Age of Blood and Fire [Medieval/Fantasy RP][IC]

[Spindle]

Gatehouse
Nuruth Tialle
Shi Tialle

It took Sereth a moment to fight past the shock factor and realise that the wolf-riding goblin was talking like a diplomat. A diplomat. On a fangwolf. Which meant that, presumably, the fangwolves were their culture's version of horses, and that thought nearly sent him tumbling back into shock before he caught himself, sealed that portion of his mind away and refocused on the issue at hand. They had diplomats to deal with. He didn't need to glance back to know that one of the members of his troop had disappeared off: they were going to need to form an escort, fast. Fortunately, the reserves were always around for a reason.

"Sereth." He answered the goblin simply, "Third of the name, in dedication to the Third Throne."

The reserves arrived, Keneb glowering at Sereth and his squad before his eyes landed on the wolf-riding goblins and he grudgingly took up position on either side of the gates. Sereth almost grinned at the sight, before he composed himself and gestured into the city. A realisation struck him, that he was the spear-tip of diplomacy, before he pushed it aside and spoke:

"And we shall take you to the High Councillor now. Would you like stabling for your...mounts? We can have them fed and watered, if they are tame enough to go without your supervision..."

---

Tunnels
Mount Kel'urithier
Shi Tialle

"Y'know, I ain't a fan of these rat-people."

"Really." Illinis replied over the sound of Nearid's pig-sticker scraping along the side of the tunnel.

Nearid glowered up at the elf.

"We've fought - what? - twelve of the bastards now?" She continued, "But we ain't run into any real knots of the bastards, y'get me?"

"I understand."

"And I was thinkin', why ain't we run into them yet?"

"I'm certain you will illuminate me as to our fortune."

"I reckon the bastards are preparing something nasty." Nearid decided, "I bet we're gonna have our ears around someone's neck before dawn."

"Dawn and dusk are irrelevant down here." Illinis pointed out. Nearid ignored her.

"So I was thinkin' we could-"

Her crossbow snapped up without warning and a bolt shot across the darkness to thud into a body. A shrill scream rang out, before a body dropped to the floor and chittering voices began to echo down the tunnel. The scritch-scratch of claws of stone joined it a moment later, an indeterminate distance away but closing rapidly. Both sappers scrambled away from the noises, Illinis loosing a second bolt down the corridor before stowing it away and drawing her shield. Nearid already had hers out, spitting to one side as she broke out into a half-jog back down the tunnels, then a full-on sprint as the noises behind her continued to gain.

"A wyvvern?" She called over her shoulder to Illinis, barely a step behind her.

"Not in this environment." The elf replied, "We can't get the range."

"Of course." Nearid growled, "We ain't got the distance to drop it, do we?"

As if in reply, a boiling wavefront of shadows emerged out of the darkness behind them, chittering and scrabbling madly as it surged towards the two Tialle.

"I'm not going to bet on it." Illinis decided.

Nearid sighed to herself.

"Thundercloud it is, then."

"I'll throw."

Before Nearid could say anything, Illinis had twisted, grabbed one of the clay spheres at her waist and thrown it into the seething darkness gaining on them. Following through with her own momentum, she clasped her hands over her ears and crouched down all the while screaming warnings. If the tide of rat-men behind them noticed anything odd in that, they made no indication of it before the clay sphere stuck the floor in front of them and detonated with a blinding flash of light and a deafening thunderclap. Even prepared as they were, the two sappers still blacked out for a moment, awakening with their ears ringing endlessly. Standing on shaking legs, they turned to regard the now-stilled tide of ratfolk.

Closer to the thundercloud when it had gone off and unprepared for the munition, they had been far worse hit. Some of them were even bleeding from their ears, rivulets of filthy crimson as they tried to claw their way along the floor. The squeaking and chittering had risen to nearly-hysterical levels, even through the tinnitus, and all of the ratfolk were dazed and confused. Even so, the two sappers could see the clarity returning to the eyes of one or two as they slowly brought themselves to their feet. Glancing at each other, they stepped forwards and began to their grim work.

The first to go were the ones regaining their senses: blades driven into their bodies quickly, efficiently, before moving on to the next-clearest one. It was simple, mechanical work: butchery more than a battle. One or two ratmen realised the danger they were in and managed to survive a moment or two, but none had the time to recover fully from the thundercloud. A very Tialle weapon, Illinis noted when the work was done: it brought everybody down to the same playing field, which was just how she liked it. Finding the most impressive-looking ratman she brought her sword down on its neck, severing its head. Bending down, she picked it up and close the eyes before hurling it down the tunnel, into darkness.

"For our Lady, who sits on the Third Throne." She intoned.

"May you ever guide us, you cunnin' bitch." Nearid added, "Speaking of, we better pull back to Jerkull."

"For what reason?" Illinis asked, "We have dealt with this threat-"

"Yeah, but don'tcha think this might be a nice little-"

The explosion reverberated down the tunnel, shaking dust loose from the ceiling and sending the two sappers curling on instinct.

"-pincer..." Nearid finished slowly.

Illinis had already brought her bow around and was nocking an arrow. Nearid followed suit, checked her munitions were still secure around her waist, then the two of them turned and sprinted dwon the tunnels, towards the ever-growing sounds of fighting.

[New Socialist South Africa]

Gatehouse, Nuruth Taille, Shi Tialle

Sekme's smile seemed to only broaden even further at the question about the tameness of the direwolves.

"Maybe I should leave some of my guards to watch our dear mounts. We wouldn't want anyone losing an arm or face unnecessarily. He turned to his guards and spoke in swift Goblindygook. The guards nodded, and one responded in like.

"Laikykis and fourteen of my other guards will watch the wolves. That should be a plentiful number to keep them calm. The others will accompany us if you have no concerns with that?"

Sekme motioned at the others. The over-cautious diplomat had ridden east with all 30 of his guards, one of them carrying the sheepskin banner. His captain of the guard, the she-goblin diviner, the banner carrier, himself and thirteen of his other guards would seek to head on as the delegation to go meet the great Morog Tii.

[Darksworth]

Kingdom of Zathrak

Although the nearby townsfolk and hunters within the domain of the Kingdom were wary of the Goblin-kin and their companions, the populace was nonetheless kind enough to point the foreign emissaries and diplomats to the direction of the King of the South. Albeit, with some suspicion.

The journey to Xathral, the capital of Zathrak and the official habitat of the King and his fellow co-leagues, was in no sense easy nor forgiving. The travel and the paths they took was always littered and pre-occupied by either the dangerous elements or of the beasts and creature-lings that dwells in the Pines. But nonetheless, they made to their destination without any major injuries or hazards harming them, with their survival being attributed to not only their skills but with the help of the Zathrakan residents as well.

What the Goblin group first encountered upon nearing Xathral however was not that of the usual fenced-in towns or villages but instead, they were met with a large wall made from overlapping Pine tree bark, spanning of an almost un-measurable distance from left to right. Built not only to provide secure border control but for protection from the unwanted behemoths that goes and bumps in the night.

The entrance was met with some difficulties to say at the most, as the Royal Contingent first mistaken the diplomatic force for a horde of monsters similar to those common woodlings of the South. But all said problems were easily dismissed as a peaceful conclusion was quickly reached before any unsavory circumstances happened. The Royal Contingent quickly re-supplied and gave the Goblin emissaries aid and supplemental necessities before letting them enter the massive and sprawling walls and into Xathral.

The town, or more appropriately, the mega-village was buzzing with activity. Unlike the outside appearance of isolated calmness and still life, Xathral was very much active. Various species and races occupy almost every nook and corner of the snow metropolis, ranging from giants just the size of houses to Dwarves with too much ale flowing in their breaths. Some having mercantile or industrial jobs while others seem patrol the area with their own weapons, being no doubt soldiers and guards of the Zathrakan capital.

The buildings and structures that constitutes the village are mostly built with wood, bones and stones, while the roofs of almost everything that isn't moving is coated with snow. Most of the structures were also covered with scaffolds, as the harsh environment and climate slowly chips away at the integrity of the vulnerable foundations and walls.

At the center of it all was the area dubbed as the "White Heart", the center of the Kingdom's political affair. Although bearing no semblance to anything that could be considered as a palace or of a castle/fort from the Northern parts of Alcenia, it still held a sense of dominance or even "royalty" to itself, albeit with it's appearance looking like that of an unfinished and in-construction tower than of it's more majestic counterparts.

Inside the White Heart was of a lesser populated area, with the exceptions of a few political figures and guards shuffling about their business. It was almost nigh quiet, to the point that one's whisper is as loud as that of the banter of the outside. Although what occasionally broke the silence was the howls and roars of captured creatures that hides deep in the zoological encampment inside and outside the building.

Though before the group of Goblins even manage to move even an inch, the King of Zathrak quickly emerged from one of the almost-dark hallways in the right. He was dressed not in the way that you would think of how a proper King would dress, but is instead wearing leather garments bearing similarities to a fusion between leather armor and robes.

He was also accompanied by two figures behind him as well, one being a Southern Orc with a light-bluish skin complexion and an absurdly amount of tattoos, with a well-kept white beard to boot. While the other figure on the right side was clad with coats of fur designed to keep his true appearance hidden, while a short Axe hangs in the figure's side.

King Kalisto hacked up a cough before speaking with a seemingly-jolly tone, with some muffle due to his attire as well.

-"Ah! The diplomatic force of the Goblins from the North yes? My concerned citizens made me aware of your presence long before you reach me, Goblin-kin doesn't normally thrive, or even talk around here y'know? Anyways, I am King Kalisto Anzharas of the Kingdom of Zathrak. What brings you on this god-forsaken part of Alcenia lads'?"

[Spindle]

Gatehouse
Ferial Tialle
Shi Tialle

Sereth suppressed a shudder as the goblin mentioned the fangwolves removing portions of bodies from their handlers, then nodded to Nessel as the half-orc lead the fangwolves off towards the stables. He wondered how the stablehands were going to react when the sapper showed up with a selection of fangwolves and their goblin riders. After a moment, he decided that he was glad he hadn't decided to move into that particular profession. For a moment he considered sniggering, then remembered that he was still working as a de facto diplomat and forced it down.

