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

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Thu Oct 03, 2019 9:08 am

Year 503 of the Common Era Dawns!

The Cartel
The triumphant return of the ships bearing the warriors of the Cartel would have been a great day, save for the gray sails that filled the horizon not long after their passage. Enemies! Raiders! The alarm bells ring, and to their ships the sailors of the Cartel race, pink sails raising to face the gray. In the harbor offshore of the Cartel the ships of the two forces clash, flights of arrows covering ships in corpses, intermittent fires breaking out and sending vessels to the bottom of the Endless Ocean.

When the smoke clears and night draws in, the invaders have been beaten back, and their tattered sails retreat into the distance. Of the Cartel's warships, though, only a handful remain, severely battered and limping back to the docks. They will require repairs totaling 5 Wealth, 2 Timber and three years of labor in order to take to the sea once more.

Fortunately in this time of war, the people of the Cartel are inspired to greater works - either by whip, or out of patriotism. Double shifts are worked on the harbor, and 5 bonus labor is contributed to the Shipyard.

The Arameri Dominion
Fortune comes from Arkane, or perhaps Amarth. High in the hills of Myth Ellanor, the Temple of Seeing spots a large vein of silver which is easy to mine, and promptly exploited. +3 Silver Ore

The Puqina
Isin, a small settlement, is completely unprepared for the assault of the warriors of the Sun. Her people are rounded up and her buildings burnt, her humble farmers not able to even put up a token resistance. Into exile the people of the Nekhen Kingdom are marched, a wealth of kings on the backs of their new masters. +2 Slaves, +7 Wealth, +2 Food

The Firstborn
The Gergish folk are apologetic, but the demands of the market are many, and there simply aren't enough bodies to fulfill the wishes of the Uushuran. Masters speak of slave-raids to be done in the coming years, but the hundreds the Firstborn would buy are not available for love or money within the walls of the Emerald City.

The Bloodhounds
A strange man comes from the north, his skin pale-white and his words stinking of the grave. His eyes though are lively, and his words seductive. With many promises of wealth and power he offers to teach the men of the Kennels of the School of Blood Magic, to open the veins of their captives or war-victims and thus grasp strength formerly spoken of only in song. All he asks is a few of their Peasants in exchange for this gift, for he has need of servants.

The Frostriders
Across the wide plains of the taiga the riders of the Vorstaal range, and yet their search yields only meager results. A few tiny encampments of bone and hide they find, a dozen men and women who hunt and gather chasing the herds like the Vorstaal, scarcely enough to dig a trench for their new masters. Farther afield the horde will have to range if it desires true opportunities for lucre and new servants.

The Ngolo
North of the home of the Ngolo the lands remain dark and heavily wooded, before eventually sloping down into beaches of golden sand. Large red crystalline formations jut from the earth here, an aura of malice surrounding them, though their beauty is great. Majestic immense whales with sable skins breach occasionally off of the northern coast, and small pigs with succulent flesh roam the woods by the beaches. To the west the jungles continue unabated, but the east and the north are glittering sea. A small circle of builded stones marks a strange ruin on a peninsula along the coast...

The Forge
Down into the depths the soldiers of the Forge delve, the exploratory shaft echoing with the tramp of shod feet and clanking simple armor. Past abandoned galleries they pass, a sense of dread growing as they observe pickaxes and tools cast aside with no heed, and strange footsteps mottling the dust and gravel which do not seem entirely human. Their hands grip their weapons close, and slowly as the spiral mineshaft digs deeper still the air grows hot, and bizarre sounds begin to fill the air. Until, that is, the soldiers suddenly burst out into a great chamber. A chamber that they share with the missing miners, and strange and terrible figures.

As tall as two men they stand, saliva dripping from hideous fangs, grotesque misshapen long arms and starved bodies set beneath massive staring bestial eyes. There are perhaps only a dozen of them, but they appear to have cornered the missing miners in an alcove and are being only held back by brandished rocks and sharp sticks that might have once been mining mattocks and adzes. They turn at the sight of the approaching warriors and voice guttural howls, bounding forward with preternatural speed at what seems to them a fine meal.

The combat is short and fierce, and bloody. The simple weapons of stone and wood the warriors of the Forge hold bite but dully on the tough leathery hides of the depth-dwelling beasts, but they are obviously not expecting the coordination and preparation the soldiers display. After a brutal struggle eventually all of the fiendish creatures lie dead, along with several dozen stalwart warriors of the Forge, rent limb from limb or crushed. But the mine has now been secured, and a small treasure of curious stones and gems retrieved from what might have been the creatures' lair.

