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

by **Novas Arcanum** » Sun Sep 22, 2019 6:32 pm

The Arameri Dominion

The fires of battle had died down. The Elven warriors stalwart Sons of Myth Alinor had managed to drive off the barbarians who had sought to steal their wealth from them. Still, the barbarians had taken much wealth and food. The bodies of the raiders littered the harbor of Myth Ellanor burnt to a crisp from the arcane spells the Curunir had cast at them in their support of the soldiers. Many of the invaders where killed but the total number was unknown.

The leaders of the city-state hoped that this would discourage any future raids, but the Elves knew that battle would come again someday. Two hundred and fifty more soldiers where raised. The harbor was damaged before it could even be utilized. Construction would continue at a pace, however. The Elves were if anything a patient people willing to play the long game. Soon a mighty fleet would be built to sail southward in the name and glory of Auri-Al...

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Sun Sep 22, 2019 6:58 pm

The Deepwood
"To think it was here, we'd pick up the trail. Was Val protecting them, or was it something else... something that is beyond our understanding"
- Hans Graven, Lost Lion Case

The Varavians have always kept a distance from Ilkitra, the mother tree. Believing that they shouldn't care tamper with something that was clearly a divine creation by Val. Ultimately though it would be Head Shaman Hans Graven himself to support the investigation of this blessed tree. And so at the very base of the deep roots the Varavian scholars and warriors camped, ready to find both children and answers.

Originally it was a public expedition, a government announced project that would return the children to their steads. However the truth never seemed so simple. The expedition was split into 3 major groups, the scouts, the main, and the reserve. The scouts would lead the trail while the main group focused on gathering both evidence and study. Seeing that they were still new to tracking signatures, they wanted to collect data. The reserves were nothing more then the supplies and reinforcements, they were simply there to support the expedition in case of it turning into a long term project. The groups identified each others signatures to allow easy tracking of one another before beginning this expedition.

When the scouts first arrived to the base of the mother roots, they took immediate notice a strange and mystical door. It was carved with strange carvings and depictions. Upon opening the stone doors, it opened up to a chasm of darkness with stairs leading into the depths. They had never had heard such a thing save for the stories in Varavian stories and legends. This would fill with them with bestial curiosity. Both scholars and warriors were intrigued by the structure, and were quick to provide potential reasons to this places existence. Some eager to explore, but Shaman Reimers orders them to wait for the main group.

Once the main group arrived. They immediately noticed the carvings, with a simple glance and conclusion of the possibility of it being related to Val, their patron deity, and the Head Shaman informed of the situation, a immediate crackdown began. Many who found the discovery were informed that this was to be a government secret, and that their secrecy would be a test of loyalty to Varra. And refused to explain anything else. For the Inner Circle a raging debate began, a diverse range of opinions began. Sivert believed the place was sacred and they shouldn't tamper with it, Alke Reimer demanded immediate investigation and reveal the discovery they found, and Lucius suggested a more cautious investigation and maintain the secrecy of the stairs. A heated debate that Lucius would win due to Head Shaman Gravens agreement.

Even Alke bitterly admitted that if the secret was revealed it would drastically change society for Varra, it was the parent in him who wanted to find his child and the other children and keep the parents up to date. There was another matter which was adventurers. No one wanted a potentially sacred place to be looted, especially if it is a major religious temple. So much of Val's history had been lost to oral legend and learning both the past of the Varavians and their god was a major matter to them. For all they know they may have stumbled upon a place where Val would give his divine mandates or perhaps a place to communicate with their god themselves.

The leader of the initial investigation was given to Alke, while they were hesitant of his opinion, they knew he'd prioritize finding his daughter and bring her back to his wife and siblings. Alke thanked Hans for this opportunity to deal with this matter, and that he swore that he would find the children. Into the depths he went, seeking his daughter and the other children and never to return. When 3 days had passed and no return the Inner Circle knew something had gone wrong. The stairs had swallowed the first group of seven explorers whole, both scholars and warriors. Many wanted to go in and find Alke, but the Inner Circle knew while Alke was a loving parent, he would never leave his men to starve. Something had gone wrong, and Head Shaman Gravens was not going to risk more lives until he knew what exactly had happened.

"Clearly, we can't continue this until we know for sure it's safe. I want everyone to study the primitive stairs until we can truly know it's safe," said Hans Graven, "as for the public, the missing individuals will not be brought up until they are found, and the public isn't to know of this area. It will be both for Varra's security and their safety."

"Will we be discussing it to the Grand Chieftain?" One scholar asked.

At first Hans hesitated, he did not know how the Grand Chieftain would react, and that scared him. The man could reveal all this publicly and ruin the reputation of the scholars. He can't let that happen, he wouldn't let that happen.

"We will keep it from him too, we are unsure on who to trust and the lest people the better."

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

by **Alta Californians** » Sun Sep 22, 2019 9:18 pm

the Chief is holding a competition, a test of skill, and many people are training. He looks on proudly, as men in dog masks and wielding swords, as they hacked at their enemies.
He singled out one who was doing extraordinarily well during teh combat, and after the competition talked to him

"You did quite well today, What is your name?"
"Thank you chief. My name is He-Whose-Fur-Is-Rough. I am part of the Jackals clan."
"good,good. Tell me, would you be interested in training some soldiers? We need a force, to defend, and to raid others."
"that would be great!"
"well, take the best competitors, and turn them into soldiers!"
"Will do sir! But we don't have weapons."
"I'll order building of them!"
"what do we do?"
"just practice!"
"ok?"

He walks away, as He-Whose-Fur-Is-Rough shouts to the best competitors to follow him.
Turn 2

by **Saxony-Brandenburg** » Sun Sep 22, 2019 9:57 pm

The Puqina
499 CE

Praise, unto the, the noble gods of the rain - who do bring an end to the years of turmoil, of sweat, of scarce food. Now was the year for action, now was the year for war. For the god's favor could be revoked at any moment... their livelihoods dashed against the rocks. Thus, it was clear to the Puqina that sacrifices must be gathered in order to appease the gods... sacrifices which the priests attempted to understand. For it was said, that the Sun god, Inti, hungered for blood, and the hearts of men, and if the people of the mountains did not feed him, were not his chosen keepers? Then they too would be swallowed by the god's endless hunger. Young men, having just graduated from the academy, grow restless to prove themselves in battle. The men having come from long lines of glorious warriors must show to their fathers they are worthy to their inheritance. Dressed in their best of wood and cloth armor, carrying clubs with razor-sharp teeth in one hand, spears and javelins upon their backs, and small, square shields in the other hand - they left the city, and prepared for war. Many of them limped, but this was to be expected. Just a week prior, the young soldiers graduated in their first battle, to prove themselves worthy for the field...

The valley where the battle was held showed two sides, with small temples on either side, where bright, glistening, golden Llama statues were placed atop their alters, visible clearly from all across the field. Before these temples, young boys, with wooden weapons and shields, naked save for a simple loincloth tied around their waist, and their long hair tied down in leather caps as to prevent the enemy from using it as a lever. One hundred and twenty five stood on either side of the field, their commanders shouting orders to their lesser field commanders from before the alter, devising a strategy before the event. Women, newly graduated from the academy, and ready to take themselves a husband, swept the field with holy branches - while drums banged on from the hillside. Thousands showed up to watch this greatest spectacle of the year. Priests, dressed in costume as birds and leopards, danced around the field, chanting prayers to the god of war for protection and glory this day. The blood from the yesterday's sacrifices was sprinkled on the field, and silence grew, as the high priest began to speak.

