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PostPosted: Mon Jan 29, 2018 7:25 am
by Spindle
Councilship Complex
Ferial Tialle
Shi Tialle

The goblins' deliberation was short, and it ended with their diviner stepping forward and reaching out her hands. Hashiir responded wordlessly, stepping forwards and taking her hands in his. His eyes flickered shut for a moment, before both of the figures started to emit light: a soft, pulsing luminescence which shifted hue whenever Sereth thought he had a fix on exactly what colour it was. Running from one figure to the other, then back again in a constantly moving ribbon of light which would have been far more comforting had it not eventually started to peel away from the two figures. Thickening and twisting around them, it formed a slowly-growing cocoon of lambent fire around the two mages.

Without warning, the cocoon shifted into dozens of cards - some which Sereth recognised from the Deck, but more which were entirely alien to him. A rope, blood dripping from its countless writhing knots, a plague of locusts crawling over a convulsing, humanoid figure, a burning bridge made of nothing but polished bones, a shadow wielding a sword of purest light. The flashed by and past, a whirling band of motion and images and frozen tableaus which made no sense to his untrained eye - a tall, graceful figure swathed in holy incense squared off against a lumbering silhouette hefting an axe, a wolf howled wordlessly as a contraption of bronze and steel jerkily advanced on it, a cockroach burned as a murder of crows fell from the skies, flesh shedding from their bones. None, Sereth mused, looked like particularly good omens.

Then the cards changed their motion rapidly, stacking themselves into a deck which floated between the two magic-users. For a moment it simply hung there, before the magic washed out of the air with an audible snap. The aura around the two mages vanished, and Hashiir stepped back, blinked twice, and studied the still-floating deck for a moment. A small smile split his face, a flicker of lightning arcing between his teeth as he reached out slowly and grabbed the deck out of the air, flipping over the first card and letting it float there, in mid-air. Even from this far out, Sereth could make out the beetle-like shape etched onto its surface.

Hashiir laughed.

"I was expecting something...vague." He grinned, "This? This I can do work with. It's a full Deck, see, but not of Tialle style - it's Aspected all wrong for that. Not Aspected with your magic either, it's...something else. Something interesting."

"And did you learn anything?" Morog interjected.

"Oh, like you wouldn't believe." Hashiir agreed, "They're not lying to us."

"Very well then. Sekme, Great Diplomat of the Priezastis tribe, emissary of Greitas the Cunning, Vadas of the Gaisras clan, Didyis Vadas of the goblins of Wolf Forest - do you know where God of Chaos shall emerge into this world?"

Marching Column
Celin River

The army was slowly fording the river - oh so very slowly - the bhoerkaral lowing as they laboriously dragged the supply wagons through the churned-up muck and silt of the river. A thin line of infantry was slowly collapsing behind them, a wall of interlocking shields which dared any enemy to try and catch them off-guard. Not that they had received the barest hint of any enemy so far, of course, but that did nothing but make this a wonderful time for their hypothetical enemy to do horrible things to them. And with what scattered reports they had received - rumours more than reports, to be honest - said that they were going up against a cavalry-heavy force.

Kurush grunted to himself. This was going to be another one of those campaigns.

"A problem, mage?" Thal-Jarnden asked, the hunchbacked Kobold glancing up from her ever-present map scrolls.

"Not yet." Kurush sighed, "But I don't like any of this."

"We have dealt with warriors of the horse before." Thal-Jarnden shrugged, "And is it not our duty to provide the near-vulnerables with protection?"

"We want a buffer zone before they arrive in our own cities." Kurush snorted, "Duty plays very little into it."

"A outlook of cynicism to take, mage."

"That doesn't sound like you're refuting me, Priestess."

The kobold chittered to herself, but said nothing more. Kurush likewise lapsed into silence as he watched a bhoerkaral stumble in the muck, the wagon tilting for a moment before it regained its balance and ploughed onwards. An omen, perhaps - Kurush had never possessed Hasiir's talent for divination. It had always seemed too much like guesswork, twanging a strand of the spider's web and praying that the spider would flee instead of biting. No, for him had always been the tried-and-tested method of grabbing a broom and sweeping the spider away.

"Such morose expressions sit ill on a face such as yours, mage." A voice came, and Kurush glanced up to see Nuriene ambling towards him. The half-dwarf was grinning again, a gesture which always sent shivers up the mage's spine. Magic was one thing, but at least a grinning mage would only kill the people he wanted to. A grinning sapper was a threat to anyone and everyone within half a mile. And when that sapper was Nuriene, Kurush extended that threat radius still further. He'd seen her shear a mountain-face clean off before.

"Such a frenzied expression sits ill on yours, sapper."

She grimaced.

"Does it not intrigue you, at the very least?"

"I have long since learned to never be intrigued by a sapper." Kurush sighed, "What is it you want?"

"Well, you know how Mahatats died of sepsis last night?"

"I was not aware of this." Kurush rumbled, "I was never fortunate enough to meet her."

"Fortunate's a funny word to use." Nuriene reflected, "But you know her horse is still alive?"

"I could have assumed that would have been the case, yes."

"Well, she's gone and given it to me."

"I can assure you, my nightmares have enough material without you adding to them."

"And I've actually got some ideas for how to use it." Nuriene ploughed onwards, ignoring the half-giant's comments, "So I'd like to keep it."

"I'm not in a position to say anything on that matter." Kurush sighed, shoulders heaving like a mountain range, "Ask Thal-Jarnden for this boon."

"I can provide no such gift-boon." Thal-Jarnden interrupted, "She is my equal in the eyes of our Lady."

Kurush glanced between the two for a moment, before sighing and nodding slowly.

"Of course." He sighed after a moment. Keruli's cult was more complex than he cared to consider.

"You can have the horse, Nuriene. No, don't tell me what you have in mind - I don't want to know."

"My greatest thanks, mage." The half-dwarf grinned, mock-bowing before scampering off, calling over shoulder: "You won't regret this!"

There was a moment of silence as she left before Kurush glanced to Thal-Jarnden.

"We're going to lose a battalion before the sun comes up." He predicted. The kobold simply chittered to herself at that. Behind them, the last of the rearguard had forded the river and were now forming up once more to continue the march. Ahead, he could already see a cloud of dust as the first ranging-battalion began to spread across their path, their Triasse no doubt spreading out in front of them. It was a procedure the Seventh Army had grown used to, from their time combating the tribes which circled and stalked Shai Tialle from the outside and the monstrosities which lurked within the borders.

Seventh Army, Kurush mused. Two thousand infantry, six hundred Triasse, roughly the same number of sappers and three mages of varying ability. It was a not-insignificant deployment of force, for an enemy they knew nearly nothing about. With any luck, the locals would help them to develop a more defined picture of the enemy's size and true composition, but it was more than likely that they would have to perform their own forms of reconnaissance when they entered the true theatre of operations. The thought of traditional Tialle scouting against an unknown but highly mobile force sent chills running down his spine.

Then he thought of Nuriene on a horse and the chills redoubled.

PostPosted: Mon Jan 29, 2018 8:21 am
by New Socialist South Africa
Councilship Complex, Ferial Tialle, Shi Tialle

Akys stepped back, breathless and looking around with a mixture of wonder and confusion. The goblin guards looked at her in mild shock. It wasn't every day they saw a goblin glowing.

“No” said Sekme shortly. “We don’t know when and we don’t know where”.

He shook his head sadly. “All we know is that it is coming, soon, and that we have to prepare. We need to gather what food and weapons we can now, to prepare to fight it when it comes. And that is why I am here, talking to you”. The goblin diplomat sighed heavily, the burden of his duty clearly weighing heavy on him.

Kingdom of Mercin

Scouts reported that some 500 to 600 light cavalry were scouting ahead. Such a force could be ripped to shreds by the much larger force of wolf riders, especially with their catfolk allies. But that would only work if the light cavalry stayed and fought them, rather than showing any sense and turning and fleeing if the wolf riders and catfolk tried to engage them. Even if the light cavalry would have been willing to stand, fight and die against such impossible odds, some would undoubtably escape, riding hard and fast back to their army and allies to warn them of what was to come. 600 light cavalry would also not prove a significant impediment to a force of hungry wolves if they did try to stop and hold them. Ultimately then, sending a force to defeat them, or wielding all the forces to defeat them, would simply delay the raiding and kidnapping.

And so the Wolf riders and catfolk left them be, watching their movements with scouts but not attempting to meet them in the field. They instead focused all their energy on achieving the task at hand as slightly as the could. They raided and kidnapped during the day by the light of the sun, and at night with the aid of the catfolk’s eyes and the noses and ears of the wolves, making it difficult to track the force at night as they wielded no torches.

The light cavalry scouts would be met only with destruction and sorrow, surviving villagers telling tales of a horde that struck swiftly and then moved on, taking food and children with them. A fire that strafed across the land swiftly and violently, taking its children day and night, and leaving as quickly as it arrived. Trying to kill every peasant to prevent such news would also have been folly, as inevitably one of two would have survived, and trying to would have wasted time. So the horde killed only those who stood in their way, and those who tried to stop them seizing the children and food in their lightning fast raid.

The plan was the same. Seize as many children as quick as possible, grab some food where it could be found, and then retreat south as fast as possible with the prize as quick as possible, before the real power of the enemy could be brought to bare.

The same warning ran clear however:

"The faster you chase, the faster we ride. The faster we ride, the less time we have to give water to the children. The less time we have to give water to the children, the more children die".

PostPosted: Mon Jan 29, 2018 8:27 am
by Ralnis
Kingdom of Mercin

Speed was crucial to Yon-Sur. The Iniki were fast, faster than most of the other races but still needed to be carried on their big cats. The dark shadow was able to keep the Warband's movements hidden. The Leashfiends were sent ahead of the Warband as their glow would give off the their presence. They knew it would be for the best as they can be find their way back to the Westernwood before their owners get there. It was better than not as the Iniki don't need to use torches and the night allows them to be aware better than in the daytime.

Yon-Sur hadn't put much faith in the Goblins as they carried their own children on the backs of Bigruz and with them. They weren't as heavy as good be but was nevertheless a task. Night-running was still refreshing to them and the Warband as they had to basically do a hard march to escape such a force that came up against them.

However, the speed of the Goblins was effective and fierce but Iniki fight with numbers at there backs, more so than any other nation could muster and could drown entire nations under their paws. That is, if they ever stopped fighting for food and breeding rights. Still, this scar on her spirit was small and her pride large to let this go by unchecked.

The plan was a workaround but Yon-Sur still had issues. Anything could happen and her Tribals needed some assurance before they buckle under the weight of fear. It didn't matter to Yon-Sur as she meows to them to keep going into the night and to push them. It was tough, but knowing that the rations can hold them over then they can make it.

The Third Realm

Sakoto had saw everything as she saw went through as an ethereal being through the Goblin Spiritual Plains. She saw things that the stories couldn't have mentioned. She used her power and started to raise her paws to the stars as she saw clearly what the red star was. It had the markings of a divine being, something that brought chills to her spine in both bodies.

"Sunaikintojas" She said as she looked at the red star as it started to form into a shape of a chaotic form but the sound of the diviner and the sound of a wolf the size of an elephant. It was in the higher realms as she started to sense something familiar looking at her in the trees and fog.

" The Jokai know about my presence. This is bad." She said to herself," but I have the message so we can go".

