Blightwar [IC|Region Only]

[Promethius Prime]

FOR MEMBERS OF THE UNIFIED COALITION OF NATIONS ONLY

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Welcome to the Old World; from the Everfrost and the Frozen Sea, down to the Endless Sand Sea, across the Great Salt Bay stretches a land of ancient civilisations and mighty kingdoms. In time immemorial this land was the battlefield of the Gods, who tore it apart and left indelible marks upon every aspect of the realm and left behind their mortal warriors when they fled the mortal plane. These mortals have now grown and risen to dominate the land, and though they pay homage to the Gods still the days are long gone when the great deities strode the earth and commanded vast hosts of uncounted millions.

However the mortal races are not alone within the Old World; far to the North, beyond the Everfrost and Frozen Sea, dwells the enigmatic Blightking - an immortal warlord who has plagued the mortal plane since the end of the War of the Gods. Though the Blightking sends his armies south but once a century and ever dwells to the far north beyond the reach of mortal armies his influence is felt everywhere, the sinister spread of corruption, the taint of dark magic and the subtle manipulation of mortal affairs... nothing is beyond his grasp, or so they say.

The far South is no better for there beyond the Boiling Ocean and the Endless Sand Sea lives no less sinister Coven, a group of vastly powerful magi said to draw their power from the essences of fallen gods. It is said that the Coven are the cause for the Gods' flight from the mortal plane and few who know of them doubt it for their power is beyond guessing and whenever their minions venture north they wreak great havoc and destruction wherever they go.

Between it all lie the fertile lands, the cradle of mortal civilisation, their lords and ladies ever looking both north and south for fear of their immortal enemies. Yet the threat of a fresh Blightwar, or Coven raid remain sufficiently low that life goes on and the mortal nations prosper, steadily marching towards a brighter future. Of course civilisations rise and fall, for such is the nature of things, but the races endure and for the most part maintain a balance of power which enables them to keep their foes in check.

[Promethius Prime]

The Kingdom of Bromjulnor

Three Miles North West of Khorrhallen
Salwen gripped his broadsword and levelled it toward the vandre in challenge. The creature regarded the armoured Bromjulnorian with its cold bloodshot eyes, its joints grinding where the ancient bones met, its flesh had long since withered to a papery mummified state meaning that it creaked and grated with every move. The Bromjulnorian knew better than to hope he'd scare a being like this, death had stripped away all semblance of mortal personality from it and the process of raising it had done nothing to restore this; vandre were vile servitors at best and at worst wandering menaces to any community they encountered - occasionally a powerful Necromancer or Warlock would raise and bind them, but more often than not they were the result of magical energies converging around an abandoned corpse. Judging from its appearance and demeanour this was one of the latter, it was plastered with snow and frost and clad is decrepit rags and rusting armour, the furs which had kept it warm in life now ragged and foul; most Necromancers preferred fresher corpses for they were stronger, tougher, and often better equipped - a fresh iron sword would be better than the rusting arms you'd find on the long dead.

The young warrior kept eye contact with the creature, its bloodshot eyes were a result of the magic which raised it for its real ones must have rotted long ago, yet they still behaved as one might expect and their movements often betrayed much about the owner's intentions. Suddenly the vandre broke from its standing stare and rushed towards him raising a pitted bronze sword above its head in a two handed grip; Salwen sidestepped its charge leaving the dull being confused momentarily and giving him and opening to slash at its exposed back, his sword ripped through the foetid furs and rotting fabric of its surcoat but failed to altogether breach the rusting mail beneath. No matter, such a blow would not have felled the creature anyway for only decapitation, burning, or total bodily destruction would cause the magic holding a vandre together to dissipate. The undead creature turned, spinning its sword one handed in a wide arc towards him; it was an obvious move and one easily parried but the strength of the monster was jarring and Salwen knew that unlike him it would not tire, so he pushed with his sword, causing it to squeal and the blade ran down the length of the corroded bronze, finally the edge met the guard but with sufficient force to jar the monster's off hand grip. He immediately took advantage of this weakness and withdrew his sword from the tangle, swinging it in a circle about his pivoting wrist he slashed at the creature's wrist with the tip of his sword - the tactic worked and the bones and mummified sinews fragmented, leaving the hand to fall to the ground, sword and all.

If he had been facing a mortal opponent the fight would no have been over, but vandre did not feel pain and they did not stop fighting just because they lost a few extremities; it could be as deadly without the sword as it was with it and the creature was either too dim or too focused to even attempt to retrieve the fallen sword. Instead it swung at him with its right hand, the ends of the fingers formed to bone claws by decay and weathering; by now though Salwen had the advantage of distance and reach, the creature had to come within the reach of his sword in order to attack and with another arcing swing he took off the monster's arm at the elbow. With an impotent and noiseless roar the vandre made its final charge at him, clearly intent on slaying him despite its missing hands; but Salwen still had his wits about him and straightening his blade he pointed it forward at the creature's neck so that as it rushed him it impaled its own neck along the length of the rippling steel broadsword, from there a quick twist was all it took to separate head from shoulders and the vandre became nothing but a dessicated corpse once more.