"And on the second moon of our trek from the cave, the sun-god spoke unto the first Inti Puqi, speaking through the wind: "Where you find a mighty eagle upon a rock, with a rattlesnake in it's mouth - there you shall make your homes and temples, and serve faithfully to my word." And the first of our people did march, for two more weeks, before encountering a camp of another tribe, who had simple wooden shields and clubs just as they, with no armor, and who spoke a language just as they, and who looked just as they. In the field between the two warbands, descended the largest eagle man had ever laid eyes upon, and with it's sharp talons sprinkled the blood of a rattlesnake upon this rock, and feasted on it's flesh. The word of the god was obvious... they must do war. And so come we to commemorate this day, when our people did come to settle this land, and fight for it, and give sacrifice to the gods' above for their patronage in battle. May all you young men bring glory to your fathers, and their fathers before them. Jacu!"

Then did the cries of hundreds of men reverberate through the hills, "Jacu!" they called, like hounds before the prey. The field was clear, and both forces stomped their feet, and chanted taunts, banged their wooden weapons agains their shields, before with the blowing of a horn - and the charge...

The battle was fierce, and lasted until the sun began to set. On both sides, bones were broken and blood spilled, though thankfully none had died. Either side had dozens of fallen enemies held behind the lines, "captives", they were called, and humiliated for being defeated on the field, and forced to wait out the day. Both sides pushed and pulled, encircled parties of the other, but by the time of sunset - when all were exhausted and broken - Kumya, general of the Priests, did rally, and personally take upon his family's ancestral club and shield, and charge at the head of his fellow classmates into the fray, breaking the enemy in the center, all the way across the field to the enemy temple. With his loyal companions behind him, he climbed the few steps to the alter, and took the golden llama, holding it high above his head. And on that day, Kumya T'lachi would make a name for himself as not only the top of his class in the academy, but as the general who lead his team to victory, leading from the front...

Thus lead Kumya T'achi, son of Hakan, to march at the head of the army, with a golden spear in his hand, a beaded shield in the other, and a magnificent feather-headress of the kind only worn by kings and gods. To the next generation's leaders, would come the glory of their first battle.

by **Olthenia** » Mon Sep 23, 2019 2:15 am

Fᴀsᴛᴀǫᴜɪ

Queen of the Skazad Delta
________________________________________
The Fifth Matriarchate of Kemkasa
The Twenty-Fourth Day of the Arc of Reeds, Year 499 of the Common Era

“Wise Mothers of Mara! Give us your sons!”

Ambara laughed. She couldn’t help it, and she didn’t want to. “Hah! Oh yes. That’ll endear them, for sure.”

Ikassa just smirked; and for a while all the hours on a swaying camel didn’t seem so bad. Their little caravan had been winding their way through the mountains for days now – weeks, even – plodding along narrow tracks and steep ridges, with little but sunlight and empty vistas all about them. Porters and guides. Camel-herders and even a contingent of warmothers. Three scores and then some of Fastaqui’s finest – here as envoys to a distant land. At first, her camel’s gentle swaying had made Ambara feel queasy – but Ikassa had taken to it without a problem. Stupid Ikasa. Her fellow envoy was a tall, gangely young woman with a long face and wide, dark eyes. Like a Sogoi, or a camel. Fitting, then, that she should be so adept at riding one.

“Okay, look – so I don’t know if they’ll listen to us,” Ikassa smiled. “But at least we’re making them a fair offer.”

“Decent work for decent pay, yes,” Ambara nodded. The details were simple enough - two carts of wealth for a year's worth of labor. The Crones of the Tiers had made that clear to them before their departure. And of course it had to do with Karowa – Fastaquis mountain-bound sister-settlement. The mines there were slowly, ever slowly, digging deeper into the red rock. Years and years from now, all agreed, Karowa might begin to yield something useful. Except the Crones of Fastaqui’s Tiers didn’t have years and years. What they did have, however, was wealth to spare – and if local hands failed to labor quick enough, the Crones spied a simple solution. Hire more hands! - perhaps from distant Mara.

“Do the Marans even have mothers?” The question had gnawed at Ambara for the last few days. She was a daughter of Fastaqui, born and bred, and the city called the Queen of the Skaz was all she’d ever known. The rest of the world, and all its people and places, may as well have been places in a dream to her; somewhere beyond the curve of the marshlands. Yet now, here she was, on her way to just one such Dream Place: Mara.

“Of course the Marans have mothers. They have to. I mean-“

“I don’t mean ‘do the Marans have mothers’, Ikassa,” Ambara explained with a tone of mild exhasperation. “I mean, do they govern their city with a council of their wisest women, like we do in Fastaqui?”

“I think they do,” Ikassa ventured. “I mean, probably? The Crones say they used to, before the Dark Ones took their city. But I don’t know if that’s still their custom now.”

Of all Fastaquis neighbours – be it beyond mountain or sea – distant Mara was always the city the Crones of the Tiers had felt a certain kinship with. After all, what other people in all creation could boast such wisdom that they placed their women in power? Despite this, little and less formal contact between Mara and Fastaqui had ever existed - and that, Ambara suspected, had been a great pity.

“They are free now, at least,” she pointed out. “They threw off their Midnight masters. They’re their own people once more.”

“M’hm,” Ikassa nodded. “But what kind of people remains to be seen.”

Special Actions

- The Many Mothers of Fastaqui make an offer to the rulers of fair Mara: the labor of their sons, in exchange for two cartloads of wealth. Up to three Labor, for as much as six Wealth.

- Herds of camels are transplanted to Ge'en, there to begin new lives in peace and happiness.

by **Aidannadia** » Mon Sep 23, 2019 10:40 am

As the cliffside shores of Forger's Isle came into view, Lord Baron De Soto prepared his address. He had heard tales of the riches in this island, and the Forgers were an isolated people with strange customs. He was unsure how to proceed; he was never the most eloquent of the Castella children. His brother Fernando might have been a better choice, but he was back on the island of Barbados with his own mission to attend to.

As the biremes made port on the shore, the men of the ships scaled the shore and entered the Forger's settlement, weapons in hand. Baron De Soto cleared his throat loudly and opened a scroll, reading from it in a commanding and booming voice in the middle of the square.

"Forgers, You are now under the protection of the Cartel. This is the beginning of a no doubt profitable business relationship for your people and our own. In the years to come, you will receive support in the form of armed guards and a trading relationship will be established to make sure your people see prosperity. We look forward to your acceptance of this offer. Thank you."

The island of Barbados was a jungle, flat and filled with flora and fauna. Fernando had heard from his hunting friends of a small tribe towards the center of the island, and had gone on an expedition with a close few of his comrades. The journey was arduous, but not without its fair share of beauty. Fernando had always appreciated the the grace of nature, though he mostly expressed his love through big game hunting.

It wasnt long until the forest opened up to reveal the idyllic view of the Ngolo tribe. Fernando cleared his throat and continue through to the edge of town, greeting a confused family with a wave.

"Hello, honorable Ngolo. I have come to make contact with your quaint civilization and establish a mutually beneficial relationship between our peoples. May I speak with your leader?"

Barbados: Population: 9 - 2 Scholars, 1 Artisans, 6 Peasants (1 Elven) | 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 -

by **The National Dominion of Hungary** » Mon Sep 23, 2019 11:46 am

The Kingdom of Serrith

That was it, naught but dejection could be seen on the faces of the Royal Court in Serryn. Their overtures had come to no fruition, now there was but one last option open, they would have to try and buy their peace. Once there had been a nomadic horde threatening to set the Kingdom afire, the Midnight Men had swept across the borders, threatening fire and blood unless the Kingdom agreed to pay tribute. They left, but only after having received the a kingdom's ransom and the flower of Seran youth in their armies as they marched to further conquest. They had tried to buy peace from nomadic invaders once, they would have to do so again it seemed. A group of men left the capital once more, heading west through the plains and toward the borderlands where watch was kept by the bronze-clad mercenaries from Gergan. Their task was to come in peace to the encampment of the strange men who had come near to the border. Such a vast horde made it's mark as it passed, herders and farmers from across the river had fled back into Ellander with the families and what wealth they could carry, cowering behind the earthen embankment of an unfinished palisade. No help was coming from the Emperor, at least not what the King and his council knew and the problem was now a stone's throw away from once of their cities.

