Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Commodore
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Commodore Condor

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Westport, Capital of the Seobaghs


The port was covered in a blanket of fog as fishermen and whalers loaded and unloaded their ships, seabirds hovering above while the humans and grogars went to work in the capital of the island kingdom. There were also many non-fishermen waiting at the docks; today was a special occasion. The beginning of a joint expedition with Freishann.

Three ships were to depart from Westport; the 'Bowhead' from the Seobaghs, the famous 'Liba', commissioned by the High King of Olira, and the 'Admiral Griobhaech' from Freishann. Bahar, the Captain of the Liba, was currently standing at the pier, hugging tightly to a thick cloak to protect him from the cold western winds. His first mate, the Formorian Has, was standing by him.

"Damn, it's cold out west," said the privateer. While all the ships were in port, only the crew of the Liba was currently at the docks, as well as a couple of magic-wielding Serenist deacons who were to accompany them. "Not like over in Sahil, Has. Water's warm there."

The first mate laughed. "Water may be warm, but the people are colder." Bahar chuckled but said nothing in response. "You nervous to meet these Freishannese? Afraid they'll remember us?" The captain looked over at him.

"Less afraid than I was to fight 'em," he responded, looking up to the crew currently approaching the docks before nodding at them and adding on, "Speak of a Yara!"

Approaching the Liba were two obviously Freishannese individuals, their means of dress giving them away. One, short and brawny, dressed in the uniform of the Royal Marines of Freishann the other, a giant of a man, not dressed to differently from what one would find in any naval town, if not for their distinctly Freishannese cut.

The larger, the combat mage sent on the expedition to assist the Seobaghs, Magus Sáedir. The other a simple Marine, Seumas Eghaidh. Very noticeable in the conversation that became audible as the Magus dragged the marine down the docks.

“...and to think that we should not invite them for a drink simply because of what happened eight years ago in battle of all places!” Sáedir could evidently be ‘persuasive’.

“Alright, Sáedir! You can ask them, just let go of my arm already.”

Finally closing to an appropriate range to speak from the docks they abruptly stopped as the marine continued to massage his arm.

Bahar smiled as the Freishannese men approached, and both he and the grogar turned to face them. He stared at the man massaging his arm and chuckled, leaning against the railing of the pier.

"And what happened eight years ago?" He asked jokingly.

The Marine bristled at the question and the Magus answered. “From what he tells me you should know well enough!” He paused before continuing. “Would you care to come for a drink?”

“My man here,” He pounded the back of the marine almost sending him forward before he could stop himself. “Needs one, and burying bad blood is never a bad idea. So how about it?”

The captain looked between the two men, arms crossed to build a dramatic tension, before he burst out laughing. "Yeah, yeah. Never turn down some grog." He stuck his hand out. "I'm Bahar, this is Has, my first mate."

Grinning Sáedir shook his hand. “A whole lot better now I’ll tell you that! You can call me Sáedir and this Seumas.”

The Grogar nodded at the Freishannese men. "How goes it?" Despite the cold weather, he was without a shirt, and a Formorian sword lay hanging at his side.

Seumas looked Has up and down, “You look as tough as they say.”

Bahar nodded towards the city. "Come, I know a good inn not too far from here," he said, walking away from the pier and beckoning the men to follow. Has stayed behind the captain and quizzically looked to Seumas.

"Yeah? What do they say?" He asked, though clearly knew the answer. While the fact that Bahar took on a Formorian first mate after the war wasn't necessarily controversial, it certainly was a peculiarity, especially in foreign waters.

Sáedir walked ahead with Bahar, Seumas replied. “That Grogar are tough,” he paused briefly, “If you’re his first mate you’re better than most I’m willing to bet.” The Freishannese marine isn’t very well educated in the intricacies of foreign cultural expectations.

The first mate grumbled his response, clearly annoyed with the foreigner's ignorance, but knew better than to say anything. Instead, he called over to Bahar.

"Oi, captain, am I better than most?"

"Most what?" Bahar asked in response. Has looked back to Sáedir.

"Better than most what?"

Seumas listened to the interplay, “Grogar…?” Confused as to how exactly that had gotten lost exactly.

"Ah." Has turned back to the captain. "Grogars!"

"What's the question again?"

"Am I better than most Grogars?"

"Oh." He thought for a minute. "No."

"Thanks captain." Has turned back to the marine, with an expectant expression on his face. "Well? There's your answer." At this point, the group was arriving at a local tavern and went in to sit. As they did so, Bahar looked to the Magus.

"So, how're you finding your stay in Olira?"

“Very pleasing!” Sáedir exclaimed. He appeared to only be capable of either loud conversation or bellowing. “I have found a great deal of good food and even better people here!”

A waitress approached their table with a few tankards of grog. Bahar dismissed her with a nod and sat back in his seat with his drink, eyebrows knitted at Sáedir's mannerisms. "That's uh...that's good to hear my friend."

Seumas sat back with his drink, evidently happy to let Sáedir talk.

Sáedir continued, “Indeed it is good!” He paused before launching into something else. “I have been stuck on assignment in Thalecliff for the past few years and have done little. As well my friend Seumas here has told me little, what have you done in the past few years? I am desperate for a story.”

"Huh." The Captain chuckled and sat back with his arms crossed. He thought back to his time since the end of the war with Freishann. After he turned down the admiralship, he became one of the most sought-after privateers in both Olira and the region as a whole, escorting fleets and taking out pirates, but as the Emerald Empire grew in their influence on Olirian trade, the waters became tamer, and the need for privateers lessened. He looked back up to Sáedir. "You ever hear of the 'Flaming Dolphin'?"

Seumas sat up a little more and was evidently interested although he does not speak, Sáedir responds. “I have some recollection but I have to say I do not remember the details. It was a pirate ship was it not?”

"Aye, it was." Bahar took one more swig of grog before he sat forward, and Has chimed in.

"You sure this is a good idea captain?"

"Yeah." The captain cleared his throat before he continued. "Few years back, I was hired by the King of Sahil to take down this carrack, the 'Flaming Dolphin'. Now pirates can't afford carracks, so I was already suspicious, but he offered a hefty sum, so I took the job." The first mate turned his attention to his drink, uneager to hear the rest of the story while Bahar repositioned himself.

"Dolphin was different than most pirate ships. First, it only went after merchant ships. The rich ones. Ones who can afford security. Second, most pirates just board the ship, take the cargo, and leave. Dolphin wasn't quite so merciful." He chugged back his tankard as he recalled his memories. "They left no survivors. And what they left behind...it wasn't for those with a weak stomach. When I took the job, I caught wind that they had just gotten another ship."

"We boarded it, another merchant vessel." He paused. "Captain was pinned to the mast of the ship. Cock and bullocks stuffed in his mouth. Rest of the crew looked much the same," he said with a strange detachment, looking down as he sat back in his seat. "But the pirates were careless. Left behind their own corpses as well. I recognized one of 'em. Sailed with a privateer I knew during the war, Captain Arik. Man captured a Freishannese Carrack, was gonna sell it, retire," he said, staring at his tankard before continuing, "guess he decided not to."

"Anyways, I knew a whore he frequented in a village on the coast in Ghabar. Sailed there, waited him out. Caught him with his ass bare, while Has and my crew took the Dolphin."

"Arik got the noose the next week. Nowadays, you can hear peasants singing his name, talking about how he fought the rich man, all that shit. But I asked him why he done what he did." Bahar looked at Sáedir. "You know he said?"

"'I ain't got a reason to live. Just wanted a name before I die.'" There was a long pause before the captain finished, "So that's more or less what I've been up to."

Seumas stayed silent as seemed usual for him but he did seem to appraise Bahar once more after the story. Sáedir raised his drink and spoke, “You did a great good to us all there my man! Let me buy your next drink.”

Bahar smirked, and raised his tankard in appreciation. "Much obliged." After a bit, a middle-aged man with a long beard and wild eyes entered the tavern, followed by a strange looking woman. While it's well known that female grogars are massive, this woman, who had the features of a grogar, seemed much more feminine, with a body structure of a human woman. The bearded man, who smelled of sea salt and wood, approached they table. "Oi! Bahar me mahn! Has!" The two Olirians rose to greet him.

"Siorc, how have you been?" asked Has, clasping him by the hand.

"Oh, ife behn betar, but I ahm ready far the sea!" Turning and gesturing to the female behind him, he added, "Thes es me dotar, Murca." His apparent daughter seemed much more...tamed than her father, giving Bahar and Has a curt bow.

"A pleasure to meet you both," she said, embarrassedly. Bahar bowed back.

"And you as well." Siorc grabbed his daughter by the shoulder.

"Don't she look jas like 'ar mum?" He laughed, and added, "She es tah be me farst mate on the trip." Siorc nodded to the Freishannese sat before him. "Thase the outlanders?"

While Seumas seemed to have a little trouble following some of his speech Sáedir replied standing and reaching out his hand in greetings, “We do hail from Freishann my good sir so outlanders that does make us! I presume you are to be Captaining the third ship on this voyage?”

"Yar," Siorc replied, "tha nayum es 'Siorc', meh shep es the 'Bowhead'," he said as he extended a hand to Seumas. "A pleshar tah mate you."

He may have had trouble following the speech but the gesture was unmistakable, Seumas responded as he took the hand, "Seumas, I'm one of the marines that'll be aboard your ship." He gestured over to Sáedir. "Sáedir the Magus."

The old whaler smiled and showed the state of his teeth, extending his hand to the Magus with a grin. He smelled of fish and salt. "Aye, 'allo. Any off ya thar cap'n?"

The Whaler’s customs were odd both of the Freishannese followed along through the awkwardness. Sáedir reached out once more and took the greeting and replied, “No, I believe he was attending to some business with the Honorable Magus Ghúmard back on the Admiral Griobhaech.”

"Ah, Majoos. Yah, aif behn wondaring the wotars 'est off air far yars, bote aif gaht a gote faeling abote thes taim." The whaler clasped tight to Sáedir's shoulders. "Now weif gote sahm rale kangs' monay, ey?" They began laughing heartily, when Siorc’s grogarish daughter pulled him back with an embarrassed laugh.

"Forgive my father, he's not...used to the company of foreigners." She gave a polite curtsy to the Freishannese, and continued, "I am Murca, I recently graduated from the naval academy in Riverlume, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Sáedir responded politely, but not quietly, bowing in a manner that may well as be ripped straight from an etiquette class in Freishann. “The pleasure is all mine Miss Murca. The Academy is across the city from the collegium, closer to the forest I believe? I must admit I have not spent much time in Riverlume.”

"Aye, that's correct," Murca affirmed. "I was admitted as part of the treaty between the High Kings of Olira and Freishann. I was to join the Olirian navy, but I instead chose to assist my father in this expedition." Bahar stood up.

"Siorc here's been going out west for decades," he said. "My suggestion; follow what the man says. He knows his way around this ocean."

“Although Seumas may do better I must say I am the least navally experienced here, it would be folly not to follow that advise friend Bahar.” Sáedir replied with a tinge of embarrassment in his voice. He leaned forward as he continued, “I do have a role which will make this journey much easier. I will be assisting your ship in regards to the wind, I have experience in the matter but only with Freishannese ships. Have either of you used such means before?”

The whaler seemed perplexed by the statement. "Nar...they wend? 'Ow air ye gon nar yoos they wend?" Bahar seemed somewhat more familiar with the concept.

"The Freishannese mages are going to push air into the sails. Is that correct?"

“Yes. It is easier to do when we try just the sails and smaller ships tend to be better controlled as well, I don’t know how well it would work in a storm but we should be able to make a greater pace.”

They conversed a decent ways into the night, not much of import was said. They stayed a longer meeting because of the tasks that awaited them on the morrow.




Crews load the last provisions onto the ships. The three readied to leave harbor each equipped for the voyage ahead with supplies for the months forward and mages to shorten the journey as possible.

The crew of the Bowhead was the last to arrive that day. Wild-eyed and lustful for the sea, they crammed their supplies, and a bounty of harpoons, aboard their vessel, one which seemed foreign to both the Freishannese and the crew of the Liba. Siorc was the last to embark, patting a large, troll-like creature on the head.

"Ell bay saying ye, me dar." With that, the old man leaped about his craft and took to the crow's nest.

"Westard way go!" He bellowed, and his voice shook the bones of the sea.




A messenger had ridden out to inform the Countess of Sliagie during her usual patrols to inform her that a letter had been received from the Black Band. It had been carried by a rider at great speed from the Barony of Nóild, a small keep near the river that has relatively frequent traffic to the eastern territories. Before that, the rider from Nóild had assured the Countess’ servants, it had been carried by ship up the river to the Barony for this purpose.

Now it sat on her desk awaiting her, she sighed. There hadn’t been much point in changing out of her riding clothes, her armor had been left back in the armory since it was only a letter. The messenger had been settled in the barracks for the night.

The large desk sat in front of her with the completely unmatching chair pulled out as well. It had been a carefully thought out gift from her husband’s parents, unfortunately, they got the design period wrong.

Countess Mellasula shook her head, Losing your focus in your old age? Smiling she sat down, picked up the letter and read.

My Dear Friend,

I have recently taken a job, one of great immensity, from our allies in the Emerald Empire. While I know that your King has refused personal participation in the conflict, I am also aware that his actions and directives do not necessarily reflect your own. That is why I invite you and your army to partake in the Black Band's actions against the Empire of Matathran.

I am also aware, and have not forgotten, of the many debts owed to me and my men from around the Kingdom of Freishann. Let it be known that any Freishannese men, participate, and any Freishannese army, who come to the aid of the Emerald Empire shall have all debts to the Black Band forgiven with post-haste.

Given the short notice of this request, the minor kings of Sahil, Ghabar, Khasibuil, and Rokai have also agreed to subsidize your war efforts, as well as the efforts of any commander who wishes to add their command to the cause, and is promising trade incentives and the removal of tariffs for all those involved.

Remember, my friend, that in our search for command, we also must take upon ourselves the banners of civilization and the dignity of personhood; these are principles which the ever-growing threat of Matathran have turned on, and to stop this threat at its doorstep is our duty as commanders.

Should you choose to accept this call to arms, speak to the Emerald delegation currently in Freishann, and they will coordinate our transportation through the Dreaming, for another chaotic threat, that of the sea-dwelling Morj, have taken up on the coast of the Emerald Empire.

Your friend and ally,

Gultar


The Countess went to the door and spoke to the two guards outside, “Tell my officers to recall the patrols and prepare the troops to march on the morrow.”
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Goldeagle1221
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Goldeagle1221 I am Spartacus!

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Thompson gets in trouble with Vitium, finds statues oogie boogie
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Sigma
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Sigma

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Collaboration between Gold and Sigma.

Tarkima, Ardir Lands, Town of Karkan

The Town of Karkakn, one of many "uplifted" settlements that dotted the tarkiman lands of Ardir, once rugged, and savage clan settlements of old, ones that had yet been gifted by the touch of proper civilization and the loving embrace of the Serene One. Their warlike nature slowly fading out as contractors from across the Serene Kingdoms flooded this foreign and far off land, and became the building blocks of a new Serene Kingdom on the rise.

Karkan now was a relatively peaceful, and for the most part, uneventful town, settled far from the border from either the Brakor or Fervari, deep in the heartlands, serving as one of several "waypoints" within Ardir, the town in close proximity to the trading hub city of Dalir, as such, the most action to be seen for the local garrison is the occasional bandit attack, to be stationed in the waypoint towns is a guaranteed break from the front.

-------------------------------

The town grew silent as the moon hung high, torches lit aflame as a number of town guards prepared for the nightwatch, ever vigilant, even for improbable attacks from the heathen clans. A pair of Grogar clad in Royal Army armor standing watch within one of the guard towers next to the southern gate, preparing for long night. "Brought the cards?" One of them spoke.

"You know it." The other responded, pulling a stack of cards from a small sack and placing them on a empty crate as a makeshift table. "Good! Let's begin!"

It was at that moment the dark purple sky opened up with a flash of light, a ball of fire raging down from the heavens. The strange comet slammed into the fields outside the gates, blasting dirt in all directions with a tremendous bang. Strange shards of yellow crystal shrapnel littered the perimeter of the now smoking hole, and a near silent hiss replaced the night time noise.

The comet's arrival had caught the watchmen off guard, as they stumbled and fell to the ground as it made landfall, sending a shockwave, no doubt its impact awakening everyone in town. Without much hesitation, one of the guards redundantly rang the alarm bell, just to be sure of course. "By Serenity! What the hell was that!?!?!" The other guard shouted in a mixture of confusion and fear.

"No damned clue..." The other responded as he stopped ringing the bell, the Commander of the Karkan Garrison being quick to act as he and a small company of town guard were rushing out of the gate, making their way towards the impact site, the two watchmen quick to follow as well as they climbed down their tower with great haste.

As the guards approached the hissing crator, it became very apparent by their torch light that something remained in the center. Catching the glow of the fire, a strange humanoid figure laid in the gaping hole, the light reflecting off strange, heavily damaged and fragmented crystal armor, and what once may have been heavenly wings laid twisted and broken around the being, a honey like fluid leaking from where it had snapped. Despite the alien features, the sky warrior held the face of a man, eyes closed, and a gentle breath exiting its mouth. Heat continued to hiss from the being's surroundings and heavily damaged armor, but underneath the human form seemed externally unharmed, save the wings.

"By Serenity..." A soldier out of the group muttered, grasping a hanging piece of metal from a chain necklace, the piece shaped like the circular symbol of the Serene Church. The others were dumbfounded at what they're seeing, was this being possibly a servant of the Serene One? Or perhaps....an enemy? "...Get him back to the barracks." The Commander ordered as he motioned his hand towards the winged stranger, the soldiers hesitant to even get near him. "Did I stutter?" He asked, with a hint of annoyance. "Someone pick him up, now!"

Also somewhat hesitant, the nightwatch pair emerged from the group, walking slowly in as they both lifted up the stranger. "Get him to the Barracks, we'll question him later." The Commander said, then turned to one of the soldiers. "You get yourself a horse and ride for Dalir, the Church may find this...interesting."

"Yessir!" He replied, running back to town.

----


Propped up on a hay woven bed frame, fitted with furs the man from the sky was under heavy surveillance. The guards stood around him gawking, as they have been for at least an hour now. More than a few clenched their jaws with mistrust, and some further still did away with such concepts for the sake of curiosity.

Time ticked away, and then seemed to finally stop as the man's eyes opened. A brilliant yellow encased his eyes, not unlike the crystals that had protected him. Slowly they adjusted to white, and a pupil formed, circled with a light brown iris. Not a lash was on his eyelid or hair on his body as he looked around the room. His expression was unclear, even devoid of confusion despite the bizarre circumstance. Slowly a twist of pain conquered the man's face, and his mangled wings twitched, leaking that strange honey like liquid, which then slowly evaporated as it dripped. He looked as if he stifled a scream, forcing himself to sit up off his destroyed flying apparatus.

Several men armed with spears surrounded him, pointed and ready just in case he was hostile, the Commander stood behind, waiting as he awoke. He walked past the soldiers, approaching the winged stranger. "Who are you?" The Commander asked, being rather straightforward.

The man seemed to strain at the question, "I am... Kestrial."

"Kestrial you say?" The Commander said. "And where did you come from?"

"I come from the God of all," Kestrial answered idly, looking around in curiosity. His face turned to one of fright and fear, "the demons!" His eyes bulged, "they are coming!"

"...Lower your weapons.." The Commander ordered,

"Sir?"

"I said lower your weapons." They complied, withdrawing their spears. "Are you truly of the Serene One? And what Demons do you speak of?"

"They float through the night in secret, and build armies of stone. We cannot let them succeed, or God will surely fall. They aim to destroy all we have done, all that is ours. We must find their hideaways, destroy their trinkets, smash their statues, and slit their throats," Kestrial spewed hysterically, "they will not stop until their final breath is drawn, for they hate us with intensity, they hate all creations of our God. God now walks from the east, my brethren by his side. But the demons follow, and with them the destruction of all that is good. I have come to warn of their armies, but even on my flight, I too was targeted, only a ward spell of flame to protect me as I descended."

The Commander was now veering onto confusion, perhaps...he may have spoken too soon. But he must ask. "Are you truly a servant of the Serene One?" He repeated his question, these "Demons" the man speaks of...barely any records in Church scripture speaks of such beasts.

"I do not know the Serene One, only God," Kestrial answered.

The Commander stood silent for a moment. "Very well, for now, you may rest here for the night..." He quickly turned, motioning the others to follow and so they did. After closing the door shut, the commander spoke. "This man....is either crazy or a very confused messenger of the Serene One...either way, the Church will find this interesting..."

Suddenly Kestrial let out a blood curdling scream from behind the door, and an ear shattering screech followed, the word unmistakable as it drowned out Kestrial's cry, "LIAR." One of the guards instinctively busted the door open, his own head still reeling from the inhuman screech. As he did he let out a scream of his own, his eyes seeing a floating ethereal body disappear through the wall. His fearful eyes bounced to Kestrial, but only a shell of yellow crystal remained, pools of honey like liquid evaporating from it's broken open head.

The Commander drew out his sword and rushed in, only to be met with a now unconscious soldier and a hollowed out husk of the the winged stranger left behind. Such a sight was deep down...terrifying."What the hell happened...this is.." The Commander, and soon others that rushed in as they fell to their knees, clasping their hands together as they prayed. "Oh Serene One..preserve us..."
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Oraculum
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Oraculum Perambulans in tenebris

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Empire of Lynn-Naraksh


The Risen Host, Demesne of Urvetschin


They always said the ash in the south smelled worse than elsewhere. There was a shade of iron in it that made inhaling it akin to breathing in the fumes of a battlefield or charnel-house - as though blood were seeping from the air itself. Grey blood. It was said that it was indeed the ichor of a fallen Divine that had coalesced into the many metal veins that lay beneath the mountains, and permeated the earth and skies above. None could say if this were true, and indeed many doubted whether the blood of an old god would have tasted and smelled the same as that of men, but now Relin was inclined to believe it. He had never breathed the southern air without at least a rag to cleanse it, and for decades now had enjoyed the privilege of helm padding and good ash-masks. The poor defense afforded against the grisly stench by his loose-knit convict's hood stung almost as much the rope that bound his wrists and the manacles on his feet. He could only imagine the others felt the same.

There were seven of them lined up on the scaffold, all shrouded in the grey of those condemned. He was last, standing behind them all, yet he could see well into the distance if he craned his neck and brought his eye-holes over the shoulders before him. Close by, to the fore of the platform, was a headsman's chopping-block. t its side the immobile form of a Deathless Guard, clad in the colours of the Narakshi flag and inhuman in its gridded faceguard, leaned on an axe with a disproportionally large blade. The Emperor had been merciful - grievous though their lapse might have been, albeit Relin himself could not in good conscience come to blame himself for it, they had been spared the savagery of the High Executioner and the jeering of the Throne's denizens. The blow would at least be quick, and the spectators silent.

While this was a relief, he could not but feel he was much more unnerved by the still presence of the etched ranks, as heavy as any of the monolithic soldiers, than he would have been by the scorn of a living throng. This was the first time he saw the army with his own eyes, and the macabre circumstances of the occasion did little to ease the oppressive sensation of grim majesty that radiated from it. Even from the height of the scaffold, he could not glimpse an end to the black files, and though he was too far to properly discern any fine details, the mere obvious fact that these could not be crude approximations was unsettling. The priests had said that this could not be the work of the Old Ones, and who could know why better than him? - yet the thought of an unknown force being capable of so much was of no reassurance. A part of him was almost glad that he would not have to dread it for much longer.

The voice of a herald standing off to the other side of the row, where he could not seen him, had meanwhile finished calling out their names.

"...Tebarras, Darovk Oglobni, Relin Sumnieme. Armigers of the Imperial Throne, first select maniple, adjoined to the Sanctum Guards. For the faults of mortal negligence, inadequacy in fulfilling the most vital of duties, and inability to maintain justification of the trust placed in you by the one power that holds the world, His Imperial Sanctity of Lynn-Naraksh, it is decreed that you be put to death, with the honours due to your rank. That your condemnation may be an example to those who would be content with the possibility of failure, and you thus may render service in death for your failings in life. That weakness may be excised from the Inheritors of the Old Gods, for it may not be forgiven.

Begin."

The first of the manacled figures shuffled forward, with only the slightest stagger. The interrogators had not been harsh on them, seeing clearly enough that they knew no more of the intrusion into the Emperor's chambers than anyone else and having no reason to ply their trade on them any further. Unenviable though his lot might have been, Relin knew well enough that it was immeasurably better than that of so many other wretches. All things considered, he had lived well. Not one thing, it seemed to him, he would have done otherwise. Forces beyond the ken of the Blood Lords themselves had toyed with him, that was all. Everything came and went, sooner or later, and this might even have spared him the afflictions and pains of age. He would go out of life having quaffed of it strongly, before the taste was soured by the dregs. It was-

Crack.

The Deathless's axe had fallen, digging into the wood of the block as though the victim's neck had not even been there. And, indeed, it was not there, as Relin saw with amazement. There was no blood, nor even a limp headless body. Where it should have been lay only a heap of dust, spread beneath the now empty grey cloak. He thought he saw a red glimmer somewhere among the stone warriors.

Before he knew it, the next in line had stepped forward.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

It was unreally fast. Although each of them had to walk further to reach the block, it seemed as though the distance decreased whenever one stepped forward. He did not even notice when the view before him became clear with Darovk's back gone. The sea of dark shapes had always been before his eyes since he had walked up to the scaffold.

Something prodded him in the back, and he dragged himself forward. He did not feel the manacles, but his feet were heavy, as in a dream where he himself had become of stone. The Deathless waited, impassive and motionless. He had crossed the scaffold before he knew it, and his body knelt on its own. His arms twisted in one last struggle, if he could but slip one hand free it would not happen, he would be-

Not with that horned shadow over him. Not with the eyeless ranks waiting below, as hungry as any crowd on an execution day.

