind began to grow even more intense along with the screams and shouts. Angry yells began to be heard in every direction, along with the panic stricken shouts and screams of voices all too familiar. What started out as a soothing walk now became fear induced run, with Jezebel's mother quickly scooping her up in her arms, tossing the basket and goods to the side of the road. Bodied began to appear, hideously cut apart and burned, resembling little of the people they used to be, little of the happy beings that used to prosper happily here. There were only a few at first, but their number grew exponentially, and soon, hills of corpses were surrounding her. Another shout, angry like the others, but thus time much closer than before. A burly beast of a man, body encased in mail, painted red with the viscera of the innocent, raised his heinous sword, blade still hot with the insides of an innocent life cut shirt, and turned towards them. Her mother ran even faster, running at break neck speed down the dirt road. But the man pursued, eyes red with hate. Jezebel's mother began to slow, breath heaving and tired, arms worn and pained. She stopped suddenly, looking every which way, but eventually setting her eyes upon a thick clump of dark reeds next to the dirt road. Running to it, she placed young Jezebel within it, shushing the crying child and singing once more the merry melody, assuring the heaving little form that it would be over soon, that she needed to stay still and be quiet while mommy went away to do something else. The little head nodded, shutting its quivering lips, and in an instant, she was gone, running once more down the dirt road. Heavy steps followed quickly behind, the clinking of iron and the hoarse grunts passing oh so dangerously close. They passed without notice and when the little form began to think that everything would begin to get better, an all too familiar scream rattled painfully through the air...

"Mother Jezebel," a soften voice cut in, snapping her back into reality," something is happening outside, I think you need to see it."
"Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolutions."
- Khalil Gibran

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Keshokif
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 392
Founded: Apr 26, 2016
Ex-Nation

Postby Keshokif » Sat May 14, 2016 11:41 am

Rakelin and Jorach (50 HP Each)
Somewhere North of Iblid,
Late Afternoon


It had been a number of days since the Order of the Raven last set foot in the grand city of Iblid. Coincidentally, it had been a number of days since the Order of the Raven had last eaten heartly. Jorach felt that these two truths were intrinsically linked. They had managed to bring with them some supplies, gifted to them by the people of The Commons, but it was not enough to last for their entire journey. But the rations they did have and a few songs for the road kept the members of the Order happy.

Jorach thought that Rakelin was after a noble up north, though exactly which noble, he could not be sure, nor why he was so intent on this one that he would venture into Elvish and Orcish territory. Sure, the Order of the Raven often set foot outside of cities, especially to lay ambushes or to find far-out settlements needing defending. But this mission had been fairly uneventful. A couple of caravans passed their way, and a few travellers too, but other than them, there was no-one to be found.

Rakelin left his tent and strode over to Jorach, his boots leaving prints in the sand as he came forward. He looked up at the giant, Jorach, and then out at the rolling dunes and sandy peaks that lay before them.

"Any sign of Iblidi scouts?" Rakelin asked, his voice containing the same tones that revealed that he knew the answer already. Maybe he was just making conversation, or passing the time.

"None so far, Cap'n. Couple o' camel-riders is all. Nothin' and no-one that we'd be worryin' about."

Rakelin let out a short "hmm...", before walking behind Jorach. He looked at the rest of the camp - seventy-five 'soldiers' who had simply been wandering about the desert for a number of days. Not a day's pay amongst them, and many with hunger pains, but all content.

"How d'ya keep 'em so happy, Cap'n?" Jorach asked a disinterested Rakelin.

Rakelin turned around, his face showing no signs of happiness, nor any emotion. "Half of the time, I truly do not know. I keep myself content in the knowledge that they are. The moment they are not is the moment I begin worrying."

Jorach paused for a moment, the question on the tip of his tongue. He had to ask, for Rakelin's sake, he felt, as much as his own.

"So, who were we after, back there?"

"I'd prefer to keep that as a matter between myself and my journal."

"I can't read, Cap'n."

"I know you can't. That's one of my reasons for keeping a journal." Rakelin's voice was deadpan, his face annoyingly neutral. "Anyway, it can't be much longer. Maybe one or two days before we get back to Iblid. There we can rest easy and wait for the next corrupt nobleman or pesky problem."

"Yes, Cap'n. It'll be nice to get back to normal, eh?"

Rakelin forced a smile. "Yes. Nice. We'll sleep here, and see if we can push on to Iblid in one day.

Jorach nodded his head, and joined the gathering of people around the beginnings of a fire. They had three more days worth of rations, so having two days' today wouldn't be the end of the world. Rakelin continued staring at the horizon, looking west as the sky turned a deep, blood-like shade of crimson, before looking out again towards the south. He loved helping the people of the Desert City, and he enjoyed his work, even when it came to killing. He had honed his skill with a spear since his youth. He remembered his first spear, smooth and sturdy, with a dulled wooden tip. It was his father who...