Now, all that was left was to negotiate. Though some lords advised to the King to show anger. To send his two Bronze Banners across the river to find their encampment and strike at it, setting their tents alight in the night and vanishing back into the dark but the King would take his chances at peace and paying a tribute for peace. The Kingdom was not ready for battle, not in any way. Serrith was a peaceful land of plenty, warmed by a gentle sun and full of ox-plowed fields. Both times grand armies had come, they had to give of this plenty save the realm from suffering and battle. Perhaps, even a worse fate, tales of dark, wicked magic was spreading, telling of these strange, alien foreigners wielding unholy sorceries to do their bidding.

As the envoys reached Ellander, they brought with them great carts of food along on their journey, hoping to bring an offering to these nomads, the Kingdom could probably sustain their entire population with food tributes, they would offer that, that and more, ready to negotiate a deal with these newcomers to spare the realm from the fires of war and battle, trade they knew, all they could do was hope that these newcomers were more practical than they were fierce and cruel, seeing the Kingdom as worth more feeding them than it was as a blackened ruin. If they refuse, well, then it best be that the envoys to the Emperor were discussing the particularities of the army that might soon be marching to their and.

by **Theyra** » Mon Sep 23, 2019 7:34 pm

The Ngolo
Ankandriana
Miatanana

This is the most unexpected news that King Tsiraka has heard. Not only his there a hidden religious sect dedicated to a false god but, their leader Niaina has come forward to with a message from this god. Worship its and spill blood in its name and it will give the Ngolo power. Queen Razia response to this was filled with anger. How dare a false believer to have the nerve of preaching their god and wants the Ngolo to embrace it. She wanted Niaina and his followers executed at once. For Tsiraka it was clear, did this god save the Ngolo from certain death on the mainland? Did this god guide the Ngolo to the safety of their new home on Ankandriana? No, this god did not, Votaris was the one that saved the Ngolo and led them to the safe haven on Ankandriana. The Ngolo must remain true to Votaris and not stray from his light. Thus, Niaina and his followers were rounded up and at Queen Razia beset executed. Before the execution started, Tsiraka stood next to Niaina who was on the ground and tied down. Tsiraka roared to the sky that the Ngolo already have a god and they will not abandon him. Personally executing Niaina before a large crowd who cheered. The Ngolo would not be easily swayed from their god.

That was all Tsiraka thought would deal with that day. He was in the process of calming down and getting this matter behind him when he received word that outsiders had come to Miatanana. They wished to speak to their leader and want a mutually beneficial relationship between their people. Tsiraka sighed with a mixture of surprisement and tiredness. He had expected to meet outsiders once the Ngolo returned to the mainland but, not this soon. Plus, how did these outsiders find them, were they explorers? How did there know what the Ngolo call themselves? Where they watching Miatanana from a distance? Something did not feel right but, at the moment these outsiders seem friendly and it may not hurt to talk to them. Though he would feel better if the militia that was being trained was ready. If only he thought and sent a message to Fernando and his party. They are welcomed to meet the king and will be brought to the center of Miatanana where they will meet him.

by **Elerian** » Tue Sep 24, 2019 5:13 pm

The Aederfolk

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Tue Sep 24, 2019 5:46 pm

Stirring

The Pale Harbor, Cadmus
1st of Longnight, Year 500 of the Common Era

This year's celebrations were supposed to have been the biggest in memory in the White City, a party to outdo all other banquets that had been held since time had begun being recorded. Five centuries since the first recordkeepers marked down the rotation of the sun and moon about the Earth, twenty five generations of Keen-Folk and their kindred who had lived and died and built the glorious civilization that now teemed on the shores of the Endless Ocean.

They had laid in mystical explosives from foreign lands, mages preparing wardings to light the very air with color and shimmering wonder, the molten heart of the soil channeled into a canopy of mystic delight. Oxen and fattened calves had been slaughtered, spices and herbs from distant Steelsworn and Brightcliff adorning sumptuous tables for feasting that stretched through major squares and thoroughfares. Everything free to the people of the White City, as it would be in the other many settlements of the Hierarchy, a remembrance of those who had gone before celebrated in opulence bankrolled by the Hierarch himself and the state.

Elsewhere, men and women feasted and drank late into the night, stumbling home satisfied with their role in the world and the majesty of the civilization of which they were a part. In Cadmus though, just after midnight, fate had other plans.

It was first noticed in the nicer homes of the city, a swaying of chandeliers and brasswork lanterns which were popular as lighting in the halls of the aristocracy. Some men said it must be a storm out to sea, a rumbling of thunder and lightning, for the winds came strong and set chimes and totems jangling wildly in their gales. Then came the strange phenomenon of the sea receding from the breakwater of the Harbor, a low tide out of season that caused men to cluster in their homes and gape out at the suddenly exposed endless acres of sand within the Pale Harbor's floor. Some enterprising youths waded out through the low pools and exposed sandbars, scraping rare shells from their now-accessible homes to hawk in the days after the feasting.

Then it was visible. A dark cloud rising on the horizon, causing men to stare at it in fear, and others to call an alarm. Only the hardiest of sailors then perceived what was happening, running as fast as their ale-saddled wits would take them toward high ground. The Breaking of the World - a wave only some had seen, but which was known from the times of the ancients, when Cadmus in her prime was stricken down by just such a catastrophe. As the lowering cloud approach, a midnight swallowing the stars, the watchers soon divined its true nature - a wall of water as high as houses, rushing with speed that no man or ship or horse could match toward the hapless celebrating city.

The destruction that happened then in an instant was a dark thing which would haunt the hearts of many for years to come. In violence and chaos the pall of death swept over the lower city, crashing against the base of the White Hills as if it were a living thing, thrashing in impotent murderous intent against the bones of the earth. The cries of those who had not fled in time or had not heard the alarms were suddenly cut off, drown out by the roaring of the waters as their houses and running figures disappeared beneath the waves...

It was a black time, a time which left the Cadmians stunned and disorientated as they picked up the pieces the next day, hauling the wounded to the House of Healing, calling in vain for those lost and never to be seen again. The relief ships would be slow in coming, for the monstrous wave had sent many a ship to the bottom of the Endless Ocean as well. A black time.

by **The GAmeTopians** » Tue Sep 24, 2019 6:05 pm

The Forge Coast

The sound of a horn boomed across the cliffside as the biremes came into view, the daylight revealing them from some distance away. The ramshackle 250 fresh-faced soldiers of the Forge gathered together at the call of the horn, preparing at the shore where the ships would inevitably land. They formed a wall of men, not a single space for a force of these outsiders to pass through. The most experienced among them shouted to interrupt the strange man who spoke in a strange tongue, foreign to their own.
“Halt, foreigner! You are not one of the Men of High Walls, those who speak of Aerborn ships and glimmering armies. You have not the look about you. Who, then, are you?”

“We hail from the island paradise of Barbados to the South. We are the pink sails, scourge of the Endless Sea, and we have seen fit to spare you any trouble in search of a mutually beneficial relationship.” Baron De Soto shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t expected to be greeted with a parade, but he’d hardly expected troops on their shores. “We are the Cartel, and we invite you to our cooperative.”

The men of the Forge narrowed their eyes, remaining in silence for a moment to attempt to decipher these strange words. They were not entirely unfamiliar - as their ancestors had, they had made occasional trips to the outside world, as outsiders had to them, their tongue gradually becoming more similar to that of the realms beyond. With a moment of thought, the general essence of the man’s statement was understood. The leader of the troop made a sort of confused face.
“Scourge, you say, and yet you arrive in peace and seek benefit? Are these the words of a snake, or the words of a dragon? It is not a simple distinction to make.”
With that, another man approached the shoreline - dressed as simply as the soldiers, he nevertheless received a nod of deference from every man in the troop.
“Forgemaster.”

