Age of Blood and Fire [Medieval/Fantasy RP][IC]

[Kaledoria]

Karlswald, somewhere in the Orderlands of Röken

Goosegrell's body reformed in a nearby Bog. As she felt her limps able to move her again, she crawled out of the muddy water. The magic, that made her immortal had also created dirty rags to cover her deformed, giantish body.

First, she was drawn to the place where she had been imprisoned for over two centuries. She found the shattered stone statue and the corpses of two Ogres. The heads were missing. "The humans have learned their lesson," she cursed. But she was no ordinary necromancer, she knew the rare magic needed to create headless zombies, too. They were very limited servants but she didn't have any other corpses right now.

Curious about the circumstances of her release, she also caught a crow, that wasting to take a bite out of one of the corpses, took it into the grove and cut its belly open with her fingernails. The bird's blood turned into a fine mist and revealed to the Giantess, how the bandits had tried to fortify themselves in the grove, killed the Satyr and where in return killed by the knights, that she presumed to be Alcenian. The spell also let her to two nearby graves, it seamed, the humans had thrown all the bandits into a mass grave but dug a separate one for their last victim.

Without her staff, creating a headless Ogre Zombie took two nights and a day but Goosegrell did not feel like digging out graves herself. The Satyr was first, she wanted not his body but the lingering imprints of his mind. With less spectecular but nevertheless proficient necromantic magic, she extracted some traces of knowledge from his brain. She was surprised to find out, how long she had really been away. The Alcenian Republic had fallen and strife and splintered kingdoms had taken it's place. How opportune! It had been the impression of the Satyr, that the humans had not lifted some of the other races into their caste out of an idea of equality but as decoys, token minorities to pacify the native population and those that had migrated here from the south.

Goosegrell had no intention to cause another rebellion from within in the Savage frontier - or "Röken" as they now called it. The Humans had humiliated her and then the Beastpeople had betrayed her. She would come as a conquerer this time. She marched due northwest; deeper in the forests, she would find suitable new servants.

[Dragos Bee]

The Basilea

Despite all attempts to keep it on the down-low, word of the Royal Family-sponsored expedition to the Ruins of Carthak reached the common people, many of whom all went out to cheer the galley on before it sailed. Looking over the ship's deck, Cymrian marvelled at how...rich the common populace was, with dyed cloth being a common component of most costumes and uniforms. But even more wondrous was the joy that was present; how loved the current government was. Cymrian thought to himself: Maybe being taken by those raiders was the best route towards the Basilea after all. I had intended to go there as a free man, but I doubt I would have met the Prince if I had. And with that, the man of Gwynedd thought about how he had set off for the region in the first place.

Two years ago, on his sixteenth birthday, a prophecy had been made about him by the Priest-Seers of Gwynedd, saying that Cymrian's destiny was bound with a then-mysterious nation called the Basilea of the Eldest God. Cymrian would do great things and change the course of the world, but only if he met a 'Boy of Destiny' that lived in the 'City of Wisdom'. And so he was sent off on a boat, enduring many adventures and eluding many enemies, before ending up with two groups of raiders after him; one who traded with the Basilea for slaves (before the mandatory emancipation in Jubilee), and another who sold slaves to an unnamed other nation. Cymrian had chosen to be taken by the group of raiders that were going to take him to his destination anyway.

<Having fun with your reverie, Cymrian?> A voice spoke in his head; the Prince's. The redheaded, beardless warrior would turn to the deck, where his patron, dressed in his purple robes again, was waving his right hand. Cymrian smiled and waved back as Prince Andreas continued, <I'm glad you're happy.>

The reply from the warrior was, <Thank you, my liege. And thank you for the opportunity to prove myself in the Basilea's service.> Sincerity flowed out from him to his patron, and Cymrian didn't hold back. <I myself am glad to be trusted.>

Prince Andreas responded with, <The Galley's about to sail. Talk with the others on your team as well as me; you're their leader, after all.>

A faint smile followed after, which would have floored Cymrian if not for the fact that Veanne, the half-elven huntress bought-and-freed for the expedition, was approaching him. She was wearing a green plaid cloak of tough tweed fabric and leather armor with padding underneath, which nevertheless did not hide her feminine attributes. As she adjusted the composite bow on her back, she would say, "It seems you and the Prince have become lovebirds."

Cymrian felt no shame. "Yes, yes we are. Is the ship ready to sail yet?" He was changing the subject. "Yes, I am changing the subject."

A smile. "As ready as she will ever be. Oars checked, sails are about to be raised, and all hands are accounted for."

Looking at the cheering Prince and populace, Cymrian would say, "Then let's sail."

<I love you,> he telepathically whispered to Prince Andreas through his mind-link.

He felt the reply before hearing it. <I love you too, Cymrian.>

[Spindle]

Councilship Complex
Ferial Tialle
Shi Tialle

Morog and Sereth both considered the goblin's words carefully: Morog no doubt was concocting some number of ideas and plans, but Sereth was wondering if he was going to be forced to pull this duty once more when the goblin diplomats returned once more. It was possible - certainly, it felt like something the half-giant bastard would get up to - but Sereth fervently hoped that was just paranoia. Something within his soul told him that might not be the case. He shuddered for a moment: he was going to have to deal with those damned wolves again, and he didn't like the idea of that. They looked too intelligent for his liking.

And then there were bowls of that milky stuff - Draasaa, or something? - being handed out around the diplomats, each of them drinking with slow ceremony or, in Sierene's case, excited gulping. With that done, the bowls were returned to the goblins with equal ceremony and the Tialle complement bowed low before them. That seemed to be that, Sereth figured, so he had a fairly good idea of what happened now, and was ready and prepared when Morog Tii turned to him and gestured expansively towards the door:

"Sereth, you and your squad shall remain with our guests until they leave Tialle, as guide and liaison. Go."

With that Sereth was out of the doors; the goblins behind him, his squad ahead of him. As they caught sight of him, they waited until the goblins were exiting the door and reformed into an escort formation for their charges. A typical point-and-flank, Sereth noted, but tighter than usual. For a moment he considered that, before realising that relief was making them a touch over-tight. They thought they were done with the goblins' wolves. Sereth's grin was wide: they were going to hate it when they learned what their new assignment was.

"Let's go."

---

---

Kurush flinched visibly at Ealfred's outburst; Thal-Jarnden sighed to herself and rearranged her hands over her lap. Nuriene simply grinned like a loon. Kurush had a fairly good idea why: he'd heard that one of her friends had set fire to half a mountain - by accident, apparently - and of course the sappers would take that as a challenge. Setting fire to a forest would be an equal feat, he supposed, but one he'd rather keep from her. If only because he suspected she would be more willing to cooperate if he had that particular carrot to dangle in front of her.

"Tall and pointy-headed ain't wrong." Nuriene added after the Grand Master's comments, a diplomatic faux pas on more levels than Kurush cared to consider, "And we can off more than a few of them before they realise what's happened. Believe me, it'd be our pleasure."

[Ralnis]

Blackskin tribes - Kal'Mirrin - Nrumnir Mountains

The cat-folk, the Iniki, would continue to march up the hills and mountains slopes, finding no more souls to fight. They found hastily abandoned camps, signs of fresh battle, but only rustling in the forests would betray that something... Or someone... was avoiding them... As the Iniki would approach the vast gatehouse of Kal'Mirrin, they found its ancient, crumbling battlements filled with blackskin orcs, wearing a mix match of crude iron and steel armour, pike and sword, the howled and yelled, spitting down upon the Iniki, ignoring any of their calls.