A moment later, the remnants of his squad were formed up for the inevitable push into the city proper, a wedge in front of the goblins and lines on either side to keep the diplomats safe and unmolested. For a moment, Sereth tried to take up his position in the wedge, before Thella glared at him and he resumed his position with the diplomats. There was a low roll of laughter from the soldiers ahead of him, and Sereth gritted his teeth. He was going to have this roll dumped in his lap whenever any more babysitting was needed, he knew. As the wedge bristled, then began to move, he glanced over to the goblins and grinned.

"Stick close, stay tight and don't lose sight of us." He briefed them quickly, "If you do get lost, look for a signal. You'll know what it is."

And with that he started off, after the wedge as it hit the leading edge of a bustling crowd which immediately roared its outrage. The wedge gave for a moment, before straightening out and they were fording into Ferial Tialle, pushing towards the blocky edifice in the centre of the city. A slow grin spread over his face as he caught up with the back of the wedge proper, the rest of the squad tightening around them in preparation for the push to come. It was time to get these goblins into the city proper.

Then he remembered he was an acting diplomat, and wiped the smile from his face. He had a job to do, it seemed.

[New Socialist South Africa]

Kingdom of Zathrak

The diplomat dismounted from his direwolf and gave the traditional open arm gesture of friendliness amongst the forest goblins. He was a younger diplomat, only about 25 years old, but his willingness to take more dangerous missions had already allowed him to make something of a name for himself.

"Greetings to you great King Kalisto Anzharas" said the diplomat in accented Imperial. "I am Rytas, emissary of Greitas the cunning, Didyis Vadas of the goblins of Wolf Forest. This is Vizija, diviner of the Varna Clan".

The young she-goblin bowed her head. She was tightly wrapped in deerskins, clutching a staff decorated with bones to her side, three raven skulls hanging from it. Oddly pale eyes gave from her skinny young face. She said nothing for now.

Rytas carried on "We are sure that you too have seen the signs of the coming war, and have heard tell of your ability to slay the fierce beasts of the south when first they emerged. We come to seek good terms with you, the sharing of knowledge between us, to help prepare for the coming storm".

He motioned back to the direwolves. "We have brought with us some drąsa and smoked deer meat, to share with you as a sign of our good intentions". A goblin dismounted with a deerskin gourd canteen. Rytas produced a wooden bowl, and the goblin poured some of the white drąsa into it. The diplomat toasted Kalisto, and another bowl was produced and offered to the king with the white substance inside.

Gatehouse, Nuruth Taille, Shi Tialle

Sekme was a seasoned diplomat, one who had seen more of the outside world than most forest goblins. We had seen the towns of the frontiersmen, settlements of a thousand people or more, with wooden palisades surrounding them, and had negotiated with the merchants and petty nobles of these towns. He had even seen the great wooden walls of the greater towns, and the stone walls of the stone walled castles of the overlords, although that had been when he was young and on a scouting mission, before he had proven himself a diplomat.

He had never seen a city before, certainly not one of this size and scope, and certainly not one of this diversity. He looked in wonder at the strange mix of elves, men, goblins, orcs and dwarves, and strange beings he could not identify at all. Behind him the diviner, a thirty year old she-goblin named Akys, looked even more curious and fascinated. The diviners spent so much of their time in the Cave of Dreams, deep in the forest, and so to see this outside world, with some buildings as tall as trees, was a wonder in of itself. The largest campsite of the Forest Goblins was Gausu, that of the Daryiti clan, where in times of electing a new Vadas as many as three thousand goblins could gather together along the slopes of the forested valley.

Most of the time the forest goblins were scattered between their various clans, subdivided further into their tribes, divided further into their villages or families, coming together in mass only in times of war or a great feast. Spread out the goblins could better sustain their smaller groups on the bounty of the forest, and migrate from place to place with the seasons so to them, this idea of having so many beings living constantly in one great immobile place was both fascinating and disconcerting.

The goblin guards and direwolves themselves looked around curiously, the direwolves smelling the air, sniffing in a thousand strange and foreign smells, several of them tasty. The riders kept a strong grip on them however.

Sekme turned to confide in his captain of the guard, Budrus in Goblindygook. "Small wonder that they have an army nearly as many as all our folk, they pack them in so tightly".

Budrus nodded. "How do they feed them all?" he asked. "Few here look like hunters or foragers, and it would take much of their golden grass to feed all these".

Sekme shrugged. "Perhaps it is the great water of which the merchants speak, and of the fish that swim within. If it is large enough, perhaps they have enough fishers to keep the people's bellies full".

The group rode on, direwolves sniffing curiously about as their riders gazed about.

[Tysklandia]

Mithril peak mountains, 57th Year of the Current Age

"TWANGG"

The thick, recognizable sound of a dawi heavy crossbow letting loose its steel bolt echoed slightly up the steep mountains that flanked this small valley. They had been travelling through the slopes of the world edge mountains for over a week now, trudging through deep snow, rocky hillsides and dangerous, winding paths that marked the backroads to the grand gates of Kal'Erundir.

A few dozen yards that bolt flew through the cold air, done in but the span of single second, that was all the heavy steel bolt needed to find purchase with its fleshy target. Foreign, screeching sounds rang out, followed by a thud of a short, malformed green skinned body slamming into the ground. The creature rang out in pain and fear as it tried to crawl away, a score of blood left behind as it dragged itself through the thick snow, its eyes wide, as it knew death was approaching.

Screeches of pain and fear made way for whimpering as thick armored boots cut through the snow and slowly ventured towards the crippled creature. Whimpering turned to begging for but a few moments as the short, broad and armored figure raised his metal covered hands high, before bringing the massive battle-axe gripped between them down unto the face of the goblin.
The dawi, clad from head to toe in thick plate armor, glared at the fallen figure through the thin eye slots of his helmet. He put a boot on the creature its body as he pulled the dwarf-forged battle-axe from the creatures split skull.

"We lost good time today, my lord. We should not waste our time with these... Pests... The guards of Kal'Barak can deal with them, it is not our concern."

The short, but stout crossbow wielding dwarf, clad in the same thick, well-made chainmail and covered by well-fitted and made plates of armor walked towards his companion. Cutting through a small clearing in this snow-covered valley of rock and pine. His armored feet sunk deep into the blood-stained snow, riddled with over a dozen lifeless greenskin remains. The battle-axe wielding companion remained still, only the slight tilting of his thick, enclosed helmet betraying that he was surveying the now silent battlefield. His warm breath creating slivers of mist escaping from underneath his helmet. The response was, calm, but stern, made with confidence.

"Kal'Barak did not know of their presence, otherwise they would have warned the heir of Kal'Erundir. Their presence so near our sacred holds cannot be ignored, it is the duty of all dawi to kill any enemy that dare threaten our lands, so demands our Honor."

The companion turned to look at his approaching crossbow wielding-bodyguard, one of his father’s best, ordered to keep the crown prince alive at all costs, as he ventured on this quest of sorts.

Their armor and weapons were the best any dawi smith could dream to make, fitted perfectly to their short, but strong form. The blood smeared on this pristine suit of armor, not to forget the life essence dripping from his axe-blade, contrasted the friendly smile the much older dawi gave the crown prince of Kal'erundir.

"Strong and clear words, my lord."

The dwarf took a short gander at the blood marked snow around them, a painting in the snow depicting death and decay, a fitting end to the enemy of their Dominion.

The bodyguard swung his crossbow over his shoulder, resting the heavy, dwarf made weapon on the plate shoulder pads. He took the horn that was securely attached to his waist and raised it to his lips, before bellowing a long, howling noise that echoed through the mountains. Soon enough, mere moments to be honest, a similar sound echoed back, originating from the west.

The 2 dawi now knew where to find the rest of their companions and continue their journey due west, towards the fabled word peak of Kal'Jurnmeir

Kal'Erundir

=> Introduction <=

Kal'Erundir was built by pick-axe and hammer over a thousand years ago. Stone by Stone, tunnel by tunnel, rivers of sweat and blood spilled for a home not even the Mad Emperor his legions could breach. For centuries the dawi of Alcenia built their mountain homes and traded with the men and beast folk of the plains and of the forests, wars aplenty, but so were times of peace and alliance. Wealth flowed through those mountains, through Imperials roads or grand underground labyrinths of marble, gold and granite, the dawi hid caverns of coin, enormous vaults filled with wealth, knowledge and metals only found in the deepest of dwarven mines.

But their own greed made them flaunt their riches, covet them, hoard them. Others became envious, looking upon the vaults of the dawi with hate fueled by greed. Armies marched upon those mountains, a tidal wave of violence slamming against the proud dwarven cities. The Dawi in turn, made their forges, accustomed to melt and forge gold, create weapons of war. Dawi steel and metal was turned in axe, spear and shield. Dwarf cities, once built for grandeur, each turned into a fortress.

When they realized they could not breach their gates, the veritable fortresses of combined mountain and stone, they turned to the deep. The roads the dawi built to transport their gold and wealth flooded with blood and violence as the dawi payed dearly for their greed.
No choice was left but to close their mountain holds, lock the deep roads and close the surface gates. Hide from the world and wither away, that was the future of the dawi, it seemed.

Centuries later, a human tribe conquered and swelled, their armies marching from sea to sea, mountain to mountain, bringing peace through domination. That Alacenian empire gave the dawi peace, allowing the dawi to trade their vast wealth on the secure and safe roads the Empire provided. Once more, the dawi thrived, their vast horde of gold and metal securing unimaginable wealth for the dawi.

Even in this age of wealth and surface stability, the deep roads buckled with violence and ever-present threats. As the humans pushed ever further, built more cities, ensured more security, more and more hid in the vast underground networks that once ensured the wealth of the dawi. Armies eventually formed, clashing and fighting against themselves and the dawi, who had to stop those who would burn their cities from below.

Such threats could be managed, held at bay... Until the age of woes.

The surface exploded with violence and the dawi had to close their gates once more. Without their gold, without the ever-present flow of surface trade, one by one, dwarven cities fell silent. Their tunnels becoming rivers of blood, a warning to the next in line.
Even as the topsiders claim the worst has passed, In the east and north, the respite came too late for many. Kal'Erundir, seat of the king of kings, has lost too many to count, the dawi of Erundir know that unless something changes, there will not last this new age.
The deep must be retaken, their cities cleansed of the filth that desecrates it and the ancient forges of old given fire once again.
Then and only then, will the dawi of Kal'Erundir claim that the age of woes has ended.

