A Strange World: The Strength of Empires [IC|Closed]

by **The GAmeTopians** » Thu Jan 02, 2020 7:48 pm

The Forge Coast

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Tue Jan 07, 2020 3:24 pm

The Deepwood

Glory to the Varavians. Glory to Varra.
May the Lord bless our loyalty to him.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Wed Jan 08, 2020 1:40 pm

Jaws of Might

The Nest-Brood, Aeryn
18th of Scion's Danse, Year 522 of the Common Era

Down the beast coursed, falling swiftly toward the sea even as the armored figure on its back hauled on the guides. Leather toggles fastened with burnished iron strained against the motion, and blood away from the soldier's head as the Severan finally opened its pinions and began leveling out. He gritted his teeth. They had warned him about that on the first flight. The younglings had had the commands impressed upon them, but were still working to understand the limitations of the small creatures that clung to their spines and how they were different than their own. A Severan, even the little ones that were nesting in the floating fortress, thought nothing of putting such strain on its body - but it didn't take more than a moment's inattention to knock out an incautious flier, and then you would end up only a sack of grain on the beast's shoulders while it wombled off to do whatever came into its head.

Begrudingly the flier rose back into level flight, and the feeling of giddiness ebbed away. Hundreds of spans below the choppy waters of the Bay of Almarth crashed, and it brought a smile to Istvan's face beneath his mask to see them from this height. Few indeed were the sons of men who had enjoyed such a view, even of the better scions of the Stalheimadrin. Leaning low across his beast's nape, he tugged the leads encouraging it upward, to where the rest of the squadron was taking up a haphazard formation. Five other great silvered creatures flashed in the sunlight of autumn, and as he rose the Brightcliff man thanked the Father for his superiors' good sense in their choice of garb for the warriors of the air. Even more than those soldiers who manned the skiffs and the Dominion, fliers aboard the more maneuverable Severans needed insulation against the bitter cold of flight. His goggles, lightly flecked with spray, moved on his face with a tenuous sorcerous charge, preventing the liquid from freezing into vision-obscuring ice.

Hand signals flickered in his direction as Istvan wrestled his charge up into the arrowhead of the squadron, some bemused, some less so. His flight mate, Anya, found his lack of control simultaneously funny for a man accustomed to the heights of the Brightcliff, and a remedy to be addressed. The squadron leader simply indicated the latter, and that they would have to log more hours as a pair-bond to ensure his Severan, who the southern man had tentatively named Whitescales, obeyed commands without question. That was something that even the best mages hadn't found a method to rush, not yet.

Toward the western horizon the squadron winged, periodically banking into maneuvers and stooping on simulated attack runs. It was a beautiful day for flying.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Wed Jan 08, 2020 2:35 pm

Year 522 of the Common Era Dawns!

A Dark-Handed Offer

From the east they came, unlooked for - the men that had so recently stolen sons of the Ngolo from their very homes, a black fleet with sails beyond counting. Far on the horizon loomed a particularly ominous portent, a vast ship many times the size of the lesser galleys that swarmed about it like bees around a hive, which glittered with fell arcane fire. They came ashore in longships of ebony wood, hundreds strong in obsidian masks, and a great figure came alone up the beach to where the Ngolo had gathered to receive him.

He spoke their tongue, loudly, crudely, but his words were clear enough to make out - he demanded subservience, offered great riches and power to those who would serve his master. The Ngolo he has chosen to be his own people, for they have resisted the creeping corruption which once led him to abandon these lands for the sea. Fealty he will have, voluntary or not, but fealty one way or another. In exchange for their allegiance he will return the sons taken to their homes, and he offers the might of the Dread Fleet which his master commands so the Ngolo may rule the Endless Ocean at his side.

One year, the speaker proclaims, shall the Ngolo have to consider this offer. One year, and no more.

The Arameri Dominion
At this juncture the Eldest fail in their trust - if they know ought of the blackness that stalks Myth Draenor's byways, the Ancestors give no sign, nothing save platitudes about the might of the spirit and the bonds of fellowship which must turn back this darkness. Ignorance they confess, and ignorance perhaps they display in truth - not all that is evil is of ancient malice, and many horrors that walk the earth are new come to their flower of fell intent. The streets of the sister city are silent at night now, save for the passage of the guard with their torches and mages. The hooded figure is seen more rarely, and the deaths begin to trail off as the year passes, the beast either sated or perhaps unable to take victims so easily in a more watchful time. The savagery, however, of its kills is only increased.

Myth Draenor: -3 Public Order, -1 Growth

Of the incentives the magistrates offer for labor to the populace, few put in the longer hours the noblemen request. The Elvish Dominion is a land of plenty with want for few, and the fair folk seem more inclined to use their spare hours in personal enjoyment and luxury than slaving for the state.

The Cartel
North the trireme squadron of the Cartel wends, and its return is unfortunately delayed - no sign of its return is heard for some time, though what might be preventing that return is unknown. Dark rumor swirls that enemies of the Mistress within the Families have sold out the military forces that defended the city to the Black Sails, seeking in this momentary weakness an accommodation with their paymasters - Elves or Black Men, the rumors differ from person to person who these traitors work for. Within the court men and women look at each other with suspicious eyes.