The gate in front of them was open, allowing the cat-folk to stare into the dark depths, that was the soiled and desecrated crypt of Kal'Mirrin. They had but a moment to glance into its depths, enough to see the piles of bones that lined the walls, the broken gates a thousand, ugly, glaring yellow eyes staring back at them... A hulking figure walked out, an orc, nearly the size of a troll. A bulking form of flesh and muscle. Crude, ugly plates of armour covered his huge form and the orc held a tight grip of a huge slab of sharpened metal that was slung over his shoulder. Another hand seemed to hold the neck of a goblin, still screaming and squirming as if life depended on it. As he came into view, the orcs on the battlements began to cheer, yell and howl out of control. They chanted but one recognisable word.

"KARUK!!! KAAARUK!!! KAARUK!!"

The Orc looked upon the tiny creatures of in front of him and smiled a disgusting, toothy grin. He raised the goblin to his mouth, before ripping the goblin its throat out in a single, disgusting bite with his fangs. Karuk discarded the goblin corpse as if it had been but a snack and spoke to the cat-folk, goblin-blood still dripping from his face.

"Ma Boys Say ye gave a gud fight to tha weak ones down da mountain. I 'av nevar fought cat-folk before, lookin' forward to eet."

The sound, even the imposing figure, was enough for the diplomat to freeze in terror but the bannercat railied her forces around the Siamese Iniki.

" Get a hold of yourself!" She said shaking the leather shirt and lightly smacking him with the platmail glove.

The diplomat blinked and gave a nod," I'm sorry, I don't think he will talk normally."

The bannercat shook her head," it is never easy with Greenskins. Let me handle this venture now. Just pray that I survive, let alone win this."

The diplomat just started praying to the Jokai as the Bannercat picked up and rested her Zweihänder on her shoulder and put the green face helmet down. As she walked up to the giant of an orc. She knew that Greenskins were a fierce race to the cave-dwelling ones that she had fought before. This one was the biggest that she had seen, as tall as a Leashfiend and the smarts of a barbairian.

" Karuk,we didn't come here to fight." She said as she looked up to the beastly smile of the chieftain," but I know how diplomacy is done in your groups. So I challenge you or one of your champions to a duel. If I win, then you hear us out and if you or your champion wins then you can have us for a snack."

[Greater Dmanian]

Kingdom of Otrea
The City of Famont
King Herman

Then King sat idly on his throne as he dealt with proceedings of the court, entertaining a number of visitors be they foreign or of importance in the other dukedoms. He sat up as his adviser returned and approached him, giving a light bow as he got close before advancing up the small steps to his side.

"My Lord, an explorer by the name of Philip Bonneville has requested an audience with you." King Herman raised an eyebrow although not the first man the Kingdom had commissioned to explore and map the known world they usually did not invite themselves to the palace.
"Very well send him in, I would speak with this man."

Moments later his King's Guard opened the oak doors to the throne room and cleared their spears from the path allowing a man dressed in what appeared to be the latest fashion for self styled sailors, clearly impoverished from lack of work however his outfit frayed or splitting in areas he could not repair. He stopped at the foot of the throne and gave an overly deferent kneel and held it.

"You may arise Philip Bonneville, what brings you to my palace?" he inquired, leaning back in his throne as he awaited a reply,
"Your highness I come as a loyal subject with an offer, I believe that with your funding I can lead an expedition to discover a new route of trade to reach the Western kingdoms with great ease. Rather than simply endure the travel of a route through many unfriendly waters we can bypass them entirely and avoid the tolls that have strangled our income."

The King perked up at this, the notion had been murmured in his court recently of a shorter way around the Kingdom to the western continent however none had been so bold as to have attempted the thus far failed journey. The court seemed to agree as hushed voices rippled through nobles in the room.
"And why would I grant funds for you to attempt what has till this day be an abject failure, would you be another fool sent to be swallowed by the horizon along with my gold and reputation?" the King asked locking eyes with the visitor.
The Noble suppressed a smile as if he'd been waiting for such a challenge, "Ah but you see your highness, I would use your coffers to build a new ship, one more capable of surviving the open seas, a ship those before me lacked. A small investment and the wealth of the west could be opened up to you and perhaps opportunities to expand into the untamed territories." he responded in passable Imperial, the odd word in Otrean slang but still understandable.

The king brought his hand to his groomed beard, rubbing it gently as he considered the proposal. While he was not in the greatest financial situation such a route could prove invaluable, any losses hopefully recouped by the new trade proposal he had sent to Vindelicorum and future plans on the near continent.

"Very well you will be granted your funds and the blessing of the church and crown once my Master Shipbuilder inspects your designs. I will expect to be updated on the progress of the expedition and your crew only of the true faith." the king finally responded his voice slowed as scribes scribbled down his orders and records of the meeting for the Royal archive.

Philip gave another low bow, his face more of surprise than gratefulness perhaps expecting more resistance in his bid, "T-thank you my Lord, I will have my assistant bring the papers over at once!" before backing away at the wave of the King and leaving the hall.

The King sighed and waved for the next visitor be sent in.

---

Vindelicorum
The Northern Queen
Aeron Webber

The crew of the Otrean vessel greeted the inspectors with a smile and a shaking of hand, clearly exchanging a pouch of silver as they shook. Aeron pretended not to notice as he kept to the side and watched the official walk up the plank onto the vessel and begin inspecting the cargohold. A sailor spoke up next to him in low Otrean as the process went on, "The coin is to ensure we're not delayed anymore than we need to be, we'd be stuck for days if they found something not up to their buggered standard, and trust me you don't want to be here longer than need be."
The diplomat nodded curtly "Very well I best conclude my business the king has charged me with then" setting off after giving his bodyguard a wave to follow. He examined the markets as he passed them to the inner city, however his passing attention seemed to encourage those at the stall to try and invite him over.
"You look like you have a heavy purse my friend! Come over and see the finest silks!" one cried before Aeron opted to stare stone faced ahead and ignore their attempts at a hard sale.
Aeron's bodyguard rested his hand on the hilt of his longsword as they reached the edge of the market and into the more unsavoury and squalid streets away from the heavily guarded open market. Aeron himself kept a small dagger on hand to defend himself if it came to it.

[New Socialist South Africa]

Gates of Haldomor-Khal, Kingdom of Fifteen Peaks

Mažas, the old and white bearded goblin diplomat, commanded his riders to dismount, and some held and comforted the wolves as he, the young diviner and the banner carrier went forward to greet the High Chamberlain in the feast hall.

“Hail to you, oh great bearded one!” croaked the elderly goblin diplomat in fluent but arcane Dwarven, employing an old sort of diplomacy they just didn’t teach anymore, one of over the top grandeur and performance. “If it please you to know, I am Mažas. I come before you upon the bidding of Greitas the Cunning, Vadas of the Gaisras clan and Didyis Vadas of the goblins of Wolf Forest. We have heard tidings of the reemergence of this greatest of Dwarven kingdoms, and come to offer good terms between our two mighty nations. We also come with the intent to forge an alliance of life and against the coming dark that threatens to destroy us all, lest we unite to faceand defeat it!”

