[center][img]http://i1375.photobucket.com/albums/ag462/Maxwell_Schumacher/cooltext1896872895_zps2fjqpw4a.png[/img][/center] "Cursed be the ground for our sake. Both thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for us. For out of the ground we were taken, for the dust we are... and to the dust we shall return." -Denzel Washington, The Book of Eli [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H25iM7eRiIQ]Opening music (since Mahz never wrote a new video code)[/url] [i][b]February 3rd of the year 1026 P.W. [/b] [/i] It is the cold of winter, but the day in Nepharie is quite seasonably warm. It is fifty degrees and a warm breeze blows through the trees. It is sunny, but there are clouds on the horizon as if a storm is coming. It was noon when the northernmost gates of Capital City opened and the party came in. They were twelve in all, twelve men on horseback clad in scarlet armor, riding in three lines. Nine of them rode with rifles in their hands, resting on their shoulders in decorative fashion. Two in the front had white flags resting on their shoulders, and the rider in the center held nothing. A very large sword hung from his back, and his armor, unlike the others, was black with a red trim. They rode past the tavern, ignoring the brilliant blue dragon on the roof, leaving dust in their wake. Other horses and wagons on the main cobblestone road pulled over to avoid being run down as the powerful horses plowed by and the metal armor clinked robotically. Upon arriving at the castle gates in the middle of the city, the party of twelve stopped and a guard toting a heavy halberd approached on a warhorse. “Who are you blokes then?” he said with hostility in his voice. “We seek audience with the chancellor!” a metallic and decisive voice clanked back. “Well do you have an appointment?” the man asked. “We are the messengers of the mighty Silas Rex, king of Ignion! We require no appointment!” the front soldier squawked. “What in Matrem’s name is Ignion?” the guard replied “I’ve never heard of such a place!” “But one day you shall.” a new voice replied, one less mechanical and more stern and calculated. Two of the soldiers in front parted, and the man in the black armor rode up to the front. He removed his helmet, revealing dark hair combed back and away from his face and distinctly South Nepharie skin, tan and sun-weathered. “My apologies.” the man said kindly “I am King Silas Rex, and I have an audience with the Chancellor in approximately twenty minutes. You may look on the council itinerary yourself if you deem such to be necessary.” “A straight shooter, this one is.” the guard said “Very well, you may pass. Raise the portcullis!” The portcullis was raised up and the party entered, dismounting their horses and leaving them in vacant stables in front of the front gate with the white flags. “Say,” the guard said “What are those...those things you’ve got there?” he pointed to the rifles. “Ah, those!” Silas said politely “Those are cosmetic. I assure you that they are not loaded and have no potential to damage anyone inside.” “Very well.” he said. The party proceeded into the castle’s main hall. About twenty minutes later, the party of men in red entered a circular room atop the tallest tower of the castle, where a panel of senators sat along the walls and Chancellor Feuille rested in a comfortable silver-and-green throne. An official opened a scroll, and began to read loudly to the senators: “All hail Silas Rex, ruler of the kingdom of Ignion and overlord of the Phoenix Mountains.” The man who called himself Silas entered the room with his entourage of soldiers and took a seat in a smaller throne in the center of the meeting room, directly in front of the silver-haired Feuille. “Salutations, good King Silas.” Feuille said with a French accent “We of the council of Nepharie understand that you have a proposition to make of us today, yes?” “Indeed I do, friends.” Silas rose from the chair and took a few steps across the marble floor towards Feuille. “And what, the council asks, does this proposition exactly entail?” one of the gaudy and grey senators spoke up “You were quite vague in your letter.” “Why, senators, I propose a peaceful resolution to a conflict which has yet to be fought.” Silas replied “I propose your total surrender to my military.” There was momentary silence and then laughter from at least half of the senators, Feuille included. Silas stood perfectly still, staring at Feuille as he rolled about in his seat like a child told an inappropriate joke. “Surely,” Feuille said through his laughter “Surely you must be joking.” “I assure you that I am not, Lord Chancellor.” Silas said. He began to pace around the circumference