Second Age: Dawn of Nations [IC/Invite Only]

[Saurovon]

The year is 8000AD of the First Age of technology.

It has been 6000 long years since the glory era of the planet of 2200s and now only 800 years after the coming of the gods Steel and Wood which decimated the population centres of the continent of Hiremus. The shadows of the former celestial capitals have regained some of their strength, worshiping the mighty deities of Steel and Wood.

MAP


NATIONS

Avinia
Avinia: A nation just reaching the peak of power, it was until recent decades troubled by war with the neighbouring nation of Sauravon and by the civil conflicts that occurred between the many noble houses of Avinia. In the past eighty years the House of Anmord has been able to rule supreme and established a firm grip on the nation, moving forward into the international sphere. The religious unity which it experiences with its southern neighbour Fjara has allowed for an alliance, bonded over the two nations' beliefs in the god Steel. In context with the First Age of Technology, the events of which happened in the same universe in a different time, the country of Avinia is located across the "Original Nations" of Adi Rajen, Fal'shia, and the western states of Old North Fish. Demographically its people are descended from Iievian and Fishian stock, due to the Iievian occupation of Adi Rajen and Old North Fish during the First Age of Technology. Avinia is roleplayed by the original player for Iievius.

Saurovon
[To be filled]

Fjara
Fjar: 300 years after the Sundering of the World, in which the alien gods Steel and Wood crashed into the planet and destroyed parts of it with their titanic clash, the Holy Empire of Fjar, a loose confederation of states united under a Holy Emperor who held command over the reclusive cult of Steel called the Avatars, who possessed magical abilities mirroring that of their god. As the Empire became more united and the power of the Emperor more concentrated, the various Lords demanded that the Emperor release control over the Avatars to equalise the balance of power - eventually, the Avatars essentially helped control the delicate balance of power within Fjar by putting down rebellions and overthrowing unreasonable Emperors. Indeed, the Avatars toppled the last Human Emperor, Honorius VI, in the year 742 AS, and in turn crowned the first Orkish Emperor, Ortag of the House of Darug. Thus, by 800AS, the Empire is under the rule of Petre the Voracious, and the Orkish warrior culture means that many men have been part of a militia at some point in their lives. In the context of the First Age of Technology, Fjar consists of the former lands of Inquells, Alfalshi, Hoppity Jump, Sparta, Ashbringer and Eastern Grand Fourth Dominion. Demographically, its peoples consist of Dominionites, Fishians, Hoppitians, Inquellians, Alfalshians, Ashbringers and Spartans; who are grouped together as "Sapiens", with several aliens, who are not aware of the unnatural nature of their presence on the planet, owing to the multicultural nature of the Free Interstellar Republic which ruled the planet prior to the coming of Steel and Wood, the largest group being Orks. Fjar is roleplayed by the owner of the Fifth Dominion

Owenef
[7:48:24 PM] Iievius: [Monday, June 03, 2013 9:25 PM] Samuel T:

<<< Owanef: A nation which is economically strong but militarily lesser off. Owanef had in recent decades attempted to coherently organise some sort of military force and in doing so, became a defence-based nation especially being bordered upon by two mighty and powerful nations, namely Fjara and Avinia. Owanef is divided into earldoms, each of which is controlled by usually one Earl. Owanef's seat of power is in the area known as the Fishfyn Peninsula, northern Owanef, where Neverheel Castle is located. There are five other Earldoms south of the peninsula, Bybellhome Earldom, Wentre Earldom (Fengyll Woods), Vintage Earldom (Tragna Ranges and Foothills), Yuth Earldom (Hiltasse Plains) and the Green Brothers' Earldom (The Greens Plains). Its religious beliefs are predominantly centred around Bybellism. Before roleplay events, Owanef did not have any alliance with other nations, indeed, it was almost isolated from the diplomacy, trade and military connections on an international level. In context with the First Age of Technology, Owanef existed as the eastern side of Old North Fish, located in the northern areas of the continent. Demographically its people are descended from Fishians, Dominionites and some remnants of Iievians as the aftermath of foreign occupation before the arrival of Steel and Wood. Owanef is currently roleplayed by the owner of Old North Fish.

[Fjar]

800 A.S (After Steel) - 2nd Age of Technology (alternate date - 8000AD - 1st Age Reckoning)

The Nation of Fjar was facing a tremendous occasion - the induction of the new High Avatar of Steel. The High Avatar would be blessed with the full arsenal of Steel's awesome powers, but she would not be allowed to leave the hallowed island of Steel, home to the Temple of Steel, a relic left behind by an ancient empire which ruled the stars. She would be able to command the Avatars of Steel, who would possess lesser, but similar abilities, and were it not for the sacred rules binding her to the Temple, she would have been the most powerful being in Fjar.

