The Ascent of Man [IC|Closed]

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Wed Jan 09, 2019 9:01 am

Year 355 of the Common Era - Turn 16

Rumors of War

To Fastaqui still come a steady stream of refugees, and to Ita also. Nearly a hundred wretched souls to each city, fleeing war and terror, their stories now familiar; families who refuse to submit slaughtered, sons and daughters taken as slaves, villages and caravans burned with fire. Just another chapter in a story of horror for those who had to live it.

Elsewhere the Honori have received word from the south that the fealty of the Aslani has been accepted by the Chief of Chiefs. A moment of relief for many within the city, but also a cause for mourning, for now the known world languishes under the yoke of the Midnight Horde.

The Magnum Opus: The Edifice of Strengthening, raised upon a power point in Xcotl, hums with arcane energy just waiting to be tapped. It is ready now to serve the will of its makers. A new Obelisk of Industry is also beginning to rise. [Labor II] With the combined efforts of the Magnum Opus plumbing its secrets, the movements and focusing of the energy of the Sun necessary to produce a flame is soon mastered. Practitioners, working in the light of day, can conjure fireballs from the tips of their fingers intermittently.

The Chosen of Neferkara: The assault upon Sarfuth is swift, and unrelenting. In the dead of night figures of corpse-warriors steal into the city, and by dawn none are left alive who might oppose the takeover. With sledges filled with corpses at their backs, and a frightened town of cowed peasants now theirs to command, the Chosen face a new dawn in truth as well as deed. It is good that this new base was secured so quickly, for the binding spells upon the oldest undead have now faded, and a hundred and thirty six skeletons are now no more than bone-dust in the streets of Sarfuth.

The Legion of Mithras Karaunos: Down upon the unsuspecting town the raiders from the east swoop, experienced slavers corralling her populace in a manner that was almost routine. Some of the peasants vanished into the mists, or fled into the forests, but that was just a cost of doing business. There was little of wealth to be seized in such a raid - the farmerfolk being barely richer than beggars - but with the appropriate incentives and a bit of judicious use of fire Brexonburn yielded up what little wealth she could command. Within two days the Legion was back marching east, a hundred new slaves in tow, and a wealth of petty goods which could be resold in Gergan.
+100 Slaves, +Wealth III. Farm in Brexonburn burnt to the ground, and 100 of her people taken into captivity.

The Shambling Legion: The edifice of mud and wood had risen slowly, but faithfully. It was now ready for the Legion to make use of it. Church of the Dead, completed. A humble affair, but of some grandeur compared to the sacked and savaged Shoval. This is fortunate, for some of the aging undead, now having lasted far beyond their natural lives, have finally returned to the dust of their graves - the binding magics upon their shambling corpses spent at last. 100 Undead have crumbled.

The Chrysi Aspida: Working day and night, the soldiers of the Chyrsi labor to erect a tall watchtower to guard their encampment. None of them are men of skill with hammer or saw, and so the construction that results is a triumph mainly because of the good quality of the timber used - but it is a triumph nonetheless.
-Timber. Watchtower erected.

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Wed Jan 09, 2019 9:12 am

Accidentally forgot to copy and paste, so gotta fix this later

by **Novas Arcanum** » Wed Jan 09, 2019 10:33 am

The Magnum Opus

The gleaming Obelisk of Strengthening stood in front of the pyramid of the Academy. Archmage Severus stood in front of it felt it's raw arcane power touch him reach out to him. He walked to the training grounds. Young wizards raised their hands and blasted fireballs, at the training dummies great bursts of light blinded everyone, and the figures were blasted to smithereens, pieces of burning wood, and wheat flung high into the heavens.

"Amazing isn't it? The pure destructive power of this Arcana is unbelievable" Master Zuma said as he appeared from the shadows.

Archmage Severus nodded in agreement the world was dangerous and savage knowing such combative magicks would be a boon to the guild, but he knew that this was only the beginning. "It is impressive but inefficient even now the mages tire from such effort, but I sense potential, perhaps further study will aid in this matter".

Zuma nodded in agreement "Yes there is much to be done." The Xcotl scion smoothened his black robes.

"We have begun research on the Geolocus of Transfiguration, this field is very promising, and I believe there is much progress to be made in this innovation".

Severus nodded once more his mind drifting to other realms. "Yes, this shall be just the beginning. Once we finish the research of this Arcana, the Magnum Opus shall begin the pathway to enlightenment."

With that, the two Masters teleported through a geolocus circle to the Chamber of Knowledge to begin the research for the Geolocus Transfiguration Arcana.