+Peasants, +10 Wealth

by **Aidannadia** » Thu Oct 03, 2019 9:32 am

Barbados: Population: 8- 2 Scholars, 1 Artisans, 4 Peasants, 1 Elven Slave| Military: 1 - Militia | Public Order - 1 | Resources: Armorwhales, Singseed, Blackshells, Lead | Bonus Food: 3 | Danger: 1 | 1 Small Squadron (Biremes) |
Government District | Cracked Stone Wall
Industrial District - 2 Artisan Quarters
Agricultural District - 3 Farms
Housing District -
Harbor District - 2 Fishing Docks

by **The National Dominion of Hungary** » Thu Oct 03, 2019 9:39 am

The Kingdom of Serrith

As a sense of normalcy returned to the realm after the panic and alarm of the Firstborn's arrival, business was slowly, steadily not becoming usual. Normally calm, languid, Serrith was becoming more active than it had been in a generation. The King's intention seemed clear, he had sat on the throne of the nation built from wood, wattle and daub. He was going to leave a Kingdom of long, stone, brick and bronze. A grand plan, some would say too grand and something only completed by a son or a grandson. Yet, Arathor Skyspyre saw the dormant potential of the realm where other rulers had seen a tranquil land they and their people could enjoy in peace, where little changed and the very land itself echoed calm serenity. The arrival of the men of Midnight had brought the Serans out of this stupor, in part at least as former Kings saw opportunity the exploit their position in the Empire for the realm's gain. Markets and trade harbors had risen in the heartlands and settlers under the lead of a disgraced House had gone west, founding Ellander, city that could very well become a center of agriculture.

Normalcy, for King Arathor Skyspyre was traveling around the realm, for much of the summer months when the roads were good the court was mobile, traveling the Kingdom and overseeing the projects of a realm awakened from it's lethargy, a Kingdom that once more saw a chance to raise itself up upon the world's ladder. Arathor went to bed with dreams of temples, grand walls surrounding the cities and prospering villages guarded by palisades and bronze clad warriors making up a real army, not only the small warbands employed by local lords and other men of power. A Seran king who picks his alliances, allegiances and conflicts with equal care could do much to make his country great and realize it's potential, and Arathor was determined for the glyphs to remember him as such as his reign as golden decades for the Seran folk.

by **Novas Arcanum** » Thu Oct 03, 2019 10:55 am

The Arameri Dominion

It was often called the "Village Hidden in the Forests" for the houses rested high on the branches of northern wood. The small village sat on the borders of the Dominion where civilization gave way to untamed wilderness. Aelori Farrien stood on one of the platforms of the mystical village balls of blue sunfire floating in the air. "Aelori you have traveled quite far from Myth Ellanor I hope that it is auspicious winds that brought you to the Hidden Forest," Torthion elder of the forest said to the highborn.

Aelori Farrien bowed respectfully to the elder elf."The Hidden Forest is known as a relatively isolated village yet here exists a rich bounty of the metal ore known as whitesilver, can you show me it please?"

"Yes follow, me," Torthion said to Farrien. Elder Torthion led Farrien to the bottom of the forests and into a rocky outcrop. Here jutted glowing whitesilver a rich finding indeed. Farrien picked a small piece of the whitesilver off the ground. It glowed under the moonlight in her hand a star bright as any in the heavens above.

She could not believe that such an ore had existed here for untold generations untouched by the men of Lordaeron. "Is this the metal that you seek Aelori?" Torthion asked the lady elf." Farrien smiled "Yes thank you this silvery star shall be the catalyst of great change in the future" .

by **Elerian** » Thu Oct 03, 2019 4:01 pm

The Aederfolk

[Will update with content soon]

by **Alta Californians** » Thu Oct 03, 2019 4:41 pm

The chief was in a council with his advisors, when a young man rushed up and told him

"Sir! A blood mage from a people whom call themselves the firstborn has arrived!"
"see him in"
The wizened old man does a small bow and explains his offer. After the explanation, the chief asked his advisors what they thought/

"The military help would be nice, and if we could partake in looting while helping them it could be profitable and train our soldiers" mused He-Whose-Fur-Is-Rough.

"We could rediscover the secrets of our ancestors! We have magic, but it is dormant, not having been used for soo long,we effectively do not have it." said a scholar.

"We shall accept, on a term. We will send you 1000 people, but... not now. Next year we shall transport them, and in 2 years you shall receive them. you may do whatever with them. Enslave them,take their blood, ritual sacrifice, etcetera, etcetera. We hope that this will suffice. If not, send them back and we can work out a better deal."

"wait, Rajjnik, what do you think?"

The old man whom smelled of cheese, who had been recognised as the living embodiment of Rajjnik, dog of dairy.

"I think it is favourable"
said the old man, while chewing on maggot-filled cheese.

