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Zeroth
To the leaders of the great nations of Mycoria

Saddened we must inform you that king Amon-Mar IV, king of the Arkronians and supreme overlord of the realm has passed away. His reign was long and glorious. Under his devoted leadership or nations prospered and grew closer together. His majesty Amor-Mar IV healed the old wounds that once brought chaos to the realm and guided our nations into an era of peace. May the gods cherish such a wise and devoted soul as the realm mourns the loss of their great and inspiring leader.

With the departure of king Amon-Ra IV his reign comes to an end and a new era will begin. In five weeks his son Rakon-Da will ascend the throne and be bestowed with the divine obligation to guide our realm into an orderly, prosperous and peaceful future.

By command of the gods and former supreme ruler of the realm, the steward of Arkron is directed to inform the leaders of the great nations of Mycoria that they are granted the honor of being invited to the inauguration ceremony of crown prince Rakon-Da.

The inauguration ceremonies and festivities will take place five weeks from now in the royal palace in Arkronia. As honered guests and subjects to the crown your attendance is expected.

Yours’s sincerely,

Drokon-Al
Steward of Arkron
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Milkman
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Arkronia – Royal Palace




Akronia, the shining city of white. Unparalleled in its architecture and unrivaled In her beauty, glitters in the early morning sun of the first day of spring. Usually the city is bursting with commerce and business on a morning like this but today the streets are taken over by cleaning crews and decorators. In a few days the capital of the kingdom of Arkron will host the inauguration of the new king and the Arkronians will host the largest festivities since decades. Not just in honor of the new king, but also to mask a crisis that is slowly taking over the streets in Arkronia and other cities of the great kingdom. A crisis so great that it has become the most important subject of today’s government meeting.

Drokon-Al, the aging steward of Arkron looked around the table where the ministers had taken their seats. In his 80 springs the old Arkronian had never faced a potential crisis of this magnitude. Even his old poker face could not hide the concern on his face. The world was changing and the leadership of the kingdom and the realm had become his burden for now. The steward took a moment as all ministers waited in silence before he arose from his seat, raised his left hand and spoke the proper greeting “Alan Arkronis”

“Alan Arkronis” responded the ministers.

With the formal greeting out of the way the old Arkronian opened the fist topic of the meeting, the mysterious disease known as the Grey Death. “Ministers of the kingdom, servants of the crown and gods, with great concern I must confirm what we have been suspecting for some time now. The disease that we thought was gone for many centuries has returned to plague our glorious nation and the Arkronian people.” Drokon-Al looked around the large table but all ministers sat in silence. This wasn’t news for them either but what came next would be. “With great sadness I must inform the government that crown prince Rakon-Da, only heir to the throne has contracted the disease as well.”

In shock the different ministers looked at each other. If the crown prince had contracted the disease, his reign might be very short or he might not even make it to his own inauguration. This was bad, if the royal bloodline would end, it might take years for the priests to interpret the signs of the gods in order to select the next royal bloodline. With no king on the throne the Arkronian state would look severely weakened in the eyes of her vassals. Barbaric nations such as the Dominion of Epha or the Yuravian Confederation might see an empty throne as an opportunity to break free from their servitude and pursue their own chaotic agenda’s.

Arid-Ro, the middle aged minister of public health and water management took the word. “We have our best healers treating the crown prince but his condition is deteriorating. He won’t be in peak physical condition during his inauguration ceremony and they strongly advise to let the crown prince only participate in all the formal procedures required for him to ascend the throne. His strength is not what it used to be and his excellency tires out quickly.”

The other ministers sat in utter silence as they listened to this terrible news. They knew from the chronicles they all had studied at the various Arkronian universities that once the Grey Death struck, it would not stop at one or two victims. The minster of public health and water management continued his monologue “There have been over 300 reported cases in the capital alone and 103 Arkronians have passed away. Our studies show that the Grey Death only affects Arkronian people. Human and other races have not shown up at healers offices with the symptoms. So far roughly 33% of the patients are deceased, the majority remain sick and see their condition gradually decline over time. Some even fall into a state of endless sleep. Only 4 patients in the capital are considered cured. None of the healers remedies have proven effective and it seems that only a few have the favor of the gods. ”

Horish-Namar, minister of foreign relations stood up from his seat in order to address the gathered ministers. He realized that they were just at the start of the disease and not the end. The Grey Death would spread further and would most likely affect the kingdom on an unprecedented scale. “Ministers, servants of the crown and subjects of the gods. We must realize that the Grey Death is not just an healthcare crisis nor an leadership crisis. The Grey Death will cause a rapid decline in population and will weaken our nation significantly. We must be prepared for a changing would because there will be nations that are going to try to challenge our dominance.”

The old steward knew that Horish-Namar was right. In the old chronicles from the homeland beyond the sea, stories where written about how disease struck and decimated the population of the motherland many centuries ago. A repetition of that story seemed to become a distinct possibility for the Kingdom of Arkron. The times are changing and the Kingdom of Arkron needed to review their foreign policy quickly and realign it with the changing reality. “Your words speak of wisdom. We must work on the assumption that the Grey Death will significantly weaken the kingdom. The crown might not be capable of maintaining the current system. If we want to continue to do our divine duty to keep the order on this continent we must closely examine our relations with our vassals and be prepared to redefine them. Even if that means that we will be handing out concessions over time.”

“Ludicrous!” Shouted Ekram-Rhas, the minister of the Army. “If we had done during the 3rth rebellion what my late father and predecessor on my ministerial post had suggested we would not have had this conversation. Now our nation is under treat because a previous administration failed to act. Instead of handing out concessions we should demonstrate our strength by vanquishing those who will rise against us in the future before they have the chance to challenge us.”

Ekram-Rhas of house Rhaskozikan was known for his more radical point of view. House Rhaskozikan always was a strong advocate of permanently removing the more chaotic elements of this world. In the current case that would be exiling the population of various rebel nations to the afterlife. However his aggressive militaristic suggestions where quickly brushed off the table. Nobody was willing to start a war with such little justification.

The minister of Foreign relations once more took the word. “In the coming few days the delegations of all the nations of Mycoria will arrive. We should take this opportunity to strengthen our relations with various allies. I would like to make the following changes to the table arrangement for the grand opening banquet. Place the Vulpin delegation on the same table as the delegation of the Dominion of Epha and the delegation of the Saa’kaleed Abiat. You can’t take the Vulpin for their word but we should remind them of who their neighbors are. Fear is a great stimulus that shapes behavior. Place the delegation of the Aegire Oliarchy on the same table as the crown prince and steward. We should concentrate our effort on strengthening the position of the neutral houses. We should also let the Kingdom of Cor, the Rheatian republic and the kingdom of Skekaria know that whatever brings the future, Akron stand at their side in their desire for peace and prosperity”

With the last details worked out for the inauguration the government meeting came to a close as many crews worked relentlessly in the city to make it shine as a true white pearl and prepare all the guest accommodations near the Royal place that would be the homes for the delegations from all across Mycoria. Nobody knows what the future has in store but the Arkronians did whatever was within their power to hide the fact that a great crisis loomed above their heads.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by gowia
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The Saa’kaleed Abiat

The audience chamber of the Rea-Abi, one hour after sunrise…






”...that they are granted the honour of being invited to the inauguration ceremony of crown prince Rakon-Da.” A titter of hissing laughter erupted from the circle of lizardfolk sitting atop the great plush cushions and stools of the private audience chamber. Only the Rea-Abi sat atop a chair - a plush stool of lacquered wood inlaid with gems and gold leaf - and only he refrained from revealing his thoughts as he absorbed the rest of the letter in serene silence. ”Yours sincerely, Drokon-Al, Steward of Arkron.” The orator finished, lowering the letter and darting his eyes between the other council members present. ”The king is dead, long live the king. Perhaps our new overlord will not be quite so unbearable in his demands of us.” A further chorus, this time of ardent support from a number of the Sa’kaleed who clearly shared this sentiment. ”And, perhaps, we might finally broach the subject of how exactly we might extricate ourselves from the bonds of this incessant web.” Further support was voiced, louder this time, though opposition finally found its expression.

”And perhaps whilst we are at it we might also ask the Arkronian advice on how best to counter their forces and if they would be so kind as to give us their navy. Please, Kasim Mul’rahh, allow wiser and more venerable minds to advise the Rea-Abi whilst you and your cohorts return your attentions to more immediate matters. This is no time for childish suggestions.” The put down, worded calmly drew guffaws of anger and muttered insults from the younger advisor. Before long heated debate became an argument, the room fell into a shouting contest, and all the while, sitting stoically on his stool, the Rea-Abi watched and considered. ”You speak of wisdom, Faisal Hassan, but I would wager your experience has not grown since the last rebellion.” Kasim said, voice dripping in menace.

”At least I have a war to remember, do not think yourself so big now I could not beat you.” The threat was given coldly, and the shouting intensified. Suddenly there was a loud tapping sound as the Rea-Abi landed the butt of a staff onto the stone floor and everyone turned to see what he had to say.

”Brothers argue; old and young, quick and slow, wise and foolish, you debate like hounds in the desert over the last scraps of meat. There can be response without peace, peace amongst you and peace with what I must say.” The others, bowing their heads, muttered the single veneration together. Haka Marea. Peace to the Father. With order restored, the Rea-Abi continued. ”There is no question of acquiescing to the will of this dictat. We will send an embassy and they will arrive in the fullest intention of renewing our vows to the Arkronian crown. To do otherwise would be death for our people and punishment by the cowards across the continent who no longer value their freedom.” The younger Sa’kaleed who had voiced opposition to this position earlier raised his eyes as if to counter this response, but thought better and bowed his head again. ”I will lead the embassy personally, anything less would be considered an affront. And it would be good to speak with those who still hold true to the bonds of blood that bound us all those summers ago.”

”Then I wish to accompany you!” The youth blurted out, rising to his haunches and looking up.

”As you shall, Kasim, for you should see what shores outside of the Leed really look like. Perhaps you might learn some patience.” The younger courtier sat down again, rebuffed yet honoured in a single stroke. ”Meanwhile the Vizier will be seeing if he still has the spine you claim he has lost.” A ripple of lighthearted laughter. ”The time has come, once again, to send our demands to the Aegire that they relinquish their claims to the island of Ikesh. I imagine, as usual, this will result in the same drawn out talks. But, if we fail to raise the issue once again we will be implying that our own demands no longer matter. A thankless task, Faisal, but one I am certain you will manage effectively.” The coy knowing smile on the Rea-Abi’s lips told the elder lizardman to expect the most boorish of assignments.

”I serve at your pleasure, Aram Sallah, Rea Abi. May we find success in this venture where others before have failed.”

”You fail to mention the number of years you and I have spent working on this exact issue together, it does not befit a good Abi to ignore his own failings. I simply wish to see if any advantage may be eked out of our timing. In any case, I shall have an exact list of those joining me drawn up by midday, and we will be leaving as soon as the proper preparations can be made. I believe a route north would serve us best, Kasim, I have an important assignment for you prior to our main departure.” And so it was, that same evening, that Kasim Mul’rahh - Makr’a’aar to the Rea-Abi - left along the main highway in an attempt to head north and then follow the main roads towards the Yuravian Confederacy. A missive in his possession for the Gardinâ and hope that he could reach a representative before their embassy left. Far more lethargically, intended to arrive after the main procession from the Aegire Oligarchy had departed, a formal attache requested to bring to the attention of the remaining authorities a timely request. A number of days later a much larger procession emerged from the capital, making a swift and relatively underwhelming march north and towards the grand highways that would lead to the capital of the continent. The Basa, long having lived exclusively to the desert climate of the Leed would ride once again. Not for battle, but for veneration. A corps of advisors followed the Rea-Abi as he led the way, accompanied by a family of his closest guardians.







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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Yam I Am
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"Komment ça çtaja?" (How are you faring?)

Leokadra scoffed. The mere fact he was to be in attendance for this charade would sour the mood of any Yuravian.

"Naja." (So-so.) The chieftain bit his tongue. His colleague sagely nodded back, only choosing to make eye contact for as brief a moment as he could.

From a strictly Yuravian perspective, Chief Leokadra's position was one of unenviable delegation; A far cry from the "honored guest" status their missive may have suggested. It might be assumed that, from their involvement in the Third Rebellion, the relations between the two might consist of nothing shy of open hostility. Yet, if to describe some affair as "bittersweet" would be to do so in a semi-positive tone, then their association could be compounded into the expression, "sour-sweet".

Time immemorial marked the great clash of cultures which would define Arkronian-Yuravian relations. From a fundamental standpoint, there was seemingly no pleasing the one without the expense of the other. Leokadra, the poor soul, made no effort to appear pleased at his request for attendance, for it was that Leokadra held the unanimous opinion of the Yuravian concerning Arkronian endeavors: That such constructs were a waste of time. The uniform roads, the towering spires, the rippleless gardens which laborer toiled without recourse to maintain...What manner of buffoon would think it a good idea to discard so much time to these creations? Did Mother Nature not already provide infinite order, her will of life, death, and rebirth? Did she not already give bountiful beauty in all her creations to all her children on her fair Earth? For reason undefinable, the greyskins were far too fond of their lust for domination, and so far was this psyche extended that they even incarcerated their very own lives.


"Aç âozit?" (Have you heard?) the old chief's aide murmured, "Zo prïnza çere malâde din mourt." (The prince has fallen deathly ill.)

"Çu çere leurs secrét perâo guardâija." (It is their worst-kept secret.) He plainly responded.

Word throughout Yuravia spread quite quickly for any matter. A loquacious bunch, paired with their traditions of nomadism, and what resulted was a state in which a common joke was that it was impossible to keep something a secret for any period longer than 10 days, by which time chiming wives would find themselves chatting about the Tênuar's new affair with Cor as if it were the day's weather.


"E?" (And?) the aide expressed, "Né deturioneuç inkuienteneuç?" (Shouldn't we be concerned?)

The chieftain scarcely made his response known. His shoulders rolled in so minor a fashion that to call such a maneuver a "shrug" suggested it could be more than possible accident. Two deep, stone-bleached eyes wearily gazed the young translator aside, scrolling in such fashion apropos a musty library scroll, the likes of which had not been unfurled for decades.

"Zaç afačeriux din çu koruna né affligineuç." (The affairs of that crown afflict us not.)

"E kê açêa homê din zo Mâçon din Razkozïkan?" (And what of that man from House Rhaskozikan?)

"Bah! Çeç parubulaux né çeren dar bêtiçe." (Bah! His words are nothing but hot air.) Leokadra waved, his scoffing huff utterly dismissive of any such sentiments in that militant aristocracy.

Lucinêa sighed. The gaunt man had few qualms with serving as the translator of this well-respected grouch, for the ride to Arkronia wasn't one with the fullest beauty of Mycordia in gaze, with which he planned as a pleasant distraction to its fullest extent. Even - perhaps uncharacteristic for a Yuravian - the fact he was to be in attendance of an Arkronian mandate upset him little, for there, Lucinêa knew too well that there, he was to be in the good company of his fellow boredomites. No, his greatest pains came from that of guiding his horses about, as for the eighth time this hour, his prized companionss had developed selective hearing in tandem with a desire to graze upon what few grasses remained along the Kaledian frontiers.

Such inklings he hoped would remain as his sole concern.


"Avï!" (Hail!)

Leokadra gestured. His finger extended, two long figures in the distance. Lucinêa squinted, peering out with the guidance of the chief. Soon after, he clicked and whistled. By miracle, his black stallions neighed and followed.

"Çalut."

"Good day to you." Lucinêa interpreted. He halted his horses just before the embassy, his bright eyes gesturing their intended use as the envoy's transport.

"I trust you have been keeping well?" Lucinêa inquired, his light voice hopeful to ignite at least passive conversation. Darting his head quickly to his right, the translator made quick contact with his elder. The man to his side had a face to put caverns to shame, cracks to make the parched stones of Leed mere chips in comparison. In Ascerian standard, Chief Leokadra, then, was far older than perhaps any living creature had a right to be, yet it was in the face of such adversity that this same elder had the strength to shatter any lesser man.

"We in the Gardinâ have received your letter," Lucinêa prompted, "and we would be most gracious to accept your proposal of a rekindled friendship. Yet...forgive me. I believe I am...getting ahead of myself."

"Come along. We have matters to discuss on the long road ahead, correct?"


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An Avan sat quietly in the garden. The moonlight over head shining down through the reaching boughs of naked, ancient oaks. In the dappled rays of silver blue light the last patches of a winter's snow glow a soft azure. Abutting against the blue shine of snow in a late evening's moonlight was the warm golden light of a small fire as the hooded figure of the bird-man hunched over it. Clutched between his beak was a long pipe, from which he puffed laconically as he stared into the fire.

On the still cool mid-seasonal night the bells of the city of Hemden rang in low tones, chiming the hours. Their slow trembling rings rolling across the low hills and above the smoking roof tops of the city hidden just beyond the walls of the great garden. One, two, three the Avan counting, puffing in time to the rings. Four, five, six, the fire light from the castle keep a few yards off glowed comfortably in the cool night air signaling a place more comfortable than the chilly night air. Seven, eight, he paid a moment's thought at the last ring to credit the clock work skill of the Arkron. He was young still when such time keeping was new and in a distant way it still sounded different and odd. At this time the bells of the city would be silent, ringing out only to signal the beginning of some occasion in the city; a meeting of a guild, a party by a grandee, the arrival of news. Now the code of the bells had long changed.

He took a long draw from the pipe, and removed it from his beak. Taping the tip against his hands he held the smoke in his mouth, not fixing to breath at all as he felt the hot, abrasive, and numbing mixture at the beak of his throat before he finally let go and simply breathed it out in a cloud. His mind drifted off to other matters as he looked into the fire and he sat that way for some time with his cloak hanging heavily off his shoulders. He knew he should not be out at this hour but there was no one to tell him otherwise. After all, he had wandered and soldiered before; he was no stranger to all of this. And when men bowed back at your words, what reason was there to abide by their common sense.