The republic of Vindelicorum, the 57th year of the current age

In the highest chambers of the Temple of Auria, just below the vast magical beacon that guided the vast merchant armada of Vindelicorum safely to port, sat the three high magisters of Alcenia, or so they called themselves. The large circular, windowless chamber, build by stone inscribed with countless of magical inscriptions and spells, centuries old. Some would whisper not even the magisters knew their purpose. In the center of the chamber was a young maiden, covered in a vast silk dress, kneeling on the cold marble floor. Both her arms bleeding freely from the wrists.

Her eyes stared at the abyss, glazed over, the color of spoiled milk. As her blood spilled on the floor She spoke, in rhyme, unclear words and predictions. She spoke of a prophecy, a time of blood and dragon fire, as her words turned into gasps of pain and screams as she experienced the many possible futures that may be, a magister spoke the winding words of a spell, granting the seer the bliss of sleep.
A pair of healers moved quickly to mend her wounds. The magisters would tend to her later, now they needed to discuss the winding ramblings of their seer.

Battle of Ronmar, lowlands of Lucania Minor 57th year of the current Age

“The smell of blood, piss, fire and horses. And you said you enjoyed war, didn’t you Aurelious?”

Five men sat atop their horses, watching over the carnage below from the safety of the crest of a hill. The legate and his idle officers stood ready to intervene if necessary, but as their cohorts of legionnaires marched forward in clear lines, cutting through the already breaking lines of the Ronmari infantry lines.

“It beats the smell of debauchery of the whorehouses Marius, to each his own.”

The bolder of laughter behind him was ignored by the Elderly Legate Yallus, who kept a clear watch as the auxiliary archers peppered the Ronmari skirmishes endlessly, breaking them as the 3rd and 4th cohort began to route the Ronmari force in a sea of blood.

“Aurelious, take your equites and cover the left flank. There is no way Geralt is going to give up his little rebellion this easy... Go now.”

Yallus spoke calmly as he continued to survey the battlefield below. As the Ronmari lines began to break, his centurions struggled to keep their lines organized, keeping their men from following their routing enemy. Their auxiliary was already spread out, but his officers were already corralling those damn misfits into something that resembled a formation. The battlefield was simple… His 10 centuries made his frontline, they had collapsed in a planned retreat after the ronmari commenced their charge, overzealous because of their greater number. Retreating over a trench, covered by temporary bridges of wood, his centuries formed up again after they crossed, organizing a thick shield wall, turned into a pincushion with spear and Javelin. With the thin wooden planks, acting as bridges retracted or broken, the four thousand charging ronmari spears could not stop their charge, the bodies of the soldiers behind pushing against the soldier in front, knowing of the trap ahead, a frothing madness charging into all but obvious deathtrap.

After that, it had been a simple bloodbath. Geralt, the rebellious leader, apparently a blacksmith or whatever his profession, was hiding somewhere in the rear. It didn’t matter what he had been… What he was now, was a rather proficient commander, lucky enough for Yallus and his legion, no matter his personal intelligence, the men under his command were still untrained rabble. With the bulk of his men dying by the bushel in the legate his trench trap, he would eventually make the mistake of trying to save them, send in his reserves and doom his entire army to death.

As Aurelious, a rather dashing young and promising officer, rushed down the hill on his horse. Five hundred equites followed him down, rushing towards the left flank of the battle in the wake their commander. Moments later war horns echoed across the battlefield as a horde of horse and war dogs erupted from the woods, rushing towards the legion’s left flank, now immediately facing Aurelious and his men, who were prepared to countercharge.

“Well, good luck to the boy, but the battle is won no matter what else Geralt tries to pull. Marius, Arrange the reserves and Auxiliary to reinforce Aurelious. Send me a runner when it is over, I have a report to send to Vindelicorum.”

The legate, not even staying to see the horrifying collision between the two charging groups of horse and hound, moved calmly to the opposite side of the hill with his personal guard, returning to their camp-fort, a small two miles away.

...

With the end of Geralt his little rebellion, it seemed clear that Vindelicorum would have little opposition on their island for years to come. A stability that would enable the struggling republic to look to the mainland once more. Perhaps the Alcenian banner, blood red, adorned with a dragon with his wings spread wide, would march across the continent once more. Reclaiming what had been lost for so long.

[Hallimas Islands]

The Great Embassy of the Fifteen Peaks

Thukrar heard the two parties and decided to focus on the Dwarf first. "Lad, I don't suppose you know the Grimmr-Thung... Dwarf-Tongue-" Thukrar said, until he was sharply interrupted by two great horns. The High King sighed. He mumbled, "They're here... Princess-Ambassador Judith, Grandmaster Heinrich... I am deeply sorry for the interruption. The High Council is early." before they could reply, he continued, "The High Council is a meeting with the entire Dwarven Government, the Clergy of Mahshemkat-Khul-de-Grimmr and the Low Kings of the other Fourteen Peaks.

Servants hurried around setting up seats and Thukrar took his seat above the Low Kings and the Clergy, he then said, "The Low Kings would very much like to meet you also, perhaps this is a way to convince some of them that opening the gates is a good idea, there still remains dissent among them. You need not move from your seats." The Low Kings' footsteps could be heard from outside the door. The guards opened it and they marched in, lead by the eldest King - Low King Uthar 'Iron-side' Khelsar of Uldom-Khal, with a beard as white as snow, he had this aura of wisdom and seniority; yet respect to the High King. Low King Haldor Shembarkam of Shemakar-Khal was also in this Council, sporting the insignia of his Mountain on his coat, as if to show defiance to the High King. The High Priest came from behind, followed by two Deacons. They sat in front and around the High King's throne. The Low Kings were arrayed equally side to side, seven each. They all looked upon the Emissaries.

Thukrar stood and spoke in Grimmr-Thung, "Emissaries of the Orderlands of Röken, Arch-Grandmaster Heinrich and Sir Dunhard von Kärten, the Dwarf of their Company and Emissary of the Basilea of the Eldest God, Princess-Ambassador Judith. Meet the High Council of the High Kingdom of the Suthar-Khals. High Councillors, the Their Majesties, Low Kings and the His Holiness, the High Priest... Meet the Emissaries of the Orderlands of Röken and the Basilea of the Eldest God," the High Priest and the Low Kings nodded to the Embassy.

Uthar stood, "Hail, ye ambassadors from foreign lands. We are the High Council. If you would wish to speak with the Government of the High Kingdom of the Suthar-Khals, we are your best chance." Thukrar whispered something to him via the High Chamberlain, "Ah, yes... We interrupted your meeting," he rustled his beard and sat down.

Thukrar then stood, "So, Dunhard, back to where we were... What business does a Dwarf have in the company of such an assortment of races? It is quite odd seeing a Dwarf outside of their mountains. In all our years of watching the world burn and grow anew through our Alcen-scopes, we have not spotted another Dwarf, we assumed that all Dwarves had returned to their Mountains..."

PagingKaledoriaDragos Bee

[Dragos Bee]

The Great Embassy of the Fifteen Peaks

Thukrar heard the two parties and decided to focus on the Dwarf first. "Lad, I don't suppose you know the Grimmr-Thung... Dwarf-Tongue-" Thukrar said, until he was sharply interrupted by two great horns. The High King sighed. He mumbled, "They're here... Princess-Ambassador Judith, Grandmaster Heinrich... I am deeply sorry for the interruption. The High Council is early." before they could reply, he continued, "The High Council is a meeting with the entire Dwarven Government, the Clergy of Mahshemkat-Khul-de-Grimmr and the Low Kings of the other Fourteen Peaks.

Servants hurried around setting up seats and Thukrar took his seat above the Low Kings and the Clergy, he then said, "The Low Kings would very much like to meet you also, perhaps this is a way to convince some of them that opening the gates is a good idea, there still remains dissent among them. You need not move from your seats." The Low Kings' footsteps could be heard from outside the door. The guards opened it and they marched in, lead by the eldest King - Low King Uthar 'Iron-side' Khelsar of Uldom-Khal, with a beard as white as snow, he had this aura of wisdom and seniority; yet respect to the High King. Low King Haldor Shembarkam of Shemakar-Khal was also in this Council, sporting the insignia of his Mountain on his coat, as if to show defiance to the High King. The High Priest came from behind, followed by two Deacons. They sat in front and around the High King's throne. The Low Kings were arrayed equally side to side, seven each. They all looked upon the Emissaries.

Thukrar stood and spoke in Grimmr-Thung, "Emissaries of the Orderlands of Röken, Arch-Grandmaster Heinrich and Sir Dunhard von Kärten, the Dwarf of their Company and Emissary of the Basilea of the Eldest God, Princess-Ambassador Judith. Meet the High Council of the High Kingdom of the Suthar-Khals. High Councillors, the Their Majesties, Low Kings and the His Holiness, the High Priest... Meet the Emissaries of the Orderlands of Röken and the Basilea of the Eldest God," the High Priest and the Low Kings nodded to the Embassy.

Uthar stood, "Hail, ye ambassadors from foreign lands. We are the High Council. If you would wish to speak with the Government of the High Kingdom of the Suthar-Khals, we are your best chance." Thukrar whispered something to him via the High Chamberlain, "Ah, yes... We interrupted your meeting," he rustled his beard and sat down.

Thukrar then stood, "So, Dunhard, back to where we were... What business does a Dwarf have in the company of such an assortment of races? It is quite odd seeing a Dwarf outside of their mountains. In all our years of watching the world burn and grow anew through our Alcen-scopes, we have not spotted another Dwarf, we assumed that all Dwarves had returned to their Mountains..."

PagingKaledoriaDragos Bee

The Basilea

Princess-Ambassador Judith bowed deeply to the Low Kings and the High Priest, before getting up, clearing her throat and saying, as eloquently as she could, "Greetings, in the name of The One Above All Thrones Forever. My name is Princess-Ambassador Judith of the Basilea of the Eldest God, and I brought not just gifts for your High King and Kingdom, but also the desire for friendship between our peoples." She paused for effect, before continuing, "My heart is gladdened to hear that these mountains and valleys, which we have kept safe in trust of your return, will once again be peopled by folk of good will."