Happy are the men of the Red Masks to sell a portion of their haul to the Cartel in exchange for the offered wealth, and the mysterious stone which burns with eternal fire is transferred at a secret cove at night to waiting vessels after the king's ransom is paid. Three cartloads of the ore matching the description circulated by the Forgers is now in the custody of the Cartel, though the masked men decline to speak as to the whereabouts of the rest of the haul... perhaps not enough funding was offered to sate the greed of the merchants, who can now command an elevated price for the decreased supply of the strange material.

The Firstborn
In the quiet fisherfolk and traders of the Delta, the Firstborn find ample voices to listen to their siren song. Who has not walked the waves of the Great Ocean and not felt fear of his mortality, has felt the oncoming approach of age and wished to bid it to tarry? Of those with power and wealth to command their own ships the Firstborn speak most fulsomely, and so they come to the hidden places to commune with their brethren beneath the twisted swamp trees. The Skaz has its own virtues, in that it is a place where the poor sometimes disappear anyway, and so the taking of a few to feed the coven is not overly missed. Within the recesses of Fastaqui the once-dead begin to grow in numbers again, manning several merchant ships that move from here to there and thus hard to recognize.

20 new recruits have joined the Coven in Fastaqui
Two Merchant Ships are at the command of the brood.

The Many Mothers of Fastaqui
Beneath Karowa the Galleries of the Netherlights stretch for leagues nearly endless, a great network of caverns which delves back into the southern mountains that Karowa squats in the shadow of. Underground rivers have cut these caves over uncounted years, and they are filled with the strange presence of the Netherlights and their enthralling beauty. Many stones and semiprecious materials are to be found here, if one seeks them, though to extract them from the great extent of the caverns is beyond the ken of practicality for the people of the Fastaqui at present. Sources discovered: Coal, White Crystal

In tropical Fastaqui's boundaries, alongside the smoking Skazad Delta, men and women try to tend a flock of goats down from the south, from the cold arid mountains beside the endless sands. Damp and rain ill befit the grumpy creatures, and many perish, as is all too familiar a sight, but some survive. Perhaps it is unseasonably cold on the boundaries of the Amber Sea. Perhaps the Crones have devised one poultice just right to calm the foul spirits that infest the bodies of the shaggy beasts. But a struggling heard lives through the wet season, then the dry season, and shows no signs of expiring just this moment as a new year comes to the Skaz.

The Aederfolk
It is a proclamation which sits ill with the traditionalists within Aeder society, and cheers those who follow the New Faith to no end - their rulers are of the lineage of the gods themselves, and thus worthy of all praise! Much muttering into beards and dark omens follows this proclamation, and the druidic circles are filled with men and women seeking counsel about how to best greet this strange word of the rulers of the land. The time of plenty and feasting proclaimed, however, is just icing on the cake of the joy that comes to those who have embraced the new ways, and thus they are blind, for a time, to the religious schism that is developing within their society. Though the wise men promise dire portents to those who so assiduously mock the power of the gods, it is a good year with no ill favor of the deities that men might see.

As for the red masked men, they are disappointed at this lack of a sale, but offer their services nonetheless in other areas. They seem to be an organization that specializes in getting their hands on things other kindreds think secure - the immortal rites of the Elves, the vaunted aetherium of the Hierarchy, and other rumored powers and grand things, all, they say, can be had for a price...

Of the stone sent to Ita, a fair missive of thanks is returned to Dol Blatthana. Good friends are hard to come by in these times, and the people of the mountain vales are already hard at work using the quarried goods to repair their damaged ancient fastnesses.

The Magocracy of Xcotl
They struck in the midnight hours, obviously aided by men within the city in opening the gate. A band of brigands came at night in numbers, seizing wealth and butchering all those who stood against them. The fighting against them is intense as the city guard slowly becomes aware of the problem, but eventually abates towards daybreak. As the smoke clears, it becomes apparent that this is the work of the escaped slaves who fled Xcotl many years before! Nearly a thousand slaves have fled into the east alongside their brethren, and they have carried off with them a wealth of riches and destroyed an Archive. The overseers and nobility demand that something be done, before these attacks grow bolder.

-1 Slave, -10 Wealth, +5 Military Experience. An Archives in the Government District has been burnt to the ground. -5 Public Order

The Forge
It is a time when humble citizens fear an authoritative knock in the night. It is clear to all, of course, that in order to make off with such a wealth of goods, the criminals in the Red Masks must have had help from inside the city - from the Great Houses, the Hammers, someone. Very publicly the government has gone about the process of interrogating all those who might have been involved with the heist, imposing curfews, checkpoints, and extracting oaths from those particularly involved with the Mines of good conduct. A few men are rooted out, confessing to the crimes, but most seem to be lower down in any organization, or merely bribed into compliance - of their number there are also several who could be innocent, merely coerced by blackmail of their peers into taking the fall, or tortured into confessing by a city guard anxious for results...

by **Novas Arcanum** » Wed Jan 08, 2020 4:12 pm

The Arameri Dominion

Normally the Elves of Myth Draenor were a joyous and boisterous folk. The land was rich in good food, good drink, and good company. The fey beings delighted in dancing and playing jokes and acts of mischief on one and another, in throwing festivals and galas. They enjoyed deep passionate lovemaking, young babes exploring themselves and their bodies. The Elves normally didn't take things seriously perhaps a consequence of their unusually long lifespan, they normally had an optimistic view of life.