Earlier that afternoon a carrier crow had arrived with a message at its talons. The hefty letter delivered the missive promptly and to the point. The Emperor was dead, his son was soon to inherit, and the forty-nine year old Avan found himself contemplating history. The last rebellion had been his father's affair to manage, he had only watched from the safety of castle chambers or palace dining halls. Not often though not rarely was he taken to the side of battle to watch the ranks close in on each other and battle fought against one another. He had sometimes been taken out in his father's retinue and stood to watch at the edge of wooded lines or atop hills as battles were fought and the opposing forces herald's and civil men met and discussed the battle itself, taking the technical details and doing the mid-fight diplomacy. After all, someone would need to call the victor. The holy men were there too, as were the soldier wives and bed maids and all the non-fighting hangers-on who looked on with something other than terror, but excitement. He recalled the tension of the spectators not as something terrible but as something fun and enjoyable, games were played and bets exchanged. He was young at the time, he could not have known the terror of the actual battle at play below.

“Ye'ea wanderin' again.” a voice said, but the Avan did not take notice. He continued to think to himself as he drew circles with the mouth piece of the pipe on his hand, tracing across the grey downy feathers that grew thin and patchy there like a barren field tilled up and ready to plant but with the weeds crawling back to reclaim it fast before the farmer can assemble his equipment, there had been a hard rain there. The imagination recalled the smell of fresh tilled earth and a recently departed spring rain. Perhaps there was a thunderstorm, it smelled electric. It smelled like sex.

“P'haps if you stayed on track.” the voice said, sounding nearer now. Again, the Avan did not pay attention. Or he pretended not to. He returned to the letter: the Emperor was dead. That was not what concerned him in the least. Monarchs came and went, they died and their sons inherited or someone assembled a small army and blocked their ascent, naming themselves the new king. If the one to-be was not well liked, there would be no fight; it would pass under threat of noble violence. And this was entirely the concern at heart. Though unfounded, he had a keen eye for rumor and stories and the gossip of the day had not stopped: some lords and named have not given up on the dream of the 3rd Rebellion. Though, there had been successions since.

“Now yea'ea in the patch.” said the voice again, clearer and the Avan finally acknowledged him.

“When'll I get rid of you?” he asked in a low tone, his voice cracking as he coughed.

“Don'think you will. The two o' us: we're going to the grave together I thinks.” the voice said and a figured seated itself just out of the fire's light. It took on the appearance of a large Avan, hooded and robed. Its features however silhouetted in the dim moon light. From under the hood though rose what appeared to be protrusions, like horns from the head. But it's long crooked beak lent a profile like a hawk or eagle, lithe and dangerous.

“I thought you hated smoking.” the Avan remarked, his voice cold.

“Ay, th'stench is fucking terrible and it disagree with me somewhat. But you let your pipe go cold, m'friend.”

The Avan looked down. The smoldering embers in his pipe did indeed go cold and looking around he noticed the night had taken on a darker air. How long he had let it go was beyond him. Last he knew it was eight in the evening. He had not heard the chimes again so it must not have gotten later. Looking up he cast his view to the sky. He did not want to look at the shadow seated at the edge of light across from him. He did not want to acknowledge what he credited as his world.

The stars above were sharp and crisp in the night sky. The moon taking on a full glow as it hung high in the night sky. The brilliant band of lights that made up the sky offered a different aural spectacle from that of a small fire.

“Yea by t'way may want to check the fire.” the shaded figure remarked and the Avan looked down and found the fire too was fading unhealthily. He grabbed at a few small twigs and threw them on and the tongues of flame took on renewed health. Raising his hands to the fire he warmed his palms and brought feeling back into them as he wrapped himself closer with the cloak.

“Now, I do be knowing that y'have somethin' on yea mind.” the figure said, reaching up with a hand and scratching the side of his face. The tremble of his voice sounding like a smile, “Y'mind catching me up? Y'be looking perplexed all day I noticed. Chance per something put y'on the spoil?”

The Avan looked down at the pipe in his hands, turning it over, careful not to turn out the mix. With a surrendered sigh he turned it over and tapped it out onto the snow and began drawing it across the back of his hand again. “This be'in the letter then.” the figure said, with a lift of the head, “The one in the pocket.”

The Avan knew he had no business knowing this but was long surrendered to it. “It is.” he said simply.

“Long live the Emperor.” the hooded figure said with a cackle, “Long may he reign.”

“Indeed.”

“So, tell me when t'last emperor died. That was...” the hooded figured trailed off, letting a raised hand wave through the air. The Avan felt his eyes burrowing upon him and it made him feel colder. He tossed a few more sticks on the fire.

“Thirty years ago, just about.” the Avan said.

“Ah, I see it then s'clear's the moon. Ay, yes. That do be well.”

“Why does this matter to you?” The Avan asked aggresively.

“Because I be'feeling you have yea'self some doubts. Like last time?”

“Mhmm.” the Avan grunted.

“Well yea'be-knowing me: better to stick to the friends y'know than you don't. The Arkronians have been good to you. S'far.”

The Avan didn't answer that remark. He tapped the pipe against the back of his hand as he ran it up and down his arm. He felt it catch the small feathers that grew there as it traced along the bare skin. His silence was not indecipherable to the figure seated nearby who laughed.

“Doubt is strong.” he said, “maybe it is mere hubris on their part. Will'ea least 'tend the crowning.”

“I don't have a choice on that part.” the Avan said.

“Nae, 'couse you don't. If'ean you did though?”

“Would not matter. A gesture is a gesture. A friend is a friend. The blood runs, and it runs good.”

“But to whoms't? The Arkronians as a race, or the Imperial House?” a moment of silence passed, made as punctuation and emphasis on the point to be made: “Here'in lies t'true problem.”

The Avan nodded. Slight and solemn. “Then t'is is as'it will be always. Go happily. I am cold.”

Finally the figure rose, after what felt like a long conversation to the Avan. Snow and branches crunched under his footfalls as it disappeared into the woods and the Avan looked down to find the fire had smoldered into embers. He snapped into reality as he heard distantly the bells of the city solemnly ring out ten times. He looked back at his castle and saw many of the lights had died. Some torches and lanterns smoldered, as he believed to be out of courtesy to him by the guards, who knew their lord had eloped somewhere off into the garden somewhere.

It was best that he had not entirely wandered into the country.

Hemden, Kingdom of Cor


A siren's choir of birds erupted with the break of dawn as in the city below the bells were into ringing their short morning songs. The breaking early spring sun, while it brought limited warmth did awaken the lives of the sleeping city below as its rays touched on the windows of the homes below. Looming high over the city atop a steep hill rose the ancient castle of Hem's rock. Its twelve tightly clustered towers crowned with flowing banners as a ringed series of walls did more than just defend the keep itself, but contain within it an entire court society that had evolved and grew up there. Containing a synthesis of the magisterial court politics of Arkron and the stubbornly old ways of the ancient Avan kings. It was at once self-interested in keeping itself contained and to create its own aristocratic high society, as within the walls large townhouses and mansions of prominent if landless nobility settled close nearby, within reach of the king and his court and protected by its walls so they need not suffer commoners. Yet, this attitude closely at odds with an unsettled feeling that saw the oldest and most native of the castles sufferers to wander out into the city and interconnect the popular customs with that of the court, cursing it to never achieve true segregation.

As the city awoke an early traffic begun as servants and the many petty hangers on of the court flirted through the gates. The daily flow of the newest fashions and trinkets began early so as to make as much time with the court's women and men, many of whom would demand time as well as offer generosity to them. This would not entirely be the sole traffic today. For deeper in the keep the nucleus of royal politics was rising to the day. They had in that day, a purpose. Couriers were dispatched to make the necessary orders.

The city of Hemden was situated at the far end of a wide river, where a plethora of fanning smaller rivers and streams from the mountains and further trickled and rolled into the center of the country to meet at the vast lake on whose shores the city straddled, and over which it stepped widely over six streams and rivers that teemed with all manners of canoe and barge. Canals dug centuries ago only spread the access to the water, and entire neighborhoods were built up to access to these canals. The earliest of errand workers strode the waters in flat bottom boats to make daily deliveries of morning bread and eggs to the middling commoners and merchants who stayed in their warm homes during such cold mornings. During this time of year, the heat of the sun broke the chill of the night and waters warm still from the following early spring dead bled off white mist that filled the streets in the morning light. Opposite from the great castle at the banks of the lake docked an ocean going fleet, the river and lake being well deep and wide enough to accept many ships into it. The lake, and the city of Hemden served as, and was recognized readily as being the most peaceable port in the realm from any storm, and the winter gales that barreled north from over Rhaetia did not turn the waters of the lake as much as they did the waters of the open ocean where the winds threw up waves large enough to swallow entire ships before pushing it all northwards to drench and flood the Swiftpaw in great frozen torrents of wave and rain. And it was to the prized docks the castle men went for a boat was needed and there they kept the royal corvettes moored.

“What will'in they expect of us?” a young Avan asked. His face was strained with an unusual uncertainty. It was not his first time of being in the capital. But this was an entirely new experience for him.

The young prince Henry Peace Fear The Gods Coarsecrane was tall and handsome for his species. And speaking to his father the commonalities were not hard to overlook. With a bright red cap of feathers that ran from their face over and across their heads to their backs they resembled woodpeckers with wide expressive orange beaks. Although William Walker Coarscrane bore a dainty snood that lay right to left across his own.

Smoking a pipe, William looked over at his son with an impassive look. Despite having disappeared into the shadows of the gardens the previous night and stayed there until long after much of the watch themselves turned in he had not gotten much sleep. But if he was bothered by it it did not show. Piercing green eyes shone with mirror clarity as he looked through the haze of smoke to Henry Peace. He shrugged.

“How do we know t'new emperor is not an honorable man? Honor before all, that is what'ya used to say. Aye?”

“They be.” William said in a low voice, looking away. They stood at an arcade of windows that looked out from the keep. The red rooftops of the royal village that had come to exist around the castle shone with misty morning dew as the city beyond was enveloped in a rolling white haze.

“By chance: have you met the Emperor to be? Rakon-Da?”

“Ney.”

“You've 'eard of 'im?”

“Aye, son.”

“What about him?”

“I 'ear he's a bright young man.”

“So t'realm is in good hands?”

“I'd assume so.” said William, breathing out a thick cloud of smoke. He looked about himself, searching the corners of the hall and by the ceiling. Some days he felt odd about the castle. This was one of his days. He looked ahead to the boat ride, to escape the keep and its indolent residents. “We should see if t'good cook has made anythin' fer us before we lift and leave. It'll be a timely voyage, but one we shall make. Have you packed yea'things?”

“Yes.” Henry bowed, “You lead.”

“Thanks.” William mumbled. His belly all the same however did not grumble in hunger.
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Trinais
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The Aegire Oligarchy

Palace of the Sea Lord


"'The inauguration ceremonies and festivities will take place five weeks from now in the royal palace in Arkronia. As honered guests and subjects to the crown your attendance is expected.

Yours’s sincerely,

Drokon-Al,
Steward of Arkron'"

Dekatia Jura finished reading the missive, briefly rearranged her legs in the Coral Palace's warming pool, then folded the letter. Her confidants sat with her, watching, waiting on opposite ends of the heated pool. They were the power block of the Oligarchy. Lord Phera Hetos with his pirate-scarred torso tried to look unconcerned, but Dekatia could tell from the twitching of his arm fins that he was thinking a mile a minute. Meanwhile, Lady Dalia Iretis folded her hands and pondered. Waiting. She was a slippery one, Dalia. Always waiting for someone else to speak before letting her thoughts be known.

"Well?" Phera asked. "What does this mean to us? Aside from a dinner invitation for you, Dekatia?"

"It means a great many things. The missive itself is hastily written. The page mis-spelled the Arkronian word for 'honor' at the end among many other things."

"Likely the tenth letter the poor sod had to write," Dalia said. "Not like the Arkronians to get ten pages to write a single copy of the same letter each. That would save time. It also reads like a request."

"Remember the letter from Amon-Mar last year, railing about our fishing ships at Ikeshi waters?" Phera said. "I thought he was going to launch an expedition. They didn't even bother to have it written in the Crown Prince's name. Just the Steward."

Dekatia was preparing to make a point when Phera waved for her to stop. He gestured the lone human servant in the outer hallway, minding their togara. "You- bring us rum. Chilled. Take as long as you need." The man bowed, his own white togara nearly brushing the tile floors before stepping away, with all the practice of one who has many times been asked to step away from a conversation not meant for their ears. "But Stewards have had power. Significant power. The Second Rebellion was practically managed by the Steward to the Emperor in the critical days."

"In a normal regency, yes," Dekatia mused, scratching her neck-gills. "But there's pageantry and announcements and such. Precedent would require the announcement of the regency first, then this invitation. There's a sense of haste here. The Arkronians are not observing protocol. Five weeks is not enough time to form a royal court and a diplomatic mission with the peers of the Empire. Offices must be filled, patron posts reassigned. That is a business that can take months. Something is wrong."

"The plague rumor?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. We've seen a few cases on ships from Arkronia." Dalia reached out of the pool, grasping an oyster before slurping down its meat. "The rest of the crew is allways fine, but the Arkronians on board are dead by the time they reach our shores. We've had a few perfectly preserved bodies brought ashore in pickled barrels for the Healers College to view. It's only a matter of time before the word gets out."

That sparked Phera's interest. And his Thassite passion. "If Arkronia is stricken by a plague that only affects them, however unlikely, it represents an opportunity that we cannot afford to miss. We missed our chance at revenge in the Third War by trying to placate both sides. The nyleos of our cause demands we not miss the Fourth."

Dekatia felt her own sympathies stirring, but knew better than to leap into the open arms of Rebellion- especially so early in this game. "Let us suppose, hypothetically, that I leave with the delegation and the coronation goes perfectly. That the plague is not a true scourge, but a passing sickness. If we are too blatant in our measures, we could trigger the final catastrophe before we have avenged our great-fathers. An invasion of the isles while the Neutrals launch us into a civil war. Even collaborators would not be spared from Arkronian attack."

"Unlikely," Dalia said with a laugh, seizing another oyster. "I dine with the neutrals every week. I lead them in the Chamber. They haven't the strength or the will to launch a coup if it was demanded of them from the Emperor- this one or the last. They invested heavily in the attempted colonization of Ikesh and lost everything but their votes when Amon-Mar sided against them at court. He broke his ally's legs to placate an enemy."

"And what about their votes?" Dekatia wondered allowed. "More than half is still, well, more than half."

"Pass those here," Phera said, gesturing to the oyster tray. "Votes mean something only when one respects the rules. Paper shields. If the marines are called to overthrow their Houses, it can be done."

That is dangerous thinking. An unsecure leg on our Triumvirate. Luckily, it seemed that Dalia agreed with Dekatia in this thinking.

"Securing the homeland in such a way would be a bloody affair, no matter how many of the other Houses are destroyed. And we could be just as easily overthrown by a Neutral minority with outside help."

"I'm sorry Pheram but I agree with Dalia. We cannott be the ones to launch a Fourth War. If that's even what we want at this time. Aegire's place in such a venture would be limited to begin with. Secure Ikesh to protect the homeland from invasion, then cut the sea lane to the Emperor's allies. Withdraw the marines from the west to allow piracy to rage unchecked on the loyalists. Call our levies and prepare them for whatever opportunities arise. That's the best plan we can make without consulting other... interested parties. And it's not a full plan."

Pheram paused, cracked open an oyster, and eyed the Aegiri's First Lord. "So our plan is...?"

"Absorb and deflect. I will attend the coronation as instructed. Kiss the ring, go through the motions. I will make no promises that the three of us would not agree to keep. In the meantime, we need to prepare for all eventualities. Phera, you will venture to Ikesh. Hold talks with the Saa'kaleed about the isle. Take the temperature of their leadership. The harder they press for the isle, the more we know they plan to resist invasion. We both need it for the same reason. If they propose joint ownership of the isle, they may want an alliance, or have no plans to launch a rebellion."

As we turn over a new leaf in the bosom of the Arkronian people it has once again come to the attention of the Rea-Abi that the matter of the landmass between our two nations is still yet to be defined. The island, Ikesh in our tongue, is part of the traditional patrimony of the Saa’kaleed, promised to us countless summers ago in exchange for our support during trying times. The fact this matter still divides our people today is unworthy of these enlightened times. It is why I have been granted clearance to discuss these matters independently to find a swift resolution to our differences.



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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by DELETED32084
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Second Rhaetian Republic




First Consul Kohu Dosit stretched his back momentarily, careful to not upset his kajukki as he took a moment to relax. The small craft was sharply pointed at either end and propelled by a double bladed paddle; a leather skirting kept the water from flooding the vessels hollow interior. He lay the paddle across his lap and quickly drank several handfuls of the cold river water, leaning back for a moment and staring up at the rapidly narrowing white cliffs on either side of him. Trees crowded close about the clifftops and thick green ferns, fed by the river, presented an unbroken shoreline for as far as he could see.

The water beneath him, for the moment, was crystal clear and he could see schools of large yellow fish lazily rushing past him downriver toward the unseen sea so many hundreds of kilometres away. The river bottoms was of white stone, all of it having once fallen from the cliffs above; the stones had been rounded and smoothed by the rushing water so that he could have walked along the bottom with ease.

The steadily growing roar of the river began to change in timbre as he floated along and he picked up his paddle, craning his head to see around the coming river bend. A pair of huge rocks, roughly the size of a horse, had fallen into the centre of the river and he would have to pass them to continue his journey.

Beyond the stones, the rivers placid surface was turning into frothing white mass as the canyon narrowed into a series of angry looking rapids. He grinned and hefted his paddle, sweeping it backwards to direct his kajukki between the two stones. He felt himself drop, his stomach leaping into his throat, then he hit the water with a loud crack. Ahead of him the rapids raged, the water pushing high and white over rocks beneath the surface. A deft twitch of the paddle and he began his descent into the canyon. It was a good day to be alive.
* * * * *


Three hours later, blanket around his shoulders and hands stretched out to a roaring fire, Kohu listened as his secretary read the letter from Arkron. He was sore, battered, bruised, and the exhilaration from his day on the river had been replaced by trepidation at the news of the kings death.

"The inauguration ceremonies and festivities will take place five weeks from now in the royal palace in Arkronia. As honoured guests and subjects to the crown, your attendance is expected." The secretary finished, holding out the letter to Kohu until the First Consul shook his head. It went back into its envelope before getting tucked into a saddle bag.

"Well that makes life interesting." Kohu muttered as he scootched closer to the blaze. The river had a way of chilling one to the bone and he suspected it was his Orchish heritage that made him robust enough to survive the trip. Maybe he should have a suit made that would keep him warm and dry. A thought for another day. " Nothing else?"

