The Whaler's Dirge [Lost Age]

[The Gristollian Isles]

The Whaler's Dirge, Book One

A Mercenary Camp, outside of Eriness
Hold of Lord Rogier Poussin, Duke of Morley

“Bonjeur, mon capitain!” the cavalryman shouted out as he rode into the camp. In his right hand, clutched between his knuckles and the reins, he held a message, which he loudly declared to the captain. “J’ai un message, du duc.” Having proclaimed thus in his thick Morley dialect, the man leaped from his horse and approached the mercenary captain.

The captain, a thin man with an aristocratic build and an unsuitably cruel countenance, snatched the letter without a word to the messenger. He began to read the letter over. The messenger, of the impression that the captain spoke no Morley (for he had issued no reply or sign of recognition), dumbly repeated his announcement Normly.

“Sir, this message is issued by the duke. It is greatly urgent.” Mere moments after he said it, it was clear that he had made a mistake. The captain looked up from his message, and took in the meek cavalryman. The small man wore an Almain rivet, a light suit of articulated iron that covered his leather vest and left his legs free for riding.

The captain, on the other hand, was equipped in the full panoply of a wealthy warrior. It was a curious habit of his, although not unheard of in Morley’s cold climate, to maintain the appearance of a soldier at all times. And so, as always, he was today fully equipped in his armor, and fully armed with his dagger and arming sword. Placing the letter on a table next to him, the captain stood up.

The cavalryman stepped back, suddenly and rightfully intimidated by the tall, unforgiving man clad in black laquered armor that stood before him.

“Je comprendui la première fois, misérable. Me croiez-vous inculte? Pensez-vous que je ne parle pas morley?” His tone was clearly hostile, and his brow was furrowed in an insulted fury. His lip formed a foul snarl, and the cavalryman stepped back further.

“N....n...non, seigneur, je pensai simplement que vous pourrïez ne parle pas la langue, parce qu’il est souvent inconnue aux étrangers.” He clearly had misspoke once more, as the captain’s eyes reflected an even greater rage.

“Donc, me croyant étrangère à votre langue, vous avez entré li camp et me annonçait ainsi? Avez-vous pensé à m'insulter?” He stared the man down, causing the cavalryman to leap to the ground.

“S'il vous plaît, seigneur! Je ne voulissoie ….” The man was begging now, sensing the hostility emanating from all of the camp’s inhabitants.

The captain’s hand lept to his sword. “Misérable, se lever! Je ne peux tuer un homme suppliant!”

“S'il vous plaît, seigneur... je vais laisser à la fois.” The man trembled as he spoke, well aware that the captain could kill him with little consequence.

“Ensuite, laissez.” The cavalryman got up tentatively. The captain shouted out Normly, “I will allow you to take your horse only because it is property of your Duke. But know this, if ever you set foot in my camp again, I will have you unmanned, that your insolent strain lingers not upon this Earth. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, my lord, I thank thee for thy mercy.” The man ran back to his horse, leapt on it, and galloped at a tremendous pace out the open gates. The captain returned to his seat, calm as though nothing had happened.

“Venture captain?” The Mercenary Lord called, summoning his officer to his side. “Prepare the troops. It would seem the Duke intends some sort of a rebellion.”

---

---

Dunwall Tower, on the Wrenhaven River
Capitoline Dominion of Empress Emily Kaldwin

Emily watched the procession making its way towards the castle. The Lord High Marshal rode at the front of the parade, flanked by a hundred men bearing torches. Behind even them, over two hundred noble revelers and courtiers made their way along the narrow Dunwall streets, singing bawdy songs in their red and black lace.

Many wore masks, though the Empress noticed the costumes more, noting that none were as grand as hers. Sighing from the sight of her loyal subjects parade, Emily turned away from the balustrade and strode back into her Imperial Bedroom. As she shut the balcony door behind her, the glass panes rattling slightly, a handmaiden presented her with her choice of costume.

One servant held her ordinary state attire, a red whalebone corset with black threads and gold lace, complemented by a heavy red fur cape. She waved these away with her hand and turned to the next one.

It was a gold cuirass molded into the “heroic torso” of antiquity, accented by a high white collar. The sleeves were red, slashed with a white velvet. She nodded approvingly and the servant stepped forward with the elaborate dress. The others crowded around and began the arduous process of getting the Empress into such an ornate ensemble.