It did not matter. It was nothing, after all. A few more moments, and it would be done, he would stand up and go. Like in the temple, when as a child he wanted to stand up and go, but the shadows would not let him. They always did in the end, though, and they would now.

"Emperor lives." he managed to whisper hoarsely. The iron head without a face nodded slightly. "He accepts all in death." it replied, in a voice that was not human.

Relin closed his eyes and smelled the blood of the earth. It was the first time he did. In the blood is the power.

Crack.

***


Nergerad


It was not clear why an inn in such a small, forlorn town as Nergerad had such a large cellar. It had been almost entirely empty when the Order had seized it, with only dust, some rotten, empty barrels crumbling in a corner, and cobwebs inhabited by prodigiously large vermin to occupy it. There had not even been anywhere to hang a torch on the wall. Presumably, if anyone ever needed to descend there, which ought to have been no more often than once a century, they had done so by lantern-light. It was owing only to the dryness of the ash-lands that the earthen floor was not crawling with worms and worse foulness, and that foetid lichens did not flourish about it.

Since then, little had changed, yet the cellar was unrecognisable. Where had once been musty darkness there crackled the fire of braziers; where had been bare soil there stood racks and blazed coals to warm blades and pincers; where had been silence there resounded the groans and creaking of cunning devices, the cracking of bone and the low, almost spectral sounds of torment.

At the very middle of the chamber stood a great contraption of wood and iron. It was shaped as a rack of supplice, yet far longer and broader than customary for such an instrument. Such was its size that several prisoners could have lain upon it at once, and, indeed, an entire row of bodies was chained upon it. The tormentors seemed to have taken care in their choice, for none was by far taller or shorter than the others. Had even any been, however, a skilfully built mechanism was in place to lengthen the chains as required. Two hulking Vurogg stood at the ends of the device, ready to turn its twin handles in unison at a sign from the masked figures that paced before the rack, now and then sweeping a whip over this or that painfully stretched breathing carcass.

A robed cleric stood before one of the captives, leaning forth and gazing into darkened eye-sockets with the red sparks in the depths of its hood. A shrouded hand held a ritual kris under its victim's chin, scratching it with its point.

"Who are you?!" snarled an altered voice from beneath the mask. There was no impatience or curiosity in it; its vicious tone was itself perfunctory, almost bored.

The prisoner's scarred lips twitched - they could speak, but only a faint moan came from between them.

"What is your name?!"

The lips opened and grasped futilely at something, as those of a fish pulled out of water.

"Who are you?!"

A feeble gurgling rose at last from the throat, marked with a light, seemingly clumsy firebrand. "I... a... I..."

The cleric waited, slowly sliding its weapon towards the captive's neck. Yet no more came from the latter than broken, incoherent sounds.

The hood dipped in a satisfied nod, and the undulant blade abruptly plunged between the prisoner's ribs. A moment, and the body was gone.

The priest shook the ash from its arm, then stepped aside, nearing the next victim of the rack like a bird of prey.

"Who are you?!"
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Helios
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Helios

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~ The Morkt ~






A bitter breeze cut through the air, otherwise filled with light snow and screams. A wooden levithan passed the Ahti wharf, the matron wharf of Morkt. Its citizens, generally the visage of cool reserve were in utter panic. The boat before them nearly dwarfed the floating village itself. Glimpses of the vile creatures aboard showed a clear lack of collars, the garment which bonded land dwellers to the merfolk of their realm.

Ida, a woman in her thirties with broad arms and hair the color of lightning scrambled for a horse atop the floating wooden village. The peasant population flew around her in chaos. Some armed themselves, others hid their children and valuables, still others offered hushed prayers to various gods in spite of the gentle burn their collars produced at such heresy. With the springtime raid at hand, those land dwellers left in these isles were too old, too young, or too pregnant to fight. Ida flung herself onto the small, hardy pony whose dun coat mirrored her likeness. With a quick crack of heels the mare tore off through the clamoring crowd. A few daring souls recognized her as she flew by and were quick to follow, axes in hand.

-------


Gnima, daughter of the shaman witch who ruled these lands, looked onward as the goliath vessel crashed into the black sanded shores before her. Their position was a short ways east of the wharf, which met with land only via a series of bridges and ferries. She sat perched on a wooden cask, her finely jeweled dreadlocks and warm dark skin shimmering in the feint wisps of sunlight.

Menacing laughter erupted as many gangplanks of superb craftsmanship were haphazardly thrown from the seamless vessel. The occupants funneled down from their ark, some massive, some not, all with pleased smiles on their faces.

In their arms they transported bundles of crude looking metal weapons and tools, and masterwork wooden furniture and bobbles. As they exited, a thick stench followed them, not unlike the marshes of the islands.

Gnima watched in muted horror as the beasts closed with her. She had perhaps heard stories of such creatures, but always in the context of mothers scaring their children from leaving home. She was indeed scared, and her mother nowhere to be found.

"Hail!" Gnima offered in a booming voice despite her concerns. Arms open, she stood atop her finely crafted barrel, though at combined height she was at nose height to many of the creatures. Even at distance she caught whifs of their scent but continued amiable all the same. "My welcomed guests! I have long awaited your arrival!" She proclaimed magnanimously, her arms open in welcoming gesture.

A being of about ten feet tall and three men wide turned to her, on its shoulder's it carried a barrel unseen outside of a noble's palace, with intricate wood burnings denoting it a liquor of some sort. The being itself was of long matted hair, a rugged wool cap, and a fur cloak that hid a rag covered body. It's skin was mottled grey's and dull blues, with thick stony patches of thickened skin. A bulbous and warty nose stood between Gnima and a yellow eyed stare.

Slowly a wicked grin of human-like teeth shone from its face, "Hail!" It replied in a booming, voice thick with a bouncing accent. One of the smaller creature's the size of a teenager also approached her. The skinny creature was dressed in loose fitting clothes the color of dirt, and smelt none the better. Moss was growing in it's long curly hair. With curiously long fingers, the smaller of the two reached out, fingertips playing with the jewels in her locks.

"Hail." The smaller one repeated in a whispering voice, something akin to an accented ghost.

Gnima smiled softly at the more handsy of her guests. She peered at the larger beast's cask before continuing slowly. "Perhaps the greatest of welcomes is in good drink." She bowed slightly as she warmly brushed away the hand fiddling in her hair. She unwrenched the cork lodged in barrel beneath her and filled a pair of simple hollowed horns with the murky brown liquid. She sipped her own to show its lack of tamper, the fiery trial of bourbon streaming down her throat. She produced the other horn between the two strange giants. "Who may I call a friend?"

The smaller of the two made a nasty face as his hand was smacked away, but lit up at the offered horn. He stretched his arm to snatch it but suddenly the mighty arm of the larger beast swung, smacking the smaller in the chest, and with a loud thud, the smaller of the two was sent flying through the air with such distance and velocity as if he was struck with a mighty tree. A hollow scream of pain played on its voice as it arched into the ocean with a loud splash.

The remaining beast roughly grabbed the horn and gulped it down with one wet swallow, letting the horn drop to the ground. With a satisfied smile, the beast shook its own barrel off its shoulders and ripped the cork from the bung hole. He held the barrel over Gnima, letting a spew of orange-brown liquid to fall over her head, "glug!" The beast roared. A few other beasts of various ugliness appeared behind the scene, settled with their unpacking, each snickering.

Gnima's tiny frame peered up at the torrent of foul liquid and attempted to guzzle as much of it as she could. The far greater portion of the brew crested about her head and shoulders, drenching her finley embroidered wool dress. It burned down her throat like any other alcohol, sending her head into a floating daze, but as she looked up at the barrel, her eyes caught something as the liquid began to slosh in her belly, giving her a fuzzy feeling. The big beast's index finger was in the way of the flow, the nail glowing a mossy green. Her eyes crossed as she felt the magic swirl in her gut, and the beast began to speak, as she began to lose herself to drunkenness.

"Hej där, har du drack tillräckligt?" The beast asked, the words slowly transforming from an alien language to one more familiar, as if she slowly began to understand, "hej där, har du- drink enough?"

The liquid pooled by her feet as the beast roared again, "understand me?"

"Yeah..." She said, slightly confused and more than slightly drunk. "What are y'all doing here?" she asked with a slightly less composed smile than before, her eyes with a well known shimmer.

A wide grin formed on the big beast's face and with an almost fatherly arm, he swung his mighty appendage over her shoulder pulling her into a conspiratory huddle, her nose nearly snuffed into his armpit. He began to walk her towards the ark, gesturing with his free hand, "you wish to know the story of Gjornenahabblestrjikn?"

A "medium" sized beast sneered and called out, "your village is ugly, but your hair is pretty."

The big beast lifted a finger as he criticized the other beast, "not all are blessed with the grace of the Gjornenahabblestrjikn!"

The big beast and Gnima stopped in front of the big ark, "shall I enlighten you?" the beast prodded with a bouncing voice.

"Please," She muttered, her face still firmly fastened to the moldy underarm.

The big beast held suddenly held her out at arms length, her head sloshing as much as her stomach, "I'll need something of equal value as this splendid story, as it would only do it justice!"

He pointed to her hair, "a bobble or two for many a word of mine, sounds pretty plain and fair to me, eh?"

She paused, questioning the fascination with her hair, but then appreciated the infested state of their own. With no excess of coordination, Gnima unlatched a silver pendant from her locks and flipped the trinket into the air like a challenge coin. "I think that's a worthy trade I think." She stumbled over her words.

The big beast watched as the trinket glittered in the air and then plopped onto the sandy beach. He looked at Gnima with a confused smile, "wh- why'd you throw it?"

"For good luck." She replied with a wink.

The big beast shoved a shushing finger in her face, slightly getting her left nostril with a ragged nail, "doesn't matter, it is time to regale you with the tantalizing tale of the great Gjornenahabblestrjikn."

"But which tale shall I spill?"

"Tell her of the giant Yurgjin!"
"Of the mossy grove of secrets!"
"Of the battle of Kerkinbjornyerdik and Gorathrensickle!"
"Tell her of the great empty!"

The big beast snapped its fingers and growled menacingly, "the great empty."

The big beast let its rump fall to the sandy floor of the beach, lifting its shoes (which were little more than sacks tied around the ankle), and as if on command, all the other beasts followed suit.

He patted the sand next to him "sit, and hear of the terrible tale of the great empty."

Gnima fell to the ground as bid. She propped herself with both arms, a vain attempt at keeping her from swaying. With a nod she gestured to the great troll her willingness to listen provided her body could remain in good standing.

The troll's voice boomed as it narrated, "Gjornenahabblestrjikn and the great empty is a tale of recent times, a tale of new, not of old. For we are the Gjornenahabblestrjikn and we have fled shamefully from the great empty."

"Our lands were sunny and snowy, of fjords and faucets, of mountains and wood, oh so much wood," The troll looked down at Gnima with a sadness, "In the west we felt it come, and our neighbors who long hated the Gjornenahabblestrjikn were silenced in their usual shouts of displeasure towards us, and so drew our curiosity. Out our best went to the west, to meet the cause of the silence, but only a few returned to the Gjornenahabblestrjikn to tell tale of what was seen. There, a great being roamed the lands of those who surrounded the Gjornenahabblestrjikn and there nothing was found. The dirt was all that remained of forested hills, steep grassy valley's and disgusting -- yet large -- cities of other people. It commanded the wind and stole all of the something, leaving nothing in its wake, not even the remains of people slain. So, fearing our own something, in three days we crafted the vessel you see before you, and in three more days we gathered all our somethings, and left, sailing east, following the tonnikala."

The troll cleared its throat, "and now we are here after many many moons of sailing, to create a new life, away from the great empty, where our somethings may be safe. The tonnikala now flip and swim in these waters, and we shall fish them. Woods stand on this land and we shall work them. Bear you the same feelings as our old neighbors, or bear you the heart of a Gjornenahabblestrjikn?"

"My heart is with you, friend. My people too have fled their old worlds," She gestured to the warf village, "but we have come from the East and the South. We too follow that which swims. We make our life on the seas and live at it's mercy. We are sworn to it and it provides for us. Do your people live in this way too?"

The old troll held up a philosopher's finger, all eyes following it as he lifted it to the sky, as if about to propose the true meaning of all existence. With a stern face, and even sterner words he bellowed, "we live the way of the Gjornenahabblestrjikn." The entire beach burst into a cacophony of wicked laughter. Those furthest from the story circle ripped their instruments from the unloaded luggage and began the same exact song from their voyage. The old troll stood up and looked down at Gnima, "you are always welcome to ou- upptåg." He let out a crusty wink and began to sing along with the others, in their raspy, bouncing accents and strange pounding language.

Gnima's arms gave way. She toppled to the ground and stared up into the now swirling sky. Maniacal laughter erupted from her belly.

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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Goldeagle1221
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Goldeagle1221 I am Spartacus!

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World Events


Summer has arrived. The People are preparing for the following harvest season.


---


The word of the angel of Ardir has slowly slipped from Tarkima and to the rest of the world, as have the words of the Gjornenahabblestrjiikn. Tales of the statues in Lynn-Naraksh have seeped to every corner of the world, and just in time for a sudden discovery.

In the nations of the Emerald Empire, Tarkima, Osetina, Vlaanburg, Freishaann, Olira, Morkt, and Lynnfaire, armies of the statues frozen in stone have been revealed, much like those of Lynn-naraksh. They have appeared in remote and unexpected places, by the native bedrock of each nation, or in the case of the Morkt, the deepest ocean caves.

Those of the underwater nation of the Morkt are slightly different, as they are made of a lighter, porous stone and fitted with tentacles instead of feet, not unlike the Morkt themselves.

Area's near these armies have become spots where the dead crumble to dust, the reach slowly spreading with each death. Some already have faces, their legions filled with complete statues in places of heavy death, such as the Emerald Empire, and Lynnfaire.. and yet the there are still more statues to fill.


Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Terminal
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Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy

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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Goldeagle1221
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Eastern Utyre


The whine of morning insects droned from far outside the window. With young blue eyes a servant boy stood by a giant golden pillar, his feet dressed in suede and standing on marble blocks. He looked on in complete shock, the hands of one of the King’s handmaids reassuring him with a tap on the shoulder as he watched the king converse with a being that the child couldn’t say was of this world.

The king had been called at the behest of the stranger before him, and by the reports of devastating war not far from where they were now. Even now the king argued with a frustrated tone as the being seemed to try and calm him.

The stranger stood tall, and even though the King sat on a mighty throne, the steps bringing him to tower over most visitors, the armor clad visitor stood eye level, bringing him to at least seven feet in height. The visitor was completely encased in darkened metal, with strange designs swirling across its surface, and two blood red eyes peering out from the visor. A massive blade much bigger than even the child was strapped to the being’s back, and its edge was forged in the style of flamberg, though the body held the appearance of some legendary greatsword.

Despite this dark and brooding figure, it was its companions that scared the child the most, and even just looking at them brought pressure behind his eyes and a chilling headache to his skull. Two beings floated on either side of the stranger, their bodies long gone. They hovered as softly glowing ghosts, banshees, spectres even of what once could have been prominent and famous warrior women, valkyries of the past. But now they floated, ethereal, transparent, and cold.

In front of either of these two spectres were their corporeal brothers, two impressive-looking swordsman, if not for their clearly rotted and aged skin and dead eyes. Their armor was polished and almost regal, and a single silver band ringed their helmets’ crown.

The king was yelling now, but the boy didn’t understand the words, be it the fear in his head or his youthful naivety. The dark stranger hissed and began to gesture wildly, as if trying aggravatedly to persuade the king, when, all of a sudden, the palace shook.

The handmaid’s hands gripped the boy’s shoulders as the palace shook again. Great flashes from outside disrupted his vision and explosive booms rendered his hearing into a dull ringing. The dark stranger swirled to look out the window then maliciously turned back to the king. The handmaiden grabbed the boy’s arm and began to run. The last thing the servant boy saw as he was sent sprinting from the room was a cloud of dust poof from the throne as the stranger brought his mighty sword down upon it. Fear sickened his stomach and he nearly lost his footing. He swore he could hear the piercing scream of the ethereal women surmounting the ear-deafening blasts from outside as he escaped.

He was pushed into the hall by the woman and the two continued to run. The halls shook uncontrollably as decorations fell from the walls and statues began to crack. The wall blasted open, sending the pair flying. Sunlight illuminated the hall and a crystalline face of alien features peeked in, light pulsing around it. The handmaiden screamed, but all the boy felt was the vibrations of her voice, his ears already assaulted with pain from all the noise.

She pushed him and he scurried away from the debris, continuing down the hall. His feet took him far, and he could feel the building collapsing behind him as he ran. His heart was pounding in his throat as he turned the corner and exited through a hole blasted into the building’s wall.

He went numb as he spilled out into the expansive clearing where the city once stood. Buildings were grinded to the foundations and people were running like discovered mice. Great spheres of fire were raining from the blood red sky, shaking the ground with explosive impacts, and sending sun-blocking debris into the air. Strange alien beings of yellow crystal were zipping across the landscape, their arms, or what could only be described as such, morphing strangely into crystal swords and axes, meeting overwhelmed human guards and soldiers, whose bodies eerily turned into smoke upon death. Other strange crystal beasts, even bigger than their already tall yellow brothers, of four legs, thin batlike wings and a red hue lumbered beside their kin, spewing streams of fire from their open jagged maws.

A group of palace guards crowded one of these beings deflecting the fire off their shields, when another being glided over. It looked like nothing the boy could describe, except a living inverted geode of many unknown appendages. It let loose a great vibrating hum, and then with a large flash, a beam of energy erupted from its center, blasting the guards into clouds of smoke and gouging the ground where they stood.

One of the more humanlike crystal beings approached the boy. Light pulsed from a flat sheen of crystal where a face should have been. It stopped a few feet from the boy, as he stood frozen in fear. Slowly it extended its arm, a human hand formed of crystal appearing at its end.

As it reached down, the boy’s hearing started to return. He could hear the humming of the creature, the blasts in the distance, the screams of men and women, and -- stone grinding. All of a sudden, a knight of pure stone, riding a destrier of white granite, pounded by, its mighty sword slicing the crystalline being in half. The body shattered like thick glass and spilled a honey-like fluid all over the ground. More and more of these stone warriors appeared, battling the crystalline figures. Dark metal-clad beings similar to the stranger were with them.

The palace guards were overwhelmed, the stone soldiers killing them as well as the strange crystal men. The human guards crumbled to dust under the weapons of the stone knights, and as their metal clad chaperones came onto the scene, a new stone soldier would erupt from the ground and give chase to the crystal men.

Flashes blasted, and the energy from the strangest of the crystal beasts beamed forth. The ray cut through the palace guards, turning them to poofs of smoke, but the stone warriors behind held up their shields, some stabbing the guards in the back and replacing them.

Their stony shields hissed as smoke burned off of them, but they continued their owners’ charge forward. Just as a group of crystal men came to meet the stone warriors with shimmering weapons of their own, a hand yanked the boy away from the scene. He smelt the pungent odor of wet soil and looked up to see the dark brooding stranger from the palace.

The stranger was looking onward into the distance. The boy slowly followed his vision, and then went cold as he found its goal. In the distance, towering above the horizon, a mighty shadow stood, challenging a mountain in height and width. It lumbered, many tens of miles away, yet visible, the very sight causing the boy to stumble forward with some strange vertigo. It had many legs whose circumference one could only guess, and a body large and without features. The very size of it might have been that of the city they now stood in, and in the distance, small speckles seemed to be raining from it’s underbelly, their true nature too far away to detail.

The boy turned back to the stranger. Behind them, the strange metal clad knights were engaged in melee with the crystal soldiers and their bizarre weapons.

“Do as I say,” the strangers voice sounded like a hammer on hot metal, “and you will be spared.”

The boy looked forward, a brilliant cloud of heavenly light rolling in from the distance.

“Today a thousand angels fall,” The stranger muttered, gripping his sword, a fluttering of wings coming from the distance. The child looked behind himself and the stranger, finding himself standing in front of a massive army of the metal clad men, their tattered capes fluttering, their massive weapons in hand. Their ranks were mottled with more banshees and enhanced with the stone soldiers.

The rasp of metal rending sounded, and metallic wings sprouted from the stranger’s armor, catching the child’s attention. Distant fluttering recaptured it and he looked forward again, his eyes shutting in fear as figures in the sky came into view.



----


----


Monkeypants has decided to step out of the roleplay as of right now. This post is not influenced by that and has been planned for quite some time before hand. Monkey is not only leaving on good terms, but I would personally like to commend him for all the work he has put into this roleplay. Please thank him, for his efforts allowed the continuation of this writing project.

@Monkeypants See you next time.

**Also a side commendation for Oraculum and helping me edit this and his(?) endless advice.
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Sigma
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Collab between Sigma and Draco.

Heimyal Docks
Firgus and Olaf pushed their way through the frenzied crowds as the booming voices of the treemen of the Emerald Empire rang in the air as they made their irresistible offer to the warriors of Clan Brakor.

Having arrived abore a flotilla of living carraks and longships only moments earlier and their two leaders, a dryad male and female wearing old yet well maintained Shenran platemail, had both immediately begun telling anyone and everyone who could hear them about the reason they were here.

“...in slow moving baggage trains” the man was saying “winding its way through rugged terrain, ripe for ambush.“

“Bounties for Vitium soldiers and their equipment” explained the woman to others, gesturing enthusiastically with a fistful of gold coins “or keep some of it to use for yourself” she thumped her fist against the breastplate that had presumably been peeled of the corpse of some long dead knight “its quality stuff, but the bastards don’t know how to use it proper. Never worked a day in their lives I’ll bet, got slaves to do that for em.”

The two were stood atop what appeared to be a small pile of trunks. Heavy, and heavily guarded, trunks. Those guards were a number of ironbark armored dryads who formed a loose perimeter around the chests in order to ensure the Brakor respected of their leaders personal by forming a physical barrier to shield the speakers from jostling that might distract them from their showmanship.

Firgus had caught only but a fraction of what the dyrads had spoken of, but it was quite clear what they had came for. He scanned his surroundings, searching for his daughter, and much to his relief, she was within sight, her eyes turned their gaze upon her father, and was met with a wide smile. "Father!" She exclaimed, rushing over to his side, Farald not too far behind. They had a brief embrace as they turned their attention towards the new visitors. "My chieftain." Farald spoke. "The treemen, they offer us a great bounty to the South!"

"It' true!" Elina agreed. "War is coming! And the treemen need the warband!"

Firgus was speechless for the most part, caught off guard with this revelation, part of him was proud his daughter will soon become a true warrior, this war proving to be her Tarkiman baptism of fire...but this as well worries him. "Father?" Elina said, her facial expression was one of mild concern for Firgus' silence. "It's fine my child." He reassured her. "I just worry for you, this will be a hard battle to come, in more ways then one." He said, referring to the dilemma regarding Vitium. The Slaver Guilds of Clan Brakor are among the more powerful blocs within the Brakor Hierarchy, amassing riches from their trade with the Cities of Vitium, and Brakor warriors fighting Vitium soldiers alongside their enemies would present a problem indeed. The Pact with the Dryads however, must be honored, and to an extent, may absolve Brakor of any wrong doing against Vitium...at least he prays to be so.

Olaf tapped on Firgus' shoulder, taking notice of the heavy burden his friend and brother was carrying. "No need to fear. "Olaf said. "We'll deal with the guilds once word spreads, we must honor the pact with the treemen, or else we shame ourselves and future children yet to be born."

"Yes..you're right." Firgus said, a hint of confidence in his tone. "We'll deal with them when the time comes."

It was one of the ships that first caught sight of the chieftain beyond the crowd. At the front of the ship was a painted bust of a mermaid, her delicate arm outstretched, pointing forwards and seemed to have a spiral of runic tattoos spiraling up it ending at her for finger. The head of this bust had been turning, almost noticeably, as it scanned the crowd until finally it’s softly glowing eyes become fixed on the chieftain. While the armored warriors continued their showboating and distracting another dryad, wearing an unusual armor made of the purple chitin of a Furyogoth, no boots and a small choker that was akin to a miniature version of the bubble belt that had been shown to the black band, was deposited on the deck by the spotter ship using a large wooden arm growing out of of its deck. This dryad then began to make their way towards Firgus, skirting their way around the crowd as best they could.

Firgus took notice of the strange dryad approaching him giving a perplexed look upon the stranger, with little else to say, he just asked. "Yes..?" He begun. "May I help you?" Elina, Farald, and Olaf stood and waited for a response as well, curious to hear what the dryad had wanted.

“Firgus Holen?” the asked dryad rhetorically “Yaval would like to speak with you somewhere a little more private. Could you come aboard Erstariana the Maiden” the dryad stabbed a thumb back over his shoulder towards the mermaid figureheaded ship he had come from. Erstariana helpfully, disconcertingly, waved at Firgus' group to make itself stand out more “as soon as your available?”

"Of course." He said, turning to the others. "Elina, Farald, ready yourselves and the others, you will be leaving port for the Emerald Empire."

Elina nodded. "Yes, father." She complied, motioning Farald to follow her as they both join the rest of warband. "Olaf, join me." Firgus turned his attention to his advisor. "Of course." Olaf replied as the two men followed the dryad, soon boarding the living ship, this was honestly quite the day for the old chieftain.

The living ships were already and oddity, titans of bark, foliage and branches forming a facsimile of a watercraft, yet the ship still managed to have something out of place on it, for a large section of the deck had been made into a small garden. Grass covered dirt dotted with various flowers was packed into a 4 meter wide bowl that hosted at its center a single four meter tall Tree. Standing next to it, with one hand laid against the bark of the Tree was a dryad woman wearing ironbark armor that featured a knee length skirt of purple chitin and a choker that matched the first dryad’s. She appeared to be deep in contemplation, staring at the Tree she was touching, until she was broken away by the first dryad clearing his throat.