She went with the diviner back down beyond the Veil. As the White Fur started to gasp for air she ran to the envoy.

"Sunaikintojas, your god of chaos is trying to break through the Veil. For a being to try to do something like that is bad, bad as a deity of any might causes dangerous ebb and flow of magic in the world."

PostPosted: Mon Jan 29, 2018 9:17 am
by New Socialist South Africa
Just outside the frontier town of Hall, Iniki Lands

Mirksi's nose was bleeding. Blood trickling down her face and falling onto the ground. She wiped her nose and sat up on the grass as the goblins brought her some water and smoked deer meat to help her recover her strength.

"Jis dar nėra pabudęs. Bet greitai jis pabuds"

Vasara translated what the goblin diviner had said into Imperial. "She says he isn't awake yet, but soon he will awaken" she said.

She turned to Magi Sakoto. "We must prepare for his coming. We will need all of our combined strength when he comes".

PostPosted: Mon Jan 29, 2018 10:39 am
by Ralnis
New Socialist South Africa wrote:Just outside the frontier town of Hall, Iniki Lands

Mirksi's nose was bleeding. Blood trickling down her face and falling onto the ground. She wiped her nose and sat up on the grass as the goblins brought her some water and smoked deer meat to help her recover her strength.

"Jis dar nėra pabudęs. Bet greitai jis pabuds"

Vasara translated what the goblin diviner had said into Imperial. "She says he isn't awake yet, but soon he will awaken" she said.

She turned to Magi Sakoto. "We must prepare for his coming. We will need all of our combined strength when he comes".

"Well if there's one thing we Iniki have is numbers, don't know about strength." The Magi said.

"However, a god is powerful enough to pierce but would also require mortal power and ritual if I remember correctly." She started to feel woozy as she lean on her staff.

"See if there's anyone of your kind that worships chaos or that deity. That would wake it up quicker."

Her staff started to glow," I must relay this to my Mistress, the leader of our race. It would take time but I can share her the vision but its up to her if she wishes to interfere with matters of gods and their worshippers."


The news of Forest Goblins, Yon-Sur being an extremist without consent, and tales of a god coming were weighing on the mind of the Two-Eyed. She knew that a renagade warmatron already was making bad news on the Kingdoms of the Topside. Tribals don't eat those that they couldn't fight, like the beasts of the Westernwoods. Besides, normal Tribals don't eat corpses and were punished as it was against Jokai principles.

Still, the Forest Goblins intervening without prior notice was one that got to her coat. It would've been easier for Yon-Sur to fight in her eyes but now she would have to rally something in defense.

The dooms of Forest Goblins and there gods still were troubling and would require multiple warmothers and even her to gather a response against a divine threat. However with so many cats to spare, it would be months at least. Not to mention should Yon-Sur returns in one piece to be punished for her extremist actions.

The Divine Mage saw the message from the Star-Scryer from her magical cast. It was troubling that he had to prepare a response but she also saw a neighbouring ally that could also help in such a endeavor and to allow the Iniki to expand more.

Orcs lived west in mountains and fertile plains that overlook seas. Iniki never were known as seafaring cats but it was worth a shot. Prowlers were sent out to sniff out rumors in stealth that could be used to facilitate a deal with the orcs.

One in particular was that one chifetain was looking to conquer the others around and that was good as the Orcs had bee squating on looted weapons and food since the Age of Woes.

An envoy was sent out to the mountains to strike a deal that could help the chieftain and help the Iniki as well.

PostPosted: Mon Jan 29, 2018 1:34 pm
by Spindle
Mount Kel'urithier
Shi Tialle

The doors were far, far taller than even a giant, and wide enough that, were they open, a herd of bhoerkaral could stampede through in a single row without touching the sides. They were also, irksomely, closed, and as Nearid and Illinis gazed up at it, they realised it might just take a stampeding herd of bhoerkaral to breach those doors. Behind them, the rest of their team gazed up in awe at the doors before settling into defensive positions: the rat-folk had been persistent in their attacks on the ground, though a combination of choke points and rapid tactical evolution had kept them at bay thus far.

Still, it payed to be prepared for anything.

"Ready to blow this sucker open?" Nearid asked.

"I suspect that collateral incurred by such an approach would prove...expensive."

Nearid grinned at that, slinging her pack off of her back and pulling out a demonsbane.

"We are not using that in here."

"You got any better ideas?"

"I have ideas which don't involve one hundred percent mortality."

"Y'know, using big words don't impress me."

"And killing the entirety of your unit doesn't impress me." Illinis shot back, "Now hush. I have work to do."

With that the elf's fingers started to run over the stone, tracing the seam with fingers flashing in and out of pockmarks and eroded whorls and swirls in the carved stone. Nearid watched the elf for a few moments, before sighing and stuffing the demonsbane back into her bag and swinging it back onto her back. Muttering under her breath, the goblin sat back and experimentally drew and hefted her sword. She doubted it would make much of a dent in that wall, but she wasn't going to just sit still while someone else had all of the fun. And this was definitely going to be fun.

From her own pack, Illinis drew a melter and worked it into the gap between the two slabs of stone. Alternating between squatting and standing, peering into the crack between the doors the whole time. A pair of leather gloves went on, a wax seal was attached to the munition and one of the acid-droppers let liquid drip down onto the seal. Straightening up, Illinis rolled her shoulders and glanced out at the other soldiers. They were quite hurriedly advancing back down the tunnel they'd arrived from, the muted sounds of battle reverberating from up ahead. Sprinting for the tunnel, Nearid behind her, Illinis span around and unslung her shield.

"Melter in fifteen!"

The press of Tialle soldiers redoubled their efforts to push up the tunnel.


The heavy twang of a crossbow bolt echoed down the corridor, and the press surged forward once more.


One of the regular infantrymen pushed past the two sappers and planted his full-body shield in the tunnel entrance.


There was a wet splat, and a rough line of viscous liquid sprayed from the crack between the doors. Immediately, the stone began to corrode, pitting and roughing underneath the none-too gentle ministrations of the acid. Step by step, the Tialle soldiers managed to pull back out of the tunnel, taking a possibly over-exaggerated degree of care around the acid as it continued to eat a rough groove into the floor. The first few rat-folk to pour out of the tunnel's blackness weren't so careful, and found themselves rapidly writhing on the floor. The next few dozen were more careful, and the antechamber rapidly became filled with the sounds of combat.

Illinis loosed her crossbow directly into the chest of a charging rat-folk, the quarrel sending it sprawling to the floor, before slinging the device back over her shoulder and drawing her sword. A rat-tailed creature with what appeared to be an extra limb jutting from its back snarled, chittered something and leaped towards her. Half-stepping to one side, she stop-thrust into the abomination, sword crunching through bone in a spray of viscera. Pulling the blade free, the corpse falling to the floor with a soft thud before pivoting on one foot and slashing across the face of a third ratman. It clawed at its eyes and reeled backwards before Illinis shoulder-barged them back, drew up the range and lunged in with another stab. Clawed hands clutched at a weeping throat, and Illinis was clear of the fighting.

Opposite her, Nearid was ducking and weaving like a thing possessed, wielding her sword more like a dagger than anything else. A pair of ratfolk advanced on her from either side, jabbing spears at her. For a moment she was stymied, before ducking in under one's guard, shortsword flickering out to snick into the first enemy's hip, a buckler slamming into his face and sending a spray of blood from its nose. As it staggered backwards, the sapper span on one foot and pushed the next swing of the spear aside, stepping in and burying her blade into the next goblin's gut. Pulling the blade upwards, loops of viscera spilling from the opened torso, Nearid pushed the rat-man to the floor and turned, blade slashing out as her first opponent tried to rush her. Blood sprayed, tendons snapped, and the rat-folk collapsed to the ground.

And then it was over, the last enemy falling to the floor as the stone doors slowly grated open. The remaining soldiers glanced up towards it, back towards the tunnel, then started to jog towards it.

Councilship Complex
Ferial Tialle
Shi Tialle

Morog nodded gravely, lips thinning for a moment as he considered the goblin's words. Sereth had a pretty good idea of what was going through the Councillor's mind - an enemy with no clearly defined borders - as of yet, anyway - who could appear in force in any place, at any time? It was far from a threat which was simple to counter, or even prepare for. Or, for that matter, consider. It wasn't like the attacks of beasts and even demons - random, directionless, without focus - yet it was also formless, unlike the tangible enemy a true nation could present.

Sereth could see all this flash through the half-giant's eyes. Then there was simple contemplation.

"And as we prepare, let us strike preemptively - or at least, anticipate how our enemy could strike. The Cult of Chaos."

Hashiir drew a sharp breath at that. Morog ignored it.

"The mortal manifestation of the Fourth Throne's power - within the Southerlands, at least. Illegal, of course, but I suspect that means little. We shall see what can be done for rooting it out, and see if there is any pattern to be found within their corruption which could hint to our enemy's initial objectives upon his descent to this world. I would suggest you do the same. Beyond that - there are few sites consecrated to the Fourth Throne, but we can always prepare them for an arrival. And I suspect a new Deck opens up an entirely new realm of possibilities for anticipation. Would you be pleased to leave Akys with us when you leave? We would teach her of our magic, in return for what she knows of hers."

PostPosted: Mon Jan 29, 2018 2:29 pm
by New Socialist South Africa
Councilship Complex, Ferial Tialle, Shi Tialle

Sekme nodded. "We shall see what we can do in rooting out and destroying the sixth clan. It has been centuries since they last had real influence, but I have heard some rumours of them beginning to try regroup their power and develop their foul cult".

"As to the question of Akys staying behind" said Sekme, "we shall need her amongst our delegation when we go to talk with the dwarves of Kal'Erudir. I will speak to her of the potential of coming and joining you here on our journey back south. It could indeed be wise to share our magical knowledges with one another. I will need to leave a goblin amongst my group with some more competency in Imperial behind, as I am afraid Akys's Imperial is very limited".

Sekme cleared his throat. "It could indeed also be wise to share our weapons of war for the coming war. We would be better suited to fight the demons that are to come if we were equipped with the steel weapons of your nation. The fine spear heads and arrow heads of your people, in goblin hands. Indeed, if possible, the fire weapons you posses could prove invaluable against the evil one and his hordes. In return of course we would offer the poisons developed by our goblin folk, crafted from the venoms of the beasts and plants of our forest. Such poisons, equipped on your fine weapons could waylay any demons that ride against you. Even a small cut of slash could steadily reduce the demon from a deadly fighting monstrosity to a beast tormented by pain, unable to fight and begging for release from his pain".

PostPosted: Mon Jan 29, 2018 2:38 pm
by Hallimas Islands
Thukrar then said in Grimmr-Thung, "Aye, dear Homor... I sympathise with you. However, I do think this should be discussed at a later date, I have not forgotten your situation. I pray, sir, you shall bear with me until we finish this." He then addressed the emissaries, "So, to summarise... The Great Western Alliance has been formed, in which our three great nations shall ally with eachother to ensure safety for our peoples and to work in eachother's interests economically and militarily. I shall secede direct rule over the straits into the Great Inner Sea to the Basilea and Low King Chemkar Uldoril shall carry out trading expeditions to the Basilea while rebuilding the Dwarvish Navy. The Orderland Dwarves, displaced by the Command of the Elders shall have all permission to return to the land of their grandfathers and great-grandfathers, the Orderlands of Röken shall aid in an infrastructural project to rebuild the Alcenian Highways and our two nations shall engage in trade with low tarriffs. Unless you have something else to propose, I believe this shall be it. Let us call this the Treaty of Haldomor-Khal."