No. He didn't want to think about it. Soon, he could be home again, enjoying soup in Rachel's hostel, or putting his feet up next to a fire on the cold desert nights. He could feel a smile turning up the sides of his lips. He stopped immediately. His duty held too much responsibility for emotion. Tomorrow would be a new day, and they would finally move on. He returned to his tent, forgoing dinner as he had done numerous times on the trip. Sleep was needed, and then discretion as they entered a city which largely hated them.
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The Central Fascist Empires
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Posts: 1268
Founded: Jan 11, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby The Central Fascist Empires » Mon May 16, 2016 9:42 am

Camelone wrote:Conrad and Miles 50 health each
Gold Quarter

-snip-


Jassim Al-Khaz, Health 50,
The Gold Quarter


Jassim charged after the two men. The crowds parted as he and his guard charged down the street. He signalled for his two men to chase after the other pirate before setting his eyes on Miles. He had not noticed the two until they began to run and most likely would have rode past them.

"These bastards make it too easy sometimes," He muttered to himself as he charged after Miles.

He watched as Miles climbed the building and got to the roof. Jassim knew his advantage was on the ground and on horseback. He could not climb up the roof with his spear, nor could he chase after the boy. "Climb down. I will not hurt you. I have heard much about you and I would rather not fight you. My men, by this time, have most likely chased down your friend and killed him. You can run but our city is filled with spies and filled with guards. I guarantee you that I will find you again and next time I will not be near as merciful. Come down and lower your arms and we can talk," He tried to reason with the boy.

Aldric and Rolf, Health 50,
The Gold Quarter


The two chased after the man as he ran down the street. Aldric unsheathed his longsword and readied to cut the man down if he did not stop.

"In the name of his Grace Cyrus of House Alharis I command you to stop and lay down your arms." Aldric shouted. Rolf continued to charge forward and readied his spear to kill the man.
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Camelone
Minister
 
Posts: 3493
Founded: Feb 20, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Camelone » Mon May 16, 2016 3:29 pm

Conrad 50 health
The Gold Quarter

Conrad looked at both of the men and shook his head with a chuckle. Doing an exaggerated bow he said "Greetings lads name is Conrad 'Death Breath' Alder, the Patriarch of House Alder and leader of the Explorer's Guild. I have a feeling you might want to bring me to your king, I have something he might like." Taking out the map wiggling it with a grin "A lost city of the desert, how does that sound to you lads?" His sword was still in its sheath but he was ready to pull it out at a moments notice.

Miles 50 health
The Gold Quarter

"Afraid to say mate that I generally don't trust authorities. Kind of goes with being a pirate and all, though you look like a man I would enjoy having some spice lemons with so I'll cut you a deal I'll tell you why I killed those other pirates and than you can pass judgement if you still need to bring me in. If you do than well I guess it would be the best course of action. Deal?" Miles asked sitting on the roof with his sword out, he was inspecting it and cleaning it off with a blood stained cloth.
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Ave Rex Christus!

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The Central Fascist Empires
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Posts: 1268
Founded: Jan 11, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby The Central Fascist Empires » Mon May 16, 2016 3:37 pm

Jassim Al-Khaz, Health 50,
The Gold Quarter


"Aye," Jassim shouted "let me hear it. If I think your reason is good enough then maybe you, your friend, my men, and I can have some drinks. How does that sound?"


Aldric and Rolf, Health 50,
The Gold Quarter


Aldric slowed his horse down and so did Rolf. "Hand over your weapons and we will take you to King Cyrus and there he will pass his judgement."

Aldric did not care for whatever the man had. His duty was to serve the king and in turn for that he received his gold and with that he cared for his family. It was because of this that the criminals of G'haz often found it hard to deal with Aldric. He had nothing else to gain. He did not seek to rise in the world. He did not want more gold than he was given. There was nothing to give him and therefore little to take away.
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Camelone
Minister
 
Posts: 3493
Founded: Feb 20, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Camelone » Mon May 16, 2016 3:47 pm

Miles, Health 50
The Gold Quarter

Miles smiled "Ah it is truly good to see a man of logic, a very rare trait I have surprisingly found. Anyways the reason why I and my father killed those pirates is because they raided our ship way up north, and stole a map that we discovered in a Northman tomb that leads to a lost desert city, legend has it the keep where the gold and jewels were held was the size of a mountain, now all is buried in the sand. The map not only gave instructions on how to get there but also how to enter the city. But the treasure isn't the only remarkable thing about this city it is said that the library was blessed by the very presence of your gods who gave them divine knowledge on the workings of the universe and the magical world. As you could guess we could not let the map stay in their hands so we chased them down here and I snuck aboard their ship and stole it back but was chased and was forced to kill the pirates. So there it is, how does that stand with you?" Miles asked as he stood up looking down at him.