of the room “I have a rather large and powerful military currently camped within your border, a few miles north of the town of Boroden. I, however, am a kind man and I do not wish to see the women and children of this noble empire burn, so I figured that I would extend an olive branch of peace before the walls began to crumble.” Most of the senators had stopped laughing by now, and Feuille looked dumbfounded at the man below as if he were speaking a foreign language. “If this is your true intent, Silas, then you are a total fool.” Feuille said “The Nepharie Republic backs down to no military force, and we have a standing army of over one million two hundred thousand men.” “Then I sincerely hope you have many grave-diggers, Chancellor.” Four guards approached Silas from either side, halberds in hand. “Get him out of here!” Feuille shouted, offended. The guards attempted to lay their hands on Silas, but he shrugged them off and drew his longsword. Before they could attack him, two loud bangs, like thunderbolts, echoed through the room, and the guards fell dead. Silas looked up at Feuille, who was positioned to leap from his chair. But Silas did not attack him, but instead said “So be it.” and, grabbing the sword by the handle, drove it into the floor, shattering the marble. He sheathed the sword and left the tower with a swish of his red cloak, his men trailing behind and the four guards laying dead around the center of the shatter, the blood running from their wounds making rorschach-esque shapes upon the floor. --- “So there I was, running along the wall, my cape ablaze and this really smoking blonde unconscious in my arms, and as I run I start hearing this little snapping noise behind me, right? So I look back and lo and behold the damn guards were shooting crossbows at me! So I say “hell with this man”, chucked her over the side and hauled ass over to the other side. Luckily, she landed in a convenient pile of hay. I have never run that fast in my life!” The long wooden table in the Snorting Dragon was alight with laughter and dappled sunlight filtered into the room through a narrow window. An elven woman, only a seat or so away from the storyteller rolled her eyes. Her expression was plain and obvious. No beating around the bush with this one, it seemed. “That’s bullshit, but I believe it.” She said, “There’s no way your dumbass could’ve hauled itself that fast while carrying some ‘blonde babe’.” she finished, before taking a drink of her mead.. Apollos looked down to the witch with one eyebrow raised and scanned her, stopping at all the appropriate points. “Oh really?” he said playfully “Then how about we test it; get down to your bra and I’ll run across the wall out there.” A young woman with blue skin who said with her hood up elbowed Apollos hard in the bicep. “What?” he said. “I’d rather go full lesbian before that.” she sniped in response, a grin splitting her face. “Doesn’t look like your lady friend appreciates it either… You remind me of a friend of mine. No idea where he is at the moment.” Some of the people at the table seemed to be shocked at the way a woman was speaking to a very wealthy-looking gentleman, but Apollos himself laughed haughtily once more and cracked his neck somewhat cockishly. “Little bit of salt on this one, eh blokes?” Apollos said “I like that about you.” “Eh, it’s better than having your salty surprise.” she replied in response, her grin still large, but no longer from ear to ear like it had been, more so a friendly and close-mouthed kind of smile. The table exploded in laughter, even rising a giggle out of Asher, who seemed to be trying to keep to herself. “So what’s your name? Next one’s on my friend. Fuck gender roles.” she said, taking a few coins out of her satchel. Tucker was shit at managing money, so she had gotten him to give her his money as to not drive himself broke. Apollos acted dramatically taken aback by such a request, and Asher rolled her eyes as he jumped up onto the table and thrusted a sword through the wood. “Do you not know who I am, fair maiden?” Apollos said haughtily “Why, I am the great and wonderful Sir Apollos Dominico Prosperos del Orarius, king of the brigands and lord of the thieves! Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!” “I swear to Matrem if you start singing again…” Asher mumbled, trying not to draw attention to herself. “I’ve seen a man-turned-cow ride a dragon, so not much impresses me anymore. Nice to meet you Apollos. I’m Arya.” she said. “I’d offer a hand but I don’t know where that shit’s been.” Apollos was about to quip when the front door of the old smelly tavern swung open with a loud “BANG!” Standing in the doorway was a large form cloaked in a thick brown travelling cloak. He was massive and hulking, larger than any man in the room, and as he walked towards the bar counter all voices hushed. He sat down on a stool quietly and, hood still up, beckoned for the barkeep with two thick grey fingers. “I’ll have a pint of ale and a one of those porthouse steaks I’ve been hearing about around these parts, please.” he said. The barkeep nervously nodded and shuffled off towards the kitchen as if moving too slowly would prompt the giant to eat him. Before the doors could swing shut, the huge head of a dragon peered through, its blue scales glittering in the sunlight. Its eyes giving the room a once over before they fell on Arya. It crooned and pulled it’s head out before anyone could shout in alarm. It more than likely saw this man entering and chose to use this moment of distraction to do its thing. There was the sound of gust outside, and the whole roof shook slightly, but otherwise remained unnoticed. A blonde, average sized pretty boy carrying a violin, which windblown hair entered the building. A stupid smile on his face and his chest puffed out like he owned the place. “Hey Apollos, is that the blonde you were talking about earlier?” Arya said, reclining back in her chair and crossing her arms under her breast. Effectively breaking the silence. Conversation began once more, and Apollos got up from his seat to size up the newcomer. “Ah, so you must be the fair maiden’s lover.” Apollos said “Allow me to introduce myself. I am-” “His name is Apollos.” Asher said rather loudly, looking over her shoulder at the newcomer “Sir Apollos some-bullshit del Orarius, grand vizier of the guttersluts and prince of the pickpockets.” she said in a mock Spanish accent. Apollos shot her a disapproving raised eyebrow and she rolled her eyes. Arya choked on her mead and Tucker, seeing that he was being spoken to, waltzed over to the table, setting his instrument down next to his partner. The large man at the counter grunted. “Not my l-” Arya was going to say, but was cut off by the bard before she could speak. “Long ass name, compensating for something?” Tucker said, sticking out one of his leather gloved hands. “Name’s Tucker. I’m nothing special.” he said. Apollos shook his hand energetically and directed him to a seat next to him. “Well you certainly must be something to reside with such a lovely and raunchy woman.” Apollos replied. Arya scoffed. “I have him by the balls and by the satchel. Tucker, drink’s on you.” she said, a wicked smile on her face. “Yeah yeah, she-devil. Laugh it up. You’ll be paying me back for it soon enough. I just got done banging a fairfolk chick.” Now it was Asher’s turn to choke on mead. Apollos continued to smile like an idiot. “Why do you say it so confidently?” Apollos asked “What, are you in a contest of some sort?” “What, she didn’t tell you?” Tucker said. “Figures. She doesn’t want to admit she’s losing. We’re longtime friends, traveling from place to place at the moment because she bet me I couldn’t sleep with every race in Tithe by the end of the next solstice.” Arya made no reply instead she stared hard at her mead. She seemed to be muttering a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. At this point, some of the other members of the table left or moved away, leaving the four alone. Apollos was dumbfounded and Asher seemed to be attempting to ignore Tucker, looking down at her glass of port with a stare that could kill. “Dude, look at them.” Tucker said, clapping a hand on Apollos’ shoulder and pointing to the two women with his free hand. “You think they’re having some telekinetic conversation or something?” Asher blushed, but the hood hid it. This new guy was really pissing her off. She sipped at the thick port gingerly, trying not to make it boil. “You never know with womenfolk, my friend!” Apollos replied, putting an arm around Asher “Ah yes, I don’t believe I introduced you two to my dearest sweetheart here. This is the lovely Asher Stormfront.” The man at the counter straightened as if he had been struck by lightning. [i] Oh, why do his words make me melt so?