Another pause for effect, then a clear proclamation, "Thus, we pre-emptively cast aside all false claims we might have to your lands, and declare that your enemies are our enemies, your friends our friends unless they enroach upon what is ours. All we ask is that the sea be respected as our dominion, as well as the two straits leading to the Great Inner Sea, the lower which holds Sophiapolis the Third, our Capital since before the Alcenian Empire was born."

[Dragos Bee]

The Basilea - Sophiapolis the Third

The Customs Official, a middle-aged, slightly fat man in a blue robe, said: "I'm sorry, my dear captain, but the fee for piloting and navigation services has been raised by an additional five percent."

The ship captain, clad in a tunic, hose, and leather armor, slammed his fist on the official's desk. "What?! That's highway robbery! What's the Senate using it for? Another 'addition' to their palace?"

A shadow loomed over the Customs House as he said that, and the Captain looked around at the window, seeing a glimpse of a large ship, one that was bigger than his own small craft, sailing into port. This ship, one of the legendary Dromons, was as large as three houses, even more. The Captain had also heard that it housed small catapults and ballistae on its deck as artillery; which was impressive.

The Customs Official said: "Another one of that is what we are paying for with the higher fees. Beautiful, isn't it?"

A nod as the ship captain grudgingly paid the higher fees.

[Hallimas Islands]

The Great Embassy of the Fifteen Peaks

Thukrar heard the two parties and decided to focus on the Dwarf first. "Lad, I don't suppose you know the Grimmr-Thung... Dwarf-Tongue-" Thukrar said, until he was sharply interrupted by two great horns. The High King sighed. He mumbled, "They're here... Princess-Ambassador Judith, Grandmaster Heinrich... I am deeply sorry for the interruption. The High Council is early." before they could reply, he continued, "The High Council is a meeting with the entire Dwarven Government, the Clergy of Mahshemkat-Khul-de-Grimmr and the Low Kings of the other Fourteen Peaks.

Servants hurried around setting up seats and Thukrar took his seat above the Low Kings and the Clergy, he then said, "The Low Kings would very much like to meet you also, perhaps this is a way to convince some of them that opening the gates is a good idea, there still remains dissent among them. You need not move from your seats." The Low Kings' footsteps could be heard from outside the door. The guards opened it and they marched in, lead by the eldest King - Low King Uthar 'Iron-side' Khelsar of Uldom-Khal, with a beard as white as snow, he had this aura of wisdom and seniority; yet respect to the High King. Low King Haldor Shembarkam of Shemakar-Khal was also in this Council, sporting the insignia of his Mountain on his coat, as if to show defiance to the High King. The High Priest came from behind, followed by two Deacons. They sat in front and around the High King's throne. The Low Kings were arrayed equally side to side, seven each. They all looked upon the Emissaries.

Thukrar stood and spoke in Grimmr-Thung, "Emissaries of the Orderlands of Röken, Arch-Grandmaster Heinrich and Sir Dunhard von Kärten, the Dwarf of their Company and Emissary of the Basilea of the Eldest God, Princess-Ambassador Judith. Meet the High Council of the High Kingdom of the Suthar-Khals. High Councillors, the Their Majesties, Low Kings and the His Holiness, the High Priest... Meet the Emissaries of the Orderlands of Röken and the Basilea of the Eldest God," the High Priest and the Low Kings nodded to the Embassy.

Uthar stood, "Hail, ye ambassadors from foreign lands. We are the High Council. If you would wish to speak with the Government of the High Kingdom of the Suthar-Khals, we are your best chance." Thukrar whispered something to him via the High Chamberlain, "Ah, yes... We interrupted your meeting," he rustled his beard and sat down.

Thukrar then stood, "So, Dunhard, back to where we were... What business does a Dwarf have in the company of such an assortment of races? It is quite odd seeing a Dwarf outside of their mountains. In all our years of watching the world burn and grow anew through our Alcen-scopes, we have not spotted another Dwarf, we assumed that all Dwarves had returned to their Mountains..."

PagingKaledoriaDragos Bee

The Basilea

Princess-Ambassador Judith bowed deeply to the Low Kings and the High Priest, before getting up, clearing her throat and saying, as eloquently as she could, "Greetings, in the name of The One Above All Thrones Forever. My name is Princess-Ambassador Judith of the Basilea of the Eldest God, and I brought not just gifts for your High King and Kingdom, but also the desire for friendship between our peoples." She paused for effect, before continuing, "My heart is gladdened to hear that these mountains and valleys, which we have kept safe in trust of your return, will once again be peopled by folk of good will."

Another pause for effect, then a clear proclamation, "Thus, we pre-emptively cast aside all false claims we might have to your lands, and declare that your enemies are our enemies, your friends our friends unless they enroach upon what is ours. All we ask is that the sea be respected as our dominion, as well as the two straits leading to the Great Inner Sea, the lower which holds Sophiapolis the Third, our Capital since before the Alcenian Empire was born."

Thukrar nodded, "Well, I gr-"

Haldor interrupted, "Bah! We allow you command of the waters? What about the other nations surrounding and also, this is a clear show that you humans wish to plague us from the sea also? My anc-"

High Priest Malchukdar snarled, "Such disgusting nature, Haldor... I order you to be silent, in the name of Malshemkat-Khul-de-Grimmr, you should know better. Now allow all of us to discuss this proposal from the Princess-Ambassador."

Chemkar 'The Young' Uldoril, Low King of Sutharth-Khal, the mountain closest to the waters and the most southern stood, "Indeed, I think we shall allow you control of the straits... However, we most certainly would like to reopen our old ports on the Great Inner Sea and trade with the outside world. So we shall allow you control over the straits, however, any Dwarven ship that sails through the straits or into any Basilean port will be allowed with no hinderance or tarriff. We shall also do the same with your ships," the young King recieved many agreeing whispers from the council.

Haldor grumbled. He began to whisper to other Kings using his own chamberlain as a messenger. He whispered tales of deceit and war from the Humans. Sowing dissent amongst the council. Thukrar noticed this and sent his own High Chamberlain to combat this dissent. Soon in the shadows behind the thrones. The High and Low Chamberlains scurried about telling stories and whispering in the Council's ears.

High Priest Malchukdar stood, "Allow, Kings for a vote to be made... It seems as if this is the will of Mahshemkat-Khul-de-Grimmr, if you would allow it, High King Thukrar."

Thukrar looked about anxiously, he said, "I allow it... I shall cast the first vote. Aye! I say Aye to King Chemkar's proposal."

King Uthar stood, "Aye!"

King Chemkar stood, "Aye!"

King Haldor stood, "Nay!"

It was close, it ended up eight ayes and seven nays. The High Priest announced it and asked the Princess-Ambassador, "Do you agree to our proposal?"

[Spindle]

Gatehouse
Ferial Tialle
Shi Tialle

It was a war in and of itself for the squad to push their way through the city to the Councilship Complex. More than a few curses were hurled at the squad, one actually magical enough that a buzzing swarm of gadflies slowly started to collect around Thella. As they pushed their way up through the city it only grew in size and viciousness, until it was doing the squad's job for them and citizens were scurrying to clear the way. There was probably something poetic about that, Sereth mused as he swatted at a particularly exploratory fly. He might have spent more time musing on it, had he been inclined or, indeed, had they not at that moment arrived at the Councilship Complex.

It wasn't a pretty building - there weren't many of those in Shi Tialle - and it squatted in the centre of the city like a brick-and-mortar monolith. It's front entrance was large enough to allow perhaps ten men through, but it was simple wood and lacked any sense of grandeur which it might have required. There was no sense of ornamentation to it, and nothing other than size to distinguish it from the buildings surrounding it. It simply glared down at its domain like a particularly austere god over a realm of the blandest artists to ever walk the mortal realm.

Sereth always found it vaguely comforting.

The squad formed up into two rows on either side of the entrance, with a precision which would have been much more impressive if Sereth didn't watch them do it four times a week. Five men on each side, he noted, which probably meant Thella had disappeared to find a street witch to get rid of her cloud of gadflies. Most likely, he knew, she'd end up tearing through what money she had left to buy any number of hack blessings. There were a fair few street witches roaming about the city, but there were far more hacks out there.

With a sudden bout of vertigo, Sereth realised that he was going to have to lead the goblins into the audience chamber. That meant, he slowly realised, he was going to have to announce them to the High Councillor. So he was going to have to remember their names. As he took his first steps towards the second set of doors, these ones already opening before him, he wracked his brain to try and figure out what the diplomat was called. And who he represented. And what order the titles went. Why did they need so many titles? What did they do, hoard them? Sell them? The doors were fully open now, revealing a short, well-lit room bereft of any furniture or ornamentation other than the silver chain hanging from the far wall, snapped in two.

Third Throne, help me. I don't want to mess this up...

He stepped across the threshold and then to one side, opened his mouth and felt words began to pour out from it:

"High Councillor, I bring Sekme, Great Diplomat of the Priezastis tribe and emissary of Greitas the Cunning, Vadas of the Gaisras clan, Didyis Vadas of the goblins of Wolf Forest."

He didn't know what half of those words meant. He hadn't known that he could pronounce half of the words he had said. But he had said them, perhaps even correctly. An answer to his prayers? A quick glance at the figures standing on the other side of the room explained it. Morog Tii stood foremost, by dint of his build more than anything else, a simple grey robe almost blending into his equally grey skin. Hovering in hos shadow was Hashiir, the Thelai's eyes burning with something Sereth could never quite identify. At the right-hand and a pace behind the High Councillor stood Hal-Hardan, Illynis of Armies, her gaze level as she eyed up the wolves and the goblins astride them. To Morog's left was Sierene, Illynis of Mechanisms, the usual insane energy in her eyes as they bounced from goblin to wolf to soldier to goblin again.

The two Illynies in the same room. No wonder Lady Keruli had heard his prayer. She pretty much had a front-row seat to this negotiation.

"I welcome you Great Diplomat." Morog rumbled, his voice lapping at Sereth's ears like waves, "And the goblins of Wolf Forest. What burdens carry you here?"

[Jhet]

Ratuny
A holy church

Zubin could not stop smiling. The warm air of Arru coursed against his face, a thousand maiden's lips pressing against his flesh as he guided his mount forward. Above him the Freyan shone bright and proud, celebrating the summer that was to take hold of the lands. Today is a good day, he found himself musing in revelry. Today I have a man to kill. It had been his worry that he would have spent the rest of his days in drills and skirmishes over backwater villages, but Her Eternal Magnificence was not one to disappoint her faithful.