The selection process was lengthy, with Avatars competing in contests of wits, dexterity and strength, before being exposed to the secret Ordeal. Following this test of worthiness, the candidates who remained would be subject to a test of virtues, to ensure that only the purest of them would be exposed to the awesome power of Steel. Thus, Magdalana had become the High Avatar, and she would usher in an age of glory for the Followers of Steel, promising to stomp out the heretical Cult of Wood and the heathens to the north - the means through which to do so being contained in the Indecipherable glyphs of the Temple of Steel, created by the ancient "Frie Interstell Republik." The new High Avatar hoped that she would succeed in what her predecessors had failed to do - decrypt the glyphs and lead the followers of Steel to their rightful place in the world.

[Avinia]

At the Temple of Steel, Isle of Steel, Fjara

Kiara knelt below the steps, in line with a thousand other Avatars as she watched Magdalana walk out into the downpour of rain, face shining lustrous and caked with the metallic kohl so favoured on the island. Rumours said the stuff cost 100 Creds for a single gramule, so the amount Magdalana was wearing must have been worth a fortune of Avinian and Fjaran coin. As the Magdalana reached to the sky and began to become one with Steel, Kiara and her thousand peers rose to their feet and began their traditional ritual.

Slamming their hands into the ground, the earth beneath them rose up and giant pillars of steel exploded from under them, lifting them to a height just below the altar where Magdalana danced. Thrusting their palms skyward, their bodies became shining as they were coated in molten steel, yet did not burn. Electricity thundered down from the clouds towards their conductive bodies, attracted to them as if they were lightning rods, and flit around the circle of steel-clad women that surrounded Magdalana. Below them the pilgrims, who had traveled here to find redemption, chanted in a constant buzzing humm, praising Steel and praising the Avatars. Kiara and her fellow Avatars flung their arms out, embracing the heavens, and around them a thousand blades materialized, hovering with their blades towards the earth. The pilgrims reached up to the weapons and cried a tune of relief that they could be saved by becoming one with the High Avatar.

The thunder and lightning shook itself to a halt.

A rain of blades. The swords fell, and a flood of red blood gathered under the pillars as the pilgrims fought to find a place for themselves under one of the holy blades, all hoping to become one with Steel as part of the High Avatar. The Avatars above stomped their feet and a stream of red-tinted metal fled the blood below and gathered above Magdalana's head in a ball about the size of a fist. The courtyard below, once stained crimson, was only filled with pure water and the bathing pilgrims wondered as their crippling woulds disappeared. Above Magdalena the orb of metal began to spin and suddenly the world was flooded with a blood-red light.

The High Avatar had awoken.

[Owanef]

8000 AD - Owanef, Ancient Ruins of Fengylls

Looking around, the hooded figure ducked as several more arrows bore down his broad shoulders. The Bybellian aim could be so very deadly and accurate. However, the figure darted into a seemingly empty cellar, only just in time, as the group dashed past his hiding place. Shaking his head in disgust, the hood was discarded. He reached into his satchel, pulling out a bow, emblazoned with a closed fist. Sighing, he'd never get rid of that emblem.

Pulling his shoulder back, he prepared to released when his smirk was wiped off his hardened face as a rope descended around his neck tightly. Gagging, he passed out, but not before he caught a glimpse of the Captain. Bybellism had risen again, and this was the first step.

--

The Garrison of the West

The last scroll was complete. Saved from fire and certain failure, the venerable man, with his wizened stature, slowly penned the last words. Bybellism's central supreme being, Gud, was to be awoken. Each of the eleven priests surrounding the Venerable Priest began chanting the Four Bybellian tenets of old. Lost to history, restored by unknowing people across the continent and scattered by the evil Steel. Steel, of course, believing Gud to be long past revival, never bothered to check again!

" Gud is the single most superior being in the Universe, excluding Man"
" Man will one day rejoin Gud in what is known as Vehean"
" No life detracts from the glory of Man and Gud"
" All life which knows not the condition of Man and seeks to destroy will find themselves destroyed"

[Fjar]

The City of Varna, Inkwa Minor, Holy Empire of Fjar

While the Fjarans would never realise, the city of Varna was once an administrative capital of an ancient star conquering empire called the "Free Interstellar Republic". No traces of the old city remained, but Varna would have appeared just as crowded, just as active and just as formidable as Varnathox. Indeed, while its size was nothing compared to the Avinian city of Skapolis (which itself was built on the site of a long lost city known as Metroscale), Varna hosted just as many people throughout the course of a year, with pilgrims seeking to visit the Isle of the Avatars passing through the city and its docks.

Varna hosted a medium sized port, and although it did not exactly command a monopoly, trade with distant Saurovon through the warm water port brought the level of riches, which it may not have wanted, but it certainly needed. Caravan routes between Avinia and Fjar culminated in Varna, and although these caravans would be at times subjected to banditry, the ones which did make it through provided much needed food and materials, as well as some exotic goods - and of course, caravans would travel in the other direction as well, bringing back money upon their return. It was Fjar's most prosperous city, and this was why it was decided that Varna should replace Brazner as the nation's capital.