Baron De Soto took off his captain’s hat as the Forgemaster approached, initially taken aback by his appearance. Where he came from, those of power marked themselves as such.

“I breath the hearth lighting words of the drake. Our Lady Constance, my mother, has heard tales of your craftsmanship and fortitude and has truthfully sent me here free of ill intent.”

The leader of the party drew the Forgemaster aside for a moment, whispering to him quietly. Then, with a casual gesture from him, the weapons of the troop lowered to their sides, relaxed. They parted slowly, still wary of the interlopers but not aggressive.
“By order of the Forgemaster.”
The Forgemaster stepped forward slowly, smiling in greeting.
“Greetings, travelers. Pardon us for the harsh welcome - as travelers of the sea I am sure you are aware of the dangers that lurk.
“My name is Modar Ironforge. My official title is High Hammer of the Forge, but most simply refer to me as either the High Hammer or the Forgemaster. They are interchangeable in the Forge.”
“I am Lord Baron De Soto of the House of Castella, son of our Lady Constance Castella and Captain of this band of miscreants.” De Soto took a few steps forward, more confident now that things had calmed. His troops seemed to ease somewhat as well, some sitting on the outcropping of rocks along the shore. “It is nice to meet you, High Hammer of the Forge.” De Soto’s arm outstretched to show his lack of weapon.

The High Hammer extended his hand to offer a handshake, smiling more widely now. He seemed to have better comprehension of the foreigners’ language than the soldiers, clearly more learned by comparison.
“It is my pleasure to welcome you onto our humble isle.” His eyes turned downcast, less than joyful. “If only I could say we could still fulfill the legends you must have heard…”
“The Mines are all out of commission. The forges are dark. We are dead in the water, for the moment.”

“Well, perhaps the wind just has yet to pick up in your sails once more...” De Soto said, realizing his lack of tact had insulted the Forgemaster. The young lord had never been one for small talk, prefering to interact with subordinates in a professional manner rather than this somewhat charming demeanor he had to put on for the Forgers to cooperate. “Perhaps we can help you along in your quest to restore your glory. What is it that you need?”

The High Hammer smiled sadly but gratefully, nodding in response. “With luck, and the hard work of our people, the forges will soon alight again. Our main concerns at the moment are stabilizing food production, and subsequently re-opening the mines. The iron that lies beneath is plentiful, but the mins of old have long since grown dangerous - an entirely new one is necessary. And for that we only need labor and time. I am sure there is a bounty of fruitful exchange in our future, Lord Baron. We’ve a ways to go yet, however, I’m afraid.”

Baron’s eyebrow raised inquisitively. “If I were to procure you some supplies for construction of your mine, do you think that would speed the process along at all? Perhaps I could find some workers to help with the construction.” De Soto thought back to the Elves for a moment, ripe for pillaging.

The Forgemaster’s eyes lit up. “That would certainly be of great help, and we would be eager to repay you as soon as we are able.” A murmur of agreement echoed amongst the troops - The Forge ached to burn once again, a beacon in the Endless Sea. Not just of wealth, but of craftsmanship - of beauty.

“Would you like to discuss my plan more over tea?” The young lord offered, already anticipating the feel of the loot in his palms. The basics were simple; if they used Forger’s Isle as a base of operations for their raids against the Elves, then they would sooner return with the goods and curry favor with the Forgemaster and his ilk. The only issue would be the aforementioned food production, but surely the promise of wealth would be enough to suade the Forgemaster.

The Forgemaster was yet skeptical of the foreigner’s seemingly boundless goodwill, but nevertheless decided to entertain him for the moment - perhaps it was the promise of loot - or perhaps a call to adventure.

by **Ralnis** » Wed Sep 25, 2019 1:13 am

The National Dominion of Hungary wrote:
The Kingdom of Serrith

That was it, naught but dejection could be seen on the faces of the Royal Court in Serryn. Their overtures had come to no fruition, now there was but one last option open, they would have to try and buy their peace. Once there had been a nomadic horde threatening to set the Kingdom afire, the Midnight Men had swept across the borders, threatening fire and blood unless the Kingdom agreed to pay tribute. They left, but only after having received the a kingdom's ransom and the flower of Seran youth in their armies as they marched to further conquest. They had tried to buy peace from nomadic invaders once, they would have to do so again it seemed. A group of men left the capital once more, heading west through the plains and toward the borderlands where watch was kept by the bronze-clad mercenaries from Gergan. Their task was to come in peace to the encampment of the strange men who had come near to the border. Such a vast horde made it's mark as it passed, herders and farmers from across the river had fled back into Ellander with the families and what wealth they could carry, cowering behind the earthen embankment of an unfinished palisade. No help was coming from the Emperor, at least not what the King and his council knew and the problem was now a stone's throw away from once of their cities.

Now, all that was left was to negotiate. Though some lords advised to the King to show anger. To send his two Bronze Banners across the river to find their encampment and strike at it, setting their tents alight in the night and vanishing back into the dark but the King would take his chances at peace and paying a tribute for peace. The Kingdom was not ready for battle, not in any way. Serrith was a peaceful land of plenty, warmed by a gentle sun and full of ox-plowed fields. Both times grand armies had come, they had to give of this plenty save the realm from suffering and battle. Perhaps, even a worse fate, tales of dark, wicked magic was spreading, telling of these strange, alien foreigners wielding unholy sorceries to do their bidding.

As the envoys reached Ellander, they brought with them great carts of food along on their journey, hoping to bring an offering to these nomads, the Kingdom could probably sustain their entire population with food tributes, they would offer that, that and more, ready to negotiate a deal with these newcomers to spare the realm from the fires of war and battle, trade they knew, all they could do was hope that these newcomers were more practical than they were fierce and cruel, seeing the Kingdom as worth more feeding them than it was as a blackened ruin. If they refuse, well, then it best be that the envoys to the Emperor were discussing the particularities of the army that might soon be marching to their and.

The Uusharan had settled in a new encampment beyond the river to the kingdom. Thousands of tents pitched by bounded leather and sinew from their herds and other tradegoods. They came here to make a business like any horde; trade, gather, and pillage the Kingdom as they used the immense undead to attack through whatever defenses they have in a tide of undead.

The Gate Council itself, led back by Quactol, had sat in their main tent to discuss the next plans. It was quite obvious that the Kingdom that they heard about, Serrith, was trying to prepare for the arrival of the Wandering Grey. The Gate Council had picked on the rumors of mercenaries and the envoys being sent to the capital of Midnight. They didn't know what to expect in terms of defenses and they expected a first strike the moment they set foot on their border. What they halfway expected was an envoy, what they didn't expected was five wagonloads of foodstuff.

The guards ushered them into the main tent, where five Councilmembers sat around a fire. The Council itself was unlike the horde of Midnight, they were of different builds and had tattoos that marked different tribes within the Uusharan. They each held an air of quiet authority and intelligence that befitted scholars and magi in high towers. They looked at the envoys with an interest that befitted the blood mages.

"We expected an army, not envoys and food." One of the Council spoke, a small man with a shaven head and tattoos etched on his face.

"Yet they are here and not the bronze Pale men of Gergan. They either are here to parley or it could be a trick." Another of them spoke in a more quiet tone.

"Then let's humor them, they brought a feast and such treasure for peace talks is of good quantity."

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Wed Sep 25, 2019 10:20 am

Year 500 of the Common Era Dawns!