The secretary shook his head. Matthel had served as First Secretary for the last three First Consuls to lead Rhaetia, but Kohu was certainly the most fascinating of them all. The noticeably fit Ruline lived for excitement and adventure - riding rivers in his small boat was just one of several adrenaline packed activities he seemed to take joy in. No matter of state was ever rushed into and Kohu's exploits had made him infamous throughout the land and inspired a whole new generation of daredevils; the days of simply being good on horseback were swiftly drawing to a close.

Kohu was also the youngest male in several generations to take the role of First Consul. Unlike several of his predecessors, he had not inherited wealth from his parents and was entirely self-made. It was a sign of a new age in the Republic as old money, long associated with blood ties to Arkronia, was slowly fading away. The spoiled youth of the rich were fewer and fewer as Kohu introduced taxes and policies to strangle old family monopolies and invigorate the majority of Rhaetians.

"Get the boat loaded up, we'll ride to Rhungora and summon the senate. Someone will have to go, but who..." Who indeed. The recent weakness in the Arkronian crown had brought a host of new issues to light within Rhaetia. The younger generations, emboldened by their adrenaline seeking leadership, had begun clamouring for more tax revenue to be kept at home and some even seemed determined to cause a crisis by calling for complete autonomy from the Crown. Two factions had been slowly developing in the senate and lines were being drawn in the sand between Republican and Royalist factions. So far there had been no blows but with Rhaetia clinging to the belief that every citizen had a voice, it was only a matter of time.

Two servants had hurried forward and began strapping the kajukki onto a patient donkey who swatted at them with a shit stained tail. Food and the First Consuls wet garments joined the load - horses were led forward and the small party mounted. Four soldiers, their armour a matted green in colour, formed up in pairs in front and behind. Once Kohu was satisfied that nothing had been forgotten he gave the river one more longing glance before nodding to his escort and riding for Rhungora.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Blandina
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Wyacannae, Skekaria


The Warm morning sun shone on the multicolored city of Wycannae, which was rapidly starting to develop a sprawl on either side of the estuary it had been built upon. The city of Wyacannae, true to her roots as the merging point of the three great clans, was built with no singularly dominate style, instead preferring to merge the three into, as considered by some, a shockingly garish city of colors- a feature that made it one of the more memorable cities of Mycoria. Regardless of the widely variable foreign opinion the Skekarii of the city consider it to be of unparralled beauty, central to the prismatic city and dominate of its' skyline lay the Palace of the Triarchs, situated in the midst of the multitude of palaces built by lesser nobility, the palace normally featured a constant hustle and bustle of merchants and workers in the courtyards, or bureaucrats and representatives either plotting in the azratikiq or delivering the end results of those plots to the kaiazratiq, but today the palace sat in quiet deliberation.

Palace of the Triarchs, Skekaria


"The inauguration ceremonies and festivities will take place five weeks from now in the royal palace in Arkronia. As honered guests and subjects to the crown your attendance is expected. Yours’s sincerely, Drokon-Al, Steward of Arkron." King Vahn finished reading aloud for his junior partners before reclining with a heavy sigh as far as the low backed seats of the Kaiazratiq chamber would allow. Five weeks certainly doesn't give us much time to prepare, does it?"
"No, I don't suppose it does, what with us being across the continent and all. It oughta be possible if we go by ship, though that'd take us through Aegiri sea lanes. I don't suppose we'd get away with sending a few clan leaders? I don't see why we should trouble our treasury so much for the Arkron, especially when we've got plenty to spend it on here." came the quick reply from King Mahd, himself reclined nearly into the lap of Queen Hastor, who was toying with his hair, an intimacy afforded to them by the privacy of the Triarchs' meeting chamber.
"They seem fairly adamnt in their letter that we all three be present, anything less than that might be considered an insult, or worse. I don't necessarily relish the idea of a month's sailing either but the Arkron do provide us with at least some form of legitimacy by inviting us as the rightful representatives of the Skekarii. Sending another clan leader is tantamount to acknowleding their pretensions. No, it simply has to be us three. Moreover, it's not everyday a new Arkron is crowned. We'll get to develop a feel for our fellow subjects, that ought to appeal to you, Hastor." If Hastor found the idea appealing or not she didn't show, instead maintaining her practice in dexterity.
A few moments of silence passed as the junior triarchs weighed the words of their older counterpart, the sweltering heat and humidity of the midday beginning to make its' appearance in the condensation on the chilled fruit set in the middle of the table. After several more seconds Mahd sat up and regained a bit more of a regal posture before he finaly said " Maybe the insult of only sending one, or a representative, is what we need. If the Arkron read it, the other powers will too. The city dwellers are more and more on our side, and the mountain clans' support is a near guarantee at this point. We're the lone power on the western end of Mycoria that consistently stands with the Arkron, an insult might help us gain a few friends, or contacts at the least."
Queen Hastor, seeming to take particular exception with this issue, placed her hands in her lap before grabbing a fruit from the table to occupy her fidgeting. " I don't think that would be wise. Our information may not be the most up to date, but my men do hear things from the various merchants making their way around. The Saa'Kaleed are traditionalists, and the Aegire are rarely forgetful, ommitting the Thassites' objection to us already, insulting the Arkron won't win us any new friends. We're surrounded already, no sense in driving a wedge between us and the one ally who'd be capable of breaching an Aegiri blockade in order to help us. I vote that the three of us attend.
"Seconded."
"Well I suppose it's settled then. I won't fight this vote, but don't expect me to be pleasant during the voyage."
I would hesitate to call you pleasant at the palace, let alone at sea. I'll have the scribes draft the orders for the ships and the retinue from the Wya. Hastor, I trust you'll manage the correspondence with the Aegire, or whoever it is that the strait of Ikesh belongs to at the moment?
"Of course, I'll have it sent with whatever merchant sails that way next. I suppose that we'll be ready to leave within the week if we rush things a bit. The Ae will provide the coronation gift, a decent chest of gems and metals, and a cask of Skekarii wine, from each of us should be enough given that it's already been a tribute year. Perhaps something smaller of that sort to soften the Aegiri."
Following their own exchange the gaze of the room focused on Mahd, silently urging him and his clan to contribute in their own way- an urge which would go unsatifisfied.

What followed was a lengthy day of heated debate dedicated to deciding the appropriate responses to the multitude of bureaucratic issues that would arrise from their absence and the drafting of the various edicts needed. At the close of the day's chamber meetings a modest procession of crown representatives made their ways from the palace and through the still-warm streets of the city towards the various clans, cities, and shipyards from which the voyage would be provided. As the week came to a close and the ships began arriving at harbor, and as the chests of goods came from the mountain clans and the jungle wineries, the Triarchs boarded their shared ship in unison and made the order to set sail to a land that only the most senior had ever been before.

Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by gowia
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The Saa’kaleed Abiat

Somewhere en-route to Arkronia







Kasim Mul’rahh was hopelessly miserable. He had run into the Yuravian party whilst on their own way to the inauguration and swiftly passed along the missive and communicated exactly how the two parties could coalesce into a single unit. The wild nomads of Yuravia had always been one of his least favourite neighbours given their wild and brutish demeanour, though given their shared animosity with the crown he had been much less vocal than regarding other states and their peoples who seemed eager to suckle at the tit of subservience. This natural distaste had only been intensified when he realised he had received no other instructions except to see them safely into the path of the Rea-Abi, requiring of him a level of small talk and diplomatic nicety that did not come simply. Great lengths of time were spent uncomfortably silent as he came up with suitable distractions from the fact he was in fact in no position to speak for the Abiat.

Eventually Kasim had settled on deflection and deferring inquiry for until they rendezvoused with the Rea-Abi some days later, which he found thoroughly humiliating. Was this really the great work he had been picked out for? Now, having met on one of the great crossroads of states that dotted the central regions of Mycoria the two parties seemed to ride besides one another, rather than together. The Rea-Abi had insisted that the two parties be seen as separate entities for any passers by - not that there had been a soul on this stretch of the road - and instead resorted to hastily written notes or briefly exchanged words that Kasim had to pass along to the Yuravian translator and then return to his own master with the response. He did not appreciate being an errand boy, no matter how grand the errands were supposed to be.

"Friendship? They wanted to speak rekindle friendship?" Aram Sallah had chuckled, his mirth like that of an elder having caught his youngest great grandchild with sweet pastry crumbs sticking to his cheeks. "I must admit, I have missed the simplicity of the Yuravian people. They share our wildness of the blood, if perhaps it shows itself in others ways. We will have more than enough implicit dialogue in the coming days once we arrive at our destination. I shall enjoy some genuine discussion." Though, the reality of this 'genuine discussion' was instead brief comments and notes passed between one party and the other. Kasim had yet to know of any real matters of state passing between the two embassies whatsoever. That was, until roughly two weeks into the journey.

"Kasim, come closer." Aram had said, waving the younger lizardman forward and waiting until he dutifully acquiesced.

"Haka Marea, Rea-Abi?"

"Inform the chief his last remark was very funny, though our people lay eggs and I recommend he save it for only those who have some familiarity with their reproductive cycles." Kasim nodded, he hadn't understood it but apparently the Rea-Abi had enjoyed it greatly. Laughing quite heartily in the gentle rasping whisper that was common for their species. "Ask him of our destination, if you could. I have been doing some reading on our trip and there are... troubling reports, but it is difficult to verify their validity. I would appreciate if he was candid about what, if anything, he has heard. Some say quite worrying things about the state of the Arkronian throne." Aram nodded his head and Kasim seemed to spark with new energy. The Arkronian throne? This was the kind of thing he wanted them to be talking about, and he caused a small incident with one of the posse as he extricated himself from the procession too hastily and got in the way. Pacing his mount forwards to join the Yuravian group he weaved through until he could relay the information on to their chief once more.


Aboard the 'Oasis', still harboured in the Abiat




The wind tickled the bared head of the Grand Vizier, causing him to shift as if his scales had just been tickled down his spine. Despite something of an aversion to water he had always enjoyed going to sea for his missions. The waters were an unimaginable endless void, the secret home of the people from across the sea who had conquered their land. It was mystery of who or what was even out there, though many academics had speculated. One remarkable claim had it that the world sat atop the back of a great leviathan, remarkably adding when questioned about what the leviathan was atop, that it was lizards all the way down. Such theses drew little attention these days, in the enlightened days of science and modernity. Even so, the unknown was enthralling and encapsulated perfectly by the sea.

"We're ready to sail, Grand Vizier, if you are?" A naval officer remarked and Faisal Hassan nodded his head, turning to move to the bow of the ship and look out. A dispatch had been sent a few days earlier inviting the First Lord of the Admiralty to a meeting just off the coast of Ikesh. It had seemed apt to discuss the island within sight of its shores, and having their discussions aboard vessels allowed the pair to discuss options away from the prying ears of those who could run away. It was a long swim back home for either side and rumours caused by the meeting could be forestalled at least until each party had returned to their respective port. When the oars swing out and dragged the light craft away from the jetties there was a lurch in the lizard's stomach. The first motions was always the strangest and he doubted he would get used to it again until it was time to disembark, such was the luck of a traveller and landsman.

Even so, it was spectacular to begin the journey into the bright blue waters of the sea. It should be a pleasurable few days before they arrived off the north coast of Ikesh and anchored in waiting for the Aegire officials. He would have liked to take the sights in, but there was work to do. Turning back towards the cabin of the ship, Faisal plodded carefully back into the shade of the indoors. "Now, tell me about their hold to this island. Undoubtedly it involves some kind of prior occupation they claim was first?" He shook his head. This land was Saa'kaleed by blood, lost to them and then promised in return many years ago. He would do his best to recover them, or at the very least keep the issue open. He would not be the one to sell his people's patrimony.


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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by datadogie
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The Dominion of Epha


“And so, I shall not be going.”

The High Sentinel placed his chalice down as the High Paladins began to fuss. There were some Paladins that were pushing for a delegation to be sent that included the High Sentinel, others agreed with the choice of not sending Agustus however still wished to send a delegation, and another group was in uproar, demanding that the Dominion not send a delegation at all. Agustus’ eyes roamed the chamber, observing the bickering of its occupants. This was the biggest news that the Dominion had received in years, and so it was no surprise to the High Sentinel that the bickering continued for a while. Some of the High Paladins were starting to cool down, looking to him for his next words. The fact that they had not been dismissed from the chamber obviously meant he had more to say. The heightened presence of Sentinel Guards within the chamber already told the High Paladins that the High Sentinel had already made a decision prior to their arrival in the chamber, and that he was perhaps worried about a negative response to his words. Agustus waved his hand perhaps a little lazily to his right, and the Apprentice of the Chamber blew his horn, resulting in quiet from the High Paladins.

“High Paladins Anya Galloway, Nylah Harlenton and Charles McArthur, stand before me,” Agustus speaks firmly. It took some time for the trio to squeeze between the numerous High Paladins within the room, however eventually all three were quickly in front of the High Sentinel. Agustus took time to study the three as the Apprentice of the Chamber paced his way in front of them, crossing just in front of them. He made a turn, walking behind them before retreating his way back to his post. “They stand before you, High Sentinel,” he says loudly, as if Agustus was blind. Agustus sometimes wished that he could forgo most of the royal necessities, however he knew that they were what held his position, what defined his position. And after all, it showed the other kingdoms that they weren’t entirely barbaric.

“Those standing before me are hereby the official royal delegation to be sent to Arkronia, along with Apprentice of the Ocean Council Blake Fortson by request of the Master of the Ocean Council. The decision to send a delegation without the High Sentinel, and for these three High Paladins to form the delegation, is final, and therefore there shall not be a vote for it.”

The uproar was a little more fierce than Agustus had expected. Of course, he already knew that they were going to be mad - save for those his word aligned with. This was one of the most important times in their history, and he was taking away their ability to push anything in their direction, to do what they wanted. Of course, there were some that were happy with his decision - High Paladin Zindam and his posse in particular were clapping - though some were shaking their fists and one in particular stood up and bellowed out in rage, an act that resulted in the prompt response of the closest set of Sentinel Guards, who grabbed the High Paladin and practically dragged him out of the room. They may have been the highest positioned people in the Dominion of Epha second to the High Sentinel, however nobody of the audience was to stand without being called upon to do so.

The High Paladin being taken from the room seemed to calm everyone down as it usually did. The political war would rage for the rest of the day at most, but they knew who had the power to strike them from their position, and knew that the potential loss of political allies would be dangerous to them. Though all had bellowed and yelled, most if not all were in support of the High Sentinel. They just all wished that they were the ones picked to be sent to the Kingdom of Arkron, something that was appreciated by Agustus. However, in short order, the bellowing of anger turned into a competition of who could yell the loudest at the three new delegates, pushing their suggestions forward. Finally, Agustus had enough, and in moments, the Apprentice of the Chamber blew his horn once more. The chamber was silent.

“The delegates and their escorts are to set off within the day. As the High Sentinel of the Dominion of Epha, this is my word,” Agustus says. There was a moment’s pause, before the Master of the Chamber blew his horn in unison with the Apprentice of the Chamber. His was a louder, deeper horn than the Apprentice’s, and it signalled the end of the gathering. The High Paladins stood and began to file their way out of the door, save for the three standing before the High Sentinel - by protocol, they were to be the last of the audience to leave. Finally, once the rest had filed out, the three remaining High Paladins left the Chamber to prepare for their travel. The High Sentinel finally stood, and left the chamber.

Soon, the three High Sentinels as well as the Apprentice of the Ocean Council set off in a large, bulky carriage, guarded by Beast Knights who rode their own mounts. The frozen lands of Epha were hazardous, however the journey to the Kingdom of Arkron required travel through Vulpinia, which contained its own dangerous animals, the Vulpin. No Ephan wanted to face one of those.
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Vulpea - The king’s keep



Clunk, clunk, clunk. King Aidar Fir of Vulpinia noticed the ticking of his walking cane as it hit the pure white marble floor of the grand hall he had found himself into. For a moment the elderly Vulpin wondered how he had come here. The last thing he remembered was sitting on his throne in Vulpea, the capital city of the Vulpin kingdom listening to the quarrels of the various clans. Yet now he found himself in a hall of such grandeur that his own keep could easily fit beneath the high ceiling. As the Vulpin king looked around he recognized the place. King Aidar had been here before. His hand touched the imposing doors which gave entrance to the grand hall. He could feel the expertly crafted images of great battles beneath his hand. It felt so real and yet the king knew that this experience could not be in the mortal realm.

The old king made his way to the far side, passing the neatly set tables. The rows of silverware accompanied the porcelain plates and crystal glasses as if the grand hall was prepared to host a feast. And yet the place was deserted, cold and empty except for the Vulpin with his cane. King Aidar recognized the place. I was decorated in a way that reminded him of an event 30 years ago. The coronation of King Amon-Mar IV. King of Arkron, supreme lord of the realm.

The old Vulpin found himself at the foot of the stairs. Twenty five steps up in the air sat the golden throne of the king of Arkron. Always towering above his guests so that the supreme lord of the realm would always look down on whomever stood in front of him. Slowly the aging king raised his head and to gaze at the throne. Beams of light coming from the many windows illuminated the royal seat and its reflections nearly blinded King Aidar but it was impossible to miss. No one was sitting at the throne. As the old king lifted his feet to take the first step he could feel a hand on his shoulder and heard a voice in the distance.

“My liege. Snap out of it. A message from Arkron has arrived!”

King Aidar of Vulpinia blinked his eyes. No longer was he surrounded by the pristine white marble of the Arkronian palace but he found himself once more sitting on his own wooden throne with his legs under a blanket. In front of him stood the young sovereign of clan Palebrush. Moments ago she had been complaining about the Ephans hunting and settling into her clan’s mountain territory and now she was staring in frustration at her king as Cael Drumain, the king's prime servant tried to wake him up from what most would describe as a moment of total lethargy. He had sat on his throne, awake yet not aware. As if his body was in his throne room and his spirit somewhere else.

King Aidar knew what had happened. The shamans would call it a spirit walk. A sort of out of body experience beyond time and space. Where the one spirit would let the spirit walker experience something that was, is, would be or could be. A sort of vision from maybe the past, present, future, a possible future or something totally different. Never was it truly clear about what the king was seeing, nor what it meant. Everything was up for interpretation and yet a spirit walk occasionally influenced his decision making.