“Ah. um. Hello Chief Holen. I am... I mean…. I speak for Yaval. Or rather Yaval speaks through me.

While the voice of Yaval found her feet the first dryad walked off of the dirt to stand with his bear(or bare, unless it is actually the feet of a bear) feet touching the raw bark of the ship.

“And Erstariana, this fleet’s Warmaster of spring, speaks through me. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

Frigus was taken aback with Yaval's way of communication, to an extent, it was frighting, but he remained composed, not showing any sign of weakness. He gave a bow of respect, "You honor us with your presence, Yaval." He said, he turned to Olaf to introduce him. "This is Olaf, my trusted Advisor, friend, and brother."

"So, what brings you here, your...grace?" Olaf said, not exactly sure on how to even address Yaval.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance Olaf,” Erstariana began as Yavals ancient mind processed being called your grace “We are, as you might have noticed, to hire mercenaries” they continued. Because Yaval was often thought of as a representation of the Dreaming as a whole they had misunderstood Firgus‘s words as a question for them all rather than for the ancient tree itself. He had however provided Yaval enough time to contemplate a response however.

“I would prefer if you referred to me as Yarval (or Yaval?), for I am simply first among equals. I wear no crown, nor do I hold any dominion other than the soil in which I grow. I speak for the Forest as a whole because they trust and believe in my wisdom and ability to understand and represent their wishes, desires and circumstances, but I hold no inherent authority over my kind.”

There was a brief pause as Yaval momentarily turned their attention to a urgent event elsewhere. They returned just before anyone else could start speaking.

“As for why I am here, it is to bring the knowledge and desires of my kin here from all the corners of our empire. Information wins wars, this has been learned, and through pieces of myself like the one before you I can bring news of events in far of place far faster than any courier, ship or messenger bird.”

"Is that so?" Firgus said, quite intrigued with this, especially if it means he can be constantly aware of his daughter's situation if need be, granted he would not dare bother Yaval with such a minor thing in comparison to the the wider war....at least not too much. "We'll find this very useful, I will need to know on the well-being of my warriors."

“Unfortunately, this part of me shall not be staying.... However, for purpose of keeping you up to date we could establish a temporary embassy. I...” the speaker paused for a moment before once again correcting herself “Meraltisa, and a few associates could stay behind with a smaller cutting of myself. This would allow us to keep you informed and allow us to assist you should certain merchants cause difficulties for you.”

“It is due to them that we wished to speak with you privately, to keep information from getting into the hands of those that can be bought.” Erstariana informed them, continuing Yavals pattern of not mentioning the slaver guilds name. This was part of the ongoing aggressive ignoring of the slavers being done by the Emerald Empire. They would not trade directly with anyone that worked directly for them, not that this stopped their wares being sold on to the guild if they really desired them. There was also a rumor going around that slaves would ‘mysteriously’ disappear when living ships where in port.

“Specifically we want to relay some information to you, as our ally, that is sensitive to the war effort. As such we would appreciate that you keep it to yourself for the time being”

Firgus pondered, and thought to himself, before turning his attention back to the Yaval's speaker. "Very well, I'll allow it." He said with a confident tone. "The Emerald Empire is free to set up their embassy here in Heimyal, and no one outside this vessel will be aware of its true purpose, I guarantee you that as Chieftain of the Brakor."

“Finally there is the worrying information that the Morj, those betentacled seafolk that plague our shared ocean, have grow bold enough to intervene with a continental conflict. We have word from a relatively reliable source that they have allied themselves with Matathran, and that they have an armada that they will be using to blockade the bay of lights. That they are taking interest in surface affairs and are apparently now capable of organizing an actual army is concerning, as is their association with the expansionist Matathran. The two of them together would present a naval force that would be… concerning.” An understatement of colossal proportions.

A nightmare haunted the dreaming, a vision of Nine immolated islands in a burning sea.

“Of more immediate relevance is that blockade, we would suggest you dissuade your people from making journeys through the bay, even to cities not in the contested area. However, we would like that our knowledge of the Morj remain a secret for now, so please keep that detail to yourself as you do so.”

Firgus stroked his beard, taking in all the relevant information that Yaval had presented to him. These were troubling times indeed. "Very well, you have my word." Firgus said, nodding. "Nothing what you have told me will leave this room, as said before." Olaf stepped forward to speak. "And we will guarantee our people will steer clear of your waters, many will be eager to join in the fight."

“Excellent, excellent. Now. the other matter we wished to discuss with you are those whose ears might relay said information, if it were not going to be kept quiet, to our enemies. We are aware that you might have trouble with certain merchants who trade with Vitium will not be pleased with your, most honorable and appreciated, keeping of your word. With Meraltisa staying here we would appreciate it if you kept her in the loop of any trouble they might cause, as she and we may be of assistance. Certain arrangements and trade deals could be organized to ensure that their misfortune does not impact the rest of your people economically.”

The twin opportunities of being the Brakor more closely to the Empire and driving a wedge between them and the slaver guilds was one the Dreaming Forest found rather alluring. There would be little time to focus on that now, but after the war it might provide an interesting and productive course of action.

"It's often rare to involve outsiders in clan matters...but we don't object." Firgus said, Olaf nodding in agreement. "We've already crossed the threshold, might as well remedy the damage that will be done."

“Thank you. We will not interfere without your matters without your explicit blessing, of that you have our word.” Erstariana concluded before Yaval spoke up once more, having remained silent, and possibly absent, while the report had been being delivered. “Before Meraltisa goes to prepare what she needs for the embassy, are there any questions you desire to ask?”

Firgus shook his head. "I think our discussion has been satisfactory."Firgus said. "If we are not needed, I must be on my way."

Meraltisa nodded in response and then hurried off into the bowels of the ship while Erstariana concluded. “Understandable. Meraltisa and her escorts will come find you as soon as they are ready. Thank you for your time and cooperation.“

Both men nodded as they made their departure from the living ship, stepping out onto the docks as the crowds persist, pushing their way past the many more potential recruits as flowed through the docks in like a flood. Once the duo had finally broke free from the crowds, their cart had remained as is, the guard patiently awaiting their return. "What's going on?" The young man asked.

"War my boy." Olaf answered. "Our deal with the treemen is baring fruit."

"Oh, I see." The guard replied, curious of the offer.

"First get us back to the castle, then you're free to offer your services." Firgus ordered.

The guard nodded. "Yes chief!" He replied with great enthusiasm, and with that, the two men hopped aboard the cart and proceeded onward to the Clan Chief's castle.
Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Ekreture
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West of Askor


A putrid and foul smell rose up and encased the ships of the Expedition as they approached the last rocky island they would see for a long while. It was a smell that the wild-eyed men of the Seobaghs were well accustomed to, but it was not for the faint of heart, and when the fleet moved past the craggy, sea dusted rocks, they saw the source of the scent; dozens of shark corpses, all finless, with lipid bodies laying bloodied on the pebbled beach. Ruddy gulls have flocked to the island, leaving it speckled with entrails and shit and a cacophony of squabbles.

Nearing three decades ago, the boy walked in the corpse of a mother who never loved him and didn't know what to feel, but Bahar knew what to feel looking at the sharks, and it was nothing. One of the Serenist deacons accompanying the Liba vomited over the side of the ship, a sailor bringing him some water. Bahar thought this a waste of resources, but knew better than to say anything, and he went back to his quarters.

Nearing one decade ago, he and a black-haired woman who would betray him made love on the bed he was laying on now, and he could feel her living ghost wrap her arms around his chest and her mouth bite at his heart. The sea was boring now when there was nothing to fear, and when you relied on the people you could pass the time by hating. Before the hurricane happened, he thought he'd be fighting dangerous pirates of foreign seas, but now he sailed into the unknown with crazed friends and former enemies with the pretension of sanity, who didn't know yet that the sea had a toll; one you payed with your mind, and you pray gives you something better in return.

The captain felt a cold draft enter his quarters, so he wrapped his Bunyip-skin blanket around his torso, when he heard a quick knock at his door.

"Who is it?" He asked, to which responded a voice that was timid and fearful.

"Kh-Kheag, Capn', may I come in?" Bahar sniffed in and sighed, sitting up as the bed produced a low creak.

"Yeah, come in." Kheag was the newest addition to the crew of the Liba, somewhat inexperienced in sailing but with a reputable father who Bahar owed a favor to. He had a slender if not waifish body, a short, kept beard, but a rugged and handsome face. Confident and swarthy usually, this fearful disposition was an oddity.

"Capn'...we have to turn around," he said, Bahar not bothering to make eye contact and moving his hand through his black curls.

"Well it's a bit late for that," the captain responded, gesturing to the ocean outside his window. He stood up, to get a better view for it, and the crewman stepped behind him.

"I'm sorry, capn', I know my da put his trust in me, but...I can't do this, this life, it isn't cut out for me." Bahar turned to face him, eyes inquisitive. "Yeah, sailing around the island, all the adventurin', that was great fun, but...just lookin' at them sharks there, I realized that...maybe this isn't cut out for me."

Bahar said nothing for a while, just looking at the man. "And...what do you want me to do about it?"

"Ah...I don't know, I was hoping-"

"I'm not turning around, man." He chewed his tongue for a moment. "What, you gonna jump ship?" Kheag was taken aback for a second.

"What? No, I-"

"You what? Look, I'm not turning around, friend. So you have two options. Bear through it or jump ship, and you don't seem like the suicidal type, so I suggest you bear with us for a while. I'm sorry that the ocean offers you no whores, or any more wine than can be afforded, but this is our job, one I am paying you for." Kheag looked away from him, without words with which to speak. "I suggest you keep your doubts to yourself; cruel fates await those who stir trouble among my men." The sailor's eyes widened at threat, stepping back and bumping his head on the door behind him, to which he exclaimed in pain and rubbed the back of his head.

"Yes sir, I'll...thank you." With that, he ran out, and Bahar turned around to look out his window.

Nearing two decades ago, the boy became Bahar and looked upon the sea for the first time as a home rather than a prison, for a man he once would have feared gave him the key to his cell, and the knife in his belt. And now, as a man and a captain looking upon the ocean, he saw it for what it was.

Water. Endless water.



Somewhere in Rokai

The farmer's sons stood outside their family house as their mother wept over the near-dead body of their father. They were silent, a strong air of mourning hanging between them, when the youngest, Shik, let out a scream and punched the wall of the house. The other two brothers were taken aback by the outburst, when Shik fell to the ground, weeping, and the oldest of them, Breyn, crouched by him. "Look, he was getting older, it was bound to-"

"You know that's a lie, Breyn!" Shik yelled out pushed his brother's arm off of him. He stood up, biting his lip. "This storm...it took something from him. And now he'll be."

"And what do you want me to do, eh? He was my father too!" Breyn retorted, clearly distraught. The two brothers bickered for a while, when the middle child, Norten, spoke up.

"We could honor him." To other two grew quiet, looking at their brother.

"What, do you think we weren't going to?" Breyn asked.

"No, brother, but..." He sighed, looking away from them.

"What is it, Norten?" The middle son looked to the ground, softly kicking the dirt and waiting for a while to keep speaking.

"There is a place, I heard, in Trabahr, where the dead can be properly honored."


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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Sigma
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Svawad Castle, Talnoc

"Too slow, again!" An formorian of similar stature to Kormor barked at a exhausted Kormor, pools of sweat forming under him, barely holding onto his blade. Despite his tattered state, Kormor complied with his superior and charged for the tenth time, the two clashing blades, using various swordfighting techniques against one another, although his instructor of the day, a native by the name of Carssim was always one step ahead of him, unsurprising given he's among the more Veteran members of the Black Band, a mere speck compared to Gultar, but posed a daunting challenge for the many now ex-initiates, Kormor and Seadne however, were a stubborn and persistent duo.

Kormor slashed again and again, Carssim blocking and countering every move, much to his frustration, Kormor made one last strike, thrusting himself towards Carssim, within mere moments, barely dodged his attack, actually managing to leave a small cut on his arm. Carssim examined the flesh wound, and gave a wide smirk. "Hah! You finally landed a hit on me Half-Breed, impressive!" Kormor could barely manage to get a word out, breathing in and out in rapid succession. "No need to say a word, you earned a good rest." Kormor simply nodded to Carssim and headed for his quarters.

After a long days worth of training and chores, Kormor came busting through the door, collapsing onto his bed, "Finally a good nights rest...." He thought to himself, his eyes growing heavy as he fell into a deep slumber.

An hour or two later, Kormor was awoken loudly by a stern, "WAKE UP HALF-BREED!" Above him were Carssim, a human female friend of his, Rey, and the Grogar instructor in charge of his labor, Sergeant Daigahn, who carried a bright torch which was currently being waved in Kormor's face. Daigahn bent low to look at Kormor closely. "The hell you think you've done, recruit?"

Kormro snapped up, caught by surprise by his rude awakening. "What!?! What!?!" He said in a panicked pace. "What did I do, sir?!?!" Not much was said, Carssim immediately covered up Kormor's head in an ragged bag, and was forced on feet. "Rey! What's going on!?!?!" He called out to his friend in a panic.

Rey huffed, and responded by asking, "Are you proud of yourself, Kormor?" before they dragged him too his feet and led him from his quarters. As they pushed him through the hallways and down the stairs, they kept badgering him, but never truly insulting him; only talking about his...actions. Eventually, he could feel the blow of cool, night wind upon his face, and through the sinews of the sack could sense a great light in front of him, which the three officers pushed him towards, eventually forcing him to his knees and removing the bag from his head, to reveal that they were in the central courtyard.

Next to him was Seadne in the same situation as he, and surrounding them were a host of members of the Band; many carrying lit torches, all were adorned in full battle armor, and all of which were faces familiar to either Seadne or Kormor, and were currently muttering in coherently to each other while they looked on at the two men. In front of them were Gultar and Sula, who wordlessly and sternly kept their gaze affixed to the two.

"Oh Gods..." Kormor muttered to himself, the sense of fear and uncertainty overwhelming his mind, flooding it with countless, repeated questions to himself. "What did I do? Was it the cut? Did I fail some hidden test?" Whatever it was...it seemed it would be the death of him. Looks like Kormor failed his mother, his fellow street rats, and his brothers in arms from the looks of it.

Seadne spoke whispered to his friend, fear plaguing his face. "Friend, are you-"

"Silence!" shouted Gultar, and the mouths of the onlooking Band members suddenly closed. He looked around, and began pacing around the circle.

"I have made you all a promise, soldiers; that you will always find the consequences of your actions appropriate." He paused, looking around at his men before him. "These two have resided with us for some time. They have trained with us. They have labored, day in and day out. But what of their actions?" As he shifted around the circle of soldiers, his scarred, tattooed face was illuminated by torchlight, to reveal an expression which spoke of no clear emotion, only of consternation. Finally, he spoke again.

"They have shown courage in the face of danger!" After he said this, every member of the band hit their armor with a thud, coupled by shouting a short Huh. Gultar finally looked again to Kormor and Seadne, the air of the Shrine of the Seven hovering between them.

The overwhelming feeling fear seemed to dissipate, he exchanged a quick glance to Seadne, tears of joy flowing down Kormor's cheeks followed by a small grin, it seemed they weren't going to die...but whatever happens, it seems the two will make it out of this as battle brothers...hopefully.

Daigahn then stepped forward. "They have shown perseverance in the face of hardship," followed by another round of thudding and shouting. Seadne let out a long sigh, when Rey stood forward.

"They have shown friendship and comradely without hesitation," and another thud and shout was heard. Finally, Carssim stepped forward.

"They have shown skill in combat!" After this thud and shout, there was another, and another, until Gultar raised up his hand.

"If these testimonies are true, then their actions are the actions of a brother, and their consequence; the bestowal of brotherhood. Should we show them brotherhood?" In response, the host of soldiers pounded their chests and shouted repeatedly, and Gultar shouted, "Then we shall show them brotherhood! But if these testimonies are true, then their actions are the actions of a soldier, and their consequence; the bestowal of soldierhood. Should I give them soldierhood?" Yet again, they ceremoniously resounded with approval. "Then I shall give them soldierhood!" Gultar raised his hand for silence once more. "If these testimonies are true, their actions have strengthened the fabric of the Band, and I should invite them in, for Svawad Castle to be their home. Have they proven their worthiness?" Approval was heard once more, now louder than ever. "Then, brothers, soldiers, I will ask them!"

Gultar stepped in front of Seadne and looked down. "Seadne the shepherd of Ghabar; will you join the Black Band?" Seadne nearly blurted out his answer of yes before Gultar could finish the question, and he nodded before moving to Kormor. "Kormor the half-breed of Ardir; will you join the Black Band?"

Kormor tried to maintain his composure, the tears still flowing, if a bit more faintly, but he managed to say it. "Yes."

Gultar waited a moment, reveling in prolonging their hunger. "Then, brothers, my castle is your home!" With this proclamation, the doors of the hall swung open, the light nearly blinding the group, to reveal a full feast of various meats, both wild and tame, a host of musicians, and the rest of the Black Band.

Kormor was in awe in what he was seeing, such a grand feast just for their entry into the Black Band, but he wouldn't say anything, without warning, members of the Band lifted both Kormor and Seadne up and carried them all the way into the Great Hall. The two were close by each other, Kormor once more looking to Seadne, this time a wide smile forming, and with all his might, he shouted something to his new borther. "WE DID IT BROTHER!" He joyously cried out to Seadne, calling him "brother" now.

The former shepherd laughed heartily, his former lankiness replaced by the muscled body of a soldier. "Yes, yes we did, my friend!"

Later, during the feast, Daigahn approached Kormor, and said, "Meet me in the courtyard tomorrow morning. It's time for your first mission, soldier." Despite the joyous occasion, he seemed only slightly greater in his levity.

"Of course." Kormor replied, eager for his first real mission as a true member of the Black Band, however, that can wait till the next morning, tonight was one of celebration. Kormor immediately begun to dig in, chomping into pieces of chicken, lamb, whatever one can think of, followed by guzzling down nearly a barrel's worth of wine.

The following morning, a hung-over Kormor stumbled through the courtyard, there waiting for him on que was Daigahn. "Uhhhrg....you wanted to speak with me about a mission?"

Daigahn stood in the courtyard with a wagon pulled by a team of Karkadanns behind him. He looked impatient, his blade hanging in his belt and his eyes piercing the half-breed."Yes, get your things ready, we're leaving."

A short time had passed, Kormor rushing to gathering his gear for the mission, before long he hopped aboard the cart as they departed. Sitting next to Daigahn. "What's our mission exactly, sir?" Kormor asked.

At first, Daigahn didn't say much, instead handing him a rolled up scroll and saying, "Don't lose this. If you do, you die." On it were three stamps, each a different symbol; the first, a ship, the second, a crown, and the third, a black castle. After a while, they had made it out of the castle, and as they moved through the rebuilding village, the sergeant said, "So...I guess you know that you'll be shipping out to the Emerald Empire with us."

Kormor was silent for a moment, taking in that bit of information. "...I heard whispers about the deal, didn't put much thought into it...Looks like I'll be thrown in that mess too." Kormor was both excited....and fearful. This would be the first time he's being shipped off to a warzone, against Vitium of all things.

At the word 'mess', the Grogar swiftly hit Kormor over the back of the head. "Be proud, soldier!" He exclaimed. "What, you thought you'd join the Band without fighting a war? Piss off!"

"Ow!" He cried out. "Don't take it the wrong way, sir." He said, not wanting to disrespect. "I was just expecting....a "down" period. I won't object to fighting in war, but I didn't expect to be fighting in a war so soon."

"''Ell you're not fighting tomorrow." It seemed as though Kormor had lost his conversation privileges, as they passed through village after village without the half-breed even knowing their current mission. Finally, Daigahn spoke up again. "We're 'eaded to Jabion in Shasur to pick up a weapons shipment. That scroll's your proof of legality."

"I see." Kormor said, further examining the scroll. "Sounds simple enough I'd say, how much we getting out of this?"

"What, the war with Matathran?" Daigahn asked in response.

"Yeah, I'd say those treefolk would pay a hefty price for the Black Band's services." Kormor said.

The Grogar sniffed in. "Enough to fill a caravan of these wagons. Don't worry, half-breed, you'll get your labor's worth."As they passed the border into Shasur, Daigahn seemed to grow visibly uneasy.

Kormor taking notice, scans his surroundings, all he could see and hear was the general peaceful ambience of nature. "Something the matter, sir?" Kormor asked, curious.

Daigahn said nothing, clearly not caring how conversations are meant to work. After a while, he spoke up again. "I'm from here, is all. Shasur, born and raised."

"Ahh, I see." Kormor said. "Any good memories?'

"No."

Kormor smirked, followed by a light chuckle. "I can relate." The sergeant grunted in response, clearly unamused. As they pressed further into Shasur, the terrain grew more uneven, the trees more sparse, and the damage wreaked by the hurricane lessened with the higher elevation and cooler climate. About an hour later, the wagon went over another hill, and a great mountain came into the view in the distance, smoke seeming to rise from its mid-level.

"That's Mt. Jabion," Daigahn said. "Town at it's foot is where we're headed." He only seemed more worried, clinging tight to the reigns of the wagon, but the road grew more solid, even, and the terrain seemed quite beautiful.

Even in his prolonged stay in Olira, Kormor couldn't help but be mesmerized by the serene scenery, certainly nothing like Tarkima, or what little of Tarkima he could even reach. It certainly was tad warmer then back "home".

As they grew closer to the town of Jabion, they came upon a checkpoint, a few Shasurian guards standing in a barricaded area overlooked by a watchtower, upon which waved the flag of Shasur; a hammer and anvil. The wagon neared the checkpoint, and, seeing the passengers, the guards quickly blocked the road, displeased. Daigahn was more uneasy than ever, muttering, "You still got the scroll?"

"Sure do." Kormor replied, having the scroll in hand. "Think they'll give us trouble?"

"Oi!" One of the guards yelled before Daigahn could respond. He stepped forward, and Daigahn looked at him, not breaking his gaze. The other guards moved around to Kormor's side of the wagon, and the initial guard continued. "What you doing here, pig?"

"We're with the Black Band, headed straight to Pig Town," Daigahn responded. The guard snorted, spitting on the ground at the mention of the Band. Then he looked for a long while at Kormor before nodding at him.

"Mongrel got papers?"

"Yeah I do." Kormor said, stretching out the scroll for the guards to see. "Black Band got some special business in town."

"Mind your fucking tone, beast," The guard replied, before he unscrolled the parchment, carefully examining every line of ink. "Tarkima?"

"Yeah." Kormor said, letting the insult slide, for now.

The guard grunted, clearing not caring too much, before flicking the scroll back at Kormor. "Cause any trouble in Jabion, you'll be hung up like a tunic." Kormor grunted back, the guard not worth wasting his words on. With that, the guard nodded to the guards blocking the road, gesturing to let them through. After around ten minutes, the wagon had passed through the open gate into Jabion.

The town of Jabion seemed wealthy beyond anything Kormor had seen in Talnoc so far, everyone in sight dressed in fine clothing, well fed and groomed. All of them were human, however, and as the two moved through town, closer to the mountain, all eyes seemed to turn to gaze at the outsiders.

The scenery wasn't too dissimilar to the Upper quarters of Ardirum, although the nobility was more...brutish. Here however, both Kormor and Daigahn stuck out like sore thumbs. The ceaseless stares from the masses unsettling him. "I can feel we're not wanted..."

"We're wanted. Just not here," Daigahn replied. Throughout the town was a heavenly combination of scents; freshly baked bread, cooking meats, flowers, but as they pressed further in, something putrid tickled the nostrils, and as they turned the corner it became apparent, the wagon seeing a woman hung, a sign reading 'Race Traitor' tied to her. Daigahn pretended not to see it.

"Oh Gods.." Kormor muttered to himself. "What do they mean by..Race Traitor?" Kormor asked hesitantly, fearing the unpleasant answer he would get.

The sergeant said nothing for a moment, then realized he owed it to him. "You're contraband here, soldier." He clearly didn't want to say anything further. Upon further inspection, it was obvious that the woman was pregnant.

"Oh..." The realization sunk in to him, could've been his own mother in a different time and place, fortunate though that such matters are not high on Ardir's list of priorities, for the moment at least. With that, Kormor grew silent for a while.

After a bit, the wagon arrived at another gate, this one closed and guarded. This guards, though still human and seemed more amenable. After checking Kormor's papers once more, they let the wagon through. "Welcome to Pig-Town," Daigahn muttered.

Pig-Town was a whole other world from the rest of Jabion. It was in complete and total squalor, children running amok and nearly naked through the streets, and groups of grogars seeming to follow the wagon. "Don't look at them," Daigahn said through gritted teeth. The buildings were in shambles, most of them no more than shacks, and the whole of the town smelled of garbage. Above them, Mt. Jabion overlooked dauntingly, and a path leading from Pig-Town to the mountain was busy with wagons of stones and ores. And, of course, everyone in Pig-Town was a Grogar.

Jabion was too much like home, even complete with its own slum, Kormor did as asked, and averted his gaze from any Grogar passing by, especially those following them. But the brief glimpses of the Pig-Town was a constant reminder of his old life in Tarkima, and to confront that so soon was quite unpleasant.

Suddenly, the Wagon came a stop, and Daigahn ordered the half-breed to get out of the cart. He gave Kormor a coin purse. "This is the payment for the weapons. You go inside, tell them you need the order for the Band. Show him your scroll. Got it? He seemed uneasy, Grogars gathering around them. "I-I'll keep watch."

"Got it, I'll be in and out." Kormor turned away, walking past the door, the overwhelming smell of molten metal filling the air, Grogar smiths crafting various weapons and melting down useless pieces of metal. Kormor walked further into the building, the smiths taking notice of his arrival.