Indeed, within the heart of the city lay the Palace of Fjar, home to King Petre the Voracious - a Ork. Though he would not know it, he and his kind did not originate from this world, a world which actually belonged to the now low-class scum called Sapiens. The Orcs, as they were called then, only arrived in this world through the cultural diversity of the Free Interstellar Republic, but as this knowledge was no longer available, the Orks used their superior strength and endurance to become the ruling class of Fjar, believing that they were the rightful owners of the land. Of course, the Sapiens were not all entirely disadvantaged. There were many wealthy Sapien merchants, and some of the more powerful noblemen were Sapien. In fact, now that the King thought about it, Sapiens were not even that low a class - for while the royal family was Orkish, the lowest jobs were all performed by Orks. This revelation enraged the King, and in a need to vent anger, he quickly sought out a Sapien to pummel. Then he stopped. For the land of Owanef to the north was completely composed of Sapiens. To make things better, they were mortal enemies with Fjar. The King issued a proclamation.....

[Avinia]

The City of Skapolis, On the Sea of Skala under the Sauramont Range, Empire of Avinia

Harava grimaced as he slung the humungous and heavy backpack over his shoulder, and grunted a little as he moved it around till it was somewhat less uncomfortable. Looking back, he could see the small donkey that his brother had rented to him for his journey shifting around under the weight of its carry-bags. Harava looked around. Even at this hour of the day, before the dawn had broken, and in the further outskirts of the city, there was the occasional passerby, returning late from a night at the pub or a night shift on the walls. Skapolis seemed busier than even large towns in the dead of night. It truly was the richest city in Avinia, and its reputation was much deserved. Delicious pastries, velveteen fabrics and exotic dyes all culminated in Skapolis. The city had to commend its wealth to the spice plantations and secretive craft secrets that came with the oldest city on the continent. Harava could smell the scent of savoury breads wafting into the air as the bakers began their work, the first to rise for a full day of work on the most important religious occasion the Cult of Steel had to offer. The "Ascendalia", or the sevendawn long festivities that came with the induction of a new High Avatar which occurred perhaps once a decade was about to begin, which meant everybody else was slumbering deep in their chambers, resting to better enjoy themselves throughout the festival.

Other than him, of course.

He began his trek, leading the donkey with a small leash, thinking of his future to come. Indeed he had been blessed by the Benevolence of Steel. No longer would he be a plebeian, destined to apprentice under a craftsman who would not even teach him the secrets of the Skapoli Blue dyes, or to be the aid of a blacksmith's son who would learn how to make the Kingdom Steel instead of him. He had been chosen to enter the Brethren Forge. It was the only way to enter the aristocracy from the lower classes, and it was his new path to glory. He was a magician now. An initiate of the Bellows, the wind thaumaturges of the Brethren who manipulated the energies left by the glory of Steel in order to shape the wind. To ride the wind.

Forgecourt awaited him, far away on the opposite coast of the Skala Sea, straddling the border between Avinia and Fjara, about five dawns distance from Skapolis. He would even arrive in time to attend the magnificent shows of magical prowess in the Brethren Tournament that heralded the last day of the Ascendalia for the Brethren Forge. From Forgecourt it was only an hour by horse to Varna and a boat ride to reach the Isle, holy land of the god Steel. It was an amazing feeling to know he would make his living less than a day away from the fabled Isle where the brilliant Deity had entrusted his power.

[Fjar]

King Petre sat on his War Throne, a throne carved of ivory and placed on a platform carried by his slaves, and moved past his assembled Host - a mighty force comprised of the forces of the Duke of Inkwa, Duke of Alphasi, Baron of Hoppito, and the Prince of F'otaun. These men were not uniformly armed, comprising of each of the respective lord's own personal force of professional soldiers (who were all clad in chainmail and carried bucklers and swords, in addition to a spear), which numbered perhaps 3,000, and the conscripted peasant forces, who had to acquire their own equipment, numbering 15,000.

The peasants, on closer observation could be categorised into three groups - those who had no armour, those with leather vests, and those with leather armor. The peasants were also armed differently, some carrying pitchforks, others bows and arrows, some wielding spears, and a few wielding swords. Shields were issued to these peasants by the lords leading them, paid for from their own purses. Peasants wielding similar weapons were grouped together into marching columns.

In addition to this force of 18,000, the Host was graced by the presence of 500 of the King's own bodyguard, who possessed chainmail armor with plates placed at the shoulders and joints. The Host was followed by a supply train of reappropriated merchant caravans to sustain them as they marched north into Owanef. However, the Host would not march today, for the King now awaited news from Forgecourt, after he had requested assistance in the name of Steel....

[Avinia]

At Forgecourt, On the Sea of Skala neighbouring the F'otaun Forests

Mortova shivered in the cold of the night as he looked over the high stone walls of Forgecourt, scanning the treeline of the F'otaun Forests, with only the small ball of flame flickering above his palm for light. Of course, he did not really need to be watching; he had been assigned duty that night only to act as backup brute force should an incident occur; the mages of the Furnace like him were not very suited to tasks of finesse. To that end, his partner Kenva was sitting with his eyes closed, next to him. Kenva, as a member of the Bellows, was here to fulfill the role of lookout. Mortova could not understand how he did it. Talented wind mages like Kenva could sense presences a mile away, without ever opening their eyes. Something about amplifying scents on the wind and feeling where the wind diverted, or something equally as ridiculous and convoluted. It was these sorts of creative applications in magic that the mages of the Bellows specialised in- somewhat lacking in the brute strength and power which the members of the Furnace had, the brothers of the Bellows were always seeking a new way to use their own specialty.