It took the old Vulpin a moment to regain his composure and quickly waved the young sovereign off. Today was no longer a day to be concerned with such trivial matters. Spirit walks cannot be controlled, they just happen. And when they happen, it was always for a reason.
Before opening the message, king Aidar commanded his hall to be silent. “Get a keg of ale. Tonight we honor the passing of king Amon-Ra IV, supreme ruler of the realm. May his spirit be guided on his journey back to the one”

Cael Drumain took the liberty to open the message that the Arkronians had sent. With just a glance he knew that the old dog on the throne was right. The prime servant could only guess what the king had seen. The old man never really shared the stories but it was clearly enough to know that the current ruler in Arkronia had left the mortal realm. The interesting part of the letter was the fact that the ceremony would take place in just 5 weeks. That’s incredibly short for Arkronian standards. The government in Arkronia seemed to be in a hurry to get the crown prince on the throne. “My liege. I shall summon the clan sovereigns and make the necessary arrangements for our travel to the inauguration of crown prince Rakon-Da.”

The old king just stared in the distance as he over thought his latest experience. Could it be more than just a sign of a change in monarchy? Why was the throne empty? Should he not have seen the Arkronian crown prince sitting on the throne? The truth about spirit walks was that they often raised more questions than provided answers. But the old Vulpin monarch was sure of one thing. Mycoria was standing at the crossroads of destiny once more.

However the old king did not get much time to think. Raelin Loinsigh Palebrush, sovereign of clan Palebrush wasn’t ready yet to leave the subject of the Ephan’s. It was here people who suffered the incursions and it was her responsibility as leader of the clan to safeguard her clansmen. “My liege, we are not done yet! Something must be done about Ephan’s roaming into Vulpin territory. They hunt our game, gather our food and leave less for us Vulpin. My people in the border region went hungry this winter because of the Ephans. I cannot tolerate that and have instructed my hunters and warriors to kill any Ephan we spot in our territory. I request to accompany you on your journey to the Arkronian capital so that I can tell those stupid sentinals to stay the fuck away from my lands!”

King Aidar just smiled. He had known Raelin since her birth. Her father was a close friend and supporter of the king during his days as Sovereign of clan Palebrush. It came to Aidar as no surprise that she rose to lead her clan and not one of her 7 brothers. Raelin still was as stubborn, dedicated and straight to the point as back in the day that she was just a kid. She always knew what she wanted and worked extremely hard to get it. Far harder than any of her brothers ever did.

The border situation between Vulpinia and the Dominion was complicated. Ever since the humans settled in the northern region they had pushed westward. Eventually coming across the Vulpin in the mountains. Many Vulpin claimed that they had always lived on every mountain but the truth was that the region always had been sparsely populated. What complicated the matter was the fact that both the Vulpin and the Ephans heavily relied on hunting in the region. Every animal that one side shot meant that the other had less to eat during winter.

Switching sides during the last rebellion did little to improve the situation. The Arkronians promised to force the Ephans out of the mountains but only took temporary measures to ensure that the Ephans would stay away. Over time the Arkronians simply lost interest in the region and the situation returned to what it was. However the fact that the Vulpin switched sides during the third rebellion worsened the relation between the kingdom of Vulpinia and the Dominion of Epha. A good chunk of the Ephan army was led into the ambush by the Vulpin and many beast knights lost their life. That was something that is not easily forgotten and even harder to forgive.

The old Vulpin king knew that Raelin lacked the diplomatic tact to come to terms with the Ephans. Her stubbornness and furious passion for her people would prevent her from reaching a compromise. Yet, it was something she had to learn as many considered Raelin one of the primary candidates to become the next Vulpin monarch. “Raelin, you are aware that telling the Sentinals to stay the fuck out wouldn’t do much good. If you want to talk with the Ephans, you need to do it with clarity about what you wish to achieve and what is within the realm of possibilities. Luckily you have about 5 weeks to think about that.”

“My liege, there is one more subject we need to discuss.” Intervered Cael, the prime servant. He knew that if a coronation ceremony would take place in Arkronia, all vassals would be invited and some would travel by land and thus through the territory of the Vulpin. One of the delegations that would travel by land are the Ephans.

“All Vassals will be invited and all are expected to send a delegation. That means that the Ephans will travel to the Arkronian capital as well. They will travel by land and need to pass through our territory.” Spoke the prime servant.

“We can always deny them access and force them to travel to Cor and take a ship” Said the sovereign of Clan Palebrush. It was a little joke as she knew that not granting access for such an occasion would not do well with the Arkronians.

The king sighed. He knew from all the nations in the world the Vulpin disliked the Ephan’s the most. It wasn’t out of the question that some Vulpin would display their disdain for the Ephans in a manner that would complicate things even more. A situation king Aidar would like to avoid. “Cael, arrange an escort for the Ephans and send them a message that we will grant their delegation passage through our territory. Make sure to select some trustworthy men for the escort.”

Cael nodded as he walked down to a table containing scrolls, ink and feathers for writing.



Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Dinh AaronMk
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At Sea, to Arkronia


Though the Arkronians had long banned the construction of large resplendent ships throughout the realm, so as to maintain a monopoly on large men of war and great treasure galleons the art of designing ships for inter-realm trade and travel was still permitted to travel. But the area of design that was left there was much room for experimentation and design of its own to meet the needs of the mostly autonomous realms. Of such designs and characteristic was the ship Waxward, one of the five royal ships owned by the crown of Cor for its numerous wants and needs.

Built with a low deck and a shallow hull, the low ship lacquered with slick black pine tar was a swift skipper across the icy black waves of the ocean. Filled with the wind, its white and red sails billowed and swelled with the wind. The ropes and yards of its rigging snapping in the wind with every billowing crack of the wind into the sails. The very movement of the ship over the waves was like a rock being smoothly skipped over the water, flying straight across the low white heads of a still and calm northerly sea. Towards pillowing white mountains of late winter clouds to the north west it bounded forth towards Arkronia, with its long spear tipped bow raised up over the sea directing the helmsman on ever more towards the seat of royal power.

With a light crew bustling across the deck, the atmosphere was calm as under a low plank-topped and open cabin the royal passengers and their retinues and attendees sat on dense woolen pillows. The spray of the water and the rush of the wind was cold and bitter and they covered themselves in blankets to guard themselves from the occasional light spray of the cold ocean waves. Likewise, the crew went about their meagre work, now within the middle of their voyage and with only but the tending of the sails to do to keep the ship flying straight they went about with idle work: cleaning the dock and mopping up the sea water to keep it dry, mending torn ropes, or sitting upon the ropes of the rigging and keeping a eye cast out over the boundless waters.

Compared to the heavy vessels of the Arkronian fleet, whose immense decks supported a great number of marines and could sail across the great expanse of the seas to foreign lands kept as stories from many of the common residents of the homeland the Waxward was a small frigate of no notable difference. It had no fighting decks or platforms, or emplacements for even any large engine to do series battle. It would be in naval strategy considered mostly a boarding platform, its small crews hanging out on the periphery waiting to attack on any hostile vessel to board and capture it from its crew as they struggled against the much larger fighting platforms. And even compared to the mighty treasure galleons of the main fleet proper such a ship could not hold much in the way of storage. But it was especially in defiance of this that the Cor's shipyards have had for nearly the passed century been turning these ships out.

So small and rudimentary to be quickly built by a small team of carpenters, Corvig schooners like the Waxward were cheap in all except for whatever luxury materials or fittings demanded of them. Built for speed, what they often lacked in terms of capacity they made up for in speed, capable of completing trips faster than the lumbering and mighty treasure galleons that circulated the immense wealth of the Arkronians. Sent out from port, they could deliver single loads of a single commodity with considerable speed and efficiency, and were slowly plying further up and down the west coast of the realm in the small inter-realm traffic that existed.

Their commercial advantages in this respect also made them well respected passenger transports among the nobles and guild burgers of the coasts who could readily at any moment take one to make a quick and fleeting voyage to some distant or semi-distant area at short notice.

“An' out t'ere abroad t'sea are a race o'people whose women go about bare-chested all te'time in the warm lucid sun of their aft'noons!” the captain of the ship exclaimed, warmly drawing a deep breath from his pipe as he laughed. He, captain Wallace Hair Dog Spitting Into the Sea was an old nobleman, whose family he claimed stretched back millennia. But over the eons they had waned from great kings, onto into barons, before being scattered among the hundred scots lands of the Hemden watershed to manage to the watershed lots of the area, a far cry from grand princley status but he had started young with the meager savings his family had acquired working a small free hold farm and the collection of fees to see to the upkeep of the levees and canals that protected the farming valley around Hemden and the city itself from seasonal spring melts and summer rains to pay his way aboard a ship as an officer, and then into his own ship. A crude cut gentlemen with a head of graying and black feathers that never lay down straight his beak was scarred and mired by many decades at high-sea adventures, from brief stints aboard Arkronian treasure ships to lands far and wide and then into the easy quasy retirement in the Coarsecrane court. His sharp black eyes shone in the sun, black pearls set in white and graying rings around his eye.

His arrayed guests laughed, and in the distance a few lewd comments were made by comfortable crewmen who overheard the story without receiving scorn. For his part, William took the story with an air of impassivity as he sat slouched under his blanket with his own pipe of smoldering herb. Along side him sat his eldest son Henry who laid with his head resting atop his hand on a pillow, a heavy blanket laid over him.

“Bare a day that I miss t'days not.” he said wistfully, “But m'body is worn an' I doubt I can bare the long voyages again. S'long at sea n'the salt gets into yea. Yer joints ache, yer mind throms. Even so long out, n'I feel that me stomach turns an'me. Short voyages'r fine. But t'long slog across th'great sea an' it hollows me out.”

“It sounds like y'miss it.” Henry said.

“Mhm” Wallace intoned, “But 'bou's much as an' old man misses 'es youth. Our lohrd here mayhaps 'as much t'speak there on it in that as much.”

William looked up from looking down in his mug. In the center of the group circle a small brazer had been placed were from a hook hung a kettle of brandy warming over the coals. It was a small offering from the hold full of the southern distillate wine, brandy that was in the ship's hold as a gift to the Arkronian court as soon as they arrived. But looking into his cup he could see it was still half full and a layer of ash puffed out from the pipe was floating on the service.

“Y'tell?” Wallace asked.

“No thank you.” William answered, and the captain shrugged.

Also there were William's other two sons. His second oldest, Coffey Spit In The Lake sat upright gently sipping the warmed liqueur. He resembled his father and eldest brother Henry, except for the broadness of his brow compared to the other two and the tufts of feathers that spiked up from the side of his head like short elf ears. And besides him younger still was the younger thirteen year old young boy with a lost look in his eye, Edward Joined The River At Seventeen To Seek Peace In Time. Joining them too were two knights of the court, who lounged separated from the group but none the less under the cover and holding onto cups of brandy, though they had foregone their armor to the hold, they did not go without swords.

“What's Arkronia like?” Edward asked, his voice tense and feeble. He looked about himself for a moment, and up at Wallace and his father, “Yea two have been there, right?”

“Right I 'ave.” Wallace said, “And s'far as I can attest t': it's a remarkable city. Well orderly, nea possible t' get lost in its streets fer y'can find yerself easily back t'where you found yerself. Much unlike Hemden, whose streets wind 'bout themselves oft', and far better than an dozen others. Would'a'ya say, m'lord?”

William nodded, “It's a very open place.” he remarked.

“T'aint never been up't th' palace 'fore though, only seen it from a'distance.”

“T'is an immense building.” William said for the captain

“Aye?” Edward said.

William nodded, taking a draw from his pipe and then saying, “Some say'yea can fit entire castles in'ta it. I've seen'em do whole parades inside. Nae a man it is said has thrown a royal coin in'ta t' air and hit t'ceiling.”

“Oy've 'eard a lad once tried t'shoot an arrow up into t'cieling and it never struck.” added the captain

William smiled, laughing for once. But it was a dry crackling laugh, “I know not 'bout that. But mayhaps t' great hall. May be why t'emperor sits so high so often.”

“Than how's it we don' have a castle s'large?” Edward asked.

“We don't 'ave the gold t'challenge the gods!” Coffey exclaimed. He had been there once, but had not seen the grandest parts. But William remembered for months after he had terrifying nightmares of being lost within it when they had left. Its size was imposing and existentially defeating to many who say it, so it was said. Though not many had ever laid eyes upon the great palace, with the realm being so broad, William believed that had any soldier of any rebellion ever gone to see such an immense palace they would have to lay down their spears and swords for they knew they would be doing battle with the avatars of some great terrifying race of gods. The thought of such a building struck him with considerable unease, and he had seen it before. Laid eyes upon its disorienting scale and proportions. It was a terror in itself as it was beautiful. By being, it defied any use of the term, “palace”. With the deft strokes of the architects and the engineers who had toiled for centuries to build it, rendered all other nobles mere peasantry in contrast. But mayhaps that too was the reason for the regular rebellion, it inspired by pure existence a jealousy that built in the hearts of lineages of ungrateful lords and set the heights for god-hood that can be achieved.

“Well, I'mit that ay've nae been into t'palace me'self. But: I have heard a story. Mayhaps, m'honor you can confirm if you can: but have thee been t'the library in its halls?”

“I've never been interested.” William said.

“Ay well: Henry, y'like books do yea'not?”

“I fancy t'read now an' then: sure. Why?”

“Oy've heard it tell on good faith that th' library within defies all known scale. That oer'th'eons the great emperors an' great families collected within' it the entirety of t'world's written word. Copies o'originals, originals, copies o'copies. Ascendin' in great columns, set like a beehive t' infinite collection o' words spans all walls, inner and outer. From t' darkness of the corners to th'lights o'f t'windows an' th' lamp. But nae' all books within it are ever in t'same language fer t'span and greatness o't'empire gae far. An' in t'copies o'copies, there may exist a version o'any book with all'o t'error that it may have.”

“Astounding!” Henry exclaimed, “How is it though they 'ave collected so many?”

“Who knows but t'gods!” Wallace said with a loud booming voice, rolling into a laugh as he drew from his pipe, realized he let it go cold, and with a deft painless finger pinched a few smoldering embers into it before puffing it back to life. “Though, some say it only exists fer image.” he added with a wink.

“That is quiet t'collection. How does anyone find a'thing?”

“Well I hea' tell they 'ave a 'hole class o' men an' women whose entire lives are'in that library. From birth thro' life. Eat n' drink n' fuck in its halls. They die there, livin' like a society devoted t'th' Word. They learn ere' catalogue, memorize t'shelves. N' by th' end, they only know parts.”

“All 'o that, 'nd all of that work. Must cost'em a fortune, yay?”

“Ay, t'at do. But when'yea own a continent as does thee, yah learn not t'care.”

“The thought makes m'sick.” Coffey complained.

“I find it hard t'imagine.” Edward said, “How long till we are there?”

Captain Wallace leaned back and thought, and turning out over the deck shot, “Mastah Navigatah! How'fae 'we be!?”

“Tarry naught, a day in the likelihood m'honor!” a voice shot back, coming from a scrawny figure by the bow. Not an Avan, but a human dressed in slack dress and a heavy oiled cloak to protect from the water.

“Y'answeahed might quick. Y' confident!?” Wallace roared back.

“Aye, sah!” he shouted, “Was 'jus 'low deck t'check and calculate. We' holdin' pace steady as she goes. T'wind is strong.”

“T'gods bless spring winds!” Wallace laughed loudly, “Thank ye, ya a w'ight honahble gentlmen.”

“M'pleasure m'loed.” the navigator shouted back.

Kingdom of Cor

Collans


If one were to take the road from Hemden and keep pace somewhere to the south-east, in three to four days time depending on the weather you might make it into the duchy of Camienbrea. Here, at a cross roads that matches the main road with about half a dozen mule paths that trace up and down the border and spiderweb about is the village of Sulley, a border point recognized as being certainly on the Camienbrea side of the border of the duchy and county line, opposite of which is Lassex where Hemden rests. But continuing from here along the main road to the castle of Surrey where the Lord Breth resides over a respectable but small barony of a few hundred farmers you turn firmly west. But a summer travel the sun is often rising right from the middle of the road and travelers towards it often simply stop because the land here is flat and full of thistles and there is little escape from it except to sit slumped in the wheat until it rises enough to be hidden under the brim of hats. The same goes for the opposite direction, and it is that stretch that is considered the worst road in all the realm, or at least those that travel, and those still often only do such in the mid-kingdom so the legends of their terrible road are not spoken of in the north or south.

But all annoyances aside it is simply a day or two's walk or a day's ride along the unpaved road to the village of Sumdale were you leave the direct stare of the sun and turn south. Here along this road you walk into the Stonewood and the land of the old estates of the ancient Craichol family and its cadets who were entirely murdered after the first rebellion for trying to usurp Arkronian rule in the Cor, the then ruling Cashawk family finding their act of chicanery an affront and emblematic of the unworthiness of their rule and as servants. The estates were entirely divided up but so numerous were the divisions that in the generations since the land owners simply abandoned any pretense of rule and through vacancy the land became free making the first of the free peasant realms in the thick of the forest. But here and there throughout the are persisted stalwart barons who continued to rule from castles nestled in deep dark forest and woods. Of which were the Blackbarrow family, who rose to rebellion in the Little Rebellion in the aftermath of the peace of the Third Rebellion.

In the time of the Little Rebellion, then king Paul Blackarm Who Burns Out The Enemies of Justice Coarsecrane, the father of present king William sought out the entire destruction of the family. Those who did not flea were impaled on spikes and burned. Petitioned to house a new royal family in the territory, he refused muttering the line, “I trust a self-interested peasant before a self-interested noble.” With that, the area drifted into what some considered lawlessness, but is considered the largest stretch of largely passive country side owing to the life style of the peasants here who intermittently clear and farm the forest and are left unabated except for the royal tax duties to the king himself. The old castles and estates of the barons largely growing cold and empty in the intervening seasons and three generations now have grown up knowing no direct liege except that of the distant king, who long left the area to its own devices and came to be considered gentle and noble for his patience in their self rule.