The High Chamberlain wrote all this down in a corner and placed the High King's seal. He copied it in Grimmr-Thung and Old Alcenian, as the Dwarves haven't learnt the new speech. He made three copies for each nation and placed the High King's seal and signature. The Low Kings approved and the Clergy approved of all the terms. Thukrar sighed, it was almost over. The Council had been productive and now we have connections to the outside world and a secure alliance with two of our neighbours. He pondered on Haldor's outbreak. Haldor was now a threat to his rule and luckily his foolishness revealed to him that he has a new group of Nobles and some Low Kings. Thukrar must now be careful. He breathed in and looked at the two emissaries before exhaling.

The High Priest then stood, "Dear Princess-Ambassador Judith... May I speak to you on the matter of religion. I have been studying your words and you have on multiple times talked of 'The One Above All Thrones', is this 'One' monotheistic. If so, then we may have a connection between out religions as we have one God, whose name is Mahshemkat-Khul-de-Grimmr and perhaps we may have a synod with your Priests and Theologians on the nature of monotheism as many other nations, I've found remain polytheistic."

PostPosted: Mon Jan 29, 2018 3:04 pm
by Dragos Bee
Hallimas Islands wrote:The High Priest then stood, "Dear Princess-Ambassador Judith... May I speak to you on the matter of religion. I have been studying your words and you have on multiple times talked of 'The One Above All Thrones', is this 'One' monotheistic. If so, then we may have a connection between out religions as we have one God, whose name is Mahshemkat-Khul-de-Grimmr and perhaps we may have a synod with your Priests and Theologians on the nature of monotheism as many other nations, I've found remain polytheistic."

The Basilea

As Judith took her copy of the treaty, she genuinely hoped that the High King would turn to his own nation's security; his interests were now theirs', after all. At the sound of the High Priest's voice, the Princess-Ambassador nodded and continued, "Indeed; the Basilea believes in One God, all-powerful and generous, but not necessarily always benevolent though he has the best interests of the Universe at heart. The One Above All Thrones forever is the eldest being to be worshipped by humans and other thinking creatures, and so the only legitimate being to be worshipped. All meaning and identity is derived from him and him alone."

A pause, "So yes, I agree with your suggestion of a synod, held some time in the future."

PostPosted: Mon Jan 29, 2018 4:36 pm
by Tysklandia
Summer of the 57th Year of the current age

As spring gives way to summer, the seers speak once more of visions, blood spills on the surface, seeping into the already saturated soil. but drops compared to what could be to come. An age of strife, of betrayal, or murder.
Fire licks at the feet of the ambitious, of those who claim to be righteous. Beware, or be consumed by it.


The port city of Vindelicorum was once a vast sprawling metropolis during the height of the empire. Sitting at the crossroads of a vast goldmine and the heart of the empire, it housed the royal mint for centuries. Througout the years, it became a booming centre of Imperial culture and trade.

Like most things from the past, however, this could not last... Its vast walls, circling the vast city once sat in pristine condition, its sister wall now decrepit and crumbling, the series of watchtower ancient and in dire need of repair... Many sections of the city sit abandoned, home to squatters and thieves, even crafty goblins sometimes make the outskirts and dark underground of the city its home. But through all this squalor, it remains a beacon of hope for the Alcenian people.
Trade ships still leave and enter its vast ports daily, selling and producing everything from pottery to warships. Its ship sail the known world, trading with all who accept their wares as if the quest to feed the markets of Vindelicorum has become a sacred quest to bring the city to life once again.

But with the victory of Legio IX over the rebels of Ronmar, the Senate had enough respite to begin the 6th Expedition... The 6th attempt to grow the republic and bring it the coin it needed. The coin masters and the Senate had a plan... A plan to have the city endure a rebirth of commerce, of wealth, of power, of influence. And with that city reborn, the light of the Alcenian republic would illuminate and protect the path of man once again.

Today marks the day in which the republic begins its gamble.

Lucania Minor - Legio IX

The 9th Legion, one of the only two legions of which the banners survived the age of woes, stood in front of their greatest shame and their greatest challange. The mountains of Brundar, once home to the goldmines that fed the vast Alcenian empire, now home to various greenskin warlords and even rumoured to house sleeping dragons, content to rest in mountains filled with gold... They had tried to conquer this mountain more times than any legionnaire of the 9th dared to admit. Today, they would try again.

As the legion lined in their formation, the orcs descended from their mountain. Thousands rushing down in a frothing horde, each carrying their own ambition. For even though the 9th had failed to take their mountain many times over, the greenskins had never managed to claim the legion its banner. Orc warlords promised swaths of concubines, body weights in gold and much more for any orc who could retrieve it. This ensured that the green horde descended from the mountain, barely containing their glee as each clawed at each others throat, wishing to claim the Alcenian banner for itself.

The Alcenian cohorts stood in their checkered formation, the lines of archers and crossbowman scattered in between. The equites stood at the flanks, the horses breezing and restless, as even those beasts knew the day would be bloody.
As the 9th stood with their six thousand men, they saw over three times their number rush down the mountain slopes, charging towards them, smelling foul and of death. A green tide of flesh and crude metal. Their war horns and battle cries were left unanswered. The battle hardened men of the 9th knew their chances were slim. Their locked their shields and raised their spears, bracing themselves for a battle that seemed it would end like so many before it.


As the horde ran their final few meters, the legionnaires peaking over their shields to see arrows cutting into an endless sea of green horror, they locked eyes with the maddening greed and ambition of the Brundar orc. A golden shine coloured their eyes, the dwarven sickness, the Tilmus priests called it. Living in their sacked holds, craving their gold, hiding, protecting, glancing at an endless sea of wealth. It turned any man or beast insane, craving for more and more, wishing for such wealth no man could ever spend it... Swallowing any pitty for the greenskin monstor raising its blade, the legionnaires braced their spears and awaited impact as they leaned into their shields. one second...two seconds... three...

A moment of uncertainty... they heard cries of suprise, of horror, not the impact of metal and flesh unto their shields. Some peaked over their shields and saw... Others simply felt the wave of intense heat washing over their shields, fire licking at their heels. A sudden shadow swept overhead as a brutal roar erupted from the dragon's mouth, its wings flapped once more, as it hovered in front of the Alcenian battleline. A form, a young man attached to the massive creature by a vast leather vest that covered the beast its body. A moment passed with only the wind to break the silence, neither beast nor man knew how to react. But that moment of sudden surprise, of unbelief shattered as the Alcenian tilted back its head, as its belly glowed a dull, horrifying red and a blast of searing flame burnt green flesh from black bones. Two heavy clawed feet slammed into the ground, shaking even the trained legionnaires to their knees, the rest of the dragon followed as its front claws began to swipe and rend flesh and limb in a chaotic spree of death and destruction.

Then, through the chaotic miasma of noise, of greenskin fright, fear and doom, an Alcenian battlehorn sounded, sharp and deafening. The order to charge had been given. Some hesitated, other were still frozen in fear and unbelief, other felt their feet move as if sensing that this was the day, the day when the 9th undid itself of its greatest shame.

Straights of Castidia - Classis III.

The Fishermen still had no idea what had happened... They had been here, left alone for decades... Ever since the woods had become more safe and the elves had taken root their, they had been... Tranquil... Life was tough here, but they were far away from trouble, from armies, from knights, goblins and worse... So when at noon the past day, four vast warships grounded themselves next to the piers of their village. thick boots landed in the muddy shore and marched through their town, they did not unsheath their blade, nor did they threaten them... As they planted a large Alcenian flag in the center of town, A centurion simply told them that their land now belonged to the republic. As the elders began to object, more ships landed ashore, bringing more men. They began offloading wood, tools and brick, soon enough dozens if not hundreds of men toiled around the village, laying the groundwork of some construct or another.

The Centurion in command of the men shrugged off the elder their concerns. The villagers were promised coin, wealth, trade... Even A priest of Tilmus had entered the village along with the second landing and had offered her services as a healer to the elderly and the sick, a gift, even if smelling of bribery and extortion, accepted without much quarrel.

Not understanding their sudden appearence, the elders of the village suddenly remembered... Only a few months ago an alcenian merchant had sailed through their town, bartering and resting here for over a week. He had been seen walking the woods with his guards for days, bringing back notes and scribbled on paper... That merchant, he had invited that pest into his own house, broken bread with him... In return he had told his masters that he and the villages that rested on the Castidia straights were cutt off from the world, by the wood elves that let them be, if they did not venture too far into the woods... Knowing they were easy prey... It would be pointless to even try and resist... Their was nothing they could do...

War camp of Ealfred, king of Mercia

As the Iniki and their goblin allies rushed south, once again burning and murdering their path across the kingdom, Ealfred had taken his army in pursuit. Near the southern border, he had met with an old woman who bore a horrid warning...
His army encamped and waited for the two allies that had responded to his call for aid. As he encamped in the fields, the knightly armies of Kav were allowed to camp next to them, the Taille were requested to camp a bit further off, to lower the chaos of such a large camp... Although some would whisper that it was difficult for the men of Ealfred to break bread with the strange creatures that made the Shi'Taille. Ealfred wished to avoid conflict between his men, already angry and on a knife's edge and the strange warriors of the Taille cities.

In his war tent, which seemed spartan, Ealfred his bannermen stood in front of a table, that displayed a map of the Alcenian continent. The king was tired... Not from running, not from fighting... But of this cowardly, monsterous enemy... It just seemed that their was nothing he could do... He just couldn't catch them... As the leaders of the religious knights and the shi'Taille entered Ealfred, seemingly having aged a decade in but a few weeks, greeting them.

"Greetings my lords, I am king Ealfred of Mercin. The men here are my loyal banners... I thank you and my subjects thank you for coming to your aid. Now... you have heard of the message left behind by the goblins of the woods... I will be crude to you... If we let them escape, whatever stops them from returning? To raid again once we have turned our backs? I say we march on their forests and use the summer heat to burn their precious wood to ash. We will see where they will hide then... But I am not your king, so as equals I ask thé, what do you think?"

The Expedition of Ragnar Smidr - base of the world edge mountains

The route south had been uneventful, but expensive... Food, water and supplies had been cheap. Dwarven coin always fair well on the surface... But paying offing knights and lords for safe passage? Now that... That was expensive...
But still, the great-boars and goats of Ragnar his expedition had reached the mountain slopes of the world edge mountains without much issue. But Now began the true effort of the trip... Travelling the many mountain paths and finding any trace of the ancient city of Jurnmeir... The maps of Erundir were ancient and quakes, avalanches obstructed the normal paths... Further, into the mountains, snow would cause a similar issue... At this rate, it would still take weeks before Ragnar would find the entrance to Jurnmeir, knowing that, the boy-prince pressed onwards leading his expedition personally over the many dangerous mountain roads and passes.

