A New Age [Lost Earth]

[Achesia]

Fawnnorth

Nasty brutish and short...

The state of nature of the Empire under the Emperors of the Dominicus line was a cruel one, the people bent to the will of the monarch and the many lords that call him liege. Atop the high fortress of Fawnnorth the ancient city that at one time was the center of the Kingdom of Achesia sat the Emperors looking out over their lands, the Dread Lord's blessed they were called, as the Lazy one gave his coronation to these Emperors and the power of dragons to enforce their rule. As the new age come to pass Emperor Martin Alexis Dominicus, the Dark Lord, Lord of all the Realms, anointed of the Summer God, blessed of the Dread Lord, and Lord of the Eastern Mountains and the Western Sea and Protector of the Empire sits on the dark throne atop the Dragon Tower, built nearly three hundred years prior by the first Dominicus Emperor. His four sons the Prince Dragons carry out their fathers will leading the Armies of House Dominicus to around the Empire to enforce their rule. The three mystical dragons sit on the battlements of the fortress watching the tiny specks of humans come and go through the center of the Empire.

Lords and Ladies from all corners of the realm come to court in Fawnnorth to ask favors of the Emperor, some for land, others for power, and even more for gold. But Emperor Dominicus grants few favors to those who come to court, rarely does he grant land to anyone who asks for it preferring to demand they take lands on the edges of the Empire at the expense of their own house if they want it. Power he only gives to those he trusts which rarely is anyone that does not belong to House Dominicus. Gold... that is something he spares to even fewer. In fact those members of court still playing the game in the capital know not to ask much of the Emperor, they simply go through the motions of the political game, hoping to gain one step further, slowly but surely.

In other parts of the Empire the people slave to get by day by day and those Lords that do not wish to play the games of court struggle to keep their lands together. Renewed conflict between The Daevus and Koud clans has begun, these ancient families continuing their rivalry which has stretched back since the beginning of the Kingdom of Achesia. The only time these two families were at rest for the knives at each others throats was when a marriage between them existed, which was rarely. Now two of their vassals are in conflict over a boarder dispute. Soldiers from House Racklass of Direrus raided a gold mine in the lands owned by House Cassius of Aracndara some six months ago and now both of their lieges have been pulled into the conflict which has caused the Achesian lowlands to erupt in conflict. This conflict has blocked off major supply and trade routes preventing food from the bread basket of the Empire The Lasslands from getting to people in the Avonhold and the Eastlands. Famine there now is killing hundreds of people a day from starvation and the Lords of those two lands have pleaded with the Emperor to bring an end to the conflict between Koud and Daevus, but the Dragon can not be budged.

Meanwhile in the North the younger high house of Vassilis of the Dead Lands are struggling to keep control of their lands. Their power section of the Empire only survives off of a few iron mines which yield a poor amount of iron for trade, unlike just to the south in High-Top where they are rich off the mining of Mithril. Lord Vassilis in turn keeps most of this money to try and fine new sources of revenue in wasted mines while support a lavish lifestyle of a Lord that he believes he has a right to, the people think otherwise. The people in the north of the Dead Lands in the city of Starfade have revolted from the Vassilis' garrison and now plan to separate themselves from the Empire. With the few men at arms that House Vassilis has it is likely they will succeed. When they appealed to the Emperor for use of the Imperial Legions, the Dragon still did not stir.

Back in the Eastlands of the empire there have been rumors of Dark magic being used by cretin members of House Warrick. A rather secluded house whose Lord has not been seen for many years, only his two sons do the bidding of their father here and there across the Eastlands. The Clergy Achari Cultus who have come to investigate reports of the dead walking again, and unnatural shadows that defy the light have mysteriously simply turned around after spending only a day or two in Violet Cuff Fortress the seat of House Warrick. It was rumored that their purses were a little heavier when they left. It was true that House Warrick was one of the richest in the Empire, being one of the few ports on the western coast that could handle the amount of trade from far away lands they famously instituted their Warrick tariff on these goods making much gold off of the continuous trade. Since the Dragon would not open his pockets many lesser Lords come to House Warrick for loans, which has been giving the secretive house more and more power in recent years.

Things are stirring in the Empire with the Dark Lord letting his vassals do as they please without any enforcement some think that his power has run out. It is only a question of who will test this theory first.