Shoval,House of Knowledge

Never in a thousand years did Scipio the Peasant believe that he would receive an education at the fabled House of Knowledge. He was a young lad, 17 winters in age and lived in a primitive mud daub hut along with his family who farmed in the outskirts of Shoval. The lowborn walked through the streets of Shoval unaccustomed to urban life, uneased by the walking dead who slaved under the Shambling Legion. He then saw the school on the hill overlooking the township. The pillars of Minoas Cadmian God of Knowledge beckoned him to come forth.

The Wizards of the Opus had traveled to Shoval looking for talent. They sensed potential in him a mere peasant, who toiled in the dirt for his betters. They said something about magic and innate abilities that some wielded and believed he was destined for far greater things.

Thus he was accepted into the guild, a chance for a better life. He would learn at the House, how to read and write and become a better man and knew that great things where to be had. He was excited for the new heights to be reached.

The Archives of the Magnum Opus is open to the Zhou Imperium

by **Nuxipal** » Wed Jan 09, 2019 11:36 am

The Chosen of Neferkara

Sarfuth

The Chosen occupied Sarfuth with a somewhat unforgiving hand. They rounded up half the population for their magics while the others were told to begin preparing for more peasants to arrive. The Chosen themselves held a meeting guarded by some of the Undead warriors. It was a new age for them and their leader Setnakhte was beginning to grow weaker in his old age. They would hold a vote for their next leader once he died, but until then the two major candidates for that position and each of them were beginning to make active appeals to those who were undecided.

Elsewhere, the town had work to do, it seems to have been neglected by its previous owners and a great deal of infrastructure was missing. To alleviate this payment was taken from the conquered in the form of liquid manus from its peasantry while its Artisans were left to create wealth. While the Chosen send the undead around to do various tasks to improve their situation in the area in preparation for exploitation of its natural resources.

During a part of the year, Khafra and Iset return to Salli for a feast to discuss the political atmosphere there and to hopefully make diplomatic contact with any important persons from the Serrin if only to see what it would take to get them to surrender the city to Chosen Control and accept a Ruler from the ranks of the Chosen.

by **Pentapolitan Kyrene** » Wed Jan 09, 2019 11:41 am

The Legion of Mithras Karaunos

The Palinate Alps, 4th year of the Emerald Epoch, The Month of Dawn

Arsakes Aetos, the eagle, was Mithras' second, in almost all things. A younger cousin, he had followed the bigger, sturdier man to the army, and had taken to it, in his own way. He was a more thoughtful man, with darting and perceptive eyes that had earned him his epithet, and he served in the legion as First Dekarchos, First Captain, in command of the twenty best men in the legion, with the seniority to command every other man in the force, besides Karaunos himself. This left him, in the aftermath of the sack of Brexonburn, in command of the rear-guard, and thus in charge of the enslaved and the wagons loaded with loot. His men, in bands of four, walked alongside the chained villagers, spurring them on with words, spear-butts and kicks is they slowed too much, while he rode at the back, behind the caravan of wealth, counting and assessing it.

It was no true fortune, not for a true army, but compared to his own personal wealth it was a great deal indeed. It was certainly more than just piles of looted grain, meat and jewelry. For the legion, it was the beggining of a future. Before, they had been merely a hundred men, liable to desert and split apart in a few weeks, but with such wealth behind them their partnership would surely be a fair sight more permanent. When they returned to Gergan, they would not be mere shiftless adventurers, but respectable traders and mercenaries; they had proved themselves. The men would tell tales of the sack, surely, while the army stopped in Gergan to replenish supplies and sell the enslaved, and soon enough the legion would swell.

Arsakes knew what his cousin had planned; soon enough the legion would be a more formidable force than most small towns could themselves levy, a few hundred strong and well disciplined. This victory was the first step there, providing the wealth and renown the legion needed to garner recruits, and to gain the time required to drill them. At current, they were merely a band of disorganized, almost tribal raiders, but before too long, it was hoped, they would be a truly professional force. Then, they would not need to sneak attack isolated hamlets. They could drive towns, even cities before them. Hold them for ransom, or win themselves endless wealth, wine and women for their protection.

Marching behind the carts, in the cold alpine dawn, he thought that would be a fine way to live.

by **Olthenia** » Wed Jan 09, 2019 3:30 pm

Fᴀsᴛᴀǫᴜɪ

Queen of the Skazahad Delta
________________________________________
The Fourth Matriarchate of Salika the Gilded
The Twenty-Third Day of the Arc of Reeds, Year 355-356 of the Common Era

“Why are we doing this?” grouched Barza. Her voice was as dusty as the rest of her; rough and wary. “This is foolish. You don’t sing a foe to death.” She pressed a clenched fist into the palm of her hand, forearms flexing. Cibi got the gist of that, sure enough. Those forearms did not sing. They could throw a rock or a spear farther than anyone, though – and Barza threw often, and well.