"Good. Would you like to have a bite to eat? You must be famished" said the chief

The mage took one look at the maggot-cheese and replied with a "thank you, but no." and went off.

by **Legation Cities of Asia** » Thu Oct 03, 2019 5:31 pm

"My lord!"
"Yes, Johannes?"
"We have heard rumours of cities near us"
"Well rally the troops!What are you waiting for!"
"I think it would be best to leave them alone for now, until we grow our military"
"ver well then"
the advisor leaves the tent.
(yeah IK the RP was trash. Sorry, Will add better one next time)

by **Theyra** » Thu Oct 03, 2019 8:07 pm

The Ngolo
Ankandriana
Miatanana

The exploration of Ankandriana has been going smoothly and Tsiraka is glad about their process in mapping the island. Despite a few casualties that is and Tsiraka was eager to hear of what they found. To the east lied a coastline that had gold and some oddities. Giant beasts with two horns roam the area and new green mineral was found as well. To the north lied a red crystalline formation that for some reason the settlers felt a sense of malice when they were near it. Besides that, they found large sea creatures that would sometimes breach themselves on the beach and a new kind of animal was found that the settlers found to delicious. But, what Tsiraka cared about was the report of a small circle of built stones that were found. His scholars could not find a trace in the records of any Ngolo presence in the north and it looked like the stones are not recent. So who built them and this means that the Ngolo were not the first ones on Ankandriana. Could the ruins to related to the crystals that seem to have an aura of malice around them? Questions filled his mind to the answer but, that will have to wait. Further exploration of the island needs to be done before Tsiraka orders the scholars to conduct an investigation on the ruins.

Back in Miatanana, Tsiraka was busy with his new duties of being a father. His firstborn Volana had grown to be three years old and her looks take after her mother. Tsiraka could not help to be happy with raising Volana with his lover Razia. One day Volana will be Queen and ruler of the Ngolo and Tsiraka will make sure that she will be ready when the times come for her to take the throne. Now though Tsiraka will not be only raising
Volana as Razia had gotten pregnant again and a healthy baby boy was born. His name is Toavina after Razia's father and Razia started to have ideas on what Toavina will be once he grows up. She hopes that he will be a priest like her. Though it was very much too soon to dwell on that Tsiraka just hopes that Toavina will find his own way. Bearing that, there was no new news in Miatanana while the setters rest in Miatanana, waiting until there are enough resources to send them out again. There is much to discover on Ankandriana and who knows what else lies on the island.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Thu Oct 03, 2019 8:37 pm

More than Men

Marshaling Yards, The Scarlet Palace, Kharbarinth
22nd of Redleaf, Year 504 of the Common Era

The sword passed almost like a leaf above the head of the warrior, whose slightly pallid demeanor gave lie to his sheer skill at the contest. Moving with preternatural speed he moved in, driving a fist into his sparring partner's midriff and folding the man up like a collapsing house. One of the watching scholars nodded in approval, then scratched something on a slate using a length of charcoal. The soldier nodded, near-white eyes somewhat unnerving, before turning to face his next opponent.

"As you can see, Hierarch, the abilities of the Oathsworn are not inconsiderably increased compared to a normal member of the Stalheimadrin. Strength sufficient to lift an armored enemy bodily and throw him a dozen spans, pain sensitivity much lower than normal, and the inbound enchantments make him all but invulnerable to the normal foes of a warrior, exsanguination and the destruction of his skeletal frame."

Under the shaded palanquin the luminous blue eyes of the ruler of the Stalheimadrin merely watched the proceedings with inaudbile interest, flicking to and fro in the corpselike face as if he were a predator contemplating a meal. But the voice which emerged from the shadows was rich and full, belying the apparent age and ineffable wrongness of the figure.

"His speed is remarkable. And the enchantments, they require but little maintenance?"

The question caused the magister of the Collegia to hesitate for a moment, before nodding slowly.

"The process is intensive, requiring months of incantation to prevent the physical form from deteriorating, but must be conducted only infrequently. Once in a generation or so, we believe, based on the rate of deterioration of the current subjects. No great cost, for what it gifts to us. This is only a first effort of course - with greater comprehension of the forces involved, which may come with time, that degradation may be possible to ameliorate yet further."

The Hierarch was quiet once more, watching the half a dozen men moving like whirlwinds through the training yards. Veterans all, volunteers for the procedure, they moved as a night wind, and no man touched them. Blades moved through where they had been, and shields were cast aside by the force of their strikes as if they were piece of thin paper to be sundered at a sudden touch. A testament to the paean of witchcraft and malign enchantments that had been woven into their very forms.

A good start.

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Thu Oct 03, 2019 9:16 pm

The Deepwood

Only silence for now, as is the silence of the deepwood goes.

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

by **The Empire of Tau** » Thu Oct 03, 2019 9:20 pm

Xcotl MEGA TURN ORDER OF DEATH

by **Olthenia** » Fri Oct 04, 2019 3:25 am

Fᴀsᴛᴀǫᴜɪ

Queen of the Skazad Delta
________________________________________
The Ninth Matriarchate of Kemkasa
The Eleventh Day of the Arc of Shoals, Year 504 of the Common Era

Tʜᴇ Cᴀᴍᴇʟ Hᴀɪᴋᴜ
Across empty dunes
She bears a heavy burden
And dreams of water.

Special Actions

- Herds of camels are led away into the mountains of Karowa this year, to start new lives as best they can.

by **Saxony-Brandenburg** » Fri Oct 04, 2019 12:47 pm

[align=center]The Puqina
504 CE

by **Ralnis** » Fri Oct 04, 2019 1:32 pm

Firstborn, Uusharan encampment

by **The GAmeTopians** » Fri Oct 04, 2019 4:33 pm

The Forge Coast

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Fri Oct 04, 2019 7:23 pm

Year 505 of the Common Era Dawns!