Meanwhile in other parts of the world....

[New Roman Empire]

Emperor Delvang
Castle Vald Rock, Whilian City, The Pylae Empire

The Empire had been under the rule of the Delvang bloodline since the begining of the Empire. Delvang blood is what formed the Empire and it would stay that Delvang blood would rule the Empire. Some say the bloodline was fair, others unjust. But the Empire was having a posperous time, Vampire clans had stoped their fighting and joined the Empire some twenty years ago now only when William was a boy preparing to take the throne. In total, fourteen lords in the Empire that rule a single province. Six of the lords were Human, four of the lords were Elves and four of the lords were Vampires. Then there were two kinds of armies in the Empire, the Imperial Army and the Province Army. The Imperial Army was always in the Capital and surrounding cities. They were the army that invaded or helped protect the land, while the Province Army was soldiers from every house that protected their province and others when the need came up.

Recently, Delvang ordred the construction of stone fortresses along the borders. They were finished a month ago and they were all occupied by a good chuck of the Province Army that they were built in. But powers were growing, to the east the Naridia were growing and out numbered the Empire. But The Emperor hoped to make a alliance with them so that the North would remain in the two empire's control, but hope and certainty were two different things and many things could go wrong. Delvang sat on his throne when a messanger finally arrived to take the message the Emperor had written, it said:

Dear High Empress of the Snowbound lands, Watcher of the Dead, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the dead, Regent of the Throne, Empress Tharia Railius III,

I Emperor of The Pylae Empire wish to extend a hand in starting relations and a alliance between our nations. We are both powers in the north, and we both treasure the north. So a alliance to keep our nations in control of the north would help us both. As you know, powers are forming all around us and the two of our nations would be hard to beat if we combined our efforts to keep control of the north. The alliance would allow a common defence and trade as my terms of the treaty. I hope this reaches you in good health.

Sincerely,
Emperor Delvang

Then the messanger left with the message, meanwhile in other parts of the world...

[The knights of kings]

Our people are blessed for we have touched the stars ! Yet something knocked us down...tried to stamp us out. No one knows who or what, but one thing is certain. We remain.

The resounding footsteps of Prometheian skin leather, as it was called, muffled across a metallic floor. The sound filled the room, the air was stiff and dusty. A flame comes in heralding a light which illuminates the rest of the room revealing a multitude of advanced armor hooked onto walls through a series of veins and straps. If one followed the torch down to its handle they would glimpse a young hand filled by its tightening grip determination, courage, yet a slight air of nervousness. Continue on and one would glimpse the face of a human his tan skin and dark hair matted by sweat as the flame’s heat pressed against his face. His brown eyes scanned the room cautiously as if seeking out a ghost which would strike him, yet he was alone the flame his sole company.

Again with caution he stepped through the rusted door which hissed and parted before him as followers would for a king or great hero. The boy was of average build for one in their early twenties; his body toned and hardened by countless days spent preparing for his commission into the imperial army. His eyes scanning the room once more before finally his grip around the hilt of his sword lessened, his chest releasing a sigh of relief. With a more relaxed manner the boy came up to one of the suits of armor, dust covered its shoulders and glass face plate which had a mysterious orange tint to it. His slender fingers tracing paths in the dust mouth gripped in a small grin which would set a maidens heart ablaze. Coolly his fingers moved over the shoulders to the small column next to the suit which rose up to his elbow, it too was metallic and covered in dust. As tradition had it this column symbolized the rise to manhood and it was built by the ancients to spark life into the armor of the newly initiated. The Ancients had mysterious magic’s which allowed them to bend and tear the very fabrics of life, yet almost everything was lost in the seven days of fire. Now only their war machines and buildings remain and it was up to the Prometheians to harness these objects to continue their existence. With that in mind his fingers on the pad column traced the sacred pattern which was handed down from generation to generation. The lifeless gray column suddenly pulsed releasing a vibrant blue light which illuminated the dark room. The Boy stepped back fearful his sword sung from its hilt but only remained raised; the column shot out a ghost like tablet which floated in the air covered in symbols undoubtly the ancient Prometheian language.