“Yes we do,” Cibi murmured – despite the mean-mug Barza shot her. “I mean, soldiers do. Sing the foe to death. They just don’t use words.”

To be fair, though; they may as well have. For in the city of the many mothers, warriors trained thus: by singing. First before they broke their fast at dawn. Then as they threw great rocks in the sandpits. Then as they drilled with spears in the afternoon – first the movement, then the words - a battle-rhythm. There was a song for running and a song for washing. A tune for slinging and a hymn for wrestling. Barza had once wondered aloud if there wasn’t a song for shitting, too.

“Oh? And how do they sing, if they don’t use words?" The young woman jeered. "Fart?”

“No! They fight, stupid. Together.” And sing the spear-song. The Many-as-One.

It seemed a hollow promise, that a bold spear-song - raised high by bolder voices - could defend a mother's children. But it would have to, when words were action, to see Fastaqui safe from the coming terror - the name of which haunted Fastaqui's refugee-ridden slums even now: the Horde. The bane of children. The dread of mothers. The grief of fathers. If such fears haunted Warmother Kajah, however; the old hag hardly said so. Upon her shoulders rested the faith of all those who bore the spear and shield of Old Fastaqui. Doubts and fears were fripperies she could not afford. But there was something in her lined eyes, all the same; or the slash of her mean, puckered mouth. Fear? Apprehension? Ghosts of both, most likely.

Cibi thought she could see it, sometimes - but only sparingly.

"If they come past the watch posts, we go into the fields. If they approach the wall, we rain stone and spear on them. But..." Her words were soft, hesitant - like footsteps on old wood. Wary of rot.

Warmother Kajah favored her spear-servant with a rainy smile. The tramp and trundle beyond the warriors' huts were dulled here - and the dirt drawn with plans and battle-lines. "But?"

"If we lose the watch posts, we go to the fields. If we lose the fields, we go to the walls. If lose the walls - what then? Where do we go?"

The Warmother fixed her eyes on Cibi for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then she rose and rolled her shoulders like a swazi-cat.

"Nowhere, child," she husked. "We go nowhere."

by **The Empire of Tau** » Wed Jan 09, 2019 5:47 pm

The Shambling Legion
Year 356 of the Common Era

My lazy ass is lazy.

Action : go repair stuff in Shoval with undead and Shoval workers.

by **Saxony-Brandenburg** » Wed Jan 09, 2019 8:00 pm

The Honori People
A new generation arrives.

Oh the city of my youth, where hath thou fled?
Thy hallowed name, ye stories of old.
brought to your knees by swords of silver,
Your garments slashed, your breasts bare-
open for thy new masters to posses.

Ye honored leaders,
thy dignity, thy wit, thy honor, thy creed is dashed.
When tongue is slit, and arms bound.
We no longer stand, only kneel.
No longer Honori, only men.

A slave to distant masters.

Mara mourns the passing of it's first Matriarch.

It is said when one's soul leaves their body, they manifest themselves above their homes for three days, and in those days they are judged for their actions. They haunt the lands, and watch over their tear-wrought friends and family, sharing in their grief, and mourning the loss of the living. When one leaves this mortal coil, they do not just leave this world. The heavenly host above will always, intimately, be tied to where they lived. With gods, and kings of gods, ruling above their cities, the departed of the city lives on with them, to look down and to judge them, day in, day out, for all eternity. Until the last man. Until every stone upon that hillside hath turned to dust, and the memories of Mara are forgotten from the minds of men.

Those who lived with honor and dignity may ascend to the sky as eagles, to live in the palaces of the sun and moon, just beyond the highest clouds. Family is made whole, life is made unending, and love, love permeates every action, every word, everything above.

Those who do not likewise, suffer another fate.

To die a wretched man is to die a slave. To die having not made for your transgressions against your fellow man, against your family, against the city, against the gods- is to die with debts still to pay. And the gods do not easily forgive debts. Crimes upon this earth, pain, suffering, harm done upon thy fellow man without good reason only weigh down the scale your soul will be placed upon- and weigh it down it shall, until thy very soul is cast back down upon this earth, to repay for your sins, in the fight against the evil spirits who stalk the land. To be slave soldiers beneath the great warriors of history, and to fight, fall, and rise again in battle, in service, until the millennia of labor has been repaid. Then, they may join their loved ones in the kingdom of the gods.