The al Baelgoi dynasty had ruled not two decades over their realm, rising on a tide of economic hardship brought on by war. They had usurped their King Rael with an army bought with copper and half-rotten grain, and with that army brought about great change. Change that had served neither the Undying Empire nor the peasants serving the Baelgoi. Instead of the worship of Arru, of her physical manifestation in Her Eternal Magnificence Haura al Vadesh, the Al Baelgoi were servants of Arron, and forced that heresy upon the Frey people. Arron, the soldier who died trying to make himself an empire after his own name, whose disciples spoke of Haura being his bastard half-blood child by a common mortal. Arron, who had failed where Haura succeeded.

Zubin did not have to look around him, could not look about him. His lance was leveled, his aim true. One heartbeat followed the next like the strum beats of a song, picking up pace as it nearer its eventual climax. He almost shouted, "I am alive," such was the ecstasy that surged through his veins. The general felt light, as if his body was being carried forward by the grace of the divine. One, two, three, his mind counted, distantly aware of his body barreling towards the foe.

But the Frey, ever persecuted for their culture, did not accept the heresy of the al Baelgoi, of the fallen Arron, and instead reached out to the Divine herself in their hour of need. Her Eternal Magnificence Haura al Vadesh, in all of her true grace, commanded that the blasphemy of the al Baelgoi and their cohorts could not be allowed to continue. So it was said, so it was commanded. The Ocyria Iuniores was mustered from its barracks at the foothills of Hyl and sent north with all speed, joined by Zubin and a strong column of faithful volunteers who had forsaken their right to salary for the honour of defending their lady's honour and faith. Dismissing the Baelgoi for heretics and pretenders without a legal nor spiritual claim to their throne, Her Eternal Magnificence decreed that no declaration of war would be submitted to the usurpers afore the invasion could commence. Instead, Zubin would take his army across the old march without warning before dawn's golden light could awaken the world, and ride hard towards the Baelgoi stronghold of Bard Pate.

His lance skewered a Baelgoi warrior through his neck, piercing bronze and linen and passing through the soft flesh beneath with the force of a thunderstrike. Such was the force of the blow his lance tore free of the corpse's body, splitting the throat in half in a mesmerizing spray of blood. The dead man's lance, shorter and broad, twisted violently as its wielder was cast from his mount, only able to tear at the rich cloth that fluttered from Zubin's shoulders. Before he could enjoy the kill however, another rider appeared in the noble's way, his own lance exchanged for a wicked axe near as wide as it was long. For a moment the heretic looked to smile behind the mail veil he wore, as if expecting the soldier of Her Eternal Magnificence to be easy prey as they charged towards each other. It was a thought as arrogant as it was ignorant, for Zubin was a hero of a hundred battles and his lance found its final resting place: embedded so far into the warrior's chest that when he flew back to earth, it planted itself into the soil, a banner of victory and death.

Though Zubin and the Ocyria Iuniores made a speedy march through the hinterlands of the Baelgoi kingdom, raising cheers from the Frey that laid out supplies and cheers of gratitude before their advance, King Zanak was no fool. With a drive that should only have been found in a servant of Arru, the usurper king marshaled what forces he could lay claim to and rode out to face the Freyan army before his kingdom could rise up against his rule. Though the hastily raised levy incorporated many Frey who had welcomed the invasion, King Zanak could only be confident for him to march as soon as he did. For the Ocyria had only taken camp for the third day when reports from their scouts and dissenting Freys came of the Baelgoi army having made a night's advance to put themselves afore the line of advance of Zubin and his men. Beneath the shallow walls of the Arron shrine of Ratuny, where the heretics claimed that Arron raised the first of the Frey from their servitude to nobility, the Baelgoi prepared to make a stand.

Zubin had lost his horse. It did not matter to him, however, as the horse squadron Zanak had hoped would protect his right flank were now being driven from the field. Those that had survived their bout with the heavy lances of the Ocyria, that is. Instead Zubin had sword and axe in hand, both already drunk on the alcoholic nature of blood, and advanced on the rest of the Baelgoi host. The levies had begun to break under the torrential rain of Ocyria arrows, casting shield and spear aside as they deserted the field. In their place the Baelgoi Arronites attempted in vain to make up in numbers what the Iuniores possessed in skill and righteousness. Without the protection of their horsemen, the diminishing ranks of King Zanak convulsed as they were torn apart piecemeal by four thousand career killers.

Though King Zanak had managed to conjure up almost twice as many men as the invaders, its rough makeup was clear to anyone with eyes. Freys still in their nightdresses stood shoulder with purple-bearded Gratians, with bare-chested Circellans intermixing with stunted halflings armed with polearms they could not swing with enough force to cut grass. And at its core stood the urban militia of Itakatumurbem, whose black banners now bore the simple runes of the Arronic heresy where once the elaborate scripture of Her Eternal Magnificence had once been made out in gold. But even the militia, once the pride of Itakatumurbem, looked starved of equipment. So it had fallen to the Baelgoi household troops to stiffen the resolve of an army that did not want to face the mounted terror of the Ocyria, and their numbers were too few to spread out across the entire army. So they took the prestigious right flank, from which point they would lead Zanak's army like a pendulum into the Arruan army. Or so the plan had to have been.

The enemy had scattered to the four winds, leaving dead and dying brothers to their fate as the Ocyria began its renowned hunt. And yet it was only now that Zubin's smile faltered, as the blood mist of battle began to settle on corpses turned to winter cold. Is this it? he found himself wondering. Was this how the kingdom was to fall? It was a disheartening thought, to realise how weak their neighbour had been all of these years of minor border skirmishes. He hoped in a moment of black anger that one lord or another would attempt to proclaim themselves king in place of Zanak, so that they might test the mettle of Her Eternal Magnificence's Khan.

The Arruan battleplan in contrast relied not on a small cadre of warriors, detached in social and religious tradition from the men they were to fight alongside, but on the army as a whole. Their mounted archers tested the battleline, launching arrows into the back ranks of the Baelgoi even as they rode in elaborate shapes on the hard plain. And when the Arronic heretics reformed to meet the missile barrage, Zubin's archers collided their formations, almost instantly stopping the arrow storm. At that sign of confusion the Arronic soldiers could not be kept in check. They would charge, the bloodlust of vengeance taking over. And as their lines broke discipline, broke free from the tight reins of King Zanak, the Ocyria would act. The horse archers, trained till exhaustion in the maneuver, fled before the charge with a speed that even the fresh horses of the Baelgoi elite could not match. And as the charge grew in distance, Zubin and the heavy lancers came forward in their columns.

Zubin almost cried out in joy. There, flying from inside Ratuny, was the royal banner of Zanak. He stands to the last. The Khan could feel his eyes misting up behind his faceplate. With a raised arm to announce his position to what Ocryia were still nearby, the nobleman set off towards the heretic's shrine. There were no gates barred to his entrance, nor any archers to fling arrows against the steel plate that covered him like a blanket. Instead there was Zanak and what guards were left to his command. Ten, twenty, the general counted as he advanced on the king. Thirty-two. "Archers!" he cried, and the arrows which had so decimated the Baelgoi host once more fell, though in no great number. Twenty-seven, twenty-one. And down the number went, until at last the king raised his hand. "Cease!" Zubin decreed, his smile threatening to tear his lips apart. The usurper drew his sword, and met Zubin's advance.

The duel was as swift as the battle.

[Dragos Bee]

Snip.

Princess-Ambassador Judith carefully hid her displeasure, and nodded, saying, "I agree; more friendly ships will certainly be of help once the remnants of Alcenia expand westwards."

Not that she didn't notice that the High King was going to grant what she wanted at first before his 'Senate' countermanded him. But the fact was that it seemed that the Dwarves had naval interests, which, although it provided competition, may yet prove a boon to the economy of the Basilea in the very long run. That, and if the Suthr-Khal built up a war fleet; same for the probably displeased Roken, it would mean more ships to contest the Alcenian Remnants' attempts to regain dominion of the Great Inner Sea.

[Kaledoria]

The Great Embassy of the Fifteen Peaks
(...)

Thukrar then stood, "So, Dunhard, back to where we were... What business does a Dwarf have in the company of such an assortment of races? It is quite odd seeing a Dwarf outside of their mountains. In all our years of watching the world burn and grow anew through our Alcen-scopes, we have not spotted another Dwarf, we assumed that all Dwarves had returned to their Mountains..."

Sir Heinrich was slightly offended, that Thukrar addressed his vassal before him in front of the lesser Kings, which -as far as he saw it- were the Dwarven equivalent to the Grandmasters of the Orderlands. But then again, that was, what he had brought the Dwarf here for.

Dunhard allowed Princess-Ambassador Judith to finish before he answered: "Aye, my parents, merchants in Alcenia -the city- did indeed try to return to the land of their grandparents, your land, when the age of woe started but they were to late. However, twenty years later, I was just a small boy, they accompanied the human knights that claimed Röken theirs, as guides, since they had traveled the roads to the east once fourth and back before. They got some money, me a martial education and in the civil war, I was knighted. I was awarded a nice fief, with diverse subjects: One in three is humans, lot's of diverse beastmen: ratonga and felpurr -that's rats and cats- and many in-between, some Goblins and a proud few Elves and Dwarfs. Five years ago, my fellow knights of the Lazuli Band elected me Headmaster, so I have just over hundred knights under my command, too. And to answer your question, I'm here to represent my band, my Order and the dwarfs of the Orderlands."

Sir Heinrich stepped next to him. "I don't think they wanted to hear the story of your life," he hissed quietly, before addressing the Fifteen Peaks' nobility himself: "In fact, by current estimations there are probably about five-thousand dwarfs living in Röken, most of them have lived among humans or are the children and grand-children of parents that lived among humans in the Alcenian Republic, about three out of four claim to track back their ancestry to Suthkar-Khals."

[New Socialist South Africa]

Counselship Complex, Ferial Tialle, Shi Tialle

Sekme dismounted from his direwolf, and extended his arms in a gesture of friendship, his sharp teeth on display as he smiled broadly.

"I greet the great Morog Tii, and the great council of Shi Taille" he said, in his heavily accented imperial. "We have ridden many leagues on the orders of my Vadas, Greitas the Cunning, to discuss good terms with the leaders of this mighty nation, to talk of the potential of trade, and the potential of an alliance against the coming of the evil one".