With another touch against the ghost like tablet floating before him the armor he had chosen began to quiver. The many veins extending from its back snapping off releasing steam and hissing wildly. The boy remained calm as he approached the armor and placed his palm as he had been taught straight on the right shoulder. Instantly he was enveloped in warmth and a magical light wrapped his tan skin before he was pulled into several foot holdings. A number of hands dropped from the cieling they looked like skeleton hands but made of metal they nimbaly gripped the boy encasing him in the armor which he had selected. It was swift and the boy could feel the armor being pressed against him and screwed tight that was until he blacked out.

His eyes opened slightly at first, slowly and tenderly as a series of flashes and unreadable words ran before him. He crumbled to the ground but did not feel the metallic floor which he had expected; no instead it was as if he had landed on a small cushion. He lifted up his hand to his eyes but quickly withdrew with shock and standing suddenly. He was wearing the armor, confused slightly he looked about himself. As if hearing his thought the visor slid up automatically and a rush of fresh air filled his nostrils. His chest heaved under the armor which formed comfortably against him, a large small crossed his face and a loud laughter boomed throughout the metallic halls. He quickly grabbed the torch off the ground which was still burning brightly; as his metallic boots clambered against the ground down the halls a voice crept into his ears.

It’s a nice suit isn’t it?

Startled the boy stopped and swiveled his head around trying to locate the source of the feminine voice.

Maybe a little big for you but...I guess I could beef you up.

"Whose there?" The boy spoke softly, his eyes only widened when a woman appeared before him. She seemed to disappear and reappear at first as if flickering and her skin was a beautiful blue. She looked ghostly much like the tablet that activated his suit. She was a young attractive woman who appeared to be Numerian, who were also renowned for their beautiful looks. She had no clothes still she didnt appear naked, instead it was as if she was wearing a skin tight suit which had veins of light moving up and down the length of her body in rythmic patterns. Yet she was a ghost as the boy tried to reach out and touch her, his hand only slipped through.

Whoa their dragon rider! She looked at him sarcastically You haven’t even tried courting me and your already trying to get inside me. Her laugh reverberated down the halls much as his had moments before. After she was done laughing she brushed her blue spirit like hair behind her ear and a disarming smile crossed her beautiful face.

So where do we go from here? How about names, I’m Lilith pleasure to meet you Pendrew. The boy's face contorted with further confusion.

"How did you know my..." He couldn’t finish as something shook him awake.

Pendrew groaned as his face rolled over his pillow, his body sprawled against the warm sheets which were a Prometheian specialty. Pendrew was considerably older than his dream he had just had, his shoulders broader with combat experience over the years. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties at this point but his boyish good looks had only matured, but at the moment his hair was sprawled out in a mad bed head. His chin covered in bristles and his tired and weak the only thing keeping him awake was the ghost like Numerian woman named Lilith who was taunting him to get up.

Pendrew if you are Genesis’s finest than Prometheus has more problems than the markers to the north.Her voice was soft but held a teasing tone. She was leaning against the wall across the room her arms crossed against her breast. Pendrew slowly raised himself and gave a soft morning smile.

"Maybe one too many swigs of mead eh Lilith?" Pendrew chuckled rubbing his black hair tenderly.

I told you a drinking contest with Dwarves was probably the most ill-conceived idea you have had to date. She said shaking her head as if to say "I told you so". Pendrew's smile only grew as he tenderly placed his feet on the soft carpet which was imported. Lilith watched the whole pathetic attempt to move.

The king wants to see you about the rising of the north best not to disappoint him more...Lilith commented. As Pendrew placed his armor on and began for the door. What where you dreaming about anyways? She asked inquisitively.

Pendrew only shook his head happily before looking back at her sweetly. "Nothing." He chuckled. Lilith shook her head in return and left it at that.

Alright lets go.

Meanwhile...

[Honorisia]

Far in the norther reaches of the world lies a cold, unforgiving land. The men and women that live in these frozen reaches of the world are a hardy bunch. Their lives in the frozen north dependent on other members of the community, while offering their skills in return. This system of economics has stunted the economic power of the Naradian Empire, but strengthened the sense of community. It is the strength of the community that make the Northlands so powerful. It is with this power that the humans in the region seized their freedom from the tyrannical elves. Now the north stands free in the north, save for the Pylaen peninsula. Relations with the other northern power have been stormy at best; but now there is a hope for a lasting peace.