But now things had changed. The air was dark and somber now. A dark horror stalked them and they knew not what they did to incur the wrath of the gods. The Ancestors had spoken cryptically of the evil that stalked them, giving words of wisdom but nothing of substance. Thus Myth Draenor was silent, and dark for now folk passing each other quickly in a hurry, to reach their homes before night fell, friends hurrying past each other without greeting one and another, silence reigned.

The folk of Myth Draenor prayed for an end to this crisis. Their only breath of relief was the clanking of boots, justiciars, warriors, and mages patrolling the streets on the lookout for the evil that dared to threaten their people.

In the meantime, the Elves would look for a way to set a trap. The Elves were a cunning people, acting in the shadows to shake the foundations of the world. Agents of Dae Aran, Shadow Lords, had descended on the city-state to catch this beast once and for all. The beast seemed to favor preying on young maidens and lords killing them in the cruelest and most barbaric of ways. Thus two agents barely in their eighties, a young and beautiful lady with hair of snow, and a young and handsome lord with hair that was obsidian black would be sent to lure the beast in.

Both agents had volunteered their lives willingly. The lord and lady came from Great Houses that specialized in working in the dark and both of their Houses where apart of the Dae Aran. They had been trained since their youth, and knew the risks and accepted them for the good of their people they would lay down their lives to vanquish this beast once and for all.

In the shadows, Dae Aran and warriors and sorcerers would wait. The schemers prayed to the gods of the hundred thousand kingdoms that this would work.

Turn 28

Happenings
-14 Wealth is spent setting a trap to lure the Dark Horror

-Elven Armies coordinating with the agents to vanquish the beast

by **Ralnis** » Thu Jan 09, 2020 6:57 pm

The Firstborn Coven,
Skatz Delta

Within the Delta the vampires regrew their numbers prior to when they left the Kingdom. Unlike the poor who they once experimented their first beings and sought to understand how the feelings and instincts of a vampire work. They learned that their thirst and hunger can overcome the basic identity of a vampire that had already poor control. This resulted in Midnight nearly close on them but they managed to escape. This Delta was poor and widespread, which was good for them to grow with some quietness but still they needed someone to teach the young race control.

The merchant ships that they have acquired were already better than just the noble in their mist at one point that allowed them to siphoned funds from the Kingdom. They had assets that could allow them to move and affect the local markets and merchants who knew the Many Mother's economic prospects. While the Elders didn't know the entirety of Fastaqui outside of their on goings back in the day and the Battle of Saurth against the War Guilds. They knew that if they were to regain their wealth and grow beyond just a group of people than they would need to use the merchant ships.

The Elders have assigned the merchants to run transport contracts and make connections with other merchants and nobles who can be of some worth to the coven. It would be good to rebuild the coven's wealth and look into making some idea of a permanent location while they grow to the point to make a pilgrimage to Xcotl.

In the form of recruitment the Coven has started to look into those among the locals but not to turn into vampires. There was a good reason to have humans among their ranks was the means of expanding their coven without increasing the amount of humans dying in the Delta. This was one of the mistakes the Elders have wanted to rectify since the Capital. They needed to have these people as a means of expanding their membership and have a way to obfuscate the general public of their feeding and nightly activities.

Actions: Use the two merchant ships to do transport jobs for local merchants around the Delta to establish connections. Start trying to recruit non-vampiric servants within the Delta.

by **Nuxipal** » Fri Jan 10, 2020 12:11 pm

Kingdom of Nekhen

Third Year of the Reign of High King Settra - Year 461

The Sands shift once more in the lands of the Aslani. It had been many years since contact with the Marani had fallen apart due to Middani warfare. The Saelani had left the lands off the deserts for some unknown destination leaving behind only a few members of their society. The Great Serapis Desert to the north, the name which lent itself to a grand alliance of the Aslani, Marani, and Itani, is still the primary defense for the people of the water. Within the great walled fortress city of Khasut, High King Settra set about consolidating his rule after his older sister's mishandling of their affairs. Under her watch, there was peace, but also stagnation. Where new wonders should have been erected only minor advancements made. The rule of law was slowly dissolving in many parts of his Kingdom because of her inaction.

"We need to begin to re-arm ourselves in earnest. Our warriors once marched north to Mara and fought the Middani and their terrifying warriors. Since the time of my mother's reign we have slowly withdrawn from the outside world. Our grand warriors will need to rise once again and take what belongs to us." His advisers had already begun drawing up new plans for how to best accomplish their King's commands. Several objectives needed to be reached, but creating a steady source of labor and wealth seemed high on the list.

by **Olthenia** » Sat Jan 11, 2020 1:49 pm

Bronze Statuette of Veiled Dancer
Dated C.E. 522

The complex motion of this dancer is conveyed exclusively through the interaction of the body with several layers of dress. Over an undergarment that falls in deep folds and trails heavily, the figure wears a lightweight mantle, drawn tautly over her head and body by the pressure applied to it by her right arm, left hand, and right leg. Its substance is conveyed by the alternation of the tubular folds pushing through from below and the freely curling softness of the fringe. The woman's face is covered by the sheerest of veils, discernible at its edge below her hairline and at the cutouts for the eyes. Her extended right foot shows a laced slipper. This dancer has been convincingly identified as one of the professional entertainers, a combination of mime and dancer, for which the city of Fastaqui was famous in the Common Era.