The Deepwood
No news. Dark news. The second party of explorers dispatched into the depths of the Ancient Staircase has yet to return as the days turn into weeks. It must be assumed that their fate was a black one, the same as the first party which disappeared into the gloom. In more pertinent and equally dire tidings, the Grand Chieftain has, through some source or another, learned that the scholars and mages of the Deepwood seek to keep this secret from him. He is most displeased, and shall remember this impertinence in future. He commands that the Staircase be sealed for a year and a day, to allow the proper time for mourning for those lost to its embrace.

The Bloodhounds
The crafters and artisans of the Kennels are frustrated in their efforts to construct arms for those warriors of the Folk who would go into battle with ought better than a spear and shield. They request that the chief construct a Smithy, for their labors are naught without a means to properly shape the copper ore which litters their homeland.

The Puqina
Disaster. A freak winter storm, stronger even than the last one which opposed the march of the Puqina, blocks the passages north to the place called Karowa even as the marching columns of warriors pass. Two hundred and fifty of their brothers, brave men all, are locked away in a mountain vale by an immense avalanche which, despite the best efforts of the warriors of the Bloodthirsty Gods, resists all efforts to clear it. Weeks later the sundered raiders, exhausted and abandoning all thought of war and lucre, enter the valley their brothers were trapped within - only to find that all sign of them has disappeared. No bodies, no signs of struggle - simply a peaceful vale untroubled by war or men.

The Many Mothers of Fastaqui
If Mara boasts unemployed young men, they are few and mostly recently drafted into a unit which is called the Home Guard, a response, the representatives from Fastaqui gather, to raiders from the south. Their cries for recruits fall on deaf ears, the wealth and riches offered no sufficient lure to bring men and women from their homes to distant lands. At year's end they return with a paltry dozen of the most lacklustre workers the Many Mothers have seen, no real reward for their time and their riches intact in their carts. In Ge'en, however, the news is good. Despite the cooler and more rainy climate of the fair city, the camels of Mara prove able to adapt to a more swampy and moss-overgrown existence without much in the way of complaint.

The Ngolo
The false prophets fall and perish, bodies broken before the rage of their fellows. It is a brave act, to defy a Dark God, and though a shiver passes through those who witness the rejection of its influence, the sun shines brightly again in a few moments. United in purpose, the Ngolo will not abandon the gods of their ancestors, a heartening reinforcement of their piety for those who might have doubted it after the Desecration of the Temple of the Prophet. (+5 Public Order)

The Cartel
On the winds of the sea they came, striking where men had thought themselves secure, masters of the waves. Their ships are strange, built of black wood as hard as stone, and yet they flew over the waves of the sea as if the stiffest winds were behind them. The skin of the foreigners is of midnight hue, as black as their hearts, and with fire and sword they fall upon the coastal settlement of the Cartel, burning, enslaving. They withdraw after a day and a night of despoilation, and the hearts of the men and women of the Cartel are filled with fear at the strange experience of being prey instead of predator.
A Peasant has been seized by the foreign raiders, and 5 Wealth carried off from one of the Fishing Docks under construction.

by **Novas Arcanum** » Wed Sep 25, 2019 11:28 am

"War is a hunger and there are those in this world whose hunger is never satisfied" High Priest Therion said to his fellow priests gathered in the forest.

"Which is why we must prepare ourselves," The other priests and priestesses said in unison.

The High Priest of Amarth, God of Sight, stood in quiet contemplation suffering immensely so much so that he had nearly died from the pain. Therion had lost someone important to him all those years ago. Now was the time to rectify that event. Before he would leave this mortal plane he would make sure others would not suffer as he had.

His ageless face nodded at the other priests and priestesses of Amarth. They soon got to work mapping the ley lines of Myth Ellanor. The priesthood had requested the construction of a temple to act as the "Eye" of the Arameri Dominion. Years ago the sea raiders had enslaved one thousand elves in their bloodthirsty rampage countless souls seized in the night.

Never again would that occur. With this new temple being constructed utilizing knowledge brought from the Zhou no one would be enslaved in raids any longer. Still, the High Priest was weary. Construction of the harbor had to be pulled back an unfortunate turn of events. Still, this was a great undertaking that would secure the survival of the Elves.

Soon grand spires and arches would arise from the dust of the earth. The Curunir chanted spells and raised their hands in a circle. A great ball of arcane power would be constructed in the center. It was beautiful beyond recognition and it soon took the shape of a literal eye. Such great magic would expand the vision of the Elves and with luck stop outsiders from enslaving their brothers and sisters in the future.

by **Aidannadia** » Wed Sep 25, 2019 12:00 pm

Barbados: Population: 8- 2 Scholars, 1 Artisans, 6 Peasants (1 Elven) | Military: 1 - Militia | Public Order - -5 | Resources: Armorwhales, Singseed, Blackshells, Lead | Bonus Food: 3 | Danger: 1 | 1 Small Squadron (Biremes) | 6 Food
Government District | Cracked Stone Wall
Industrial District - 2 Artisan Quarters
Agricultural District - 3 Farms
Housing District -

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Wed Sep 25, 2019 12:50 pm

The Deepwood
"Our loyalty is to our lord, Val. Our labors, our struggles, are for him and him alone."
- Hans Graven

This was a rough year for the Inner Circle. Questions and demands coming abound and a need for answers. It was a siege of not wars, but of knowledge. Many wanted answers including the Inner Circle themselves, but they had little to provide. It was so bad that they couldn't focus on the other research matters, instead having to answer the constant stream of questions. Even now within their great chamber, many were weary and tired. Even the Head Shaman himself wore baggy eyes, and was draped with the appearance of fatigue.

Hans had wished that the Grand Chieftain, would have at least waited before adhering to the advice. Then they could have formulated a way to provide as little necessary information as possible while maintaining the respect to the fallen members. If they could even lie about what befell them, for the sake of maintaining the secret within the Circle all the better. He was saddened by the death of his colleague and fellow Varavian's deaths, but he was not going to sacrifice the secrets of the circle for funerals.

"Damn it!" Hans shouted slamming his aged fist against the table. Stirring awake those unconscious and alarming those already awake. Even if he had provided the advice; it most likely would have fallen to deaf ears. Finding aggravation in this fact he turned his mind toward seeking answers and resolving the problems at hand. Why did the his great chief cut off access to the staircase? Did he want them to stay away? Perhaps he knew what was down there? No, he would have most likely sealed it off permanently to keep his secret. This was a power play, pure and simple. For all the years that the Inner Circle ran things in the Grand Chieftains stead, he now wants to brew distrust between the public and the Circle.

It was too great of a opportunity to pass up the chance of both embarrassing his opponent and slowing them down, preventing them from producing the results the Varavians all so much desired. That sick bastard, Hans thought to himself. To clean up the mess that was brought before him he started barking orders.

"Alright men, last year we had a lot on our plate last year, and this year it isn't going to be so easy," spoke Hans as the scholars began to compose themselves, ready for both orders and providing advice, "we have to main problems, we have a leaker to deal with from last year, and to begin the efforts to improve our economy."

"We could start with a test that could prove ones loyalty," suggested Lucius.

"That was what I was thinking, but what would be the basic test," asked the Head Shaman.

Sivert interjected, "we could try and share some 'major' information and see who catches the bait."

"Then that is what we will do," said Hans, "lets avoid dealing with the warriors at all, I don't trust them regardless given their recent creation. No, we need to know the men in the Circle are to be trusted. We can make this a simple test of loyalty for those within the circle. The 7 members here in the inner circle are the only ones who are to know of this plan. Onto the next matter... development."

"While the intention is to maximize the potential of the population, the scholars in development have stressed time and time again to release a education system before investing in food and industry," said Lucius.

"Then that is what we'll do, Lucius I want you to reveal to the public about the plans for a new education system. Hopefully that'll tie over the public for now. Something good in this time of bad," said Hans Graven, "as for the public matter regarding the information leak, if they ask tell them our stance was that we wanted it left secret as it potentially contains matters of faith."