Empress Tharia Railus III sat atop the Snowbound throne in the city-fortress of Whitewall. The lords and ladies of the court treating with the high queen in the hopes of some reward. The throne room was a long, narrow room. The walls extend up, high above the people below; when they reached the ceiling, they reached a tapestry that ran the length of the room. The tapestry told the story of the North. It told of the elves cruel oppression, how they put down the rising House Strahn, and finally it told of how Gerrand Strahn had put the humans atop the snowbound throne.

The youngest noble in the room, Lord Hadley of House Caron, stepped forward and dropped to a knee. "Your Grace, I bring a message from the East. The message came from the Pylae Empire, not one week past." The young lord rose and stepped forward, visibly trembling and handed a scroll of parchment to the wise old queen.

Dear High Empress of the Snowbound lands, Watcher of the Dead, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the dead, Regent of the Throne, Empress Tharia Railius III,
I Emperor of The Pylae Empire wish to extend a hand in starting relations and a alliance between our nations. We are both powers in the north, and we both treasure the north. So a alliance to keep our nations in control of the north would help us both. As you know, powers are forming all around us and the two of our nations would be hard to beat if we combined our efforts to keep control of the north. The alliance would allow a common defence and trade as my terms of the treaty. I hope this reaches you in good health.

Sincerely,
Emperor Delvang

All was silent as the queen read the message. She then rose from the ancient marble throne and spoke, "The North is strong, but it could be stronger. The Pylae Empire wishes to join our great empire with theirs. What say you, my noble friends?" There were cries of outrage flying from the audience before she had finished her question. Despite the loud outrage, many of the nobles nodded and agreed to this offer of friendship, relations with the other northern power had long been sour and many wished for an end to the hostility.

The young prince, Joren Railius I, was the most vocal opponent of the Pylae. Only fifteen years of age, and already a prominent member of court politics. He varied from his mother in every way possible, save for looks (both of them shared the traditional long golden hair, and rugged looks). The queen turned to her only son and spoke, "What is your objection this time?" The young prince looked visibly riled as he spoke "We should not enter an alliance with that puny nation. We should crush them and destroy the elven scum. There are even vampire lords within their borders, we'd be doing the world a favour by destroying that filth." The queens shook her head and approached her son, "Next time use a filter between your mouth and brain, it might slow down the flow of doggerel that streams through your lips." With that she smacked her son on the back of the head.

The queen strode back to her throne and slowly sat back down. "Somebody bring me a scribe." The room stirred and a scribe stepped from the audience.

Dear Emperor Delvang of the Pylae Empire,
Your offer of offer of alliance and trade has intrigued me. There are members of my court that wish me to dismiss your offer outright, so I suggest that we meet in person to discuss an alliance of the North. Meet me at the city of Peakward in one week. The guards at both the Mountain Wall and the Peakward gates will allow you to enter. I would ask that your party not contain too many elves or vampires, the Naradian people are not very trusting nor forgiving towards them.

Sincerely,
Empress Tharia Railius III

Farther north, past the workers toiling under the never sleeping sun there lies a ruin, one that has been part of the land for longer than there have been humans to live there. What remains of the city is a long lost remnant of a powerful empire. It is a memory from the times when all the north stood united under one banner. It is a dead place, filled with tombs and graves of beings long forgotten. The name has faded from memory, leaving the humans to simply call it Barren-Deeps. The name given from the collapsed mines that bear no fruit of the earth, save for the red of man's blood. The city stands and endures, empty of living souls. The souls of the dead are stirring. There are whispers in the empty streets. "Soon" , they say, "Soon." Soon he will arrive, and his spells will cast a darkness over the north. Steel will clash against steel, blood will be spilt, and the North will suffer.

In another part of the world,

[Numer]

The Brothers Uran

DAL-SAM, RAEGAL, NUMER

It was merely a year ago. Merely a year ago when the Ensi Vashim the Great died at his first son's wedding, shocked by the betrayal of his second. He had fought in the Death Wars, battled alongside the heroes of every nation at the Dead Plains, and lived to rule the vast and ancient holy land of Numer for many a decade. The people had called his reign 'Haasahma'. Enlightened. Now he was gone, preserved in the Temple of Sepris with his ancestors. Bloodshed and intrigue, which had always thrived in Numer, returned in full force.