And that is why a pickax was being swung against a wall plastered over with hard clay, the burn marks of a large fire scorching the wall around it from the previous season. The rest of the castle looming overhead as a haunting ghost of a time now feeling long distant. Seated on a gray stone in the cold sun of the early spring a studious Avan with a narrow graying face sat chewing idly on a pen in his beak as he clutched a folio to his lap. Sharp academic eyes watched heavily as the work crew in front of him chipped away at the sealed wall.

There were others with him who stood about waiting. There only needed to be so many to swing a pick and a hammer, it was not a herculean labor. But they were needed. But for now they waited for the simple work to finish. A breeze shot down from over the ruined ramparts of the castle into the court yard and the seated gray-topped Avan pulled at his coat, an old and out-of-style caribou coat from the northern Epha.

When the wall did finally fall he shot up in readiness as it came down in pieces, shooting up clouds of dust and dirt as it came down, “Ah, splendid!” he exclaimed.

Walking into the door now made he swept the air with his folio, fanning aside the dust as he searched for a torch. He found one readily in the silver sunlight that arced in and took it, holding it out. “Ol' Creft, can I ask ye fer a strike?” the grey-headed Avan asked, holding out the torch, “I left my light at home.”

“Certain', your honor.” another said, and pulled a flint and steel from his pouch and with a few knocks lit the torch. The gray headed Avan smiled wide as he went off into the heart of the leaning keep with the others following him, along the way reaching out to light more and more torches as they went along, bringing light to the ruined hall.

This was really a side-corridor, the old gate house and great hall that would have been the main point of interest had long since collapsed after several winters. The fire set in it by the old king had greatly threatened the integrity of the building and after many violent southerly storms and heavy northerly snows had finally come down one year without anyone around to see it. This hall was a mere supplementary access, and the hall went down. Winter pooled up in the floor and the cracks between the stones, shining brilliant gold with the torch light.

They stopped their voyage where the air fell still and smelled of mildew and wet. The far-reaching light of the torches just barely reaching out into the darkness to light the corded bulk of a number of casks. The gray headed Avan moved forward, and lit a brazer and began filling the chamber with light.

Shadows were thrown against the wall from rusting iron bars. Iron chains from the ceiling hung limply or haphazardly across the floor, and in the dozen of cells in the old gaol. But now instead of bodies in its cells, there sat a number of large casks with a series of numbers written on them, years. Opening his folio the Avan went to work searching the years.

“Ay, hear lads. This 'ere's the splendid lot!” he exclaimed and tapped the face with his knuckles. It did not sound. It was full. It was twenty years old.

Friend Bone Splinters In The Knee of the old House of Cribknoll, the gray headed Avan who stood back to write in the log in his folio as the others assembled to help haul out the casks was a scribe, or would be described as one in the courts of the Arkronians. With a tradition of the letters he had adopted from his father and his associate who was a noble man of letters in the region's old noble houses and escaped the fires of Paul Blackarm. In the Avan tradition of the Cor, he was what was referred to as a Lecturner; scribe, lawyer, jurist, educator, and mediator. With a tall build he looked as though he could have been a warrior and he joked that when he was a youth his father said he would have rather have named him Reach Them With A Spear for he had a reach as long as he was tall. But even so, with no court to tempt with knightly prowess and often only boar to shoot with arrows there was no particular reason to give to him any martial skill and so he was trained in the letters over the sword, though he still knew how to fight.

But with the whiskey loaded they made their way. The door left unsealed, they would come to get it another time. It was not a long wagon journey, and though the road was rough they had strapped the kegs tight to the rustic wooden wagon as they pulled through dark sleeping trees. The buds at the tips of their branches having hardly broken through to show before the first leaves burst forth. And snow still covered the cool earth. Even the grass yet had yet to unfurl and show its green colors though the sun had begun the melt.

It was clear in the sky and overhead as they rode out from the cover of the forest into the first open fields. A small number of isolated farm houses dotted the area with troublesomely high stone walls built around them. But further yet ahead was the village of Collans.

Collans was a village of at that time thirty wood and wattle and daub hovels, built on the gentle sloping embankment towards a small river that ran black over the dark stones underneath it. The surrounding fields equally as black with upturned sod from the previous year and where over the winter the cuttings of the last harvest still lay intermixed with the ragged rich ash blankness of the earth. Gangs of pigs prowled the barren fields rooting through the thick sopping mud searching for the eggs of beetles and bugs that would hatch in the warmer weather to come. The small village straddled either side of the rocky stream though the water was not deep enough nor ever violent enough to so much as warrant a bridge to cross it and as such a dozen foot paths entered the waters to come out again elsewhere and the daily crossing of the stream meant that often the women of the village never took to wearing skirts or when they did to hike them high up to prevent the lace from getting wet, and thereby defeat the point of modesty. At the center of the village a tall moss covered pillar rose, latched to it a few dozen or so ropes that were being covered now with a wide array of brightly covered ribbons for the moment to soon arrive.

The laborers and Bone Friend entered the town with a muddy splash from a puddle in the road, made from the melting snow and a flock of white and mottled bread-brown geese parted, protesting loudly with their clamorous honks. In the yard of the farm house they passed a small group of children sat playing and singing a spring time song. All the group waved as a tired Avan woman with her back arched over looked up and smiled, hailing the worthy men with the look that paid the graces but was too far gone in its own work to really commit.

The group stopped suddenly at a house whose fence was covered in ivy. An Avan woman, with a head of blue feathers like a jay stepped out and looked at them. “Well iffi' yea weren' gonna take any longe'.” she said with a sarcastic grin in her voice. “You can take'em in an' set them aside.”

“Ay ma'am.” one of the workmen said. Bone Friend stepped over and bowed, taking her hand and placing it to the side of his beak.

“Don' act like a gallant, wordy.” she said laughing, “They's not he'e anymore.”

“Doesn't matte'.” said Friend, “But it's all set an' finished. We'll be 'an back up once some clay is ready to fill up the hole again.”

The Avan shrugged, “T'is a real shame we have t' get yea all involved in t'is affair.” she said, “If it wan't for the Carriers...”

“Don' bring it up. Ah'm dealing with it.”

She huffed, and crossed her arms. She watched the kegs pass into the house. Broodily she said with a sneer, “Really t'is our whiskey. It's pah'ticallily theft.”

“No, it's just a'property dispute.” Bone Friend said with a long sigh.

“More like pride.” the Avan said under her breath, “You hea' what 'ey hea'd?”

“No.”

“ T'aht Cleary means t'kill my son. I'm thinking to have a'knife on me.”

Bone Friend rolled his eyes, shaking his head, “That won' be neccesary. I'll have t'speak with him 'bout this. Before t'holy-day.”

“Y'betteh, or it'd be mo'e'than m'son's blood on t'village square.”
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The grand Library - Arkronia


The royal palace might be the most important government center of the Akronian nation but the Grand Library of Arkronia is considered the eternal memory of an entire race. In this grand complex, all knowledge and data is gathered from across the realm and beyond the great seas. Ancient tomes written in times before the Arkronians conquered the waves are stored within the buildings of this metropolis of books. The grand library is more than just a collection of books. In its fast halls, all the data that is written down is methodically stored. From the taxes paid by the Akronian citizens to the tributes paid by the crown’s vassals. Every grain produced within the realm is administered within the library.

Books from all across the realm are collected and translated in the many languages by the thousands of scribes who work in this place. If a government meeting would take place, scribes from the Grand Library would attend the meeting and methodically write down every word spoken. Everything that ever was put to paper can be found within the grand library. For some, this place of knowledge was far more valuable than the Royal palace.

Peatyr Breathnach was such a man. His lavendish and expensive clothing betrayed that this Vulpin had left his homeland many winters ago and made a fortune in the Arkronian capital. He generally calls himself an entrepreneur in exotic leisure activities while Vulpin would just say that he runs whorehouses. In truth Peatyr was much more, a merchant of information. He was a man who knows about the vices that lay hidden behind the facade of virtues of the Arkronian upper class. As it was Peatyr himself who facilitated his clientele into giving in to their darkest desires.

The Vulpin straightened his expensive silk tunic as he made his way through the entrance of the grand library. Just like all other men and women who wanted access to the library he waited patiently in one of the lines to ask for access to a certain part of the library. But unlike most, he chose his waiting line based on the librarian that was behind the desk. The Arkronian that was handling the request belonged to Peatyr’s clientele. The man who had dedicated his life to serving the written word had a rather peculiar way of unwinding his stress.

The Vulpin gave a smirk as he noticed that the poor librarian had recognized him as he approached the desk. “Alan Arkronis”

“A..A..Alan Arkr.o.nis” Stuttered the librarian as he stared in disbelief at the anthropomorphic fox in front of him. He knew who this Vupin was and more importantly, he knew what this Vulpin knew about him. “How can I be of service?”

“What a pleasure of meeting you here Ramon-Raz. Usually we only meet in a different kind of establishment. It must be a total coincidence” Said the Vulpin with a smile. That last part was of course a blatant lie as Peatyr had chosen to be here because he knew that Ramon-Raz would have customer service shift. “Now you mention, there is something you can help me with. I would like access to the hall of the six gods”

The hall of the six gods was the building dedicated to all religious tomes and books. Only the highest members of the Arkronian clergy have access to this hall. Even the Arkronian king was prevented by divine law from entering this building without one of the six kardinals of the gods accompanying him.

The face of the librarian turned pale as he was utterly shocked about the request this lowlife Vulpin was making. And yet, he could feel where this conversation was going. “I’m afraid I have to decline your request mister Breathnach. Only members of the clergy are allowed to study the religious tomes that are gathered in the hall of the six gods.”

The Vulpin gestured the librarian to come closer. As the Arkronian bowed down Peatyr started to whisper in his ear. “Being a librarian at the grand library of Arkronia is an absolute honor. A position only granted to some of the best university students that the kingdom has to offer. The pedestal you're standing on is extremely high. Just think about how deep the fall would be if the Grand master of the library would learn of your taste for Arvan boys. Just write down the name of the minister of religious affairs. Then your administration will be in compliance with Arkronian and religious laws.”

No Arkronian face would ever come as close to the color white again as the face of Ramon-Raz, the librarian. Caught between a rock and a hard place he knew that the only way to keep his honor and statue was to comply with the request. He wrote down the name as requested by the Vulpin and handed him the access keys to the hall of the six gods.

The hall of the six gods was one of the smaller buildings on the complex. It was dedicated to storing all the religious tomes and books. If you ever wanted to learn about the religious laws the Arkronian state was founded on, the hall of the six gods was the place to be. With all that was happening in the kingdom, the tomes that remained here mostly untouched would become relevant again. The value of its content would definitely be on the rise.

The Vulpin walked past the shelves filled with books and tomes. All neatly organised in various categories. What Peatyr was looking for were the books of divine law. Arkronian rulers were granted the right to rule based upon divine selection of their bloodline. Now with the king dead and the only heir to the throne sick, there was a good chance that the six cardinals would have to gather to select a new bloodline. That selection procedure was based upon the divine laws that were written down ages ago.

It didn’t take the merchant of knowledge long to find the shelves filled with books and tomes on religious laws. He grabbed some fine silk gloves from his pocket before picking up the first few books. These works have been put to paper many centuries ago and preserving their condition was important. The Vulpin placed the first stack of books on the study table in the center of the hall. As a beam of light from a strategically placed window illuminated the table he started to read. Page after page, book after book. Taking in the contents and procedures that the cardinals would have to take in order to grant a new bloodline the right to rule.

Peatyr Breathnach was in such a deep focus that he did not realize he was reading out loud. “The six cardinals will congregate in prayer until the gods present then with a noble bloodline of their creation.” For a moment those words resonated within his head. A noble bloodline of their creation. The Vulpin knew the Arkronian creation myth well. The Arkronians were created by the gods of order while the rest was created by the gods of chaos. However all races are a creation of the gods in Arkronian mythology. The books on divine law only mention ‘the gods’ and never a specific god or subset. With a smirk on his face the Vulpin closed the books and put them back. “Only six keys to the kingdom and I already own three of them. Now that the market was far bigger than anticipated, I can fetch an incredible price.” The merchant murmured to himself as he put the books back on their shelves and made his way out.

Arkronia - Ministry of the army


Ekram-Rhas, the Arkronian minister of the army sipped from his wine as he went through the various documents on his desk. Most contained status updates on the various armies and regiments of the great Arkronian nation. Most of them contained messages about soldiers and officers getting sick. The grey dead was spreading and the army was getting affected. If it was up to the minister of defense, he would have started a war of extermination against the more rebellious nations yesterday. The longer they waited, the less soldiers they would have. However such a war could only be started by the king. Something that seemed to be extremely unlikely to happen with a sick heir.

The sound of knocks on his office door made the minister look up from the paperwork. Before he could say anything the door opened and Ohrahm-Braz, minister of intelligence entered the room. With a meager length of only 201 centimeters and a slender build, the man looked as unimposing as an Arkronian could be. His clothes were as average as they come and after meeting Ohrahm-Braz, it would be extremely hard to describe his looks. However it was his cunning that made him feared and respected across the realm.

“Alan Arkronis. Let's skip the formalities and move on to talk business” Spoke Ohrahm-Braz.

“As you are aware the crown prince has contracted the grey death. The reports of his healers suggest that he might live for many months but will eventually die. His health will soon have deteriorated to the point that he can no longer lead the kingdom and our great nation will be kingdom without king. A position of considerable weakness. Especially in these dire plague stricken times.”

Ekram-Rhas sipped his wine as he listened to his colleague from the ministry of intelligence, wondering what he was scheming. “So? What is the business that you wanted to talk about? Get to your point.”

“The crown prince needs to die. Preferably during the coronation ceremony.” replied Ohrahm-Braz. He waited a bit to see how the minister of the army would respond but could not read his reaction.

After a moment of silence Ekram-Rhas put down his glass of wine and smiled. “So you have come here to talk about regicide. You are well aware that we Arkronians are bound by divine law to do such acts against our own brethren. No Arkronian assassin would be willing to commit such an act and risk his place in the afterlife. So I assume that you’ve only let me in on a small part of your scheming.”

The minister of Intelligence smiled. He knew he had peaked the interest of his collegue. “I am well aware of that fact. That’s why we must find a willing culprit to commit the act. During the coronation of the crown prince the capital is filled with the low-lifes from the various vassal states. I assume there will be people around who are more than willing to commit such an act for the right incentive.”

The minister of the army stood up from his chair, walked to a cabinet on the side of his office and poured in some wine for his guest. He knew that minister Ohrahm-Braz was right. The crown prince was unfit to rule and needed to be removed for someone else to take his place. Ekram-Rhas himself had solid papers when it came to the Cardinals selecting the new royal bloodline, most likely the best from all the nobles who were involved in the current administration. But that would still be a gamble. You’d never know what the gods decide through their avatars on Mycoria. He had to look for a way to increase his chances with the gods and Cardinals if they would remove the crown prince from this life. Not to mention that there were still some loose ends. Someone needed to take the fall for the act.

“So, even if you can find someone who’s willing to kill the crown prince. People will start to ask questions if there isn’t any culprit caught. Someone needs to take the blame” Spoke the Minister of the Army.

“I am well aware of that. That’s why I have come to you.” said Ohrahm-Braz as he reached inside his clothes and grabbed a dagger that was native to the Yuravian people and put it on the desk. “Or do you prefer the Saa’kaleed Abiat?”

A smirk came upon Ekram-Rhas face. If the crown prince would be found dead with a Yuravian dagger in his back when all the vassals delegations would be in town, the Arkronian government would most likely blame the Yaravians, or whomever they choose to be the culprit. Not to mention that the assasination of the crown prince would be nothing less of an act of war against the Arkronian nation. It would warrant a proper Arkronian response that could be handled without their king declaring war. And with himself leading the Arkronian army to glorious victory, Ekram-Rhas would certainly earn the favor of the gods.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Yam I Am
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Yam I Am Indefinitely Retired

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"E ke né en train din gajer a élur vurbinneuç?" (And what do we not have to gain by speaking to them?)

Lucinêa punctuated his voice, such that even the shouts that were required to break the clamor of their mounts' gallops reduced his phrases to mere hushes.

"Ja né élur konfïdeu. (I don't trust them.)

The elder's words were bold. Clear and as unwavering as the overhead sun. His late translator looked over in weary suspicion, naught a moment into conversation yet already tiresome of it.

"Aççurantâ, zo Léza-" (Surely, the liza-)

"Élur avéren un agendâ, e nuača avï çïré defrâodeuč a prender dečiziux čin zo Gardinâ." (They have an agenda, and we have been tricked before by making decisions without the Gardinâ.) Leokadra scoffed in return. "Ačionar čin zo Gardinâ nuača avéreneuç a ruïn muilte fois inâinte." (To act without the Gardina has led us to ruin many times before.)

Begrudgingly, he sighed, turning over his head to the road ahead. Lucinêa - as befitting for a military man the likes of he - was very much a proponent of action, for he knew full well that, in the greatest texts and teachings of war, to seize and maintain initiative was paramount. Alas, a direct belligerence he was not in, and so the finer loci of diplomacy he would need to subscribe to. Leokadra's words rung true, he knew, for that was the worst part; The divisions sewed by accord and treaty kept their people under constant partitioning, and all of it was only possible by one foolish Yuravian making peace deals first and consulting the remaining tribes thereafter.

Innumerate treaties forced the disunion of Yuravia, for even a thousand spirited tribes' soul went for naught if they were to be kept where their chants were drowned out. The Third Rebellion saw the signing of the Treaty of Jurivêa, that famously humiliating decree. If it were not insult enough to prohibit a people's most honored custom of election of a rightful and just Čévdinčévi, that so much fruit and toil be given to the traitors which made it possible made it all too overbearing. Lucinêa was correct to know that these treaties would, as soon as they were drafted, too, come to a just and fitting end. There would soon come a day where righteousness would prevail, and shackles cast down, for his opinion was but one in a sea of Yuravians.

Yet, such notions were cut short by the reminder of his mission, delivered through a lizardman atop a galloping horse.

Not all was lost, however, for his inquiry soon brought about an intrigued look upon Lucinêa's face: Rea-Abi was curious about the state of Arkronia.


"Kê čerê? (What does he ask?) The chief questioned.

"Çu çere deçpre zo maladul d'Arkronêa." (It's about the Arkronian disease.) Lucinêa responded swiftly. He turned to the chief, who gave no visual response, his eyes glued to the forward road.