Salwen exhaled deeply; he was sweating now and out here on the Frozen Sea that could be dangerous, he would need to return to shelter soon or his sweat would freeze to his skin. He gazed about the horizon but saw nothing; darkness had fallen in the time it had taken to dispatch his quarry and so any visible landmarks had long since disappeared, another thing which could be fatal, for the Frozen Sea had been frozen by immense magical power many centuries ago and the effect had been instant, so in place of fracturing floes and bergs of ice the whole place was simply one solid, flat expanse of snow covered ice. Further north the large swells of the once deep ocean were frozen in place giving the whole area a dunelike appearance, but out here in what had been the shallow coastal regions it was much flatter. Fortunately this was not Salwen's first trip out onto the Frozen Sea and he had come equipped with a chart and an arcanometer which always pointed due north thanks to the magical flows within the land; he knew that the small ice fishing village who had contracted him to deal with the vandre was back to the south east so a simple consultation of his arcanometer allowed him to turn back in the right direction.

Vandre attacks had been becoming more common of late on the Frozen Sea, the abundance of abandoned corpses gave fertile ground for incidental rising without the need for some necromantic plot, but even Salwen had to concede that the sheer number of attacks was unusual and hinted at something more than just the ordinary. There had been thousands of ships out at sea when the freezing spell had been cast and their crews had perished shortly thereafter, along with the enterprising looters who flooded out onto the sea shortly thereafter; not only that but a steady stream of adventurers and warriors from rival factions and armies had also left their fair share of corpses out on the ice and such an abundance of death always attracted magical energy. Salwen was not an expert on magic, but he knew enough about the sheer scale of the Frozen Sea and the number of abandoned ships and bodies upon it to be able to judge the seriousness of the problem if some plot was unfolding. Once he'd returned to the village and taken payment he would return to Kongensborg and report back to the High King, though whether he would willingly hear what he had to say was anyone's guess.

Salwen was the High King's second cousin, and the second son of a Jarl, but second sons didn't inherit so he had entered the High King's service as a Knight Justicar. The Knights Justicar travelled the Kingdom dispensing the King's Justice in smaller villages and taking payment in order to deal with issues such as vandre attacks, this payment was then sent to the High King as a form of taxation; it was a difficult job and a hard life of constant travel but the pay and benefits were excellent and it saved him from having to join the priesthood, or worse the bureaucracy.

[Valariel]

Sarilion...

Golden islands upon the sea. Land of the Morning Sun. Bastion of the Sarilean Star Elves. A land of golden fields of wheat, ancient woods from the dawn of time, and mountains that rise to the heavens, with mines that delve into the deepest parts of the world. A land of great cities with great towers and walls.

As history (or legend) would have it, the Isles were a savage, untamed land, uninhabited by civilized folk. Forsaken by Mortal and Immortal alike. But there was one group that saught peace and tranquility, no matter the challenges that would lay before them in this land. Millenia (or perhaps simply centuries) ago, a group of Star Elves, known as the Saril, fled from their Sun and Moon Elf overlords, forsaking their bonds and mistreatment at the other's hands, and held onto their faith in the Ilvenni to help guide them in the days to come. They fled from the mainland, and so happened to come to the Unknown Isles of the Great Salt Bay. Here, they settled, and here, they remade themselves into the Sarilean people, and founded the great city of Silminaron. Jewel of the Isles. And from this great city, built with great towers and high walls, the Sarileans would found an Empire to stretch across all of the great islands of those Isles. The Sarilion Isles.

The Sarilean people, due to their mistreatment at the hands of the Sun and Moon Elves, are highly mistrusting of others, and do not allow many others to visit the Isles, causing that reborn land to be all but unknown to outsiders. The Sarileans have little in the way curiosity for what lies outside of the Isles, preferring to keep to themselves, albeit having ambitions of an Empire that embodies both the Sea and Lands. Holding Dominion over their peoples. But there are still those who have a sense for adventure. A curiosity and desire to expand their knowledge of the greater world.

And that, is where the story of the Isles greater involvement in the goings on of the world, begins.


Beach South-West of Silminaron
Ainion lay there on the beach, basking in the warm sun, with the sand warming his back. On either side of him lay two of his dearest friends, Calanon and Durion. Each about twenty or twenty three (still considered adolescent by Elvish standards). They had lounged there, bare to the sun’s rays, for a good few hours, every now and then wading into the water and splashing about. But now, they just lay there to enjoy the midday sun.

Ainion, while certainly content with the paradise that Sarilion was, and the life that he was privileged to have, he could not help but shake a feeling at the back of his mind. He opened his eyes (almost blinding himself in the process), and sat up, pushing his elbows into the sand. He looked off into the Western horizon, the blue sea and sky blending until it was almost a single entity. He gave a sigh.