From a short distance, a lone human man, the Overseer of this establishment, emerged from the background, with a wide smile. "Welcome! Welcome!" The older human man greeted Kormor. "How may I be of assistance to you?"

Although the friendliness was offputting, it was somewhat a welcoming sight in this city, outside of the Black Band of course. "I've come to pick an order for the Black Band." Kormor said, presenting the scroll to the Overseer, followed by a toss of the coin purse.

"Ahh, yes, the Band, your weapons are set and ready, I'll have some of my men move the crates to your cart!"

"Thanks." Kormor said, swiftly turning back to meet back with Daigahn, sharing the good news of a relatively calm mission, until he heard some troubling sounds further ahead, something was going outside, no doubt trouble for him and the sergeant.

Outside, a group of Grogar were in front of Daigahn, the building's wall behind him. All of these Grogars were males with wolf tooth necklaces, and similar tatoos of wolf prints on their face. "I'll ask you one more time," their leader said, breathing close to the sergeant, "Give us the ape-spawn." Daigahn said nothing, but when the Grogar raised his hand to strike him, he grabbed it tightly, then punched him squarely in the face, causing him to crumble onto the ground. Another grogar stepped forward, but the sergeant ducked his strike and grabbed him, forcing him into the wall. The Overseer stepped outside to see the commotion.

"Oh Serenity!" he exclaimed, "I'll get help," and he ran off towards the main town of Jabion.

Kormor drew his blade. "Get away from him you bastards!" he cried out, catching their attention. One of the Grogar charged directly charging for him, Kormor braced himself, holding on tightly to the blade's hilt as he dodged the charging brute, forcing him to crash against a pile of empty crates.

"OI! GET THE FUCK TO THE WALLS!" Screamed a human guard, and just like that the fight was over, a team of guards shoving the grogars to the walls of the building and screaming at them as they started patting them down with the overseer standing behind them. Daigahn fearfully looked to Kormor.

"Drop the blade and do what they say!"

Without question, Kormor dropped his weapon, and raised his hands. One of the guards grabbed him and roughly shoved him against the wall, screaming at the top of his lungs. "I will fucking end you! Do you hear me, mongrel? I will spread your guts on the road and no one will fucking care, do you hear me?" Kormor choose not to answer and simple grunted at the guard. The guard began patting around his body, invasively feeling for weapons, when one of the Grogars, the first one Daigahn had punch, loudly snarled, pushing the guard off of him, drew a dagger and slashed him across the throat. The guard stepped back, breathing for air as his red blood spilled down onto the dirt floor, and collapsed. The rest of the guards quickly flung the Grogar to the floor, kicking him and beating him with complete brutality. In the chaos, the rest of the Grogars ran off, and the Overseer opened the door to the smithy.

"Get in!" he hissed to Daigahn and Kormor.

Kormor was quick to act and followed Daigahn in the smithy. The Overseer swiftly shut the door before the guards took notice of their absence. "Thanks you.." Kormor said to the Overseer. "You didn't have to do it, you know.."

"It's not good for business, leaving a client out like that, besides, to have such esteemed and recognized mercenaries such as the Black Band as clients, well, it's an honor!"

Daigahn was visibly shaking pacing around with his hands behind his head, before turning to Kormor, and yelled, "NEVER DO THAT AGAIN!"

"I WAS TRYING TO SAVE YOU!" Kormor yelled back defiantly. The sergeant was silent for a moment, regaining his composure as he sat down. "Don't forget, we're brothers now, the Black Band has taught me this, we stick together, no matter what." Kormor said, calming down.

"I-yeah...yeah, I'm sorry." He then looked to the Overseer, his large canines bared in a snarl. "Don't call the guards on a Grogar, ape, unless you want to see him dead."

"Y-yes, of course." The Overseer replied, still a bit shaken. "My lips are sealed."

Daigahn grunted, when a knock was heard on the door. The Overseer started to move, but Daigahn beckoned him to stay, rising himself and opening the door. A guard stood there. "Where's the half-breed?" The sergeant rose a bit, puffing out his chest.

"Inside. He's a member of the Band. So am I." He turned around to Kormor. "Show him your papers."Kormor stepped out into view, presenting the scroll to the guardsmen, no doubt this will keep them at bay. The guard took it, glancing over it briefly, and looked back to Daigahn.

"Look, we don't want to mess with the Band. Best to keep out of trouble. But you two've got to leave."

"We're picking up a delivery." Daigahn looked behind the guard, looking at Kormor's blade still laying on the ground. "And he'll need that back." The guard's eyebrows knit in defiance.

"I don't think so, he-"

"You want to mess with the Band?" The guard was silent for a second, hatred brewing in his eyes, before stepping out of the way and looking to Kormor.

"Take it."

"Thank you." Kormor said, walking and then knelled over his blade, grabbing it and sheathing it. "We'll be out of your way, I don't want to be here anymore then you do."

"Hm," The guard chuckled, turning around, clearly displeased with the situation at hand. "Then don't mind us, pigs. We'll just be picking up the corpses."
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DracoLunaris Multiverse tourist

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The Emerald Empire

The Frozen Cliffs


Oscar awoke, much to his own surprise. Everything was numb. His vision, looking out at the peaceful snow covered village surrounding him, was hazy, as if seen through a thick wall of glass. When he tried to move that turned out to almost be the case.

There was an almighty cracking sound as the haze shattered around him, shards of ice spilling across the now clear landscape. Oscar dropped to his knees atop the now decapitated stalagmite of ice he had been imprisoned in and despaired at what he now saw. The village was at peace, for so where its people. Broken bodies surrounded him, his friends and comrades who had made a last stand in a hopeless attempt to stop the wooden abominations that had attacked their home without warning. Many lay where they had fallen, bones shattered by the blunt instruments of the treekin, while others were frozen in lower parts of the prison that had so recently held him as well.

The ice prison itself had the stalagmight at its center with a frozen blast radius surrounding its base, a low wave of frost that had consumed flesh and bark alike before crashing against the walls of the two homes on either side of the villages main entrance, spilling forth to where his enemies had once stood. While those of flesh remains entombed in ice there was clear indication of areas where something had been broken out of the ice with hammers. Either the treekin had freed their comrades before they succumbed to the cold, or they had removed their bodies for whatever it was they did with their dead. Oscar wasn't sure what that was. He didn't really care, for they deserved to rot where they fell. His friends however, they deserved a proper burial.

but the heart of the mountains called to him

But he couldn't stay here. The dead should not take president over the living and perhaps there were survivors in the village. Leaving the battlefield behind him Oscar slid down from his frozen perch and entered the place that was, that had once been, his home. It was, remarkably, intact, but was also a ghost town. Everything of value was gone, either stolen by the Treekin or taken by fleeing villagers who had hauled off anything they could carry as they headed for safety. Here and there a few people lay dead, crude axes and burnt out torches at their sides. The Treekin had simply ignored anyone who hasn't been armed, for what was soft flesh against hardened bark? Nothing but a futility. Those that had lived, those that the treekin had ignored, must surely have fled, for an undefended village was easy pickings for the monsters and marauders that roamed the surrounding snowscape. As if to drive that fact home a howl pierced the graveyard quiet that had followed Oscar as he searched through the homes of his neighbours, both hoping and fearing that he would find someone still here. It came from the south, from higher up the mountain. He should knew he should run. Flee north down the mountain before the scavengers arrived.

but the heart of the mountains called to him

But down there was nothing but the Forest’s Empire. So instead he found himself marching upwards towards the danger, rather than running away from it, following the trampled path the Treekin had taken. There he found the source of the howl. Dyvolfs, two headed wolf like brutes who roamed the mountains in small packs/tribes, hunting and raiding. Here to loot anything that remains in the village no doubt. Well he wouldn't let them. The pack of twelve or so that had been marching down towards the village stopped at the sight of him emerging. There was growling and barks in a language Oscar did not understand. Most sounded scared. Nonetheless one of the Dyvolfs charged him, the great gray furred warrior seeing an opportunity for glory and status where its fellow faltered and feared.

In response Oscar reached inside himself and drew forth his magic. He raised a gloved hand towards the Dyvolf and the cold ripped forwards from his palm, resulting in a blast of concentrated entropy striking the beast in the chest. It blossomed like a crystalline flower, ice spreading out across it to cover a quarter of its body. The Dyvolf crashed to the earth, its heart flash frozen. The Ice Witch opened his mouth to shout at the others, to demand they leave this place, but all that came out was a cracked, dry scream of rage. It had the desired effect however, the other raiders turning tail and fleeing as fast as they could.

Oscar marvelled at his own power. It had come easily, more easily than he ever could remember. Even in the battle where he had pushed himself to his limits he hadn't had this much strength at his command. With it he could get revenge, he could crush the Treekin against the walls of the holy sumit, for shuly that was where they were headed now that the Queen had pulled most of her forces north on a fools reconquest of the long lost lowlands.

but the heart of the mountains called to him


But the heart of the mountains called to him.

Oscar turned, without really understanding why, away from the path to the holy sumit and marched towards an even higher, inaccessible peak. As he vanished into the falling snow the scavengers fell upon his old home, the laughter of snow hyenas echoing across the mountainside, delighting in the frozen bounty that war had gifted them.




The climb was long, yet the heart of the mountains called to him and so he did not tire. It was treacherous, yet the heart of the mountains called to him and so he did not falter. It took him to the depths of the frozen cliff range, where the cold was so intense even the hardiest would freeze solid in the white out conditions, yet the heart of the mountains called to him and so he marched on, drawn by the sirens call that echoed in his mind.

After what might have been many days or mere hours Oscar emerged from the white into the light of the sun. Above the constant snowfall. Above the clouds. It was a paradox of blinding light and glacial cold, though Oscar hardly felt it. He hadn’t felt the cold since he awoke. Or had he only felt the cold. He couldn’t say. He didn't need to think about it. Above him, higher than the Holy Summit by a significant margin, standing alone in a sea of cloud, was a peak of raw stone crowned in ice. Surrounded by walls of crystal clear frost it was hidden from the world below by the perpetual snow storm that made accessing it normally imposible. As Oscar approached the wall, a wall 20 meters in height, he saw that attop it stood status of ice. They all gazed downwards as they stood guard, frozen facimalies of races predominantly from the mountain itself, with a scant few from further afield. As he drew close to the wall it warped before his eyes, forming a gateway where before there had been naught but sheer ice moments before. Within the ring of ice was the peak itself, clear stone into which thousands of depictions of primordials had been carved. Most common were depictions of a four winged being bearing the mark of the sun sealed within a diamond lattice, who was often joined by a six armed woman who had a serpent's tail in place of her legs who bore the mark of a radiant moon. The gateway of ice sealed behind him as quickly as it had opened, trapping him within the walls and leaving only one way forwards; a tunnel, carved into the mountain for a being far greater than he, leading downwards. The carvings flowed down into this passageway, from which the heart of the mountains called to him, and so Oscar soon followed them. The tunnel had steps carved into it, spiraling downwards, each half the size of Oscar himself. Into these steps a smaller stairway had been carved, seemingly later than the first set and it was down this he walked, reading the carvings that were illuminated by a pale blue light that followed him as he descended. Towards the heart of the mountain.

The carvings told the tale of a Primordial with four wings, who had ruled from this peak in the time of legends, who had done many remarkable things including overthrowing Great Beasts of Lynn-Naraksh for their tyranny over mortals. However, as one by one her kin vanished from the world she and her serpentine sisters had sought ways to escape the endless string of tragedies that seemed to consuming all their kin. They had made servent, pale reflections of their own image and with their help had built two great temples within which they would rest til the end of days, when the sun’s rays froze cold and the moonlight burned. With preparations made they sealed themselves away from the world and left their servants to guard them while they slumbered. For generations they had done this, but while the Burning Moon’s aquatic children remain faithful, the Frozen Sun’s yearned to spread their wings. One by one they abandon their posts, flocking to other peaks where they would be free from obligation. In the end only the most faithful few remained. They struggled on, but their numbers faltered, each generation growing more sickly than the last even as their magical power grew. In the end only five remained, and these five turned to desperate measures to ensure their mother would remain safe till she awoke. They had turned to the beacon, a mirror of the one that glowed in the sea of lights, and twisted its design. At the end of the stairway Oscar found the end results of their tampering.

At the heart of the mountain was a great door, the entrance to the Frozen Sun’s resting camber, sealed behind a wall of ice polished to a mirror sheen. On an archway around this entrance where five thrones, upon which sat five frozen harpies, each blessed with a second pair of wings. It was not they who had Oscar’s attention, nor was it the culmination of the tale carved in the chamber walls:

The two beacons, one in the oceans depths and one in the heavens, where both bright reminders of the primordials legacy and wells of power for their followers. Wells the Five’s wayward sisters still drew from and gave too without knowing it. For the sorcery used by ice witches involved a pact, a pact with the beacon sealed in blood that allowed them to draw from it when they needed to, in exchange for it passively drawing a little of their own power for the rest of their lives. The five’s tampering with the beacon damaged its light in the process, creating the eternal frigid storm that raged across the mountain, but they did manage to insert a trap that would bring their sisters back into the fold. They changed the deal, creating a trap for those who drew to greedily, or desprely, from the wells power, As the harpies magic tradition spread to other races, the trap had ensnared them as well. It had ensnared Oscar.

In the mirror he saw himself. Saw a monster. A statue of ice given life. Deep beneath that ice there was still a man, a man who breathed air that came out colder than it went in. Whose heart still beat, yet what icy blood ran through his veins now he could not fathom.

Oscar remembered how he had been trapped in that ice. He remembered the battle, being desperate, horrified, by the Treekin who simply would not die. He had pushed everything into his magic, more than he ever should have. He had broken through some barrier, and for a moment mana flowed so easily. Too easily. Had lost control. He had been overwhelmed. And then everything went white. Embedded in a frozen chrysalis he had been remade to serve for all eternity.

His wrenched his gaze up and away from the reflection in confusion and horror, only to find the harpies gazing down at him.

“What. What am I? Where am I?” His words were ragged, brearley understandable, yet the Harpies responded nonetheless.

“You are frost forged, guardian of the Frozen Sun, and you are where you are needed.”

He was Frost Forged, and he was where he was meant to be.




The Sem Hills, south of Fenreforst
4 days after the battle of Cher Fort


Selzona had traveled through the night across the provinces to get to the low hills overlooking Lake Sem. There an unusual discovery had been made by a supply convoy heading from Fenreforst to ships docked against the northern shore of the lake. In an ancient abandoned quarry an entire legion of statues had been found, only discovered due to the high amount of traffic now using the region to get to the southern marshes. Slezona had come to take command of the the investigation both because she had dealt with strange occurrences like this in the past (notably the undead hydra and the strange staff now being used in the experiments) and ,because as author of the Empire’s notes on Ice Witchery, she had experience deciphering foreign magics.

Cresting the ridge line that had hidden the quarry and its contents from view Selzona and her small party of ents and dryads could see the army far below the, all made from the same stone as the quarry. As they descend down the long spiraling ramp up which stone and ore had been dragged in the time of legends Selzona conversed with one of the Dryads who had found the statues the previous evening, but who had halted his investigation after nightfall so that news of the discovery could be brought back to the Dreaming Forest. With their focus primarily on the war the Forest had decided that few could be spared to involve themselves in this anomaly and as a result all but the one dryad with them now had already set forth to the front. In a similar circumstances most Selzona had asked to come with her had declined to join the expedition and as a result only the most inquisitive and studious of Treekin had come with her from the site of the experiments in the west. All present then where distinctly aware that their presence here detracted from the war effort as a whole

After several minutes of walking down the party finally arrived at the base of the quarry, a rugged expanse of bedrock that its original carvers had not been able to peirce and into which no life had sprung after it was abandoned. Many years ago this place had been briefly surveyed by Dryad scouts during one of the last true wars with Shenra and their notes, and the memories of the Trees of those notes, indicated that these statues had not been here before. The nature and shear size of them made it highly unlikely that they had simply been missed.

The majority of the statues were of dryads, decked out in platemail made in a Shenran style and holding rune engraved greatswords in both hands, the tips of which where planted in the stone between their feet as the silicon soldiers stood to attention. Among the Dryads where a small number of colossal ents which nonetheless made up the majority of the stonework in the canyon due to their shear bulk. More beautifully masoned towers than statues the colossal ents were hidden from view by the depth of the quarry, but only just. They were equipped with the exact same equipment as colossal ents, down to material. A castle wall wielded as a shield, a great pillar of sharpened stone as a sword and armor featuring battlements for archers. It boggles the minds of the present dryads as to who would do this, and why. It could not be old, for the treekin as a subspecies were less than 200 years old and the colossal ent’s style of armament had only been made in the last years of the Sherna-Emerald wars. Perhaps stranger than the peristeen statues’ existence itself was the faces carved on them. Somewhere blank, most featured the faces of what were probably dryads, but among them were faces from species the Dryads did not imitate, such as sun elves or the genetically warped Warbreeds of Matathrana. Others noticeably showed signs of aging or disease, the most egregious of which was one of the colossal ents sporting a face that looked like it belonged on someone’s kindly old grandma, carved in immaculate detail, which stood in stark contrast to the utilitarian features that ents generally sported.

The varios Treekin investigators fanned out slightly once they arrived at the bottom of the quarry, thought they stuck within Dreaming range of the few Ents on the mission. Some began examining the make of the statues or the runes upon their blades, cross referencing them with manuscripts they had brought. One beastmaster unloaded a cage full of collared rats and then sat down to meditate as the tiny beasts made a complete survey of the quarry, counting the statues, looking for anomalies and sniffing for smells that might give the some clue as to the artisans of the work. Selzona herself walked among the statues, simply absorbing the place as she thought until she came across one that made her stop in her tracks. She had found one carved in the image of Saberath the Mad, the Empires only fire mage, who had perished in the final failed assault on the entrenched Matathran position during the battle for Fort Cher.

The sight of the familiar face struck her out of her contemplation. Time was precious, she reminded herself, and they needed to work out what this strange occurrence was and how it might either be used or stopped as soon as possible. Placing her hand against the statue of Saberath she chanted a few simple Ice Witch evocations to activate a small spell. Where her hand touched the stone frost began to form as she unknowingly channeled the entropy of the Frozen Sun, drawing power in to see if there was more energy inside the statue than would have been expected from simple dull stone. It was a crude way of detecting magic, easily confused by the simple presence of unexpected heat, but it had worked before.

Yet instead the bizarre happened. As the magical frost formed, it also disappeared. The cold seemed to seep into the statue, and the magic seemed to follow, the stone absorbing the magical effects like a sponge.

She stopped as soon as she felt the tug, feeling like a hunter who’s pray had show itself to be far hungrier than her. After overcoming the surprise she called for Marketh the Blunt to come over to her. He was one of the original discoverer of the statues and one of the few among them who actually needed to be armed in order to be dangerous. Selzona then repeated the test on a number of other statues as she waited for him, ensuring that Saberath’s statue was not unique in its hunger. The armored Dryad arrived when she was on the fourth test, his warhammer resting nonchalauntly against his shoulder.

“What ya need me for?” he asked as Selzona withdrew her hand form the magic devouring statue.

“Break that one for me please.” she instructed, gesturing to the statue of Saberath.

“I guess I can do that. But it doesn't sit right. Hurting one of our own.” The warrior replied as he passed Selzona.

“It’s just stone. A reflection.” she glanced up at the wrinkled face adorning one of the colossal ents. “A mockery”

“I guess.” Marketh rolled his shoulders and took a breath, psyching himself up “So. How you want this done?”

“Just break it, there's plenty more where it came from. Once we have a better idea of what we are looking at we can do some more delicate dismantling” Selzona concluded, stepping back to get clear of the Dryad’s upcoming swing.

He nodded and then, grasping his hammer in both hands and winding it back for a big hit, made a crushing horizontal strike against the statue’s chest with the flat side of the hammer.

The hammer collapsed a portion of the chest in with a loud crack. A sweet aroma filled the air as a honey like liquid dripped out from the stoney wound. The Statue staggered backwards, maintaining its stance, pulling the tip of it’s broadsword from the earth and brandishing it in a single hand while it reaching out to try and grasp the hammer with the other.

As the drips of honey hit the bedrock floor, the entire quarry filled with the sounds of the face bearing statues unrooting themselves. They held their weapons defensively over the unfaced statues and others came to the aid of the wounded one, surrounding the scene and staring at Marketh with lifeless eyes.

Marketh’s hammer thudded to the ground, dropping it as he backed away from the suddenly animated statue.

“I’m so sorry” He backed away from the dropped blunt instrument with his arms raised to either side of his head, genuinely appalled by what he had done, only to have one of those arms garabed by the wrist. Selzona and the other researchers where all old enough to have learned to spot a bad situation when they saw one, and they all broadcast the same advice through the Dreaming.

Run! Regroup!

Selzona then more or less dragged the younger dryad after her as she made of at a dead sprint for the ramp leading up and out of the Quarry. As she did she channeled mana into her free hand, ready to unleash it to repel any of the statues that tried to stop her, though she doubted it would be very effective against the magic devouring golems. While they had all stayed near the entrance, near each other, Selzona and Marketh had waded some way into the ranks of the stone warriors and as a result had the furthest to go out of all their kin to reach the presumed rally point.

As Selzon and Marketh attempted to escape the surrounding circle of statues, the lively ones followed shortly behind them, forming a tight defensive line. Others were seen attempting to secure the perimeter the quarry, threatening any stragglers. Unfortunately for Selzona and Marketh, they were those stranglers and where rapidly penned in by the perimeter of stone warriors, with others hot on their heels.

The statues quickly surrounded the escaping pair, eyes fixated on Marketh. One stoney dryad reached forward with their arm, and extended their index finger as to point at Marketh. None paid much mind to Selzona, and even seem disinterested in her.

“I didn’t know.” Marketh tried to explain a Sleszona dragged him closer to herself in an attempt to shield him. She raised her other hand towards the statues, cold frost forming upon it as she channeled magic. As she did so she demanded that they “Stay back! If you understand me then come no closer. We can talk about this, we can come to an accord, or you can force me to act.” It was dawning on Selzona that she herself was the end product of a similar situation, that she now stood in the shoes of the woodsmen, and she could either attempt to understand her mistake or commit to it with ignorant fury.

The group surrounding them all extended one arm, their index fingers pointing at Marketh. Slowly one end of the circle opened, and the statue the bore the face of Saberath hobbled through, one hand on the still leaking wound, although the stream had turned to a trickle, three dimensional hexagons of stone revealed past the crumbling exterior, similar to that of a honeycomb. The statues took no step further as they pointed, and behind them the grinding sound of the perimeter being enclosed by the rest of the stone army halted, signaling a complete enclosure of the faceless.

When the soldiers did in fact stay where they were Selzona slowly lowered her frost covered hand to her side in acknowledgment of their cooperation. Though if they had actually listened and obeyed, or had simply continued with what they would have done already, was unclear to her. She suspected the latter. As the statue of Saberath approached them Marketh regained some of his composure, the swirling mess in his mind settling down as he became transfixed upon the possibility of redemption. He stepped away from Selzona and walked, slowly, towards the person he had so grievously wounded. With little other option Selzona prepared to follow him, only for a mighty sword to fall between her and Marketh, the owner being one of the stone statues. It slowly shook its head in an almost scolding fashion at Selzona, eager to only let Marketh approach Saberath. She had been relegated to mere spectator. Ahead of her Marketh halted his advance a meter from the wounded golem, his arms spread to either side to show his unarmed state. Unsure of what was expected he simply asked “how can I make this right? How can I fix this?”

Saberath leaned forward, and without movement of its mouth, a haunting voice echoed from the statue, partly Saberath's, partly a tone Marketh's ears could barely fathom as alive, "bring faces for the soldiers of stone."

“I, I don't understand. Who put faces on you before, why didn't the finish their masonry?” Marketh asked while he pushed what he had just heard into the dreaming. There Selzona’s mind reeled as she heard the memory of a half familiar voice. She had met him once before he died and back then they had talked of foreign magics and their study. She reached out with her mind to find his, but there was nothing. If the statue truly was Saberath then it was a marval of magic that had allowed him to escape death, yet he had lost the dreaming in the process and to many of her kind that was a fate worse than death.

"Bring sacrifices," Saberath explained.

“Oh.” there was a long silence as this sank in. A silence Selzona interrupted before Marketh could respond

“You should know that won't be necessary.” she shouted from her hemmed in place “Death draws closer every minute, the same death that consumed you Saberath. Or do you not remember the man whose face you wear, whose voice you speak with. Do any of you?”

Saberath kept its eyes on Marketh, "you have your task."

"Now-"

A figure erupted from the statue of Saberath. The eye barely caught it as it fluttered translucently, a simple ethereal form of glowing white. It almost looked like a young dead woman dressed in many robes, but the eyes could not fixate on any particular detail as it left the corporeal shell of the statue. It opened its mouth and the sentence was finished with a horrifying scream that excited the deepest reaching fears of all creatures that heard it, "LEAVE."

Yet Treekin had no brains to process it, no blood to pump adrenaline through, no real way of feeling fear. The memory of fire haunted them all, but that was knowledge chiseled into them all through the dreaming, not true, instinctive, terror. The banshee's cry rammed into their minds and then faltered as it ran into something truly alien and, with no chains to grasp and rattle, the power behind her cry failed. The only things in the quarry effected where the rats, who’s squeeks of fright could be heard as they scurried away, heedless of their master’s commands. Despite being unaffected Marketh felt the need to take several steps back from the specter for his own safty. Selzona merely grinned, an entirely deliberately decision, at the ghost. “Thank you for your answer. Let’s go Marketh, we have a task to complete.” She turned to leave and, after one last glance back at the face of Saberath, the warrior hurried after her.