He turned to the 30 year old she-goblin diviner. "I present to you Akys, diviner of the Varna clan, who has helped us to see the coming of the time of fire and blood in the sky".

Akys, still looking around in curiosity and wonder, was dragged back to reality by the comment and dismounted her direwolf. She stepped forward and extended her arms.

"Greetings to you great council" she said, in an oddly harmonic voice.

Sekme turned to one of the riders. "We bring gifts of drąsa and smoked deer meat, as signs of our good faith". One of the goblins descended from his wolf, and brought forward a great gourd canteen made of deerskin, with a wooden stopper tightly in place. Another descended and produced a deerskin pouch filled with great strips of smoked deer meat. They held them up, an offering to drink and eat. Sekme produced a small wooden bowl and poured some of the white drąsa into it, toasting Morog Tii, and the other members of the council, before toasting Sereth the watchman. He sipped deeply on the drink, finishing the bowl, a tradition amongst diplomats when travelling to distant lands, to ensure the others of the land did not suspect the drink to be poison.

[Hallimas Islands]

The Great Embassy of the Fifteen Peaks
(...)

Thukrar then stood, "So, Dunhard, back to where we were... What business does a Dwarf have in the company of such an assortment of races? It is quite odd seeing a Dwarf outside of their mountains. In all our years of watching the world burn and grow anew through our Alcen-scopes, we have not spotted another Dwarf, we assumed that all Dwarves had returned to their Mountains..."

Sir Heinrich was slightly offended, that Thukrar addressed his vassal before him in front of the lesser Kings, which -as far as he saw it- were the Dwarven equivalent to the Grandmasters of the Orderlands. But then again, that was, what he had brought the Dwarf here for.

Dunhard allowed Princess-Ambassador Judith to finish before he answered: "Aye, my parents, merchants in Alcenia -the city- did indeed try to return to the land of their grandparents, your land, when the age of woe started but they were to late. However, twenty years later, I was just a small boy, they accompanied the human knights that claimed Röken theirs, as guides, since they had traveled the roads to the east once fourth and back before. They got some money, me a martial education and in the civil war, I was knighted. I was awarded a nice fief, with diverse subjects: One in three is humans, lot's of diverse beastmen: ratonga and felpurr -that's rats and cats- and many in-between, some Goblins and a proud few Elves and Dwarfs. Five years ago, my fellow knights of the Lazuli Band elected me Headmaster, so I have just over hundred knights under my command, too. And to answer your question, I'm here to represent my band, my Order and the dwarfs of the Orderlands."

Sir Heinrich stepped next to him. "I don't think they wanted to hear the story of your life," he hissed quietly, before addressing the Fifteen Peaks' nobility himself: "In fact, by current estimations there are probably about five-thousand dwarfs living in Röken, most of them have lived among humans or are the children and grand-children of parents that lived among humans in the Alcenian Republic, about three out of four claim to track back their ancestry to Suthkar-Khals."

Thukrar and the Council nodded, Thukrar said, "Very well, Dunhard. Your grandparents were truly unfortunate to have not reached the Gates, it was a mistake to close them if we knew Dwarves were still out there... If any Dwarf from Röken wishes to return to the lands of their ancestors, I shall allow it." The High Council nodded, even Haldor permitted it, "Very well, Dunhard, did your grandparents ever keep your Dwarvish surname? Perhaps we can find your relatives in our Great Books of Record. If you wish to know, you can speak to my High Chamberlain, Rubar Kartnam. Also, Grandmaster Heinrich, I would most certainly like to make good ties with the Dwarves of Röken if they wish to go here or not. So perhaps an alliance between our nations, cooperation in military and economic affairs. The same offer goes out to you, Princess-Ambassador Judith and the Basilea."

Haldor looked at his High King with disgust. His ancestor's name had been disparaged in his eyes, all his work to protect the Fifteen Peaks ruined by Thukrar. Calling his actions 'a mistake' filled him with fury. He stood up and announced in Grimmr-Thung. "You are no High King of mine! You are throwing away our traditions, which have kept us safe since through the Ages of Alcenia and Woe! My true High King, my ancestor, High King Thurin should be named 'Saviour' and 'Equal to Haldor Haldomor!" The High Priest stood to speak, however Haldor continued, "You disgust me and I know there are others that feel the same. Those of you that support me need not announce your hatred now. I will fight for our traditions and ensure the safety of our mountains-"

The High Priest had had enough he spoke in Grimmr-Thung, "Silence! Haldor, Low King of Shemakar-Khal. By section 3 of the Command of the Council, enacted by High King Freràr II Haldomor, you are charged with excessive disturbance of the sitting. I expel you from the High Council's sitting with the authorisation of High King Thukrar. Leave this council now or face the Wrath of Mahshemkat-Khul-de-Grimmr!" Haldor scowled. He stormed out of the chambers and there was a silence.

[Spindle]

Tunnels
Mount Kel'urithier
Shi Tialle

The cavern presented a grim sight to the two as they arrived, crossbows up and loaded. Bodies lay as patchy islands in a rapidly-drying sea of blood, bile and other bodily fluids, rat-folk for the most part but dozens of Tialle soldiers lay on the floor with their enemies. Near the tunnel entrance the bodies were scorched and lacerated, the nearby walls blackened with ash and studded with metal shards. Nearid winced at that, her mind's eyes recreating the scene all too well. The smell of burning flesh was looser in the air now, but at the time it had now doubt been nauseating in the extreme. She doubted the rest of the mess would have helped.

The living were only slightly less ghastly than the dead. Scattered throughout the room they stood, sat or leaned warily, tending to any of a host of wounds. The few healers on-hand were rushing from casualty to casualty with shared looks of grim exhaustion. Whether or not they were making any difference wasn't immediately obvious. Illinis paled as one stumbled past her with the majority of a man's leg clutched in her hands. It was deeply green, and left a trail only a shade or two lighter in its wake. The elf glanced down to the goblin for a moment, before Jerkull appeared before them with a small smile.

"You're still alive?"

"We were hardly going to be dragged down by a swarm of such...feral folk."

Nearid grinned.

"Plus they weren't expecting us to have thunderclouds."

Jerkull grunted.

"It's a good thing you had those. Nialla blew herself up with a daemonsbane."

"Poor girl." Nearid sighed, "She weren't a bad girl."

"She wasn't quite the most...stable, however."

Nearid glowered up at Illinis. The elf grinned.

---

Councilship Complex
Ferial Tialle
Shi Tialle

Sereth watched the goblin step forwards, greeting Morog in turn before going through the usual motions of friendship and peace. It took Sereth a moment to realise that he couldn't just fall asleep now, rousing his mind back into the situation at hand as the soothsayer was introduced. It took his mind a moment more to realise that an age of fire and blood in the skies was almost certainly not a portent of good things to come. His attention went from wandering to perfectly focused in less than an instant. This had suddenly become interesting. No wonder Keruli was watching.

The goblin followed it up with a drink and food. Because diplomats had the attention span of glaciers, it seemed.

He watched as Morog crossed the distance between the Tialle group and the goblins and accepted a strip of deer meat, placing it into his mouth and chewing quickly before swallowing. A moment later, he picked up his bowl and drank deep. Placing it back down with all of the ceremony Sereth would have expected from some great writ of allegiance being signed, he beckoned to the others. One by one they stepped forwards and accepted the food and drink with a degree of ceremony lost in Sierene, who left with a thin line of white tracing down her chin.

"We thank you." Morog intoned, "And of this evil one - we have received omens of disaster in the future, but no more than that. What knowledge have you about the nature of this threat?"

[Darksworth]

Kingdom of Zathrak

King Kalisto frowned, although no one figure would actually take notice due to his attire covering most of his facial features, before his face returned to it's more neutral expression. While his two accompanying figures stood steady by his side, the King began to move with an almost non-royal like movements that one would not expect from such a figure of high importance, he moved his studded cloth mask and picked up the bowl with the so-called White substance called "Drąsa". The autocrat examined it with a quick glance of one of his eyes before mimicking the Goblin-kin's toasting actions and proceeding to drink.

Once the King was finished, he lowered the bowl slightly below his chest area and sighed, savouring the flavour that coursed in his Palate, before speaking in a low-tone in the dialect of Hunterspeak toward his Orcish companion. The Orc nodded and went to open one of the doors nearby, before checking inside the now undisclosed room and giving a thumbs-up to the Zathrakan King.

Kalisto now looked back to the Goblin diplomatic force, examining the entire group of strange but civilized beings before continuing to speak, albeit with a slightly faded but still bold and jolly tone.

-"Ah, thank you for that, let's continue that inside the Thinkroom shall we?"

The King walked towards the opened room by the Orc, with his Axe-wielding companion and the Goblin emissaries in tow. Once they were inside and the Bluish-colored Orc has closed the doors, Kalisto once again spoke up.

-"Been a long time since friendly outsiders came inside this room, Zathrak has always been one to be too clingy in it's state of isolation"

He sighed before setting the now-empty bowl down on one of the crudely-carved short tables in the dubbed "Thinkroom" and speaking again.

-"You said something about good terms and sharing right? I would like for you and the rest of your comrades to elaborate, as well as explain this perceived upcoming 'war' before we get to any deals and serious public relations"

[Dragos Bee]

Snip.

Princess-Ambassador Judith tried to keep herself calm as she weighed the loud argument that had occurred; she was not able to translate the words of said argument, but the fact that this public dispute had happened in the first place showed that the Suthur-Khal society was showing cracks in it. Civil War might be coming soon, and with it, a chance to make the Dwarves indebted to the Basilea for their support. That and Roken's.

She turned to High King Thurkar, "I accept your offer of an economic and military alliance on behalf of my people." The Princess-Ambassador then shifted to Sir Heinrich. "We also wish to request a pact between Roken and the Basilea, too."

In her mind, the Princess-Ambassador was already writing up a secret memorandum, one that she was only going to write up once well inside Basilean territory. It detailed how to support High King Thurkar in a war without making him look like a tool of the 'foreigners'. Food is the most important thing we can provide, as well as medicinal herbs. Our armies will be at a disadvantage in their tunnels. But all these relies on the gate guards being faithful.