“Why spoil a perfect day with a sigh my friend,” said Calanon to his right, still lying with his eyes shut,” you know what they say: Seize the day. Don’t worry.”
“You and your made up ‘wisdom’,”complained Ainion, staring at the youth, trying to burn holes into him,” it is just hopeless fantasy. That is all.”
“Oh,” said Durion, raising himself up and sitting cross legged,” what do you mean by ‘hopeless fantasy’? Is it about a girl? Guy? The futility of existence? Religious dogma?”
“No…,” responded Ainion,” well… maybe one of those to. But I just can’t help but shake the feeling of something. We come here everyday. Lay in the sand and listen to the waves… But I look at the horizon and wonder…”
“Wonder what,” asked Calanon.
“I wonder… what is beyond these shores and waves.?”
“Well I would imagine another shore and waves,” said Durion, digging in the sand.
“Well that much is certain,” said Calanon.
“Yes yes… but what is on those shores? We’ve all heard the stories. Our ancestors fled the lands of the Cruel Masters.”
“And came to a savage one…” said Calanon.
“Which they corrected,” finished Durion.
“But could everyone there be so bad? There are other tales of other peoples. Dwarves. The race of Men. And creatures who are both man and savage beast. Surely they wouldn’t be so terrible.”
“Maybe… why are you even bothering to think of this stuff anyway?,” asked Durion.
“I don’t know… like I said. Hopeless fantasy. Perhaps the best way to describe it is curiosity… A desire for adventure perhaps.”
“I’m pretty sure the Elder’s wouldn’t want to hear that talk,” said Calanon,” anyhow, gentlemen, I do say it is about time we got to our regularly scheduled sword play.”
“Ha! You won’t be beating me again Calanon,” said Durion jumping to his feat and rushing over to a pile of cloths. Calanon did the same.

“Sigh… never mind.” Ainion slowly got up and went over to his own pile. Each of them put on their respective clothing, and strapped on crude pieces of armor ,and strapped to their belts each a simple practice blade.
“Now,” began Calanon,” who would like to go first? Ainion, how about you? You have been in a dreadful mood. Need some cheering up.”
“Sure… whatever.”
“Hmph. Just for that, I’ll fight you first.”
“Alright then.”

The two positioned themselves at least two meters away from each other, drawing their swords and pointing them at one another.

“Shall we,” asked Calanon.
“We shall,” responded Ainion.

Calanon lunged forward towards Ainion, his sword extended to go and stab at his counterpart. Ainion stepped to the side, and swung his sword to direct Calanon’s away from him. As he did that, he rebalanced himself and gave a swing at Calanon’s back. A hit.

Ainion began o feel a little better after that, but curiosity still knawed at the back of his mind. The three of them continued on like this for an hour or two, until all three of them where battered and bruised, but still enjoying the moment. THey gathered their things, and made their way back to Silminaron.

Later

Ainion walked down the Imperial Royal Avenue, the Silminaron street that most high ranking families estates reside upon, as well as at the very end of it, resided the Imperial Palace, residence of the current reigning Queen, Alassëa, resided. It was here that his family lived, with his father being one of the Councilors of the Imperial High Council, and advisor to the Queen.

Ainion saw a carriage in front of the Estate, and went to turn into the Estate’s gateway, when he overheard two individuals arguing.

“ But my lady, the Queen must see reason,” said a man. AInion recognized it as his father’s.
“ You forget Councilor, you are only an advisor. You offer advice, and sometimes review legislation. That is all you do,” said a young woman’s voice,” now if you will not mind, I would like to be heading home. Tell your wife that the Queen and Princess wish her the best with her pregnancy, and that the child is born healthy.”
“Yes… my lady…”

Ainion heard the thump of boots on stone coming his way, and went to get out of the way of whoever it was (particularly someone who could talk down his father like that). Out of the gate way came two Soldiers, arrayed in armor with a golden hue, and swords at their sides. They were then followed by a young women in white silk robes.

To Ainion, she was the most beautifal person he had ever seen. Hair as white as the snow at the peaks of the Stiigaran mountains, with a silver circlet resting on her head. He caught her eyes, and the two stared at eachother for a few seconds, before she got into her carriage, and it turned around and headed down the street. Her eyes didn’t seem to show anger or hostility. Perhaps… curiosity? Surprise? Either way, he went into the Estate, but watched the carriage go on its way.

“Ainion,” exclaimed his father, an older man (to Sarilean standards) with black hair,” I didn’t expect you to be back so soon… How are Calanon and Durion doing?”
“They are doing fine father,” said Ainion, setting his things down on a the ground,” so… what was that all about?”
“Oh. You overheard some of that,” said his father, rubbing the back of his head,” well… There have been some occurences out in the mountains, and the Queen thinks it best to send someone out to investigate. I on the otherhand, would deem it only to be some animal or another.”
“Who was the girl?”
“Oh. Her? That was Princess Vanya… our future ruler… Gods save us all. That girl’s fire is admirable, but not quite what I would expect for q Queen’s daughter.”
“The Princess,” said Ainion rather dismayed,” oh… well, must have been interesting to have royalty in our house.”
“Not quite the experience as you might think. Now come on. Let’s go help your mother. This late into her pregnancy, she isn’t quite capable of more strenuous tasks.”
“Alright then.”

Father and son went into the Estate, seeking Ainion’s mother, but during that time, he wondered about the Princess.