"Kê çeç dévrâi vurbir?" (What shall I say to him?)

Chief Leokadra fumbled for a bit, mumbling and musing as he softly shook his head. Soon after, he swiftly barked his response.

"Vurbê kê voç vrê." (Say what you want.)

Text

"We have had many merchants return from Arkronia with very...troubling stories. They are in the midst of a rather troublesome illness, one which only seems to afflict their people. One man - a man I with so great of honor I may hold even his most ridiculous of tales to truth, I might add - has told me of entire villages being claimed in a week. Their medičes have quarters which fill with entire towns, trying in vain to grant some comfort to the ill before contracting the sickness themselves. The common folk of Arkronia are affected the worst, but...in due time, he believes that truly no Arkronian will be free from its touch."

Before continuing, Lucinêa looked back at his chief, stoic as ever, then glanced his ocean-dyed eyes back to his lizardfolk accomplice. His eyes narrowed, his horse galloping closer as if to offer some discretion.

"Many among us believe that, in these times of dire circumstances, the Arkronians will turn to much more...radical leadership."

"It is no secret that those of House Rhaskozikan have long had eyes on the Arkronian throne." Lucinêa cast another brief glance back at his chief. This time, he in turn made quick eye contact, where the two shared a short series of nods. "Where Chief Leokadra and I unfortunately disagree on is his intentions. The Chief and I both believe that they will no doubt attempt some power play to increase their influence in the near future...the Chief believes that, while they are most certainly rather...hostile toward persons the likes of you and I..."

Lucinêa took a deep sigh.

"...that they would need to be utterly mad to plunge a disease-ravaged nation into war."

"However, I have always been of the belief that sanity was never a value of House Rhaskozikan."

At the mention of his thoughts, Lucinêa could visually straighten, as if a soldier on leave with the instinctive passing of his superior. The road and coronation were miles and weeks away, he knew, yet...he had felt exposed, like he had make some utter flaw amidst his musings that would reveal some great conspiracy. Such was the power of a culture of paranoia, he imagined.

"Now, do forgive me, for what I will say will come to you as madness, but...I believe it may be in our best interests to ensure the young prince lives a long and fulfilling life. It may come as insanity for a Yuravian to wish well of the Arkronian throne, but I believe it will be better for both of us to have a lethargic throne than one which actively wishes for our destruction."

@gowia
Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by DELETED32084
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Second Rhaetian Republic




The First Consul tugged the front of his robe down and shrugged the heavy material forward so that it rested more comfortably on his shoulders. It was a raw early-spring Rhaetian morning, with the temperature barely hovering below ten degrees; the light had a cold, bleakly clear quality, as if you could cut yourself on the blue of the sky.

He walked slowly over to the heavy curtain and opened it with a quick flick of his wrist, the heavy lead balls that held the fabric in place clacked loudly, whistling tunelessly as he did so. Outside he paused to take in the view - a panoramic vista of Rhungora - and breathed deeply of the wind that blew down from the mountains; his breath a blast of white mist in the still morning air.

Below him, spread out like a painters dream, was the city of Rhungora. The First Consuls apartment had been built into the side of the Great Forum and Senate - both buildings split from each other by a long narrow pool of water - and served as the home of the Republics elected leader. Even as he felt his bare feet against the night cooled marble he took a moment to enjoy the very best part of his day, the sunrise.

It struck the mountain tops first, the peaks flaring like so many giant torches as the sun lit the snow caps. Minute by minute the sunlight moved swiftly down the tree darkened slopes - highlighting the deep green of the forest - like a world being reborn. It never got old.

He felt the heat suddenly wash across his face as the sun touched the Senate Chamber, the highest of all the buildings in Rhungora. The dome, built of stone but sheathed in copper and trimmed with silver, flared like the mountain peaks. Below him the city itself was hidden from a view, an almost inky black pool among the hills that surrounded it.

The high mansions appeared first; white washed walls, tall thin trees and nearly red tiled rooves crowned the hills and slowly marching down the hills until, at long last, the sun hit the city proper. A thousand streets, crowded in upon by three storied white homes, numberless towers and copper domes, crisscrossed a maze of canals and the two rivers whose blue waters had lit up; their deep blue colour shooting away in three directions, marking their passage from the mountains toward the sea.

He let out the breath that he had been holding and held out a hand. A servant, waiting quietly out of sight behind another curtain, hurried forward and gave him a crystal glass filled with wine.

"The Senators are here, First Consul." The servant said as he withdrew into the apartment.

"Send them in."

There was a gentle tapping on the marble floor and a door opened onto the terrace from the main Senate Chamber. A guardsman - his cloak a rich purple and fastened with gold - glanced in, caught the First Consuls nod, and then stood aside as three Senators stepped onto the terrace.

"First Consul Dosit." They said in unison, dipping their heads in greeting; Rhaetians did not shake hands.

"Senator Tul Bisner, a pleasure as always." Dosit greeted a tall male who bore a unique blue tinge to his skin; broad shoulders and a vicious scar down the left side of his face - dissecting one milky white eye - hinting at his profession before entering politics. The male was a fierce Royalist and had waged war in the name of the King.

"Senator Luunri Greanad, nice to see you again." The senator returned his smile. She was about shoulder height on him, shorter than most Ruline, but all the more dangerous for it. Those who underestimated the slim, silver tusked female, did so at their own peril. Here was the greatest threat to Rhaetian loyalty to the crown - a Ruline determined to chart her own destiny - and she made no secret of her desire to see influence of the crown curtailed.

And Senator Sessi Dren, welcome back." Strong white teeth flashed in the narrow face, canines tipped with silver. She was among those who belonged to the third faction in Rhaetia, the same faction Dosit had come from. Effectively considered neutral, they did not fall one way or the other among Royalist or Republican, but their numbers had been dwindling lines began to get drawn in the sand.

Together, the three of them represented the three most powerful factions in the senate. There were independents of course, a couple of small fringe factions that held no weight, and of course, the First Consul. Officially, he belonged to no party and served as the binding agent for all. That was becoming increasingly difficult as voices of dissent grew louder and the Arkronain Crown teetered precariously on the edge of ruin.

"Thank you for the invite, Dosit, I love coming up here." Dren purred as she stepped up to edge of the balcony, long slender fingers caressing the intricately carved handrails. "Always a treat."

"Yes, always nice to get an invite, but let's cut to the chase." Bisner, ever to the point, had clasped his hands behind his back and was standing with the easy stance of a fighter. "Forgive my abruptness, but I believe we need to get a delegation on the move. We're already a week behind."

That much was true. The Senate had debated around in circles about who they should send and, in the end, the only thing they had agreed upon was that someone definitely needed to go. In the end the four who stood on the balcony had declared an emergency council, sent the rest of the Senators home and then held a hurried council before deciding to vote on it in the morning.

"Right, of course," Dosit flashed the imposing ex-soldier a quick smile and was rewarded with a small twitch at the corner of the others mouth. "We do need to send someone."

"Well I suggest we don't send someone who wants to rip the whole damn system down." Bisner plowed right in, his eyes fixed on Greanad as he spoke. There was no love lost between the two and she scowled back at him.

"Of course, we might as well send a royal ass licker instead and make them think they can walk all over us, as per usual." She snarled back. Dosit raised a hand quickly to calm the two. He had known it would likely turn into a verbal slug fest between the two and was prepared.

"I suggest we send Senator Dren." He nodded at the neutral who shrugged in agreement. "Neither of you will support sending the other and I will not be attending. Someone will have to keep this ship of state on course while we still can." He glared at the two faction leaders who had the good sense to look somewhat embarrassed.

"I would be delighted to go." Dren gave them all a smile that lit up her face. "See what we can accomplish without committees and voting!"

"You're advocating for Empire now?" Dosit teased her and was rewarded with a dismissive look.

"Of course not, but you have to admit it sure makes things simpler. I do get tired of everyone yelling at each other until we've battered the other side in submission." She massaged her temples. "Really tired of it."

The other three either smiled, rolled their eyes, or grunted in acknowledgement. The fact that Rhaetia had somehow even ended up a Republic was still a bit baffling to them all. It had been born in blood when the Arkronian created noble order had been decimated, but somehow the link to the Crown had never been quite thrown off.

"So, we're agreed, Dren will go?" Dosit asked. He held up a hand, followed by Dren. The other two raised their hands quickly, trying to out do the other in a show of support. "It's official then."

A scribe, seated at a small stone table in the apartment of the First Consul took note of the vote, but not the conversation itself. The apartment was one of the few places of government that no conversation was ever recorded. This served to protect security and privacy alike, though Dosit had no doubt the silent servants would quickly be rushing to tell their families of the vote.

"I'll leave at once then." Dren was muttering to herself as she looked over the city which was now fully engulfed in sunlight. "Ride overland to Krullal and take ship for Arkronia."

"That would be best, yes. I'll have a dozen guardsmen go with you. We need not send anything lavish. The Republic is hardly known for grand displays. Take a couple of scribes as well. We need to know everything that happens." Dosit said as he sipped from his wine. "The winds of change are blowing and we must known which way they will go."
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The Saa’kaleed Abiat

Somewhere en-route to Arkronia







"A Sickness that spreads far and wide through their whole people? Such a pestilence must be terrible indeed." The Rea-Abi mused, flicking his forked tongue over his bottom lip. "Solutions will be found, or at least we have to assume so, Kasim. The Arkronians may be dying now but they are anything if resourcefulness and given the deception surrounding the end of the last war for independence I am loathe to trust that they are so terribly afflicted as the Yuravian's suggest. What exactly did they say of their agent?" Kasim briefly recounted the exact wording of the translator. - A man I with so great of honor I may hold even his most ridiculous of tales to truth. - Such praise was rarely entirely the truth but spoke of how much credit the Yuravians put in the report. At least, that is what Kasim reported back. "Perhaps we shall see some of these villages as we pass through Arkronia, it would be good to allay the anxiety of being deceived by one side or the other." It was astoundingly irritating for Kasim to listen to these musings again, Aram Sallah had made no mention of the other matters that the Yuravian envoy spoke and appeared to not even consider the matter as he chatted on and on about the truth behind rumour of the plague. Travellers were less common in the Abiat and such mutterings had been heard but with far less detail and conviction as the horse people spoke now, this was to Kasim confirmation and the addition of an incredibly important new matter.

"And a sickness that only affects the Arkronians themselves, with no seeming effect on any other race? Deeply suspicious, though to turn back now would guarantee our deaths either way. It seems we are to be the test subjects for that hypothesis, my child." The Rea-Abi laughed and reached to squeeze the shoulder of Kasim as they rode next to each other, their Basa lizards playfully slicking their tongues out at one another and trying to strike flies from the air in front of them.

"Perhaps we should respond to the other matters they raised, Rea-Abi. It would be good to have at least one other power present who we can rely upon to support our moves." This only brought another laugh from Aram Salah.

"Moves? My boy, you have been raised on too many stories of dark dealings and coups in palace corridors. We will not be permanent fixtures in Arkronia, and despite the discussions we are having now it is not in any way an official diplomatic assembly. It serves us in no way to play our hand and reveal any colours we might have when we are nominally only there to recognise a formality." When Kasim hissed the Rea-Abi shook his head. "You think me naive, Kasim? I can see it clearly enough. You will need to get better at hiding your emotions or I will send you home again. I do not believe that overtures will be made and plotting will occur, but how much do you think will actually happen? Any sign of a sizeable retinue coming with the other signatories will be held somewhere along the border and it takes weeks to communicate home. We are drawing lines and going to understand the lay of the land, not ready for battle. Call it reconnaissance." Kasim bowed his head before responding.

"Very well, then what is it you would like to carry to their emissaries? That we have no opinion?"

"Do not assume, Kasim! Nothing of the sort. Thank them for sharing the stories they have heard, they are deeply concerning but hopefully the reality is not as dire as it is made to seem. Their concerns over the influence of House Rhaskozikan are obviously understandable, and we share them deeply, this is no time for radical men to start dictating the world. Make sure they understand the Abiat will support no people who seek to exterminate another, this Empire rests and many shoulders and none are any less deserving of life. Regarding the crown, they speak of dangerous matters. The Abiat is loyal to the crown it swore fealty to, whoever might now wear it. We fully intend to honour that agreement and enjoy a peaceful coronation, though we would be honoured if before the day of the ceremony we might host a dinner for their delegates? It has been many years since so many have come together and I would like to remember our ancestors together in veneration of our shared history."

"You make us sound like whipped curs sitting politely for our master, Rea-Abi, I cannot say this is what I expected." Before Kasim could move away he added. ""If we truly came to do nothing, then why am I here?"

"Because if you were to use your brain you would understand why we are all here, boy. Do not think I am not too old to beat you in front of strangers and family alike." A fire had ignited in the eyes of the older lizard, and Kasim gave a gulp before bowing his head in apology.

I am sorry, Rea-Abi. I- I still do not like this situation at all. Haka Marea." Then Kasim shifted forwards again to rejoin the trail of Yuravians and pass along the message, exactly as it had been dictated. The longer he thought the clearer he thought he understood the message. This was an embassy not meant to declare war, forge a new rebellion, or overthrow a crown. This was taking stock, making 'friends', and reassuring everyone else the Leed was not about to flare up again. It was as much for everyone else there as for the crown they were meant to meet. He thought, at least. The Rea-Abi had not confided in him and the best he could do was guess.


@Yam I Am
Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Dinh AaronMk
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Dinh AaronMk my beloved (french coded)

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Kingdom of Akron

Port Arkron


To sail in the shadow of the great galleons of the Arkronian navy was a sight to behold. To be in its wake was a terror to sail. The great sails of the mighty sailing ship were as high as a city wall, spanning outwards far beyond the deck railing. Its towering aft and fore castles looming watchfully over the deck and sea, clad in plates of decorative and armoring bronze. The ship's planks were lacquered heavily with black pine tar. In the same way a dragon's wing soars out from its body, the great and immense red banner of the empire flew unfurled and waving in the wind far beyond the reach of the deck and to wrap around the aft castle as the winds drove it to and fro.

Standing at the rail of their schooner, the young prince Edward starred up at the great rising barrel chested hull of the great Arkronian ship. His beak hanging open as his eyes were held high at its immensity. The sailors on deck moved about him. They had seen much, and such a size was not unusual. There was in the Empire many things much bigger. The shadow of the immense ship loomed heavily and engulfed the Waxward. And soon in the distance the great towers that would herald the entrance to Port Akron would rise from the sea, burning.

“Good prince, please have caution. Yer leanin' over t'rail.” said one of the knights attending to the family. With a gentle hand he took him by the shoulder and pulled him back.

With a gulp Edward floundered for a moment, believing in that dizzying moment as he looked up at the immense ship several yards off deck he was indeed about to fall into the sea. He momentarily raised his voice to scream before realizing in that moment he was being pulled back. In his tension and anxiety the feathers on the back of his head rose in alert.

“Sir Mathaies!” he exclaimed blustering with a squeak, “What'r ye doing?”

“Keepin' ye' safe, m'lord.” the knight bowed. He was unlike the crew, a human with a dull and unassuming face. But he looked down at the Avan with sharp and parental eyes. He looked to be in middle age, and he clasped the hilt of his sword with a broken hand, his index finger overlapping his middle.

“A-ah, fair 'nuff then.” Edward intoned with a blushing voice. He turned back to look at the great Arkronian galleon and said with a cheer: “But it's s'big!”

“Ay, all'is large in Arkronia.”

“But why so?” asked Edward.

“They's a people o'large intent.” replied the knight.

“Yea'v been there?” asked the prince.

Mathaies nodded, “Some years ago 'ey was the levee yer gran'father sent t'the capital as part'o 'is obligations. F'er nearly th' twenty years o'my young service as squire t'an ol' knight o'the court I went with a mask. Fer in Arkronia humans are seen as less then. T'was nearly required more o'less t'pretend t'be a'pious Avan t'some ol' god t'not shovel horse shit.”

“'An did ya?” Edward asked.

“Nay, avoided that.” laughed Mathaies, “Now I be servant t'year father I doubt t'be as risk. He knighted me, the'fore I have some privileges. An' I served m'peonage.”

“What did ye do in t'empire?” Edward asked as he wandered along the deck rail watching the great galleon. From the deck of the much larger ship gray faced strangers looked down with disdain. On the Avan vessel they had been obliged to raise their sails to match the speed of the lumbering treasure ship. The threat of the glint of their superior's weapons obliging them to do so or face some unspoken repercussions upon them. The young prince did not understand the meaning behind this, and went about in simple astonishment of the great vessel.

“T'was well after t'last rebellion.” Mathaies explained, “Though m'master was called t'fight in it. The time I was called in f'er duty was 'least a time a'peace. Fer our'part was partook in obligin' the further peace in th' realm an'paradin' about like dandies.”

“Did y'march in the palace?” asked Edward excitedly. Mathaies nodded.

“How was'it?”

“Immense.”

“Ay, I hear so!”

“It strikes many a'terror in some.”

“So I hear.”

They reached the bow of the ship, where king William sat. Idly puffing on a pipe in his beak. He stared ahead out down the bow sprit. There rising out over the distance was the towers of the port of Port Akron. Their white stone rising in a faint glow in the late afternoon sun light. In the middle distance several large ships plied the waters heading toward the port. Edward looked on, amazed at the number of large vessels cutting through the waters.

“Port Order.” William said flatly, referring to the city by their dialect of Corvid. He took a long pull on the pipe.

“What'll we be doing there?” asked Edward.

“We'll stay a'while.” William answered, “Declare ourselves, rest fer awhile. Check t'see if t'Waxward is right enough fer t'river an'if we can take her up it. Or we move things t'a barge.”

Edward cooed interested at the thought of the experience and sat down next to his father to watch. Mathaies hovered behind them like a shadow with a dour expression for the imperial seat ahead. He knew too much about it and in his heart of hearts he believed he should hide himself in some way. He still had in his belongings his hawk beaked helmet, and for a time this may permit him to avoid the hard sight of scornful Arkronians. But wearing his armor may be seen as a threat to the carefully crafted image of public order in the port ahead.

The Waxward sailed smoothly on towards port at the newly slowed speed set by the merchant galleons of the Arkronians. Now lagging behind the great ship they the captain and the helmsman had directed the speedy corvette to sail further to the side, avoiding the waves the larger ship threw up.