"I'll be tending to the security problems," said Sivert before shuffling off to his duties.

"Very well, the Circle is dismissed," stated Hans Graven before leaving himself.

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

by **Olthenia** » Wed Sep 25, 2019 2:53 pm

Fᴀsᴛᴀǫᴜɪ

Queen of the Skazad Delta
________________________________________
The Sixth Matriarchate of Kemkasa
The Eight Day of the Arc of Flowers, Year 500 of the Common Era

«So, what is it?» asked Parda.

It was a good question. Aunt Buza’s quarters were forever a cluttered mess. Gleaming nuggets of cassiterite jostled for space with bronze daggers, scraps of woven cloth traded from the marsh-landers and long, lustrous feathers from some nameless bird. A cesspool of odds, ends and rarities – as the home of any Fastaqui scholar ought to be.

Yet the statue of pale, shimmery stone on the table was an oddity even here.

“What do you think it is?” Aunt Buza drawled, tone glib. “Go on, child. Use your eyes.”

Parda did. Use her eyes, that was. They were her mother’s eyes, wide and dark – and when she laughed her eyes laughed with her. She was always full of stories her mouth couldn’t tell quick enough. Stories as strange as the queer stone figure in front of her. But now her eyes were filled with uncertainty; her mouth frowny.

“…Is it a plant, Aunt? Or a bush?”

Aunt Buza’s tut-tuts told her precisely how wrong she was. Which was worse, somehow, than Aunt Gaju’s insults. When you failed Aunt Buza, she pitied you. And pity was poison to the soul – or any scholar-in-training, for that matter. It went hand-in-hand with shame.

“It’s a necromantic fetish.”

“A what?” Parda’s tone was as confused as her face. A necromantic what?

“A fetish, child! Pay attention! It is known that magic can call lightning from the skies, yes? Or conjure fire from water and save a life from the sharpest spear.” She jabbed a bony finger at the sculpture. “The right sorcery, and the right runes, can also call the spirits of the dead. Even, some say, make the dead walk again.”

“But I’ve never seen such a creature before. And the dead can’t walk, Aunt.” Parda mused – a tone of faint resentment creeping into her voice. Why had Aunt Buza made her feel foolish over something she had no way of knowing? Aunt Buza, of course, ignored her. At least at first.

“Of course they can’t, child,” she replied – tone emollient. “Except… Perhaps they can.” Perhaps. Parda had not a clue where her strange old aunt might have gotten that idea. It was true that certain quays along Fastaquis lower harbors were best avoided after dark, and that spirit-callers and blood-witches were said to prowl there. But everyone knew those claims were nonsense. Speaking with the dead was not for the living, and tales of those that did were only stories to frighten children or superstitious marshlanders. Nothing more.

“And why are you showing me this, exactly?”

“Because,” drawled Aunt Burza, “-of the Wandering Grey.”

Special Actions

- A substantial amount of food, sixteen loads in all, are traded to the envoys of the Wandering Grey.

by **Alta Californians** » Wed Sep 25, 2019 10:40 pm

"Oh Arumal! The Jackal! God of War, and courage! Rise, and bless us with strength!"
The yelled, as his folk chanted. This was the great ceremony, to bring luck to his people. He moved on to the next statue, held up the offering, and yelled
"Oh Vormel! The Bulldog! God of Wisdom and Leari=ning! Rise, and bless us with knowledge!
He took the spear, handcrafted from the days of old, before the bloodhounds shrunk into isolation for many years. He yelled like a warrior must have yelled on the battlefields many years ago
"Oh Rohas!The Husky! God of Metalworking and of Artisans! Rise, and gift us with many weapons and tools!
Finally, he took the wheat, and set it on the final plate. He screamed this time, to his patron god
"oh Vare! The Mastif!God of the Harvest!Rise, and gift us with Plenty, as you have done before!
After the ceremony, and after his bath, he met with his advisors, including He-Whose-Fur-Is-Rough.
"How is the training going!"
"Good, but the Artisans complain that they cannot make tools."
"why?
"because, they have no place to make them, no smithery."
"hmm... I shall see to that."
Meanwhile, He-Whose-Paws-are-soft, the advisor whom specalises in building says
"Sire, If I don't say, I believe that working on something for our industrial region would be best"
"Hmm, I shall think of that. You are now dismissed"

As he walks home, he hears sounds of children playing, shopkeepers advertising wares, the like. He stops for a moment to smell the great taste of food being prepared. Then, he continues on. As he is walking, he hears the sound of something being thrown. Then he senses somethng, and with inhuman speed moves to the ;eft, turns, and grabs the spear that was flying at him out of mid-air.
"Nice Try."
The asassin growls,and pulls out a blade. The chief does so. AS they spar, both of them very skilled, he whose fur is rough sneaks near, holding a knife. he nods to the chief, who ducks. the assasin looks, and sees the knife flying at him. He tries to duck, but it's too late. The knife hits him in the forehead, causing him to hit the ground. The Chief stabs him in the heart one more time, to make sure he is dead.
"thank you. Goodnight"
"Goodnight, My lord."

by **Saxony-Brandenburg** » Thu Sep 26, 2019 10:41 am

The Puqina
501 CE

by **The National Dominion of Hungary** » Thu Sep 26, 2019 11:17 am

The Kingdom of Serrith

King Arathor Skyspyre, Second of his name, Lord of all the Serans, Master of Serryn, King of Serrith and Protector of the Realm looked out across the plains of that made up most of his realm as the wheelhouse rumbled down the dirt road back toward his capital. A sea of green rising and falling in gentle hills that dotted the landscape, heady winds thick with pollen could be smelled as flowers colored the wide grasslands and small copses of trees. So beautiful, good Serrith, a gentle mother to all her people. As Arathor leaned back into the carriage and slumped into one of the chairs, draping the fine purple cloak that he wore over his clothes tighter to ward off the wind, his mind trailed to the meeting. Serrith had a new overlord now, though only a handful still knew. Him, the Seneschal and the lords of the Royal Ring who had joined him on the way to meet with these strange nomads and their corpse-raising wizard masters from beyond the Western Mountains. A new overlord, and a new mission, to bring down their former masters in the form of the Midnight Men.

"She is fine, I know your Majesty." Said the old man seated next to him. Clad in fine robes and carrying the seneschal's staff, watery gray eyes looking out across the land.

"I know, Tarran. I know. But she's so vulnerable." The King said somberly as he looked at the small village and it's log cottages they rolled past, children running out to watch the Royal procession going past their homes. "We can't live like this, we are not a warlike folk, but this cannot go on. Protector of the Realm." He said scoffing. Protector of the Realm my arse, for now at least.

"You did the right thing, your Majesty. You saw the Walkers. As did all of us, none of the Lords will lay blame at the feet of the Marble Throne. They were gentle to us, we came away better for it, let us not waste this opportunity my King, we need to make the realm ready for what is to come."

The King looked at the old seneschal, a look of exhaustion washing over him, framed by his thick black locks and oiled mustache. "I have little doubt that we will, given time. I will do my utmost to honor our forefathers, to honor Osseyden and all the Ossedeni. But I need your help, your wisdom. Just as it aided me when I spoke to those frightful sorcerers. I can't make the realm prosper and ready it for the battle ahrad without that wisdom."

The old man smiled. "I'm ever your loyal servant. You can count on me your Majesty. We must make sure we can support an army before we build one, farms, mines and smithies will be needed. And we shall have to make our homes defensible. With an army and support from our new lieges, we can break the Emperor's might on our walls, or send more men to meet him in the field should you wish it so."