The Darkened Skies
Spring turns into summer, and eventually a strange thing begins to be noticeable in the lands of the East. Above Serrith, Gergan, and even the wandering tribes of the Frostvaal dawn comes slower than usual, a pall or haze of inky blackness gradually consuming the summer sun. Blotchy clouds of gray malady devour the puffy white denizens of the blue sky, and the sun sets red on a bloody horizon. A great fume is overwhelming the lands, mountains veiled in darkness and lost to sight, the sea flat and gray, no longer reflecting the brilliant day. Crops wither under the malevolent air, and even men and women fall ill and are sickened... how long this diseased air might last is unknown, but it is blowing from the west...
Agricultural Districts and Peasants (not Quarters) no longer produce Food, nor may Hordes harvest Food from the land, only Herds. Growth is decreased by 25% while the Fume hangs in the air.

Desperation and Refugees
Dark rumors swirl even as the clouds obscure the skies. Men and women, sometimes in pairs, oftentimes singly, come limping east, fleeing some unknown dread. None can explain exactly what terror pursues them, but they speak of a night that never ends, and the thickening blackness, a nameless horror that walks where the sun does not rise again. To Fastaqui and Ellander they come, seeking any escape from what hunts them.
Fastaqui, Ellander: +1 Peasant

The Cartel
Little can be salvaged of the scuttled fleet, but every little bit helps. A small tradition begins amongst the seafaring folk of the Cartel, where a piece of an old much loved ship is placed within the prow of a vessel now to take to the sea anew.
+7 Wealth, +2 Public Order

The Aederfolk
With the completion of the Market, traveling caravans that formerly overlooked the humble dominion of the Aederfolk now content themselves to sell wares to the nascent state, coming from far and wide. Their languages and provenances are many, but in their speech the Aederfolk learn much of those who live in the lands about their home. To the west, the wide expanses of the Stalheim Hierarchy, ruled, it is said, by men who have escaped death's embrace. To the northeast, a city of ancient stone, fair Ita in the vales of the mountains. To the distant east, the Many Mothers of Fastaqui, strange matrons of a swamp-vale north of an endless gasping dust which the Aederfolk can scarce grasp. To the southeast, many folk, many indeed - the Honori of sainted Mara, once proud mothers now reduced to bickering; the Usir, clannish mountainfolk of hierarchies who closed their gates to many; the Puqina, bloodthirsty sackers and salvagers, scourges of men; to the immediate south across a great desert, the Nekhen Kingdom, builders and warriors of renown who are rumored to allow the dead to live anew...

The Deepwood
It is late at night, the witching hour, when the noises from the Great Staircase begin anew. A runner comes swiftly, awakening the Council, but when they return to the Staircase with the full strength of the guards marshaled they find a scene of devastation. The barricade that had been set against the yawning entrance has been scattered as if by a hideous strength, and the soldiers that had been left on guard are missing. Moreover a quick search reveals the fact that several dozen dwellings near the Staircase have been shattered, almost crushed, but no bodies are found in the ruins... those who had previously made their homes there are simply gone as if they had never existed.

And the Staircase is quiet once more.

-5 Growth, -2 Public Order

Xcotl
Curious news, curious indeed. A man in a tattered black cloak with skin the color of Midnight rides to the gates of Xcotl again, crying aloud in a great voice which is louder than the men of the city have heard before. Under the light of day his harsh croaking warning slides a sliver of fear into the hearts of all those who hear it, unnatural and shrill, though they know not what they dread.

"You are warned, Xcotl. All sins are remembered."

Brave bowmen shot him down from the city walls, and yet when the city guard sallies forth to retrieve his body, they find nothing save a nervous horse and an empty black cloak.

The Many Mothers of Fastaqui
Unfortunate news, though perhaps not unexpected, from fair Karowa. The stock of camels sent to inhabit the high veldt of the mining city have faired poorly, shaggy pelts accustomed to the desert heat insufficient to protect them against winter snows. Their lineage is ailing mightily, and is sickly indeed. Left alone, it will not be long before the herd has perished entirely. Fresh blood will be necessary if the Many Mothers seek to establish the creature in this unfavorable climate, fresh blood and fortune.