Ithiba, the second son of Vashim, had unintentionally ended the his father's life when he invoked 'Larvishi' during his brother Belbazzar's wedding feast. It was a dark and mysterious ritual, as old as the sacred rivers themselves; only invoked three times before in all of Numerian history. At a heavy price, the death of a lover and the cutting off of one's own end finger, Ithiba was given the right to challenge his brother's inheritance. A chance to usurp the Ivory Throne. The ritual called for all claimants to battle to the death immediately; the three sons of Vashim battled before their father right at the wedding feast, to the dismay all present. Vasurassur, youngest of the brothers and a famous scholar, was immediately struck down by Ithiba, his blood splattering across the mud-brick floor. Belbazzar, eldest of the Uran sons and at his own wedding, was a warrior through and through, quickly defending himself from his cunning brother.

With the fury of an enraged bull, Belbazzar wreaked vengeance on his brother in the great hall of the Uran palace. They dueled for nearly an hour; none were allowed to interfere. Finally, knowing his strength was running out, Ithiba lit a small bag of powder and threw it upon the ground with great force. Dark clouds of smoke filled the room. When the billowing black dust had finally cleared, he was gone. The Ensi died that night, weeping in his sleep.

As usual, Belbazzar, being the eldest, was left all of the House Uran estates and businesses in Vashim's will; he was declared Ensi Belbazzar of Numer the next day. He vowed his rule bring Numer to the height of his power, though his reign would not be a peaceful one. He quickly moved to establish his dominance over the other Houses and quell any thoughts of rebellion. Ithiba fled to the from city to city, living in secret amongst Houses who had supported him, ever on the run from Belbazzar's assassins...

Soundtrack

It was a bright and beautiful day in the western mountains of Raegal. Flocks of brightly colored birds flew upon the horizons as stealthy tigers stalked prey in the dense jungle. A pack of mischievous monkeys hopped to and fro above the heads of the two men on horseback following a rocky road through the dense foliage.

They had no time to take in Numer's beauty, for they faced the wrath of its people. The two riders seemed to fly along with the summer breeze, their speed sending gusts of wind throughout the plants and trees along the sides of the road. The heat was no burden to them at such a pace. They continued for miles upon miles, neither saying a word to the other, each ever suspiciously glancing behind them for followers. They were clearly Numerian; they had the tan skin, black hair, and brown eyes of the race.

So traveled Ithiba and his loyal slave, Idusur. They had been staying in House Zalaal's rural estate in the Raegal province division of Dal-Sam when the assassins attacked the wealthy lugal family's home; Ithiba and Idusur narrowly escaped, and now fled to the border nearby. Ithiba had thanked the gods the Zalaals had not been home for the attack, though he grimaced as he remember the brutality of Numerian politics. The entire family would be picked off one by one for helping Ithiba; revenge was cruel in Numer, and none could be spared for betraying the Ensi. Ithiba grew furious with himself when he remembered little Heteri, the Zalaal's youngest child. He prayed to Numera to spare the baby girl.

The two men finally halted their steeds atop a vast mountain peak. The temperature was still hot, though across a barren valley they could see the snow-covered peaks in the lands between Numer and the Imperial lands. It would be a long a perilous journey to reach the Empire of Man, but at least it would be safer than Raegal. The Imperials actually had written laws, not unspoken religious and trade customs alone like in Numer. Ithiba was not destitute either; around his neck he kept hidden a massive gem and reknowned artifact, the Eye of Numera. He could buy an army with the necklace.

Ithiba and Idusur dismounted and smiled to each other. Ithiba looked toward the Numerian jungles and then back to the barren valley before them. "Paradise lost, old friend. I guess this is where we depart."

Idusur gave him a world-weary look, and then suddenly hugged his master. They had been raised together; they had been brothers. "What shall I do now?"

Ithiba got atop his black Numerian stallion and turned toward Idusur, suddenly raising his hand and holding his ring finger to his thumb while keeping the other fingers raised; it was the holy sign of Numerian priests. "I free you from your bonds of slavery. I am no longer your master; you are a free man," He continued with a prayer, suddenly belting out his words with a powerful emotion, "May Numera give you beauty, Semphis give you health, Raggesh give you protection, Valnur give you wealth, Apohat give you freedom, and Serin let you know yourself."