She looked towards Chemkar Uldoril, the one who had proposed the naval treaty. He seemed to have a mercantile spirit; would that make him a good ally? She smiled at the Dwarven Low King, saying, "I hope that our ships can trade with each other soon. We always appreciate good merchants."

[Kaledoria]

(...)

Thukrar and the Council nodded, Thukrar said, "Very well, Dunhard. Your grandparents were truly unfortunate to have not reached the Gates, it was a mistake to close them if we knew Dwarves were still out there... If any Dwarf from Röken wishes to return to the lands of their ancestors, I shall allow it." The High Council nodded, even Haldor permitted it, "Very well, Dunhard, did your grandparents ever keep your Dwarvish surname? Perhaps we can find your relatives in our Great Books of Record. If you wish to know, you can speak to my High Chamberlain, Rubar Kartnam. Also, Grandmaster Heinrich, I would most certainly like to make good ties with the Dwarves of Röken if they wish to go here or not. So perhaps an alliance between our nations, cooperation in military and economic affairs. The same offer goes out to you, Princess-Ambassador Judith and the Basilea."
(...)

"The Freemen Dwarfs will be exited to hear this," Sir Heinrich answered and then addressed the Low Kings directly: "I promise you, I will try my best to make sure, my people don't disrupt your ways. As far as cooperation goes, I'm glad to hear that. I have been speaking with my Grandmasters and could not convince them to agree on a total lack of taxation at their borders, so I will not ask that of you, either. However, a cap of tariffs would be reasonable. I would like our trade to be protected as follows: The taxation at the border should be no more then one fifth of a trader's goods, the taxation at the inner borders into another vassal realm should be no more then one twenties each and there should be no tariffs at borders of lesser vassals below that."

His face was stern, it was a deal, that granted the major part of trade income to the leaders of the two realms, while at the same time recognizing the power of the direct vassals. He turned to Thukrar again and made a demonstrative step towards him: "As far as a military alliance is concerned, I cannot form such a pact with your house only but I want to sign it with your realm. A pact of defense between our realms against outside forces, most notably the barbarian tribes to the south. This would not include any internal conflicts in either realm and would also not force one of us to join the other's wars of aggression, although further individual alliances between you, me and/or any of our vassals would not be ruled out." He turned to Princess-Ambassador Judith: "The same offer goes to your realm. I considered, that you mentioned the Kingdoms to the north and east earlier and though I can't see them as a threat by themselves right now, you were right, because it is wise to show strength and unity against them, too, lest they attack us and weaken our ability to defend in the south."

[New Socialist South Africa]

Councilship Complex, Nuruth Taille, Shi Tialle

Akys reached into a small pouch and produced the head of a dead cockroach in her hand.

Sekme spoke now, "when Grandmother Uoga consulted the bones, this emerged from the bag" he said ominously. "It is a premonition of the coming of the evil one, one whose name we do not say unless we must. In our tongue though, we call him ...", he looked to Akys for support.

She went right up to Morog Tii, motioning for him to bend so she could whisper in his ear.

Cupping her long fingered right hand around his ear, she whispered "Sunaikintojas" quietly.

The diviner leant away, and glanced down at the cockroach head in her left hand.

Sekme spoke again. "Our folklore tells us of this evil one, with the body of a giant snake, huge cockroach wings, and the face of a man but with goat horns and venomous fangs. He is the God of Chaos, the great destroyer. It is he whose evil brought the age of sorrows, and the monstrosities that haunted our land, but that is but a taste of what is to come. This is a clear sign that the evil one is growing stronger. He is coming, soon, and one nation alone with not be enough to stop him when he wakes".

"That is why we have come" continued Sekme. "We must unite against the coming darkness, or we will be destroyed".

Thinkroom, Xathral, Kingdom of Zathrak

Rytas was the only one amongst them that spoke Imperial, and so continued to hold the discussion. "Our good terms would be the trade of deer meat north to you, especially in the winter to come, when food may be scarce in the hardest parts of the south. Perhaps you may even wish to come on a great hunt with us in the north. In return we seek only finer weapons, steel to help us in our hunts, and against the evil one in the war to come".

"When the five Vadas of the five clans assembled, a premonition was found amongst the bones. A cockroach, that had no other reason to be in the bone bag" he continued.

He turned to Vizija. "Parodyk yam" he said in Goblindygook.

She reached into a small pouch, and removed half the squashed remains of the body of a dead cockroach, placing it before the King. Before gazing unblinking at him with her unusually pale eyes.

"It is a premonition of the coming of the evil one, one who in our tongue we call Sunaikintojas" said Rytas. All the other goblins, all but Vizija, winced at the name. The legs of the dead cockroach on the table even seemed to twitch ever so slightly at it, as if by the spark of some fell magic. But then again, perhaps it was just due to a slight breeze from outside.

"He is the evil one, the demonic God of Chaos, the one who brought the demons to the land, and he is getting stronger. When he awakens, he will release a terror upon this land that will make the last time of evil look like nothing in comparison. One that will destroy us all, unless we stand together".

[Ralnis]

Alcenian Plains,
Yon-Sur's Warband

The White Fur road on the back of the werewolf as Iniki alchemy pumped through the body of the human. It maintained control as brass rods etched in runes had lighting danced between it on its back as Yon-Sur rode on it eating the latest victory over a roaming orc tribe. It was just an example of the resistance that the Iniki warband had faced coming out of the forest or Enderbright. Her warband loss little in the way of cats or beasts that they were riding on as they usually outnumber or had more White Furs to overpower the orcs with magic.

Yon-Sur followed the path laid out by Prowler scouts as they sniffed out trails that made the paths to go to the ancient dwarven city. It was a long travel as they follow every bit of information that they can gather but the knowledge that the city has, the place were the Longbeards built their genius weapons, would serve as an important colony for the Iniki.

They knew that the path led eastward to whatever mountains or large tunnels that were carved by Longbeard hands. The White Fur warmatron looked ever eagerly to get back in the underground where the open sun was burning her eyes but the embrace of darkness that she was born in.

Eastern Border,
Iniki Lands

The Eastern Border was more calmer than that any other border of the Tano Nyai Iniki. It was because of this that their fortresses and towns were more civilized with small contingents of Brave Coats and Dociles to act as a civil guard and patrol. Something did catch the attention of the Prowlers and scouts as Greenskins, who are usually seen in caves, came from the Westernwood riding a wolf and carrying a sheepskin flag for peace.

The Iniki meowed in response as they gathered what seemed like a numerous horde of cats ready for a fight. They didn't expect such a thing to happen but it didn't matter. To the troops, one cave-dwelling greenskin was the same to them but they awaited for one of the Goblins to say something or make a move that could indicate their presence in their lands.

[New Socialist South Africa]

Eastern Border, Iniki Lands

Vasara was one of the youngest diplomats amongst the goblins, and one of their few female diplomats, but with so many dispatched to other lands she was the most experienced diplomat left with skill in Imperial tongue.

The 22 year old lifted a hand to halt to convoy as she saw the little horde assembling. The small group spread out. To Vasara's right was the banner carrier and two guards, with the young she-goblin diviner Mirksi and one more guard on her left. The band of six watched the horde of cat folk with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

"What strange looking creatures" said the 16 year old Mirksi, addressing Vasara in Goblindygook.

"Indeed" said Vasara, also in Goblindygook. "And yet they held back the beats, so they must have some skill in battle. Wait here, Kantrybė ride with me".

The diplomat and banner carrier advanced from the other four, the banner carrier holding the sheepskin banner high. Once they had neared the cat-folk, Vasara dismounted from her direwolf, extended her arms in the traditional gesture of peace. In her heavily accented Imperial she said, "Greetings to you great warriors, I am Vasara, emissary of Greitas the cunning, Didyis Vadas of the Goblins of Wolf Forest. I come offering good terms with the great warriors of the west. Who amongst you great warriors is your leader?"

[Tysklandia]

Alcenian Plains,
Yon-Sur's Warband

The White Fur road on the back of the werewolf as Iniki alchemy pumped through the body of the human. It maintained control as brass rods etched in runes had lighting danced between it on its back as Yon-Sur rode on it eating the latest victory over a roaming orc tribe. It was just an example of the resistance that the Iniki warband had faced coming out of the forest or Enderbright. Her warband loss little in the way of cats or beasts that they were riding on as they usually outnumber or had more White Furs to overpower the orcs with magic.

Yon-Sur followed the path laid out by Prowler scouts as they sniffed out trails that made the paths to go to the ancient dwarven city. It was a long travel as they follow every bit of information that they can gather but the knowledge that the city has, the place were the Longbeards built their genius weapons, would serve as an important colony for the Iniki.

They knew that the path led eastward to whatever mountains or large tunnels that were carved by Longbeard hands. The White Fur warmatron looked ever eagerly to get back in the underground where the open sun was burning her eyes but the embrace of darkness that she was born in.

Alcenian Plains, west of the World peak mountains, Old Alcenia Yon-Sur's Warband

As Yon-sur's Iniki made their way across hundreds of kilometers of Alcenians plains, they cross through dozens, if not hundreds of small human townships and hamlets, alongside many alien settlements of all sizes. Yon-sur burned and pillaged her way through, feeding her warband with the spoils of war as she marched to the treasures kal'Jurnmeir might hold. But as many minor kingdoms could not manage to muster a proper defense in time, Yon-sur's luck would not hold firm. As the deaths caused by her warbands numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands as the wake of burning villages and murdered families in their wake ensured any king of noble in the region put a price on their heads. Roaming knights and even armies were raised to hunt them down and put them to the sword. as they passed into old Alcenia, the original birthplace of the Alcenian republic and later, the empire, Yon-sur her luck ran out.

As she passed through the hundreds of Alcenian ruins, villages, cities and even Alcenian fortresses, all lost to the age of woes. Many minor Alcenian pretender kings held sway over the region and had heard of the horrors committed by the roaming Iniki warband. Even though the age of woes had long been over, these kings and their knights were not strangers to the beasts of the westerlands roaming the lowlands of Alcenia.
As yon-sur her warband finished claimed the granaries of another small village in their path, their scouts would report that a large mounted force was rushing their way, over three hundred armored knights riding swiftly across the roads towards the plumes of smoke and fire on the horizon.