The Puqina
To Mara, queen of the cities of the west, the warriors of the Bloodthristy gods march. Their numbers are many, swelled beyond the count of pride, a host to be reckoned with. Their marching shakes the earth, and though they move with aplomb consummate to their bravado, the assault upon Mara gives the raiders of the Puqina pause. The ancient walls of this city have not been fully repaired, but they have been patched and barricaded where they were once weak, and at their arrival they note gleaming warriors upon the walls, clad in armor much better than their own pelts and furs. Discretion being the better part of valor, their leaders set them to instead raiding desultorily in the farmlands about the city, returning home to Puqina with a paltry amount of loot.
+3 Food, +1 Wealth

In fair Puqina, on the other hand, trouble is brewing. Many are those cast into chains, many more than those who labor in the free air. Outnumbered by their serfs more than two to one, the free kindred of Puqina have begun looking over their shoulders, locking their doors at night if they live too close to the slave quarters. More outspoken or cruel overseers have disappeared, always found again under circumstances which could possibly have led to accidental death, but the pattern is beginning to be clearer. Men may accept their status at the bottom of the social pyramid for a time, but the bloody demanding gods and the military often far afield are beginning to make the normal men of the Puqina feel uneasy around their property.
-1 Public Order

The Firstborn
The men of Gergan know little of what passes in the lands of the Midnight Empire, for the Emperor's hand on this land is light. They send their tribute regularly, and have never been troubled since that first conquest long ago. Much the same is said by the scouts that are sent forth from the horde in the eastlands - the soot-black men of the Bloodright are all but unknown in these lands, save as distant memory of fear.

Of the scouts sent back west though, to underneath the spreading pall of fumes, no report comes. Not in the first week, not in the first month - not, indeed, in the entire year.

The Kingdom of Serrith
An ominous omen. The immense beast that previously troubled the folk of Sorncost has been seen again, and this time more fulsomely. Men swear it is a creature of truly gigantic scale, large enough to be mistaken for an island, slimy and sinuous. Men who return at all, that is, swear such things. More loathsome too is the fact that it appears to be coming nearer to shore, perhaps lured by some current or tidal change, perhaps merely by ill chance. At any rate, to take to the seas is to court death, and even the most fearless of traders and seagoing captains will not stir from port. The Harbor District is inoperable for the next three years, or until the monster is dealt with, if such a thing is even possible.

The Frostriders
Fortune favors the bold. On routine patrol, the warriors of the Frostriders come upon a small mining expedition from some land or another, and fall upon the men unawares. A fortune in strange valuable ore is their to take, as well as many fine tools and weapons seized from the outlanders who will no longer have need of their goods.
Bronze Weapons for 250 Soldiers seized, alongside 4 Wealth and 2 Gold Ore

by **Aidannadia** » Fri Oct 04, 2019 7:41 pm

Barbados: Population: 8- 2 Scholars, 1 Artisans, 4 Peasants, 1 Elven Slave| Military: 3 - Militia | Public Order - 1 | Resources: Armorwhales, Singseed, Blackshells, Lead | Danger: 1 | Bonus Food : 3 |
Government District | Cracked Stone Wall
Industrial District - 2 Artisan Quarters
Agricultural District - 3 Farms
Housing District -
Harbor District - 2 Fishing Docks

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Fri Oct 04, 2019 9:19 pm

The Deepwood

Dark days has befallen Varra, the disappearances have happened again. First was children, now entire families. Whatever is happening, is more then the Varavians can fathom. This had left the entire government into a state of disarray as impassioned arguments and bold statements are shout left, right, top, and to bottom. Every man had a stance, but most were barely viable- at least to resolve immediately.

It was the Circle who shifted through every suggestion, every plan, and every thought. Meticulously taking in each suggestion, and cutting out mercilessly those that were impractical or too costly. Eventually they addressed the issue with a simple solution- a palisade. In no way would this be a solution for those who were lost- no, this was to protect the current folk who had not been taken from the mysterious forces from 'the below'.

Today however was different, it was not a tale of solutions, rather a preparation for what is to come. This year, the scholars believe they are close to finding a the truth behind that godforsaken staircase. In believing in their chances of success, the scholars prepped the next expeditionary group, a troop of four dozen men. To boost morale (and to feel less guilty about potentially sending to their dooms) the scholars had prepared a fine dinner for the men, providing them food from the finest cooks on Varra, and the best brew that the highest members of society drunk. Whether a blessing or a curse, Lucius Froye was to be assigned the leader of this expedition, a addition that would act as both leader and a scholar for the expedition.

Very little did the men drink or eat at this feast. To recent were the disappearances, that had taken there loved ones and friends. It was not as though they appreciated the generous gesture, but to think they were the next in line of the string of unfortunate expeditions weighed heavily on their minds. It was almost as death lingered in the air. This party was like a prisoner receiving their last meal. A momentous occasion, but with a troubling future ahead.

Lucius perhaps finding trouble with the sour mood leaves the room, and studies great warriors in Varra's past before calling it a night. He wasnt going to die in that crypt, not him and not his subordinates. If he had to become a military leader for Varra, then he would gladly drop the scroll, and take up the spear.

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

by **Elerian** » Sat Oct 05, 2019 12:32 am

The Aederfolk

In the third year of my reign, Ard Feainn my lord giving me his support, a great market was raised in fair Dol Aelyd. Upon word of its completion the distant Hierarchy, who were said to have powerful gods that shrouded their followers from death's gaze, sent merchants. Ita who had built their dwellings, like the nests of birds, upon the highest summits and lofty crags soon followed the Hierarchy. After, many others who in the days of my forefathers, no one had ever heard even the name of their countries came in a tide. The queer and exotic splendor of their lands was brought for Dol Aelyd to enjoy. Much of the best that they had to offer was brought before me, and which I received.