The Matriarch of Mara ascended to Silar's Throneside upon this year.

Her successor would do much to become a scorn of the people. The barbarians still ruled above them. There would be many years of sorrow as the people longed back for an easier time, when they did not have to suffer beneath the yoke of these barbarian oppressors.

The Division of labor

by **Pasong Tirad** » Wed Jan 09, 2019 8:10 pm

Ita
Beginning of the ninth year of the Chiefdom of Chief Agung, former adviser to the late Chieftess Bacani

More and more people from other sacked and conquered lands are coming to Ita who, while they were just as devastated, have been left alone for some time now. It has been almost ten years since the arrival of the Midnight Horde, and the once-fading memories of the survivors are now being relived through the newly-inducted Ita (first with a quiet ceremony to Tigbalog the Allfather and His subservient divines, and next with a more grand ceremony of praising the Chief of Chiefs and his "Midnight Crusade"). Sons and daughters enslaved, elders sacrificed for refusing to submit, men and women killed for no apparent logical reason and, worst of all, silent heaven looking down upon the earth and doing nothing. Many of those born or raised in foreign lands speak of leaving the valley, and looking for a place untainted by the Midnight Horde, and Chief Agung and many others who were born in the valley simply shook their heads, knowing that their new neighbors wouldn't understand.

"We are tied to this land," the chief said to several of the refugees who had decided that they were packing up and moving on, perhaps to the coast in the east, and were asking if any of the Ita wanted to join them. "Our lives are tied to this soil. Our ancestors ashes were scattered in these hills. Our gods-"

"Your gods abandoned you at the moment you truly needed them!" said one of the leaders of the refugee caravan, pointing to the gaping breach in the Old Walls. "Damn the gods, damn these hills, damn your walls! Heaven has shut its eyes to the suffering of humanity. Come with us, brother-" they were practically begging at this point, appealing to security in numbers "-we stand a far better chance of surviving if there are many of us. We'll live on the shores, we'll craft boats to fish and explore new, untainted, more peaceful lands."

"Where will that take us?" Chief Agung asked.

"Anywhere else but here, brother." The Ita only looked on, knowing that, whether they wanted to or not, they could not leave. The gods aside, leaving now would have meant that the sacrifice the Ita have made to protect this land would have been for naught. They were at peace now, their will shattered, but they were alive and that was enough for now. They would retake their freedom someday, but for now they needed to retake their sanity. Chief Agung wished them well, gave them goats to sustain themselves with (as the Ita had many goats to go around - so many that they were already forming packs with dogs and cats as they roamed the streets), and off they went. The rest of the Ita bid their goodbye to their passing acquaintances, and back to work they went, many actually happy that they're receiving new neighbors, and many more of the new Ita were simply relieved that they may be able to get back to working and having a roof over their heads instead of starving and running for their lives.

New homes had to once again be built, and the goat pastures were beginning to fill with people as much as they were filled with the Ita's favorite four-legged mountain companion. The newly-inducted tribesmen of Ita were sent to the hills to aid in this work, and they all happily accepted the task of building their own homes, while the rest of the city were once again set to work stockpiling enough resources to begin construction on a grand wall.

It has been eight years since the Sack of Ita, and Chief Agung, on his nightly patrols, can still hear the screams and the desperate cries for help and for light from his people waking up from terrible dreams. But now more than ever, he can sense an oncoming stillness in the night, a sliver of hope as people wake up with the rising sun, ready to take on the day. His prayers to Amas to shower Ita with her love are about to be answered, as the cold winds make way for cool springtime days.

He has been praying for a still night. It's still far away, but for the first time since he began joining the night guard, he can finally look forward to seeing his one wish come to fruition. They're beginning to freely talk about the devastation they went through and experienced. The Ita are beginning to heal.

by **Toaslandia** » Thu Jan 10, 2019 6:10 am

(Might add something)

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Thu Jan 10, 2019 3:46 pm

Malleus Forge, Collegia Arcanum, Kharbarinth, Stalheim Hierarchy
4th of First Seed, Year 355 of the Common Era

From the heat of the smelter the black stone came, Maerios's hands sizzling slightly as they gripped the incandescent rock.

"No apparent sign of wear. Reradiation of heat energy minor compared to induction. Note aggressive rate of cooling and loss of optical radiance."