The old goblin diplomat motioned for one of the riders to come forward. “We bring offerings of drasa and smoked deer meat as a sign of our good intentions”.

The white liquid of the drasa was poured into bowls, and the old goblin drank deeply of the one before him, while another was offered to the Dwarf.

“To whom do I have the utmost of pleasures in addressing?” He asked the Dwarf, who had yet to introduce himself.

Ferial Tialle, Shi Tialle

Reunited at the gates of the city, five goblin riders were sent back to Wolf Forest to bring good tidings of the deal that had been made, while the other 27 of the party were to carry on north west to the Dwarven holds of Kal’Erundir, to see if an alliance could be forged with them as well.

Before they departed however, Sekme and Akys each gave the sentry Sereth a gift. Sekme handed him a deerskin canteen of drasa, as a sign of his thanks for guiding them through the city. Akys by comparison offered him a small wooden carving in the shape of a Raven.

“It is an amulet of Varna” explained Sekme. “She says it will help to let her guide you in your life, to help you follow the best and safest path, and to help you escape the darkness, and live on in the freedom of the wild. May it bring you luck and guidance good Sereth. Until we meet again”.

And with that, the goblins rode north, for Kal’Erundir.

[Tysklandia]

Summer of the 57th Year of the current age

Lucania Maxima - Legio IX

The field littered with the black, blood of the orc. Spears and swords littered across the field, cut deep in rotting corpses as far as the eye could see... Charred and scorched pockets of earth marked the location of orc turned to glass, forever cemented in their moment of death, a split moment of endless pain and fear...

The 9th legion and its men had collapsed to their knees... Resting amongst the corpses of their enemies, utterly exhausting from the fight that had lasted nearly a full day. The air was foul and disgusting, the small of piss, fear and death spreading for miles... Marius Eridrianus, a prodigy amongst those who served the silver tower, flew in from the capitol, had ignored the orders from the senate not to risk Gleadr, one of the few Alcenian dragons in the silver tower that had such control over its own flaming breath. Eridrianus his father was the legate of the 9th Legion and the boy could not bear to see his father risk his life only so that he and the dragon he called brother would suffer no risk... He had flew from Alcenia the first chance he had, right in time. He and Gleadr had burned hundreds alive, clawed and ripped through hundreds more... As the battle progressed, pikes, spears and arrows did cut into the dragons flesh and scale, but the damage had been done.

The fear of dragonfire had shaken the orcish resolve, allowing the legion to march forth and butcher the slow crumbling horde of orcish warriors. The equites had rushed in from the flanks and it had become an utter massacre. The orcs fought to the last, but surrounded by a shieldwall, covered in spears... They died a pathetic death... The Legion had suffered their own losses, but they paled in comparison to the brutal defeat of the brunbar horde. But even with the tens of thousands dead on the slopes of their hill, many more hid in their halls and fortresses... The fight to retake the mines and to clear the ancient dwarven ruins in which the orcs often hide... The 9th would never be able to clear them all... But if the mines could be worked, that would allow the trade in Vindelicorum to grow once more.

The legate himself, walked to the center of the battlefield, where a hulking monstrosity of a dragon lay on its belly, breathing heavily as arrows dotted its body and it bled freely from wounds in its belly. The best surgeons of the legion worked on the heavily breathing beast, as his son, Marius, cared for a wound just underneath the beast its eye.

"Careless, Marius... The senate will have your head if he dies..."

His son laughed as he administred a strange paste, made from grounded herbs into the wound. The boy was covered in the blood of man, beast and dragon, his eyes, although blue, had a strange blood red glare, just as his dragon. As a father he looked at his son and knew... He knew that boy would do great things in his life... But still, his stomach turned, woe unto any man who stood against that boy in the field of battle...

"It will need more to kill Gleadr father. They will have my head... and yours, in marble on the walls of the senate before the year is over... You and me father, we will have these mountains and after that... The world."

War camp of Ealfred, king of Mercia

King Ealfred shudderd as the Grand-master spoke of his plan, his plan to condemn thousands of children to their death, a death without any retribution... It was something, even if his plan seemed realistic, he could not accept. The king, looked at both men and shook his head.

"I can not condemn my subjects to a life of fear, a life of hiding in our keeps and walls knowing what they have done to us... Half the southern province has been burned to ash, its people murdered and the innocent taken for leverage... I can't sit here and do nothing, my honor and the oath to my people demands action... You, you speak as if you can do this? Burn their forests? Smoke them out of their hidden homes?"

The king turned to the Taille, even though they spoke with disrespect to men of standing, men of noble blood, he needed them as they were. He would have to accept their insolence for the moment...

"The summer heat will come soon, with it the soil can turn dry if the rains stop long enough. With enough men and luck we can start a fire that burns for days, if not weeks. The forest will be filled with smoke and ash, they will have to act, just as they forced us to do... What say you?"

The halls of Kal'Erundir - mithril peak mountains

The land in front of Mithril peak mountains was a calm one... The dawi of Erundir only allowed trade to flow if the surface dwellers in front of the mountains were at peace. The petty kings and cities all thrived with trade to the enigmatic dawi that lived in those mountains, if any looked for war, the dawi simply cut off their trade, causing an uproar amongst their wealthy and influential. It did not allways end conflict, but it created atleast a semblence of stability...

The road and path up the mountains, that led to the main Kal of the Mithril peak mountains, that of Kal'Erundir, was a well known one. Men and beast alike spoke that a small way's up the mountain, approachable by well traversed paths through pineforests, snow covered paths, Lay a small settlement, where man and elf could trade with the dawi. For very few had been allowed up the winding and hidden paths up the mountain to look upon the gates of the dwarven keep, so the dawi had a small settlement, carved into the foot of the mountain, where they traded for grain and other goods of men. The path leading it to it was well traversed and filled with merchant caravans, and sole traders travelling to the dwarven outpost, apparently named Kal'nar.

Upon the road, travellers would frighten from the goblin approaching the roads, often even bearings arms to scare them away. But after explaining themselves, the travellers on the road, although still fearful and brandishing arms, would tell the forest dwelling goblins that the dawi of Kal'Erundir were a people that did not look kindly upon strangers walking up their mountain... Especially... Their kind.
The warnings the traders dispensed were clear and if the goblins travelled the roads and sloped of the Mithril peak mountains, they would quickly realised something was tracking them, watching them, from a great distance. From up the mountain slopes, hidden in the pine forests, they were watching them.

Blackskin tribes - Kal'Mirrin - Nrumnir Mountains

The massive Orc, known now as Karuk, Only smiled a disgusting, toothy grin, as he gripped his oversized blade firmly. The nearly three meter long slab of metal was handled as if it was but a twig, the bulkingg and massive musscles of the beast providing the neccesary strength with ease. Not even bothering to respond to comments of the cat-creature, the orc took a single step forward and swung his blade swiftly towards the ground, where the Iniki stood. The impact would sunder the ground, causing dirt and mud to fling in the air. Karuk was a beast of immense strength and relied on such brutish efforts in battle. His blade would cut through the air as if it was but a dagger. Karuk his movements were crude, but swift and brutal in power. A single mistake would have the Iniki cut in half as the monsterous beast growled and howled amongst the battlecries of a thousand orcs.