They entered into port later in the evening with the crew in full activity. The leaving of and entering of any port was hard dangerous work, made so by competing for space between the known or unknown dangers of rocks and hidden shallow embankments that often ring a shore to the multitude of ships that sailed about with them, and before they entered the shadow of the great white towers they had spent much time vying for and searching for a location in the queue of ocean going vessels seeking an opportunity to dock.

As they waited, prince Edward received a brief impromptu education of the ships at port by the crew and by Henry who emerged from below deck. From the long narrow galleons of the Saa'kaleed Abiat to the cogs of nearby Rhaetia. Even the more distant smaller traders from Skekaria. Arguments broke out and were settled over the styles of rigging and the length and heights of decks and spans. But more impressive to Edward still were the large Arkronian ships at harbor, from the wide breasted ocean goers of the merchant fleet to the meaty and blood soaked hulls of the northern whaling ships returning south from their long excursions in the frigid waters north of Epha, their great scummy pots of whale oil bubbling still as they came to dock, perfuming the air with the aromatic if tepid smell of boiling sperm.

All of this was watched over by the twin towers that guarded the gate to the port. As with the seawall, they stood tall and impressive in their white stone, though long grayed and green by the spray of stormy seas. But as clear as freshly painted the outward facings of the great sea gate stood painted the emblem of the Empire on the coat of arms of the city itself, a red winged shield with the three entwined black triangles of the imperial state. As well, a heavy chain hung from the towers, in time of plight the great chain would be pulled up from the bed of the seat to discourage any hostile raiders from entering port. But for the centuries the Empire had been in Mycoria, the chain had never been raised. It hung merely as a threat, a promise of self defense and powerful opposition to any threat that might challenge the Arkronian's strict law. So it rusted, its immense links became the perches of hundreds of gulls and rockbirds.

By the time they found room and negotiated with a harbor master they were informed that it was late, and today the longshoremen would soon retire to sleep. By the following morning the kegs of gifted liquor would be unloaded and deposited on the next barge to the capital. The captain elected a contingent of the crew to remain behind, and differing from shore Mathieas offered to stay too to help where needed. William permitted this, and with the remainder of the entourage went ashore and quickly found a hotel to abscond in for the night.

Edward, excitable at the new sights wandered about in the lamp-lit streets of the city with his brothers. Their father king felt no danger, he knew the Arkronian obsession with order. Even with their own guard, there would be a watchful presence by their hosts all the same to ensure nothing happened to them. Or they themselves to the city and their hosts. But opting to keep to himself he remained behind in the inn, and sat melancholy at the window.

Despite the cold early spring William sat by an open window. The turbulent air of the port city wafting in, the fire place crackled along a far wall. The room was as opulent as the city was large. The wide paved streets dominated by the tall homes of the great merchant counting houses and the manufacturers and warehouses of the harbor district of Port Akron. Lit by northern whaling, the city was held in a pale green glow in the night, accompanied by the orange and yellow lights of candles in windows as the city's finest went about their evenings before bed. There was a restrained silence in the city, much unlike the chaos of Hemden's evenings when the travelers of the canals and the merchants and the various teamsters and longshoremen met with the tradesmen and other day laborers of the city in a raucous nightly celebration in the numerous taverns and bars of the city. At night under torch and fire light the minstrels that remained hidden at day would play long into the cool summer nights. Where as by comparison in Arkronia, the libertine feelings were suppressed by a harsh conservative demand for order and cleanliness. It was here that William first heard “police” and not “night watch” or “guard” which was so much a fancy of the wealthier houses of his capital home.

“There's always somethin' rotten in Arkronia.” a voice said from the shadows, and William turned to look about. He didn't notice anyone. But the room was so proportioned that all the same someone might be hiding in the unnerving far corners. This was either a fact of control the imperial masters wished to impress or a strange mistake in the order. But for all the work of candles and fireplace, no space felt particularly well lit.

“Ye know this.” the voice added from somewhere and William turned back to the window to notice something out of the corner of his eye on the bed. The definitive black shape turned. “Really should keep t'window closed.”

“It's stuffy.” protested William.

“Ay n' so is the castle but s'what.”

“It's at least open in it.”

“True that be. But what'fer does it amount to if you dream s'much of flying the cope so it were?”

William didn't answer the figure's question and went on trying to ignore him.

“T'is a shame you're alone though. Perhaps y'might've enjoyed goin' out to see the city with the princes. Might allow you t'stretch yer legs. You'll want to walk straight when you get t'the palace. Maybe if the queen were still alive things wouldn't be s'gloomy 'bout'cha.”

William stared out the window unflinchingly. He blinked once, and looked down at a dog crossing the street, disappearing into some alley off to the side.

“T'is a strange sight t'see a city so empty however.” the figure said in a long sighing tone. “But as I said: t'is always something fishy in Arkronia. I believe they're always hiding somethin', an'ye know it.”

“They always do.” William said.

“Mm, yes. But what'about that dog? Why is it alone? They're not ones f'strays like that.”

William turned his head a slight, pulling the figure more into his periphery. The shadowy Avan lay himself across the bed, putting his boots up and folding great heavy arms under his head. “Saw it in your eyes.” it said with a carefree tone.

“Do'ye think they're hiding something?”

“Mmm,” the figure grumbled, “Yea used t'be good at'his.”

“What do'yea mean?” protested William

“Oh Good King William! How've you grown from seeing the patterns'n things and t'this. Is it not hard? There is something fishy goin'an here.”

William turned, and looked down onto the streets, the figure continued, “Do'yea need a hand held? The city is quiet, there'ain't a soul'in sight. Yea see anyone sweepin'? Is there anything t'sweep? They're trying to hide something going about.

“Anyways t'is late m'lord, don't you think? Yea'have a lotta time yet t'travel. Best y'sleep. The boys'll be back soon.”

Kingdom of Cor

Collans


With spring remained the rains. Or less of it than any other time in winter. It fell as snow in a cold snap or when some northern wind managed to break over the mountains. Otherwise it came in humid and warm from the south. While still early in spring and still numbingly cold, at times a spring rain brought with it warm air. For the first time this season someone could, though with a blanket step away from the fire. In the house of Bone Friend this was the case, as the lecturner sat out under the covered awning of his house, holding a cup of nettle tea in his hands. His wife took up a seat by his side.

“Are we going t'do anything about the two families?” his wife, Honor Pleased said. A narrow built woman, she was graced with an awkward and tall disposition. It was whispered she was the product of some strange coupling with a spirit from the Low Forests as a cruel joke against her now deceased mother. It was never a thing she could put down by herself, and the rumor had the misfortune of sticking to her where ever she had went. But for those who saw her long gait - as though a tower were about to fall over - it was not a long leap to make. But appearances were far from the last thing about her, for behind the awkwardness she possessed many qualities that had attracted her husband to her: she was the heiress to a modest burgher's fortune from the city of Stonewall on the northern coast, where the two had met at a winter party they attended at the expense of one of Friend Bone's professional acquaintances. But he was first brought to her by the speckled gray on blue feathers that crowned her head, the way she shone in the face even among the polite silent judgment of the attendees. He had approached her, asked her to dance, and managed to coax grace out of her long limber form even as she stood so tall her silver beak rested at his brow. With slight effort he managed to beguile her father to consider him, where he lived a professional life and could afford to give a place of dignity, thus beginning a year long courtship at a distance trying to prove himself.

And she was here now, in the country, looking out across a field to the creek that split the town. Watching the budding branches bob and nod with the warm early spring rain. The grass had not yet grown entirely, the countryside in brown. But as thunder began to roll over head the two realized that this would change soon. Together here they had raised ten children, two of which survived; one of which they both sent to the same acquaintance as whom inadvertently introduced them to study numbers as well as words.

“One of them's going t'try something on t'other.” she remarked again.

“I know.” Friend Bone said with a low voice, “One of'em warned me of a rumor.”

“So what's your plan?” she asked.

“Wait it out. T'ain't much I'cann do. Try t'stop anything if it t'were. Keep it low under the table.”

“And you sure y'can't make them stop?”

Friend Bone shook his head, “Nay. Bad blood that goes back a'few generations t'ain't easy to put out. And they've been keepin' it hot.”

“So y'er not going t'do anything?”

“Ican't, and the whiskey's been caught up in all this for s'long as both don't budge.”

“T'is a shame. They're both wonderful families.” said Honor with a wistful sigh.

They watched in the near distance as a small gang of young Avan run to the creek in despite of the rain to begin splashing about. From the hovel across a voice rang out as someone tried to call them back. “You remember when ours used to do that?” a nostalgic Honor said, “I miss those days.”

“I don't. I don't like t'get wet.”

“Oh now how come? You seem t'bathe just fine.”

“It's not that.” Friend Bone said with a laugh, “It's how cold the rain gets. It hurts.”

“And how about Stonewall, the ocean spray? You saying it did not hurt you then too?”

He took a moment to gulp down his cup and replied, “It did. I was pretending.” he laughed. Honor rolled her eyes. From the house emerged their youngest, a young Avan girl frail in her adolescence. She looked about nervously, holding a wooden plank with two small fresh loaves of bread. “I think they cooled 'nuff'now.” she said hesitantly with a tittering tension in her voice.

“Oh apple blossom, thanks.” cooed Honoria, tenderly reaching out and scooping her head towards her and with the gentleness of a snowfall rested the side of her beak on her head in a kiss. “I'll take those.” she offered.

“D'you want t'stay out here with us?” Bone Friend asked. The young one smiled and bowed, but hesitated.

“Y-yes.” she stuttered, “Can I, get'a blanket?”

“Go ahead.” Bone Friend said.

Her name was Passivity. Once a light of fire to match the sharp gleam in her eyes, blue like her mother's. But after her brothers succumbed to disease she retreated to a dark place, and becoming a recluse. She was hard to coax out. It even stumped Bone Friend, who spent the long hours before she fell asleep helping her through the initial onslaught of nightmares that plagued her.

“Will we try t'ask her t'come t'Ostrafeast?” whispered Honor, holding one of the small loafs of bread in her hands

Friend shook his head, “If she wants she'll ask t'come.”

“Y'sure? Because t'be honest: I have fear for her alone in t'home. They say t'is not good to be alone with your darker spirits.”

“She just mourns.” Friend said. He intended to add they both knew how well all their children were with one another. But this was fact they both knew all too well, and it would not help to say anything. All the same, the answer did not settle Honoria who looked back at the house with a terrified, saddened expression. She cast her look down at the bread and gingerly twisted and turned it this way and that until it broke. It had nuts in it. She sighed sadly. In her heart she knew that if she was not so low they might have been able to court her off. She was a wonderful girl.

“I'm thinking: perhaps we should send her t'the witch?” Honoria asked.

Friend looked up, astonished, “Why would'ye think o'that?”

“I'm just... Perhaps it'd be t'best idea. She can help, so others have said.”

“She is a mad woman though, cavorts with bad spirits. It'd be a risk!”

“I know but-” Honoria was cut off when they heard the sound of the door of the house being unlatched. Both parties straightened themselves as Passivity stepped out wrapped tight in a blanket. She looked at the two of them with innocent eyes.

“Hello.” she spoke softly.

“Welcome back. Come o'er'here, sit with me. I'll keep y'warm.” Honoria invited.

Smiling pensively, Passivity obliged and sat in her mother's lap. Together the two wrapped themselves in the gray wool blanket she had brought out and they looked out at the creek.

By this time the youths had finally been scolded or bribed back into the house. They ran up through the reeds with their clothes soaking wet. Further out in the distance beyond the hovel a small herd of deer wandered out into the gray rainy mist of the open fields. They watched their dark silhouettes move faintly over the blackened rain impregnated ground. The thunder continued to roll over head, not threatening much. The air had a cold heavy smell to it. Things felt as peace.

“This is a wonderful spring bread.” said Honoria, “D'ya want t'share a piece, my little duck?”

“I'm not hungry.” Passivity said, leaning her head against her mother's shoulders. Honoria looked across her daughter's tired head to Friend who sat leaning forwards, elbows against his knees deep in thought.
Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Conrad
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The howling wind did little to persuade the few armed figures still remaining awake, despite the cold and unsettling sounds of the hissing grass and trees. The atmosphere in the entire camp was quiet and orderly, yet uncertain and frigthening at the same time. Normally, you'd say,trained soldiers would fear little on an ordinary night...but this was no orindary occasion. All men are troubled when their moment has come, and tomorrow that moment would come for each of them. Tomorrow, the hegemonic army was to end the decades long civil war between the Hegemon and the republican loyalists. All that was standing between the Hegemony and total victory was the Pearl of East Canthor itself, the city of Irrida, the last bastion of republican forces. They knew that not all of them would come back after the long campaign and see their families, their homes. Some of the soldiers would find solace in their loneliness by the fire pits after most of their squad brethren fell asleep. Others would just glance at times over the war ravaged hills just outside the city walls. It has been 4 months since the siege started, and everything was set for the decisive stage of tomorrow.

Making his way through the fire pits and scattered tents, with an elegant letter in his hand, Prime Lord Detrius Goran spotted the tent of the Hegemon himself. It was the biggest of them all, heavily guarded and with the color of crimson red, coincidentally fit for the bloodbath of tomorrow. Lord Detrius was the right hand man of the Hegemon, the highest on the political spectrum, in charge of ensuring that the executive orders of the ruler are followed. The dim light of the torches inside the tent gave away the fact that the Hegemon was not sleeping, perhaps troubled himself of the following day? Nevertheless, Lord Detrius approached the entrance and was greeted warmly by the two Ataka guards. Very intimidating judging by their own established reputation, the Ataka were the elite guard troops of the Hegemon. Clad in heavy lamellar armor worn over a heavy padded gambeson with their faces concealed by a chainmail mask and steel helmet adorned with purple feathers, these loyal troops were always present with the Hegemon, becoming universally associated with the hegemonic elite.

Inside, the most important man in all of Canthor was quietly sitting on his wooden chair, by the war table littered with markers and small regiment flags. Lord Detrius swept off the sweat on his forehead and approached the Hegemon, announcing his presence with a slight *ahem*. In the next moment, Nidor Xuleyn rose up from the table in order to face his lesser lord, Detrius...



"Purple silk robes? You've spent so much time in the capital you can't even see beyond your nose now, you snobbish prick." decreed the Hegemon, shifting his cold gaze on the appearance of the lord. Detrius, upon hearing the words of his overlord, replied gently with "Lucky for us, you can see beyond yours, my lord." Nidor's blank facial expression remained the same for the next seconds, as if to comprehend the preposterous words that he's heard from his most trusted man. Indeed, the joke alluded to the fact that Nidor's nose has been bludgeoned years ago, a reminder of the civil war for the rest of his life, and it did little to help the Hegemon's already ugly and rough mug. Come here, you litte shit! yelled the Hegemon with a rather cheerful tone, suddently changing his grim face to a warm and friendly tone. Unbeknownst to many, lord Detrius and the Hegemon shared a strong friendship, developed over the course of the civi war that plagued Canthor for decades. Both of them were born into this war, members of the western noble house of Goran, respectively the eastern house of Xuleyn.

"What brings you all the way here to the east, my friend? said Nidor, placing his gaze on the letter in the lord's hand.

"News from Arkron, my Hegemon. King of the realm, Amon-Mar the Fourth has left this world and his son, prince Rakon-Da, shall be crowned new sovereign. We are hereby invited to attend the coronation in Akronia. I've taken the liberty to..." The lord's announcement was interrupted when the Hegemon dismissively just made his way to the political map of the continent, but not before pouring some fine wine in his silver decorated cup, sliding some gulps down his throat from time to time as he was shifting his gaze from the lord and to the map on the table. "...I've taken the liberty to inform the chamberlain of your highness back in Canthor to prepare everything for the upcoming journey between Canthor and Akronia."

"You're saying I'm forced to go and pretend I love to kiss their arses... replied Nidor, scratching his teeths after each gulp of wine. Certainly, the Hegemon of Canthor wasn't the most elegant and gracious individual. He always despised the high court, and regarded most of the nobles as whiny feminine annoyances. Nidor was a military man of career, and at his 36 years of living, he had only known either the muddy rolling hills of his eastern home and the sound of clashing steel during battle. Some would say it's a miracle this noseless bastard survived this long. Perhaps the spirit of survival and his martial character is what made the previous Hegemon Mikel Quenit choose him as successor on his deathbed. "Very well. What do we know about this...prince? folowed up Nidor, looking straight at the lord.

"Surprisingly not too much, my Hegemon. Rumors are that the prince has been seen less and less in public, avoiding plain view. said Detrius.

"In any case, we've got more pressing matters on our hands than Arkron. Tomorrow, if Shanna wills it, we shall end this destructive war once and for all...and my rule will be unchallenged all the way from the borders of Rhaetia to the mountain borders of Abiat and the steppes of the east. Shanna wills it. replied the Hegemon, adjusting his golden nose piece strapped to his face. A spark of flame was burning in his eyes, and the gleaming fire in the tent made it look all the more obvious.

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




The battle horns loudly broke the silence of the rather enjoyable early morning. Not even the sun's rays could manage to peek over the horizon yet and the drums of war began to display their unsettling chant as a wave of soldiers approached the scarred fields outside Irrida. The Hegemon and his retinue of Ataka rode through the ranks, issuing to each regiment officers the orders and rode off afterwards to the camp's hill, overlooking the entire siege. For Nidor Xuleyn, it was a most glorious moment.

The first stage of the siege saw the rain of arrows coming down upon the hegemonic infantry as the soldiers climbed the outside ditch surrounding the walls, struggling to maintain their shields over their heads. The professional soldiers were lucky enough to escape death by arrow heads, courtesy to their heavy padded gambesons beneath the chainmail, or simply because of their shields, but many perished from this frontal attack, especially the republican soldiers from previous campaigns, who were conscripted as slaves and promised freedom if they survive the siege. It took three days of non-stop catapult fire, mound building and assault by siege towers and multiple attempts by forcing down the front gate with the battering ram before the hegemonic forces could succesfully gain a secured entrance into the stronghold. When Nidor's forces managed to break down the gate and win the surrounding sections of walls, the invasion of the stronghold could proceed as planned, and as such, the atmosphere quickly changed to the deafening sound of clashing swords and cries of war as the hegemonic soldiers began the battle with the severely weakened garrison of republican forces.