They rejoin their comrades who had been waiting on the ramp without incident, the statues forming a perimeter behind them. Rather than returning to a static state it seemed that this was a genie that would not be going back in the bottle: the statues began actively securing their nest now that it had been kicked, patrolling the perimeter of the quarry. The Treekin expedition left as soon as the panicked rats had been re-collected, ascending the ramp more or less silently. Once they were out of sight the various researchers and scholars all erupted into mostly philosophical debate on what this meant about the existence of souls, to what extent the statues might absorb the person the seemingly stole life from and so on. Selzona however fixated upon what they could mean militarily (where they a threat like the hydra or a tool like the staff?) and could they, or the magic of the specter, be used by them in any way. Marketh meanwhile was concerned about the fact that his fellows had so easily thrown aside the possible plight of their kin trapped in stone simply because they weren't connected to the dreaming anymore. He managed, more or less without notice from his preoccupied kin, to roll a satchel bag of paper and writing materials, that they had been intending to use for documentation during an extend stay, safely down the quarry before they left. If they were inside and ever free from their ghostly master perhaps they could use it to communicate with one another. A poor substitute for the dreaming, and one that would run out at that, but it was something.

On the journey back he managed to get ahold of Selzona in between her discussions of the arcane. “We aren't giving them sacrifices? Right?” he had asked what he needed to do to be forgiven, but their deplorable request hadn't been worth their forgiveness

“No. the task we need to complete is the one we came here to do, to report back to our kin on the possible dangers here.” “and if they come looking for sacrifice” “the war should feed them well enough will we find a solution.” “we would be committing our kin to stone prisons” “better that than risk total annihilation by Matathran fire. Still, it is not our decision to make, it is the Forests.”

Marketh nodded in agreement,and spent most of the remaining march back to the south Fenreforst grove ruminating on what should be done.




The Forest initially decided to do nothing and the statues were added to the growing list of strange events taking place in the world. However, with the subsequent reports from the north embassy to Clan Barkor of the angel’s words of floating beings building armies of stone soldiers and the muddled rumors coalesce from refugees about warriors of stone, spirit and flesh fighting against the angels let them draw a link between the undead hydra being unleashed upon their lands and the statues having the same creator. A creator that most likely meant them harm. The rumors of the angels fighting them also destroying Utyre where considered too unreliable to be worked with in any capacity. Unwilling to make the same mistake that Shenra made with them however, they decided to endevor to understand these two forces rather than attempt immediate retaliation and discussion about how to acquire additional data was put just behind the war with Matathran in terms of priority for discussion. As debates swirled among the Trees the Agrarian faith was brought up, as their belief in a threat from the east arriving around this time was remarkably accurate if the rumors were true.

The Forest had never put much stock in any religion but had studied that practiced by their enemies regardless, but if they were to get a proper understanding, unfiltered through scripture and priest, they would need to go to the home of that faith. And so an expedition was organised, one that included Selzona and Marketh, that would cross the inhospitable wastes between them and the knights to the east. There they would endeavor to find out all there was to know from the prophetess faithful and, perhaps, get some remote scouting on the war in Utyre.

Suggestions that the war with Matathran be halted were dismissed. The Matathrans could not be allowed a port so close to the Ever Green Isles. The chaos for the east would hit them first regardless if it continued to spread west and ocne it did they would be in a much better negotiating situation.


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(By Ekommogold)

As the expedition entered its seventh day since the last island was spotted, a dense fog had overtaken the ocean waves. The sea was aggressive for hours, rocking the boat, turning new blooded face's green, and doing a number on the Admiral Griobhaéch. But when the turbulent waves left, the fog stayed, and the wind slowed. The fleet found itself slowly cruising through the thick fog, lanters lit on every bow, mirrors in place to illuminate the immediate area.

Quick blinks of the lanterns were used to communicate to the other ships, and soon the fleet was nearly side by side as they made way through the fog. Hour eight in the fog, and a helmsman on the front most vessel, The Bowhead, sent out the signal to the rest of the fleet: ship spotted.

There looming slowly in the fog was a dark vessel, the deck at a strange angle, the bow pointing high in the sky, and the stern and mast missing. It didn't take too long once the crews got close enough to realize it was a floating shipwreck, the front half of an immense boat somehow staying afloat due to a lucky interior design, while the bottom half sagged below the waves, saturated or potentially even missing.

The Freishannese Royal Marines went to the ready as soon as the ship was spotted, although the tension decreased after state of the ship was revealed. Aboard the Admiral Griobhaéch the Honorable Magus Laoithr Ghúmard prepared for his duties. The announcement of the sighting of the mysterious vessel had not changed the necessity to keep the wind up for the voyage.

Meanwhile aboard the Bowhead the Magus Sáedir and the group of Marines stationed on the Seobagh ship came up from below deck.

"Oi! Cote they mine sal!" shouted Captain Siorc, who had come to the bow of the Bowhead to look upon the wreckage. He turned to Saedir with a half-toothed grin. "Lokes lake soam one's bate ose tow et!" Murce had come up with the Freishannese with her Grogarian eyes widened at the ship, and her father sighed. "A dite! Less prepar toe bard!"

Aboard the Liba, Has came down from the mast, approaching the eagerly-awaiting Bahar. "A shipwreck, captain." The captain nodded at the information, before Has continued. "Siorc's cut the main sail, headed for the wreckage."

"Catch up to them, and then do the same," Bahar ordered, squinting through the fog while his sailors behind him awaited further orders.

As the ships approached the vessel, they noticed the wood's darkness was due to intense saturation, mostly likely from being in the water for far too long, any laquer long stripped, but not long enough to sink the strange ship. Any aesthetic value left was completely alien, and no markings assigned it to any known nation.

The deck was completely clear, a massive jagged hole blown into the top. Water smoothed scratches zigzagged across the wood, and many signs of aggression marked the entire ship. The boat was otherwise quiet, leaving the mind to wonder among the soft lapping of the ocean and hazy fog.

“Captain we should stay back!” came the hurried shout of the Honorable Magus as he managed to get up to the sterncastle. Fixing his collar he continued perhaps a bit more tactly, “It would be prudent to wait, as I must be permitted to see what I can of any magical danger before we put all our Marines aboard such a damaged vessel.”

“This ship wasn’t built to easily maneuver everywhere, especially with three vessels already, you’ll have your time.” Captain Solbhan replied before shouting, “Raise the sails and keep the watch!”

Sáedir stepped back as the Marines prepared to board with the Seobagh sailors, planks and steadying ropes at the ready to maintain contact.

"Eh...go a aid ten," Siorc shouted back to the Magus. He looked ot the marines and sailors. "Stan' back, let 'em doe 'es wark." The Liba, being the small size it was, hung back behind the Bowhead.

"We'll support them if anything goes awry," Bahar announced to his men. With the ropes secured and the planks placed the few Freishannese aboard the Liba boarded the apparently abandoned vessel. They proceeded to move out in small groups securing the various locations that could be reached. Cabins and areas not under water in addition to searching the deck and the reachable castle of anything of import.

The found the ship eerily empty. The cabins only holding discarded metal armor and a few heavily used weapons scattered about, but as they passed by the hole in the deck, they couldn't help but notice a light. A soft red glow faded out from the hole in gentle intervals, similar to a resting heartbeat. The last place to look was down.

The marines surrounded the hole, many of their hands rested on their blades. "The hell is down there?" One of them asked. "Oi," he shouted, "Is someone there?"

No sound returned from the hole, just the beating of the softly glowing light. The marines looked to each other skeptically, murmering anxiously as they gazed down at the abyss. One of them picked up stone and tossed it down the hole, testing the depth of it. It didn't take long for it to make a soft clunk as it bounced off wood and into some water. One of the marines, holding a lit lantern, then announced, "Get me a rope." After tying the lantern to a rope, it was lowered deep into the hole, hoping to illuminate the darkness.

The light revealed the bottom of the second deck. It was at a slant like the rest of the ship, with one end disappearing under the water, and the other end slanting out of the water. Craning his neck, the marine could make out a hollow doorway at the end of the slant, the pulsing light illuminating from there. He thought for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Hoist me down."

After the marine was hoisted down to the second deck, he grab the lantern, which had been placed on the floor. "Be careful!" One of his comrades called after him, and he crept slowly towards the pulsing light.

"H-hello? Anybody there?" He called, squinting towards the doorway the light was emenating from.

The light's pulse quickened ever so slighty, and as the man got closer, the warmer he felt. He hadn't noticed it before, but the outside fog had been chilly, and his bones only just now began to thaw, safe from the ocean winds. Despite this respite, the ship remained quiet, the light his only companion. There was only one direction he could go. He swallowed hard, and pressed on, closer to the source of the light, a bead a sweat dripping down his neck. "I'm not here to hurt you...what happened?"

The man now stood at the doorway, his foot pushing soaked dust, and the gentle light ever pulsing, beckoning him in. He breathed in deeply, and stepped in. As he did, a hand jumped out from his side, grabbing his belt and thrusting him to the wet floor.

He lay prone on top of a body whose back was propped against the wall of the cabin, its hand now grabbing his collar. The marine stared with wide eyes as two pale blue eyes stared back from a rotting face, framed by dark wavy hair worn in a Lynnfairish style. Around the being's neck was a simple steel amulent, a pulsing ruby on the pendant. Everything else on the undead man was covered in endless white steel armor, complete with silver bands, and a gruesome wound shredding the armor away from its right hip, rotten flesh and chipped bone strewn everywhere. The two sat on a pile of dust, and the corpses jaw began to move, a ragged stone grinding cough for a voice.

"Freishannese?" The corpse asked.

"A-aye, sir," The marine responded, breathing heavily and nervously as he stared into the corpse's eyes.

A great sigh erupted from the corpse, be it relief or something else, "bring me to Askor." The hand let go of the collar and the undead knight let its head fall back onto the wall. The Freishannese man began to formulate a response.

"Who...what are you?"

"I am... Robert... of the Silver Legion..." Thin lids stretched over Robert's eyes as he closed them, "and... I am a knight of Lynnfaire."

“Prophetess protect me, you’d be d- I mean you’d have to talk to the Captains.” The man somewhat regained his wits as he edged away from the Knight to a more comfortable distance.

"Just bring me to Askor," Robert groaned, "our very existances depend on it." He held up the amulet from his neck, the room pulsing with its red glow, a large crack going down its center, "I must make it."

“Let me go get the Captains then.” The Marine moved to go back the away he came, back to the whole group. After returning he explained through panting, “...prophetess...living-corpse...silver legion…”

And then more coherently to the now assembled Marines, two went back down to confirm the story as the others waved get the assorted leadership informed.

When Bahar first was told the story of what they found, he was concerned for the marines' sanity; he knew they weren't quite used to being out at sea for so long. When he saw the undead corpse with his own eyes, he was a bit less skeptical. "Alright, the hell are you?" He said. Siorc smacked the privateer lightly on the shoulder.

"Thes es a noit off thar Silvar Laysion, showe soam raspact boy!"

"Respect to what? A rotting corpse? Bah." He snorted. "You can fall for whatever you'd like, but we should not forget that whatever this...thing has wrecked this ship, or something else wrecked it because of it." Siorc grimaced at Bahar's remarks, but still looked to...'Robert' expectantly.

"By the grace of light," Robert scoffed, "I'm right here." The knight leaned off the wall, one of his arms propping him up slightly, "I am Sir Robert of Kamwell, Former Knight of Lynnfaire under King Richard III and current knight of the Silver Legion, under command of Lord Grand Marshal Veran."

Robert seemed out of breath as he finished his small speech, letting his body fall back on the wall, his hand probing his gaping wound, "now if you don't mind, please bring me back to Askor."

Bahar's eyebrows were knit, and he bit his lip as he looked at the 'knight'. "What happened to the ship, Robert of Kamwell?" He looked around him. "'Cause by the look of it, you sunk it." Siorc interjected.

"Ya done know thote, Bahar."

"What I do know is that the Silver Legion was slaughtered three hundred years ago, and even if someone survived, last I checked, men don't live that long." The privateer looked to the other captain. "I say we leave him."

Robert's rotted face twisted, "Do I look like an ordinary man? You want to know what happened, you get me out of here, or the world itself be damned."

With what strength the wounded corpse had it ripped the amulet from its neck, the clasp snapping as he held the brightly pulsating ruby up to the onlookers, "take a good look, its your only salvation."

Quickly, as Bahar tried to snatch the amulet from the corpse, the jewel immediately burned his hand with an intense heat, forcing him to drop it. "Damn!" He snapped. The corpse scooped it up and shook his head.

"I said look, not take," Robert scolded, "I can see listening isn't the strong suit of this crew." Bahar rubbed his hand, continuing to inspect the knight.

"What manner of witchcraft have you endowed in that gem?" the captain snarled. Siorc rolled his eyes, looking back to the corpse.

"Fargef me frand, 'ey sames tow farget 'istry."

"No witchcraft," Robert corrected, "it's broken, and when you took it from me, it started to break. Only the magic endowed in me is keeping it together."

He paused, "a shame too, for I would much rather use such magic to render my hip together. Now you see why I must deliver it for my own personal reasons, on top of, of course, the damnation of all existence I keep blabbering about that you seem to keep ignoring."

The broken knight brought the necklace up to his neck, the clasp turning a white hot as it melded itself back together. He slipped it back on, letting the cracked gem rest on his chest, pulsing its soft glow.

Bahar's eyes widened at the sight of the self-repairing necklace, but he said nothing. "Yeah? Keep blabbering, corpse. I'm not going to be-"

"Nar, Bahar," the whaler said, speaking up. He defiantly stepped in front of the younger man. "Ye cahn bay skepical if ya loik, bat oif gote a dyuti." He turned to Robert. "Coam, wafe-"

"Siorc, this is rediculous," the privateer said loudly. "You can't possibly believe this...thing." The whaler puffed up his chest and locked eyes with the taller man in response.

"I belafe en thar [i]Selfar Lasion[i]." The two kept eyes locked for a while, before Bahar finally broke. He sighed loudly, placing his face in his palm, and waited a bit longer before speaking up again.

"I-I'll take him." Siorc raised his eyebrows at this. "If you won't budge, Siorc...you're more needed on this expedition than I am. I'll put the corpse on the Liba." The whaler start chuckling.

"Thas me mahn, Bahar!" The younger man grunted, then looked to Robert.

"But if I find out you're lying, corpse...you'll be deader than you already are."

"If you're to truly take me to Askor, I owe you one warning," Robert's groan turned grave, "if you're planning on going any further than this shipwreck, you'll find nothing. It would be wise if all returned to Askor with me, and the gem."

Bahar crossed his arms. "Really?" He laughed mockingly. "How do you know this, 'Sir Robert'?"

"Where do you think I came from?" Robert looked at Bahar, "I left the continent of Yzaille, heading East to reach Askor, but I'm afraid you won't find much of Yzaille is left, and certainly nothing to sustain life."

"Wote 'apent?" Siorc asked, a fearful look in his eyes.

Robert looked at Siorc, "The Lord Emperor happened."

"What do you mean?" Bahar asked as he stepped forward towards the corpse.

"Now that's a story for the ride home, eh?" Robert looked up at the pair.
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Sigma
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Sigma

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Brakor-Mudir Borderlands
"Hurry brother!" A young, injured Drimor cried out, another Drimor not too far behind as they both run through dense forest, fleeing their pursers, the victorious war cries of Brakor warriors growing louder by the moment. The younger Drimor sibling pausing for a moment, catching her breath as her elder brother caught up, breathing with labored breaths, both scanning their surroundings in a panic. "Over there!" The sister shouted, pointing to a random direction, and so they both ran, and kept on until the war cries grew more and more faint. Both siblings slowed down, the threat finally passing. "We made it..." the brother said, once again with labored breath, both earning themselves a break as they laid against a tree.

"The Chieftain was a fool.." The sister muttered, looking to her brother who gave her a weak nod of agreement, Clan Mudir was indeed in no shape to confront the much larger Brakor, but the new chieftain had delusions of grandeur, delusions that costed the lives of three hundred warriors. "Fia.." The brother spoke of his sister's name.

"What is it, Thad?"

"When we get back...I'm going to kill that whoreson.."

"...I'll help you." This was quite a spontaneous decision, but not unheard of in Tarkiman culture. After many hours, the sun begun to rise, morning had come, both siblings had regained their strength, and were ready to move on. Fia was first up, stretching her arms outs. "First, we need to find a way ou-" she stopped midway through her sentence, as she took notice of something...odd. "What's wrong?" Thad asked, looking to the direction she was staring into, and was unnerved, before them was a scattered horde of life-sized statues, all seemingly sculpted overnight. "What is this.." Thad muttered.

"These weren't here before." Fia added, her tone was that of uncertainty and fear. She stepped further close to the statues, examining them and taking notice of the finer details of each, coming across Grogar, Human and even Drimor statues, and while they are of fine craftsmanship...the air about them is still unsettling, the two pressed on, exploring this "garden" of statues. Eventually, the siblings would come upon two particularly odd statues, they're features were Drimor, but...they're faces were completely blank. Fia, growing more curious with this discovery, stepped closer. "Fia, be careful." Thad said. "Something's not right...It ll feels so wrong."

Without thinking, Fia touched the smooth, stony surface of the statue, much to her horror as her hand begun to emit a red hue, instantly pulling her hand away, as the once blank face begun to form boar-like features of the Drimor, specifically Fia's features. She fell on her back, shuffling away from the statue in terror. "Oh Gods!" She screamed. Thad rushed over, lifting her up as they both stared at the statue. "This forest is cursed...run!" They both fled, fleeing as far away from these statues as possible, but in the end, it may prove a fruitless endeavor.
Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Oraculum
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Oraculum Perambulans in tenebris

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Empire of Lynn-Naraksh


A Dungeon


Dark.

Almost.

It was nearing dark now. Too long for it to be a passing shadow. Night. She had once counted the time of days and nights, and known when one would succeed the other without needing to see the light and darkness. It was when she thought that the sun would blind her with its stings, one every day, and had sought to shelter her eyes from it. That had ceased to matter long ago, but also long afterwards. When something still mattered.

Had it ever mattered, however? Had anything? Had she truly ever measured the span of light and darkness? She often found herself remembering things that had never happened, for it was all long ago, and it was not important. She knew this all the better because, of late, she had not remembered them so often any longer. The strain of memory to decease itself had become obvious for the hollow, senseless artifice that it was, ad so it had faded away like all that had truly happened before.

It was not even important when was long ago, and in sooth, though she could not have known it, it had never been. She had not come into the vault to await the date of a sentence, but to do something else, something that did not matter because it had already happened. All to do with it ha gone the way of oblivion. The many eyes of raging flame, the blood upon the swords, the breath of molten iron were less real than in a folk-tale about the things that hunt in the night and punish the disobedient, for their blood reeks sweetly.

She had also seen the things, when they had come before the door and cast the shadow of unborn night. They were frightening, because that was what they had to be, and they thought much of their duty. Some of them shone when it was still light, and they were the worst, because they promised one thing and then gave another. The others did not mask themselves, but revealed their darkness as it was. That might have been even more fearsome once, for reasons that had been somewhere for someone, but not here, nor for what remained of what had been her.

The fear, however, was not fully gone. It was nothing like what she, or anyone who believed there to be entities of importance, once could have felt. Where that was a keen glimmer in the shadows of thought, this was a sinking, quivering reflection on the waters of a torpid lake. Perhaps she did not feel it at all. She had sought to think of whether she did, now and again in the past, but it flowed between her fingers rather than cutting and piercing them. In the occasional moment of indolent lucidity, it occurred to her that this was the only way her memory could entertain itself after its simulacra were gone. Drawing something from oblivion itself was beyond its reach, and thus it captured the reflecting waters in a sieve and let them roil, gently, silently.

But those moments passed soon.

The last one had been many lights before (many? Many. No more). She had thought, then, that it was well they did not come more often, for else memory's games would no longer have sufficed, either for it or for her. It was just as well the lapse had come before the realisation of what they ought to have sufficed for. She dimly suspected - even as everything was dim - that she might have realised that many times before, and always it had receded back into oblivion. As it all did, in the end. One thing she did not seem to lose, and that were the thoughts. Thoughts - hers, for the most part, or of memory. Sometimes one appeared which she did not recognise as belonging to either. Like the fear, which passed through both but did not stand still. Thoughts of what was old, older than her and her time here, in the darkness and light, however much it might have been and for whichever reason.

They did not reveal any more than this and went by, most often forgotten before the cycle was finished, and left unmourned. For what mattered it how old a thought was?

No more than anything.

Not that the light was soon to be over, and its hue - how was it named? She might have seen it before - was growing darkened as it failed to fulfil its oath. The light was not unlike those things outside the door that had gleaming faces. It promised more, but instead of delivering its radiance it dived in blackness and pallor, however bright that might have been.

But what good to praise or lament, now?

Idleness.

Vacuity.

...

Night.

...

Clang.

Fall
into

abyssal

How

Why ask
when

it is

Fall

That matters
Something

for once

at last

And again?
No

It does not

Still nothing

Why else be here
Finally

cold pain

IN ITS TIME


And this is all.

The soil was not truly painful. It was something, for certain, and that was enough of a blow, but her skin had held, weathered as it was by winding breezes and dripping ropes to life. There was nothing else in her that could yield. It was a relief that her bones had endured, however. Had but it been higher, who knew...

It did not immediately reach her that her position had changed. She was no longer upright, with the inking light before her eyes. Instead, there was only cold stone, and blackness deeper than the palely lit night. It was almost amusing, after a fashion. There it went - entirely unlike everything that had been before. What would she have thought if it had been her, in that position? Did anyone else in the world ever assume it, for that matter? Did they know how entertaining it was, to be like this? Not frightening, no. Fear was something else. But it seemed to her that she remembered the upright position being the more natural, for reasons beyond the simple one. Now?

She sought to ensure that her fingers still moved. She could not turn here head like so, for there was hard stone in its way, but-

She could see her fingers. It had moved.

The arm had moved.

She had willed for it, and it had moved.

The hand was before the eyes. Was this not unusual?

It tired her. The change, which had been passive. The motion, which had been slight. The very facts that were happening, for facts were happening.

She did not know how long she lay in place. Hours. Days. Maybe more, but not less. It was not sleep, it was a night of the body that came only once in a lifetime, only after events like this.

Still, she could move her arm, though all else might as well have been made of the same stone as the floor.

How long had passed? Weeks. Years. She did not feel hunger. Only exhaustion. Her head swam as waves on which there floated revolving iron rings. They struck every part of it within, in turn. The echoes were respite.

She rose when it was dark again. How many times had it grown light, then shadowed again? Many. None.

It still did not matter.

For what did this change, in the end?

She rose, her body crumbling behind her, and saw that the darkness was all. There was no door beyond which things could pass. It stood, open, like her eyes and arms.

Like her arms.

She did not know they had such strength. One lunge forward, and they clutched at the edges of the cutting floor, and pulled. All that was behind followed. Lunge, pull, it followed. Was it indeed so insignificant that even swollen, enfeebled palms whose fingers could not move could bear it?

It could not have been the fingers, for there was only inflexible bone in them. It was the arms that moved. They had held so that they could support all else, and now they carried it.

Was this amusing?

Did it matter? she asked no one, whose were the old thoughts. No, it did not, answered no one, but she knew this well enough anyway.

Beyond the door that was no longer, darkness reigned still. To all sides, not as before. She did not stay to appreciate the contradiction.

They lunged, pulled, dragged. Not once did it occur to her where.

Simply, they lunged, pulled and dragged. That was what they did.

And this was what she would do.

Onwards. Nowhere, for - where else?

Where at all. Why. What for.

Each question was worth the others.

That was to say, nothing.

Nothing.

Abyssal


Naraksh. Lynnde.

?

It had slept.

It had died, and it had slept.

Long.

It remembered, faintly.

Reaching to the tainted skies with its many arms, snatching foes out of flight and crushing them.

Looming over the celebration of the creatures of flesh. They were minuscule. Little more than the specks of dirt beneath them. But they gave it blood to sate its hunger.

The hunger. It had slept, and it had not fed.

Long.

It could feel now. It was not in pain from the killing wound anymore. Instead, there was emptiness around it.

It tugged, faintly, below, out of sight.

Its hind claws scraped rock. They could not budge more.

It was bound.

And yet, the hunger.

The strength.

Where were they?

It reached out with immaterial tendrils, smelling, tasting, probing.

The thoughts of one slipped, cold and slimy, fast below the surface.

The thoughts of the other churned like molten flame and ground ponderously like mountains of black stone.

They lived. They slept.

It would wake them.

Now that it had awoken itself.


Deep beneath the earth, past dread and flame and bone and metal, in chambers of sweltering desolation, it stirred.

The Beast of Iron opened its eyes.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Sigma
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Town of Karkan, Ardir Territory
"Fascinating..." A Clergymen of the Serene Church spoke, examining the golden husk along with several others. The Town Barracks had temporarily been closed off, the Garrison relocated in other parts of the town for the time being as the Church begun its investigation regarding the Angel of Ardir. The Garrison Commander stood in the open doorway, watching the clergymen do their work.

"After you brought the stranger over?" One of them asked the Commander, looking to him, seeing him in a sort of daze, starring at the Husk, although he wouldn't blame him, the object was memorizing in its...unearthliness, so unnatural, yet, here it stands. "Commander?" The man spoke, slowly losing patience. The Commander shook his head, snapping back to reality.

"Uhh...yes." The Commander mumbled, still shaken by the experience. "He continued on rambling on and on, about Demons, being sent by the God of all, and such."

The clergymen nodded. "Mhm, yes." He said. "What else can you tell us?"

The Commander swallowed a lump, seeming hesitant, although calling in members of the Church was his idea in the first place, he still felt doubt that what he would have to say would be less then believed. "Come on, out with it!" Another spoke, his patience wearing thin.