Special Actions:

- A band of Settlers ventures into the coastal woodlands east of Ge’en this year. What wonders can this strange land hold?

by **Aidannadia** » Sun Jan 12, 2020 10:21 am

*The newly constructed Galley is sent North to look for the missing ship and report back any findings regarding the mysterious island.

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Mon Jan 13, 2020 1:00 pm

Varra

In the great foggy mists of the Deepwood, dark silhouettes stood silent at a small entrance. Many knew all to well, what was below. They feared what was below. Fortune smiled upon the sons of Val though, there was little reason for their enemies to seek them out anymore. As far as they knew Varra was dead and gone.

It didn't take long for a authoritative voice to break the silence, "Alright lads, seal the tunnel. I ain't risking the lives of Varavian people over this cursed place."

The voice belonged to the Hand of the Queen, Ellanher Ferberg, the man designated to lead the Circle by the order of his queen. Ellanher knew the curses that devilish gate would wrought if untended and he knew Varra was not ready yet to face this grave threat. As the final shove sealed the mysterious tunnel, the men returned to their settlement shrouded in fog.

Glory to the Varavians. Glory to Varra.
~~May the Lord bless our loyalty to him.~~

by **The GAmeTopians** » Tue Jan 14, 2020 9:26 am

The Forge Coast

With a portion of the stolen goods returned by the Forge's gracious allies to the south, the search gradually comes to an end, the powers that be apparently appeased. But all is not what it seems. The soldiers of the Forge, quietly returned to their homes and old duties, now prowl the night in search of the true culprits. They lie in wait for the enemy to make another move.

"Barmaid, another round if you please!"
Amidst the raucous clamor of a nondescript tavern in the Forge came a call for refreshment from one man in particular. He was a regular in this particular tavern - everyone who was anyone around here knew his story. Recently discharged from his militia service, the man was taking some time to get back on his feet, and relax before returning to his trade. Not an uncommon tale, and no one paid him much mind so long as he kept buying the drinks.

Of course, that was the idea.

A hooded figure brushed by the ex-soldier, ruffling his sleeve. As the barmaid passed drinks around, providing a welcome distraction to the rowdy taverngoers, the soldier passed a small parchment to the figure, who quickly melted into the crowd, presumably making a hasty exit.

Nothing to report. No signs of trouble. Will transition to my cover position tomorrow. Found a job just outside the treasury, will provide lookout. More info next drop.
-T

The barmaid passed the soldier a drink with a polite smile. Taking it with his own amorous grin, he shouted to his drinking companions.
"Raise another for the Forge, boys!"

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Tue Jan 14, 2020 1:14 pm

The Bulwark of Nations

Lord-Magistrate's Overlook, The Spire of Guard, Cadmus
3rd of Winterbreath, Year 523 of the Common Era

"You may fire when ready."

The voice of the white haired governor of the alabaster cliffs was as wintry as his countenance, amplified in the sorcerous fire that the purple-trimmed robed figure held before him on the balustrade. Crackles of arcane energy pulsed beneath his hands as the master of Cadmus leaned forward on his balcony, claw-like fingers gripping the polished stone. It was a barely distinguishable humming in the air to the unattuned bureaucrat, but he noted with grim interest that the mage that stood beside him was pale-faced and wan, sweating profusely while appearing to gaze into some interminable distance. The light above him was much clearer to observe, the feeble radiance of the winter sun swiftly overcome and then redoubled, the shadowed cliffs of Cadmus thrown into sharp relief for an instant.

Then it happened - a silent thunderclap, an expulsion of air that staggered the governor, and a lance of riotous color arcing toward the distant hills. Before he even had time to fill his lungs from the shock the stream of fire swept across a secluded hillside, strewn with tiny figures at the great distance. A wash of heat from above sent a flush to his cheeks mere moments later, like standing before a summer's day, and then it was gone, grounded by the eldritch wards set in the mighty fortress.

There in the distance the flames leapt high, greedy and all-consuming, looking like nothing so much as a toy hearth at this range. But the governor had walked those grounds before, seen the simulacra placed there for testing, the facsimiles of walls, gates, archers, siege machines, long leagues away from Cadmus' beating heart and the Hierarchy's hold on this northern coast of the Endless Ocean. A sadistic smile crept across his face as the old man observed the blasted heath that remained where the lance had passed, and he nodded curtly to the pale mage that the learned scholar could depart. There was no more need to speak to the mages that controlled the focusing crystal high atop the Spire, not now.

As the old man thought and watched the flames spread, his smile only broadened. Yes, let those black sails come against his charge, his Cadmus. Let the midnight riders come west to seek retribution for ancient defeats. They did not have an inkling of the power here trammeled in a generation's labor, in the graven stone and beating heart of the earth. They would all burn. Let them come.

by **The Empire of Tau** » Tue Jan 14, 2020 2:48 pm

Xcotl Gang

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Tue Jan 14, 2020 9:14 pm

Year 523 of the Common Era Dawns!