And with that, he was off, riding at a furious speed down into the valley, Idusur riding in the opposite direction back into Numer.

---

SEPRIS, NUMER

The bustling metropolis of Sepris, the capital of the Numerian Empire, was alive with a flurry of activity despite the sun just rising over the horizon. Within its temples hymns of praise to Numera and Semphis seemed to incarnate the heavens as the heavy smell of incense indicated a holy ritual was taking place. Within its many bazaars all manner of goods both for practical and luxury purposes could be seen as merchants and traders haggled in both Numerian and hundreds of other tongues. Slaves labored in both homes and outside, some making the best of their situation while others grumbled and yearned for freedom. Craftsmen practiced their skillful arts within workshops while children played nearby. Elders and scholars sat and enthusiastically talked within teahouses while other more deviant souls already found themselves in taverns and brothels.

The city was a living being, an ancient testament to the will of the Numerians and their gods. At least that's what the Ensi thought about as he looked down upon Sepris from a balcony in his massive palace. Ensi Belbazzar had sat upon the Ivory Throne for a year now, and had already earned the respect of the Houses that supported him since the beginning as well as the fear of those Houses who would question his rule. Three assassination attempts by minor lugal Houses in Kad had already been thwarted. Two of their heirs, that of House Bashar and House Makdur, were poisoned in retaliation. The third heir sat before him.

Ensi Belbazzar Uran was not alone atop the balcony of the pristine palace. He sat atop a wooden cedar chair, with a decorated cedar table in between him and his company. He wore purple silk garments and the dark pelt of a panther. Belbazzar quietly sipped herbal tea from an imported porcelain cup; he was a warrior at heart, but he still did not mind the refined tastes of his father. Varduk of House Assukam sat across from him. They were both very young, in their twenties, yet Belbazzar had the aura of a hardened veteran about him that most men did not gain until they were in their forties. Varduk was heir to House Assukam, a minor House that dealt in spices in Kad. The Houses of Kad yearned to be ruled by their own Lugalesh, rather than the Isis, Belbazzar's wife. It was a problem that arose every succession, and one that was quickly put down. Varduk was no idiot; he knew the other Houses of Kad who had made an attempt on the Ensi's life had lost their proud heirs. He knew he was next, and so arranged the meeting to personally swear his innocence. He was weary of Belbazzar's reputation.

"Great Lord of the Rivers, I am sure you know why I come to you today," Varduk said carefully, not wanting to sound haughty or arrogant. The young lugal made sure he was tactful.

The Ensi surprisingly looked away from the view with a bright smile. "Of course, my friend. Have some tea first," He said amiably, pouring the lugal some of the hot drink in another porcelain cup. Varduk felt relieved. He smiled back and sipped some of the liquid, noting the spice tang and hint of mint in the drink. He immediately identified which spices made up the tea; he was a spice trader, after all.

The Ensi spoke in friendly tone that made Varduk feel like he had been over worrying. "It's relaxing, right? I try to do this every morning. Enjoy the view with some tea. Now, let me understand. I know your House Assukam has tried to assassinate me," He chuckled, "Quite an ambitious endeavor. One would wonder what the gods would think of killing their High Priest. Nonetheless, I understand you had no idea of your father's plots. You're innocent; my quarrel is not with you...it is unfortunately with your father. If you have come here to beg for his life, do not worry. I will not have him killed in retaliation."

Varduk smiled and hesitated before replying. "Of course, my Ensi, I am relieved to hear your merciful judgment...But I must confess, I am a little unsettled. The heirs of both House Bashar and House Marduk were recently...assassinated. I simply do not wish for the same fate...not that it was you who ordered these murders, of course."

Ensi Belbazzar kept his friendly demeanor. "I promise you," he grew serious, "that it was not I that had them killed. You know how politics are, Lugal Varduk. They probably made some enemies in Kad, rival traders, you know, the usual suspects. I hope that you never felt endangered under my rule."

He seemed sincere. Varduk smiled and felt another wave of relief. He quickly rose and bowed before the Ensi. "Thank you, Holy Son of Semphis. You have put my fears to rest. I apologize for the inconvenience." The Ensi waved his head and grinned. "No need for apologies. Go to your home and enjoy your family- but warn your father to never attempt such a thing again."