[/i] Asher thought. “We were having a conversation about how much of a royal douchebag you were.” Arya said. She looked over to Asher. “Hey Ash, you already heard my name so… did you said her last name was Stormfront?” Arya said, perking up visibly. “Welp, now you’ve done it.” Tucker said, his grin ever present on his face. The man at the counter began to get up and move towards the table like a phantom. “If you are referring to the psychics, then yes.” Asher said. She lowered her hood to show her bluish-violet complexion and black hair. “I was a Stormfront.” --- Winters in Talbor are long and unforgiving. It is thirty degrees (fahrenheit), and a light snow falls through the frigid wind blowing off of the mountains. The sky is black and cloudy as usual, but the sky to the west looks quite clear. The streets of Maceron were crowded and the crowds moved with a frenzy like ants swarming across the ground towards drops of juice. Guards in chain mail waded through the streets, attempting to direct the somewhat frenzied crowds on their way. There was an air of panic in the voices of the passersby as they moved away from the city’s high walls and towards the center where the stone towers of the keep loomed from out of the urban smog. Iro Hesekar stood against the flow of traffic, looking from face to face with interest, as if attempting to figure out what the problem was. His trusty turtle dragon Mitos sat at his side, munching on a wicker basket full of cabbages intently, paying no mind to the crowds fleeing from the city walls. From the nearby gate Iro could hear the grinding clank of a portcullis lowering, punctuated by the slamming of heavy metal doors. The smoke signals all blared, and guards in chain mail marched up and down the tops of the walls, crossbows in their hands. A lull in the crowd appeared, and Iro used it to approach a guard nearby dressed in chain mail with an expensive-looking breastplate. “Excuse me sir.” Iro began “Exactly what is all the fuss about? I don’t see an army.” “Ah, ye haven’t ‘eard?” he said in a thick Olenport accent “ ‘Ey’re up in the hills, siah.” the guard pointed to the hills in the distance, where a column of black smoke lofted into the heavens. It appeared as if there were a firestorm on the horizon, sweeping across the grass and turning everything to black. “Who are they, exactly?” Iro asked. “What, are ye daft, siah?” he said “ ‘At there’s the Red Legion. They’re about fifty miles off, but still the people are terrified of ‘em. Ye must’ve ‘eard what they did to Fort Imperius!” “Something about metal arrows, wasn’t it?” Iro replied. “Aye! They approached the fort from far away and began to fire boulders of metal at the walls. Not one man survived, I tell ye. They emptied the place. Only a single messenger escaped, and with only one leg by the time ‘e got here!” “That sounds dreadful.” Iro said. The guard laughed. “Ah, don’t ye worry about it.” the guard replied “The walls of Maceron are impenetrable! We’re fully locking up the whole damn place to keep ‘em out! It’ll take a lot more than iron boulders to bring down the walls of the impenetrable city, siah!” “Excellent, then.” Iro said “I sure hope you’re right.” --- It is bitterly cold in Juvegol today. A snowstorm is brewing, and the ground is already covered in three inches of snow. It is twenty degrees (fahrenheit) but the wind off of the Frost River makes it feel much colder. Crowds were gathered across the river side of Juvegol as a long row of men in red armor began to take positions across the opposite bank; they stood perfectly still, their rifles on their shoulders and the black slits of their helmets pointing forward; dark, silent, godless. These were not men, but machines, and their blank stares ahead causes people to cringe as if they were being burned. Luke Feng stood close to the edge of the bridge, which luckily was up, scanning the identical faces of the men across the river as others around him did the same. He had never seen so many men in uniform! And what were those strange things on their shoulders? What could they possibly want? As he watched, a soldier on horseback approached the edge of the river and began to shout: “Lower the drawbridge, I say!” he yelled. The crowd parted in two as a large man in steel armor approached the edge. He was a hulking, muscular man with a white beard and a heavy mace hanging at his side. A greathelm rested under his arm, and he stared ahead with a glare that could melt a glacier. “Now why in the name of all of Matrem’s creation would I do that?” Sir Arrond Blount shouted across the river. “We do not wish to harm your people, Sir Arrond. We simply require passage to the Northlands in the name of the Red Legion.” "And who exactly is the Red Legion?" Arrond replied "I've never heard of such a place!" "Our affairs do not concern your people, Sir Arrond." he repeated "We simply require passage to the Northlands in the name of the Red Legion." Nordavind soldiers began to make their way towards the edge of the city, and with their pikes gently assured people that it would be an excellent idea to back away from the edge. As armies converged at either side of the drawbridge, it seemed as if quite the standoff was about to occur. It begins. [color=red][h2]UNDER THE RED SUN ACT I: THE FALL OF MAN[/H2][/color]