Vindelicorum
The Northern Queen
Aeron Webber

The crew of the Otrean vessel greeted the inspectors with a smile and a shaking of hand, clearly exchanging a pouch of silver as they shook. Aeron pretended not to notice as he kept to the side and watched the official walk up the plank onto the vessel and begin inspecting the cargohold. A sailor spoke up next to him in low Otrean as the process went on, "The coin is to ensure we're not delayed anymore than we need to be, we'd be stuck for days if they found something not up to their buggered standard, and trust me you don't want to be here longer than need be."
The diplomat nodded curtly "Very well I best conclude my business the king has charged me with then" setting off after giving his bodyguard a wave to follow. He examined the markets as he passed them to the inner city, however his passing attention seemed to encourage those at the stall to try and invite him over.
"You look like you have a heavy purse my friend! Come over and see the finest silks!" one cried before Aeron opted to stare stone faced ahead and ignore their attempts at a hard sale.
Aeron's bodyguard rested his hand on the hilt of his longsword as they reached the edge of the market and into the more unsavoury and squalid streets away from the heavily guarded open market. Aeron himself kept a small dagger on hand to defend himself if it came to it.

The harbor inspector took the money with practice ease and after but a short stroll through the ship, if only to ensure nothing too dangerous was being smuggled in, the ship was cleared to dock and offer its wares in the docking district its markets. Aeron and his party would travel the squalid streets of the docking district and be met with more than one unsavory stare. Many foreign faces and visitors housed in the docking district. Only the main streets were truly safe as merchants and traders often hired their own security to protect their ships and warehouses... Aeron and his guard would be seen as too much trouble to rob, especially with the market closing so soon. Too many faces, too many guards nearby. The winding streets would allways lead back to the main road that led to the market square and the docks on one side and a gatehouse on the other...

The entire docking district was walled off, as if the docks were an enclave inside Vindelicorum. It was something done to avoid riots in the docks or even pirates spreading through the city... a possé of nearly thirty guards leaned and sat in the shade near the gatehouse, wheras a few men actually performed the effort to check and inspect those travelling into Vindelicorum proper. The gatehouse itself ranged nearly 3 houses tall, marking not one, but three different portcullises, all opened, to quicken the traffic of Alcenian traders and merchantmen traveling to and from the market. The walls ranged far, running around the docking district, it alone already the size of most large towns. Upon attempting to enter, the guard would stop Aeron, picking him out as a foreigner with practiced ease. Only one spoke to them after a tired and annoyed sigh, the others simply lounging against the walls, a few even playing guards in a guard room nearby.

"No foreigners in Vindelicorum... Everybody knows that, enough brothels and inns in the docks."

[Kaledoria]

Grakata Tribe, Deep in the Westerwoods

In his tent the Orcish Chief Thurak was discussing matters of war and politics with his Generals. Since he had reunited his father's lands, his campaigns had been most fortunate, his dominion extended over a great number of lesser tribes and he fielded an impressive army.

"So, pacification of the northern subjects goes well, good, good. Gnarush, how about your efforts in the east?"
One of the generals answered: "The smithies are running day and knight. We are producing a lot of axes and swords to replace those broken in the last battle and to outfit the Scarless. We are above schedule. However, the armor-smiths say, they need more wiredrawers to keep the chain-mail armor coming."
"Well, they shall have a hundred slaves, if simple labor is all they need," Thurak answered, when the last general interrupted him: "My Chief, there is a problem, ..." Thurak looked at him harshly: "Yes, what do you have to report about the west and how does that matter for our slaves?"
"I have to report," the Orc said nervously, "we were making great gains in the west. mostly because the Goblin tribes managed to avoid us, they burned their fields and ran away with their families and livestock. I have secured the area and given it out to the tribesmen along with most of the slaves, to get at least one cycle of lecture this year."

Thurak had a bad reputation among the common men of his tribe but he knew, that it was best to be fair and supportive with his warriors. This was basically something that his vassal had the right to do, he would have done the same. That they now had a shortage of slaves was unfortunate but not catastrophic: "Now that sounds like a reasonable thing to do and we will probably need those vegetables, too, as it means, that we will have to focus on raiding the mountain tribes for more slaves again. Seriously, if every problem was, that my realm is growing to fast to use it efficiently, than I would be all out of problems." He laughed and stood up signaling that the business part was over and that they would be celebrating now.
"Bring in the brandy and some bitches," he shouted outside and the tension among his warriors eased. But his servants did not enter, instead a staff - no a tree's trunk went through the door and was then janked upwards, pulling away the tent's hide as well as some of the wooden frame.

Then they saw, who was holding this staff: A large giant, twice as tall as even a well-build soldier. "This is not a nice word!" she said and Thurak realized, it was a female. Ogreish traits were fairly dominant in her face but there was more. She looked like a corpse.

"You Orcs lack respect, that is good. But you also lack perspective." she said, before stretching out her empty hand towards Thurak. A mist formed around it and then flew over to the Chief, while she continued to talk: "You are fighters, for sure, conquerors even, who subjugate many people and then you die and your realm shatters again. That is why you need proper leadership..." The mist embraced Thurak's head and suddenly he started coughing and choking, dropped down, barely controlling his body. "...like me! Goosegrell, your new Empress." The Giantess laughed and the Orcs attacked. With a sweep of the trunk she used like a club, she kept them at bay. Another attack, one of the chieftain's bodyguards went first and was hit by the club, going down in one strike. Goosegrell moved back but kept her second hand pointed towards Thurak whose body was shaking with spasms.

Three orcs threw swords at her, she deflected two with the club while the third hit her right in the chest, the blade buried itself deep into her flesh and bones, right where the heart should be. She just laughed, again, dropped her club and drew the sword from her chest. The Orcs were shocked but it got even worse when Thurak suddenly had another burst of choking and spasms before going limp.

"Bastard Ogre bitch!" one of the Orcs screamed and charged, only to be hit be the sword, thrown back by Goosegrell. The other two Generals exchanged hand-signs to device a tactic, even though the enemy seamed overpowering but suddenly Thurak's voice stopped them: "Stand down! There is no reason in all of us getting killed!" He shouted, as he rose again. His eyes were blood red around a small, black pupil. His voice - despite clearly still being his own - had slightly changed, as he was no longer breathing instinctively.

It was the last justification, that the Orcish blood-lust needed to surrender to their sense of self-preservation. They backed away and Thurak walked next to Goosegrell, casually. She petted his head and a new cloud of the same mist as before emerged from her hand, only to vanish into his nose and mouth right away, this time. (She needed to sustain him that way for now, until she could turn him into a proper undead. This definitely annoyed Goosegrell, but she hid those emotions).

"And you," Goosegrell leaned over to the Orc she had downed with the sword. His armor had stopped the blade and even though she had probably broken a rib or two, he was still alive: "Was it you who allowed those Goblins to flee? You better bring me to the place where they lived and pray that we can find them again, or I'm having much more pain for you in stock than what you are experiencing now."

[Wysten]

War camp of Ealfred, king of Mercia

King Ealfred shudderd as the Grand-master spoke of his plan, his plan to condemn thousands of children to their death, a death without any retribution... It was something, even if his plan seemed realistic, he could not accept. The king, looked at both men and shook his head.