"....We placed the Angel in one of the bunk rooms." The Commander said. "Soon after..we heard such...terrible screams..." The commander begun to sweat, the as he relived this strange and alien scene. "One of my men was first to force his way in, he told us he saw something leave the room, it was like a ethereal mist, and just left the husk you see now...."

"Interesting..." The lead Clergymen spoke. "Any more you wish to share with us?"

"...Before we forced our way in, in the mess of screams and screech we all heard one word clearly..."Liar", it's all that we understood."

"Hmmm... thank you for your cooperation Commander, I know this must've been a terrible experience."

"..What do you plan to do with the Husk?" The Commander asked, curious of the Churches intentions.

"We will gladly take this thing, off your hands, Commander." The leader said. "We'll be taking it to Ardirum, the Archbishop will want to see this for himself, and perhaps, further study."

"Good.." The Commander said. "I want this that as far away from me and my town as soon as possible."
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Brithwyr
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Brithwyr Primus inter Pares

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The Border Guard


Boys. Too many boys.

When Commander Hayha Nano worked under the Company of the Rose, he knew all his men for at least six months before going into combat with him, more than enough time to work out their individual quirks and abilities. These men were strangers too him. And there were too many boys.

He'd heard all the usual excuses. The first battle would turn them into men. They had never tasted defeat. And that old classic - they were willing to die for him, what more did he need? But these were the arguments of people who didn't understand war. The difference between victory and defeat was not whether your men were willing to die for the country, no. Victory was earned by making the poor sap you fought against die for his.

The way the brass spoke, it was as though war would break out at any minute. The commander had been assigned the petrifying task of securing the Freishann border against assault. A counter attack could wait until the army had been mobilised and prepared, but it was vital that a bulk Freishann force did not make it over the mountains. To that regard, Commander Nano and his men were the only line between Tsunatontu and total annihilation. The pressure weighed heavily on the aging commander. He knew what this kind of job entailed. The Brass made it sound as though it was about holding the line, preserving the border, just holding back the tide until support arrived. But Nano knew better. It was about sending enough young men to their deaths that their blood would make the enemies cavalry slip. They weren't an iron wall, ready to hold back any foreign invader. They were a wooden fence that served only to slow the enemy down until they were destroyed.

But the Commander didn't allow his misgivings to become known to the troops. Every one of them was a young, fresh-faced peasant boy, desperate for a life of brotherhood and adventure that the army would surely bring them. There wasnt a speck of dirt on their pressed uniforms, nor a scratch on their rosy cheeks. He was expected to turn these boys into killers, yeah right. The most these had killed would have been the rats in the village storehouses. They were not ready for war, and Nano didn't know how long he had to prepare them.

They started with encampments. Eschewing the traditional method of lopping down trees and building forts, they lived like bandits. With pick and shovel, they dug into the caves and set up makeshift barracks. Thankfully, if there was one benefit to recruiting lads from the villages, it was that they all had some sort of useful profession. Those who were once miners oversaw the development of the barracks whilst the hunters found game and brought meat back to camp. Blacksmiths looked over the tools and farmers built supports. It was a slog, but it was pretty cosy and it was only getting better.

Now, all it would take is time.
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Helios
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The Emerald Empire -8- Empire of Matathran

-8- The Morkt -8-


It was spring, and so the Glacial marshes where living up to their name. The rising temperatures had begun to chip away at the snow and glaciers clinging to the Frozen cliff’s northern slopes. The resulting meltwater had spilled down into the plains below, bursting the banks of the various twisting rivers that crossed them. It was upon one of these rivers that the mixed band now sailed, through calling what they were on a river was generous considering how hard it was to distinguish the water in the river from the water flooding the surrounding landscape. All around them muddy marshland spread out for kilometers until it reached another river or eventually dried up before it hit the road running along the wall of ash. The marsh water was overgrown with plants of various kinds, from thick beds of reeds to floating mats of vegetation and the odd thicket of trees clinging to shallow regions.

Here and there small islands of stone poked up out of the marshwatter, though, as had been discovered on their first journey through the marsh, not all of these were actually land. Some where instead massive snapping turtles that where either grazing or waiting for a tasty snack to float by. In the water large fish could be seen flitting by, occasionally pursued by oversized ottars, while the air around them was filled with a fog of mist and insects that obscured everything beyond the middle distance. The bugs notably contained both mosquitoes and midges, both of which would harass anyone with exposed skin, seeking blood to grow their eggs. Small birds darted too and fro, catching insects in their beaks to bring back to their families nesting in the waterlogged trees.

The crafts the expedition used were meagre. Simple, lamed riverboats of oak. A few even looked as if they had been bought off the docks of local fishermen. They were not for show, not for battle; such was not their purpose. The five boats carried a mix of crews. The thirty-odd Matathran scouts sat in the boat’s center while the ten Morkt raiders paired off, one at the helm with a depth finding rod and one at the aft steer board.

The small contingent sifted through the water, again without need of conventional propulsion. However the Calid scouts were equipped with paddles which they dipped mimickingly in the water should someone be watching. The small crafts danced up the sides of the river banks silently. Few boats spoke. Save for that of Trygve’s.

A muffled crack sounded out as Trygve thrashed a mosquito against the side of his neck. Its viscous entrails covered the breadth of his hand. “It is times like these that I wish I could fit into a shiny burka like you.” Trygve offered without even looking for Tafari's reaction. Trygve was clad in a muffled black gambeson with a dappled grey seal skin cloak. At his side, a great war ax sat longlily perched on the ship’s gunnel.

"You can have one of your very own when you learn how to flense Agate Spiders and harvest their silk glands." Tafari replied nonchalantly from behind. "Pay attention though; according to the charts from our scouts, there is an Treefolk encampment further up along the river." He pointed to a spot on the weathered, hand-drawn map of the marshes that the Calid Scouts had pieced together through prior scouting.

“An interesting development. It seems your war has stirred up quite some interest. There was no camp there during our trip to your lofty bridge. I do not doubt your men though, even with a brain of bark I would place a post where the rivers meet. As it stands, my pockets are fresh out of sunshine and dirt to pay our safe passage.” Trygve reliped as he slid down the boat's prow to face Tafari and the produced map.

"Well, you are the sailor here. How do you propose we pass them by?" The silk-shrouded figure inquired, their arms crossed over the club-like weapon hanging from the front of their carapace cuirass.

“How well can your men carry a boat?” Trygve prodded. Black leaves once again maring his amiable smile.

"Only so long as it is not burdened by your corpulent ego." Tafari answered, prompting a quipping wink from his victim . "If you are suggesting that the boats should make land and carried around the other side of the river, we will need a distraction so that their scouts and watchers do not spot us while we are trudging through the mud." With that, and without any further explanation, he got up from where he was seated and started making his way to the ship railing, handing off the chart he had been examining to one of the Questors.

Trygve shot up from his perch quickly, attempting--if unsuccessfully--to appear in charge of the conversation’s end. Trygve grabbed his great ax’s hilt and sifted his fingers across the intricate engravings on that covered its gorgeous blade. “Precisely.” He mustered before returning his gaze to the ships heading. He paused a moment before continuing. “Perhaps you and I should test our mettle in the act, let our men make portage with Radoslaw. I want to see what these creatures can do for myself.. And you are perhaps the definition of a distraction.” Trygve glanced at the iridescent warrior behind him.

"I imagine you know the way there and will be able to rendevouz with the boats later on? In the event we are separated by more than your burgeoning pride." Tafari practically drawled as he hopped up onto the railing, as though he intended to jump straight down directly into the river below.

"Perhaps separate is best. A hammer and anvil as they say. I am quite fond of not being seen, and you are quite fond of everyone noticing you... That is if you feel competent enough to return to the boats unguided. I'm sure we could put some cute play figures on a map for you if the visual helps." Trygve replied, pulling himself up to the lip of the boat's prow like the glyphs of bygone heros.

Tafari turned their veiled head back to Trygve, their expression hidden - though the look that might have been there was not hard to imagine, from the amused tone of his voice. "Maps are for plodders and bottom-feeders like yourself."

He then leapt from the railing -

And landed on the far side of the river, completely clearing the coursing waters without issue and landing in the knee-deep shallows of the bank. He waved a single hand airly to Trygve without turning back, and then leapt into the air again in a massive arc despite the fact that his feet should have been hopelessly mired in the wet mud of the earth. His leap carried him more than twenty meters high, and more than twice as far horizontally, only to then immediately bound off the ground in an identical leap the moment he touched down again.

"Well fuck, now every bird in the sky will see him." Trygve mumbled under his breath as he returned to the base of the boat. His eyes surveyed the mixed assembly remaining. "To the shore, quickly. Our plot mustn't be foiled or the western coast will be lost. Keep your heads low, and use your whit far before your blade. Someone among us must reach the coast to parlay with the invasion force. If I or Tafari or any man among you should fall, keep that mission at heart. Its worth is far more than any of our own." Trygve gently thumped the pauldron of the Calid scout closest to him.

"Meet us south at the thirds river, but do not wait. Keep only faith." With that, Trygve produced a thick wooden shield covered in grime and sporadic thatch from the gunnel. Its coating mirrored the surrounding brush deceptively well. He gently slinked into the cool, mired water and began his swim.

---


The camp consisted of two main sections. The first was a small island in the sea of muddy water upon which supplies of various kinds were kept, mainly food and ammo as well as the odd pile of construction materials, protected from insects, beasts and the wet ground by tarps wrapped over and under them. There was little in the way of defences or structures of any kind such as tents and the main perimeter consisted of a few disparately positioned ents standing close to the waterline, atop which Dryads lookouts sat while their kin soaked up what little sun made it through the fog. Furthest from the river was a large area set aside for warbeasts, big and small, where they could rest in peace or leave to go out hunting without disturbing the varios supplies. At the center was a large mundane tree, upon which various birds, predator and prey alike, roosted.. Within the camp Drayds and ents milled about, either talking in small groups or moving cargo around. The majority were located closer to the river, near the living ships.

These ships were docked on the second major section of the camp, a series of floating docks grown out of a thick vegetation. They stretched about halfway across the river and a dozen or so ships where sitting within the array of floating gangways, some carrying supplies that where currently being unloaded, others perpring to take small teams down towards the main road to prepare traps or ambush areas.

From a distance the living ships might have been mistaken for long ships like those once used by Shenra, but on closer examination it became they were but an imitation with some major deviations from the base design. Their main body was a single solid trunk of a tree that had grown oddly so that it was almost semicircular, the flat section forming the deck of the ship while the rounded region formed the hull. This ship tapered off at the front, forming a relatively normal looking prow, except for the fact that it featured a figurehead of some beast, monster or insect which had the golden glowing eyes of a treekin. These figureheads were semi articulate, capable of turning to and fro to observe the area. At the center of the deck was a single large wide leaf that stretched skywards in place of a sail, made in a lateen configuration that allowed it to sail against the wind. Currently these sails were folded shut, the veins of the leaf had bent so that they were parallel with the midribowing the ship to take down its sails while docked without having to tear leaf from its own body.

At the rear was the main deviation of structure for the ships structure form what it was mimicking as the tapering off of the ship’s stern halted suddenly, as if the last meter of the ship had been cleaved off. In place of a stern where the ships roots, trailing in the water. These were used to root in onto a riverbank in order to suck nutrients from the soil, but while in the matter they acted as a propulsion system, like tentacles or Flagellum, and as the ship’s method of steering. Along the sides of the dech there were small branches forming waist high hedgerow that acted as a barrier to keep treekin and cargo on the ship while also being able to aggressively fend off enemy boarding attempts boarding attempts. Finally along the sides of the hull where many long arms ending hands webbed with leaf like material. These acted as oars, weapons and as a rudimentary method of crawling up onto or off of a shore line. The distribution of these arms varied, some having only ones whee oars would be, some had multiple dedicated combat limbs near their figurehead used to grapple with enemy craft, some had ones on the deck itself that were used as cargo cranes. Others on had limbs that formed living crossbows using arms that split in two at the elbow, one hand holding a bow while a serpentine vine was used to draw back the string and bolt. A minority had a few limbs or their figureheads covered in complex runes which acted made them into magic spell firing cannons made of living wood.

The ships present were all 8 - 15 meters in length, making them rather small for their kind. On on the high seas where multi sailed carracks, some of them bristling with runic cannons or ballistas in place of oars, that dwarfed the small longships. Those however where incable of traversing the marshes, their hulls to deep to make use of the half meter of water covering the land. The longships meanwhile could sail through it with ease and could drag themselves over shallow areas or vegetation, making them perfect for transportation and assaults in the muddy expanse. They were, however, not the only things in the water, as both ents and living ships of pecuriler and monstrous shape lurked in the regions around the encampment, revealed only by small leaf covered limbs, that could be mistaken for regular trees, poking out of the water and mud they slumbered in.

There were two responses to Tafari's advance. The first was a small volley of arrows from the various sentries, most of whom individuals decided that whatever the thing coming at them was, it wasn't one of theirs and was thus better to be safe than sorry. While his speed made targeting difficult the predictability of the arcs of his leaps meant that a few arrows did manage to hit him but the carapace armor deflected some shots and the silk absorbed others. By the time he was on top of them Tafari had several, completely harmless, arrows sticking out from various parts of his armor or hanging limply from extraneous folds of silk.

The other response was the sound of a horn coming from the center of the camp and the taking off of the birds roosting there. Most notably a number of eagles that took off in various directions, hoping to spot other intruders as they had the incoming lone warrior. This horn cleaved through the confusion and concern seeping up into the camp from the lookouts. The horn ment a threat had been spotted, and that a battle was soon to commence. Confusion, alarm and concern were all overwhelmed by purpose, the Treekin’s purpose for existing: to fight and die so that the Dreaming Forest as a whole could survive and thrive. The various dryads and Ents could be seen dropping what they were doing and rushing to repel invaders from their patch of dry land.

Lack of immediate clear instruction meant that they did not all go towards Tafari, but instead went towards all the edges or gathered in the center for clearer orders. The various humans among the treekin, who where mostly non combatants, tried their best to find a safe spot form the currents pulling the wooden warriors to battle, either pressing against or standing on supplies. The rest gravitating to the relative calm, and hopefully safety, of the center of the camp. The ships on the docks meanwhile mostly set sail, hoping to flank the intruders, their leaf like sails, arm like oars and tentacle like roots propelling them across the water at a remarkable speed. Those that stayed were waiting on crew to rally to them so that they could act as more effective fighting platforms or where carrying to many supplies to fight effectively.

At the center of the camp Sunrost the Eagle, co-commander of the entire frozen marshes operation gazed down at the surrounding swampland from the eyes of his birds of prey. He was satisfied with the response of his kin, all as eager as ever as they where to get stuck into combat instead of tramping about in the mud doing logistics. They had known that they might be attacked, being the most isolated encampment, as well as being close to Matathran’s current position. Raids form Calid scouts or harpies had been considered a possibility, as had the possibility that Matathran had some engineering solution to the marshes or that they might have build ships for the marsh crossing. One bounding human sized figure had not been on the list of expected threats however. Animals might have feared the capabilities of the lone man, or have arrogantly underestimated him. However, as plants, the Treekin did not come pre-programed with fight or flight reflex for anything other than that burnt in fear of fire.

Nevertheless, they could learn caution and, with Andromach’s might fresh in all their minds, the possibility that this figure was of a similarly dangerous caliber did concern Sunrost. He had climbed up the tree his birds had perched in after he sounded the horn and now waited to see what the figure could do, for messengers he had sent out to redirect the spread out fighters to the correct direction and for some of his options for combating the warrior, should they prove a match for the regular treekin, to arrive in the center of the camp.

The uncertainty went both ways, thankfully. Tafari, not accustomed with the ways and thinking of the treefolk, saw the small island in the middle of the river, heaped with supplies and surrounded by Living Ships, and concluded that it was the center of the encampment’s operations. Leaping through the air one last time, mid-flight, Tafari produced a fire-pot with a curious twist of his left wrist in some nigh-magical sleight-of-hand - which he then placed inside the rearmost hole of his oddly shaped weapon, still hanging from the front of his carapace armor. As he landed amidst the carefully wrapped tarps stacked in the middle of the island, he drew it. The weapon was both alien and familiar to the treefolk of the Emerald Empire. In form and shape, it looked similar to the carapace the man wore as armor; complete with protruding spines and apparent segmentation. At the same time however, the whole of the club was seemingly petrified and made of stone; and its shape seemed almost perfectly - artificially - made to serve as a cruel and vicious clubbing implement comparable to a mace. There was also the strange matter of the three holes along it - one at its top, one at its front poised directly between four barbed stone spines, and another at rear and bottom of the weapon's haft. All seemed connected to the same hollow center - which could clearly do the weapon no favors, robbing it of mass and strength.

Tafari hefted the weapon even as the first of the human defenders who had been positioned on the island began to surround him, and brought it down. Amidst the shouts and beat of footfalls, the creaking of wood and the cries of countless birds, the cracking sound of the fire pot inside the weapon's hollow chamber could be faintly heard.

The area immediately surrounding Tafari burst into flame as great, bellowing gouts of flaming oil jetted from the three holes along the weapon's length. The tarps surrounding him immediate set alight, men and women screamed as their clothes were immediately set aflame and as oil sank into and burned their skin, and trails of insidious and ravenous wisps of flames began to wind through the grime and wet muck of the island, carried amongst the currents of the water by thin streams of fuel. Standing in the middle of the abrupt conflagration stood Tafari, seemingly unperturbed and untouched by the flames - for the most part. The edges of their silk garments were smoldering, faint flickers and embers of light picking up strength along the frayed and now dirtied fabric and threatening to engulf him in flame as well, though his motions betrayed no apprehension on his part. Hefting his club aloft once more - now covered in oil and blazing with terrible light - he ran amongst the stacks of tarps, beating human figures down and smashing supplies, lighting them aflame in the process.

From his observation post Sunrost was initially horrified, believing for a moment that the man had blown himself up to take out a chunk of their supplies. A small chunk at that. While the oil fire could not be extinguished the rest of the fire was already being combated, a few enchanters down by the waters edge made use of items designed for hydrokinesis and began extinguishing the fire. These items looked like small tubes or drums about a quarter of a meter in diameter and half a meter in length. Pointed with one and facing the marsh and another at the camp the rear of the tube drew water towards and into itself from a wide area, while the other end fired it forward in constant stream hat could be adjusted for with and intensity using dials that could be twisted slightly altering the wording of the amber runes on the drum. Those were used as fire hoses, spraying a shower of water on top of the inferno.

A few moments after the explosion Sunrost caught sight of their attacker once more, and took notice that his armor had seemingly protected him from the flames. After sorting the existence of such armor away for future use Sunrost took stock of what he had available. While the fire warrior had begun his rampage a number of people had assembled for instruction and who were now all watching the fire nervously. They varied from elite warriors, such as a small troupe of wind dancers, to those who provided more utility like mages. Neither of these he wanted to commit into the range of the flame wielding thug. He didn't really want to commit anything into his range, even as a number of the warriors down at the shore got their courage up and charged him. Seven ironbark armored dryads, armed with a mix of hammers, swords, knives and maces, primed to break the armored warrior, racing between the spread out lines of supplies to cut off his advance. Seeing this Sunrost ordered a support from the center.

“Jero,” one of his lieutenants “take ten warriors and support them!”

“Aye” the dryad, armored with reforged steel plate rather than ironbark, quickly got nine dryads and a bestial ent shaped, roughly, like a two meter tall panther with two massive prehensile vines coming out from its back just behind its shoulders, to follow him. Together the eighteen treekin began to try and get ahead of Tafari ‘s path of arson. Out on the periphery, those fighters that could see Tafari either advanced, cautiously behind the advanced attack force to stop Tafari from leaping over them again, or pelted him with arrows, archers atop ents raining fire down upon him, that hurt neither the mace wielding pyro nor his soon to be attackers. The rest of the island’s gerison however was still getting to grips with the fact that there was only one enemy, and were slow, or unwilling, to break their perimeter lest threw here more enemies lurking out there.

As the ironbark Dryads split up through the stacks of tarp-covered supplies to cut off and surround the fire-wielding warrior, they heard the distinct sound of cracking clay - and saw a number of fire pots being hurled from Tafari's position amidst the maze of supplies in every direction, creating even more outbreaks of flame upon the island. One of them rounded a corner and saw the silk-clad warrior - their iridescent garb shimmering with a malign, dusken glow as it partially reflected the light of the roaring flames surrounding him - about to throw another one of his clay pots. Seeing the ironbark dryad charge, Tafari chucked it directly at him instead, retrieved another one with another seeming sleight-of-hand, and charged down the pathway to his right, passing right through a patch of open flame and kindling in the process without stopping.

A few moments later the dryad emerged from the mass of smoke, screaming, his right side burning furiously as the oil licked at his shoulder. This was met by an instant blast of water from the nearest firefighter, knocking the dryad away from his kin lest they join him in burning. The rest of the fighters, unable to target flames directly, now that the ones they had extinguished blocked their paths, angled their water cannons upwards. And thus Tafari was chased by rain....though unfortunately the firefighters found their efforts to be in vain. Concentrated, their enchanted staves could completely engulf patches of oil and extinguish the flames therein before the oil scattered. Raining down from above however, even the heavy deluge proved unable to smother the flames spreading across the supply depot - and in fact, seemed only to exacerbate them as oil was spread by falling water, carrying the flames to yet more parts of the depot. Seeing the effect this had, the firefighters quickly resorted to their prior tactics, while Sunrost recorded this newfound knowledge for future use. For the moment though, they still had a Matathran firestarter to apprehend. For the moment Tafari seemed content to simply run around the island setting everything and everyone he saw on fire, weaving through the tarps and the burning kindling around him like a forest aflame, evading the treefolk sent to stop him and ambushing the firefighters wherever he found them. As the numbers of the latter thinned, the fires spread even further, and the treefolk found themselves unable to safely navigate the burning maze.

While Tafari had been playing a game of cat and mouse Sunrost had found who he needed. Lestriala the Scalebinder, a proficient beastmaster, now sat with him in his lookout tree, from there they could track the progress of the firestarter, and guide Lestriala’s monsters towards him.

---


As utter chaos raged on the shore banks, the living ships remained unassailed. However, a strange figure had appeared on one of the sentient vessels. His face and likeness was hooded with a seal skin shawl, the faint tail of a long ax dipping below his cloak’s reach. The figure made every attempt to seem apart of the crew, looking for hoists and rope line to tack sail or oars to power. However, it did not seem like the crew was doing much of anything by way of aiding the ship in travel. What dryads manned the vessel appeared purely devoted to being a combat force. As such, the figure stood out almost immediately.

There where other things that made him stand out. First and foremost, an axe was a taboo weapon of the highest order. A tool built to slay trees first and foremost the Dreaming Forest reviled them and refused to allow its use by human militias. Second was the fact that the crew where all companions of the the ship and the hooded figure was not a known to it. Thirdly, it had felt him boarding after everyone else was already abroad. The figurehead of the ship, shaped like a dragonfly, swiveled from where it had been watching the shore to see who had boarded it with its luminous amber eyes. He stood out like a seal in a frenzy of sharks. The ship immediately brought the intruder to the attention of its crew. The eyes of the dryads onboard all turned to join the ship in staring at the seal cloaked man with uncanny speed. Hands went to weapons. The closest figure to him, a crudely crafted woman in who had drawn a mace shouted at him “Drop the axe and Identify yourself” practically spitting the word axe as she said it.

“I am the Good Marshal,” the figure replied with a darkened smile. In the same breath, he spat a long trail of saliva, mired black by the snuff that had been present in his under lip. The vile liquid sped through the air like a bullet toward the questioning dryad. With a faint thiiick the liquid passed between her amber eyes and out the back of her wooden skull. The wooden figure seemed unphased by this and simply stared on in aggravated annoyance and raised her mace to strike him in response.

Trygve made for his ax. In a synchronized motion a rogue wave crested the ship’s port gunwale. It was a small amount of water, but enough to take the feet out of many of the crew. Trygve closed with the dryad woman before him. From under his cloak swept a a gorgeous long ax, it’s head embellished in ornate fashion. In a single motion he swept it into the dryad's shoulder. The rune studded ax sliced horizontally through the dryad's upper torso as if it were hot butter. A shocked expression crossed the womans face as her armor failed her and then the light in her eyes dimmed as her upper half hit the deck. Her trunk severed in two, a dull splash marked her return to the swamped deck.

The lower half however remained standing before Trygve for a few moments, only to take off at a sprint away from him down the length of the ship. The sound of it falling over on the now soaking floor was heard a few moments later, but Trygve had bigger concerns. As the rest of the crew picked themselves up from the splash attack the ship itself came to their aid. What Trygve may have mistaken for oars where actual arms, and dozens of them now reached out of the water on either side of the ship. Bunching up its webbed hands into fists the size of cannonballs the ship then tried to punch the hostile currently standing on its deck. The barrage of jabs was not up to full strength however, as the ship endeavored to not hit itself or its crew in the process.

Trygve danced among the boat like a mad man, a smile growing with every swoop of his ax. It was hard to tell if his excitement came from the fray or finally being aboard one of these magnificent creatures. His enchanted weapon found the hides of three more unsteady dryads, the splinters or their ironbark shattering into his face like small quills. As Trygve closed his eyes to avoid the third marine’s inevitable shards, a stray ship arm caught the side of his brow. With fluid momentum he lopped off the gargantuan arm, but was forced to recoil from the cracking blow.

While Trygve had been busy dealing with the ship itself the crew had begun to recover and acclimating to standing on the the treacherous flooded deck. The ship boarding brawl had also caught the attention of other treekin in the region and they where now drawing in to support their fellows. A second ship closed in on the first, this one bristling with ballistas and magicannons, while some way off in the water something stirred and began to close in on the assailed ship, a long hump of water the only indication of its passage Sunrost too had spotted the battle in the waters from his eyes in the sky. Having ascertained from Trygve’s presence that this was not be the work of the flaming man alone he ordered his beastmasters to “spread your eyes far and wide, they might have come from some ship or have allies, we must find out if this is a distraction like the fire starting scouts in the border forest!”