The halls of Kal'Erundir - mithril peak mountains

The rumours of the sacking of the Alcenian lowlands had reached the ears of the Iron King, he had scoffed at the panic. Such minor raids were a yearly occurrence in the old age. Years of relative peace had made man complacent, weak and forgetful... The issue is that there were few reasons why the creatures of the Westerwoods would raid this far north. There were better feeding grounds closer to home, richer as well... The only worthwhile place on their path was the Shi'Taille or the mountain holds of Erundir itself... But with such a small war band, it seemed unthinkable... Only one option remained... The same rumour that had sparked his eldest son to travel south... The lost mountain city of Kal'Jurnmeir...

Fearing for both his son and the even more horribly thought of vile Westerwood creatures claiming the lost hold of Jurnmeir, the Dawi king called upon his men. Three thousand Dawi assembled in Kal'Erundir and prepared their march south. A host of dwarvish pike, axe, sword and hammer would smite any who dared claim their ancient cities for themselves.

Blackskin tribes - Nrumnir Mountains

As the Iniki approached the Nrumnir mountains, only ruins could be found on their path to the mountain. It seemed the Blackskin had long since destroyed anyone near their mountain fortresses. Perhaps that was why turned on themselves, a lack of a better adversaries to channel the rage inherent to the black skin orc.

As the adversaries would climb the mountain passes, they would find corpses, rotting, left to die. Images and proof of a never-ending conquest of supremacy that seemed to define life on this mountain. As the envoy seemed to pass halfway, they would be jumped by a possé of ten orcs, malnourished, ill-armed, tired, but vile, strong and ruthless. They would carve, cut, bite and rend with bare hands and old, dull blades. Should given the chance, they would feast on Iniki flesh in the middle of battle, seemingly gone insane by hunger.

PostPosted: Tue Jan 30, 2018 1:24 am
by Arvenia
Makara, Huline Confederacy
The capital of the Huline Confederacy was a little, yet sprawling, city on the island of Hulinto, inhabited by three societies: The Huline Confederacy (who dominates the whole island), the Republic of Vincalicorum (on the southeastern part of the island) and the tricky Cobrans (native to a land of desert on the western of the island). Makara was filled with trade, entertainment, hangout and debate. The Clan Assembly meets in the city anytime depending on situation. If it is quiet and not severe, meetings would be held annually.

Two male Cobrans took a look at the building where the Clan Assembly operates from. They have been planning something, but no one knows.

"Do you think the Clan Assembly would survive an attack by our people?", one of the two Cobrans asked.

"I don't think so", the other Cobran answered. "Our people fights better than those kittens who runs the Clan Assembly and this whole tribal confederacy."

"Eh, I failed on killing one Huline", the first Cobran said. "We wouldn't succeed that easily."

"We would, anyway", the other Cobran ensured. "Let's go." Both Cobrans then walked away.

PostPosted: Tue Jan 30, 2018 4:22 am
by Dragos Bee
The Basilea's Boy - Andreas Iagaris

The young man was clad in a silk tunic and robes, and accompanied by a set of bodyguards who carried the large axes of the Vigila; the guards of the Basileus. With a cherubic, black-haired and black-eyed face, he seemed naive; dependent on the dozen guards that surrounded him to inspire respect and deference. His age would further discourage thoughts of danger; he was only sixteen, the age of naievete.

The first sign that this boy was more than what he seemed was that he was walking towards Sophiapolis' Slave Market; one of the few areas in the commercial district that didn't see much use. At the gates of the market was a bronze plaque emblazoned with a reminder: At the end of every seven years, all in servitude, regardless of class and race; even Orcs and Beastfolk, must be set free. For The One Above All Thrones Forever commands that limits be placed on the ownership of one person by another, lest the owner grow corrupted by the power they hold.

A set of nods to acknowledge this, before the young man entered the bazaar where human beings were bought and sold, all in a state of humiliation and exhibition. No one stopped him; most citizens who were there bowed. The boy looked around, scanning the 'wares' without any trace of guilt and embrassment. There were men, and women, but no children; it was forbidden to place those under eighteen in servitude. He stopped in front of a stand that contained only one slave, a tall, lean, but well-muscled beardless redhead clad only in a leather collar and leg shackles. The auctioneer of this stand, a blond but swarthy man who wore a cap and dyed cotton robes, noticed his presence and spoke: "My Prince! How good of you to come! I guess you've received my message?"

Prince Andreas nodded as the slave being sold on the podium shifted his gaze towards his potential buyer - the Prince noticed he had been given a coating of oil and medicinal herbs that kept the sun from burning his skin and insects from biting him. That meant he was valuable indeed. "My father frowns on the buying and selling of human chattel, and dislikes my frequent trips here. But if you're selling the warrior I seek, then I'll risk his wrath. Now," Prince Andreas leaned closer to the approaching auctioneer, "Is he the warrior I seek?"

The auctioneer adopted a tone of mock injury, attempting to amuse his customer: "Why, would I lie to you?! You're the heir to the Basilea itself, it's soon-to-be figurehead!"

The Prince smiled, and the slave can only look curiously as he and the auctioneer started a quick flurry of negotiations, in which Prince Andreas ended up giving the auctioneer twenty pieces of gold. He and his bodyguards then tossed a small roll of silken cloth at the slave, instructing him to wear it as a loincloth until new clothes can be provided. As the leg shackles were unlocked, the Prince would ask the slave: "What is your name?"

"Cymrian," the redhead said. "Cymrian of Gwynedd."

A nod from Prince Andreas, before the latter looked directly at the warrior-slave's eyes, and the latter suddenly jolted. Information flowed through the boy's mind; where exactly Gwynedd was, that Cymrian knew how to read and write, and his exact skills in weapons, armor, and horseback riding. He also found out that Cymrian had chosen to be enslaved, due to his knowledge that the Basilea's 'Jubilee' was in two years; five out of seven had already passed.

"You came to me, choosing to endure humiliation and degradation, to be reduced into an object even temporarily, just to meet me." It was the Prince's term to be quizzical. "I actually feel honored."

Cymrian nodded as he adjusted his new loincloth. "So it is true, what they say; you can read minds, at the very least. Are you a Mage?"

Prince Andreas shook his head. "No, I am a Psion; I have nothing to do with the Age of Sorrows and The Fall. Easy mistake to make. Now, follow me to the Grand Palace; the side entrances, to be exact. My father hates it when I bring new slaves..." A smirk, "...even when I free them afterwards."

This one can be kept on as a paid sellsword, at the very least. Perfect for the expedition I have planned.

PostPosted: Tue Jan 30, 2018 7:31 am
by Ralnis
Blackskin Tribes, Nrumnir Mountains

Near the abandoned fortress the Siamese-looking Iniki looked up at the impressive sight. It was bigger than anything the Docile had seen in his life and wished more of the "civilized" Iniki as they always been held up in their towns and Enderbright. However the claims were dismissed because of the news of Yon-Sur's zealot actions and the Alcerians would more than likely want to kill them than anything else. He felt somewhat calm as 30 Striped Knuckles followed in a disciplined line as the Knight Bannercat followed up the mountains and pass the ruins of former Orc tents and warcamps.

The Docile envoy started to fear what may be up the mountain but the Bannercat ensured him that her knights were more than capable in fighting through hungry and ill-equipped Orcs. It didn't seem to improve the envoys mood but it did get them moving up the slopes to the mountain fortress. As they made halfway up there, they were attacked by a pack of hungry orcs.

Ill-prepared, insane, but strong were the Blackskins as they charged a defending line of the Iniki's best. The large halberds and heavy two-handed weapons clashed with the brittle and broken blades. The Stripped Kunckles showed the orcs the folly of their choice as the expert monster slayers cleave through their enemies but some did get wounded with some light claw marks to their coat but it was nothing from the corpses of Blackskin that were cleaved in disciplined fashion.

The Stripped Knuckles did a check to everyone and made sure everyone was alright and continued their ascend to the mountain fortress.

PostPosted: Tue Jan 30, 2018 10:39 am
by New Socialist South Africa
Summer of the 57th Year since the end of the Age of Woes
Outskirts of Wolf Forest

After initially pursuing them, the enemy had seemed to stop and regroup, camping and waiting for their full force to rally, likely slowed in part by Greitas's warning. They kept a fast pace on their wolves however, riding day and night, in case the regrouping at the camp was just a ploy. The lack of a pursuit allowed them to halt occasionally to feed the children, their wolves and themselves however. They allowed the children to drink some water quick and chew on some of the food they had taken, doing so while still tied to the wolves, to prevent any escaping. They did not dare stop for long however, not until they reached the safety of the forest, and only did so atop a high hill where they could see if enemy riders were coming from a long way off.

Even with the lack of pursuit after a while, they rode hard, and made it in good time however. Soon were at the edge of the forest. The wolves howled in joy to see it, and the goblins cheering at the thought of rest. A small host of goblin archers and some of the wolf riders that had been unable to arrive in time lay camped just within the edge of the forest, watching the boundaries. They welcomed them with joy, and shared some rations with them as they heard their tales.

Greitas, exhausted and stinking of sweat from the long ride, still gave out his orders however. The second part of the plan could now take effect. “Feed the children and give them water, but do not cut them from your wolves yet. Take Uolinis Kanjonas" he commanded to the exhausted riders. “The path south through the trees now is not too fa now, but lies deep enough that our foes will not find it easily. Ride slowly and feed the children again when you get there, but do not release them from their bonds yet”.

He selected some of the riders that had been watching the boundary, their wolves still fresh and riders not exhausted. ”Have some riders send word to Mother Daryiti. Tell her to bring her host north to Uolinis Kanjonas, and to bring berries, food and water, both for us and the children. I want them well fed and well treated, but to have a close eye kept of them unless they try to escape. Once her host arrives, we will cut their bonds and release them from the wolves, but take them and keep them in the caves of Uolinis Kanjonas for now, to keep them contained and rom trying to run away. I want you to help keep scouts just within the edge of the forest, and to send word that I want wolf rider scouts on all the edges of the forest. The men will not just surrender their children to us. Retreat your riders when they come, and do not engage, but send word to us at Uolinis Kanjonas when they do”.

“Yes my Vadas” said the rider with a nod, and dispatched some of his fresh riders to carry the news

He dismounted, and turned to the captive from Mercia he had carried so far south with him, a little girl of about eight years old, who had fled before the riders as they rode into one of the first villages they raided.

He carefully cut her down from the wolf, and removed the gag, giving her water and some smoked deer meat from his personal supply. She looked at him in fear, but accepted the food and water quickly and consumed it quick, as she was parched and starving. Despite the significant age gap, the goblin was only a little taller than the girl, given the short height of goblins in general.

”What is you name dear?" he asked, in thickly accented Imperial.

“Annis” she said, staring fearfully at the goblin.

“And who are your parents Annis?”

The girl began to cry.

“My mommy's name is Cathryn, I don’t know whether she is alive or not anymore. She was hiding my brothers and sisters when you came. I should never have run off. I just heard the sounds of riding and thought the knights were coming back. I wanted to ask them if my daddy was alive”.

“And who is your daddy Annis?”

“His name is Boden, he went away to go fight you, and took granddad's old sword. Mommy said he should stay and watch the farm, but he said he would go and fight to protect us. He promised to come back home though. I promise to tell him not to attack you if you let me go. I promise to tell them to go home if you just let me go”.

She was still crying. “Oh I will let you go Annis” he said, calmly stroking her hair.

“Really?” she asked, looking up hopefully from behind her tears and long hair.