When they had concluded, and tightened the corset under the cuirass (that the thinly crafted breastplate might fit), and adequately sucked all the air from the Empress’s lungs, Emily stood still for the application of her gold leaf and cochineal powder. By the time the servant was done, her lips were stained a bright red rimmed in gold, and her face was coated in a lead white pigment.

“Are we ready?” the Empress asked, as the sound of the courtiers began to draw closer. A servant nodded, and Emily stepped up into her shoes. They were a tall, uncomfortable affair, intended to raise the short girl to the intimidating height of six feet. The red whale leather they were crafted out of was heavily polished, despite the fact that the entirety of the shoe was hidden beneath her silk skirts.

She began her journey out of the room, and into the hallway. A pair of courtesans, selected to be only slightly less beautiful than the Empress, and dressed in a similarly non-threatening manner, alighted at both sides of her to support her arms as she began the descent of the first flight of stairs.

When she had come to the base of this stair, a herald went ahead to announce her. As he shouted her presence from the top of the grand staircase, the crowds of revelers erupted into cheers. A series of violins began playing their lively tune, accompanied by a large choir of castrati.

To the sounds of their voices singing, the Empress stepped out to the top of the stair. Another cheer went up from the crowd, and the Lord High Marshal ascended the stair and took one of her arms from a courtesan. After a deep bow, he kissed her hand and entwined their arms. They began a descent down into the great hall.

Deep strokes from the cello marked each of their steps, and soon the Empress stepped lightly onto the floor of the hall. Towering above her assembled court, the Empress looked out on the crowd.

“Monsigneurs? Mes fidèles sujets? En cette nuit de réjouissances, je n'ai épargné aucune dépense. Sortez les baleines, et que la fête commence!” As she concluded her announcement, a phalanx of servants entered from each wing of the hall.

In their arms, each one held a gold cord attached to a massive carriage. Intricate, infinitely ornate gold sculptures flowed their ways around the glass sides of the carriage. Within, though, was the true beauty. In each of the two carriages, a baby whale swam in its limited confines. The water sloshed over the top onto the marble floors, but this did not discourage the courtiers, who let out a great cheer and swarmed the tanks.

Each person, in turn, pressed their powdered faces against the glass to see the youthful creatures within. As interest began to wane, for the attentions of courtiers were fickle, the Empress raised up a small red handkerchief. One man on each carriage stood up, dressed in a stylised whaler’s costume and clutching a golden harpoon.

The large audience, sensing what would happen, clapped and stepped back from the tank. The handkerchief dropped, and the golden harpoons launched forth into the tender young flesh of the whales. Red water spilled over the tanks’ tops as the whales thrashed about, prompting a great cheer from the revelers.

“Your Majesty,” the Marshal said, “You have truly outdone yourself. I have not seen such a magnificent testament to our national culture since I was a child and your mother was Empress. I applaud you!”

“Thank you, dear friend. You do me much kindness,” Emily replied, smiling. She clapped her hands and addressed the audience: “Has your list for blood been sated, my subjects?” There was a loud “Yes,” from the crowd.

“Then I shall now address your hunger and thirst! Bring forth the victuals!” At this command, more servants emerged with large buffet tables, each layered with grand edible displays. The whalers, however, had now lept into the water themselves and handed out small cuts of raw whale meat to the more daring lords and soldiers.

The Empress stepped out to mingle with the partygoers, the Marshal at her side.

[The Gristollian Isles]

Port of Rockbeach, Southern Morley
Fief of Lord Letholdus Fairfax
A long horn sounded as the massive whaler made its way into the harbor. Moonlight reflected off the dark stained oak sides, and edged everything in a pale blue glow. The ship was the Magnison, the largest of her class. The guard on the dock hailed the mighty vessel.

"Ho there, Magnison! Reduce speed and come closer to the docks for mooring." His shouts went unanswered. Now, addressing the silhouette of a sailor standing by the ship's rail, he shouted, "Sailor? Where be your captain? Notify him that he is approaching at too great a speed and must slow for mooring."

The sailor made no reply, but the ship began to slow. The guard watched as she approached. All the sailors, it seemed, were standing at the rail. None moved,as though they were some sort of sentries. As the ship got closer, the crew seemed even more peculiar. They made no preparations for mooring and merely stood by the rails.