Elsewhere, Stiigaran Mountain Forests
“You know… I don’t like the woods,” said one Ranger,” give me the creeps.”
“Why,” asked another,” you are a ranger for Paphorax’s sake. You are meant to be in the woods.”
“I know… perhaps it would be better to say I don’t like THESE woods. You’ve heard about those disappearances.”
“Yeah yeah. But you know what? It is our job to keep a look out for whatever might be causing them. So stop complaining”

The pair walked through the woods, bows at the ready for whatever would come their way. They had been at their task all day. Trying to catch or kill whatever it was that was causing people to disappear without a trace.

They came to a creek, and sat their gear down on the ground to rest.

“But if their is one thing I like about this forest,” said the one Ranger,” it is that it has some great scenery. Doesn’t quite make up for the foreboding, but, still.”
“I can understand that,” said the other.

They went to refill their water skins at the creek, having emptied theirs during their trek. As they knelt by the water, they heard a twig crack. THey jumped to their feet, drawing daggers in the process, having left their bows with their packs.

“Whoever is there, identify yourself,” demanded the other Ranger. No response.
“You don’t suppose it could be whatever is-”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We have been trying to track whatever it is all day. To suddenly stumble upon t would be completely blind luck.”
“You know, there could be another possibility…”
“What now!?”
“That it could have been tracking us…”
“Gods I really hate you some-”

He was cut short when a shadow of a beast leapt out of the undergrowth with a roar and cut his throat with razor sharp claws. The remaining Ranger rushed to his companion's aid, but was soon cut down by the Beast. No one was around to see it pick them up in its clawed hands, and carry them back to its lair.

[Promethius Prime]

The Kingdom of Bromjulnor

Harollshavn, The Northern Marches of Bromjulnor
The city of Harollshavn was the largest settlement in the Northern Marches and one of only three cities within Bromjulnor to house its own Planar Gate, which granted it a direct link to the cities of Kongensborg and Steyrsmi; however it was not the sprawling expanse of Steyrsmi to which Salwen intended on going, but to the cramped confines of Kongensborg. Harollshavn was a city in the finest traditions of the Old North, its ring walls and fortified castle fashioned from the local grey stone, the crenellations of which had long since given way to the combined effects of weather and the shattering Seige of Harollshavn which had brought the city back under the control of the High King; Salwen had been there himself when Hrothmar's forces had breached the city walls in three places and had helped to lead the Van in one of the assaults. That was an age ago now and though the few rebel sympathisers that remained hated him still that was more than countered by their fear. Within the walls was the city proper, a sprawling tiered conurbation of squat wood and stone houses, with fine longhouses and manors occupying the upper tiers, with the quality and style of building degrading to simple stone and daub shacks on a clear gradient as one moved out to the lower tiers. Most of these slum buildings were fairly new, as the outer tiers of the city had been utterly destroyed in the seige, in the upper tiers you could just about make out where the older and grander structures had been repaired.

Salwen had rode through the gates unchallenged, his surcoat bore the Royal colours and the medallion about his neck was sign of his officer as a Knight Justicar; aside from standing to attention as he passed the guards at the gate had made no attempt at social interaction, the Knight was glad of this for he had much on his mind and little time for idle chatter. However duty called as he had ascended on the back of his horse through the main avenue and he had had to break up two drunken brawls and ride down a thief before reaching the second highest tier. Only the inner ring walls of the castle itself now separated him from the heart of the city, but he was not interested in the castle for it did not house the Planar Gate; as a matter of security the portals which linked the great cities of Bromjulnor were constructed in specially fortified buildings outside the core fortifications of the city which housed them. In this case in a block structure made from Obsidite which was peculiarly designed so as to allow easy defence of the rest of the city from any force which might emerge from the Gate.

Once more the guards parted to grant him access immediately as he approached; unlike the guards at the outer gate these were Huscarls in the service of the Knight Commander of the Knights Justicar, Asmund Earthshatter, and as such were dressed in the dull mustard yellow and pale blue of the Order. Armed with with long hafted billhooks and a short sword at their hip, and clad in suits of boiled leather and ringmail they were an imposing sight; a sight all the more imposing for the subtle blue glow about the edge of their weapons and the fine runic script wrought into them. These Huscarls were armed with weapons forged by the Norric Dwarves which held peculiar enchantments of unbinding and banishment; these enchantments had little effect against mortal foes but were deadly against any being of magical nature, be it an undead minion or a magical anomaly. After all the Planar Gate provided a wafer thin rift into the Realm of Magic from which demons, daeronkha, and other strange beings could emerge - from time to time if the protective invocations failed such magical beings could enter the Realm of Mortals through the Gate and wreak great mischief - not without reason were this Huscarls afforded the finest enchanted equipment available in the Kingdom. The quality of their arms and armour easily matched that of his own, though his prized skysteel sword put their billhooks to shame.