Sweeping away the blood now surging from his right brow, Trygve hurriedly realized the attention he had been drawing. He muttered curses under his breath before quickly raising the great bearded ax over his head. With his full might the ax careened downward through the floorboard of the ship’s deck. The ship briefly recoiled in horror at the blow, giving him an opening to pivot and hack twice more. On the third cut, the meter wide triangle soared into the sky as a geyser of turbid water erupted from beneath. The stream came with unnatural force and the ships hull quickly began to take water. Trygve gave a lewd hand gesture to the remaining ships crew as he stepped into the jet of swamp water and disappeared.

He never caught sight of what it was under the water, as the moving wave continued to the beleaguered ship to attempt to stop it from sinking, rather than attempting to pursue him. Shortly after he left the soft glow of magic began to emanate from the ship as an enchanter from the other vessel did what they could to repair some of the damage the hydromancer had left in his wake.

---


Into the west side of the burning maze something massive crashed. A hydra, twisted descendant of dragons, waded into the burning wreckage without fear, trampling ruined supplies beneath its claws and dozen meter long body as its three heads searched for their silk coated pray. Flanking it where cicatrices, horse sized drakes native to the marsh. Behind them, protected by distance and the dragonspawn before them, advanced a concentrated fire fighting team. Enchanters douse the flames of the materials with streams of water while air mages fanned the flames of the oil, creating small points into which both oxygenated air and the oil where concentrated, causing them to briefly burn brilliantly as they were forced to consume their waterproof fuel in seconds rather than minutes.

In the other areas firing lines where set up to strike at the arsonist if he showed his face. On the shoreline the living ships, their sides bristling with bolt throwers and magi-canons, did their best to cover the work of the remaining firefighters, who had all learned to keep their distance. To the west monstrous ents did their best to move supplies out of the way, warding themselves against fire pots with disposable vines stretching sheets of cloth before them. Their fellow stood by with slings to return fire with great blunt stone projectiles capable of harming the armored Tafari. Should one be struck their fellows would use water magic to stop the spread of the oils flames while the inextinguishable part of them was severed to prevent immolation.

And at the center, the mages stood ready to deliver arcane fire, while the wind dancers watched the flames and smoke without eyes, probing their edge of the fire with a sense beyond human understanding. Sunrost meanwhile had begun to send messengers beyond the encampment, around the spreading fire. Should the scouts find anything out there, he would need to have fast moving troops ready to respond to whatever might be hidden out there in the marshes.

The Hydra and its escorting cockatrices did not have to search through the burning ruins for long before their quarry made an appearance. Springing out of the flames, Tafari leapt directly on top the Hydra's path, leveling one of his arms towards the cicatrice to the right - and with a seething hiss akin to rapidly uncoiling rope and the springing of a plywood trap, a net of silken webbing erupted from the folds of the warrior's sleeve. The insidiously woven fibers engulfed the cicatrice, causing it to stumble on the spot as the unexpectedly resilient threads of the net caught its limbs, forcing it to fall prone on the ground. Lying caught and helpless, it screeched in anguish as the wooden brambles amidst the sod around it caught alight; the webbing it had been caught in was superheated - fire-resistant enough to withstand the tremendous heat without catching flame, whilst setting everything around in aflame. Only the cicatrice’s own fire-resistant scales prevented it from being cooked alive in the torturous snare.

Even as the cicatrice fell to the ground, Tafari slid a second fire pot into the lowermost aperture of his club, and with another cracking sound great gouts of flame bellow out from the two openings along its length, covering the weapon in raging flames once more and turning Tafari's surroundings into a conflagration. The sharpest-eyed of Sunrost's avian spies spotted that, at last, the warrior's flame-retardant raiment had finally started to give way to the very flames Tafari had been spreading so freely - the flowing lengths of the warrior's silk robes that covered his left leg were now fully aflame, and the ravenous fire was slowly eating away at the fabric and spreading across the remainder of his outfit - though he still remained unperturbed, and merely brandished his club to meet the Hydra head-on.

The hydra however, did not seem to feel the need to do the same, instead it charged towards his right side, thundering up towards the top of the island, its three heads hissing menacingly as they all watched him with its narrow slit pupils. This did not however reveal the mages behind it as the hydra’s tail, a tail roughly ten times the size of its body and almost as thick, side winded itself in such a manner as to drag itself round the other side of him. It was clear that the hydra did not want to charge him, nor to duke it out in the open, but instead desired to ensnare him as he had the cockatrice. Said beast was itself in the process of using its sharp talons to meticulously cut its way out of the burning net using a distinctly non animalistic intelligence. The rapidly lost from view treekin forces closed in, preparing unseen plans with ever increasing coordination as the exact nature of the threat spread by word and dream alike. Not content to wait for the noose to draw taught around his neck, Tafari leapt onto the ensnared cockatrice which the Hydra had elected to abandon while it was still attempting to cut its way free of its webbing. The cocatrice responded to the aprotching to Tafari as best it could, guided by the hydra's eyes more than its own. The beast opened its jaw slightly, fire briefly licking destructively at the exposed insides of its mouth, revealing the insides to include two small snake like fangs. out of these it sprayed two thin streams of liquid, in a similar manner to a spitting cobra. The two streams intertwined a few cm’s from their exit point and chemically reacted together, rapidly vaporizing in the air to form a rolling wave of miasma directed at its attacker - only for the mists to be scattered to the winds by the ferocious heat and fury of the flames surrounding Tafari's weapon and continuing to creep along the length of his robes as the warrior fell upon the cockatrice and started to viciously club it on the head.

The cockatrice screeched in pain and tried to squirm so that its head was protected from the blows, only for its screaming to be drowned out by three hisses. The noose had drawn taught while he occupied himself with the juicy morsel laying at its center. The partially on fire man was now surrounded by a two meter tall wall of scales and flesh, the upper, stronger side of the hydra’s bulk turned inwards to face him. Towering above his rapidly shrinking patch of ground where the three heads of the beast, hoods flared, gazes locked upon him as they prepared to strike.

Tafari seemed to slowly and deliberately rise from beating the cockatrice, and tore his club in a horizontal slash through the air, filling the space around him with a haze of flame that rolled and spilled over the edges of Hydra's coiling tail, will-o-wisps of flame pouring out from its confines to join the larger conflagration around it - obscuring Tafari from its vision and surrounding the hydra in a ring of flame.

The noose continued to tighten, walls of scales slowly closing in as outside the fires died down as the fighters away from the firestarter were allowed to go about their work in peace. Two of the head remained in wait, while the third ducked down behind its own bulk to perform a task unseen.

The haze of flame vanished. Tafari was nowhere to be found. Trailing threads of glimmering, burning silk hovered in the air where he had stood perched upon the cockatrice's body.

Before spreading a panic, the beastmaster made sure that there was no illusionary magic occurring, and had the hydra head butt the region that had once contained the silken warrior. It slammed its head directly into the mangled cockatrice. Then, cries and shouts broke out from amongst the firefighter brigades. Acting quickly, Sunrost peered through the dreaming to ascertain how the flame-swathed warrior had escaped. Through the eyes of their fellow treefolk, he saw a ravenous tower of flame that seemed peculiarly resistant to the geysers of water being streamed at it - and it moved. As it approached, the flames broke and twisted, revealing themselves to in fact be the very thing the beastmaster had feared - an illusion. Tafari, his silken vestments still catching flame, shimmered and gleamed with distorted light, and all who viewed it from a distance mistook it for just another flame. That had been how he had escaped from the Hydra's clutches - surrounded by flame, he had likely leapt from the center of the Hydra's coils into the nearest blaze while he remained obscured - and also explained yet more of his prior antics, leading the camp's defenders through the maze of flame he had made of the supply depot. Now, he took his mace to yet more of the firefighters even as the flames devouring most of his lower body began to spread to consume the fabric of his chest.

The firefighters were far from helpless however, quickly changing the runic configurations on their tools to narrowed the exit part of their drum-like contraptions and turned them on their attacker. Dozens of pressure blasts of water hammered into the warrior as he tried to change them, joined by torrents of wind from the air mages. Behind him the hydra uncoiled, its third head now sporting a singular dryad who was chanting magic incantations. To either side of the hydra other cockatrices were seen closing in on him. Clearly, the flame-cloaked warrior had not been expecting such immediate reaction, and was bowled off his feet and right back into the flames - where the defenders then immediately lost track of him once more, even as they quickly rushed to douse the remaining fires. The Hyrda turned and resumed it's advance into the firestorm, seeking to capture Tafari in it's coils once more, and this time to allow no escape.

As the firefighters continued to attack the flames and allow the hydra’s advance, they began to notice their arcane water drums go afoul. They choked on the water in their systems and some even noticed the contents of their hydromancing flow backwards into the marshy river. The subtle ice blue eyes of Trygve smiled in delight through the thick clumpets of reed and cattails a distance away. With the water conduits out of commission, the blaze could now spread at will toward the hydra. Trygve hoped his flamboyant Matathran partner would see this as the time to escape with both of their lives. If a distraction were the mission, he considered it met.

The water supply sabotaged allowed the western end of the blaze began to spread while the rest of the blaze continued to die, its fuel rapidly expanded and new sources having been dragged clear while the firestarter was occupied with the hydra. That beast and its lesser kin where undeterred by the lack of firefighting and continued to root around in the flames, seeking their prey. The treekin however were forced to fall back, the mages the only ones capable of fighting the blaze now and their numbers only able to slow it. It took a few moments for someone to go investigate the countermagic stopping the water, but eventually the party who had originally attempted to intercept Tafari, lead by the plate mailed Jero, arrived by the waters edge. The seven dryads and the hulking panther like ent spread out, attempting to locate the saboteur.

Trygve slinked quietly through the heavy reed and sweetflag. With hope, his compatriot had done what was wise and left the area. However, his retreat would no doubt need to be covered. The Matathran pyromancer would stand out like a whore in chapel with all his explosions and hopping about. To Trygve, the success of this plot would hinge on the fellowship’s escape. The searching eyes of the plate mailed dryad and his bark-laiden kin would be quite a threat to that. He gently brushed fresh blood from his brow as he watched them approach. Trygve dropped a small hand axe into the water at his feet and cracked a grin as the weapon appeared to swim though the shallow water toward a neighboring patch of brush.

The cohort of treekin soon were meters away from Trygve’s blind. With a faint slosh, the hand axe careened out of of the adjacent thicket and into the side of a dryad’s head, cleaving into the warriors helmet and knocking them over into the muddy water. While two went to assist the downed dryad most of his fellows, predictably, charged the thicket the axe had emerged from, only to be confounded by its emptiness. As the wounded dryad was dragged back up towards the center of the camp the others wheeled around from the distraction spot, now aware of the existence of a still unseen threat stalking them from somewhere in the reeds.

However, in the reed thicket the ground around the dryads began to give way. Every second their feet sunk deeper and deeper into what has once been knee deep muck. Now many of them were forced to fight their way out of waist high floating peat. The Dryads and their armor’s innate buoyancy mitigated some of this effect, but the metal armored Jero sunk fast, his already heavy fooding dragged far deeper than that of his kin. They all would be forced to watch in vein as Trygve sprinted from his vantage point at the untrapped ent panther. Spared from the muddy burial by the long spread out roots that formed its feet acting as snow shoes the bestial ent counterchanged the warrior as soon as it became aware of him, thorn filled jaw open in a silent roar, the two thick tentacle like vines emerging from behind its shoulder blades coiling up in preparation to strike.

Trygve sent up a harmless spray of mist as he closed with the beast to blur it’s vision. He crashed through the mist at a disconjugate direction from his start. With a heavy sweep of his great axe Trygve blasted through the left front leg of the feline ent. Splinters cascaded like shrapnel as the beast stumbled, only just managing support itself on a single forelimb before it came crashing down. Instead the great beast relocated its attacker and went in for a second attack, this time bringing its vines low down in a low down scissor position, blocking access to its remaining forelimb as it attempted to either bite at the man or catch him between the vines in a pincer maneuver.

The man lurched back from the biting maw and drew a small hand axe from his belt. With a hard overhand pitch he sent the weapon at the intersection of the beast's scissored vines. There it lodged deep into both of the prehensile weapons, clogging the independence of their use. After a few, brief, futile attempts to free its two vines the ent resorted to using them as a combined bludgeoning weapon, ramming them forwards to try and knock him off balance.

However, the warrior sidestepped the clumsy thrust and countered with a whistling axe. The bearded blade cut through the vines like brittle bone. The tendrils splashed helplessly to the ground. Trygve darted below the beast, wary of its thorned jowls. As he had done with the other foreleg, the great ax found the trunk of its sister. The rooted limb was sent to splinters as the beast crashed face down into the waterlogged soil. Trygve took his time, adjusting the hilt of his axe between his worn hands. Blood oozed from his face at an uncountable number of points, a lasting gift of the dismembered treekin. With muted concentration Trygve swung his ax like an executioner upon massive panther’s neck. It cleaved.

The headless beast continued to lurch, but helplessly so. Trygve looked back upon the entrapped members of the search party, his impromptu audience. They were now nearly shoulder deep in bogwash. Trygve returned their gaze, a heaviness on his usually smiling face. He simply stared at them. At the iron barked lieutenant. And without word, he turned to leave.

At the center of the island Sunrost saw two things. The first, through his own eyes, was the wounded soldier, the thrown axe having damaged their vision when it struck them, to who’s side a healer quickly rushed. Those that had borne the casualty to them brought news of the man that had attacked them before rushing back to the fight. The second thing he saw through his avian allies, small ships attempting to bypass their encampment. Here then, where two targets not cloaked in death, targets they could actually reach. To strike those far away sunrost sent an eagle to cry at the envoys he had sent out to the marshes earlier. Having awaited this signal they instructed fast moving troops to follow it to battle. Previously tranquil water was stirred as several massed began to make a beeline towards the small vessels, a low wave the only denotation of their presence. To strike the axeman he committed the Wind dancers at last, held back as they where as vulnerable to the inferno as any other, here was a foe they could strike. Once he had completed ordering the outward strike he followed after the eccentric elite troops, something about the brief description of the attacker had stuck in his mind, a collar around his neck.

The windancers far outstriped the pace of the returning dryad warriors, arriving on the scene as swiftly and silently as a breeze. It was clear that Trygve was not going to escape so easily. The three were dressed in light, naturally colored, flowing outfits that made them stand out among the normally ubiquitously armored Dryads. One had their eyes closed, another was blindfolded and the last lacked eyes entirely, for they all saw with a sight beyond sight, a kind of heavily localise omniscience that was a refined form of the Tree’s own understanding of the world. They all wielded a heavy two handed weapons such as a great hammer or claymore in a single hand while holding a smaller companion weapon like a claw or dagger in the other. There was something strange about how they stood on the wet earth, for their light footfalls did not sink into the mud, not even slightly, as their dash brought them towards Trygve.

By now the Morkt warrior was approaching fatigue. Crisp air caught each heavy breath with a gust of mist. He peered in frustration at the fast encroaching party. Out of the corner of his eye Trygve also spotted a bird. The creature was to deliberate in its course to be ferrel. Its path loomed dangerously close to his men portaging South. The smell of sweat and stale adrenaline clung to Trygve's brain as he imagined what would happen if his crew was found. He trusted his men with his life, but even the strongest man could crack under torture. The Morkt’s silent invasion of the West would be extracted or at least surmised. Hordes of treekin would be waiting for them at the beaches. His brothers and sisters would be led to slaughter on the sands. Somewhere between the blood on his hands and the smooth grain of the axe in their grasp stood the entire fate of his people.

Instead of charging the waiting warrior, the lightly dressed dryads slowed, before coming to a halt a short distance before him.The eyeless one, his face smooth and mask like apart from his mouth, spoke to him as the other two fanned out slightly to either side yet deliberately staying within Trygve’s field of vision.

"I am Robretan the Blank. To whom do we owe this dance?”

“I am just a man. A man sent by masters the same as you.” Trygve replied, keeping leery eyes on those encircling him. He walked slowly into the heart of a shallow puddle as the treekin drew near.

“We have no masters” “nor kings” “nor gods” “not like yours” “those who put that thing around your neck” “leadership is given” “an honor” “a burden” “a tool to preserve us all” “not something to be wielded like an axe”

The three started speaking in turn, their words matching some unheard yet shared rhythm, flowing like poetry, as they approached, truly encircling him. They did not sink as they took their places, each knowing precisely where they needed to be as they watched without eyes for the first steps of the dance.

Trygve provided it as he sent up a glittering screen of water from the pond at his feet. It cast up a double mirror to his front and left. With the screen up, he lunged for the warrior to his right. His great ax sweeping low at the dyrad’s thigh.

Yet they seemed to be already moving before he came at them, narrowly managing to move out of the way of the tired man’s blow using a graceful leap that carried the blindfolded Dryad out of his imidate range. As they landed the weight of the blade she carried caused the dancer to pirouette round to face him and, inadvertently, Sunrost, who had just arrived. Suddenly the other two warriors burst through the mirror walls, seemingly undeterred, and chased after him, managing with ease to not simply plow into one-another as they did so. They lepet to either side of Trygve, dragging their large weapons with them skywards and then spinning mid jump to bring the hammer and mace thundering down towards him.

Their weapons both crashed through what could only be described as mist.

The image had only been a decoy, as Trygve appeared where the shield of water had been. He had hidden his true self in its fold. In the midst of the pairs strike he descended from behind. The hydromancer hurled a hand axe at the eyeless creature while barreling into its companion with a lowered shoulder.

The axe thumped into the eyeless ones chest, sticking there, while the third’s eyes opened wide in shock from the impact, losing the grip of his mace to be sent flying. Yet despite this they managed to twist in the air, landing on their feet with as much grace as he could muster. The eyeless one drove a powerful kick into Trygve, knocking the two of them away from one another without doing any real harm to the Morkt servant in the process. The blindfolded one was already engaging, rushing Trygve as the third went to the eyeless one's side to remove the axe from his torso.

Sunrost watched, impressed by the warriors skill and cunning. “Why do you fight for Matathran, slave, when no one is here holding your chain. The arsonist is lost in his fire, the boats far from view. You could simply have simply disappeared, yet here you are fighting in vain those who stand against your wretched masters.”

Trygve froze at the words. Vomit lingered as his gut somersaulted. They had found the boats. They had found his men. His rage turned to a vice which gripped his voice. “Perhaps I do not fight for my masters. Perhaps the seamstress sows so that her village is warm. My people cannot sunbathe to live.” Trygve shot back as he swept the water out from under its charging dryad to try and knock it off balance, yet the foot was not dragged with the water as it should have and they dryad instead ran atop the wave, supported by the same magic that had held them above the mud, causing it to be slowed but not faltered.

“If you were to claim spoils for your village I am afraid you’ve done burn and pillage in the wrong order. Not that I imagine your masters would let you keep them. If you seek to protect the village from us then...”

The blindfolded dryad leaped off the end of the cascade of water, running along the dirt and mud left in its wake before coming to an unexpected dead stop just before Trygve. The dryads long blade was not halted however and they turned its momentum into a low swipe, the dancer pivoting on the ball of their heel as they ducked down to fully commit to the swipe.

“This is not the way to go about it.” his words were punctuated by the sound of the throwing axe’s handle being snapped by the open eyed dancer after they had removed it from their wounded kin’s chest.

Trygve countered the sweeping blade with his own. His axe’s cutting edge met the dryads sword and miraculously sliced clean through it with a shriek of sparks. The severed tip of the sword tumbled harmlessly to the sodden earth.

“FUCK YOU!” He roared at the taunting voice. Blood from his seeping brow found marriage in the spittle from his cry. With the momentum of his parry he crashed the base of his axe hilt into the dryads face; a strike that would kill a normal man but Trygve knew it would be futile. That it would all be futile. What was he to do against such monstrosities? What could his men do? All he could think of was who of them would see the end of this war; at this rate he assumed not himself.

“You know nothing of my people!” Tygve grimaced, veins erupting from every corridor of his neck.

The Dryad bore the full force of the axe hilt, the blow ruining her face with an almighty crack, and stabbed Trygve with the blunt head of the decapitated sword, pushing them both apart once more. The dryad nimbly found her feet while the hydromancer bent low, clutching his seeping abdomen, once again surrounded by all three dancers.

“Perhaps not, but let me make a few guesses. First off, they’re not from Matathran or you would have been ‘promoted’ long ago. Second, based on your possessiveness of them, it seems that you are a leader of some kind among them, like a chief or general, which is an odd level of authority for someone who still wears a slave collar to hold. A colar dripping with the arcane I might add. Your masters conquered and enslaved your people, an entire people, and collard them like animals” Sunrost raises an arm beside him and an eagle, wearing a collar marked with amber runes “If you are a true leader, if you serve your people rather than rule them, then you do not want to be our enemies, because we can give you the tools and knowledge” the general brings the eagle round in front of him so he can reach forth and grasp its collar. After muttering a few words the enchantment dulls and dies, the collar slips from the birds neck. As the bird takes flight Sunrost concludes “to help you set them all free.”

---


As Sunrost conversed with the keen edged hydromancer it was left to his subordinates to deal with his fire flinging friend. With their water no longer being disrupted the firefighters finally managed to make headway against the now fuel starved fire. His hiding spaces rapidly dwindling, Tafari burst from one of the last patches of flame, leaping across the marshes in great bounds that would have made a wind-dancer creak with envy. Deftly weaving and dodging between hails arrows, bolts and spells launched at his form the Matathran warrior ran the blockade intended to stop his escape, emerging from the episode with only a few scratches and a faint ringing in his ears from numerous near misses. Freedom secured he made with haste to the beleaguered portage team upon whom the carrion birds seemed to flock as the spies of Sunrost guided great dark shapes sinking beneath the swamp water to their target.

Radoslaw and his coalition of men desperately heaved the five heavy craft over the marshes soft peat. The shore was within sight, and yet it appeared so were they. The men hurled curses under their breath at the birds flocked above. Some even took stray shots with their small recurve bows, only one or two quarrels striking home. Spirits soared as the shimmering Grand Marshal came into view. Flurries of hushed thanks tricked through the party. The Morkt raiders and their Calid kin heaved even harder as their comrades skyward shots became increasingly truer. They were inches from the letin. Inches from escape.

Yet their pursuers where hot on their savior’s heels. As the approaching masses came into view it became clear that what was hidden beneath the water was not swimming through it, but instead tunneling through the mud, the part pushing the water aside only the top of what must be a massive monster worming its way through the soft marsh earth. When they were mere inches from the shore the titans breached the surface, revealing themselves to be massive worms of wood covered in hundreds of bark scales.

As Tafari came soaring down through the air, he tore one of the spines lining the shoulders and neck of his silk robes loose and flung it down at one of the wooden worms as it breached the earth. The spine itself - technically the oversized bristle of an Agate Spider - barely even hurt the beastial ent as it embedded a short ways in its tough bark scales - but the bristle was hollow, and it was filled with death.

The bristle sprang apart at the seams like snapping cordwood with a light popping sound, a small black haze of dust flinging up through the air around it, seemingly leaving the worm unharmed - but unseen, just beneath the surface of the Ent's bark inside the thin puncture the spine had pierced, an insidious flame began to burn its way through the creature's innards, spreading far faster than such a confined and air-starved fire had any right to. The spines Tafari wore along his cloak were more than decorative - each one was a hollow stabbing implement that had been filled with a malign alchemical substance, and even as he landed Tafari pulled at more of them to fling at the remaining worms as they too breached the surface of the waterlogged earth, one by one.

Unfortunately this did nothing to stop either the momentum of the worms, nor anything about the wave of mud and water the breaching monstrosities brought with them as one of the boats disappeared before they reached the water, a truck sized mass of living wood plowed into them before disappearing into the water and mud on the far side of the traveler's hiding spot. Tafari himself barely managed to avoid being reduced to a fine paste, leaping out of the way as a mouth capable of swallowing him whole filled with dozens of massive sword length teeth attempted to snatch him up as it careened by. The entire ordeal was over in moments and as the beast disappeared into the muck beyond it was unclear if any had actually perished or if the freezing muck had quench the flames before it could consume any of them. What they left behind was a mess. Several boats damaged and one destroyed, men injured by glancing blows or simply gone entirely. Regardless of the amount of injury suffered, everything was now soaked through and at least some of the beasts were still out there, preparing another charge.

The boat crews stifled their reactions at the horrors from beneath. Their vetrancy was a blessing in that respect. They drew arms and watched nervously for return volleys from beneath. A number of Questors amongst them, less than helpful in guiding the boats along in the first place, turned away from the waters and drew their Geyser blades, determined to, if nothing else, distract the monstrous ents while their comrades escaped.

“Get to the water!” Radoslaw’s voice boomed with penetrating depth. “If it is the mud from which they clamor, then we shall see them left behind in it!” Radoslaw used his hulking mass to single handedly toss a raft into the birth of the river. Men began scrambling for the boats and hefted their wounded comrades through the razor edged reeds. “Where is Trygve?” The giant shaman shouted to Tafari as the last of the remaining boats entered the muddy slip.

"Either still fighting or right behind me! He seemed to have everything under control! Worry about your men right now!" Tafari called back, even as he flung two spines in quick succession at another worm as its massive back breached through the muddy waters once more.

“May the Deep keep his soul.” Radoslaw replied softly, resigned to the Grand Marshal’s words. With a deep hum he closed his eyes and the boats began to visibly quiver in the shallow river. Then suddenly, as if powered by great sails, they hurled through the water, their prows bent high as they pleated the muddy firth. Westward they flew as the spring sun began to kiss the horizon, dazzling the trails of their escape.