"Sailors and Officers aboard! I need some issuance of confirmation that you hath heard my cries!" he shouted, more desperately. When there was no confirmation, the guard decided something was wrong.

"Halt now, Magnison! Make no attempt to approach or escape! You are to be boarded and inspected by members of the River Guard." He stepped over to a bell and grasped the string that would ring it. He had just prepared to pull when an arrow sprouted from his throat. He gargled and slumped over.

The effect on the ship was immediate. The corpses of the sailors, which had been lined up along the rails, were quickly thrown overboard. Men with halberds and swords, wearing plate armor and infantry attire sprouted from the deck like armored rats. They lowered the gangplank and began unloading great boxes of military supplies onto the dock.

A few went into the barracks, where the majority of the River Guards were sleeping. Soon, a faint glowing was seen from the windows. Then, in an instant, there was a great boom and the building erupted into an inferno. Screams echoed over the port, waking all its inhabitants. Alarm bells began to knell, and Civic guardsmen groggily reached for their weapons around the city.

None of it was in time. For while the soldiers on the shore made preparations for the city's defense, two more whalers had come into port. As these unloaded, it became clear that these were no mere pirates. The mercenary captain, looking on from the deck of the Magnison, gave his command. "Move forth into the city. Silence all who have woken and crush any resistance thou shalt find. When this is done, raise the company flag over the City Hall tower."

The flood began, mercenaries forcing their way deeper and deeper into the city. Those who fled were met by a full banner of heavy cavalry, led by the Duke of Morley. This was no raid, this was an invasion.

[Dbrought]

On the Wrenhaven River, Near Dunwall Tower
Capitoline Dominion of Empress Emily Kaldwin

Save for the protection of Udan himself, knowledge was, is, and forever will be the Covenant's most trusted and favored asset. it was knowledge that gave them darksteel, the weapon and armor of the Covenant's troops. It was knowledge that unlocked the ancient crypts beneath their fortress monasteries, the bastions that protected their people and secrets, and it was knowledge that allowed the Council to prepare for every event that emerged in the world.

Under orders from the Council the Ordo Exterminatus, the Covenant's agency of every spy assassin and saboteur who worshiped Udan, had spread its eyes ears and fingers silently across much of the known world. Posing as travelers, merchants, journeymen, and sell swords each agent did whatever possible to blend in with the people they were tasked to observe, and attract the least amount of attention while doing so. The Island of Morley was not exempt to the Council's list of interests, so when rebellion broke out, it was not long before the icy north lands of Zelbae took notice, and ordered one of its agents to break his cover and make contact with the legitimate government, on behalf of Zelbae.


Bartley Hammer, Joffery Smith, Trenton Hayes, and today Eric Sangrey. As an agent of the Ordo Exterminatus, Eric had taken many names for his own during his journey to the Isle of Morley, though posing as one of the most powerful families in the Covenant did carry a certain appeal. As per his orders, his common tan and gray garb was shed, for the snug fitting ornate, but flexible outfit he wore that signified his allegiance to the Covenant. The uniform was Eric's favored second skin, tailored to be both diplomatic camouflage, and if need be filled with hidden knives, needles and poisons in such a manner favoring combat and assassinations. Today, however, Eric was mostly unarmed, bearing only a slender rapier like sword at his hip, a short curved dagger on his back and a single small poisoned needle up his sleeve. His mission was not assassination, but rather diplomacy. As he approached the guards at the gate of the Dunwall Tower he took a rigid and official stance, and with the withdrawal of a scroll from his belt proclaimed,

"ON BEHALF OF THE COUNCIL OF WINTERWALD, THE HOLY LEADERSHIP OF THE COVENANT OF ZELBAE, I COME BEFORE YOU TO SPEAK TO THE EMPRESS AND HER COUNCIL OF MATTERS OF DIPLOMACY AND INTERESTS OF HER RULE!"