Kenva's eyes opened and Mortova could see the wind swirl up the dust beneath his feet till it visibly spelt out a few words in crude letters.

THREE HORSEMEN. ORKISH. TEN MINUTES.

Mortova frowned and the small flame in the palm of his hand blinked out of existence. He watched as Kenva began to gather his power and if Mortova squinted he was able to see a slight swirling distortion in the air around Kenva's fists. He himself peered into the darkness. His own attacks didn't need much concentration to prepare.

The two didn't have to wait long. A small escort of Orks cantered out of the forest road, bearing the regalia of Fjara. They slowed to a trot as they wheeled around in the flat plain immediately outside of the town walls. One ork quickly rode close to the gate and hailed the guards in a loud shout.

"Oi! Open up in the name of Petre! He sends greetings to the House of Anmord and to the Brethren Forge! We are here to relate a message to the Chancellor and then carry the King's greetings to Skapolis!" The bellow cut through the night and Mortova could see Kenva visibly relax as he confirmed the scent marker on the standard one of the Orks carried. It had become common practice for the allied nations of Avinia and Fjara to mark their standards and flags with a unique scent marker such that members of the Bellows could confirm their legality.

Mortova and Kenva jumped down off the wall, a gust of wind softening their landing from the twelve-metre jump. The two escort Orks seemed surprised, but the standard bearer, dressed in Orkish finery, grinned and his huge canines protruded in a vicious smile.

The two mages straightened up, and welcomed the messengers into the town, opening the gates.

[Fjar]

The three messengers entered the gloomy hall. There was a single candle flickering in the air, levitating by unknown means. Next to this candle, sat the Chancellor Garva, who was absentmindedly gesturing at the flames of the candle, which adjusted its intensity accordingly. Captain Oghun led his two escorts in a wedge formation towards the Chancellor. He gestured the escort to stop, and himself continued for another five good steps before kneeling.

"I must apologise for the inconvenience, Chancellor, given the time of day - or shall I say night - but His Excellency has asked me to stress the importance of our delegation."

If the Chancellor was surprised by Oghun's eloquence, a rarity amongst Orks, he did not show it. He simply nodded for Oghun to continue.

"My Lordship requests the assistance of Forgecourt in his Most Righteous War on the Heathens, all in the name of Steel. He also entrusted unto me the duty of delivering this."

Oghun produced a wrapped, square item and held it out for the Chancellor's guard to receive.

"It is a most mind-bending game, Honourable Chancellor, developed by Sapie- Humans. My Lordship, in his own words said unto me this: 'Give that arrogant sod the game and he'll send help. If not threaten to tear his throat out!' All Orkish humour, of course. The pieces are actually the work of Eldars, and you will appreciate..."

The Chancellor halted the Ork mid-speech with a gesture, as if telling him to get to the point. Oghun relented.

"Honourable Chancellor, I humbly request that you bestow upon my King your assistance, in the light of the friendship between my Lord and yourself...."

[Avinia]

At Forgecourt, On the Sea of Skala neighbouring the F'otaun Forests
Harava entered the somewhat sleepy town of Forgecourt with wonder, gazing around him at the populace. More than half of the city's population was composed of members of the Brethren Forge, and it showed. Even the simplest tasks seemed to be performed through acts of magical genius. He could see the fires of the blacksmith being stoked not with charcoal but with fire magic just on the street corner, and a wind mage having the air itself carry his bags for him. Harava's mouth was so wide open with awe that he had to close it forcibly with his hand.

Thinking as he observed the wind mage walk past, Harava shrugged off his own ridiculously heavy backpack and laid it on the cobbled path, dodging a little to the side as a cart wheeled past. He stared at the bag. His eyes bored into it for half a minute without reaction, and he was about the give up when the bag did a little hop, skip, and jump, before landing on top of the head of an Orkish warrior dressed very richly. Gulping in fear, he inched back, before the Ork bellowed out a booming laugh and grinned, turning to his companions. Ah. The companions. Harava only noticed it now, but the Ork was accompanied by two other Orks in Fjaran costume and also a group of fifty mages, mostly fire mages, all emblazoned with the Anvil that signified the War-Smiths, mages who had proven themselves skilled enough in the art to achieve devastating effect on the field of battle. Any mage worth his salt could kill a few dozen normal soldiers, but it was rumoured that War-Smiths could bring an entire army of more than a hundred men to their feet. Fifty would be able to take down a few thousand enemy men on their own! It was said that only ten of every five hundred mages could reach the power of a War-Smith and be accepted into the ranks. Harava watched in reverent awe as the Ork made some kind of joke about the him to the other Brethren, and then hurriedly scrambled to his feet, and bowing, backed away with his head almost touching the cobble of the road. He still had to reach the University of Magical Arts to sign up for his studies.

[Fjar]

With fifty war-smiths accompanying his Host, King Petre was now confident of the chances of the Expedition's success. He finally gave the long-awaited order to march.....