In the distance, a horn sounded 3 times, the same horn that had alerted the camp to Tafari’s approach, and all of a sudden the threat to the boats melted away as the birds and worms turned back to the island for some unknown reason. Both groups were noticeably smaller than they had been on arrival. In the distance the final fire was quenched, yet the distant figures upon the island remained chaotic and frantic as if the danger had not yet passed, even as the boats slipped away toward the incandescent skyline.
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Ekreture

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West of Olira


It was a misty day on the westernmost Askorian seas, but the Liba cut through this mist like a sharp knife through cheese, for Freishannese mages conjured winds into the sails of the ship, allowing not only the ship to press on, but giving the crew limited visibility in the dense fog.They had begun passing the islands marked by the maps of the Seobaghs, and while the crew of the ship grew relieved to return to familiar waters, Bahar had grown anxious about his return to Olira.

The living corpse, Sir Robert, had been held in the moist enclosure of the below deck, and while he had been properly attended to by the crew of the ship, the captain has yet to speak to him. Today, however, Robert was informed that the Olirian would see him.

Robert had been mostly quiet during the journey, save for adamant doomsaying whenever approached about heading west or the meaning of his amulet. He often spent his time leaned against the wall, legs splayed out, unmoving and his eyes staring at the pulsing gemstone. He didn't eat, drink or sleep, he only sat.

In the wreckage of the ship, the crew found his Lynnfairish longsword hidden in the pile of strange gritty dust, and with hesitation returned the weapon to him. He kept the blade across his lap, the edges dull from overuse, and the tip rounded with time. He paid little attention to it after the initial reunion and continued to obsess over his pulsating prize.

A stream of light beamed down onto the corpse's forhead, and the ragged privateer descended into the bowels of the ship. Bahar approached the knight, slowly but confidently, and crouched down to greet the cadavre eye to eye. "How goes it, Robert?" he began.

"Every moment closer to Askor, the better," Robert answered, his voice gritty like dried dirt but saturated with a well settled Lynnfairish accent.

Bahar grunted in response, rubbing his nose and waiting a moment, articulating his reponse. "So, I think you owe me some answers, sir." There was a tinge of sarcasm in the last word, but little mockery. The privateer was still unsure of the true nature of this...creature, but rudeness would yield him no answers.

"I suppose I do," Robert nodded his head, unseen bones in his neck creaking, "but my story starts out with asking of you one last favor."

"And what you that be?" The captain asked, a bit impatiently but still with sincerity.

"Upon return to Askor, you see me to my final destination," Robert looked down at his broken hip, "as you can see, I am in no condition to do the walking myself. If everything is correct, you won't need to go far from wherever we land."

"We head to Olira." Bahar's voice was stern. "I am unsure of where your...final destination...may be, but I am telling you that as of now, we head to Rilik. What occurs after that is yet to be seen."

"It should be close, then, wherever that may be," Robert seemed to agree to the schedule, "but now I suppose I do owe you an explaination."

"I suppose you do," the privateer responded, awaiting Robert to continue.

"I am a knight of the Silver Legion," Robert paused, "do you know of us?"

The captain chuckled. "All of Askor knows of the Silver Legion." He paused, his voice growing more questioning in its tone. "But I also know that the Silver Legion was killed to a man, centuries ago."

"So you all might think," Robert answered, "those who returned to Askor with Celia may have been killed, as well as those who fell in the far East, but I can assure you not all are dead, or well, completely dead. Those remaining under Grand Master Verran have a similar complexion as myself." Bahar knit his eyebrows, perplexed, but said nothing, waiting for Robert to continue.

"I suppose I should start at a better place," Robert tapped his chin, "three hundred years ago, The Prophetess Celia rounded up a legion of soldiers and fighters. Her powers had been well known before this but on instinct she suddenly felt the need for a fighting force, and so we all volunteered ourselves to her, the first being Bloodlord Verran of Lynn-Naraksh. Since that moment those two were always close, it is rumored that Verran knows secrets not even the rest of us know, but that isn't important right now."

Robert shifted in his spot, "we headed East, prepared to face what Celia described as the most dangerous being to all existance as we have ever known it. She seemed unsure herself about the true nature of whatever it was we were expecting, but we were all sure she was right. The further East we went, the more we all began to feel it. It is hard to describe, but I imagine it is the same feeling an ant gets when the foot about to stomp it shades the sun above it.

Our march continued in this fashion until one night. Celia came roaring from her tent, Verran was panicking trying to calm her, but we all heard her. It was the first time any of us saw her uncomposed or that expressive. She screamed about what she had seen in her sleep, what had looked back at her peering eyes. If it wasn't her who had seen what she saw, I'm certain whoever in her place would have died, their bodies not able to take the truth."

Robert held the amulet close, "she saw the Lord Emperor, but worse still, the Lord Emperor saw her. She described his many eyes peering down at her, and suddenly we all knew the name of the enemy we were marching towards."

Robert paused, staring at the captain, "we found him. At first we couldn't see him, our minds refused to believe his existance and so censored reality for us, but slowly he came into focus. When the entire horizon shifted, we realized that there wasn't a sky, just his form. Looking past him was difficult to begin with, but when we did our eyes met a paradox I can't rightfully describe. Many of our soldiers committed suicide on the spot, others simply died, but if I had to put it to words, there was no existance past the Lord Emperor, he had taken it for himself."

Robert bit his rotting lip, "it is hard to describe what happened next, but let me try."

He sighed, "we gave fight to it, I don't know why, but we did. It made enemy soldiers grow from the ground in groves, some forming in thin air, all a bizarre crystal. We stood no chance, strange polyhedrons stole our very existance as we fought, and when the Lord Emperor himself struck, well."

Robert blinked, his eyes wide in thought, "I don't even remember what happened. It wasn't anything my mind can process. The only reason the surviving members of the legion didn't die was due to Celia. Somehow she called upon some divine powers, wounding the Lord Emperor, freezing him in time. Me, Verran and half the Legion remained, fending off the crystal enemy while she escaped with the other half. She didn't want to leave, but Verran spoke some words to her, and she seemed convinced that she had to go back to Askor. So she left us there, under Verran."

"With the Lord Emperor stuck in time," Robert continued, "it was a matter of fending off the crystal horde, and quite frankly we suffered some terrible casualties, enough so that we had to retreat. But we kept at it, every day we would return, their perimeter having grown, and we would give fight to stem them as much as we could, perhaps in vain. It continued like this until one particular day."

"Verran was sad, I think, he was acting different," Robert looked off into the distance, despite being in a small cabin, "and slowly we felt something changing. Verran called upon me, Krag of Tarkima, Nestor of Osetina, Otis of Vlaanburg, and several others. While our bulk hit the crystal bastards hard, Verran and the rest of us snuck through the battlelines, and carved a way to the Lord Emperor. When we got there I felt that divine power the same as the day Celia struck the Lord Emperor, except tinged with dread. Verran was pulling something from the Emperor and as it reached us, all went black. When we came to we were already fighting the crystals, but we were different. We were no longer human, no longer just mere mortals, we were Einherjar, that's what the locals called us. In my viens I felt fire, and in my heart I knew a great divine power now dwelled within me. With new magics, we began to contain the crystals, and in a few weeks, their growing perimeter was halted by us. There we stayed since, studying our new powers, studying the events, the crystals, everything, defending the world by stemming the inevitable tide. We had no idea how long the Lord Emperor would remain in that strange stasis, so we stayed, ever learning and ever vigilant."

"Of course," Robert thought, "I always suspected Verran knew something more, which brings me to why I'm here. Our bodies slowly rotted with time, only our magic keeping us together and in time the stasis ended, and the Lord Emperor finihed his blow that he started long ago, but we were already away, having expected it the day prior. I cannot tell you what such an attack looked like but that country no longer exists. The crystals were given new brethren, and soon their army began to devour the people. We slowly realized how they were doing it, what was resistant to their all devouring blasts, and what was the best way to fight them, and in such Verran sent me to gather this."

He lifted the amulet with the pulsating gem, "before they did. But before I could get back to the main army, I ws cut off by the ever growing enemy forces and was forced to escape by going east, hoping to find the westward of Askor. With this necklace, Askor has a fighting chance where the other regions fell, and I think they knew that too. They followed me, but I killed every last one, but not before one damn crystal gave me one in the hip and a crack across the gem."

"So now you see, I have a delivery to attend to," Robert folded his hands over the gem, "any questions?"

Bahar sat pondering, thinking over the story just relayed to him. All those stories the Serenists had taught him as a child...they were true, or at least partially. "But the Lord Emperor...he was killed by Halwende, wasn't he?"

"Trust me, as a Lynndfairish Knight and former Serenist, I was just as confused as you are," Robert offered, "Verran was quick to tell me that 'clearly not."

"I'd have slapped him if Celia hadn't explained to me, or well, in a way," Robert nodded his head in a self acceptance, "Halwende never managed to kill the Lord Emperor, but he did wound him. Something about the whole thing being incomplete, and various babbles on the existance of magic and how everything works. She spoke a little too round about for me to truly understand it. It didn't help she never had the full story all at once, always waiting for the next dream, the next vision. How he got in the middle of nowhere though, 'fraid Verran is the one to ask, he as I said, seemed to know what was going on."

Robert held the amulet tightly, "but I do know this," he looked up at Bahar, "what actually happened thousands of years ago, what truly caused the disappearance of the primordials, the fall of Lynnde, the creation of mortal freedom, magic even -- all of that -- over back in Askor, we never had the slightest clue, never even touching the truth that much I know."

The captain chuckling cynically. "Hah. I always knew those preachers were a crock of nothing." He sat down across from the knight.

"Doesn't really matter much now does it," Robert answered, "I have a task to do, we have a war to fight."

"Yeah, well..." Bahar looked to the floor. "It's not a war that's mine to fight, Sir Knight." He sighed, and rose to his feet, kicking up the dust of the cabin floor. He stood, turned away from Robert, the sounds of the creaking wooding on the ocean softly ringing in his ears.

"You're not wrong," Robert said, his voice grim, "you'd do best to stay away, and take everyone you can with you."

"Why's that?" The captain turned to face the corpse. "Utyre is strong. They can take what's thrown at them." He paused, crossing his arms. "And Olira is far away from the madness in the East. We'll be safe there."

"Utyre won't be taking anything, I'm afraid if the Crystals get to them before Verran they will be doing a lot more giving," Robert shook his head, "stay in Olira, but be prepared to leave."

The Olirian stood for a moment, digesting the information. "What of your ship? What caused it to sink?" He chuckled. "When we found you, you were stranded with a hole in your ship that seemed almost to be punched in."

"Wood doesn't really do the trick when up against those polyhedrons, their blasts just eat right through it. Took a bit out of the the side too, lopsided the entire ship. Lucky there was only one or you'd find me swimming, or maybe crawling along the ocean floor. Not going to lie, I laid in that boat for so long that I did consider it," Robert answered, "surprised they never sent more crystals after me to be honest. They probably didn't expect me to channel my magic into keeping the gem from dissolving instead of healing myself."

Bahar smirked, and looked to the floor before looking back up at Robert. "I will get you to Olira, Knight. But beyond that, I offer no guarantees."

"That's all I ask," Robert returned the smirk, "and trust me, you won't regret that."
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Palace of the Lord Emperor, Urelynnde, Duchy of Kamwell, Lynnfaire

First Diet of the Unified Lynnfaire, under Her Royal Highness of Serenity, Queen Abigail “Daughter of Halwende” d’Montigue, Queen of all Lynnfaire, Duchess of all Kamwell, and heir of Halwende: King of Mortals and Liberator of Lynnde


The throne room of Urelynnde’s mighty palace was one to rival all others. Built by the primordials of Lynnde and location of the fight between Halwende and the Lord Emperor, it maintained the same impressiveness it held thousands of years ago. Stone blocks of enormous size constructed the incredibly large room. It was built to easily house the Lord Emperor, who by all accounts was a massive being, suitable to be lord of all other primordials.

The size of the chamber is emphasized by the fact that the sizable square indentation that sits in front of the Queen’s throne and serves as the court area for the diets was once the location of the Lord Emperor’s throne, whose fate is said to have been the stone that was carved into the large statue of Halwende in the center of the city.

As impressively large and well built the throne room was, its marvels didn’t end there. A strategically dome serves as the ceiling, and into its many vaults metal shudders serve as ventilation to allow in morning air and night time breezes, giving the entire room a sense of naturalness often lost in the stale air of old buildings.

While the walls themselves were well decorated with high built stain windows, tapestries depicting the heroes of Lynnfaire, portraits of king’s past, and statues of the best nobles of history, the floor was completely free of decoration or carpets. In the massive marble blocks that made up the floor, smaller white colored concrete filled obvious areas where major impacts dug deep into the marble, or even banished entire parts of it. These filled in scars are said to be from the very battle that fell the Lord Emperor, and are often seen as decor themselves.

In the square depression of the long gone throne sat the first meeting of all the elite Lynnfairish gentry under Queen Abigail save for a few counts. They sat in a half circle formation, comfortable chairs of plush wool and fine wood underneath. Abigail herself sat on a throne of plated gold, blue silk covering the cushions and a circular silver plated dias lifting it from the marble floor. Across her lap was the blade of Halwende, and on her head was the crown of Lynnfaire. It was intricately designed as if woven with metal laces of crisscrossing gold and silver, dotted and encrusted with many different sized sapphires, with the largest acting as the pupil of an all seeing eye.

The discussion thus far had been unemotional, straightforward and essential to the progression of the nation. Many new reforms were proposed by the Queen, and passed without question. Then slowly the meeting turned sour, as it went from the latest military reformations (including incentives for a standing professional army to be trained in perpetuity as well as the inclusion of Mist-talkers) to talks about the ramifications of the civil war.

Many nobles who supported William after his criminalization and refusal to accept the diet of Rownstetaine’s declaration of Abigail, were punished depending on the severity of their crime. Those tried with treason were stripped of their titles, those with high treason were executed. Luckily the number of bodies was relatively small, for as the headsman’s axe landed, unnervingly, the bodies of the traitors would turn to dust and float away in the wind.

The vacant lands and titles were divided up among the respective de jure lords, and lesser punishments were handed out on a case by case basis to minor nobles and gentry. When the topic turned to the Dynastic retainer of the Drouschester Dukedom, Sir Thompson, Duke Edgard found himself fidgeting uneasily in his chair.

The Duke stared down at his shoes as the diet explained the condition his scouts had found the body, mangled and oddly hairless. Some raised doubts it was him, despite finding his blade on scene. Even those who hated the knight were apt to announce that no mere wolf could take such a man down, and claimed Thompson must have killed and mutilated a peasant to stage the scene, but Edgard felt he knew what really happened.

“Ambushed,” Edgard growled as the diet turned to him.

“It was those bastard Vitiums, I know it.”

The room murmured as he continued, “they came to me, smug smiles on their inhuman faces and told me they found him, wounded. They humiliated the gentry with mocking tones, and left, probably to have their final fun with the man.”

He looked up, his eyes stained red with anger, his face plum, “they are little more than animals.”

“That’s quite the accusation,” The Duchess of Rylea answered.

“Is it?” Edgard gave her a sideways glance, “they dared to aid a-”

He took in a deep breath, “a traitor. They are not from the land of the civilized, and now they mock us by bringing their cruelty to our doorstep.”

“Sir Thompson was a traitor,” one white haired noble spoke up. Edgard shot the man a daring look.

“He was simply following his oath, he may have not even enjoyed or agreed with my father,” Edgard hissed, “but even if he was, he deserved more than this.”

“I agree with the young Duke,” a count spoke up, “and in regards to the perverted ways of the north, we only know what damage was done in the way of mutilation, Serene One save us all should they have done worse to the body.”

“This cannot go unanswered,” Edgard gritted his teeth, “they all must pay the price for their sins.”

“Hear hear!” A notable Imperialist dressed in the ways of the Grynyn agreed.

Murmurs filled the room once more, but all suddenly went silent as Abigail raised a hand, “there will be an investigation.”

Edgard stood up, causing everyone else to stand up, “My Queen, we already know!”

“Do we?” Abigail folded her hands, “I am as much disturbed by the findings as anyone in this room, Duke Edgard, but I will have my wits about me as should you. We will look into the markings of the body and determine the cause, should it be foul play we will move accordingly.”

“It must be foul play,” the Imperialist from earlier announced, “why would the Serene One allow it to remain unchanged to dust if not to let us know the truth.”

“Exactly!” Edgard shouted.

“Poise and respect,” The new Duke of Jannerton scowled, his round young face bearing twinkling brown eyes and a stiff upper lip, “this is the Queen.”

Edgard dipped his head in apology, but anger clearly still burned in his eyes and reddened his face.

“I am in favor of our Queens decision,” The Duchess of Rylea nodded her head.

“As I,” answered the majority. Edgard gritted his teeth, “and should it be foul play, should it be the Vitiums, what then? What punishment?”

“Duke Edgard,” Abigail raised a brow, her tone calming.

“The perverts, the murderers, the lowly scum” Edgard snipped, “they mock us, they walk free, and they mock us.”

“Duke-” Abigail began to stand up.

Edgard stared angrily at the Queen, who looked back with the virtue of patience.

Edgard sucked in a large breath and bowed his head, “Mercy, my Queen, but may I declare one last obscenity.”

“I recognize your anguish, I’m sure we all do,” Abigail said softly, “declare.”

Edgard looked up at the Queen, a blazing eye looking into hers, “should it be foul play.”

He looked at the others, “should it be the Calids.”

He looked at the Duchess of Rylea, “Should they be responsible for the death of the greatest knight.”

He looked back at the Queen, “then by my blood I swear I will kill every last one of them.” The Duke took a tiny knife from his right pocket and slit his hand. As the blood oozed out her made a fist, and threw the blood on the marble floor, “I will kill them.” he growled.

“I will kill them all,” his eyes began to water and he gnashed his teeth with an angry growl before turning, marching out of the half circle, and away from the diet towards the door. As he left the Count of Rownstetaine spoke up, “Little Dragon.”

“Truly his father’s son,” Abigail answered. She looked at the remaining nobles and sat back down, the others following suit.

“Onto other matters,” Abigail began, nodding to her right.

“Several Mist talkers have been found dead and some even decomposed in my cities,” The Duchess of Rylea began, “I call for attention.”

“You have mine,” The Duke of Jannerton answered, “I have suffered the same murders.”

The Queen nodded, “should resources be needed, you have the treasury.”

“I bid thanks, My Queen,” The Duke answered.

“As do I,” The Duchess spoke up.

“I have something to report and garner attention as well,” Duke Stephen of Upper Kamwell suddenly spoke. The man was greyed, his face weathered by salt, and his fingers coarse and rough, contrasting his bright red velvet clothes.

“Not to take away from the tragedies of the South, but I bear contrasting news,” Stephen continued, his old voice slow and almost rambling, causing the younger nobles to lean forward in anticipation.
“By the grace of Halwende…” Stephen began, almost striking a pose, “a great viel has been lifted, by the orders of the Serene One… at the whim of our glorious monarchy…”

Eyes blunk.

“In the ancient ruins of the bogs of Upper Kamwell, where Lynnde structure crumbles, and where evil once lurked…”

There was a long sigh, summoning a sharp glare from Stephen, “The piece of paradise has been found.” He grumbled, quickening his pace. There was an audible gasp as everyone leaned back in their seats, eyes puzzled.

“At long last…”

“I will go to it at once,” Abigail spoke up, eyes gathering on her, grins appearing on the oldest of the nobility, looks of shock on the younger.

“It would appear, Lynnfaire has her true monarch indeed,” Stephen nodded with a content smirk.








----

Urelynnde’s Central Knight Garrison Barracks, West Wing


Senthin plunged his face into the water basin, flinging his soaking blonde hair backwards as he resurfaced. The water splattered on the hewn granite floors of the barracks floor. Acel shook his head, sitting in his night clothes on his bunk. The two knights were given the option of a suite in the palace for their bravery and key part in the last battle of the war, but decided they would rather stick with the arrangements they were used to, lest they end up spoiled.

The room was large, enough to house half of the central guards, but was cut into segments by woolen curtain’s, leaving each segment with only ten beds, ten trunks, two water basins, and numerous shelves. Not being apart of the garrison proper, the two knights were given temporary stay with a few other men, most guards and officers of the watch, with one or two also being a visiting soldier, awaiting re-station or to be sent home.

“I don’t know why exactly we turned down the big rooms all to ourselves,” Senthin said as he reached around for a towel, his eyes closed and water dripping from his chin. Acel tossed him one that was sitting on the bunk.

“Don’t want to get used to the high life,” Acel leaned back on some unusually plump pillows, courtesy of her majesty.

“And why not? You heard what the Queen said,” Senthin dried his hair rigorously, tossing the damp towel into the corner haphazardly. The knight turned to Acel and grinned, “we may have a new job by the weeks end.”

“Royal bodyguard doesn’t really seem our style if you ask me,” Acel folded his arms, “never was one for politics and staying in the same place for too long.”

“No, no, think about...,” Senthin wagged a finger and leaned against the wall. Acel scratched his short brown hair and looked up, “think about wh-”

“It,” Senthin finished abruptly, “she isn’t really a sessile Queen, we can still adventure, but in luxury.”

“You say that, but we’ve only known her in war, not in peace,” Acel countered, sitting up, “besides, what luxury? Soft chairs for our asses while we get schooled on politics?”

“The softest,” Senthin beamed, “and who knows, maybe she will send us on some quests.”

“This really is just one big fantasy story book to you isn’t it?” Acel shook his head na smiled, “knights, Queens, quests?”

“Better than focusing on politics, politeness, and poverty,” Senthin raised his eyebrows.

“Praise be, brother,” An officer chimed in, he was a burly and extremely muscular man shaving a large black beard standing by a metal trimmed mirror, “damn everything outside our borders, that’s what I say. Got a whole damn world and not a speck of civilization outside our good silver ring.”

“That’s a bit brutal,” Acel snickered, “what do you know about the rest of the world?”

“Enough to want to stay here,” the Officer raised a single eyebrow as he pressed his razor against his cheek.

“Tarkima,” Senthin challenged.

“I’ll be a frozen boil on a yeti’s ass in a month,” The officer retorted, raising his chin, “besides, do you know what they even eat up there?”

Acel shook his head, “no.”

“Me either, but I prefer it that way.”

A few guards chuckled from their beds.

“Alright, fine,” Senthin thought for a moment, “ Lynn-Naraksh.”

The officer laughed and went back to shaving.

“Alright you got me there,” Senthin rubbed his chin, “Vlaanburg.”

“Cousin’s from there, port town, says it’s nice,” the officer flicked the razor in the basin, “doesn’t really count though, nor Osetina for that matter. All apart of the big blue, if you know what I mean.”

“He has a point,” Acel poked at Senthin.

“Fine, Olira,” Senthin crossed his arms.

The officer opened his mouth then closed it, “maybe.”

“A-ha!” Senthin pointed victoriously at the officer and then Acel.

Acel put up his palms in defeat, “point is, politics everywhere.”

“And so long as people are out there thinkin’ they are above the law of order,” The officer chimed in once more, “always will be.”

He turned to the two knights, “there is a reason we were charged by up above to keep the order and not mess with the ways things oughta be. You take a peek outside the golden glory of our Serene given order and you’ll see an army of buffoons, lead by the top fools who argue their position through bogus means and trampled philosophies that anyone with a half mind and a finger in the pudding of logic would see right through.”

“Pudding you say?” Senthin cocked a brow.

“Aye, sweet and filling, and when you eat it all you have no room more for bullshit, just like common sense,” the officer scoffed.

“Example,” Acel challenged.

“Take two steps out of Lynnfaire, four steps out of Vlaanburg and you fall face first in the worst political argument I ever heard,” The officer turned to the knights, leaning on the basin with a single hand.

The other guards were looking at him now as he continued, “ever hear a Matathran tell you about the wit of force? It’s bunk, and more importantly, it is a crippling way to look at the world.”

“What do you mean?” Senthin stood up.

“If I knock you in the jaw for disagreeing with me, even if you’re right,” the officer began, “that doesn’t make me correct, that just makes me the last asshole standing. If every weak jerk follows me after that, I could lead them through the gates of self destruction on the sole authority that my fist is bigger. It requires no brains, no actual thinking. When it comes to force, there is no wit, only fools.”

Before anyone could answer the officer continued, “Aye, I’m not saying there is no use for force, because there is plenty, but you can’t base your existence off of it, you need more. A bandit overpowers a rich man and becomes a rich bandit, still a bandit. A dog outruns a rabbit and mauls it, still an animal. A moron kills another, still a moron. Anyone can do it.”

He held up a finger, “but the shame isn’t in the one who does it as much as those who kiss the almighty ass of the one who does. You start respecting such an impulsive and uncalculating chaos, and you’ll soon find yourself so blind by your own hubris, you’ll find that you never had what you truly needed to exist in this Serene barren world.”

“I think I’m starting to see why you got into the line of work you did,” Senthin quipped.

The officer smiled wide and put a leg up on his bunk, leaning forward, “ aye, and it gives me no greater pleasure than proving cock-brained criminals who are trying to use their make believe wit of force as an excuse for being so damn wrong. It isn’t a lie, the strongest will lead, but boys, the clever one will live. Don’t be a sheep, and more importantly, if my late Father’s chickens can devise a pecking order with a striking resemblance to a political philosophy, maybe think twice before commiting your soul.”

He turned back to the basin, patting off the remaining dampness and residual hairs with a rough cloth, revealing a thick black mustache “and remember, no amount of knocking another person’s lights out will actually make you any less of a blue be forgotten moron.”

Acel turned to Senthin, “I like this guy.”

“Name’s Andras,” The mustachioed officer answered.

“Grynyn?” Senthin asked

“That’s why I called you Brother, isn’t it?” Andras nodded at the ‘Green Swordsman’.

“Of course, Brother,” Senthin gave the officer a nod.

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