[The knights of kings]

Port of Rock beach, Southern Morley
Fief of Lord Letholdus Fairfax

The waves caressed the bow of the Prinnian ship, Branden, as it slipped through the glassy waters near the port of Rock beach. Crimson flag flapping in a dark cool dance with the night winds which also billowed the sails allowing her skip over the waves. She was a rather large vessel being a warship though this was to be expected. She was laden with ballistae and all armed and readied to be fired, its teeth bared, as if it were a dog held back only by a chain. Her black hull blending into the starless night as the water reflected the fires of the invasion before them. Mercenaries, the lot of them were nothing more than beasts dressed as humans and played civil. In reality they just ate, pissed, and killed, that much was certain to the Prinnian's. Yet they had no qualm in using them as an instrument of destruction. Though this time Prinnia would initially play a small role, the Magister of these rebels and mercenaries had their own employer and goals in the war. So it must have come to them as a surprise when the Prinnian Riech confronted them and gave a massive amount of support in both superior weapons and currency. The Reich had its own nefarious reasons to be interested in the region and was more than willing to add to any chaos already existing. Thus the Branden sailed through the icy cold waters to confront their new found sparring partner.

Karl Donitz, heir to the Donitz family naval empire, stood silently as his eyes scanned the fires that quickly snaked up their way up through the city. These mercenaries were doing quick work and soon it would be there turn to enter the bargain. He noted his five other frigates composing his small fleet which was to assure him strength in numbers if the time came to it. Quietly he adjusted his peaked cap which bore the symbol of an eagle clutching a hooked cross in its talons, along with the sacred symbol of the Kriegsmarine. Tapping the wooden railing silently another senior officer and longtime friend joined him; Karl looked over and gave a weak smile as if he knew something dreadful. HIs friend, Rubben, gave back the same weak smile and a salute thrusting his arm into the air. They had both seen war before and they both knew what was being done in the flames of the city.

"Hiel Hitler." Rubben whispered putting his arm down.

"Hiel Hitler." Karl uttered his response. Rubben turned towards the city watching its glow light up the sky like the fire pits of the underworld.

"Shame really...I’m sure it was a wonderful city before all this. Before the Fuhrer ordered her destruction from behind his closed doors." Rubben spat venomously. He acknowledged the fuhrer was great but sometimes the acts perpetrated in his names where disgusting to say the least.

"Careful, that could be considered treasonous," Karl stifled, "We just do the dirty work not to think."

The city grew closer and was now within firing range of the six frigates out at sea, with Karl's blessing the ships turned broadside and many Ballistae exposed. Each armed with a bolt which was enchanted with fire and ice runes. Once the shaft of the bolt broke on something or became lodged in a roof it would unleash an explosion of fire sending embers about and ice spreading dagger like shards. Karl shook his head and gave the order to fire. Within minutes the bolts flew through the air like a school of fish and diving back down on the port city.
With that Karl ordered the withdraw and the Prinnian ships began to slip back into the dark night.

[The Gristollian Isles]

Dunwall Tower, on the Wrenhaven River
Capitoline Dominion of Empress Emily Kaldwin

The two guards who stood outside the gates looked at each other, equally shocked by the smartly dressed man's strange and sudden proclamation. Unaccustomed to dealing with any sort of foreign representative, their initial reaction was to laugh. This was clearly incorrect, as the man stood sternly and officially before them. His face was as if chiseled in stone.

The laughter subsided awkwardly, as the inkling of suspicion that this was, perhaps, an actual diplomat crept into the guards' minds.

"Ahem, apologies, sir," one guard said. "Where did thou state thou art from?"

The man regarded them coolly. "I am here on behalf of the Council of Winterwald, the Holy Leadership of the Covenant of Zelbae. I come to speak to the Empress."

The guard turned to his peer, "Fetch the Lord Protector, I fear we have not the authority to treat with this man."

---

The doors to the throne room were thrown open, and the Lord Protector Corvo Attano strode in. Behind him, there marched the man from the gate. The Lord Protector, displeased greatly by the guards' delaying of such an important diplomat, was in an awful mood and strode up to the dais upon which the throne sat.

The great gold seat itself was empty, but the Royal Spymaster and the Lord High Marshal stood next to it, engaged in conversation.

"My Lords," Lord Corvo shouted, interrupting their heated debate, "There has come a diplomat from a land called Zelbae, across the sea. He claims to have urgent need of an audience with the Empress, and given his apparent rank, I pray he is not denied this."

The Spymaster surveyed the man. The Zelbaen was garbed in rich black and gold, and appeared average, if athletic, in build. Not intimidating, per se, but exceedingly official in his countenance.

"The Empress is indisposed. However, if this matter is of true urgency, I have the authority to grant you audience and negotiate on behalf of Her Imperial Majesty. Lord Protector, attend to your watch posthaste, your services are no longer required." Corvo scowled at the Spymaster's condescending tone and turned to leave.