Varduk respectfully nodded before walking inside from the balcony into the ornate and large library of the palace. As he walked, however, he felt a great tingling all over his body, like pins were entering him everywhere. He suddenly could not move well, and let out a small yelp as he fell to the floor. A trickle of blood fell from the young Numerian's mouth as the life flowed from his eyes. He was dead.

Two slaves quickly entered to remove the body and clean the fine artisan carpet now stained with crimson blood. Behind them was Narat Harundek, Belbazzar's spymaster and one of his chief advisors. "Kulsu is quite the poison. You're lucky I had you build up an immunity as you boys grew up. The look on your mother's face when I told her I had been putting small doses in your meals," He chuckled, "How are you?"

Belbazzar looked sad for a moment, and then resumed an austere stoicism. "Good...I wish that I did not have to kill one so young and naive, but his father should've seen this coming when he tried to do the same to me. Now he will learn the hard way not to cross the Urans."

"Frankly, I can't believe a spice merchant was unable to recognize the taste of it. It's so minty!" Spymaster Narat look surprised and chuckled again, "Probably thought it was something else, I suppose."

Ensi Belbazzar rose and began to walk through the halls of the palace toward the great hall to sit upon the Ivory Throne for court. He whispered to Narat as some servants followed close behind to announce his presence. "Have we caught sight of you-know-who?"

Narat grew serious and nodded. "He's finally made it. He's left Numer and is heading to the Empire of Man. I'm going to need some more men if we are going to pursue him into the Achesian lands."

Belbazzar gave him one last look and spoke before putting a up a benevolent smile and entering the court. "Done."

[Konariona]

It is fabled in many an old tavern, an inn here and there, and the occasional dark corner of a palace, that there is an island ruled by monsters of the most deadly caliber. No man can survive on such an island alone for long. No man can survive on that island forever, regardless of his strength or skills. For the daemons will always be there, more and more and more, and no matter how many you may slay, more will always come.
If you do somehow find a way to complete the impossible and fight your way through the Kalkazaarian's serried ranks, and run towards the black spires which lay in front of you, those who you failed to kill racing after you, the fires of the bows and magic striking around your feet, there will be little hope as the gates of the Obsidian City close.
And if you do somehow scale the gates?
Survive the barrage of the elite Black Guard of the city; fall not to the archdaemons who's combat prowess is near unmatched.. and you will be at the city's proxy ruler. Slay him, and go through the void, to find your true goal.
But you will fail. The Great One has never been defeated. Nor will he ever.


2 AE
"My liege, the Orcs have staged yet another attack on the ruins of the human city that our spawn-growers have occupied. They managed to destroy two nodes before the meager forces that had made their homes there drove them off."
Unacceptable. This requires a creation of a force to hunt them down and kill them. Bring me 10,000 of the Naodan province warriors.
"Yes, my lord."
The Black Guard moved apart as the little imp left, and then they closed ranks.
Lakiro smiled as he looked over the spires of the tall city. It'd been far too long since he appreciated the beauty of the city; the random chaos that had created the spires was a work of art. The soldiers marched across the city and painful screams could be heard far and wide as the slaves were made to work to their deaths.

Elsewhere..
A knight and his two companions walked through the ruins of a city once known as Donalban, a great city that'd been razed to the ground by the daemons. But these were the first non-native visitors to the island in a long, long time.
"What be this," said the first man, the lion knight, his name Gird.
"I knowest not. But look over yonder," said the second, known simply by his nickname of Spike.
There were small, squat buildings that seemed to hum with power, great power.
"Let us investigate."
The third man was more simple. More normal than the other two, who came from cultures that emphasized knighthood and chivalry.
But they three were not the only ones; simply the only ones to make landfall here. The rest of the company- the other 27 had gone further south.

A keen howling could be heard in the distance as the three men moved off. The howl was that of a dying Orc; but of course, the men wouldn't know that. The daemons eagerly cackled in the ruin's shadows, awaiting their prey's awareness to drop. Soon, it did.

"What.. what is this thing?" the Lion Knight asked suspiciously.
There was no answer from his comrades. In fact, there were no longer any comrades.
"Hail?! Who is there?"
Only a cackling could be heard as the forces of darkness descended and liberated his head from his shoulders.