“Yes” said Greitas. “But I’ll give you a choice. You can run off now and run back to them alone, and leave all your friends here. Or, you can work with me, and we’ll make a plan together to ensure you and all your friends and all the children get to go home free together. What would you prefer?”

The little girl thought for a long moment, looking like she seriously considered the first option, blinking away her tears. “I want us all to go home free” she said finally, wiping her eyes.

“Good girl” he said with a smile. “Now here is what we are going to do. I am going to leave you with my friend Dovana here and four other riders. I have known Dovana all my life, and trust her with my life too. She speaks a little Imperial, so the two of you can get to know one another. You are going to go with her a little into the forest, and when your father and all the rest come, Dovana is going to send you out to them to give them a message".

“What message?” she asked. He leant forward and whispered it in her ear.

“Did you get all that?” he asked her.

“Yes” she said, nodding.

“It is vital that you remember it Annis, and that you tell them it exactly as I explained it" he said. “If you do that, and if your father and the King do as you tell them, then all your friends can be saved. Are you up to it Annis?”

“Yes” she said again, nodding vigorously.

“What a brave little girl you are” he said, and bent slightly to hug her. Seeing that goblins are quite short anyway, he didn’t have to bend far.

He went over and explained the plan to Dovana, and the two goblins swapped captives, with the little boy Dovana had been transporting cut off from her wolf, given some food and water, and then tied to the back of Greitas’s wolf. He explained the plan quickly and briefly to Dovana, and the she-goblin nodded.

Greitas introduced the two. “Annis, this is my friend Dovana I was telling you about. Dovana, this brave little girl here is Annis”.

“Please I meet you” said Dovana, in broken and very heavily accented Imperial, and hugged the little girl.

“Dovana will look after you and keep you safe, and if you tell your father and the king what I have asked you to, and they listen, then all the children will be safe soon. Good luck Annis, the lives of so many depend on you. I hope you will make me proud”.

Annis nodded, and watched as Greitas got back on his wolf and rode off.

“Come with us Annis” said Dovana, indication the four other fresh riders assigned to look after the little girl. “We go together to Senas Ąžuolas, we get you berries there”. Dovana did not bother to tie the girl to the back of the wolf anymore, she simply gave er weapons to the other riders to carry for now, and had the little girl hold onto her back as they rode slowly off for the quiet spot, awaiting the reports from the scouts of the coming of the enemy forces.

PostPosted: Tue Jan 30, 2018 10:55 am
by Greater Dmanian
Kingdom of Otrea
The City of Famont
King Herman

The King hunched over on his wooden chair resting his head on his fist as he watched the proceedings of the noble council. He was not traditionally expected to be present at such proceedings, a tradition seemingly held by the odd noble who would throw a worried glance his way before speaking. He locked eyes with the Duke of Duthany who held an icy stare before breaking it to turn back to the meeting, he cleared his throat before speaking.
"My Lords, I wish to bring forward a matter that has become increasingly central to many of us in the Northern reaches of the Kingdom, taxation." as he paused the King surveyed the room noting the nodding heads of some of his vassals, his eyes focused back on the bold Duke as he continued, "Our ports are filled to the brim with merchant ships, the vile Sea Goblins have been driven from our waters and yet our vaults are barren of coin!" he cried as a number of the men at the table voiced their approval, the most vocal being the Duke of Dewford whose once backwater fishing town of Dewham was now a bustling port city, the largest in the Kingdom.

"You may wonder, where does our coin go? Why to the King of course so that he may prop up a city that has not seen a foreign ship in it's waters since the Imperials sailed out of it!" The Duke's voice growing in fever as he continued. Herman's lips thinned as he listened, there was some truth to his words, the capital had long struggled to attract merchants from states like Vindelicorum who preferred to dock at the closer Northern ports and with the continent either anti-human or too scattered to form reliable trade partners there had been hardship. It was known that only the status of Famont as a trading hub on the Island with almost every road connected to it that prevented bankruptcy.

The King went to address the Duke when those loyal to him angrily moved to defend their King, "You'd have more bloody coin if you spent less on that knife eared whore you parade around!" barked a man in Otrean Imperial, the tongue of commoners. The room erupted in fury as the words hit home, cups were spilt as outraged nobles stood up in indignity. The king hid a thin smile behind his hand, appearing to be sitting patiently for decorum. The Duke of Genad was an imposing man, raised on the wind and wave battered Eastern Coast he was a stark contrast to his pampered brethren, the blood of a noble and the tongue of a commoner but a close friend of King Herman. He now stood squaring up to the Duke of Duthany who was spouting promises of retribution.

Finally the spectacle ceased to amuse the king and he stood, raised his cup and slammed it to the table repeatedly, "Enough!" he bellowed in a commanding voice bringing the room to silence. "There is some truth to your words, Lord Justan of Duthany, however does the Royal Treasury not commission the ships that carry your goods overseas? Are the men who labour in building the canals, vital to your new found prosperity, not paid by my coin?" he paused taking stock of his audience, it was clear some had been reached, however he could see that Justan and his closer circle remained unconvinced, "We are but one Kingdom and the taxes I collect from all my vassals, and people go towards the good of the realm"

Herman finally sat and gave his leave departing the meeting as the room moved onto new matters, the Duke of Duthany had become increasingly bolder now that he counted the Duke of Dewford as his friend and ally. Although it was not too late to avert civil war the resentment could only grow. The increased taxes on the North much of which was underpaid would be used to pursue new avenues of wealth and trade to regain the dominance of Famont and secure the King's power.

Exiting the stone building King Herman was quickly flanked by men of his retinue, clad in steel plate and wearing the Kings colours they followed at a steady pace down the marble steps of the Noble Court. The steps contrasted the grey stone of the building itself and were one of the many reminders of Imperial occupation in the ancient city of Famont. He stepped into his carriage which quickly departed as his retinue mounted their horses and set off down the cobbled road that made the Imperial road. It stretched nearly the entire island and was the main artery of trade, despite this banditry was rare on it, the more cunning low life waited until their prey passed onto the dirt roads that branched off the highway before they struck.

The carriage set off turning shortly before Famont Bridge to bring them alongside the Santon River that connects the city to the sea trade routes. The path along the gently flowing river providing a view of the odd trade ship sailing along amd on the opposing bank the beginnings of a city expansion starting to show. He had commissioned the Mayor to begin planning for the steadily growing population in Famont however progress had been slow as funds were diverted to support the numerous towns being founded on the Western coast. The city was quite small compared to the great republics he had heard about abroad with populations larger than the entire Kingdom however it was well defended with stone walls long maintained and improved upon from the imperial defences much of which were outgrown by the bustling city.

The carriage took another turn taking them through a gatehouse that held the inner city, now home to the noble district and the King's Tower a formidable keep with another stone wall surrounding it. The homes were markedly nicer as they passed the boundary, the people dressed much more finely and the guardsmen better equipped. The King turned away from the window and drew the curtains, easing back into the seat to enjoy the final leg of the journey in peace.

The Eastern Sea
The Northern Queen
Aeron Webber

The middle aged diplomat eased back in his cot as the ship gently rocked in the open waters that separated Otrea from the Republic of Vindelicorum, the King had tasked him with opening up relations with the nearby faction to strengthen his power in the event of a rebellion by the northern vassals. He had commissioned a ship with the King's coin to safely take him there in the event of a goblin attack, he could not help but chuckle as he recalled the name of the ship 'The Northern Queen', the irony of being taken on a ship named after a famous northern warrior queen and a symbol of their independence to protect against her descendants was not lost on him.
He was vague to the Captain who offered him his own cabin during the trip on the true nature of his mission, he was very aware that they'd happily empty his pockets and cut his throat before throwing him overboard if they were aware of it. Only by the presence of his armoured bodyguard outside and the promise of more coin on their return could be relied on to protect him. Truth be told he chose such a dangerous vessel simply because the crew were renowned, men hardened by the constant battle with Goblin Raiders had made many Northern sailors rich and skilled, some of the more daring even famous. He was guaranteed to survive the journey with them compared to travelling with the inexperienced royal fleet. His thoughts were disturbed by the thudding of footsteps and shouts.

"Vessel on the Horizon!", there was a pause "Two more from behind the isle!", muffled curses reached through the planks above Aeron's head, "Another ship behind us Captin'!" came another voice.
Such an organised attack was unheard of since the Great Goblin Army seized the northern lands many years ago, if Aeron realised the sailors sure as hell knew it.

"Otar, have I slighted you?" Aeron murmured, casting his eyes up skyward as he swung out of his cot and pulled on his boots just as his bodyguard opened the cabin door, "It would be best if you remained below deck." the armour clad man stated however Aeron waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense, I wish to see these men in action, you are charged with protecting me so now you will earn your pay."
Stepping past the man he quickly climbed up deck to find the sea relatively calm, Otar had granted them favourable winds and only the Goblin ship behind them had the wind in their favour.
They were quite large vessels even by Goblin standards however they struggled to keep pace with the Otrean Cog.

Sailors worked on the sails while others began to form up with longbows or spear and shield. A man clearly with some authority spoke up, "Archers! Nock and await my command!" nearly as one the archers fitted an arrow and waited as the ship shifted to meet the lead ship head on, the two flanking vessels gradually falling behind. As the range closed he finally spoke again, "Draw!" he paused as the men glanced at the fluttering flag on the fast and aimed their bows high, "Loose!" a swarm of arrows released at once arcing through the air most of the barrage raining down on the goblin vessel.

Aeron nodded impressed at how experienced they were to land such an accurate first volley, "In your own time!" cried the sailor again as the archers resumed their barrage as fast as they could. The goblin long ship began to come along side the Otrean vessel revealing the carnage. Most of the deck was littered with arrows and the goblin dead, their blood swamped the planks of the crude ship. The crew of goblins were clearly keen to board and nullify the advantage of the longbows many of whom had already clambered along the side of the ship with boarding hooks and spears. A few brandished crossbows and released bolts at the sailors catching one archer in the neck causing him to crumple to the deck, moments later two young boys grabbed him and dragged him below deck to a surgeon. The archers many of whom had ducked down now stood and released another volley at close range, the high poundage bows sending the closer goblins tumbling back. Realising they could not take the ship or survive long enough for their brethern to catch up the remaining goblins dived overboard hoping for rescue from their fellow attackers.

The distance between the Otrean ship and its pursuers had closed during the encounter however the sailors quickly dislodged themselves from the goblin longship and set off again, sending the archers to the rear of the ship to pepper the pursuers with arrows. The barrage seemed to discourage their attackers who after nearly an hour of chase broke off in search of easier prey. Aeron quickly reassessed his conclusion as the first Vindelicorum ships appeared on the horizon, they'd finally reached the Republics waters and the coast was coming into view along their port side.

The Captain clapped a hand on the Diplomats shoulder, "That is how the North deals with those Goblin devils, you made the right choice picking us as your crew." he remarked as he stepped alongside Aeron and watched as the famed Port City came into view. They'd finally arrived.

PostPosted: Tue Jan 30, 2018 4:00 pm
by Hallimas Islands
End of the Embassy

"Very well, I shall see you in the autumn, perhaps." replied the High Priest.

Thukrar announced, "So this High Council has come to an end. And so this Embassy. I pray you emissaries shall have a safe trip home. Thank you Grandmaster Heinrich and your company, remember Dunhard... If you wish to return, you are welcome but I indeed do think that the Orderlands need Dwarvish ingenuity, do well and spread the word to other Dwarves you know. Princess-Ambassador Judith, I pray we shall do good business and discuss our shared faith in One God in the future. Very well, thank you for coming."