The King took a deep breath. "We were not ever a martial people, what we are is farmers, herdsmen, traders and explorers much more than warriors." He looked up at the seneschal. "Well, but it seems that is something we must add to the list, and we shall." There was a hint of determination in Arathor's voice.

by **Theyra** » Thu Sep 26, 2019 7:34 pm

The Ngolo
Ankandriana
Miatanana

(Collab with Aidannadia)

Fernando genuflected in the presence of the King of the Ngolo, waiting to be acknowledged by his highness before speaking.

King Tsiraka took a long look at Fernando, so this is the outsider, he thought as looked upon Fernando. Tsiraka was flanked by his two bodyguards and standing beside him was wife, Queen Razia. Both were wearing elaborate robes and wearing crowns. "You can raise outsider", Tsiraka said with authority and motioned for him to raise. "I am King Tsiraka Vaovason of the Ngolo and this", he motioned to Razia, "she is my wife Queen
Razia". She bowed to Fernando and remained silent, keenly watching Fernando. "Who are you outsider and where do you come from?

“I hail from the city of Barbados to the West, along the shore. My name is Fernando of the House of Castella, son of the Lady Constance.” Fernando rose to attention, “I come offering good tidings and a mutually beneficial relationship between our people. We have been observing you for some time, and have come to respect your culture and customs.” Truthfully, Fernando found their civilization backwards and vulgar, but this was hardly the time to bring that up. He wasn’t looking to civilize these barbarians.

Along the shore to the west... that means that the Ngolo share this island with these outsiders. How long have they been here and how did the Ngolo not know about this? We have been here for centuries, how could they not find out that they share the island with outsiders. That and the outsiders had been observing them for a while, how long is that? This was very disconcerting, to say the least, to but, Tsiraka hid any trace of this to Fernando as the meeting went on. "I see so what do you propose to start this mutually beneficial relationship, trade?

“Trade is a natural consequence of how close we are, yes, but I was more interested in the relationship of our people.” He put his fingers together in a web. “Are you a hunter, King Tsiraka Vaovason? I’d love to discover our common values and traditions on a hunting trip.”

Tsiraka raised an eyebrow at the suggestion of going hunting together. He did not expect this, "I do occasionally hunt but, I do not think I would be called a hunter". Tsiraka weighed the options in his head, he could go on a hunting trip with Fernando but, he was not sure he should trust this outsider so easily. It irked him these outsiders have been watching them enough to learn about them. Maybe something more on his terms, "Perhaps we could arrange another way to get to know each other. Like a feast in honor of our first meeting".

Fernando smiled ear to ear. “A feast sounds lovely. We discuss the details there.”

"Okay then", Tsiraka clapped his hands together. "I will have my chefs prepare a feast for us and it will take some time before they are ready. In the meantime, how about I have a guide show you around the city? I have duties I need to attend to this day so I can not do it my self. How does sound?
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fernando, the Cartel representative was given a tour of the city while King Tsiraka Vaovason was busy with his duties. The people are not sure of what to make about the outsiders. For now, relations are friendly even if Tsiraka has reservations about them. He did not expect to find outsiders this early and not so close to Miatanana. How could the Ngolo not know that they shared an island with someone? It did not feel right to Tsiraka and he will feel better when warriors that are being trained are ready. Their training should be nearly done by now and a surprise happened to Tsiraka. Razia has pregnant and both parents were overjoyed at the news. Seemly forgetting for a time about recent events.

Barring the unexpected arrival of outsiders, Tsiraka plan was still intact, even if he expected to meet outsiders on the mainland. The settlers have been trained and are waiting till the time for them to explore it ready. It will take time to get the funds to lanched the first expedition into the island. Though the Ngolo has lived on Ankandriana for centuries, they have not explored the island outside of their home region. Tsiraka planned to expand throughout the island but, that may not be possible since they are not the only ones on Ankandriana. Either way, when a city is established on the eastern side bordering the sea. Tsiraka plans on colonizing the mainland. He is not sure when it will be possible to do that but, that is what he wants. For the Ngolo to expand and grow past Ankandriana. Hopefully, under his watch, that will be the future of the Ngolo.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Fri Sep 27, 2019 1:43 pm

The High Seas

Off the Coast of Tarasheim, Endless Ocean
17th of Summersheat, Year 501 of the Common Era

Underfoot the decks of the trireme bobbed in the swells of the Endless, Captain Luman on the lookout for any distinctive pink sails. The Elves of the distant north, which the Hierarchy had known since the ancient days when the strange kindred first crossed the waters to seek their homeland, had apparently suffered greatly at the hands of raiders out of the south - the same brigands which had been repelled by this very fleet long years ago when they had thought to take wealth from the poor citizens of the Rivermouth.

A strange world, where the poncy elves had been convinced they could not hold their shores against the pirates, and become humble enough to pay tribute to the Hierarch for the privilege of the High Seas Fleet's protection. The Captain couldn't really say he approved, because it took the ships far from shore, and out into waters where they would be hard pressed to guard the entrance to the Great River if those brigands took it into their minds to strike the Hierarchy anew.

But you didn't question orders from Kharbarinth. That was a sure way to end up on the bottom of the sea with rocks on your feet, and Luman wasn't going to throw away either his life or his career for a little concern like strategy.

by **The GAmeTopians** » Fri Sep 27, 2019 3:39 pm

The Forge Coast

by **Ralnis** » Fri Sep 27, 2019 6:48 pm

The Firstborn Encampment, the Uusharan

A representative from the Serrith Kingdom came today as an invite to something that one would consider strange and unholy. You see, the Uusharan brought loads of food, food beyond counting from their tribute, buying from their new neighbors and even from their hunts to gather such succulent meats and fruits. Such number was capable of feeding the Kingdom many times over for years but it sat there beyond the encampment and protected by the living warriors away from bandits and the Rocs, ever hungry for scraps.

The horde themselves painted their faces, lit torches and prepared their own foods and got family shrines and regalia out. Their face was painted to that of a skull in many colors and many had flowers and colors that are unbefitting of a skull. Many of the citizens were still afraid of the nomads and their blood magic, it was a foreign idea for the dead to walk again and serve. To many around the world the dead should stay dead. To them to look colorful and their children to present the people of Ellander with cookies and spiced stew that was traded and not looted was strange.

People danced and sang songs of their history and the Ancestors like a chorus of beautiful notes and hymns. Even the Gate Council had danced with their families as they prepare everyone for the days that start the Días de Muertos, the Days of the Dead. To many of the Uusharan, this was the greatest holiday of the Xcotl and they still cherished it after their exile away from their Ancestor Home. They still do it to hear the whispers of those who had passed and had been trying to scavenge any scraps of power and any resources for this very day.

Yes this day was different from all of Days of the Dead.

After the initial celebrations, the Firstborn and the small amount of onlookers from the neighboring city had saw what was transpiring. The Gate Council and their charges walked outside the encampment to the large food surplus, they started to chant as they dug a large circle around it and made signs of magic within their language, symbols that were told by them in cold whispers from beyond the grave in order to do this. This was something that if one symbol was off-place then the spell wouldn't work or even worse things can happen. The price of blood magic was very high for very high power, such potency in lifeforce and blood could effect the entire region or even the Kingdom if such a thing ever went wrong.

After the circle of power was done, the mages started to cut the necks of all the dead animals and dipped them in the dry meats to soak them. They brought people from the Firstborn to say to their families and speak to them as they cut open the necks of an animal, children did it in order to participate in the grand spell and the onlookers were saying obscenities to the Uusharan but they paid them no mind. The best had yet to come.

After it was done and the blood overflowed from the altar and the duged parts of the circle, Qactol came among the leaders of the horde and began to chant and others came. Their voices became distorted as their was a great stillness in the air, a cold shiver like winter blanketed the region and even touched the edges of the neighboring city as the chant of voices became of one sound. The leader of the Council grabbed a tin ornate dagger and cut his wrist but the blood only went around him and the other leaders did the same with various ornate tin daggers till they came to the edges of the circle and placed their cut hand on it the dirt path of the blood.