His voice was clinical, carefully restrained from the joy that was in the heart of the Malleomagus. It would not do to lose one's decorum, not here at this important juncture, but the truth was that the carefully garbed enchanter was brimming with excitement. His assistant was not so proper, for her handwriting as the Master Smith looked over the vellum was spidery and sharp, quite different than her normal calm and resolute penmanship. In this case, though, Magus Silverhand could forgive the young woman's enthusiasm.

"Who would have thought the Cadmians were sitting on top of such a secret for generations?" intoned Nadia, her tones that of one bemused but also unbelieving. The expectations of the College were rather exceeded in this case though, a cause for celebration. Blackstone, the uninventive name given to the dark rocks of what had been Cadmus Minoris, was proving... most interesting.

Of course, the true nature of the substance would have to be determined by the rest of the faculty. The runes graven on Baran's vestments glimmered faintly as he placed the cooling stone on the workbench of the Forge's inner chamber, and the man felt the warmth removed from his hands with a slight shiver of gladness. It was still strange, being immune to the effects of the smithy itself, but it certainly made working with the metals simpler. No more singed skin and burns on those who dedicated their lives to understanding the secrets of the physical world.

"We will have to wait on Warton's results to be sure. But, send word to Nightstone. We will need a more ample supply, oh yes."

by **Elerian** » Thu Jan 10, 2019 5:10 pm

Delisle and Sons

Great efforts were being made to mine the Cassiterite that lay beyond the civilized reach of Serrith. Great hunks of the metal were hauled from the labor camp all the way back to the city to be sold. Some of the workers who had originally been hired under a different job title were upset about the work. Some others openly objected to the backbreaking labor. Either way, they were instructed to continue working the mines. It so far proved to be greatly beneficial to Delilse and Sons to mine what they could from the earth rather than brave the wilderness in search of new lands. But still, Cecil Delisle still yearned to send out more expeditions with his newfound wealth, even if he had no patrons to back his work. If there was to be some metal or other mineral worth more than the Cassiterite, he felt obligated to find it.

by **The GAmeTopians** » Thu Jan 10, 2019 5:12 pm

The Great Zhou Imperium
Turn 15

Content is hard.

by **Kelmet** » Thu Jan 10, 2019 7:53 pm

The Kingdom of Lordaeron

Year ThirtyTwo of the Reign of King Varian Menethil

Turn 16

*Hopefully will be edited.

by **Ralnis** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 1:57 am

Xcotl, Land of the Dead

As the undead crumble and new people came in, the Gate Council had started to get a little antsy with their new ideas. With the Magnum Opus helping the Imperium with new magic. The Gate Council also needed to improve on many things but they had some idea on making the Ghoul. The idea and basics of tribal medical care were understood for the most part but slightly behind. It didn't entirely matter as the theories of blood magic were being advanced the Gate Council set out their entire leadership to make to rebuild the undead needed to work.

Some wanted to sacrifice the new people in the ways of necromancy and getting more undead. The Ancestor-Spirits would always be more than happy to accept compensation to help advance the knowledge of necromancy. While killing so many people would be a detriment to the city's population, the power and knowledge to further the use of reainmation and blood magic to perfect the resurrection of life and the resemblance of it.

(Also I spill doom and gloom for my fledgling state by sending some explorers to help contact the Sandwalkers)

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 12:46 pm

Year 357 of the Common Era - Turn 17

Rumors of War

To Xcotl come strange words, strange whispers in the night. To the stream of traders and travelers that visit the city of the Gate Council are added a steady stream of fire-marked refugees, men and women whose livelihoods have been left behind in a desperate flight from... something. They speak of nightmare creatures that slaughter husbands and brothers, beasts with skin the color of obsidian and red tongues slick with blood. A hundred are their number, the slow trickle of peasants and nomads fleeing a strange danger begging for refuge within the lands of the Xcotl.

The horizon of Fastaqui grows dark to the south-west, smoke filling the skies. They arrive driving desperate men and women out of the fields before them, a host of hundreds bearing strange weapons and banners of black and red. In their hands are gleaming weapons of burnished flame, and at their head stalk warriors of both stature and savagery unknown to the Many Mothers. As the peasantry flee within the great walls of Fastaqui, the soldiers of the host look upon the burnished wall and stone with what might be unease, uncertainty. Nonetheless, none of this emotion is mirrored in the attitude of the massive herald that stands forward from the host.

Words unknown pour from his tongue, but his imperious stature and belligerent tones are clear enough. A threat, a demand, and a promise if that demand is not fulfilled.

Elsewhere the Midnight Host has left the lands of the Aslani, riding east towards the rising sun.