Summer of the 57th Year of the Current Age - Hemekar-Khal - A Shining Hero

"My Khul! The Goblins... They're rising again! Sound the alarm!" shouted Lord Halmar, "get the bloody infantry in there and hold the barricade!"

Low King Homor Jehbardil looked on, with melancholy on his face, "It's been two weeks since the bloody first 'ravaging'. I should've been here, not at a bloody council... I should've been with my son, fighting or dying at his side..." He commented

Lord Halmar replied, "My King, do not speak that way. Young Durkar did well. He fought well and he was the reason why we were able to push the bastards down to the Hell down there. We have a battle to fight and the men need to see their King."

Homor stood, "Aye, Halmar... Old friend. I believe I should pray to Khul for success, as I have always done. Prepare my armour... I will join them and get my guard." Halmar nodded. He gave a look saying, 'don't get killed out there!' Homor sped off to his tent and donned his armour, which had been resting in blessèd oil, to prevent rust and to bless it with Khul. He walked out of the tent and glistened with his armour, still soaked in oil. The beam of light sped down with his entourage and began to tear at the goblins. Homor soon found some skill in fighting, he enjoyed stories of war and Hemekar-Khal was the most warlike of the mountains and he found battle easy. His guards protected him and to his soldiers he was as if Khul himself came and infused him with power.

His guard pushed the centre and there was a gap, soon the heavy infantry took advantage of it and pushed through, making the goblins fall back as one struck one of the leaders with a club. He was soon captured and the goblins weren't able to pass through the barricade. They retreated and were pelted by stones and arrows by the ranged units on the wall. Homor got back, with a smile on his face. He patted Halmar on the back and walked back to the palace, with cheer and joy following him. Halmar got back to work and began construction of the stone walls by calling in masons. Hemekar-Khal adapted quickly and Halmar ensure everything was written down and set in stone so other Khals may retrieve their experience.

Sutharthal-Khal - Project D

Chemkar Uldoril was very active, his exicted and vivacious nature a true show of his youth. He went down from the mountain and stared at his new project. He decided to place his plan into three sections, each working at the same pace and this project was to be finished in the summer. He called it 'Project D' for Dwarf in Alcenian, he wanted this to be a cornerstone for further Dwarvish development.

The first section was the Wharf. He honoured his sailor great-grandfather, Huldar 'The Sea-Dwarf' Uldoril who was known to be one of the most experienced sailors, and was one of the captains who lead the famed Dwarvish Slave and Treasure Ships and made sure that pirates would never get a hand on Dwarvish goods, whether it be of being or material. The Huldar Wharf was almost finished, and it was everything Chemkar dreamed of. A wooden palisade surrounding the complex, which stretched about 4 miles down, granted most of it was empty for businesses to pop up, however it still meant something to Chemkar. The complex itself was filled with warehouses, docks, quays and a ramp for the ships to go out of. It was beginning to get busy, with wharfmasters and such preparing for the trade fleet to leave. Chemkar admired it all. The Wharf itself was connected by a new stone road, for ease of movement with a lot of protection by watchtowers and barracks at each end of the road. Chemkar left the Wharf and moved to the second stage.

The second stage was the ships themselves. An old cove was found very near to the wharf and connected to the Khal itself. Although it isn't fully safe to ferry goods through the tunnel yet, the ships are being built in the cove. There are three types of ships with two sub-types per types. Chemkar looked at the first sub-type of trade ship (a fleet trade ship) this example was named, 'Grimmr-Shal' meaning 'Dwarves' Sea'. It was somewhat large and had a very empty interior. Its sails were wide and it had little to no defences. A couple of scorpions on each side of the ship but aside from that, the trade ship was built for being protected by fleets and hauling large amounts of materials. He looked at the second sub-type of trade ship (a singular trade ship) much smaller but it is due to the higher amount of weaponry. Two ballistae on each end and a good amount of scorpions and even a ram on the end. However, there are less of these in the fleet and it is expected that private dwarven shipbuilders will build these types of ships. The second type of ship are the military frigates. The first sub-type is the 'Ram's Head' small and quick, it has a large barracks and most of its crewquarters are akin to barracks. Right next to it is the armoury. It has a large bronze ram's head on the bow of the ship. Like the ancients did, they will use the wind to crash into the other ships. The second sub-type was the 'Tower Ships' with archer towers acting like a floating fortress. This is an extremely slow ship and less of these are made. The last type is the Admiral's ship. The first sub-type was the Military Type, a blend of the size and hardiness of a tower ship and the heavy armament of a Ram's Head. Only one of its kind have been made. The second sub-type was the Trader's Type, with a large amount of space for cargo and an area for buisness discussions.

The third stage is the Dwarves themselves. They had to learn the way of the sea and it seemed the lessons are working. Chemkar sat at the back of a lecture, an old man stood before them using books from the Basilea and stones of the ancient sailors to ensure we have a modern understanding of nautical matters. Chemkar ensured this would be the case. He was teaching them on using mathematics to define where you are on the map. Chemkar understood nothing of cosine and tangents and all that. He just knew that they were doing well. He went out and looked at the marine lessons. This he understood, they were teaching how to fight and swim. Sutharth-Khal had a heavy swimming tradition, better than Haldomor-Khal's swimmers in the last competition. Nowadays, all the Dwarves are attempting to join the Marines and earn their sea-legs by learning how to swim the coves and such. Chemkar was happy. The trade fleet would set sail at the end of the season and it has been planned that the High Priest would attend a synod with the Basilea, so the trade fleet would also be protected by Mahshemkat-Khul. Project D was going well and Chemkar returned to his palace to think on more radical ideas.

Shemakar-Khal - A Fiddler on the Roof

Tradition! Tradition! was all that Haldor could think about. He had assembled his own Council. He had founded a political party of sorts. Two other Low Kings were with him, the Low Kings Thenrar Hallimas, of Hallimar-Khal (a neighbour to Haldomor-Khal in the centre chain of the Fifteen Peaks) and Huldar Hamarondel, Low King of Hamaron-Khal (second most southern mountain) a die-hard traditionalist. Also, he had an assortment of nobles from all mountains, with the exception of Sutharth-Khal and Haldomor-Khal

Haldor began the meeting, "Well then, fellows. I welcome you all to our first meeting. The True Council, I shall call this. Now, let us begin with what's on the agenda... How we get rid of High King Thukrar Haldomor. What's not on the table is killing him secretly, that is dishonourable."

Thenrar stood, "I have spies on Haldomor-Khal, if we can get the nobles of Haldomor-Khal to revolt against him... Under the decision made by the Low King's Council of Hulmar Hallimas, he will have to be taken from High Kingship and an election will have to be called unless the High King can get his act together."

Haldor replied, "Alas, friend, the nobles of Haldomor-Khal follow Thukrar like dogs. He has given them gifts of land and such, seducing them dishonourably. "

Huldar then proposed, "How about the Low King-Clergy rule? Get a unanimous Low King vote with the Clergy having a vote with all the Bishops and the High Priest to get Thukrar out of office. It is possible but it will take a longer time."

Haldor said, "Hm, that could be one of our plans, yes... But I fear we may not have enough time and the fool Uldoril will never support us. I have something, more revolutionary in mind... Rebellion." Huldar and Thenrar's eyes lit up, Haldor continued, "Open rebellion is honourable and not sneaky and if we get enough support we can succeed and take out Thukrar with our axes. We must think and conspire on this. I think this True Council should end now, you tell nothing of anyone about this and think on my proposition." no one spoke, they just left. They didn't know what to do. Haldor sat and thought. Tradition must be upheld. Tradition must be kept, the Suthar-Khals should never be seen again.

PostPosted: Tue Jan 30, 2018 4:56 pm
by Dragos Bee
The Basilea

The Basileus ton Basileon, Emperor of Emperors, Maurikos Iagaris, sat on the mithril throne of Sophiapolis' Grand Palace. His Mesazon, the true power behind the Empire, sat by his side on a lesser, lower throne made up of electrum; an alloy of gold and silver. Togther, they were listening to Princess-Ambassador Judith as she narrated her experiences in Suthur-Khal. As the young woman reported success after success, the Mesazon, Anastasios Bardas, would say to her:

"There really isn't any way we can help - militarily - in the Dwarves' coming civil war? From what you said about the disturbance in the Council, the High King of Suthur-Khal is about to suffer a rebellion, a rebellion intensified by seeming neglect of a goblin threat in his halls." The old man with curly white hair looked quizzically.

Princess-Ambassador Judith nodded, "There isn't. Our troops are not accustomed to fighting underground, and if we send them anyway, the High King will lose credibility among his people. So we'll have to hope that the counsel I gave - that the High King pay attention to the security of his Kingdom - would be heeded. Is that all?"

Maurikos, a tall and striking figure who was just in his late thirties, spoke, "Dear niece, if it were all, we would be disregarding your perspective on the Basilea's actions. No, we need to talk about other matters. Like, for instance, will we have access to Dwarvish arms and metallurgy long enough to affect our continued deforestation efforts on the Westerwoods? Will we have better weapons and axes for a while, to use against the beastfolk who live there?"

Judith said, "Yes, we may still be able to. That and the Dwarven 'Low King' Chemkar Uldoril is well-disposed towards the Basilea, as well as their High Clergy, who worship The One in their own fashion. So we have a party of support in Suthur-Khal." She then looked around, "By the way, where is Cousin Andreas?"

A frown from both Maurikos and Anastasios before the former spoke, "My son is doing a buy-and-free in the Slave Market again." He said the words 'Slave Market' with contempt, "He has a fixation on barbarian warriors of both genders, as well as sailors and ships. But this is not something to be spoken of in public; let us retire to my private chambers."


In the Basileus' surprisingly modest wooden study (only one desk, and the only things in excess were books and boookshelves?), Judith would exclaim: "He's trying to find Carthak?! My cousin, a sixteen-year old prince, wants to send out an expedition to find Carthak?!"

Maurikos, now seated on a small wooden stool, took a book from a shelf and opened it. "Yes, apparently, the location of Carthak is an island to the right side of the Great Inner Sea, just off the coast of the Greater Peninsula; the one held by Orcs. Said island once held a city that rivalled Alcenia in size and strength, but was finally destroyed by the Alcenian Republic's Magi, who used a spell to cover the ruins in forests. A sad story, but it seems that instead of risking adventurers to find Kal'Jummier or Old Alcenia, my son wants to go after lesser treasures with lesser risks."

A nod from the Princess-Ambassador. "And that's why he's been buying, freeing, and then hiring barbarian adventurers and sailors? Even so, the risk!" A sigh. "But then again, at least this is a good outlet for his ambition. But how will he guarantee the loyalty of his former slaves, even with money?"

A sigh from Anastasios. "He has hired a potential leader; Cymrian of Gwynedd is his name. Prince Andreas plans to link his mind with Cymrians using Pisonics - Cymrian is willing - and use it to keep a connection with the expedition to Carthak. But even then, it is a great risk he is undertaking. After all, Carthak might have no treasures; it might be empty..."