Then the blood rose up and consumed the food in a spout of rising, red liquid. From here the Gate Council was knocked on their collective behinds as the blood shaped and twisted to becoming something solid. The blood gave way to something that had colors, something with ornate symbols of colored skulls and skeletons in dance and song. The entire thing became like a gate, larger than that of any wall and of any city. At the very front was a colored Dust Bull skull, that whose horns patrude out of the very gate and was made of solid bronze and gold. Such a sight could be seen from Eleander and people would be afraid of such a gate could be risen with blood magic.

They were right to be afraid for this was a Gate of the Dead. There were many Gates, but this was connected to those of Xcotl and belong to their part of the Dead Realm. Such a thing to be summoned was never done before, never in the entire history of blood magic. Those who practice it know of the Gates but the Uusharan had done something that they couldn't have done in the prime as the people of Ancestral City. As they awaited abated breath for the Gate to open, their wish was granted.

From it was the spirits, the Ancestor-Spirits that they revered and respect for they were always with them. They were ethereal, yet defined in their skin, clothing from different eras, regalia of tribes or families that no longer exist yet are remembered all the same. Leading them was the most revered of the Ancestor-Spirits, Lakmal the First. The shade of pure darkness that protected the worshipers of the Spirits and heed the whispers of those that call forth his name. He held power, power beyond anything the Midnight Men had ever have done.

He walked to the Gate Council with a near-float step and they all bowed. They spoke in reverence to the First and he in turn respected and honored their immense sacrificed.

"Never has such a summoning been done, well done Firstborn." Lakmal spoke in an ethereal tongue," you all honor your Ancestors with this immense gift. Thus, it would be my honor and those from beyond, to commune with you in the Dias de Muertos. Yet the festival commence!"

A roar of cheer came from thousands of people as both man and spirit came and hug one another. Many cried and shared their stories, claiming that they never thought to see them again and such. The spirits were equally happy for they had been able to see their modern relatives and how they had grown throughout the years. They all danced, played, drank and told stories. Stories of this year and yesteryear, of their triumphs and defeats. They exchanged secrets but the dead had many more, for they were always watching them.

Such sight would be taken aback from those of the outsider, such food would be seen as wasted. They couldn't have been true spirits, right? They had to be illusions, they thought that they could be illusions but the Kingdom didn't know a lot about their nomadic neighbors to know for certain. Still, the Firstborn acted civilized among the dead, they acted normal to the eyes of the Kingdom as they spent time with their dead relatives.

The Gate Council themselves were being taught by those that came before them, those who had devoted their lives to Blood Magic. They came to tell them the secrets of the North, those of the Mystic Control and to control the minds of beasts. It was a completed idea of what they were trying to understand for the Shambling Legion only gave them a scrap to go off of. Now they had a full understanding of the spell which could come in handy in their war against Midnight. However Lakmal had something else to give himself.

He showed them a vision, a vision of the past through the eyes of one of their own. He was many of the enslaved to Bloodright that came as the spoils of war at the Battle of Sun's Height. He showed them one of the brutal mages who spoke the magic words of power to slaves near him and saw them enthralled by the power they evoked. Such power was used on him in turn but it's power was similar, similar to Mystic Control but it burned in the soul.

When they came back to the tent, they had learned that they gained a glimpse. A secret that echoed in their minds as they had saw something that could be done. Such idea of bending the mind was complex and similar to how the Men of Midnight did such spells. With more understanding and research, they could replicate such ideas and might even use it against the slave soldiers of Bloodright in the future. They thanked the First and their predecessors for the bountiful wealth of knowledge of such spells and knew they had a long way to go before they recovered all of their magic and even improve upon what they already knew.

As the entire month of festives was coming to the close, the Gate that stood still parted itself cold doors and all of the spirits were called back home. Some wanted to stay with their living relatives but they knew that they couldn't. The rules were as ironclad as their souls, they must return for they could cause unattended chaos to the Uusharan and the Blood Shamans. Lakmal thanked them for their sacrifice and pray that they could do such a thing again. The Gate Council promised to try if they could.

Once the Gate descended into the blood pool and the blood evaporated into nothing, the horde knew that they had to prepare. Many sent out envoys to the King for assistance in their magics, one to the Gergan for prices of slaves, and the Many Mothers to ask about labor from the Wandering Grey.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Fri Sep 27, 2019 9:08 pm

Year 501 of the Common Era Dawns!

The Cartel
Unfettered, the fearsome raiders of the Cartel strike at night, thinking to fall upon the Arameri as they have done many times, seeking lambs for the slaughter. This time their hearts are filled with a desire for lucre, and so the blow falls where the Elves do not expect it - upon the city center, not the outskirts, where raiders row ashore and set fire to the Industrial District of fair Myth Ellanor. The warding Arameri warriors respond with all due haste, but their engagement with the Cartel's marauders is but desultory and brief ere the men of the sea retire once more to their ships, a wealth in valuable tools and crafted goods in their longboats. The Artisans' Quarters has been devastated, the Cartel making off with 4 Wealth in loot from the stretch of shops and workhouses. Repairs will cost 5 Wealth and 2 Labor.

The Deepwood
There is another matter which troubles the Deepwood. Some of the warriors which were guarding the Great Staircase, nominally keeping it from being accessed by any man, report the sound of deep echoes coming from up the gloomy shaft. It is not silent, and though no man can divine what the noises might mean, they disquiet the hearts of those who stand watch - for they are great and terrible, and shake the very earth.

The Puqina
Far away are rumored to be the lands of the Uushuran, over many hills and mountains and lands where even the air is dry of moisture, and the merciless sun slays men. Strong of heart are the warriors of the Puqina, seekers after blood and treasure - yet they remain human. For three months and five days they march north, following the dictates of their leaders, and still they do not find their quarry. Across plains, and a range of mountains, and then out into the endless dust they pass - until at last their voices clamor again for home. No man can fault their courage, or their dedication. Far indeed lie the Uushuran, if they exist at all, farther than men of Puqina, whatever their valor in war, will walk. The raiders return home, empty-handed but hale.

The Uushuran
A fell and great festival, the Day when dead men walked among the living. A dark pall rose over the land where the blood altar stood supine, at last exhausted as the spell was completed. Whether it was good or ill no man could say, but for a week it swallowed up the sun in a cloak of nightshade, the twilight above the land a strange thing indeed. When at last the darkness lifted, the Firstborn themselves were hale and whole, but some of their beasts of burden were changed, twisted by the blackness. A herd of horses is missing, but in the grazing pastures where they had lived, bone white trees with leaves of pale glistening red grow, already as tall as many men. Where the wind passes, whispers as of voices can be heard in the groves of white bark and pale branch, and the hearts of even the bravest are as water in their breasts.

From the Emerald Masters of Gergan, the price for slaves is returned - fifteen carts of riches, a king's ransom if he were but one man, to bind a thousand of the serfs of the mighty city to the people of the Firstborn. Two and three thousands they will not sell to a single buyer, at least not now.

The Kingdom of Serrith
A matter of some concern - a great shape has been sighted far out to sea, across the waters where the ships of the Many Mothers roam. Some men called it an island that moved, some men said it had a thousand eyes that glittered in the dark like lanterns, each as large as a ship. Whatever the truth of the matter might be, the men of Sorncost choose discretion as the better part of valor, and stay on land where the thing does not roam. The Harbor District in Sorncost will not produce Food for the next three years, or at least until someone divines what the thing might be.

The Forge
Bounty is given to the Forge in this auspicious year - a great vein of hematite has been struck in the construction of the Mine of the Outer Isles, easily retrievable and a boon for the industry of the artisans of the island. With this great treasure of ore, many things might be accomplished. Six Hematite Ore is added to the storages of the Forge.

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

Who is online