The Magnus Opus: The mysteries of transfiguration defy the mages of the Opus. The Guild is well-fed though. From the ranks of the Shovalin peasants are recruited over the years to the ranks of the Opus, adding to the numbers of the enlightened.

The Chosen of Neferkara: From the dedicated peasants of the Gladium the blue liquid flows, faces growing pale even as the chanting of the Chosen returns the dead of Saladonia to new unlife. The people of the city are fed well enough from the game of the Hunting Grounds, and the lucre of the village is beginning to amass. +Wealth, Rural District (Hills) [Labor II], +40 Undead

The Legion of Mithras: From over the mountains the men of Mithras return to their homeland, their auspicious raid receiving accolades in the marketplaces of the city.

The Shambling Legion: It is not long ere Shoval is cleaned and refurbished in its entirety, the overt damage and trauma of the sack fading from memory. Though the people of Shoval still look at the undead askance, their glances are not filled with so much fear as they once held.

The Chyrsi Aspida: Though none of the men of Cadmus seem interested in joining the Chyrsi, having seen enough of war of late, the training of the men continues apace. What is more, a new potential ally has sent scholars to teach the Chyrsi a part of the principles of organization and governance, to raid without being opposed.

Delisle and Sons: With more income from the cassiterite, the Explorers of the Company head northward. Near unto the city of Gergan, they map out a region of high mountains. Fluffy cotton flourishes here, with high aromatic pines growing beside it on the rocky slopes. Mountain goats leap from rock to rock here, ready for hunting or herding.

Sins Remembered

Up from the roads from the south to Sarfuth come marching a host of warriors, Serrin soldiers called out by their king against the men who have seized the defenseless settlement. They are poorly equipped and diffidently led, but their numbers are greater than the defenders of the Chosen, and they deploy with grim intent; the Serrin might have been helpless against the Midnight Host, but now their resolve to prove themselves more than mere prey is redoubled. Out from the ranks of warriors a man stands, a leader perhaps, and in harsh tones he demands that the raiders disperse or perish.

by **Olthenia** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 1:35 pm

Fᴀsᴛᴀǫᴜɪ

Queen of the Skazahad Delta
________________________________________
The Fifth Matriarchate of Salika the Gilded
The Fourth Day of the Arc of Worms, Year 357 of the Common Era

There was something universal about threats. And in defiance also.

The words spoken by the herald on that smoke-black day, as the horizon lay dark and ominous at his back, may not have been known to the Many Mothers. But no matter. His stance and tone conveyed what his speech did not. It made his listeners atop the wall jeer. Hopefully, the calls and insults they bandied in return would convey their sentiments just as clearly.

"Is that him? Is that it?" murmured Okeer, a hand shading his eyes. By the gods above and below, that herald was a tall one. Even at this distance, his stance alone held menace - like a hefted cudgel or a zwazi-cat coiled for the pounce.

Beside him, Warmother Kajah clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Seems like it. I mean, I doubt he's come asking if we've seen his lost goats."

"Yes, but..." Okeer's face grew a spiderweb of furrows for a second, thoughts and realizations whirling inside. "He's just a man." The stories and half-fears melted away then. In recent weeks and arc, all the quays by the Square of Captains had been alive with nothing but stories, tales and rumors. Of man-eaters, black banners and the end of the world. Of weeping refugees and filthy, hollow-eyed none-at-alls, begging for work, for food, for salvation - and all because of that tall, drawling figure belting his words out there in that noonday murk. Just a man.

"That he is," agreed the Warmother. "And a bastard big one, too. Woe to the mother who squeezed that one out!"

'Ere long, the Many Mothers of Fastaqui had an answer of their own to deliver. Delivered by drum. Slowly but surely, bronzed backs and muscled arms hauled none other than the Council Drum up atop the hoardings by the Mud Gate. Half as wide as a warmother's spear, it was - and ringed with a bevvy of copper bells. Its sound was part thunder, part tinkling animal screech - once it sounded? Oh. It grabbed your attention and held it. Firmly.

BOOM.

Its first peal sent clouds of pink burra-birds fluttering from all the way atop the Hall of Many Mothers, cawing indignantly.

BOOM.

Its second peal sent cats screeching and babes bawling.

BOOM.

On the third peal, a clangor of arms, and ready arms to wield them - the rustle of spear shafts on stone. The noise was a stampede of; like a herd of spooked camels - each one underlined by a wild, whooping war-cry. It all came from atop Fastaqui's great, brown wall where a sturdy dozen-dozen of the Many Mothers' finest had lined up, shoulder to shoulder, heads shorn and gazes steady. Of stone and bone were their weapons made - but when a mother fights for her children? Her heart is fire. Today, on this day of days, it would have to do.