[Avinia]

At the City of Skapolis. On the Sea of Skala under the Sauramont Foothills, Avinia
The House of Anmord had ruled Avinia for eighty years now, and it was beginning to reach the peak of its power. King Zenva watched with satisfaction as his troops paraded in the courtyard for the ceremony of the Ascendalia, waving at the people below his carriage with an idle hand as he did so. The royal guards were smartly dressed with shining suits of a chain-and-plate ensemble, ornately decorated with polished bronze metalwork and inscribed across the chest with the Royal Acorn of the Anmord. As one, halting at the entrance of the palace, they unsheathed their longswords, each gleaming with the polish that was required for such occasions. Finally, after a short display of sword flourishes, they sheathed their swords again and began to escort the King around the streets of Skapolis.

The Royal Guard were certainly and intimidating and well organized sight, but in truth the common man of the Avinian army was able to afford far less equipment, though still well organized as a fighting unit. Making use of only chainmail coifs and padded leather with perhaps a pauldron on the right arm, the normal Avinian soldier struck a far less imposing figure. However, the Avinian army was quite large and their common uniforms, supplied by the King, served to keep them in mind of their Nation and the people they served.

[Owanef]

Neverheel Castle, Fishfyn Peninsula, OWANEF

Queen Brashgart sniffed in disapproval at the women lined in front of her. "New, are you?", she inquired carefully. You could never be sure who her husband the King chose as maidservants these days, but one thing was definite - they were fairer than Her Majesty the Queen. Each inclined their head, and the Queen only just stopped herself sniggering.

Stiffening ever so slightly in her corset, she began with the first maiden, but was most rudely interrupted when a messenger boy scurried in, his coat-tails flapping carelessly behind him. Bowing slightly, he gasped for breath and began "His Excellency King Veritabel wishes thy presence in his court at the o'clock!". Nodding, she resumed her task, checking for signs of abnormalities in the maidens before her.

--

Veritabel the Venerable struggled to comprehend his situation. Twenty earls, scattered across the Kingdom on the mainland, and not one of them had reported! This was going too far. He'd already cut down military training availabilities, which was, of course, very sensible, as he did not want a rebellion on his hands. An uprising at his age! Imagine the consequences!

Of course, the Earls themselves had relative authority in their respective areas, but he'd have to say that his cousins Earl Vulnera and Earl Vintage were the most paranoid. Vulnera in the north and Vintage in the south, they'd upped numbers in training! 40 days was dangerous enough. Just over a month's military training with pay, however little, as well as a lodging. Men would come far and wide to get a taste of the glory and honour of warfare..not really. Veritabel groaned and shook his head. Why was it so difficult! Weapons production was the usual, medium to efficient, but he'd have no trouble at all going incognito to various yards where the weapons of Owanef were being produced.

Now onto the next task, he thought wearily. He needed an heir, and quickly too. His wife, bless her soul, had not been able to produce a child for the past decade, and shifting uncomfortably, this was a predicament indeed...

--
Tragna Ranges, SOUTH OWANEF
Startled, the figure opened his eyes. Alas, his trance had been broken. "Who did that?", looking around the room, The Wordless One angrily stared at each of the Bybellian Soul Wizards. "Who opened my eyes?" he repeated once more. He closed his eyes, and prepared to Meniplate, an action which stirred uneasily in the Eleven. The One Who Never Blinks cautiously turned the Wordless One's eyes toward himself. "'Twasn't me O Noblest of Nobles".

None could ever doubt the wisdom of The Wordless One, Ascendant of the Soul Wizards, Most Powerful of Bybellian Priests, but all knew his powers, far-reached beyond human control, were too dangerous. They all clamoured to confess that they had done the deed, but the Wordless One knew that the infliction of the Meniplate was not of the earth they resided on. It was, indeed, a darker power, one not that he hadn't experienced, but nonetheless, one he wished never passed his mind...

[Fjar]

The Host of 18,500 had reached the southern banks of the Hoppito River. On the other side was Owanef territory. The Host set up camps and waited for the supply wagons and their escorts who were a week away from the camp. In the meantime, the Host would consume the foodstuffs carried with them and forage for additional food, and also set up a wooden fort to store the food from the wagons in, once they arrived.

Once the wagons arrived, they would build boats and cross the river north.....

[Avinia]

At Forgecourt, On the Sea of Skala neighbouring the F'otaun Forests

The Chancellor and his aide were discussing the war with Owanef, deep in the chambers of the University of Magical Arts in one of the back rooms attached to Garva's office. His aide seemed to be against the idea of war against Owanef.

"Their people have done nothing to us, and the War-Smiths are dangerous when in the hands of a bloodthirsty King like Petre. We should spare them..." The aide seemed quite impassioned as he spoke to Garva.

It was a sign of his respect for the aide that Garva did not burn him to a crisp at once for the insolent suggestion. He stroked his beard, speaking.

"I have no patience for a nation that has no pride of its own. We are allied to the people of Fjara, and they are our mightiest allies in these turbulent times. No plight of the Owanef could outweigh that if they do not even come in person to present their case..."