Tales from the far East came too with these new peoples. A mighty cloud, like the smoke of some hellfire, was said to have obscured the face of high heaven. Like a mighty swarm of locusts covers the face of the earth, destroying everything in their passage, this cloud rushed against the East. Ill tidings that disturbed the people of Dol Aelyd greatly. I prayed unto Ard Feainn, Gedymdeith, Cahir, and Ysbaddaden, the twin Moon-goddesses of Dol Aelyd, Laneana and Laneanis, my guardian deities, that the Aederfolk might be spared this storm. That they might hear with pity my sighs and prayers, and calm the Easterly Storm.

by **Olthenia** » Sat Oct 05, 2019 3:24 am

The Hall of Petitioners
The Freehold of Ita

“Grandees of Ita! We thank you for meeting us.”

The hall was loud with Itans. Soma Seel, envoy of the Many Mothers, had heard their loudness before. Like stones in a river. Or wolves at play. Yet somehow, she noted, her voice here in the Hall of Petition still carried carried above the din. How? Well, such was the sorcery of the Itans that their masons could shape even stone in such a way as to carry human voices. A marvel, truly – or enough of one to make an old woman smile.

“The Many Mothers of Fastaqui have ever been fortunate to count you amongst their friends.”

On the tiered seats above her, the assembled merchant-lord of Ita watched her with stone eyes. Theirs also was a talkative people, prone to take their arguments and decisions in open court. And yet here? Their tiered seats were arranged in a semi-circle, lined at their foot with carven images of great beauty. From down on the speaker’s platform, Sotha Seel could make out snarling wolves, soaring eagles, stony kings and at least one great god.

And above them all, wreathed in the smoke of torch and firepit, Itan eyes watching, Glittering. Like spectators eyeing a camel in a wolf pit.

“For the sake of that friendship,” Sotha Seel continued, “-we ask you now to stand with us.”

And now, for the first time, the hall was listening. Truly listening.

“The skies darken in the north. Frightened souls flock to our gates for safety. A great, watery beast have swallowed many off the coast of Serrith. All wise women – and wise men, also – agree on this: Night is falling.” Night is falling. Innocent words, perhaps – yet in the East? Oh, sweet child, how pregnant with meaning they were. For even the Itans knew of the terror the was the Midnight Horde. Child-takers. Man-slayers. Wall-burners. To invoke the was to invoke a terrible truth, and yet now? Sotha Seel of Fastaqui did just that.

“And what will you have of us, Crone?” The blustery face of an Itan merchant-monarch peered down at her from the gallery. What was his name again? Karron. Karron Madzar, whom people called the Quarreler. With a mien like his, Sotha Seel could hardly blame them. The man’s nickname was as fitting as snow on a mountaintop.

“Fastaqui-“ Sotha replied – her face upturned to Karron’s – “would have your masons.” A moment’s silence passed. "And your architects. And your surveyors.” Did she pronounce that right? Sotha Seel, for all her meetings and know-hows as an envoy of the Many Mothers, was not skilled in the work of ropes and pulleys. She did not know how the wise men of Ita built their grand halls – or for what reason they’d let their walls fall to such crumbling neglect. She merely knew that they had, and that they did. And she also knew, certain as sunrise, that the face of Karron the Quarreler looked less than pleased.

“We let your mothers trade their paltry goods in our markets,” boomed he, “-and now you wish to hire our masons? That will cost you! A great, great deal!”

“To be sure, it will,” acknowledged Sotha Seel. “And be assured, Ita - that Fastaqui has the soldiers to pay for it.”

Soldiers? Ah, yes. Soldiers.

“Help arm our daughters, Ita – and the Many Mothers will march them to your aid when Midnight Comes. I have not come to haggle a mere deal here, but to speak of something far greater. A pact. A league!”

The Great Speaker's Hall
The Stone-Home of the Usir

“A league?”

The Speaker of the Usir let the word fall from his mouth in a way not unlike a camel tasting a bad apple. He was a great, almost rotund man, with the sort of jowly face that few apples had ever lost an apple willingly. “We have concerns of our own. Tell your Mothers that, Fastaquian. Tell them our homes are assailed every other year by devils in the night. Raiders, who take our children and steal our crops.”

The envoy of Fair Fastaqui nodded solemnly. She had arrived into the stony embrace of distant Usir scarcely the night before. Their halls were drafty, their walls were tall, and their faces mirrored their Speaker’s tone. Cold. Unyielding.

“I will, honoured Speaker,” she promised. “And in response, the Many Mothers of Fastaqui will say this: that they understand you. They, too, have known loss and depredation at the hands of unkind enemies.” And it was true, too – if not exactly as recently. Fastaqui had once known red war in her own streets and along her own quays. It was a memory that still rang with equal parts glory and terror to many of her children. Not as much as it had a generation ago, perhaps – not as much as a generation before that. But still. Now, with tales of darkened skies and skads of refugees once again crowding her quays and markets, fair Fastaqui had suddenly remembered.