"I can not condemn my subjects to a life of fear, a life of hiding in our keeps and walls knowing what they have done to us... Half the southern province has been burned to ash, its people murdered and the innocent taken for leverage... I can't sit here and do nothing, my honor and the oath to my people demands action... You, you speak as if you can do this? Burn their forests? Smoke them out of their hidden homes?"

The king turned to the Taille, even though they spoke with disrespect to men of standing, men of noble blood, he needed them as they were. He would have to accept their insolence for the moment...

"The summer heat will come soon, with it the soil can turn dry if the rains stop long enough. With enough men and luck we can start a fire that burns for days, if not weeks. The forest will be filled with smoke and ash, they will have to act, just as they forced us to do... What say you?"

Niav gave a loud laugh. "Fine then." He said his voice turned emtionless as he pulled out his dagger and slammed it into the table. "Let me butcher and rape your kingdom first. Because I can assure you that my burnings and pillages will be merciful as compared to what the Goblins are going to do once you burn their forest. You are a fool who lets emotions and your own warped sense of honor cloud his judgement believe me when I say this Ealfred. Those children are dead and butchered heed my plan and their sacrifice will not be in vane."

[Ralnis]

Blackskin tribes - Kal'Mirrin - Nrumnir Mountains

The massive Orc, known now as Karuk, Only smiled a disgusting, toothy grin, as he gripped his oversized blade firmly. The nearly three meter long slab of metal was handled as if it was but a twig, the bulkingg and massive musscles of the beast providing the neccesary strength with ease. Not even bothering to respond to comments of the cat-creature, the orc took a single step forward and swung his blade swiftly towards the ground, where the Iniki stood. The impact would sunder the ground, causing dirt and mud to fling in the air. Karuk was a beast of immense strength and relied on such brutish efforts in battle. His blade would cut through the air as if it was but a dagger. Karuk his movements were crude, but swift and brutal in power. A single mistake would have the Iniki cut in half as the monsterous beast growled and howled amongst the battlecries of a thousand orcs.

The Bannercat seemed unfazed at the giant slab of metal. Of course she wasn't even a quarter of the Orc's size but she has fought creatures as big as Krauk but none as intelligent or brutal. As the Bannercat saw that swing coming at her, she dodged on all fours as the ground cracked underneath her paws. She was fast despite the platemail she was wearing but she knew that one false move and its her head. She manage to get behind the Orc and try to use her zweihander to try and cut one of the expose muscle on his leg as a means of trying to climb up the Orc's back and proceed to stab it in its spine.

[New Socialist South Africa]

Kal’nar, foot of the Mithril Peak Mountains

Sekme had not expected a warm welcome. The goblins had long been despised and mistrusted by men and dwarves alike. The exact reason why had long since been lost to time, but Sekme’s own suspicion was that in a time of scarce resources, the men and dwarves had favoured those who looked like them, rather that the short, big eared, bulbous nosed and beady eyed goblins. From there centuries of raids, petty conflicts, the enslavement of goblins and subsequent slave rebellions had left the races divided and hateful of one another. In general anyway. As such, the fear and warnings of the travelers were of little surprise, even with the sheepskin banner of peace.

The goblins had eventually made their way to Kal’nar, the trading town at the foot of the mountains where they heard they would find Kal’Erundir. Here the riders sought out a place to sleep for the night, and information of how the could meet with the Dwarves of the mountain.

Sekme headed to the nearest inn with his guards, to ask the innkeeper of how he could get in contact with the Dwarves, or of where he could find the path up to their mountain so he could talk with them directly.

[Greater Dmanian]

Vindelicorum
Aeron Webber

Aeron raised an eyebrow as the guard halted him, "No foreigners in Vindelicorum... Everybody knows that, enough brothels and inns in the docks."
Taken aback a moment he let out a soft chuckle, "I am no sailor or trader good Sir; I am a diplomat charged by King Herman of Otrea to meet with your senate or whomever has the authority to deal on their behalf."
He paused hoping for a positive reply although he already checked he had a pouch of silver ready to bribe his way through. Though he didn't expect the tired guards to push the issue, well not so far that silver could not weaken what resolve they had in the late day shift.

---

Otrea
The Duchy of Aphenset
The sun slowly crept across the frosty town in the southern reaches of the kingdom, it's townsfolk long from their beds however for an increasingly common spectacle was to be witnessed a pyre had been hastily constructed over night and now an increasingly large crowd had began to form around it held back by a small contingent of local soldiers, small gaggles of idle peasants and artisans continued to drift in as an Otrean Priest climbed a podium near the thawing pyre. He was respectably dressed in the white and purple cloth of the Faith and relatively young for his station, however the young faith had found it expedient to take on young zealots who took to the teachings of Otar.
The crowd grew more restless as they witnessed the arrival of the Priest and went wild when the prisoner followed. The woman appeared to be rather young, wearing a self styled garment decorated with symbols and runes unfamiliar to the ignorant peasantry. It was clearly once a fine outfit however days in the dungeon and more days of torture had left it ripped and dirty, she hobbled behind the guard who lead her towards the pyre the whole way various objects pelted her as the mob grew ferocious, "Burn her!", "Burn the Sorceress" they cried out, the pelting only ceasing when the guard reached the wooden structure and secured her to it with little resistance. Once satisfied she was secure the priest turned from the pyre to face the excited crowd and produced a scroll holding it out in front of him.

"In the name of King Herman of Otrea for the crimes of Sorcery, Heresy against the true faith, slaying of an infant, Necromancy and conspiracy to commit High Treason you are hereby sentenced to death by burning."
The Priest read out in a booming voice, putting greater emphasis as he read the individual charge and each time the crowd roaring louder in outrage, feverish calls for brutal execution or burning ringing throughout the town centre. The Priest turned to the executioner and nodded; the hooded man quickly approaching the pyre he began lighting it at all corners, the fire catching quickly to the pyre which had already mostly dried in the morning sun. The guards surrounding the pyre began to struggle to contain the crowd as the flames began to spread up the pyre, the sorceress still motionless even as smoke began to engulf her.

Eventually her stoic resistance began to crumble, her feet dancing on the hot wood. Within minutes sounds of discomfort became blood curdling screams as the fire caught the remnants of her clothes. The crowd has doubled since the fire was lit and the priest began to make his move. "Had she repented perhaps she would have been spared this torment and soon Otar's wrath." the priest mused in an almost remorseful tone, pushing through the crowd to his horse.

[Tysklandia]

Summer of the 57th Year of the current age

War camp of Ealfred, king of Mercia

Niav gave a loud laugh. "Fine then." He said his voice turned emtionless as he pulled out his dagger and slammed it into the table. "Let me butcher and rape your kingdom first. Because I can assure you that my burnings and pillages will be merciful as compared to what the Goblins are going to do once you burn their forest. You are a fool who lets emotions and your own warped sense of honor cloud his judgement believe me when I say this Ealfred. Those children are dead and butchered heed my plan and their sacrifice will not be in vane."

The dull and spartan wartent of Ealfred was as silent as the dark of night but for a moment, before all the bannerman of Ealfred yelled out in outrage and more than one drew a blade, pointing it an Niav and his men.
The king of mercin his face betrayed only thinly contained anger.