As he walked away, the Zelbaen spoke up. "I am Eric Sangrey, and I must insist that I be granted audience with the Empress. It concerns the rebellion in Morley." Corvo stopped and turned.

"Rebellion?" he asked. "What rebellion?"

The Spymaster responded quickly to the Lord Protector, "It does not concern you, Corvo, and I suggest you do not insist that it does. Now, to your watch."

"There is a rebellion? And the Empress has not been informed?" This clearly came as a shock to both Corvo and the Zelbaen representative.

The Lord High Marshal gave a resigned sigh. "The Empress has not been informed yet, no. The Spymaster and I thought it would be best to spare her the trouble. It is a minor insurrection, and the High Overseer has already pledged to crush it. Why lay more troubles on an already troubled woman?"

Corvo drew his sword and pointed it at the pair. Eric Sangrey, sensing the tension, backed up out of the Lord Protector's path. "That 'troubled woman', Lord High Marshal, is you Empress and Liege. She is my ward and the ruler of the Isles of Gristol, Morley, Tyvia and Serkonos. She is the most powerful woman in the islands, and possibly in all the world," (here the Zelbaen representatives eyebrows raised slightly), "and you saw fit to deny her information essential to the realm? Is that not treason?"

The Spymaster held out his hands complacently. "Corvo, come now, do you really threaten me and my peer when we are both without arms? Put away the knife, so that I may properly address your insolence." Corvo, reluctantly placed his sword back into its sheath. Through the door, a squadron of guards came rushing in, alerted from the commotion. The Spymaster seized upon the opportunity. "He has threatened myself and the High Marshal, detain him and remove him to the outer walls, which are his station!" The guards hesitated to obey, torn in loyalty between their Lord Commander and the Spymaster. Eventually, however, the men escorted an enraged Corvo Attano from the throne room.

The Spymaster turned quickly to Sangrey, who was clearly shocked by the sudden and inexplicable intrigue. "Apologies, mon seigneur. I assure you that insubordination is not a common facet of the Gristollian Court, despite what the Lord Protector has displayed today."

Sangrey skipped the pleasantries and moved the conversation directly to business. "So the Empress is unaware that the Morley Duke has risen up against her?"

The Spymaster nodded. "It is not of enough urgency to concern her, and the situation is already under the control of the Abbey and the Imperial forces."

"Then you will, I assume, be uninterested in the offer of help that I bring from the Council of Winterwald?" The Spymaster looked at him sideways.

"This offer, you mention, it could be useful, perhaps." He laughed nervously, "Despite our inevitable victory in Morley, I suppose extra forces could be of use in the more remote provinces. But what are the details of this proposition?"

Sangrey smiled, and presented the offer.

---

---

Rockbeach, Southern Morley
Fief of Lord Letholdus Fairfax

Captain Hugo Bricout looked up from the carnage his men had created. Around him lay bodies, while the smoke of burning homes obscured the wailing and wounded. His mercenary company, picking over the remains of Rockbeach, were scattered throughout the narrow streets. Not a hostile soul remained, so complete was their subjugation of the city. Atop the Keep, Duke Rogier Poussin's banner had been raised in triumph. It fluttered in the westerly breeze.

The breeze also carried with it the stench of death and the screams of the dying. Bricout flared his nostrils and was intoxicated by the aura of a battle won. The sounds of a city in flames were romantic to few, but absolutely seductive to the Captain. And so it was that, since he was so intently focused on the sounds of the city around him, Captain Hugo was the first to notice the faint whistling the wind carried.

He turned towards the harbor. The sea was black, and only the ships of his company were visible. And yet there was a whistling. It drew louder, and seemed to come from the sky above the port. Bricout looked up. A streak of black was seen against the moon, the flash of a projectile hurtling through the air. Hugo's face dropped, as the clouds broke. The sky, illuminated by the moon's light, was filled with these streaking bolts. Each silhouette was a new demon, heading for the city.

"No," he said listlessly. There was a loud whistle, a flash of blue and the man was consumed by fire. The men who had the misfortune to stand about him were suddenly perforated by hundreds of ice shards, even as similar witchcraft claimed the lives of their fellow soldiers.

The Duke of Morley, from his tent outside the city, sensed the sudden change. Gone was the sounds of a victorious army, replaced by the loud booms of thunder and the screams of soldiers. He stepped out into the night air and saw the flashes of blue light across the city. It was not just the usual destruction of a city's sacking, it was the brutal and unexplainable slaughter of his hired army. He gasped.