Beneath a Black Hood

The night is dark and still as the young couple walk through the forest, the moon occluded by scudding clouds, her light feeble and intermittent. It was silent, the high winds not stirring the normally picturesque woodlands of Myth Draenor, barely a breath of air on the move. She and he were tired, cold, and nervous - it was one thing to volunteer for the trap, another to wait night after sleepless night as the killings continued, awaiting some terrible fate and yet seeing nothing. The funerals continued. The blank stares, the empty eyes, and the chill wind that sent men and women hurrying home with no hint of song or snatch of conversation lest the stranger they greet be the man in the dark cloak and their greeting their last words.

The two huddle around a fire, mages and warriors near at hand, the best spellsingers and mercenaries that money could buy lying with baited breath in the shadows. A twig snaps nearby, perhaps a man in armor hidden by a glamour moving a foot to keep the circulation in his limbs. In the darkness there is a faint feeling of lightness as the night continues, that perhaps everything will be alright. Gradually, to keep her spirits up, the elven maiden begins to sing a low doggerel under her breath, a nonsense fable about a faerie that climbed to the moon to meet the man that dwells therein. It is a silly thing, but it lightens her heart, and as she sings the moon swings overhead slowly. The dark clouds are receding, perhaps, and the moon shines brightly.

That is when she noticed him - when the moon shone out most brightly. The figure in black crouching beside the fire, warming pale corpse-white hands next to where her companion had been stood. His hood was cast forward over his face, and yet though she felt she ought to feel fear, the lullaby had done a part of its work. Her dread was dulled, and no menace radiated from the figure. Almost unintentionally, she stepped toward the stranger, and the figure looked up toward her. A last scrap of doggerel came from the darkness, not from her lips, but from the shadows around her that closed in like a familiar cloak.

"...the man in the moon himself came down, to find his wayward bride. Her laugh he heard, and claimed for his own, and many more beside."

The soldiers saw nothing, eyes heavy with forgetfulness and sleep. The mages jerked awake in a moment, mystical alarms jangling, wide eyes staring. But the clearing was bright and clear, the figures gone, nothing left except for a cold fire and an empty black cloak seemingly woven of the night sky. Beneath the hands of the first mage it slipped away wending skyward, and the night was silent again.

The night thereafter no terror walked the streets of Myth Draenor. Men locked their doors, the mages stood ready, but the murders and disappearances, it seemed, had stopped.

The Firstborn
Wealth is not won overnight, but earned - and slow stolid investments of time and labor bear their fruit after the manner of all men. Where capital is held, profits may accrue. Odd jobs for the odd men are difficult to find, for something makes the jolly captains of Fastaqui leery of the pallid sailors, but there are always desperate men who will ask no questions and pay for services. They are not the most savory cargoes, but the sons of the night are not picky. At the years end their coffers are swollen with modest funds, though attempts to bind mortal men to their service have proven less than effective.
+2 Wealth

The Many Mothers of Fastaqui
East run the shores of the Mirror Sea, deep and dark forests bordered by azure seas and sprawling warm sands. Immense creatures larger than any camel walk here in the humid swamps, long necks grazing on tree and muck-weed alike, gentle giants that stun the settlers - great monkeys with orange fur and kind faces making their homes on the backs of these beasts and in the towering trees. In the mud and grassy hillocks of the swamp, rising above the still brown and green waters, purple gemstones can be found glittering with an alluring light.

The Cartel
Two months of sailing, and the lost are found - a slightly reduced fleet of warships bearing the pink sails of the Cartel's ruling houses, and a tale of woe. Driven off course by a mighty storm, they were forced to winter from the hurricane on the northern island, where they stumbled across cyclopean ruins and masonry of indeterminate age. Looting of these strange relics was both profitable, and curious. The haul coming back south will occupy the scholars of Barbados and her markets for many years, no doubt. +2 Cyclopean Relics, +5 Wealth, +3 Science

The message to the men in red masks is responded to only slowly, but eventually in a curious manner. A letter is left on the door of the treasury in Barbados, neatly stamped in scarlet ink and secured by a curious dagger of bright Ithildeen from beyond the eastern seas.

"Lord Fernando of the Cartel.
We are always watching, and our stories are our own. Speak, and we will hear."

The Xcotl Magocracy
From the east the messenger comes, black-garbed and shod in strange armor. The missive he delivers is simple, but pointed.

"The next War comes. Prepare your soldiers. I march."

A strange signature is scrawled across the base of the page, strong and spidery, and a sense of dread falls on even the most powerful mages when they gaze upon it, almost as if it carries a mind of its own that wars against those who cast their eyes upon its writing.

by **Novas Arcanum** » Wed Jan 15, 2020 6:19 am

The Arameri Dominon
15th of Morning Star, Age 133 of the Arameric Era

The tale of the Dark Horror would be told for centuries to come. Of a jealous moon spirit who came from the great beyond to haunt the people of Myth Draenor. Of an elven maiden who won his heart and went with him to the spirit realm, so that she could be his bride. It was a strange and dark tale, but the folk of Myth Draenor as a people were prone to believe such things. It was only natural to spin and weave tales of things they could not explain, events that were not logical in any sense of the word.

Every year, during the 15th of Morning Star when the maiden was taken, the people of Myth Draenor would visit the site and leave a white rose there in remembrance of that fateful day. The white rose was a symbol of the loss of a beauty claimed by a force of nature, a fae of the moon.