Fastaqui. Roaring defiance.

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 2:43 pm

The Imperial Republic of Saladonia
Military Square

Malix Varly eyes the Commander with stern eyes. The commander stood straight and in a proper military position. The Saladonian Commander had failed his mission. Losing the trail, and found nothing. Failure was not the Saladonian way. Malix Varly stood right in front of the Commander.

The Commander was young, new blood, rather then being the usual brave rash typical attitude, he was smart and logical. Clearly he hadn’t wanted his men to die exploring the mountains. Had he not been on the mission with no results, Malix would’ve thought that attitude was commendable. He had failed though, and Saladonians hate failure.

With a swift punch to the stomach, followed by a kick slamming into the Commanders side. The Commander falls face first into the mud. It was a rainy day, and Saladonian climate brought much mud to the lands of this fertile valley. The men behind the commander grew shock by the suddenness of the Imperators movements, but had expected the punishment none the less.

“Say your name, lytling,” roared Lord-Imperator Malix Varly.

“Calix Lazos, sir,” said the commander as he lifted himself from the dirt.

Malix’s eyes widened in surprise, he hadn’t expected a Lazos to be in the military. Merchant Clans cared little for warfare afterall, but needless to say, some within the Merchant Clans differed in opinion, allowing “black sheep” like him into the military. Never the less, Malix returned to his stern expression.

“Your punishment, Commander, is to train in the mountains to the east. You and your men will suffer the bitter cold of the Spine Mountains, and face the many dangers that lie within them.”

The Commander, still on the ground was stunned by the punishment. Saladonian punishments were not as merciful as the punishment that Malix had given Calix. Most common is a demotion, followed by a beating by the fellow soldiers, as punishment for the commanders cowardly actions. Some punishments even included execution, albeit rarely. Seldom rare, does a punishment end up being as merciful as this.

Lord-Imperator Malix Varly walks off and begins worrying about the states affair. Scholars failed their research and the mines remain incomplete. The huts were fine for now though. He had to train explorers to find the raiders. Needless to say, this year was a important one.

by **Toaslandia** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 3:05 pm

Apostolos looked out from the watchtower and sighed. The scholars had taught them some of the requirements of governance, yet they would need to learn more to govern themselves.

by **Novas Arcanum** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 5:19 pm

A new age had arisen for the great empire of Xcotl. The Wizards of the Opus had been voted leaders of the Gate Council given their position for, their knowledge and wisdom as mages. Archmage Severus was astonished at being made the ruler of an entire nation, but he accepted, eager to advance the Xcotl to new heights. He changed his name to Itzcoatl a common Xcotl name to become one with the people. As the first order of business, the Archmage ordered the death of the leader who had ordered the sacrifice of the Xcotl peasants. He was to be summarily executed for his crimes.

Itzcoatl and the Magi were disgusted by this man. Sacrificing was one thing but to kill your people was simply unacceptable in the eyes of the Ancestors. Thus at the top of the Great Pyramid previous base of the Magnum Opus, and the seat of the newly ruled Gate Council, Fate was determined that day. The ex-Leader was carried in chains, and a massive crowd gathered at the base to see the spectacle. Down came the executioner's ax and his head was chopped clean off, and the Mages kicked it from the top of the Pyramid. It bounced all the way to the bottom of the stairs, and the peasants kicked it around as a vengeance for the sins he had committed.

"By the Ancestors, no longer shall Xcotl blood be shed for nefarious and evil goals, my brethren a new era dawns on Xcotl one where all the people are treated with the respect and dignity that is befitting of an Xcotl for those who have fled I beseech you to return for this monster is no longer alive to oppress you" With that the Archmage finished his speech to people of the city.

Soon the government returned to normal after that, and news arrived from the horizon. Peasants flooded the city, bearing news of destruction and chaos from barbarian invaders. War was in the air, it seemed, and the people were anxious given how it was not too long ago that they waged war with Shoval. This news troubled the Gate Council for the city was woefully unprotected, and as such Itzcoatl ordered a wall to be constructed.

In the meantime, Itzcoatl had noted how undeveloped the land was. Xcotl was highly fertile it was a shame that the land wasn't better utilized. Thus with unlocking the secrets of farming from their trustworthy allies and friends the Zhou they got to work constructing an irrigated farm that would boost agricultural yields greatly.