From his right, a representative of the Abbey of the Everyman exclaimed with hatred, "It's magic. They're being killed by magic."

"Prepare the horses, we must be far from this cursed place by sunup. These are some demons that now ruin our prize." With these words, the Duke turned to prepare his cavalry for withdrawal. The representative from the Abbey turned away as well, to fetch a pen and send a pigeon to the High Overseer. Their plans, it seemed, had just become much more complicated.

[The knights of kings]

Somewhere on the northern coast of Prinnian expansion

Winds ripped by the rocks causing them over the centuries to lose their rugged edges and become smooth to the touch. The stone was multicolored after ages of pressure deep below the earth crafted them from fine particles of sand and grains of rock. Yet this mattered little to the jack booted man standing atop them glaring over the gray ocean which crashing with a violent intensity. His trench coat, another strange Prinnian garb, flapped alongside the wind as the light rain pelted it like small stones. His face was stern and aged yet still keen while also being calculating. His eyes having seen many battle both wars and politics alike and he knew his place in the world as Prinnian’s hand. Down below the rocky cliff on the white beach, covered in foam from the waves, slithered lines of beings. They all bore stahlhelms emblazed with the black hooked cross which symbolized the Reich and her domain, or rather new domain. The waves fought aggressively causing the small landing boats to bob up and down as they made their way to shore, the fleet out at sea large and ready to pounce like a lion. The officer held his peaked cap down as once again the wind tried to steal it from him, the salty air flaring in his nostrils. He crossed his arms behind his back and took the full brunt of the wind pounding his chest, furrowed brow indicating he was waiting for whatever was being unloaded onto a rickety craft from a mighty Prinnian frigate. The large barge was painfully slow as it plowed rather ungracefully through the ocean.

Several knights advanced on the officer who barely seemed to acknowledge their arrival, after giving a stiff salute thrusting their arms into the air and chanting the ancient phrase did the officer turn to them. His smile only seemed to reveal that he was pleased with the progress being made on the beach below. The knights greeted him properly revealing several parchments using their arms to shield it from the rain pattering down on them. It was a map of the continent and their current position to the fortress which was under construction. This was the first steps to Prinnian expansion in the region and would serve as a base to test objects in seclusion. Such was the enormous crates being placed on the barge; the officer took a moment to glance over his shoulder and nodded to the knights who took his wordless agreement. Again he was alone on the rock, alone to his thoughts. Prinnia was an expanding empire and though she was relatively quiet in her corner of the world, merely gobbling up lesser countries, relatively soon they would fight a war of recognition.

"C’mon boys heave!" An officer bellowed his uniform trench coat soaked as he shouted through a cone shaped object. His boots sunk into the wet sand as he continually cast orders about whilst men wearing Prinnian field gray and stahlhelms struggled to bring the barges up on shore. Grunts and cursing barely heard above the howling wind. A soldier carrying a glass jar with a strange looking fungus nearly stumbled but caught his balance; an officer ran over and ensured the jar was still sealed.

"You don't want whatever is in this jar to escape you hear me." He said sternly looking the frightened soldier in the eyes, "Or we are both dead."

The rest of the unloading process went on without any further stress, the winds continually pressing up against them, soon this continent would know the Fuhrer's words.

The man on the rocks again stoic in his silence as the storm around him raged, his eyes glued on the ever graying sea. Finally a man of his equal rank approached him as the waves crashed splashing them in foam.

"Sir your getting soaked," A man by the name of Kuratowa smiled through the rain. "Your going to catch a cold Tomek, than who is going to lead the army in the region?"

Tomek sneered, "Ha! This isn't honorable fighting we are doing here with spear and crossbow. I don't know what the fuhrer is planning with these spores or that thing, but you can almost be certain that he is planning on using them to fight. The Prinnian Reich is expanding at such an amazing rate that we will soon have to resort to less conventional weapons to fight with. The Fuhrer already knows this that is why he is putting us to the test."