With the Horror in Myth Draenor dealt with, the Arameri could finally look to the horizon and expand their reach. The banners of Auri-Al waved in the wind, gloriously for all to see.The fey lords carried them to the east. Bleating herds of goat, long neck beasts and lush gardens greeted them. They saw an owl perched on the branch of a white birch tree whose top reached high into the heavens themselves. This would be the site of a new elven kingdom of Myth Tirion.

Turn 29

Myth Tirion rises a new elven kingdom...

Twenty Food is traded to the Hiearchy in exchange for five crystal timber

by **Aidannadia** » Wed Jan 15, 2020 7:27 am

To the Folk of the Ngolo,

We inquire formally about the status of our trading vessel wayward on your shores. We have great concern as to its fate, and require that you do all in your power to return our people back to us.

Regards,

The Cartel

10 Wealth is paid for the rest of the Mystical elements in the possession of the red masks.
Two Triremes patrol the straits around the island of Barbados.

by **Nuxipal** » Thu Jan 16, 2020 10:22 am

Kingdom of Nekhen

Fourth Year of the Reign of High King Settra - Year 462

Changes were being instituted within the Kingdom effectively. New constructions were raising and the housing district was being situated in a way to keep the masses of the capital from being homeless. Already, this, coupled with artisans being paid to live in Arshak, has lessened the impact of homelessness on the city and given hope that the future of Khasut would be one free of these kind of dangers. They would need to find new methods by which to create labor, and one of those was harnessing the power of the Asl river which the city rose up next to.

Unfortunately, with the labor shortages and the homeless situation as it is, Settra ordered his priests to identify those who are unable to assist fully in their current capacity to be brought forth as sacrifices to create a larger work force, and a future larger undead army. The loss of life is unfortunate, but the future gains of the city are more important at this time. The threat of the Middani riding across the Desert grows with each and every day. The threat of pirates arriving in Arshak and threatening it are equally disturbing. They needed a larger work force, and this was the best way he could conjure one up.

by **Ralnis** » Fri Jan 17, 2020 2:43 pm

Firstborn

Action: Focus on trying to recruit human servants to act as proxies for the Coven.

by **Elerian** » Mon Jan 20, 2020 4:32 pm

Aederfolk

by **Olthenia** » Mon Jan 20, 2020 4:53 pm

Fᴀsᴛᴀǫᴜɪ

Queen of the Skazad Delta
________________________________________
The Twenty-Ninth Matriarchate of Kemkasa the Old
The Sixth Day of the Arc of Feasting, Year 524 of the Common Era

For now, sleep. Tomorrow, content.

Special Actions:

- A band of Settlers ventures east of Ge’en this year, and then south. Into the deep, dark woods.

- Diplomatic envoys are dispatched to the men of Serrith, offering ten cartloads of wealth in exchange for herds of cattle or goats.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Mon Jan 20, 2020 9:38 pm

Forging Men

Hall of Might, Kharbarinth
17th of Harvestmoon, Year 524 of the Common Era

Andrevus padded nervously forward across the grand chamber, head half bowed in deference to the richly robed men and women who sat on either side of the central aisle, his burden in front of him weighing heavily on his arms. When he had begun his apprenticeship his eyes had been wide and bright, unmisted by the passage of time, his hands steady and strong - now after the long years his craft had drained the vitality from his body, interminable hours hunched over the forge gazing at every minutae of the gather dulling his vision, cheeks blown out and shot with veins from the force of sending air into the molten morass to make the instruments that many required and which his master demanded. His steps were firm as he walked, the linen-shrouded figure in his hands obscured under the cloth, but those who looked upon him could tell his years were now becoming spent.

Five more steps, and then up to the dais, where five of the great masters of the guild sat expectantly. He bowed low to them, forehead nearly touching the smooth burnished table of translucent gemstone which stood there, an altar to the fathers of the craft. Sonorous tones filled the Hall as the masters rose in unison, words ringing out via mystical amplification to fill the sinuous structure of spun stone.

"We are gathered here, Brethren of the Trammeled Flame, to judge the work of Andrevus, journeyman under the tutelage of Master Tulim Crimsonhand and his plea for ascension. Look well, and see truth."

"Look well, and see truth." came the echoed response of the four flanking masters, and the assembled members of the Brethren from behind Andrevus. He felt the sounds as much as heard them, his senses blocking out the context of their word in blind fear. This was what he had waited for, been bound for since his youth - these minutes, this scrutiny. With trembling hand he placed his burden upon the white gemstone table, and then, turning to the assembled masters of the Brethren, he spoke aloud.

"I am Andrevus of no name. I have labored for three score and seven years beneath the tutelage of Master Crimsonhand, honing my craft, and now present my opus to the Brothers for their acclaim and to petition to be elevated to the rank of Craft-Master. Look now upon the distillation of my life and my craft."

It was a ritualistic formula, grounded in centuries of labor, but now given new meaning as the mystical became every more mundane within the bounds of the Hierarchy. With a flourish Andrevus removed the cloth, and it was to his credit that several sharp inhalations of breath followed that revelation.