The interior of the Gathouse was cold and dreary; Obsidite was a naturally black to purple coloured stone which seemed to suck the light and warmth of a place right out of it and so the whole structure was in a state of perpetual dusk in spite of the great braziers which burned within. A dry chill hung in the air causing the polished stone floors to crunch underfoot as the layer of hoarfrost was crushed by his hard soled boots and thick swirling clouds of mist spread out from his mouth with every breath. The Obsidite blocks which made up the structure had here been intricately carved with magical wards which had been inlaid with silver so as to better conduct the magical energies required to maintain them properly; Salwen knew not their precise meaning or purpose, but had long since learned that one need not be deferential or careful in stepping on them - it seemed that they had no effect upon mortal men. More Huscarls patrolled within and Salwen moved swiftly to the centre of the Gatehouse in order to speak with one of the Gatekeepers; a cadre of dry and ancient men and women of extraordinary magical power who had devoted themselves to the study of the Realm of Magic and Planar magic itself, it was they who maintained the Gates and who were able to activate them seemingly at will. Kongensborg, though hundred of miles away, seemed not so distant.

[Croxoco]

Bells were tolling, crowds were cheering, and white smoke was gently floating from a brazier atop the Grand Clock Tower in Palace Square. The thing about Venais was that, while styled as a Kingdom, it was infact a Presidential Republic under the presidency of the King, who was elected for life by the House of Lords; the upper chamber of the Venesian Parliament, which served as the sovereign power of Venais. And today, a new King had been elected from amongst the Lords present.

During an election, the House of Lords would be locked in conclave, that is, placed under house arrest within the Royal Palace Complex, and limited to two servants and three rationed meals per day, until they could elect from themselves a King. The King however could not be elected with a plurality nor a simple majority of all votes cast; there had to be unanimity. It was therefore not uncommon for capitulations to be made until one candidate became agreeable to all members of the House.

The House of Lords itself was largely hereditary, with seats in the House passing from Lord to Heir. However, under traditional custom, the House of Lords was required to have 30 members; therefore, if a vacancy occured in the House due to the lack of an heir, it was the prerogative of the King, with the approval of a simple majority of Lords, to appoint a Lord to fill that seat, who would hold his title for himself and his successors, until their line be extinct, or they commit treason against the King or the Realm. It was thus difficult for the king to excercise absolute power, for he could be constrained by a simple majority of Lords... only 16 people in the kingdom were required to put a check on the King's power.

After two months of shrewd manouvring and intricate political machination, the House of Lords had finally agreed on a compromise candidate. He was a compromise because the two main factions in the House could not muster enough support for their own candidates. The Novocastrians, so named because their candidate and leader was the Duke of Novocaster, wished for greater autonomy for the Lords over their estates, while the Cornists, so named because their candidate and leader was the Earl of Corne, wished for greater centralization under the Crown, and standardization of law and taxes across the realm. Both factions agreed on an independent, the Duke of Flores, because he had both Novocastrian and Cornist sympathies, in that he believed in autonomy for the Lords and their Estates, but also believed in standardization of law and taxes across the realm. He thus, as a result of the compromise, had a strong powerbase in the House of Lords, and was able to secure his election as King Androgar II, his son, Galbatrax, assuming his seat in the House of Lords as the 14th Duke of Flores.

The first act of the new King was to appoint his Royal Council, which would help him execute his powers and duties as king:
- Lord Treasurer (overseeing Finance): His Excellency, the Earl of Rivain
- Lord Justiciar (Overseeing Law, Order and Justice): His Excellency, the Earl of Corne
- Lord Chancellor (Overseeing Foreign Affairs and Border Control): His Grace, the Duke of Novocaster
- Lord Chamberlain (Overseeing Culture and Ceremony): His Lordship, the Baron Neverre
- Lord Steward (Overseeing Agriculture, Education and Public Works): His Lordship, the Baron Lupo
- Lord Chaplain (Overseeing Chantry, Templar and Magic Affairs): His Lordship, the Baron Ironwood

The second act of the new King was to send envoys to the rulers of Bromjulnor, the Iron Mountains and Sarilion. The King hopes by doing this, he can begin the process of developping a trading network which would put Venais at the centre of international commerce. Infact, once envoys had been sent, the King was going to embark on the most ambitious economic project in Venesian history.

[Promethius Prime]

The Kingdom of Bromjulnor

Kongensborg
The Isle of Kongensborg was an ancient fortress which predated the existence of Bromjulnor by centuries at least; lore had it that the citadel was the southernmost outpost of the empire that Stomalkov had sacrificed in order to ascend to Godhood, and was thus built during the War of the Gods as a stronghold against the forces of Qor and his servants the Daeron. The isle itself was a sheer chunk of granite jutting out of the Frozen Sea and connected to the land by a huge bridge which spanned fifty miles in length; the bridge itself had been built in later ages by the early men of Bromjulnor and consisted of solid Obsidite pillars which were spanned by hefty timbers. It had not been beyond the skill of the ancient Bromjulnorian engineers to construct the entire bridge from the mystical stone, but the King at the time had decreed that the span should be made from timber so that it could be destroyed easily and subsequently repaired, should the fortress ever come under siege. This spoke for the paranoia of the early Kings of the Northmen, especially since the sea which surrounded the Isle was one of solid ice and therefore provided a natural platform upon which to base a siege of the fortress from all directions regardless of the presence of the bridge; however the ice of the Frozen Sea was not so thick that it could not be melted or broken apart and a vast battery of catapults and trebuchets were housed within the Kongensborg itself to achieve just that.