[Dbrought]

"The total fleet will consist of ten Zelbaen galleys, and strike at the targets we agree are most suited for my people to handle. Each galley will come with her own crew, one company of one hundred men, and their own supplies, along with a small group of approximately twenty auxiliary forces. In total the constituents of the entire seventh chapter's Templar companies, and their auxiliaries will be at your disposal giving you one thousand two hundred elite soldiers at your disposal. Until our initial raids and attacks against the rebels, our agreements will remain silent, but upon our landfall, our presence will be hailed, to avoid complications with your forces. From that point on, the seventh chapter will support your army's efforts for the duration of the rebellion.

In return, we demand full access and trading rights to each of your markets and ports free of tarrifs, the right to construct a permanent embassy at the sight of the seventh chapter's initial beachhead, and another in the capital. Lastly we demand that any followers of Udan in your lands remain free of prosecution for their religion, and be allowed all the rights and courtesies they would otherwise be allowed.

Those are the initial terms of our offer, though should you provide a reasonable counter offer, I posses the authority to renegotiate the terms. I will have you know that already my nation's fleet is prepared and ready to set sail the moment and agreement is made, and will be able to make landfall seven days from when a decision is made, provided weather conditions remain as they are this season. So what may I ask sir, is your answer?"

[The knights of kings]

Prinnian lands...Northern part of the continent

Prinnian expansion was already making its way down to the gristollian isles, along with the word of the terrible atrocities committed as well. The word would reach the relatively unprotected isles that the Prinnian army was steadily advancing towards there colonies northern border. Whether they would stop their was anyone's guess and whether it would be a peaceful stop was again a matter to be given thought. What they would know was that the Dorok principalities to their north were coming under attack by a deadly poison that caused the inhaler to choke on his own blood...

The village burned, its buildings torched and ablaze, as were the corpses of man, woman, and child. Across the flames the shadows of Prinnian soldiers passed by like ghosts passing into another realm, silent and uncaring. Meanwhile a fungus like plant which covered everything petrified and collapsed into a white dust which covered the burning land like snow. The earth scorched and poisoned, as the land cried out to the Doroak people to come save her from Prinnian oppression, yet it was too late. The Prinnian flag flung itself against the wind revealing to all in the black haze the hooked cross which still erupted with hatred and death. The villages in all directions reflected the same fate as the night was filled with burning funeral piles all stacked with the corpses of the villagers. A mighty fortress once proud and a symbol of Doroak power now lay in ruins as the fungus, the miasma, over took it poisoning its inhabitiants with a painful death. On a nearby hill, high enough to see for miles and the many burning towns, stood Kuratowa an officer shrouded in a cloak. his peaked cap leaned back as he gazed over the burning lower countries. A grim sneer, plastered underneath a cloth tied to his mouth against his lips as the columns of Prinnian soldiers marched away from him towards the horizon. several hundred miles from this very place was the Gistollian isles colonies, at the moment the Gistollian isles were locked in a civil war. This laid the cover for the Prinnian armies to move in from the north which they were steadily doing. So far Prinnia merely had to knock over the low kingdoms and brushed them aside, generals yearned for the chance to find a real opponent to the armies. Yet none complained when the spoils of war kept them busy and wealthy, when the low kingdoms offered so many riches.

Wagons filled with spoils were returning to the rear of the prinnian front. Noblemen pleased with their capture of riches did not notice the lack of slaves being taken. They as did the soldiers wore wet cloths on their mouths beneath their armored helms. The spores floated about creating a dense fog which seemed like snow. This was the miasma, plants which released poison spores thus causing a painful death. When the spores are inhaled they poisoned the lungs causing them to bleed uncontrollably, this death was quick enough to be effective on the battlefield but slow enough to be agonizing. These poisonous plants had been cultured and exploited by alchemist to create a weapon of war. Unfortunately there was no way to kill off the spores once they grew roots unless one burned them. The fungus burrowed into the ground causing it to become infertile until eventually a toxic jungle remained, the sea of corruption. Thankfully the mages had been keeping on task ensuring that the spores after they poisoned the dorok people were burned to prevent them from taking root.

"Sir the misma has been cleared of this sector." A knight stood before kuratowa his arm raised in salute. kuratowa nodded and removed his mask and placed it in a small pouch on his belt.

"How long till we can use this land again?"

"I'd wager two to three seasons time my lord,"

Kuratowa was disgruntled such a powerful weapon ultimately had undesirable side effects. The soil was poisoned and until it was filtered out by nature in three years it would be dead. Until then they could do nothing but advance and use the spores carefully to take on strong holds. Only time would tell how much fighting the reich could managers a continual manner.