It had recalled what fear felt like. And the taste of blood and ashes.

“Then you know why we must refuse you,” drawled the Speaker. A great belt of layered cloth studded with stone beads wound around his body. The beads rustled when he walked. Sat. Shifted. “We can not send away our skilled craftsmen into your foreign land. Your Many Mothers are strangers to us. We do not-“

“We are armed. Or will be. With the finest weapons and armor known to mortal men.”

“Heh. Threats, is it?” The Speaker’s tone slouched with disdain. “You speak of compact and friendships, and now you mean to threaten us?”

“No, no, Great Speaker,” hastened Fastaqui’s envoy. “I assure you, that was not my intent. I merely mentioned arms and armor because, once our mines are extracting the metals we need, we will have them. Arms and armor, that is. And so can you. If you help us.”

The Throne of Serrith
Beyond the MIrror Sea

“We promise this, King of Serrith – the Many Mothers solemnly swear – that whatever evil shall befall you, your war shall be our war.”

Kareema couldn’t quite make out her reflection in the wide copper mirror. Her face was just a blurred reflection, that was all – her mouth and nose and ears were just smears in the warm, brown metal. And yet it helped, somehow.

Unlike Amba’s snickering.

“This darkness heralds evil things. Blood and sorcery and midnight. Oppose it with us! Help us banish it back to whence it came! And – will you stop it!?” But Amba wouldn’t, of course. Not by a long shot, and not even under Kareema’s withering gaze. “I need to practice these words! You know how important they are!”

And Amba did, too – but not if the laughter in her wide, dark eyes were anything to go by. “Do you really think he’ll fall for that?” Her fellow envoy’s voice was part snide, part friendly. “‘Back to whence it came’! Honestly, you sound like a Meow-masked actor!”

“I don’t care what I sound like!” huffed Kareema. “We need to tell him – to straight up make him understand – that the Many Mothers are with him. Whatever storm’s coming his way, we’re with him.” And it was true, too – if only because whatever storm would hit him would more than likely befall the Many Mothers too. And if the Tiers could save their own homes from Midnight swords by helping the Serrith save theirs? Why, hell. The Many Mothers would have stood with the Camel King himself. Hopefully without wording themselves quite so pompously.

Hopefully.

Special Actions

- The Freehold of Ita receives a diplomatic offer from the Many Mothers: The services of their finest artisans, in exchange for the protection of Fastaqui's finest warriors.

- The Usir also receive a similar offer: Their finest craftsmen and architects must depart for Karowa. Should they do so, the Many Mothers will gift the men of Usir weapons and armor of fireforged bronze.

- The Kingdom of Serrith receives an offer of a commonality. Partnership. Solidarity. Alliance. In the coming conflict, friends and neighbors better stand together.

by **Legation Cities of Asia** » Sat Oct 05, 2019 6:39 am

by **Alta Californians** » Sat Oct 05, 2019 8:42 am

by **The Empire of Tau** » Sat Oct 05, 2019 8:51 am

Xcotl Gang

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Sat Oct 05, 2019 9:44 am

An Account of the Great Staircase

The shamans cautiously moved their hands in the proscribed manner, following the dictates that the wise men of the Deepwood had managed to decipher from the strange writings upon the stony hillock under which the pit was set. A terrible heat built in the air for a moment as the ritual continued, the very essence of the world tight and stretched, and then in an instant all was normal again - men relieved as some malign feeling dispersed. The eldritch cuttings placed within the staircase flared for a moment with cold light, and then were senescent again.

As the Shamans left the stony depths, they informed the Head Shaman of their success. Before the Head Shaman motioned to the expedition to move in, he hesitated with the thought that he is likely to send more men to their deaths. Nevertheless, he continued on- they were Varra's spear, facing the danger that the citizens could never face.

Upon seeing the signal, the expedition began their march into the crypt, and began their descent. Each step creating a loud uncomfortable tap, in the silent air. As the staircase descended the warriors noticed that it turned slightly, only a touch of deviation with many steps, but anon it became apparent that the staircase was an immense spiral, boring its was into the earth beneath the immense Tree like some gnawing thing. At first all was dry and clean, a slight musty odor of soil and greenery the only scent in the air, but after nearly an hour of climbing down the wide tall stairs, the stones began to become slick with condensation and treacherous.

Lucius raised his hand signalling a halt, and opened his bag. He pulled out one of the several rocks he had stored. Tossing it down into the depths. Listening to the taps of stone against stone. Away into the interminable distance it clattered, echoes gradually fading, before it suddenly stopped not too far away from where the men stood.

Lucius pleased, but still cautious order only half dozen men forward to ensure the paths safety. With the expedition tailing the forward party, barely visible ahead of the main body in the gloom of their flickering torches. After a few minutes of their continued descent, the advance scouts halt, and shout for the rest of the party. Descending to catch up to their vanguard, the Varevians realize they have reached the base of the Staircase - perhaps a quarter of a day’s climb below the level of the green earth above.