In prismatic hues the figure of spun glass glittered, breaking the witch-light of the lanterns placed about the Hall into a thousand hues and flinging it back upon those who gazed upon the leaping woman. Her limbs were twined lead-glass, fired with veins of pyre-wicked shimmerstone, the sorcerous resonance of the animuculus clear for any with the senses to touch it. Forward Andrevus leaned over his fabrication, his opus, and a simple spark of initiation he drew from his internal flames, supplying it to the greedy invisible engines of the animation.

Suddenly, at first stiffly, and then with greater elegance, the figure began to move - dancing upon the crystalline slab it moved in a complicated routine, radiant heat sloughing off of its body in waves, the liquid glass bearing the heat of the forge to make it mobile while the many spells woven into its creation prevented the mobile fluid from escaping the confines of the carefully sculpted form. Slow waves of applause came from around the Hall, and the glassworker felt palpable tremors of relief rush through his body, even as he struggled to maintain the dignified poise expected of a Master. He had never doubted that they would love his creation, yes that was the mien he had to project. He deserved their acclaim, belonged in their ranks.

Anon the figure wound down, resuming his supine posture, and Andrevus bowed low one more time, his journeyman's simple robes brushing the polished stone floor about the dais.

"This is my opus, honored Masters. What now say you of my petition?"

Several heads turned on the high platform to look at each other, weighing, measuring, even as murmured words came from behind where Andrevus remained bowed. Anon, however, one clear high voice spoke from the middle of the judging committee.

"Your opus is seen and accepted, Andrevus of no name. We raise you now, by the evidence of your craft and the testimony of your tutor, to the rank of Craft-Master. Your name is now Andrevus Firedancer, Brother of the Trammeled Flame. Rise, and be recognized."

His knees nearly buckled at the proclamation, but he stood up from his bow nonetheless, trembling as two of the great Masters descended from their seats to stand at either side of the crystalline table. With long knives of forged starsteel they cut away his journeyman's robes, casting them upon the table and igniting them with sorcerous fire. He stood naked for a moment, a shiver of shame wending through his heart, but all in the room had borne such a ceremony and after that moment he stood straight as his aged back would allow.

The words were repeated as the keen eyed woman who had spoken descended to stand on the other side of the altar, her figure slightly obscured by the flames that were consuming his old robe, blasted, burnt, and stained with the chemical stains of his decades of service.

"Rise, and be recognized."

Her hand snaked through the flames, and a sudden shock of piercing cold touched his breast alongside her fingers, which gripped his flesh in a claw-like embrace, sinking slightly into his paper-thin skin. Blood welled about her fingertips and the pain throbbed dully for a moment, then the Craft-Master began to chant. In her other hand a gem pulsed, prismatic light radiating as her words rose and fell, and the bleeding ceased. On either side the other two Masters chanted as well, old words binding the winds of the world to the needs of the Stalheimadrin, hidden meanings revealed by the Father to his favored children trammeling strange and eldritch energies in the flesh of the newest member of the Brethren of the Trammeled Flame.

His breath came harsh and heavy as the cold and pain intensified, until it was no longer gasping for air, but a voiceless scream. His muscles tensed, creaking in involuntary spasms, so hard and sudden he felt his bones must snap for the strain. All sense of time disappeared in that searing agony, but it must not have been long, for he soon returned to himself - shivering on the stone floor of the Hall. With sudden energy he stood, and a wide smile covered his face. It was done. He was made new.

No sign of the age of his apprenticeship remained, the long years of the forge and the bent back of his dotage banished by the arcane might used sparingly upon those meriting of its power. His limbs were hale, whole, his eyes clear and far seeing - even the white that had flecked his black beard banished as he gazed for a moment at his image in the reflective surface of the altar. No soot remained of his old robes, but a man made new, as young as the twenty winters he had had when he began learning his craft, wisdom in his eyes but vitality in his hand.

A robe was placed about his shoulders, and two hands tied the clasp about his waist. A smile was in the Craft-Master's eyes as she turned him about, presenting the initiate to the hall of cheering glassmakers.

"Honored brothers, meet Andrevus Firedancer, the newest member of our number."

Leyline Cruiser and Aership Squadron are hunting south for the Black Sails

by **The Empire of Tau** » Mon Jan 20, 2020 11:08 pm

Xcotl Gang

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Tue Jan 21, 2020 3:42 pm

Varra

Glory to the Varavians. Glory to Varra.

by **The GAmeTopians** » Thu Jan 23, 2020 7:25 pm

The Forge Coast

All is quiet on the Forge Coast... for now, at least.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Thu Jan 23, 2020 7:44 pm

Year 524 of the Common Era Dawns!

The Fire Rises

It is near the end of spring, after the message was dispatched from Barbados to their supposed allies within the Ngolo, that the horizon darkened with sails from the south. A response have come from the Folk, but not in the form the Cartel might have anticipated - it was now clear what fate had befallen the traders dispatched in that direction. The Black Sails had come.

In the reaches off Barbados, the war-drums thundered, and the two dozen triremes of the great Fleet turn to face their foes. The wind is stiff out of the east, and their sails hang near limp, but men with backs soaked in sweat stand ready at the oars to fling the immense ships forward to face their foes. Many are the enemy, more than their numbers, but the Black Sails appear to prefer smaller vessels than the mighty triremes, more maneuverable but less durable. Also within the sheltered harbor of the Cartel lie additional galleys where men rush to man the ships and push off from the quays... a great battle is about to begin.