The citadel itself was a masterwork of sheer verticality; its sides rising up hundreds of yards above the top of the granite cliffs in a perfectly vertical plain, the stones so closely set that even now, centuries later, no gap could be found between them. Kongensborg was the very structure upon which all Bromjulnorian architecture had been subsequently based and so, though it was not itself made by the hands of men, it appeared to be the very archetype of a Bromjulnorian hold with a strong outer ring wall running along the line of the cliffsides and secondary and tertiary walls held within, finally giving way to a large central keep which had a low and long hall at its front which steadily progressed into a soaring stronghold which stood well above the rest of the fortress. When the Northmen had first settled within the Kongensborg they had found nothing but the Obsidite structures which had been scoured clean of all else; there were no homes or small structures within the walls, and the great towers and structures had not interior structure at all, they stood literally hollow. Over the succeeding centuries the interiors had been filled and a city had been built up within the walls, mostly made from timber and carefully cut stone, now though not the largest city in the Kingdom the Capital was nonetheless a bustling hive of human and dwarven activity.

Kongensborg's portal was as old as the fortress itself, but had only been reactivated when the island had been inhabited once more; it sat upon an islet of its own within a tower of Obsidite which was dwarfed by the main fortress. A high level bridge had been constructed to link the islet to the fortress proper, and like the main bridge at the front of the city it had been fashioned in such a way as to allow its easy destruction; this was a less paranoid factor than the other bridge given the inherent dangers that came with having and active portal. All manner of foul beings could come through if the portal was not properly maintained, not only that but foreign powers doubtless had portals of their own and nothing but the will and skill of Bromjulnor's own Gatekeepers to keep them out. Unlike the Gatehouse at Harollshavn this structure was built for defence on both sides, allowing those who occupied it to simultaneously hold the structure from a siege outside and in - thus the fortified blockhouse itself as actually a hollow square with the portal in a central courtyard overlooked by defensive gantries from which archers and mages could rain death down on anyone breaching the portal itself.

It was into this courtyard that Salwen stepped, his booted feet crunching softly against the thin layer of hoarfrost which coated the polished obsidite floor; he stood still a moment to allow the Huscarls time to confirm that he wasn't a threat, and used the time to watch the layer of hoarfrost spread from the portal itself and then start retreating back once more as the magical energies of the portal retreated allowing the warmth of the nearby braziers to spread once more. For whatever reason the portals of Bromjulnor seemed to suck the warmth out of the air around them when activated, some said it was a legacy of Stomalkov's sacrifice, which had locked his empire in ice and frozen the North Sea; others simply said that it was the nature of magic to seek sources of energy from which to feed itself. Salwen didn't know which he believed and didn't really care, he was no magus and it did not affect him in the slightest, all he needed to know was that portal travel left him chilled to the core - something which he quite enjoyed though most Knights-Justicar seemed to try and avoid it and the portals unless they absolutely had to; yet another reason why Asmund had appointed him Greve he supposed.

As the Huscarls and their attendant Gatekeeper stood down, raising their billhooks and lowering their shields, Salwen stepped forward and thanked the Gatekeeper for his trouble before striding directly of to the gates which led to the bridge beyond. Mercifully though as cold as ever the afternoon was not particularly windy here, otherwise he would have had to have contended with that while walking the three hundred foot span between the Blockhouse and the Citadel. As it was the day was calm which made it more of a leisurely stroll; the siderails had been raised today so even if the wind did pick up at least he had something to prevent his fall - nonetheless it would not do to be complacent, he wouldn't be the first to take a tumble from the bridge, nor the last. As he crossed the Citadel rose up before him; the bridge itself did not run high enough to enter through a gate in the obsidite walls and instead it terminated at a great gate carved into the granite of the cliffside. This gate was of dwarven make and design for ever since the Underkings of the Norric Dwarves had knelt before the throne of Bromjulnor and replaced their golden crowns for the silver of Tyegues, a large dwarven settlement had existed beneath the Citadel. The island had been extensively excavated by the ancient builders of the fortress for reasons unknown, as such no mining or diggings were permitted beneath it, robbing the dwarves here of that aspect of their culture, however deep beneath the isle lay great rivers of molten rock which allowed them to pursue instead the role of craftsmen.

Upon approaching the gate, the dwarven guards known as Delerezars stepped aside to grant him access, unlike the Huscarls in the Blockhouse these were warriors clad from head to foot in interlocking plate armour, each armed with a crossbow and a short spear forged in a single piece from steel. Salwen had of course seen such guards before and elsewhere; the Norric holds to the east where the Tyegues ruled in the name of the King had a few, mostly often guarding the Tyegues themselves or their most important treasures, they were not common for even among the dwarves such heavy armour was expensive. Beyond the gate was a long corridor, though given its length and width it was more a subterranean road than a simple corridor, which ultimately led into a vast open cavern; the road ended here, terminating in a wide balcony as the sides of the cavern fell away in the ominous reddish glow which rose from the magma springs far below. Several storeys above he could make out the palace of the dwarf Tyegue which was carved and built into the ceiling of the cavern, hanging down into the expanse like a squat dome with bunker windows on all sides; the Tyegue maintained a battery of ballistae along each if Salwen recalled correctly, should the cavern even be breached by invaders. Into the sides of the Cavern were build the squat and blocky looking structures ubiquitous in any dwarven city, with long, narrow stone bridges connecting them; there were no handrails or balustrades to guard against falling here for the dwarves took their own surefootedness as a point of great pride.