"You dare make jokes of this? HALF MY KINGDOM IS AFLAME! THE PEASANTS DEAD, OUR GRANERIES LOST AND NO MEN LEFT TO FILL THEM! AND YOU WANT US TO BUILD WALLS AROUND RUINS? SEND ARCHERS TO PROTECT GRAVEYARDS? THEY KILLED EVERYONE, EVERY CHILD, EVERY WOMAN, EVERY MAN!"

Ealfred his voice boomed through tent as his rage could no longer be contained. His fist bashed on the table, causing it to crack.

"Greenskin filth burned my villages, raped and killed my people. I will NOT let this stand. You may fear the might of the greenskin, then you can take your knights and walk out of here in fear and I will let every king on this side of the Westerwoods know of your cowardess. My army will burn these greenskin rats out their homes, even if it is the last thing I do. The time of the beast is OVER! I refuse to let them have their way with us."

The king his voice became ice, as he look at the grand master with every bit of authority a king of men could muster. An auro of enraged wisdom that came only with age and tribulation.

"If you truly believe the way to respond to pillaging greenskins is to hide in your towns and cities and let the countryside burn, letting your woman be raped unpunished... THESE BASTARDS ALREADY RUINED HALF THIS YEARS CROP? DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?"

Ealfred pointed to the exit of the tent as his voice began to tremble.

"If you are here to give cowardly advice to a true king, then leave. Take your ships and cross the great pond, if that is what you aim to do, then you should have never came. I aim to kill these beasts or die trying.
You can fight with me or take your cowardly knights and leave ... MY LANDS!"

Foothills Kal'Erundir - Kal'nar trade outpost - mithril peak mountains

As the goblins of sekme walked the path they soon realised it suddenly was abdoned. No more carts or merchants came up the road and none were found in front of them on the path. As they continued up the path, they soon came unto a break in the woods, where a large stone wall carved out a clearing in the pinewoods on the slopes of the Mithril peak mountains. Carts and trade stalls in front of the gatehouse seemed hastly abandoned, even the walls seemed abscent of patrolling guards. The gate, made of thick wood, firmly shut. As sekme and his party, waving the sheepskin banner of peace, walked to the gatehouse, they heard the snapping of twigs behind them...

https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/im ... 1480897134

A pair of massive boards walked unto the path, snow stuck to their fur and the plate armor that expertly covered their form. Both beasts had a rider, a short, stout figure, clad in metal from head to toe. Only a pair of angry, brown eyes staring back at Sekme and his band of travellers as they gripped their spears tightly.

From their left and right, hard leather boots erupted from edge of the woods, stepping into deep snow. A thick pearl-white snowcat cloack and cowl hid their face and body, but the heavy and loaded crossbow they carried, made their disposition rather clear.

Then, the gate of Kal'Nar opened, with a creaking shudder as three plate-covered dwarves walked out. Stopping in front of the gatehouse, they stared at the goblin party as it became clear movement and shuffling could be heard from the walls above...

One of the three dwarves spoke, his voice harsh, deep, croaking almost.

"What is it ye want, greenskin rat. Waving a white banner won't save your skin here. "

[Spindle]

War Camp
Celin Floodplains
Mercin

The conversation between Niav and Ealfred descended into anger and fiery rhetoric within the span of a few heartbeats, and the Tialle flinched almost in unison as Ealfred finally snapped and unleashed a diatribe against the Kav. As the vitriol faded away, in the ringing silence which remained they glanced amongst each other, eyes probing into thoughts before Thal-Jarnden deflated slightly and took a step back as Nuriene rolled her eyes and stepped into the empty space, her footsteps suddenly overly-loud in her ears and the ears of the other Tialle.

"Perhaps a compromise, gents?" Nuriene drawled, finsing a space between between the two men, "We ain't gonna be able to set everything on fire until we reach a few weeks into summer at least - we can't work miracles, whatever the grunts think. Why not keep the Kav and let them coordinate the defence until then? If nothing else, I'd rather keep some more bastards on our side to die instead of me."

Turning to one side, she spat onto the floor, caught herself, and grimmaced.

"Err...my Lords." She added.

[New Socialist South Africa]

Foothills Kal'Erundir - Kal'nar trade outpost - Mithril Peak mountains

Sekme bit his tongue, holding back the insults he would love to lay upon the greedy ones after they called him and his riders “Greenskin rats”. Instead Sekme gave a broad and luxurious smile, showing off his sharp teeth.

“Greetings to you, great warriors of Kal’Erundir” said Sekme in fluent but thickly accented Dwarven. “I am Sekme, and I come to your fabled halls on behalf of Greitas the Cunning, Vadas of the Gaisras Clan and Didyis Vadas of the Goblins of Wolf Forest. I seek a meeting with your proud lord King, and offer good terms between our two great nations. We seek the ending of old distrust, and seek an alliance of life against the coming of the evil one. Together we can set aside our differences, and ensure the flourishing of both our peoples”.

“And what is your name, fine warrior?” Sekme asked the Dwarf who had addressed them.

The goblins had expected a frosty reception, perhaps even a hostile one, but they hoped that common courtesy and diplomatic tradition would keep things from turning bloody.

[Tysklandia]

Foothills Kal'Erundir - Kal'nar trade outpost - Mithril Peak mountains

Sekme bit his tongue, holding back the insults he would love to lay upon the stunties after they called him and his riders “Greenskin rats”. Instead Sekme gave a broad and luxurious smile, showing off his sharp teeth.

“Greetings to you, great warriors of Kal’Erundir” said Sekme in fluent but thickly accented Dwarven. “I am Sekme, and I come to your fabled halls on behalf of Greitas the Cunning, Vadas of the Gaisras Clan and Didyis Vadas of the Goblins of Wolf Forest. I seek a meeting with your proud lord King, and offer good terms between our two great nations. We seek the ending of old distrust, and seek an alliance of life against the coming of the evil one. Together we can set aside our differences, and ensure the flourishing of both our peoples”.

“And what is your name, fine warrior?” Sekme asked the Dwarf who had addressed them.

The goblins had expected a frosty reception, perhaps even a hostile one, but they hoped that common courtesy and diplomatic tradition would keep things from turning bloody.

Ulfric Ironpike narrowed his eyes, the false praise and silk words coming out of the goblins mouth made his skin crawl. There was no single dwarf alive in the dominion of Kal’Erundir that had not lost family to the cave dwelling goblins. The age long fight for who would dominate the mountains and its riches had never truly come to an end. The end of the age of woes was considered to be a short respite, for the dawi of Erundir knew that they still hid underground in their hidden cave villages and cities. Forever vengeful for the beard folk that had claimed the mountain for themselves and cast them out.

But each time the cities of the dawi cast them back out into the tunnels and caves, some crawled to the surface, to torment and seek vengeance upon the farmers and dwarves that lived on the slopes of the great mountain, in which they failed to gain entry. To torment dwarves like Clan Ironpike, a wealthy and influential dwarfish family with a long, proud history. They had held onto the slopes of the mountain upon which Kal’Erundir sat for nearly four centuries. But with that blessing came the necessity to protect it, for themselves and for their king. Because of this, there was not a single man in the Ironpike clan who lived a long life and had not sullied his axe or pike with goblin blood.