And it is not a battle the men of the Cartel will fight alone. From out of the north and the east strange shapes move above the horizon - aerships bearing the white and black sails of the Stalheim Hierarchy, themselves hunting for the pirates of the Black Sails, come by happenstance upon the building engagement about the southern isles. Their numbers are fewer, but an immense Aercruiser forms the flagship of the fleet, and there are few weapons which any man wields which will bite upon the floating island of stone and metal.

Few weapons, but not none. The day is more dubious than might appear - for at the heart of the fleet of the pirates comes a mighty vessel, a ship that is a monolith passing across the surface of the deep, towering three times and more the height of the lesser galleys where the slaves of the Black Sails row under the lash. Arcane fire rims the towers of its sails, and what weapon might overthrow such a vessel is unclear indeed...

The Second Battle of Barbados is about to be joined.

The Arameri Dominion
News is good from fair Myth Tirion. A third city of the Elves upon the island that was given to them, a wealth that was previously unsuspected has been found beneath the waves offshore of the flourishing minor settlement- immense clams as large as men, that grow only in the dark depths where it is difficult for even the Mer to swim down to. But a great reward lies within their maws for those with the rare skill to harvest them; luminescent pearls as large as the fists of men, which shine with an inner light. Surely of great value for both trade and magick, their provenance can only be guessed at.

The Cartel
The new generation contains its fair share of Half-Elves: the Peasants now added to the numbers of the people of the Cartel can be categorized as such, new sons of the union between the two races which will enrich the fortunes of all. Moreover, a part of their fertility appears to have blessed this generation - half of the Growth consumed in the creation of these new Half-Elves is refunded, for Barbados is growing with a speed never before seen.

Of the offer to the Red Masks, an apologetic message only is returned - Our current resources of the ever-useful Magelmar are at present exhausted, and the opportunity of the Red Moon has yet to come to obtain more. We shall take your request under advisement for future projects, honored sons of Barbados. As ever, we watch.

The Firstborn
A small number of servants and indentured laborers have been bound by contract and the strange seduction of power that the night-walkers possess to the service of their masters, utilized for the covert feeding of the chosen few, and useful for hiding the unnatural character of the new citizens of the Delta from the city-folk of Fastaqui... an expansion of the power the blood-drinking scions possess, and a spreading malady unnoticed by any.
50 Living Servants have been added to the numbers of the Fastaqui Coven

The Aederfolk
The curious substance which has been the focus of generations of scholars at last gives up its secrets - Luminary Palerock, as the wise men name it, is a source of near endless luminescence, giving light like the sun to even the deepest mines and the darkest of nights when heated by a light flame, refracting the energy imparted to it into a brilliance many magnitudes in scale of that it absorbs. Though of little intrinsic use due to its fragile nature, scholars have already identified many uses for it in the deepest mines and for stretching the growing season of more fragile crops.

Three units of Luminary Palerock, if integrated into the construction of a Mine, cause that mine to produce an additional unit of resources. If used in the construction of an Irrigated Farm, that Irrigated Farm will produce one more Food, and cannot be effected by seasonal conditions.

The Many Mothers of Fastaqui
The settlers and second sons dispatched to the east and south walk the depths of the Deepwood, and soon come upon lands known to their soldiers - for here stands Varra, mother of the Forest, and ally of the Fastaqui.

As for the envoys sent north, only half of their number are returned, their thumbs cut from their hands. The masters of the Serrin, the men of the Midnight, have not forgotten the bodies left before the walls of Fastaqui in the days of old, nor the defiance of the people of the Skazad in the face of the Lord of the Earth. A message has been cut with a cruel blade into the forehead of every surviving ambassador.

The next War comes, blasphemers.

The Magocracy of Xcotl
The men sent east to hunt the wayward slaves do not return. Whatever virtues they possessed for hunting out those disloyal to the lords of the Magocracy, their virtues failed them in the open country, amongst those utterly devoted to burning down the slaving regime. This year is quiet, relatively, despite the weakening of the garrison of the Queen of Cities - but the graffiti dabbed on walls calling for the deaths of the Masters and freedom for all has not abated, and here and there overseers still show up with their throats cut in an untimely end. Bubbling dissent rollicks in Xcotl's streets beneath the surface.

In fair Hesse, down into the depths of many caves and passages, skilled men and miners have descended. The landscape of warm plains and treeless hills turns out to have a fair wealth of gold deep beneath it. It will be accessible with Deep Mines, but the shallow scrapes of simple mining cannot delve deep enough to reach the hidden rivers of lucre.

The Forge Coast
Rewards are offered, and favors called in - secret patrols and raids move across the isles, seeking the perfidious men who have betrayed the trust of the Hammers. False accusations are leveled, but eventually dismissed by the magistrates. If the Red Masks move still within the Houses, they are hidden deep, a cancer that is difficult to detect and more difficult still to excise...

All is not dark however. Private enterprises in the depths of the Mines of the Outer Isles have been expanding the delvings slowly but surely, and now come to the government for support to accomplish their ambitions. For a mere 10 Labor and 5 Wealth, a new vein of silver deep below the island can be fully unearth, to enrich the coffers of all.

A Strange World: The Strength of Empires [IC|Closed]

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