Garva's eyes hardened.

"Whether they have the courage to face me in Forgecourt among the most talented of the Brethren, and whether they have the skills of rhetoric to persuade me are the only two things that will change this decision." The aide seemed disgruntled, but he knew where he had stepped a little too far on the toes of the powerful older man, and withdrew silently.

[Owanef]

Woods of Fengyll, Earldom of Yuth, SOUTHERN OWANEF
Earl Yuth sat heavily down, troubled at the sight of The Wordless One's message. He'd been having his mid-morning coffee when his thoughts were suddenly seized by meniplate. At the mere mention of over fifteen thousand armed forces encamped just south of the border, he quickly dispatched a reply to The Wordless One.

Earl Vintage had far superior forces and weapons, his Elite Warrior Vanguard (trained from birth) numbering 100 and Huscarls amounting to five groups of 500. Furthermore, the peasants in the area, who had had the privilege of the 80-day training under King Veritabel's father, King Jughernaught amounted to 200. That would be 2,800 from Vintage's position in the Tragna Foothills.

Earl Yuth himself had only three groups of 200 Huscarls, plus 50 Vanguard Warriors. Peasantry who had benefited from the nearly three-month training only amounted to 100. 750 men from Earl Yuth.

Earls Brayne and Braun, twin brothers at Green Fortress had a collective conscription army of 5,000, drawing from Voi and Hilta islander warriors.

This was the southern borders accounted for, but Yuth needed time to contact the Kingdom's most renowned mages. The Soul Wizards, who lived mostly in solitude on the Tragna Ranges, had a militarily-trained force of half a thousand. 500 Soul Wizards could reinforce well, but The Carnal One, a Soul Wizard who had been banished to Yuth's Earldom, had to be summoned to make contact.

--
Tragna Foothills, Earldom of Vintage, SOUTHERN OWANEF
Earl Vintage had been cleansing himself in preparation for his weekly visit to the Bybellian temple, but received a jerk on his lower leg. Exasperated, he opened the door and was not surprised to see a hooded figure holding out a scroll. Bearing The Wordless One's ensign, he hastily closed the door and jerked his leg once more, and smiled as he heard the familiar sound of gales outside the door.

Reading quickly, Vintage frowned and shook his head heavily. He'd have to call on his close friend Earl Yuth and the Green Twins...

[Fjar]

The Supply Wagons had arrived, and Petre immediately ordered for some men to unpack and store the foodstuffs contained within in the wooden fort constructed a week before. As this happened, the other troops not placed on guard duties would begin to construct a bridge.....

[Owanef]

Neverheel Castle, Fishfyn Peninsula, OWANEF
In light of previous matters, King Veritabel slammed his fist onto the oaken table with a voracious blast. He'd just received word from Earls Yuth and Vintage, as well as the Green brothers, about the foreign forces and their apparent movements. It did not look like they were out on a picnic, granted, the climate had been kind to Owanefi all over the Kingdom. No, but what was this! His legs jerked back and forth several times before the effect dissipated, and Veritabel anxiously opened the little door. Creaking open, a note fluttered to the floor and not even the usual appearance was evident. Grunting, he strode over and picked up the hallowed sheaf. Perplexity turned into horror and he sunk down in his chair, unable to speak nor think straightly.

Tragna Bybellum Inner Sanctum, Tragna Ranges, SOUTHERN OWANEF
Over the century, Soul Wizards had an albeit minor role to play in the matters of society, but when threatened by members similar to themselves, and capable of destroying thousands, even tens of thousands, Soul Wizards were raised from their state of relative solititude. Even now, 100 of the first group to depart had nearly, according to Bountiful Beard (leader of first party) reached rockbottom (literally). However, it would take an even further day to reach Vintage's command.

Green Fortress, Earlship of Brayne and Braun, SOUTHERN OWANEF
Brayne sat upon his seat with much distress. "My brother, do you think we..."
Braun replied "..should send only half of our ready forces because..."
Brayne replied "...the situation has not yet proven to be one of great turmoil..."
Braun finished off "...and the need for 2,5000 troops will be enough?"

The courtiers in front of them merely nodded their head, and scurried off to the Green Barracks, hosting the most prestigious military force the Kingdom had seen, unforeseen by the King himself, because of dear old Earl Vintage's assistance.

Tragna Foothills, Earlship of Vintage, SOUTHERN OWANEF
Vintage had received word to muster, and having done so over lunchtime and midnight the days before, rose early at dawn to begin preparations for the march ahead. Supplies had been garnered, troops equipped, but one more thing was to happen. He was in charge of five hundred Soul Wizards who had begun making their way down the mountain with their own supplies. An estimated 4 days would see the Soul Wizards waiting at the foot of the Tragna Ranges. Now, he grimaced. He hoped The Carnal One had reached his destination unseen, for The Carnal One had powers that the entire Tragna Bybellum feared, indeed, some had said he was the closest to Gud himself. He'd been able to achieve what normally took a whole decade, when he was but a toddler. But now, he had pinpoint accuracy coupled with deadly meniplate skills which was the reason why he was banished.