Fortunately the subterranean city of the dwarves of Kongensborg was not his destination, and a broad staircase, mercifully featuring balustrades, led up along the cavern wall to his right. As he climbed Salwen reflected gratefully upon the long standing goodwill held between the dwarves and men of Bromjulnor, for the dwarves were nothing if not ingenious when it came to engineering and defence; the very bridge he walked upon was built with each broad, squat step a spoke attached to a hinge hidden in the walls and with the pull of a lever a counterweight mechanism could be activated causing the hinges to drop into the walls and thus spilling anyone unlucky enough to be on the stairs at the time into the fiery pit below. Eventually he came to the top of the stairs which ended in another road sized corridor which ran to a set of ornately moulded bronze gates once again guarded by delerezars; as he approached the guards pushed the gates open for him and they opened up into a structure clearly fashioned by men not dwarves.

The hall was made from a wooden frame with cut stone walls and a thatched ceiling after the fashion of a traditional Bromjulnorian ale hall, with the beams carved into all manner of shapes; the uniformity preferred in dwarven design was gone for the decoration here had been added gradually; the decorative carving of the wood had been done by subsequent generations of carpenters sent to replace old beams or repair damage and there was no notion of one being the same as another. The doors at the far end of this hall were guarded by Huscarls of the King's own household who opened the doors before him admitting the Greve into the city behind the walls of the Kongensborg; it was in many ways a typical Bromjulnorian town, yet was also distinctly unusual - elsewhere Bromjulnorian settlements were well spaced out with broad roads and space between the structures - here the structures were of a clearly Bromjulnorian style but were built so close together as to be almost on top of one another. Such was the capital of Bromjulnor.

[Promethius Prime]

The Kingdom of Bromjulnor

Kongensborg
Salwen entered the Great Hall of Kongensborg, a longhouse the outer walls of which were the same solid obsidite as the rest of the great fortress city, yet inside had been decorated with carved wooden beams which rose with uniformity to the great thatched roof which itself was supported upon magnificently carved crossbeams made from ironwood brought in from the eastern reaches of the kingdom. Along the centre of the hall ran a trench in which was built a great fire; it was late evening now though so it had mostly burned low to embers - nonetheless the hall was filled with a warm haze of woodsmoke, pipeweed, and spilled mead. A series of long tables ran parallel to the central fire trench on either side and seated on the benches there were an assortment of gentry, lesser nobles, freemen, and those Huscarls not presently on guard duty who were enjoying meat, mead, and music - none raised their head as Salwen entered; officials and other functionaries were forever coming and going here and in Kongensborg those bearing the colours were a common sight. Except for those few who would recognise his face most would know him only to be another passing functionary on some minor errand - Salwen was of course entitled by his position to dress in a richer style and to be formally announced as he entered, but he had never been so ostentatious and so had elected to go unmarked by the hall. The High King would know of his presence by now anyway.

It had been a cold and darkening night outside by the time Salwen had entered the hall and the warmth was welcome even if the thick fug of the poor quality pipeweed that was smoked in Bromjulnor did nothing to dampen his good humour as he walked past the benches; he took a mug of ale from one of the serving women as he passed by and drained it in short order. It wasn't that he needed to fortify his courage, but rather that he needed the shake of the last of the chill which lingered from his portal journey and mead usually did the job - besides it helped him to keep his humour in spite of the grave news he brought to the King. The Great Hall was a long structure and on a night like this hosted every man or woman of note within the citadel, and a few more besides; each of the tables were occupied by person of increasing status as one approached the dais upon which the High King sat, so that the least important freeman were closest to the door, while the more important nobleman and functionaries were seated just below the High Table. Thus as Salwen made his progress he saw the quality of variety of clothing worn by the people he passed increase from the roughspun browns and grey of the tables by the door all the way up to the fine imported silks of the higher tables.

Salwen loved the Great Hall of Kongensborg, every time he came here he took a little time to watch the people here who enjoyed the evening like those heroes in the mead halls of old, with songs, stories, and games - he also took time to admire the tapestries and banners which hung proudly from each beam he passed. The tapestries depicted great moments from the history of Bromjulnor, while the banners represented the different noble houses of the Kingdom and was arrayed as the tables were, in order of precedence; the banner of his father was hung right up by the High Table, while his own rested a little under halfway up towards the end of the hall. He was in the position of many at court, where he was an individually important person from an unimportant bloodline - that said his banner occupied a higher place of honour than most of the second sons at court, and he had never really cared much where it was placed so long as it occupied a beam and not the floor.