PostPosted: Wed Jan 31, 2018 1:03 am
by Kaledoria
Sir Heinrich at the Suthkar-Khals meeting

"The Treaty of Haldomor-Khal. Sounds great." Sir Heinrich bit farewell to the High King and each Lower King, then asked a Guardsmen for the direction to the best Tavern in town.

Headmaster Durhard found a moment, to pass Thukrar, before he had to leave. In a heavily accented Grimmr-Thung he came back to a question he had been asked earlier: "My grandfather was the last to use a Dwarven Surname. People said, when he brought a Dwarven slave girl from his human overlords, granted her freedom and married her, he lost that status. It no longer has any meaning to my family, I have given meaning to the name von Kärnten instead. To me, it's no human name, it's a ... multi-race name."

The knights celebrated the treaty decently. Some ale was drunken, a lot of rounds were brought for the Dwarven patrons of the tavern to light up the moot and luckily, besides one small case of public urination by the centaur knight, the men of Röken behaved well.

Karlswald, Orderlands of Röken, about three weeks later

Heinrich had gathered Orders and Bands from his land and the two Grand orders in the west. About 8000 men in total had followed his call. It seamed unreasonably and way oversized for a simple bandit hunt but Heinrich wanted decisive results in a large area. He had to spread his forces out and took no risk. The army was divided into 10 parts and the bandit-infested forest was surrounded and combed for savages, highwaymen and criminals at large. Hermits and peaceful settlers were identified registered and offered jobs and proper housing in centralized villages fit to bring at least 150 people together to finally get the area manageable to administrate.

Somewhere in the woods, the Satyr sorcerer Ijaneos was preparing an old, important ritual. He was not like those, that had moved to this area for freedom, anonymity or any such reasons; Ijaneos was born here, his ancestors had lived in these parts of the wood for as long as anyone could tell. Through subtle manipulation of the surrounding vegetation, his grove had three natural walls of branches and vines and a roof of leaves keeping the rain out. Nothing that a human would call architecture but it served him nevertheless. Suddenly and violently, ten figures entered, armed and angry. Two Ogres, five Orcs and three Beastmen of mixed heritage.

"Please, I'm neutral in your conflict," Ijaneos explained in the Rokan language, "you can take whatever food I have but please,..." He was interrupted by the Orc that seamed like the leader of the band: "Morth al haugh nothok! Gonwa thokang?"
Ijaneos realized the Orc language when he heard it but could not understand or speak it. He checked the intruders, none of them looked like they spoke a word of Sylvan so his last hope was on the bit of Old-Alcenian he knew: "Me no threat. Me does important ritual for protect..." This time he was interrupted by an Orc that carried the tattoos of a sorcerer: "Nothok Magiak Rökun! Anukh!" A bolt from one of the others' crossbow went loose and killed Ijaneos without allowing him to even end the sentence.

The ogres barricaded the open side of the groove, though they intuitively did not use the peculiar stone-needle, about human-sized in both height and width, standing right in the center of the location like a natural column.
Arrows flew from the undergrowth outside through the opening. The Orcs and Bestmen returned a volley, then three heavily armored Minotaurs broke through the opposed wall, humans on foot and horse right behind them. The situation got messy and very chaotic.

It can't be said for certain, what caused a certain collateral damage. Was it the Ogre club that missed the Knight and hit the column? The horse-corpse thrown against it by the second Ogre who had a better aim? The Warhammer, that hit it when a Beastmen used the stone for cover against the dismounted knight, or maybe the fireball cast by the Orcish sorcerer trying to cook the humans in their armor? Maybe it wasn't and of those physical attacks and it was the Abjuration spell triggered by the Mage-Knight to prevent any further damage by the Sorcerer - Whatever it was, after the Knights had executed swift justice on these dangerous criminals, the tall but thin stone that formerly stood upright in the center of the room was toppled over and shattered into pieces. The victors left, not giving it any further thought - How could they, they did not know Ijaneos or what his old duty in this grove was.

PostPosted: Wed Jan 31, 2018 6:19 am
by New Socialist South Africa
Gates of Haldomor-Khal, Kingdom of Fifteen Peaks

The old goblin diplomat Mažas had arrived at the great gates of the Dwarven city. The goblins had only come to know of the opening of the Dwarven city after many others, and as the old diplomat's wolf had passed away years ago, he had to ride with a younger guard on his direwolf. As such they had arrived well after many of the Kingdom's neighbours and closer powers.

The group was small, the old diplomat riding on the same wolf as his main guard. A young she-goblin diviner rode with the group on her wolf, with one guard on another wolf besides her. A final goblin on a wolf carried a sheepskin banner of peace. The four wolves and five goblins halted before the great gates of the long hidden city. The goblin with the sheepskin banner rode forward, awaiting an audience with the Dwarves of the Fifteen Peaks.

PostPosted: Wed Jan 31, 2018 12:11 pm
by Spindle
Councilship Complex
Ferial Tialle
Shi Tialle

Sereth glanced back and forth between the goblin and the half-giant, watching them propose and evaluate and then reevaluate and continue the cycle. Cults named, prepared for extermination or at least a concerted attempt for it. Weapons physical, mystical, potential and metaphorical were considered, levelled at a hypothetical enemy in words and plans ready to be translated into the actions of hundreds - even thousands, he mused. This had gone far, far beyond what he was being payed for. He wondered if he hadn't made a mistake in retiring from the frontlines. At least there things had been simple. Kill the things in front of you or die.

Too late to turn back now, he suspected.

Then the talk of real weapons turned to munitions and he had to suppress a grin. So the goblins knew what the Tialle did in war. That explained a lot. Sierene had evidently reached a similar conclusion, for she voiced a rising cackle. Hal-Hardan glanced over at the woman, irritation plain on her face, before Hashiir looked up from his new Deck with a look venomous enough to silence her from behind. For a moment there was a still silence, Morog shifting his weight from one foot to the other slowly creaking a board beforeHal-Hardan spoke:

"You're not seriously considering it."

"Is this really the time?" Morog asked.

"Does that matter? I know you think I'm paranoid, but we know nothing about these people. And I don't think Hashiir's little present was an accident, either."

"Can you spare a half-dozen sappers and an escort, Illynis?"

"You're not-"

"Answer the question."

There was a moment of silence. Then:

"I can, High Councillor."

"Excellent." Morog nodded, "Sekme, we can provide you with some samples of Tialle steel before you leave, but munitions - fire weapons, as you call them - are harder to deal with; they have a tendency to go off without warning. We can send a team of sappers - experts in that field - with a supply of Wrymlings - the least destructive and temperamental munitions we have - to train and supply your people, and should you find them to your liking we can add more sappers and munitions into the mix. I assume you would prefer have a similar scheme going with us?"

War Camp
Celin Floodplains

Kurush wrinkled his nose as he trudged past a drainage ditch, his three Adepts trailing behind him. The Seventh Army had set up camp, tents pitched and ditches dug for both defensive purpose and sanitation. The area surrounding the camp had become a mess of caltrops, wooden stakes and nastier, munition-based traps which the sappers had set up with worrisome zeal. The main approaches towards the camp had been marked out, but more than one woodland critter had found itself smeared over the defensive zone. It was a level of paranoia which the Tialle embraced.

It was also entirely pointless, Kurush pondered, aside from keeping the soldiers busy and sappers distracted. Their enemy were almost certainly far more than a day's march away, and even so they were unlikely to try and attack such a large concentration of soldiers without preparation and scouting first. That was the issue, Kurush frowned. They knew next-to nothing about this enemy - why were they here? What was their objective? What tactics did they prefer? Which weapons did they use? Of course, it was a position which the enemy would find themselves when they first clashed, and Kurush suspected the price of knowledge would be high for both sides.

"Preparations have been made?"

Kurush glanced over to Thal-Jarnden, the kobold scuttling towards him.

"I hope so." He grimaced, holding out the Deck, "Divination was always Hashiir's forte, not mine."

"Half-truth." Thal-Jarnden replied, before clicking to herself and falling into step with the mage. For a moment they walked in silence before a horse bolted past them, eyes rolling, a screaming sapper on its back. Kurush watched Nuriene shoot past, catching a glimpse of her fully-loaded crossbow before quickening his pace towards the Mercian camp. It took them a few minutes to arrive at the gates where the sapper was busy having a stand-off with a pair of guards, horse somehow calmed enough to stand still though it still had a bolting look in its eyes.

"Listen, misters, I swear to whatever gods you have, if you don't want this crossbow going off up your-"

"Nuriene." Kurush sighed, "Get off of the horse. You're lucky you haven't blown yourself up yet."

"Luck had nothing to do with it." Nuriene grinned, "I've found a trick."

"Third Throne preserve us." Kurush sighed, "A sapper with a trick. Get down."

Nuriene glowered at him for a moment, before awkwardly standing up in the saddle and dropping to the ground with a soft thump.

"Thank you." Kurush sighed, "Guards, could you take us to King Ealfred? I am Kurush, Second Mage of Tialle, with Thal-Jarnden, Commander of the Seventh, Nuriene, Sapper-Sergeant, and my three Adepts - J'histan, Therlii and Nn'kerrik."

There was a moment of silent conversation between the guards before they decided that this wasn't their problem and started to escort the motley crew through the Mercian camp, Nuriene leading her horse by the reins in what was closer to a war of attrition than any animal husbandry Kurush had ever witnessed before. It wasn't long before they arrived in the king's presence, preferring the usual greetings before listening to his comments, his ideas, his questions. In the silence after the proclamation, the Tialle glanced across at each other, before starting:

"We can help you with this burning, should it come to that." Kurush began slowly, "But is there any other method of preventing these attacks? Do we know why these raiders attack you?"

"Or do you have an idea where they're going to strike next?" Nuriene added, "If we can get there ahead of them, my guys and gals can turn the entire place into a deathtrap they won't forget. And if we bloody them enough there, they'll not return."

Kurush shot her a glare for that. The sapper grinned back at him.

PostPosted: Wed Jan 31, 2018 1:07 pm
by New Socialist South Africa
Councilship Complex, Ferial Tialle, Shi Tialle

Sekme smiled. "Such a plan would indeed prove both wise and advantageous" he said, throwing around one of the biggest words in Imperial that he knew.

"I will send a rider south with word that a full supply of poisons are to be transported north to you under guard, and that a poison maker from the Gyvatė clan will accompany it to explain the various poisons to you and to your men. Your weapons with prove of most value in our war against the evil one, and I hope that our poisons will prove effective to you for use against this coming enemy".

"My company and I intend to go north now to meet with the Dwarves of Kal'Erundir, to seek a similar such alliance against the darkness that is to come. With any luck we shall unite them and more to this common cause of life against the chaotic destruction of our foe. When we return from the mountains, we hope that our friends with our poisons to trade will be soon to arrive, so that we may ride back together to our home".

He turned and glanced at Akys. "On the road to Kal'Erundir I shall discuss your idea with her, and ask if she is willing to stay here and learn your magic, and teach you of ours. When we return, I shall tell you of her decision. I hope indeed to be back in this city soon, with another ally against the darkness united with us".

Sekme motioned for an attended to come forward with the drąsa and the bowls. "Let us drink to our good fortune, and to the destruction of the evil one".

The bowls of drąsa were offered one again to the council, a celebratory drink to good fortune.