Hoppito River near Tragna Foothills, Earlship of Vintage, SOUTHERN OWANEF
The two horses, gasping for breath were not the best of health now. The Carnal One immediately closed his eyes, and a thump fell to the ground. He said aloud "At least, dear Gud, it wasn't two dead horses!". He left the other one to fend for itself as he crept slowly to the bushes, and could only just make out shouts across the wind. He closed his eyes, concentrating hard. He'd have to clear the mist and fog. But how? He needed a physical being in the centre of the river!... Impossible, but he'd have to wait a while...

[Avinia]

At the Maslock-Totel Crossings, on the River Hoppito, Fjara
Vetriva watched from high atop the hill as the Fjaran host began to saw at the nearby forest for wood. As the member of the War-Smiths who would be acting as the Core for this campaign, he had been ordered by Garva to command his mages to observe the Owanefi mages and ascertain their capabilities. It was quite probable that they would send several strong magicians to the front as support for their military. He calmed himself and allowed the wind to feel for the scent of humans, reaching out past the stench of the Orks and soldiers filthy from a week's march, out across the fresh waters of the Hoppito, and into the fertile loam of the Greens. Nothing yet. Only the smell of farmland and trees mixed with the occasional rough scent of a farmer. Nothing indicated the telltale clue of the travelling cloak which always followed the rider or soldier. Nor the scent of metal, except those intertwined with the scent of food, most likely cooking tools. Wait. Ah. The scent of a dead horse and the acrid scent of sweat. Not uncommon in the fields and farms. Two horses though, was very strange. Not many farmers could afford more than a single draught horse for uprooting trees or ploughing the land. Interesting. He made a mental note to investigate further, but abstained from telling the Fjaran runner next to him. He would not be able to observe the powers of the Owanefi mages if they wee found immediately, after all. There were no worries about the Owanefi escaping alive anyway. After all, he had received the Royal Endorsement for the invention of scent-scouting and the use of windwaking... nothing could escape him. He was fast as the wind, and knew all places where the wind blew.

[Fjar]

The sergeant was very puzzled when, for the seventh time this afternoon, the structure which was intended to become the bridge collapsed. In fact, collapsed wasn't an accurate description of the mishap - it was sabotaged on each and every collapse - the men would, like beasts possessed, tear the bridge down. It would seem that some unnatural force was at work here... something....sinister.....

[Saurovon]

Saurohelm - Capital City of Saurovon
The Grand Marshall Jarkvus "The Great Shield of Wood" stared at the mage curiously. "Are you sure this won't hurt?". "No it won't, Marshall. You've seen us do this with many men before.". Jarkvus paused and proceeded to stroke his thick grey beard. "True, but most of those were Avinians, right?". The mage shrugged nonchalantly his thick cowl covering his face in darkness. "I performed the duty for King Gregor Lancaster II.". Jarkvus still seemed uncertain, but after a brief moment took the Shifter's hand and place it on his forehead. "My will first. So that none of it is lost."
A few minutes later, the mage exited the chamber. The Marshall is with the World Tree now. The guards nodded curtly and proceeded to take the body of Jarkvus to be buried.

---

10 minutes later
"It is done milord." "Very well, see that Jarkvus be given a proper burial. The High King Thorim Liktor-Almorae stared at his map. "Bring Aleksander to me as well." The large woods of Fengyll would be of strategic importance. The Avinians were still suspicious of the merchants that entered their territory, and rightly so. Most of them were Saurovon spies. The border was heavily defended with 50 men guarding the the passage across the river Empal. He prodded a small wooden piece inscribed with the Saurovon Sorrow Hawk from its position the centre of the Empal province. A show of force should distract the Avinians for long enough so that the armies of Owanef would stand a chance.
Thorim noted with slight annoyance, that none of the lords had bothered to move the Bloodied Skull pieces northwards, where most of the travellers in Fjar had said they had been gathered. With so many of the skull pieces gathered towards the border of Owaneff the king had realised that there would be a weakness in the Fjaran armour. Grimly he pushed a group of his pieces across the Skala sea and into Fjar.

[Owanef]

Neverheel Castle, Fishfyn Peninsula, OWANEF
The King grinned as the Royal Navigation Office reported in that the map had been updated. Then he frowned. Why, it was as if a child had drawn it! Then he put aside his contempt and examined the map...

---

Tragna Bybellum Inner Sanctum, Tragna Ranges, SOUTHERN OWANEF
The last of the total two hundred Soul Wizards had met and were now awaiting the Vintage command at the decided point. The Wordless One had not come down, but his representatives, the ten senior Soul Wizards, sent a message to the Wordless One, as well as jerking the ear of Earl Vintage, a symbol to "hearken", commonly used to say that they were ready...

Green Fortress, Earlship of Brayne and Braun, SOUTHERN OWANEF
Brayne was in charge of the ranged men, and had left at dawn to defend the Green areas of the Hoppito River, as an initial precaution, infantry was also sent. However, the bulk stayed with Braun to finalise equipment as well as await the packing of further and reinforcing supplies.