A wide and smooth cavern greets the eyes of the expedition, immense beyond any space the Varevians have seen before. On either side as they emerge from the confines of the Staircase the walls fall away into inky blackness, and the ceiling rises instantly to an unguessable height.

Lucius furrowing his brow at the darkness ahead, orders the expedition to follow him along the walls of the catacombs. His fear of losing himself and those he was charged with leading showed him a single course of action - even in the case of something dangerous in the blackness, they could still retrace their steps easily enough to return to the surface.

Nothing foul, though, opposed their passage. Groping along like a line of so many blind men, barely seeing beyond their party in the dim torchlight, the expedition made their way along the wall, which soon seemed to be another great circle. Their hands became wet with precipitation, and after some time a sound came to the ears of the most perceptive of their company - the sound of rushing water, and the burbling of a great current across broken stones. It came from somewhere ahead in the immense circular chamber, and still there was no apparent sign of anything of importance in the depths of the earth. The walls were as regular as an inscription of Varra himself, showing no joint or sign of craftsmanship, the floors inhumanly level. If they did not have a man behind or ahead of them, or the sound of the roaring waters, it might have been an endless nightmare of monotony, no way to know if they were making progress or not in their exploration.

Confusion, was the state to describe Lucius in. His mind didn't want to focus on who- or what made this chamber that even the best crafters in Varra could only dream of creating. Then a thought, a spark of hope, perhaps naive but nonetheless optimistic. It's been nine years since the first disappearances, and less than twelve months since the second. With rooms and water, the only thing left was food, could they have survived, his naive thought screamed.

Concluding that staying here only wasted time, that could be invested in finding results and his people, he ordered the men to continue following the wall, and find the source of the water. Sending out a dozen men to be the eyes for the expedition in case they passed the source of the noise.

It was not long afterward that the expedition almost literally stumbled on the source of the sound. As they continued along the wall, of a sudden the rushing crescendoed to a great roar. One of the men started, pitching forward slightly, before being hauled back from the brink of an enormous chasm that opened in the floor by one of his more cautious comrades.

They had found what they were looking for - and more besides. The ceiling here was still high and out of reach, but the perfect walls had been sundered, as if by some cataclysm, and a mighty underground river was rushing by in the broken stones and earth with a cacophony that drowned out nearly all speech. And, more importantly, something very strange sat in the room nearby - an immense arch of graven stone, an arch cut in such a manner as to form a perfect circle, hollow and anchored to the living stone before. Unlike the rest of the smooth stones, which were veritably covered in the spray of the subterranean stream, the arch was dry and clean, even warm under the hands of those who inspected it. And it was no more smooth than dappled wood or tree-roots, instead a strange patterned sinuous stone, darker than the chamber itself, seeming almost organic in its carving.

Lucius inspected the arch for some time, and then nodded to himself, addressing the rest of the men to satisfy their curiosity at his actions.

“There are cuttings engraved here, like the hill far above us. I cannot divine their full meaning, but at least part of it is clear - they speak of men who walked between time and space, across lands and deserts and mountains with a single stride… what the parable means? Who can say.”

This level of knowledge is beyond even I, he thought to himself, this place is perhaps beyond even the Head Shaman's wisdom. Concluding nothing else could be learned he had him and the men to follow along the path of the stream - but that vector proved fruitless too, the river descending swiftly into the living rock in a ferocious stream that no man would dare.

Their mission concluded without death, at least, and their understanding of the Great Staircase perhaps a bit wiser, the men eventually headed back toward the surface. Only a few hours later they emerged into the blissful light of day, the first men to descend the Great Staircase and live to tell the tale.

by **Novas Arcanum** » Sat Oct 05, 2019 2:35 pm

The Elven soldier raised his hand. A great sphere of fire formed and the air heated around him. He fired the fireball at a tree it exploded in a great fire, such was the power of the School of Sunstrength. The fires spread, the soldier then raised his hand and dispelled the flames. His masters looked at him, their expressions were steely and dour. He then bowed to them respectfully. They nodded conveying no emotion he had passed with flying colors. Sunstrength was not an easy school of magic it required much discipline and strength of heart to master.

The Elven soldiers had trained hard and results had shown this year. Mastering the arcane arts and using it as a deadly blade against one's enemies was no easy task. There was much work to be done and the soldiers training had just begun there was no cause for celebration. Thus the soldiers continued their training working hard every day to improve their skills, in the arcane arts. Fire was power, the power to create and destroy such was the nature of the sun and the nature of the School of Sunstrength.

Curunir in the Spire had postulated theories, how to synthesize Sunstrength and the School of Dao into a true martial arts. They also knew of the great potential of the spells themselves. Summoning fires and destruction from the heavens to wreak destruction and death on those unfortunate to cross them on the battlefield.

It was just the beginning over a century since the founding of this great school of arcana by the Magnum Opus many great things had been accomplished and many more great things were yet to come.

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

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