Conrad, Health 50
The Gold Quarter

"Very well but I must warn you even the dead can kill." Conrad said as he pulled his sword out and slammed it into the ground in anger, than he started taking out various rope darts, daggers, and vials of poisons.
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I am... the lurker!
Ave Rex Christus!

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The Central Fascist Empires
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Ex-Nation

Postby The Central Fascist Empires » Mon May 16, 2016 3:59 pm

Jassim Al-Khaz, Health 50,
The Gold Quarter


"Interesting story. Why don't you come with me then and we can speak more on the matter. If they raided your ship then by law you are in the right to seek vengeance," Jassim said. He heard a whistle off in the distance and looked back at the boy on the roof. "Either way we have your friend captured and he has surrendered,"

Aldric and Rolf, Health 50,
The Gold Quarter


Rolf dismounted and went to collect the mans things. Once he gathered all his weapons he mounted his horse and Aldric signalled for them to move. The two forced Conrad forward and they moved towards the Kings Palace.
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Camelone
Minister
 
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Founded: Feb 20, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Camelone » Mon May 16, 2016 4:21 pm

Miles 50 Health
The Gold Quarter

"By the Great Creator I hope your friends are okay." Miles said grimly as he started down from the roof. "Oh by the way I'm not giving you my weapons, there's is no reason to."

Conrad 50 Health
The Gold Quarter

"Oi, I'll make sure to remember that." Conrad growled as he took out his pipe and started smoking it again "Do either of you boys smoke demon spice? A truly lovely substance if I have to say so myself." He said with the pipe firmly placed between his teeth.
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Ave Rex Christus!

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The Central Fascist Empires
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1268
Founded: Jan 11, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby The Central Fascist Empires » Mon May 16, 2016 4:31 pm

Jassim Al-Khaz, Health 50,
The Gold Quarter


"They'll be fine. But they are not who you should be concerned about. You are going to meet the King and unfortunately you will have to hand your weapons over at the gate." Jassim said as he trotted forward. "Don't try to run. I'll cut you down and if you make for the roofs I'll find you later,"


Aldric and Rolf, Health 50,
The Gold Quarter


"I do not care for pipes," Aldric said. "But Jassim on the other hand loves demon spice. The same goes for the king. Still you'll meet them soon enough,"

Aldric rode for the Kings Palace. The group pushed through a crowd standing at the gate and moved through before making it up to the court.
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#BanTJ #BanBen #BanScotty #BanPaul

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Camelone
Minister
 
Posts: 3493
Founded: Feb 20, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Camelone » Mon May 16, 2016 4:40 pm

Miles, Health 50
The Gold Quarter

"Eh we met an Emperor one time who wanted to execute us and disband the Explorers Guild, yeah he died and the Empire collapsed in on itself. Trust me I've been in tighter situations before, so let's get this over with there is a city to be found in the desert and I plan on collecting some of the manuscripts for my library." Miles said not afraid of his current situation.

Conrad, Health 50
The Gold Quarter

"So where exactly is the king and more importantly where is my son?" Conrad asked looking around with an arm behind his back and the other hand on his pipe holding it as he speaks.
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Ave Rex Christus!

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The Central Fascist Empires
Ambassador
 
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Founded: Jan 11, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby The Central Fascist Empires » Mon May 16, 2016 5:02 pm

Jassim Al-Khaz, Health 50,
The Gold Quarter


"And what Empire was that?" Jassim asked as he rode along.


Aldric and Rolf, Health 50,
The Gold Quarter


"The King is in the court and your son is either dead or he is coming," Aldric said as he dismounted and shoved Conrad up the steps. "Move along,"

King Cyrus sat on his throne as nobles and commoners made their requests. Some wanted gold for their farms, some wanted justice, some wanted his patronage, but all sought his wisdom. He was a man of great knowledge and of equally great respect. The doors to the court opened and Aldric pushed Conrad along.

"Your Grace," Aldric said bowing. "I bring you Conrad Alder,"

"An Alder?" The King laughed. "Why, might I ask, is an Alder at my court?"

"Killed some pirates at the Harbor," Aldric said.

"Thank him then. Give him some wine and whatever comfort he seeks. Good riddance to the lot," The King smiled. "How'd you catch an Alder. Their whole family are like rats. Swift and sneaky the lot."