PostPosted: Wed Jan 31, 2018 2:49 pm
by Tysklandia
Summer of the 57th Year of the current age


The Silver and Copper Tower where vast spires that marked the entrance the vast central harbour of Vindelicorum. The twin-walled metropolis had walls hugging the coast before edging land inwards. A set of walls cut into the sea, allowing Vindelicorum to protect its harbour from wind and storms. A Vast chain even seemed to dive into the foaming waves from both the enormous Silver and Copper towers, reminding the crew of The Northern Queen, that Vindelicorum, no matter the sorry state of its outer walls, the squalor in the docking district, or the daily executions occurring to keep order, Vindelicorum was a city that had been built in a glorious age of man... The outer walls crumbled due to a lack of maintenance and the dwindling trade had increase poverty and unemployment in the city, causing squalor and social strife. Rumors were that the Senate had plans to fix the situation, but howlong would that take? And all the while, Vindelicorum, once the Jewel of the East, continued its descent further into obscurity...

The northern queen edged into the inner harbour as it had likely done many times before. Dozens, if not hundreds of trade cogs and ships lines the docks and the amount of people lining the docks, selling everything from fish to swords, seemed to be at its peak. The afternoon sun was dipping lower and lower, so many traders were attempting to sell the last of their fresh wares. The cacophony of organised chaos was being overseen by a possé of armed guards, wearing tightly strapped chainmail vests, leaning heavily upon their shields as they glanced through the crowd in apparent boredom, their presence alone would likely ensure the chaotic evening market would come to an end without issue.

As The Northern Queen found a spot on the docks to moore their ship, a dock official and a pair of his goons already waited for the ship to drop its plank. All ships that wished to remain docked in the inner harbour were subject to inspection, most if not all already knew of such tiresome regulations.

War Camp, Celin Floodplains, Mercin

"We can help you with this burning, should it come to that." Kurush began slowly, "But is there any other method of preventing these attacks? Do we know why these raiders attack you?"

"Or do you have an idea where they're going to strike next?" Nuriene added, "If we can get there ahead of them, my guys and gals can turn the entire place into a deathtrap they won't forget. And if we bloody them enough there, they'll not return."

Ealfred raised a hand as several of his bannerman yelled out in unbelief at the words these Taille strangers spoke, their mere tone insulted their king and worse yet, the pain they had suffered through these past few days...
Turning his hand into a balled fist, the king slammed in on the table, nearly tipping a flurry of dozens of red tokens that dotted the lower edges of the Mercin kingdom.

"Why? Why do I know why these damned beasts attack us? Towns at the border often make agreements, but these damned monsters often come down the mountain to take our granaries anyway... The cat-folk from the west just burned throughout of nowhere... They have given no reason, they just kept on burning and pillaging their way through... Then when we finally assembled enough men to stop them... Then these blasted forest dwellers erupt from their damned hills to steal children? Hundreds of them? These...These things... they are not civil, they are monsters, liars and killers all. I don't care why anymore, I just want them all dead. And I don't care how we do it, I just want it done."

The king seemed pressured, tired... It seemed the grief of his supposed failures were catching up to him... A bannerman stepped forward to speak for the Mercin king, informing the strange Taille representatives, that they truly had no clue of goblin their intent, nor the direction they travelled.

Blackskin tribes - Kal'Mirrin - Nrumnir Mountains

The cat-folk, the Iniki, would continue to march up the hills and mountains slopes, finding no more souls to fight. They found hastily abandoned camps, signs of fresh battle, but only rustling in the forests would betray that something... Or someone... was avoiding them... As the Iniki would approach the vast gatehouse of Kal'Mirrin, they found its ancient, crumbling battlements filled with blackskin orcs, wearing a mix match of crude iron and steel armour, pike and sword, the howled and yelled, spitting down upon the Iniki, ignoring any of their calls.

The gate in front of them was open, allowing the cat-folk to stare into the dark depths, that was the soiled and desecrated crypt of Kal'Mirrin. They had but a moment to glance into its depths, enough to see the piles of bones that lined the walls, the broken gates a thousand, ugly, glaring yellow eyes staring back at them... A hulking figure walked out, an orc, nearly the size of a troll. A bulking form of flesh and muscle. Crude, ugly plates of armour covered his huge form and the orc held a tight grip of a huge slab of sharpened metal that was slung over his shoulder. Another hand seemed to hold the neck of a goblin, still screaming and squirming as if life depended on it. As he came into view, the orcs on the battlements began to cheer, yell and howl out of control. They chanted but one recognisable word.


The Orc looked upon the tiny creatures of in front of him and smiled a disgusting, toothy grin. He raised the goblin to his mouth, before ripping the goblin its throat out in a single, disgusting bite with his fangs. Karuk discarded the goblin corpse as if it had been but a snack and spoke to the cat-folk, goblin-blood still dripping from his face.

"Ma Boys Say ye gave a gud fight to tha weak ones down da mountain. I 'av nevar fought cat-folk before, lookin' forward to eet."

PostPosted: Wed Jan 31, 2018 5:21 pm
by Dragos Bee
The Basilea's Boy, Part Two

The Palace Baths were, Cymrian had to admit, fairly beautiful; far better than the crude bathouses of Gwynedd's settlements. The smooth tiles - he had learned this term from Prince Andreas - were colored in blue and yellow, with a border of Imperial Purple. As the young man soaked his body in the warm water, using a liquified form of soap that smelled sweet, Cymrian felt the cares of the world - even his worry that the Prince was taking his sweet time preparing the legal paperwork to free him - fading.

"Having fun?" Said a voice above him at the edge of the bathing pool. It was the Prince, clad only in a string necklace from which a pendant of light blue crystal hung from. Clasped in his right hand was an identical string-and-pendant, but Cymrian didn't focus on that.

Jerking back from the Prince, the young warrior said, "You're sixteen! Barely the age of manhood! Plus a member of the Royal Family; people might get the wrong impression!"

As Prince Andreas slowly lowered himself into the water of the bath, letting the liquid and the steam obscure his waist, he would say, "And you're eighteen; just two years older than me. It's not that big of an age gap." A smile. "Plus, I got to see your body on the slave market; I'm only paying you back now." As he began rubbing liquid soap onto himself with one hand, he presented the other, the one containing the necklace, to Cymrian, before continuing, "I also have another gift; you'll need this for the job I am sending you to; and yes, it is a proper job - I completed your manumission paperwork."

After Cymrian gave his thanks, he and Prince Andreas discussed mundane things like terms of payment, the ship that will be provided to the expedition, and if they would be allowed to fly the Imperial Banner or take Imperial Vigila Guardsmen with them; a few were going to be provided to watch over the group. Once that was discussed to both parties' satisfaction, Cymrian would then ask, "Now, who are the other members of the adventuring party you formed from buying and freeing people?"

Prince Andreas nodded and explained, "Veanne, a Half-Elven Huntress from the centre of the continent; she's a good shot with a composite bow on and off horseback. Sidhelle, a female thief who was captured by the Basilea's constabulary and sentenced to enslavement until Jubilee. And of course, there is Eadwine, a former slave from the far east who has knowledge of medicine, linguistics, and labyrinth architecture. He's older than you, but not too old; twenty-one."

He then paused for effect to rub more liquid soap on his body, before continuing, "There are also two free people; one of them is Simon the Mage; one of The Twenty, and another is another fighter; Thorfinn the Vigila. So, all in all, five combat people and one non-combat one, in addition to the expedition itself, which will carry two dozen Vigila, a dozen Kataphraktoi with horses, and two dozen Toxotai and Peltestai each. And the Galley you'll be using, which will have two hundred freemen sailors who can double as fighters if need be."

Cymrian took a second to absorb the information. "So, what are the pendants for? I doubt they're just a token of your affection."

A smile from Prince Andreas as he washed off the soap. "They're for establishing and amplifying a mind-link I wish to perform with you, so we can instantly communicate through continents."

A few blinks from the warrior of Gwynedd as Andreas further explained what a mind-link was, before allowing his companion to speak again. When he did so, Cymrian would say, "So, we'll share thoughts, feelings, and what we see and sense. And the pendant helps with that. Couldn't you have waited to give it to me later?"

Prince Andreas' reply was, "It's not that simple. A true mind-link requires both sides to open their minds to the other, to be...close. Normally, mind-links are done between close friends or family members after building up years of trust, but we don't have the time for that. So I am using physical honesty and openness as a substitute."

Cymrian looked down, and said in a low voice, "So seeing each other...this way, it symbolizes we have nothing to hide from each other, at least, nothing we're afraid of sharing."

As the Prince of the Basilea faced Cymrian, he handed over the other string necklace - now wet from the bathwater - to the warrior, and said warmly, "If you are interested, put on my gift. Then we can here for a while; we don't have to do anything other than relax."

Cymrian put on the necklace, knelt down in the water, and said, "I am yours, my liege."

PostPosted: Wed Jan 31, 2018 7:59 pm
by Wysten

The Grand Master walked in taking off his helmet he set it on the table. "We do not fight." He said in an authoritative tone. "While a good portion of you were busy doing your noble things I was instead taking a look at your armies. I can say without a doubt than even with my men going to the Goblin Forest will end a majority of our lives and demoralize the men to the point of mutiny. We would be fighting the enemy on their terms and ground add that with the threat of their own homes it would be a fruitless expedition." He took a few breaths when he started back again. "Instead I recommend you protect your large towns and center of trade with stone and your smaller villages with wooden palisades. Now that I have Chapter Houses in your kingdom I can spare Templi for the area say in around three moons time I can put 30 Templi in your major centers and towns along with 10 Templi in the more smaller villages where you get protection and my men get combat experience. I also recommend recruiting more archers for the protection of such villages and hubs that way you have better defenses against siege and, as I have seen since I was merely a boy who could barely grow his own hairs, Goblins tend to flee when the battle turns south for them hence why they raid for the most part."

PostPosted: Thu Feb 01, 2018 12:16 am
by Hallimas Islands
New Socialist South Africa wrote:Gates of Haldomor-Khal, Kingdom of Fifteen Peaks

The old goblin diplomat Mažas had arrived at the great gates of the Dwarven city. The goblins had only come to know of the opening of the Dwarven city after many others, and as the old diplomat's wolf had passed away years ago, he had to ride with a younger guard on his direwolf. As such they had arrived well after many of the Kingdom's neighbours and closer powers.

The group was small, the old diplomat riding on the same wolf as his main guard. A young she-goblin diviner rode with the group on her wolf, with one guard on another wolf besides her. A final goblin on a wolf carried a sheepskin banner of peace. The four wolves and five goblins halted before the great gates of the long hidden city. The goblin with the sheepskin banner rode forward, awaiting an audience with the Dwarves of the Fifteen Peaks.

High King Thukrar decided to be careful with a goblin diplomat... He had come at the wrong time, goblins were beginning to push harder on Hemekar-Khal. He was sure that his people were going to not be too recieving to this one, civilised or not. He decided to go on his own, with only a couple of High King's Guards and his High Chamberlain. He wouldn't allow him into the Mountain but would meet him in the newly constructed feast hall just before the main doors of Haldomor-Khal. His Chamberlain would meet with Mažas and lead him to the Feast Hall, by a crackling fire sitting on a wooden chair and table, guarded by two dwarves, sat the High King. He gestured the goblin to sit before him.

"Hail, sir... Which country do you represent?" asked Thukrar. No one else was in the feast hall, it seemed this conversation would be kept private among them.