---

---

Alcenian Planes, north of the world edge mountains, 57th Year of the Current Age

Name: Ragnar Smidr
Birthplace: Kal'Erundir
Age: 37 (very young for a dawi)
Race: Dawi (Dwarvish)
Gender: Male
Personality: Honorable, proud, Inquisitive, Loyal, dedicated
Appearence: A stern face and clear hazel coloured eyes portray an image of wisdom and strength. long black hair is swept back and kept in check by thick, strong braids. His built is strong, due to decades of training with the Erundir guard and working at the forges.
Affiliation: Kal'Erundir.
Role/Rank: Crown Prince
Special Items:
* A thick, gold and metal reinforced (shortened) copy of the codex Erundir, chained to his belt as a near religious tome of signifcance.
* A letter from the high king, detailing a carté blance to complete his mission in name of Kal'erundir

Equipment:
* Ragnar's plate armor, forged by Ragnar himself to prove to his father and his educators that he had become a master at the smithing craft at an extremly young age. The plate fits him perfectly and thick chainmail covers any gap in the armor and offers a second layer of defense under his plate, allowing him decent mobility whilst protecting him from all but the most brutal of attacks.
* Ragnar's Battle-axe, The weapon ragnar forged for himself is a hulking 2-handed battleaxe, with a thick, long axe head, forged with hollow sections to eleviate the weight of the weapon, On the opposite end of the axe-blade, a long, sharp pick is mounted to combat any heavy armor the axe might not be able to cleave through.
* A thick dwarvish Sword
* An Elvish dagger
* A hardned, metal lined shield
* A heavy dwarvish crosshow
* A vast hulking warboar. A hulking, brutal creature, partially covered in thick armor used to traverse long distances and occationall to charge an enemy
* Various travelling gear
Strengths: Hand to hand combat, Metalworking, forging, a strong knowledge of engineering, a slight knowledge of magical theory, economist, dwarvish diplomacy, etc
Weaknesses: Speed, Compassion, patience, jealosuy, etc
Biography:
Ragnar is a young dwarf by all standards. His beard is short, he has yet to earn his first braid, which makes it difficult to earn respect with other dawi, due to the obvious nature of his youth. Although within the halls of Kal'Erundir, his skill with in battle and with the forge is well known to that of a prodigy. Many dawi look at the boy and already see the makings of a worthy high king. But Ragnar, already having the curse of grand ambitions refuses to be but a good high king. He wishes to become a legend. After convincing his father, he has set out on a grand expedition to the known world, not only to bring back the knowledge to uplift their kingdom to utter greatness, but to truly make Kal'Erundir the seat of the king amongst dwarvish kings.

---

Name: Egil Frilur
Birthplace: Kal'Erundir
Age: 87
Race: Dawi (Dwarvish)
Gender: Male
Personality: Loyal, dedicated, Intelligent, Obsessive, asocial
Appearence: Egil has a thick, brown beard with a long, single braid. His face is allmost allways adorned with a foreign monicle, in order to aid him to read the meriad of tomes he carries with him. Brown hair, dark blue eyes.
Affiliation: Kal'Erundir.
Role/Rank: Master rank in the blacksmithing guild
Special Items:
* A series of foreign tomes on all sorts of technical, engineering and even magical theory and applications.
* A series of books of his own scripture, to aid him in translating foreign languages, incomplete.

Equipment:
* Dwarvish Plate armor
* Dwarvish Warhammer -2 handed
* Dwarvish Battle-axe
* Dwarvish Dagger
* A hardened, metal lined shield
* A vast hulking warboar. A hulking, brutal creature, partially covered in thick armor used to traverse long distances and occationall to charge an enemy
* To be cont.
* A large cart pulled by a domesticated great-boar. The cart holds all sorts of tools and trinkets for engineering and smithing work
Strengths: Smithing, Engineering knowledge, basics of magical theory,
Weaknesses: Speed, etc,
Biography:
Egil was in his younger years a master smith, forging weapons and armor for noblemen and earning a small fortune in doing such. But knowing his mastership of his craft was hampered by the knowledge of metalworking and engineering present in his hold, he spent decades learning the craft of engineering and construction, attempting to design forges that would allow him to experiment with other metals and alloys to perfect his craft and earn his place amongst the greatest of his ancestors. When the knowledge of contemporary engineering failed to satisfy his wishes, he turned to enigmatic magic to furfill his needs, but so little knowledge is present in the Kal'Erundir that he feels limited by his continued stay in the dawi capital. When Ragnar smidr announced his expidition, Egil was swift to provide nearly his entire fortune to aid fund the expedition for the sole promise of joining it, if only to visit the far flung lands of the world and learn their knowledge. As they left on their expedition, Egil swore he would not return until he had gathered enough knowledge to create a guild of engineering so powerful, that dawi engineering and construction would be the envy of the world for the next thousand years.

The travel into the Alcenian plane from the Mithril peak mountains was largely uneventful. Outside of the minor roaming green-skin bands that attempted to survive on the cold slopes of the mountains, the paths leading unto the vast Alcenian plane of fields, rolling hills and rivers were well guarded by many towers, hidden traps and dozens of dwarven rangers who knew each path and cave in the expanse of the Mithril peak mountains. Once the party of the dawi prince, Ragnar Smidr left their mountain, they walked the same path as their traders did each season as they sold their wares of ale and metal, recieving grain and coin in return.

The villages and hamlets along the way welcomed the convoy of three hundred dawi, warriors, engineers and followers alike. marching in sprawling column, by cart, great-boar and goat. They spend vast amounts of dwarvish coin along the way, purchasing safe travel, food, water and ale to ensure they would reach the world edge mountains safely.

[Ralnis]

Eastern Border, Iniki Lands

Vasara was one of the youngest diplomats amongst the goblins, and one of their few female diplomats, but with so many dispatched to other lands she was the most experienced diplomat left with skill in Imperial tongue.

The 22 year old lifted a hand to halt to convoy as she saw the little horde assembling. The small group spread out. To Vasara's right was the banner carrier and two guards, with the young she-goblin diviner Mirksi and one more guard on her left. The band of six watched the horde of cat folk with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

"What strange looking creatures" said the 16 year old Mirksi, addressing Vasara in Goblindygook.

"Indeed" said Vasara, also in Goblindygook. "And yet they held back the beats, so they must have some skill in battle. Wait here, Kantrybė ride with me".

The diplomat and banner carrier advanced from the other four, the banner carrier holding the sheepskin banner high. Once they had neared the cat-folk, Vasara dismounted from her direwolf, extended her arms in the traditional gesture of peace. In her heavily accented Imperial she said, "Greetings to you great warriors, I am Vasara, emissary of Greitas the cunning, Didyis Vadas of the Goblins of Wolf Forest. I come offering good terms with the great warriors of the west. Who amongst you great warriors is your leader?"

The Iniki talked to each other but what seemed like a bunch of cats meowing to each other in different tones. In a few minutes of constant meowing, a more, civilized Iniki came up from the horde. She was larger than one of the males but smaller than the warriors who were on the frontline and had more feral looks.

She had piercings on her ears as she bowed to the she-Goblin.

" Hello Wolf-Greenskin Vasara." She spoke in a very thick Imperial that sounded more like a cat meowing than anything," my name is Mayor Xuxi and this is the frontier town of Hall. You have come to the Tynoki Nyai Iniki and I ask what are you and why your here."

Yon-Sur's Warband

The village burned, like so many others in the Warmatron's path. The militia garrisons were all dead and being chopped up for food as the granaries and loot were being put on their mounts as they find and kill the rest of the people. One of the village people tried to hide from a squad of Brave Coats but saw one of the Prowlers kicked them out from the hiding place and meowed for the rest that came with sharpen steel and hungry eyes.

Yon-Sur was on top of a building that wasn't on fire yet to get a good picture of the range that they had to continue to the Mountains the Prowlers said that the trial was there. However, the same scouts reported the sound of galloping thunder, platmail clinging together. It didn't hit her till it was too late.

Tribals were caught off guard as they were chasing or eating on a human corpse as one was skewered by a knight's pike or fling up in the sky as horses ran over them with their hooves.

" Human Knights!" One of the Brave Coats meowed and ran to get his spear.

Yon-Sur saw it, nobles on horseback with the passion to right the wrongs of the crazed cats. The death of Tribals and those injured had struck a cord to the arrogant humans who think they could get in their way. She channeled magic through her staff and hit it on the ground to amplify her voice to every Iniki.

" Regroup!" The War-matron yelled through the ebbs of magic.

The Tribals stopped what they were doing and fled from the initial charge as they shook off the attack but they some didn't truly hear as they were more hungry and trying to capture humans to eat. The Knights pressed on their mounted assault as they manage to inflict more casualties but the tables soon turned.

Yon-Sur shot a magical paralysis bolt at the supposed leader that rode on and knocked him off his horse. She then yelled at her second and the Iniki had turned like a small tide against the knights. Whatever initial mindset was lost when fighting such small creatures who couldn't stand up against true warriors of the gods was lost.

Tribals came at all sides, arrows came from all over with knights being pulled off from their horses or their horses being killed in a tide of crazed cat creatures. Some knights manage to get through the swarm as dozens of their brothers-in-arms and their leader had either been taken prisoner or killed along with their steeds.

Yon-Sur meowed for the riders to go after them but they were too far away. This was bad as her knowledge of Humans usually means that bad things were beginning to come but she had to be sure. The casualties were minor and could be healed but the dead had to be given burial by custom. However, the capture of minor nobles meant that they could understand what the was coming after the warband.

They moved away from the village after they gathered the looted food, man and horse-flesh that can serve for food on the long road. As the moon got high, Yon-Sur and her second stood with the tide and beaten captured knights. The two White Fur's staffs glowed and leaked foul magic as some started to make alchemical potions.

" Now Human," Yon-Sur growled in a thick Imperial," you will tell me who hired you, what army you come from, and how close are they. I don't expect you to talk willingly, I expect you to defend so then I can make you beg for the death that surrounds you."

She cast a spell on the leader and started to shock one of the knights as his skin started to smell good to the Warmatron.

" Now, talk, for your time is running short and I will have my answers one way or another."

1200 Iniki Tribals
Yon-Sur: powerful mage, rides on a Leashfiend
Minded Wei-xei: Mage second, rides on a Leashfiend
600 Brave Coats
100 Prowlers
50 Night Eyes
200 Tamers on Bigurz
250 Striped Knuckles