In the meantime, the Gate Council made Ulm Bahadur Lord of Shoval. He had proven himself in war and battle was invaluable to the future success of the state. Thus the Council saw fit to allow him to rule over Shoval in the name of the Magocracy, to protect the people of Shoval from any ill forces that sought to harm her.

Thus the Xcotl moved upwards and onwards to new heights, using the talent of the Magnum Opus new knowledge was gained every day, and the wizards worked tirelessly to advance the state in the Sacred Chamber of Knowledge. The Archmage watched from the Pyramid anxious for the future but hopeful for the best.

*The Anthound Pastures are left alone until they recover*

In a bid to have the former peasants return home, the Leader who had ordered the sacrifices of the Xcotl Peasants is executed, his head is chopped off and kicked from the top of the Pyramid. This is meant to convey that the old leadership is disbanded and a new age dawns for the Xcotl. The Archmage issues a proclamation that Xcotl natives will not be sacrificed in the future

by **The Empire of Tau** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 6:00 pm

The Shambling Legion
Year 357 of the Common Era

Life is busy (aka my ass is lazy)

Action : Travel about to Fergdal find and use Wealth III to somehow gain more living bodies (for live-force) to use for undead rising.

by **Nuxipal** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 6:45 pm

The Chosen of Neferkara

Sarfuth

The death of Setnakhte had come at the worst possible time. Half the undead crumbled, hardly half of what crumbled had been animated from liquid manus alone, and rumor was that they would face attack sooner rather than later. They still hadn't completed the groundwork for the mine at this point either, which put many of the chosen on thin ice. A choice lay ahead and it could be all or nothing.

The day of the funeral came and went, little ceremony available in this inhospitable village. His body was prepared as his ancestors would have wanted and placed into a simple burial mound and marked with a stone marker, looking little more than a mound of dirt with stones. The following day was a day of mourning, but that evening the voting would take place. The major candidates everyone knew was either Khafra, son of Setnakhte, and Neferata the High Priestess. Should she become their leader, then Khafra would gain the High Priesthood, but not be the ruler.

Secret voting took place in which two bowls are placed out. A few members of the gladium are pulled for duty of observing and ensuring no stones are moved from one bowl to the next. One at a time, the voters enter with Khafra and Neferata being the first to cast their votes, and following tradition they vote for their opposition as a way of proving they are loyal to the chosen more than to their own ambitions.

The night moves on and the last of the votes are cast. Upon asking the last few members of the chosen which bowl looked to be full they were unable to determine any large differences between the two bowls from just looking at them. As the votes were counted in front of the assembled Chosen it was sure to be a close vote. In the end however, Khafra fell short of Neferata losing to her 54 to 46. Conceding to the new ruler of the Chosen, Khafra congratulates his sister-in-law before she takes the time to give a speech.

"Chosen, too long have we languished without a true home. We are mere miles from a place we can indeed call home. Let us take up our arms and move to claim it for ourselves."

She goes into detail about how they will defeat the Serrin and claim the lands for themselves. The following day reports indicate the Serrin have arrived near Sarfuth and arrayed for battle. Neferata orders her Undead to follow suit. 176 Undead Warriors array themselves in a double line with primitive Spears and Shields, 100 of which are engraved with the rune of shielding. Neferata and Khafra are in command of the two halves of the army while there are 100 of their own peasants arming themselves in the village. However, the population of the village simply continues working as they had been doing before.

The two of them each have different opinions on how to approach this, but at their own center they stand together and make motion for diplomacy with the leader of the Serrin troops.

by **Saxony-Brandenburg** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 7:33 pm

The Honori People
Slow Return to "Normal"

The Division of Labor

by **Kelmet** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 9:39 pm

The Kingdom of Lordaeron

Year Thirtyfour of the Reign of King Varian Menethil

Turn 17

It has long been know of the growing rivalry between the Order of the Bright Flame who owed their loyalty to the Church of Light. And the Order of the Silver Hand who owned their loyalty to the throne. It had gotten to the point were blows were nearly exchanged between their representatives on the Lords council. This would not last, in order for a stable future change was needed. In a long retreat of prayer and soul searching the Archbishop of the Light approached the King and suggested a drastic action. The Church would officially and legally become subservient to the Monarchy and the Order of the Bright Flame would be disbanded and Absorbed into the Silver Hand. With the Archbishops support the King was able to rather easily pass the Royal Decree of Consolidation.

by **The GAmeTopians** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 10:24 pm

The Great Zhou Imperium
Turn 17

Content is hard.

The Ascent of Man [IC|Closed]

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