“You? See the High king to propose friendship between us and your kind?”

Ulfric scoffed and laughed, a crude, bouldering laugh marked by short coughing fits, at the end of it, the dwarf removed his helmet, a lengthy procedure by loosening a pair of tight leather straps. He dropped the helmet in the snow at his feet and spat at the feet of the goblins in front of him.

“I would never dare to sully my clans name by ever leading a green skin to the gates of Kal’Erundir… Alive that is. Now, by the decree of the high king, this road and those who walk upon it are exempt of our laws, but that road ends right here. So, if you wish to speak about your great evil, you do it right here, so I can laugh at your petty lies.”

#racismisokaywhenitisfantasy

---

---

War Camp
Celin Floodplains
Mercin

The conversation between Niav and Ealfred descended into anger and fiery rhetoric within the span of a few heartbeats, and the Tialle flinched almost in unison as Ealfred finally snapped and unleashed a diatribe against the Kav. As the vitriol faded away, in the ringing silence which remained they glanced amongst each other, eyes probing into thoughts before Thal-Jarnden deflated slightly and took a step back as Nuriene rolled her eyes and stepped into the empty space, her footsteps suddenly overly-loud in her ears and the ears of the other Tialle.

"Perhaps a compromise, gents?" Nuriene drawled, finsing a space between between the two men, "We ain't gonna be able to set everything on fire until we reach a few weeks into summer at least - we can't work miracles, whatever the grunts think. Why not keep the Kav and let them coordinate the defence until then? If nothing else, I'd rather keep some more bastards on our side to die instead of me."

Turning to one side, she spat onto the floor, caught herself, and grimmaced.

"Err...my Lords." She added.

Ealfred narrowed his eyes at the continued disrespect the Taille kept showing him. Not even proper decorum could be expected from their generals. It seemed many of the rumors that travelled the world about their people were right after all… But he needed these people and he could not risk turning them away by putting them in their place. No matter their opinion about nobility and the social structure of society, he needed their men in battle, so instead of lashing out in annoyance and anger, he sighed and eventually nodded.

“I would vote against splitting the forces we have left, but any time spent here in the south can be spent recruiting men. Considering the damage these goblins have wrought, the Rohirim can perhaps be convinced, the kings to the west could perhaps spare more men and crossbows…”

The king of Mercin fell silent, glancing at the grand-master to gauge his response.

---

---

Vindelicorum
Aeron Webber

Aeron raised an eyebrow as the guard halted him, "No foreigners in Vindelicorum... Everybody knows that, enough brothels and inns in the docks."
Taken aback a moment he let out a soft chuckle, "I am no sailor or trader good Sir; I am a diplomat charged by King Herman of Otrea to meet with your senate or whomever has the authority to deal on their behalf."
He paused hoping for a positive reply although he already checked he had a pouch of silver ready to bribe his way through. Though he didn't expect the tired guards to push the issue, well not so far that silver could not weaken what resolve they had in the late day shift.

Vindelicorum - Inner city gatehouse at the docks

The guard tilted an eyebrow and scoffed, apparently out of habit more so than anything else. A second went by as the man realized that this was an excuse he hadn't heard before. Many wanted to enter the inner-city, either out of curiosity, access to the inner-city markets or more nefarious reasons... But claiming to be an envoy of a foreign king? That was new...

The guard told Webber to wait as he dived into the gatehouse, speaking in hushed tones with the men inside. After several minutes, he and another walked out. The new arrival passed through the gate towards the inner-city, mounting a horse and riding off into the distance.

The guard offered the foreigner some water or wine, telling him they had sent a rider to the senate, to see if he could be escorted inside... Minutes passed as the guards continued their work, telling many traders to sod off, a choice few allowed through, likely citizens or merchants with important connections inside the city.

As the time passed marked over an hour, four riders arrived at the gate, wearing the outfit of the Alcenian legionnaire. The gatehouse guards immediately shook awake, rushing to their positions as they slammed their balled right fist on their chest in a form of salute. The four riders, still mounted, strolled gently through the gatehouse, stopping in front of the foreign envoy. Their chainmail was covered with sparse plate, focused on their legs and chest, a fine purple cloak attached by golden badges flowed across the back of the perfectly combed horses. Each had an inquisitive look on their face that only a trained bodyguard or experienced soldier would have.

They spoke with Webber, asking the same questions as before. One of them searched through his pack, even checking him for hidden weapons or goods. Looking unsatisfied with the answers given, they still escorted the Envoy through the inner streets of Vindelicorum.

The ancient city was something strange, something from a dream. Alcenian ruins dotted the known world and bathhouses, Amphitheaters, Alcenian brick houses ranging 3 stories tall, parks, fine cobbled roads... The sheer absence of shit-buckets on the streets for goodness sake... Even then everything looked familiar... The architecture, the roads, the walls... But it had never been this... complete. Instead of ruins, this vast metropolis seemed alive. As they left the dock district and the walls that separated it from the inner-city behind, it seemed as if this city never ended...

They walked next to a vast channel, mired by trees, grass and parks, noticing that cogs and other ships were navigated through, pulled by horse and rope on a thin path next to the man-made river that cut through Vindelicorum. The bustling and organized chaos of the city seemed different, as if the people here lived on another world, cut off from the worries and troubles of whatever went on outside.

Few payed the foreign visitor some mind, outside of a few playing children who were quickly, but gently, reprimanded by one of the legionnaires. They walked through the crowded city streets, the 4 horse riders always given a clear berth on their path. The passed busy markets stalls, vast stone constructions, bathhouses, offices, guard houses, a fire station, villas that seemed decadent and extravagant, even from the outside. Ancient statues dotted squares, depicting dragons, great beasts carved out of marble, great Alcenian men, generals, Emperors and Empresses, philosophers and all kinds.

https://i.pinimg.com/originals/79/f7/44 ... 5adc39.jpg

The city looked affluent beyond compare, but a well-trained eye would notice that the city was grand and Impressive, but mostly because of its age and Imperial history. It seemed the metropolis had gone through a golden age a long time ago and that its people and its rulers were struggling to keep up the veneer of power and affluence. Or such it would seem by the atmosphere of the city and the state of the buildings in it.

After nearly an hour of walking, pushing through markets and crowds, they arrived at a vast open square, paved with marble tiles, decorated with statues and fountains, hedgerows and large, perfectly maintained swathes of plants, grass and flowers.

https://i.pinimg.com/originals/0f/b4/10 ... 40687d.jpg

Weber was led onto the steps of the senate, passing several men and women dressed in robes discussing several things from the recent successes of the 9th Legion in the north, the Hero of the Silver Tower, the price of grain, the colony on the Castidian sea, the difficulties of paying for the Republican fleet and more….

It seemed the seating of the senate had ended for the day, but many continued their discussion in the plaza in front, enjoying the last rays of the afternoon sun before they retreated back to their villas for the day.

Some stopped and looked at the foreigner as he was led up the steps, his clothing marking him out as out of place with ease. As he walked into the large open halls of the senate, he was led to a vast auditorium, where a few men still sat, spread across the circular room. A handful of servants were present, serving wine and food as the men seemed to be waiting on the arrival of the foreigner, who was brought to the center of the room, before the legionnaires excused themselves with a bow towards the elderly senators in the room.