Hoppito River near Tragna Foothills, Earlship of Vintage, SOUTHERN OWANEF
The Carnal One received a message from the Wordless One. It had seemed that his Brothers had reached the foot of the Tragna Ranges and were awaiting further instruction from the Earls. He'd better quicken his task. Quickly sending a message to Vintage, a quick jerk of the ear as well as successive blinks of the eyes should advise the elderly Earl of his arrival as well as his actions. The Carnal One then focused on the men that had progressed on the bridge they were building, uninhibited by his temporary cessation meniplate to them. However, he needed to get closer and be able to distinguish their features, and so, The Carnal One mustered his energy to close the eyes of the frontmost men and he began to move closer, scanning their faces and disappearing back into the shaded vales of the trees on Owanefi ground...

[Fjar]

ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH.

The bridge had been sabotaged for far too long! The king ordered the men the build boats to cross the river with. If that failed, they would swim, lest they incur the wrath of Petre!

[Avinia]

At Skapolis, on the Sea of Skala, under the Sauramont Foothills

King Zenva sat idly on the Throne as the small rider, still dusty from his urgent ride through Avinia, kneeled before him. How interesting. The messenger was from Forgecourt, relaying the information that the Chancellor had lent aid to the Fjaran host. Zenva already knew about the army of course. Yet it was important that he know Garva had sent mages, especially War-Smiths, to the front. It would be an embarrassment, and indeed a loss of some of his most skilled mages, should they die due to military defeat. The Fjaran host was large. Fifteen thousand men was nothing to scoff at. However, a nation struck into desperate defence could potentially muster a force able to overpower that by sheer perseverance alone. That could not be allowed to happen.

Zenva beckoned with his hand and a minister came forwards, head bowed and with a wax tablet in hand. Wax tablets were the most common recording tool at court, as they could be erased and reused extremely quickly to keep up with orders. Paper was additionally expensive, when it needed to be used so frequently.

"I wish to inform Petre that I will be sending aid to him. Hail one of our faster messengers and tell him to relate to the Fjarans that Avinia has not only the Brethren but also three-thousand members of the Royal Avinian Army and four hundred horses of the Kingdom Cavalry which will join him at the Hoppito within the month."

The minister scribbled all down furiously, verbatim, and then hurried out of a side door to do the task. Zenva himself sat back down and beckoned the next person of interest to come forward...

[Owanef]

Neverheel Castle, Fishfyn Peninsula, OWANEF
Veritabel groaned in disappointment. Another miscarriage! Shaking his head in disbelief, he could only hope today would be uphill from then on. As he pondered over the oncoming threat of attack down the southern border, he decided to up defence in the north. Who'd know if the southern border was breached and the enemy would march northward! And so, the King issued a proclamation announcing that in the months to come, every able-bodied man would be able to enlist in The Citizenry, a defence force led by seasoned warriors who would teach men the ropes. One year of service after their year of training, two years in total.

Sighing, he stared up at the portrait of dear father Jughernaught. To think that he would deviate from his family heritage and actually do something about the military in Owanef! Such travesty that'd most certainly ensue, would be his fault. Entirely. But anyway, he thought, back to business. And so the King set about preparing the decree...

Tragna Foothills, Earlship of Vintage, SOUTHERN OWANEF
At last! The two hundred Soul Wizards were assembled in front of Earl Vintage. "My dear Wizards", he began. A couple of senior Wizards shifted about uncomfortably. "Today, we are gathered together, soldiers and mages alike, to defend our nation!". The Soul Wizards collectively requested Vintage to shut his trap and get on with it. Silently, of course. And so Vintage explained...

It so seemed that the ranged soldiers of Vintage as well as cavalry reinforcement would join Brayne's bowmen and infantry along Hoppito River. Twoscore Soul Wizards would follow suit to provide additional reinforcement as well as act as messengers for instant communications. This was, the initial plan.

Green Fortress, Earlship of Brayne and Braun, SOUTHERN OWANEF
Earl Braun looked out at the mid-morning sun, and wondered where his brother was now. He'd completed preparations to head off, and was now awaiting Brayne's messenger to arrive, for the signal to move off with his 4,500 men.

The Lone Soul Wizard's hiding place, Hoppito River near Green, SOUTHERN OWANEF
The Carnal One raised his eyebrows (intentionally with purpose). It seemed that Fjaran men had noticed the proceedings and had begun their way across with boats. Upon closer inspection, he'd seen the faces of men that were oaring their way across the river. Time to have some fun! He immediately targeted the ones closest to the Owanef banks and proceeded to render a few of them unconscious and others, to merely experience the lack of retinal focus.

Hoppito Front near Tragna Foothills, SOUTHERN OWANEF
Brayne's men were positioned along the banks of the Hoppito River, but had no sign of the Lone Wizard they were told to look for. Other than a dead carcass, they were the only civilisation at the place. But then Brayn heard a shout and saw several boats of foreign description plough their way through the icy Owanefi water. It could only be the enemy, however, they didn't seem to be doing much, in act, they were just sitting, slumped in the boats! What strange barbaric custom was this!