Finally he approached the broad low steps of the Dais; it was a multilevel affair, with each step housing a long table of its own flanked by large braziers to provide warmth, as the fire trench ended at the foot of the lowest step. He passed each table without a second glance; many were barely occupied since such seats were reserved for Jarls who generally held their own court within their home hold, but there were a few people dotted here and there - either permanent residents at Court, or wards of the King - the practice of sending a son or daughter to court as a hostage or show of homage was common in Bromjulnor. Finally Salwen reached the step below the King's table where he had to come to a stop; the High King's personal bodyguard held the step and protocol demanded that he wait here to be called forward; as usual it only took a few moments for the High King to be notified of his arrival and for the man to casually wave him forward.

"My King." Salwan knelt before the High King, placing his fist to his chest in the customary salute of the Knights-Justicar; he waited for the King to nod his assent and then rose to look at him directly. Hrothmar was a relatively young man to be king, younger than Salwen by near a decade. Despite the fact that they were related neither man was particularly close to the other, however their status as family allowed Salwen to speak more freely than most; the High King was nothing if not a staunch traditionalist when it came to respect for the old familial customs. He liked Hrothmar as far as kings went, he was a reasonable man, if somewhat militant to his approach to governance - what was more he'd never forgotten the support that Salwen had shown during the process of securing his throne. The laws of succession in Bromjulnor were somewhat unusual with regards to the High King, for the Jarls were technically entitled to declare themselves king and have the hold break away from the kingdom when one High King died and another rose; a fact which the Jarls often rattled on about each time a High King died, but seldom acted upon. Salwen as a Knight-Justicar had been instrumental in ensuring the continued fealty of the Jarls in the wake of Hrothmar's father's death.

"What news does the Lord Greve bring?" Hrothmar's voice and tone was all formality, however this was mostly for show to the nearby nobles; it was politically vital that Hrothmar not be seen to be favouring his own family since this was one of the key reasons Jarls had used in the past to justify increasing autonomy from the crown.

[Promethius Prime]

The Kingdom of Bromjulnor

Kongensborg
"The vandre have always presented a danger to the Ice Villages; Stomalkov's curse made that inevitable. This is nothing new, nevertheless the increasing numbers that are rising... it is a concerning situation my liege. I have consulted with the High Priest in Harollshavn and he has confirmed my suspicions, an increase in the the number of rogue vandre rising is an omen - in the past it has heralded the return of the Blightking, as well as a northward march by the Coven." Salwen had been summoned into a private audience with the High King and his chief advisors, including the head of the Knights-Justicar, Asmund; there were perhaps ten people in all occupying the council chamber, men and women both along with a reclusive Eladari and a brooding Dwarf. The fire in the hearth lent the scent a comforting atmosphere but the expressions on all of their faces were grave; news like this was seldom welcomed happily, especially when two of the people in the room could remember the last time the Blightking had gone to war. The Greve could tell that each and every one of them were praying that it proved to be either nothing, or an omen that the Coven and not the Blightking, was abroad - it may seem selfish but against the Blightking Bromjulnor was the first line of defence and more than once in its long history the Kingdom had been all but overrun, the Jarls retreating to their strongholds as the Blightking's forces marched south. The Coven by comparison were a less direct threat, and though they too had threatened Bromjulnor in the past by the time they had arrived the Kingdom had been well prepared and well supported by forces from the south. "I am not a learned man, nor a student of the omens, but I can tell something is afoot; my workload has sharply increased with regards to the vandre and other magical creatures and I am receiving more pleas for assistance from remote villages."

"What does the Lord-Regent think?" The king spoke in a dread tone, his voice laden with foreboding as he turned to the Eladari representative who was also the Lord-Regent of the small Eladari enclave to the far north. The grey skinned man reached up to stroke his long braided beard with one of his spindly and taloned hands, a thoughtful expression crossing his features; he was Maz-a-Dur ban-Gilgamesh, an ancient even by the standards of his race who held supreme secular power over the Eladari of Bromjulnor - he was one of the two in the room who could remember the last Blightwar and the only one who could remember the last time the Coven had moved north. Salwen studied Maz-a-Dur closely, noting that his appearance had not changed a jot since his last meeting with him; age had not been kind to the Lord-Regent, but it seemed to have stopped its ravenous march for the time being. Tightly bound braids and knots in the man's long pure white hair pulled the loose flesh of his head and face back taut over his skull giving him smooth tight features, at the expense of a strange knotting and collecting of the folds of flesh at the back of his head. When at last he spoke it was in a soft papery voice which still possessed the gravelly bite of the powerful and imperious man he was.

"It is true what the Lord Greve says; an increase in the appearance of magical creatures, especially the vandre, is a clear indicator of a coming incursion by the Blightking or Coven. However it is also indicative of many other things; a necromancer of great skill for instance who is operating under an unusual degree of secrecy - or perhaps a rising of goblins led by a particularly powerful warlock. That said the scale of the situation described by Lord Sigurdsen implies something more." The Lord-Regent continued to stroke his beard, his eyes focused upon a point at the centre of the table at which they gathered, rather than upon one person in particular. His expression remained thoughtful and contemplative and those black eyes which did not follow anyone else gave away nothing; it was as though he were talking to himself, rather than a room full of people. "I shall send a message to my brothers and ask them to perform a full augury; in the meantime I suggest that you alert your Jarls and Tyegues to the potential danger and start laying plans to raise your banners."