One man, with greying brown hair put down his glass and spoke with a clear voice.

"I am Marius Branus of the Alcenian Republic, I heard you bring word of the king of Otrea. The docks of our fair city are often blessed by the presence of your ships. Speak envoy, and we will listen.”

Marius seemed an elderly man, firm and to the point. He waved his hand as he made finished his words, as if to motivate the foreigner to get on with it.

[New Socialist South Africa]

Foothills Kal'Erundir - Kal'nar trade outpost - Mithril Peak mountains

Sekme and his wolf looked down at the gob of Dwarf spit where is glistened on the ground. The diplomat looked back up to the Dwarf and smiled broadly, showing off his teeth once again.

"A curious custom among your people" he noted simply.

"If we cannot meet directly with your king, then I ask simply that you pass this message on to him. The time of blood and fire is approaching. Our diviners have seen the coming of the evil one. He is stirring and will wake soon, and when he does, he shall bring destruction, fire and blood upon this land. If we do not set aside our petty differences and come together, we will be destroyed one by one. Only united will we stand a chance against it. If he reconsiders when the time comes, and alliance of life between Dwarves and Goblins may still one day exist against the legions of the evil one and against his destructive power".

Having finished delivering his message, Sekme turned his wolf and said "It is clear we are not wanted here, and so we will not waste any further time".

"Grįšime į mišrių būtybių akmeninį mišką. Gobšustie neatspės mūsų įspėjimo" he said in swift and clear Goblindygook, and the band of twenty seven riders turned around and headed back south east, riding back to the Tialle. It had not been the productive meeting they had hoped for, but Sekme could at least return to Greitas now knowing that he had passed the warning on to the Dwarves, and that he had tried to talk with them.

Dwarven stubborness and their inability to set aside their prejudices may well eventually lead to their downfall.

[Dragos Bee]

The Basilea

Beneath the piety of the city lay a seedy underbelly, an underbelly no one wanted to look at but could not just ignore. Sophiapolis, the City of Wisdom, had its own dark side. Said dark side was centred in a surpisingly well-lit and palatial building, a manor where every debauchery known to man was practiced. There, the laws of The One were laid aside, whether laws that governed conduct or laws that governed discussion. In this casino, one Philippos Skleros kept his eyes and ears open for whispers and complaints against the current administration.

"Two years until Jubilee!" said a woman much-painted and rouged and dressed in silk. "Great disruption coming; most debts forgiven, slaves freed, and fines and foreclosures waived! I wish we can do without the practice entirely; there must be other ways of serving The One."

An old man, also in rich brocade, grumbled, "And the higher taxes for the navy and the army and the roads and everything else! I thought we were prospering here; why must people interfere with that?! Then again, getting around those restrictions is my business, so I shouldn't complain."

Philippos Skleros, dressed in a black hood and cloak that fit the common sterotypes of a spy, kept listening to more chatter as he drank his fine wine. It seemed that the criminal interests of the city of Sophiapolis were increasing in their outspokenness, but not that much. They were still within safe levels and not a serious threat to the state. But something nagged at him, something kept him from being as calm as he can be inside this One-forsaken place.

"We should be settling the Inner Sea right now, setting up colonies and such!" spoke the old man. "Not sending adventuring parties bought-and-freed in the markets to seek out treasures in Carthak - there's nothing there!" Philippos found himself agreeing with the first statement, but the second didn't sit right with him; Carthak was a rich city, wasn't it? Surely some of its fabled wealth could have survived?

Nevertheless, he should bring up the idea of colonization to Princess-Ambassador Judith; the southern side of the Inner Sea was still unexplored and ripe for the taking...

[Kaledoria]

Western Röken

Many people from the forest were brought together at the former cottage of Drugsbach at the old Imperial road. Huts had been created for them and as the Highway was restored their huts would be upgraded to proper houses. 200 commoners, mostly freemen were gathered and in their center, there were four knights. One was Arch-Grandmaster Friedrich. Two others were kneeling in front of him. The situation looked quite formal for a village/construction side at the border of the realm. "We have come together, to judge the actions of Sir Randolf. Brother Gerwin, what do you have to say about your vassal?" Friedrich asked, with a loud voice. As one of the kneeling knights answered, the fourth knight handed the grandmaster a small linen bag and a plain sword.

"Mylord, Brother," Ordermaster Gerwin answered, "Sir Randolf was scouting the Karlsforest after a skirmish and found tracks indicating, that a group of about ten bandits were heading towards a nearby hamlet, that had previously sworn their fealty to the Order. He realized that there was no time to waste and since no higher ranking brother was present he took the other two scouts and rode to the hamlet, arriving just in time. They faced the bandits, who outnumbered them more then three to one and superior arms and training prevailed, though it was close. Randolf proved his martial power by saving not only the village but also his knight-brothers, who were wounded during the fight. Finally, he treated the wounds until a feldsher arrived and was able to give them a professional treatment."

The Ordermaster stood up and Friedrich handed him the bag. From the sound of it, it was filled with a modest number of coin. "Brother, I want to buy Sir Randolf free from your vassalage and thank you for the great performance of his knightly duty in the name of your Order." The Ordermaster took the bag and bowed before stepping back. Heinrich turned to the still kneeling and silent Sir Randolf: "Sir Randolf, you have performed to great excellence, beyond duty and I hereby offer you the fife of Drugsbach, to hold it in the name of the Orderland of Röken and to serve as my vassal. Take this sword and you and your heirs shall henceforth have the right to carry the Surname von Drugsbach."

Randolf lifted the hands, palms upwards, without looking up and Friedrich layed the sword into them. Randolf finally looked up and declared with loud and clear voice: "I swear to follow you as your vassal knight, to uphold the laws and traditions of the Order and to govern the lands of Drugsbach in the name of the Orderland of Röken." Slowly he stood up and Friedrich placed a hand on his shoulder and said: "Brother." Randolf mirrored the gesture and the address and then they both raised their hands and shouted joyfully. Beginning with the other two knights, the audience started applauding wholeheartedly.

Later they went to the barn, where the knights had stacked some barrels of beer, enough for everyone to get thoroughly drunk, so that Randolf could get to know his new subjects and vice versa. Since about half of the subjects were nonhumans, it had been a matter of debate between the Ordermasters whether the newly created fief should really be given to a human but ultimately they had decided, that the spot at the trade-route into the Dwarven lands was to valuable to give it into the hands of a non-human.

[Ralnis]

In the forest of Rohirim,
Warmatron Yon-Sur

The Goblin's plan worked. It was something that the Warmatron had never thought the little Goblins were capable of such cunning. The warband were able to slip pass the rest of the army and make their way to the forest near the slopes of the World Peak. The horsemen of Rohirim didn't bring much of a fight than a single village and scouts chasing her down. No doubt that the lords wanted to see where the rampaging demons were going but it mattered not to Yon-Sur.

A messenger was sent to her Mistress about the situation. No doubt she would be happy and would prepare the Iniki to come for colonization and pay her end of the bargain to the cunning Forest Goblin as she believed that the Goblins will need all the help one can gather and the alliance with the Goblins can pave the way easier for their army.

As her army eaten another herd of great goat and made their shrine marking the dominance of the forest to their dark demons, they continue their mission towards the slope of the World Peak and search for the legendary hold that will become their new home.