"The man claims to have a map to a great Desert City. Filled with treasure and knowledge from the Gods," Aldric responded.

"Then let him speak," The King said. "The Court has ended for today. You may return tomorrow," He said dismissing the rest before shifting his focus back to Conrad Alder.
Not an actual Nazi.
#BanTJ #BanBen #BanScotty #BanPaul

Kuwait, USA, Austria, Liberalism (kind of), Democracy, Boxing, Game of Thrones, The Elder Scrolls, Crusader Kings, Europa Universalis, Total War, Gender Equality, Occasionally socialism, and Freedom.

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Camelone
Minister
 
Posts: 3493
Founded: Feb 20, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Camelone » Mon May 16, 2016 6:16 pm

Conrad and Miles Alder, Health 50
The Gold Quarter

"Okay it was more of a kingdom than an Empire but it was an incredibly large kingdom. It was the Yaryn Kingdom, it was taken down by House Alder and the Explorers Guild, we didn't take the throne we just left it and just kind of didn't go back." Miles admitted before he saw his father. "Salutations father, I see you got the audience you desired."

Conrad ignored him as he needed to be diplomatic at the moment but he was glad his son was safe, even if he didn't always show his loving and caring side. He laughed when Cyrus compared his family to rats, he wasn't to far off with that assessment in all honesty. Stepping up he removed the map from his pouch and started to unroll it revealing a large and complex map, landmarks and constellations were laid over each other making hard to tell what was what but something could be seen shifting across the map, it was reacting with the weather that was happening currently. Laying down the fairly large map Conrad knelt down next to it "I would recommend making the room dark. Your highness would you like to pick up the knife?" He asked pointing to the forming figure of a knife on the side of the map close to King Cyrus. "From what I have been able to translate, scratch that what my son was able to translate-"

"It is the language of the damned." Miles interjected harshly as he made the sign of the Great Creator and bowed several times muttering a prayer. "The Corruption is heavy in the map, the ink is infused with the blood of innocents, a sacrifice to the demon that must have crafted this map. I beseech you father let these men destroy the map, I didn't feel the true strength of the Corruption until now, it's as if there is something within it trying to get out!" Miles exclaimed his face growing pale as he began stumbling backwards "Great Creator and our Savior protect my soul from the evil!"

"Oh will you shut up about that, it's a map it will not bite you." Conrad condescendingly said to Miles before returning his attention back to the king "Forgive my son your highness he is an ordained disciple of the Orthodox Trinitist Church so he is a little... intolerant of certain forms of the magical arts." He said carefully picking his words. Clapping his hands he got back on topic "Now all we need is the unique blood of five men to touch the edge of that knife to access the map in its correct form. After it has tasted the blood someone will impale the knife in the center and we will see what we need to see."
Dissenting High Church Episcopalian, American Jacobite with a Byzantine flair for extra spice
I am... the lurker!
Ave Rex Christus!

Pro: The Social Kingship of Christ, Society of King Charles the Martyr, Corporatism, Distributism, Tradition based Christianity, High Tory, Hierarchy, vanguard republicanism, Official Nationality
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Keshokif
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 392
Founded: Apr 26, 2016
Ex-Nation

Postby Keshokif » Mon May 16, 2016 6:17 pm

Rakelin and Jorach (50 HP Each)
Very close to Iblid,
Afternoon


The Order had set off early in the morning, and had been walking all day. They were tired, most needed rest, and some had resorted to riding the packhorses. The afternoon sun beat down on them, though it was a good relief from the sweltering noon sun.

Jorach plodded along behind Rakelin, making casual conversation with the other members of the order. He wondered how Rakelin intended to enter the city. Perhaps he would wait until nightfall and sneak into the city, or maybe burrow under the walls. Even going over the walls could work.

At last, the walls of the city came into view. Iblid lay before them, a jewel and sanctuary in the endless desert. But for Jorach and the other members of the Order, this would be where the problems could begin.

"Well, Cap'n? What's the plan?"

Rakelin turned back to Jorach, "We go in."

Some of the members of the order sniggered. Jorach spoke again.

"Well, yeah, but how?"

Rakelin took a coat from the backs of one of the packhorses and put it on, keeping his spear in the horse's pack, "Through the front gates."

Jorach stared, bemused, "But... What about the guards, Cap'n?"

Rakelin smiled, "Oh, they shouldn't be a problem. After all, we are simple merchants wishing to sell our wares, aren't we?"

Jorach's face lit up as Rakelin threw him a jacket, "Oh. Right. Well, we'd best be gettin' off then?"

"My thoughts exactly." Rakelin put his hood up, as did the other members of the order, as they slowly approached the gates to the city.
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