Within mere hours, the remaining contingents of republican forces were either broken or in the course of being broken. The Hegemon and his retinue made their way through the main street, reaching the castle tower in no time and giving little attention to the mindless plundering happening around them. The dirty streets were full of looted goods from the surrounding houses, as the hegemonic soldiers wasted no time to take whatever they could. The only limit to this chaos was the Hegemon's order of not killing any civillians inside, which saved countless families from a gruesome demise.

Inside the castle walls, the republican council of elders was holding their last ritual of prayer to goddess Shanna. Some pleaded for mercy, others reconciled themselves with the situation. Nevertheless, the Hegemon offered each of them a merciful fate: the republic is to cease all existence with immediate effect, any remaining enlisted troops are to be dispersed and present themselves at once to the hegemonic conscription centers for identification and evaluation for incorporation inside hegemonic armies, all senators and elders of the council will accept early retirement and exilation to assigned monasteries in the farthest reaches of the realm. As expected, some outright refused the Hegemon's offer, choosing instead the gallows waiting for them outside the stronghold's walls. Those who accepted were spared, as promised. The hegemonic government has triumphed over the republican forces and now the Hegemony of Canthor is in full control over it's old borders.

While the entire army was celebrating outside on wine and whores, the Hegemon and his emissaries were working tirelessly to prepare a draft for the official proclamation of the Hegemony of Canthor and the reestablishment of diplomatic relationships with all other nations. The previous 50 years were marked by a chaotic civil war that put a halt to the external diplomatic life of Canthor. While both sides requested help, the ultimate decision belonged to the Kingdom of Arkron, and as such, Akronia saw no reason to spend carelessly the lives of their soldiers and drain the treasury into intervening in a civil war of one of their vassals, not to mention the fact that a weakened vassal was certainly a good thing for Akronia, especially if another rebellion would surface.


Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Blandina
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Port Arkron


Pleasure Barge of the Triarchs


The journey from Wycannae to Arkronia had been a lengthy one to say the least of things, a fact that was only somewhat mitigated by the splendor of the Skekarii pleasure barge, while the ship served no martial purpose and had no capabilities in that area and was thus escorted by two sleek patrol ships, the ship was designed as a home upon the sea for the triarchs and made full efforts to display the ever growing wealth of the Skekarii crowns. Built largely as a floating platform the crown jewel of the barge was essentially a large home in traditionally garish Skekarii style, complete with multiple bedrooms, balconies, baths, and servants quarters, each piece of wood composing the entry ways and the railings was carefully carved to depict scenes from the war of unification, but even the permanently frozen faces of the thousands of soldiers seemed to open ever so slightly in awe of the splendor of the capital city of the Arkronians.
The crew members of the three vessels worked with the translators of the port and the native dock workers in order to make the unconventional form of the barge fit amongst the other ships docked in port. Standing towards the prow of the barge were the triarchs themselves, waiting and watching as the workers went about their business.
"It's fortunate we made the time we did, late as we are we'd be more so were it not for the Saa'Kaleed. Hopefully they'll enjoy the gifts we sent more than the Aegire."
"Not likely. The few times I've ever met a reptile they didn't seem too interested in fruity liqours and gemstones. They seem a pretty rustic bunch. Regardless, we're here and I'm starting to freeze over. I'll never understand why the Arkron would settle somewhere so far north when they had their pick of the litter."
"Not everyone's made for the summer heat, I imagine. Should I wake our dear husband?"
"No, no. It'd best if he's in a good mood when he meets the Arkronians. They're a very orderly people, they love nothing more than proper etiquette, especially the ones here in the capital."
"What was it like when you were here last? What brought you all the way out here?"

King Vahn sighed a little under his breath, his eyes going a bit out of focus as though he were trying to see something he'd long forgotten about. In truth he was just allowing himself a moment to remember that there was little more than obligation and mild friendship in their marriage, she'd never know him the way her predecessor did, nor would he ever experience the affection he had before her passing again, at least not in the same way. While there was no romantic affection, Vahn did feel a ever so slightly like a father figure to the young queen. Regardless, it didn't hurt to share stories from time to time, after all, he felt his own years go by more and more quickly and soon enough his son would replace him, as was the way of life.
"I wasn't too much older than you are now, it was shortly after my coronation so I couldn't've been much more than 25. At the time I was the first new monarch to be crowned since the 3rd rebellion, so I guess the Arkronians wanted to impress me or terrify me, I'm still not sure what their goal was, they did both in equal measure. You see, back then Wyacannae wasn't nearly so large as it is now and the court didn't have the same wealth it does now, but we've always been proud people so naturally when I got a personal letter from Arkron I accepted it. It wasn't any particularly grand affair, just some state banquet to honor some high lord or another, but what the Arkronians consider a mundane affair is extravagant to anyone else who's lucky enough to see it, but back to the story. I know I seem dull to you two now, but I was young and in a position of power and had the self confidence to match that, I had the largest ship in the Wya fleet outfitted with the best I could at the time and set sail, all the while thinking I'd show up and be talk of the town, so imagine my suprise when my ship was nearly knocked to pieces by a whaling vessel- a solid reality check. The moment I stepped off my ship and left the port into the actual city is one I don't imagine I'll ever forget, even with my memory failing from time to time as it does now. The sheer splendor of the city, the gridlike order of the streets, and the marble monstrousity of a palace. The Arkronians may not love color so much as we do, but they make up for it in spades with the scale they build in, the definition of that old addage 'money and ambition to challenge the gods'. . . I think that the moment I stepped into the palace is the moment I knew that there would never be any point in defying the Arkronians. I just hope that Mahd can learn that too."
"You've known Mahd longer than I, you know he can be a bit. . .Difficult when he's got an idea into his head, but he's stubborn because his plans have worked out well so far, just look at the mines. You have to temper him over time if you want him to listen well. . . He's got ambition, and he's working on the money. Maybe one day he'll challenge the gods too, I just hope that they don't strike him down. " and with that Hastor leaned into her older counterpart, less like a queen to her king more like a daughter to her father. She bore a familiar resemblance to her aunt who had preceeded her but she had her own unique beauty to her, they had the same tall and slender frame, but Hastor had the wide almond shaped eyes of the nomadic clans of her mother that gave her the impression that she was always mildly suprised by whatever was going on, no matter how mundane.
After a few more moments of leaning Hastor left to go direct the a handful of dock workers in what to unload and how from the cargo deck. Vahn felt the chill of the city cut ever so slightly closer.
Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Milkman
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Vulpinia - The travel too Arkronia



“Why do I have to carry the king's banner, it’s really heavy?” complained a Vulpin warrior. He had been carrying the king’s banner ever since leaving the Vulpin capital five hours ago. His small statue, large ears and boyish face betrayed that this warrior from clan Longear had barely seen enough winters to be called a man and yet, he was one of the warriors escorting the old Vulpin king to Arkronia.

“Quit yer yappin and keep the banner straight, Callumn! It’s the king’s banner, treat it with the respect it deserves!” Scolded one of the older warriors. The man seemed particularly displeased with the fact that there was such a young and unaccomplished warrior among the king’s own warband.

Quickly Callumn straightened his back, tightened his grip on the heavy wooden pole and raised the banner once more. The young warrior knew that his companion was right. Even though he could feel his soar arms struggling with the weight he was carrying but knew he could not let his king down. To carry the banner of the nine tails, the symbol of the unity of the Vulpin clans was a position of great honor the older warriors had told him. So he had to accomplish this task no matter how much his arms would hurt.

And yet, there was this trace of doubt in his mind. At times he struggled with the weight it was like he could feel the smirks of his companions as knives that stabbed his back. As if some were enjoying his struggles. Maybe they were just jealous that this task of great honor was bestowed upon him. Or was it just a chore that was forced upon him because the other warriors believed he had no right to be in the king’s warband?

Warriors in the king’s own warband were always selected because of their battlefield prowess. Even though the times were mostly peaceful, many had distinguished themselves fighting Ephan’s in the mountains while or had found their way to the battlefields of the civil war in Canthor. Others had shown their prowess during the yearly Vulpin games. Callumn Dubhgail Longear had none of that. He was only part of the king’s own warband because his father was the sovereign of Clan Longear and had a close relationship with king Aidar.

The young Vulpin knew that he had to work hard in order to receive the respect of his fellow warriors. No matter what he had to endure the young Vulpin warrior had sworn an oath to serve and protect the King of the 9 clans. If that meant to carry his banner all the way to Arkronia through the muddy roads Callumn would do it.

With renewed vigor the young Vulpin warrior marched on through the hills and fields of Vulpinia and into the forests of Akron. Everyday Callumn carried the banner with pride, eager to prove that he could do it and earn the respect he longed for.

If the Vulpin were known for one other thing except their legendary betrayal it was their ability to walk. The anthropomorphic foxes just looked like they could march forever at a quick pace. Needless to say that walking has been their prefered method of transportation. However for their old king Aidar, walking all the way from the Vulpin capital to Arkronia was just too much for someone who had nearly seen 80 winters.

The king of the Vulpin sat comfortably in his moose drawn carriage. The high quality of construction and intricate carvings revealed that the carriage was not of Vulpin origine. The fact was that the carriage of the king was a gift from the Arkronian overlords for their service during the 3th rebellion. For some it was a symbol of victory, for others a reminder of the Vulpin’s shifty nature. For king Aidar the carriage meant another agonizing trip to a far off destination that he should not visit in his old age.

However a coronation ceremony for the next Akronian king was not something that could be handled by some noble or servant. The Arkronians had expectations to be met and as long as they were the dominant power in Mycoria, you’d better be on their good side.

King Aidar Fir Shadowfax stared out of the window of his carriage. He hated traveling by carriage as every bump in the road would send an agonizing pain through his back. For a moment he longed for the days that he was younger, fitter and could have walked the entire route to Akronia with the rest of his entourage. But deep down inside the old king knew that such thoughts were the signs that his reign was overdue.

The king turned his head towards his two guests in the carriage and dropped the question he had been dropping way too many times already. “Cael, how much days before we arrive at the capital of Arkron?”

The prime servant was slightly annoyed and yet gave his king a friendly smile. When you spend weeks in a carriage’s confined space together the topics you can talk about run dry. “The same amount of days I told you the last time…. Minus three hours. We should arrive at Akronia’s grand gate late noon tomorrow. ”

“But I’ll have to excuse myself now. I need to stretch my legs a bit before I get as stiff as the old man” Spoke the prime servant as he opened the door of the carriage and gracefully jumped down in a way that was totally unnecessary and yet only someone who still possessed a strong and youthful body could do as a jest towards his old king.

Cael looked around and quickly founded the person he wanted to talk to. The 5 ft 8 hulking giant of a Vulpin could hardly be missed, as long as he was in a crowd of Vulpin. The various patches of white fur on his arms and across his cheek highlighted the many battle scars this man had suffered throughout his years and were a testimony of his prowess as a warrior.

The king’s prime servant quickly approached the man and sarcastically spoke “Isn’t it a little bit cruel? To let that young man carry the banner for nearly two weeks? Chief Finlay ”

“What a pleasant moment for the king behind the throne to grace me with his presence. How is the old king?” Nodded the chief of the king’s warband.

“Still breathing.”

“So we’re stuck with your rule a little longer....” Remarked Finlay sarcastically.

“But you’re not here to do small talk Cael. Get to business because I have better then to listen to your attempts at scheming.”

Prime servant Cael Drumain gave the highest ranking warrior in the kingdom a friendly smile and scratched the back of head and spoke. “Don’t be so negative. Just see me as supporting our king in the best way I can.“

Cael paused a bit and pointed his finger at the young warrior who was carrying the king’s banner since the start of the journey. “I need to borrow him for the first night we arrive in Arkronia,”

Finlay quickly turned his head and gave the prima servant of the king an inquisitive stare. If he wanted to borrow Callumn then Cael must have had some hand in him joining the king’s warband. “What’s yer business with Callumn?”

“Nothing too special really. I just want to visit an old acquaintance in his bathhouse in Arkronia and need an escort. The streets of Arkronia can be dangerous.”

The request shocked Finlay. He knew that the streets of Arkronia were the safest in the realm. An escort would not be needed. As the war chief had been on multiple occasions in the Arkronian capital with his king. Based on the request, Finlay was fully aware about whom Cael was talking. “No, I will not cooperate in this request of yours. Even though he has no business in being in the warband, he still is my responsibility!”

“It would be such a shame if the old king learns that his war chief refused to provide adequate protection for his entourage, don’t you think?” Whispered Cael in the ear of the warrior.

Finlay growled and clutched his spear even stronger. Angered he stared in the eyes of one of the most influential men in the Vulpin kingdom. Part of him wanted to rip Cael’s head clean off because he knew what the servant was planning and yet he was in no position to refuse his request. As he finally calmed down Finlay spoke. “And then you’re calling me the cruel one.”

By the end of noon the Vulpin delegation finally reached the grand gate of Akronia. Her large white walls, enormous towers and iron gates dwarfed anything the Vulpin had ever constructed. Those who were visiting the Arkronian capital for the first time stared in awe at the magnificent creations the overlords had constructed over time. In the face of these creations of sheer beauty and size the Vulpin looked like insignificant forest critters.

“Alan Arkronis” Spoke Finlay as he approached one of the Arkronian guards. The chief of the warband was considered large by Vulpin standards but the Arkronians towered above him. “I present King Aidar Fir Shadowfax of the kingdom of Vulpina and his entourage.”

The Arkronian guard looked down at the small fox like creatures and spoke the proper greeting. “Alan Arkronis”. It wasn’t hard to miss that the grey man didn’t hold these visitors in very high regard. However they were still representatives of one of the vassals and should be treated accordingly.

He called all members of the delegation to form up in front of him so that he could do a headcount, record every member of the delegation and explain the laws of the city to the Vulpin delegation.

“Welcome to Akronia, capital of the realm. Residence of the King of the Arkronian nation and supreme overlord of the realm. Before entering the city I must first inform you of the most common laws. The carrying of weapons within the city walls that are longer than 16 inches is prohibited. Violating this law will result in disarmament and arrest by Arkronian police. All weapons that are prohibited must be left at the gate. These will be administered and stored upon leaving the city walls, these belongings can be repatriated by request in compliance with Akronian weapon laws as stated in the book of weapon laws, chapter 8, section 17, appendix A.”

The guard paused a bit before he continued. “The drawing and usage of weapons is considered a violation of the law until proven otherwise in front of an Arkronian court. Weapons should remain sheeted in public at all times. Being caught with unsheeted weapons by Arkronian police will result in disarmament and imprisonment. In accordance with the laws as written down in the book of weapon laws, chapter 12, section 4. The carrying of weapons within the walls of the royal palace is only allowed in the guest quarters assigned to the diplomatic mission.”

The guard continued to state a long list of laws. With an ever increasing amazement Callumn the young warrior listened to the guard as he told about laws that controlled on what side of the street you are allowed to walk, the prohibition of urinating in public, what parts of the body must remain covered by clothing, how to properly behave and many more topics. If it existed, the Arkronians would have a law for it.

Other members of the delegation who had traveled to Akronia before had been through this chore already and the old king struggled to remain awake during this tedious endeavour. King Aidar had been in the Arkron capital on various occasions and knew the laws all too well. Yet every time he had been at the grand gate he had to go through this boring law speech.

However after almost 20 minutes of law reciting and weapons collecting the old king and his entourage were picked up by an Arkronian host and made their way onto the marble lane. This famous lane is two miles long and runs from the grand gate of Arkronia straight to the royal palace. When foreign delegations arrive the sidewalks generally fill up with curious Arkronians to watch the parade of strange people making their way to the royal palace. But not today, the lane seemed to be mostly deserted with only some scattered people who came to look at the delegations entering the city

The old Vulpin king looked out of the window and the scene was nothing like he remembered from last time he visited an Arkronian coronation. The lane was still as methodically cleaned and taken care of but unlike 30 years ago the sidewalks remained mostly empty. Even those few Arkronians who came to look at all those strange creatures from foreign lands seemed to keep a distance from each other. As if they had become afraid of their own kind.

“Hmm, they did put out all the flags, garlands, flowers and other decorations but forgot to invite their people” Remarked Railin Loinsigh, the female sovereign of clan Palebrush sarcastically.

“There might be some truth about the rumors we have heard about a plague that is spreading through the Arkronian people. Maybe that is why they haven’t come out en mass to uhm... greet us.” Responded Cael.

It was clear that something was going on in the capital of the realm. What and to what extent remained a mystery for the prime servant. However he had the contacts within the city to shed some more light on the situation and prior to departure Cael Drumain made sure that the right currency for the exchange was added to the king’s entourage.

The Arkronian host escorted his guests through Marble lane towards the center of the City of Arkronia. Many regarded Akronia as a place of beauty and wonder but the truth was that it was more a city of walls and secrets. The city was organized into strict districts all protected by their own inner walls. There were special human districts, the dockyards at the great river, residential areas based upon social status and wealth and at the heart of the city lies the Royal palace.

The Royal Arkronian Palace was more than just a single building. Many would regard it as a district in its own right. The palace was in essence a large walled complex with many buildings inside. At the heart was what most would call the palace. The gigantic white granite structure was modeled in an octagon shaped outer structure with eight towers. The octagon is the part of the palace where the ministers of the kingdom of Arkron have their offices. Inside the octagon is the second part of the structure known as the Royal residence.

However the Vulpin delegation would not yet be taken that deep into the Royal Palace. For official diplomatic missions the Akronian Palace had many guesthouses near the outer walls. These were large villa-like buildings which holded all the facilities a king and his entourage would need during their stay in the capital. From luxurious large suites for high ranking guests to dormitories for servants and guards. The dining hall of these guesthouses are lavishly decorated and the kitchen well stocked. The Arkronians have a habit of spending huge amounts of coin to impress their guests.

With the evening approaching the Vulpin delegation settled into their guesthouse in the Royal Palace. King Aidar sat near the fireplace and felt the warmth as if the flames were surrounding him. Even though the old king had resided on multiple occasions in such a guesthouse it never ceased to amaze the Vulpin. Where his wooden keep in Vulpinia was a drafty place and a nightmare to heat, the Arkronian guest quarters were a marvel of engineering that always seemed to have the right temperature.

King Aidar looked up as one of the servants approached him.

“My liege, you have an unopened message from Canthor” spoke the servant.

Curiously the old king studied his servant. Usually it was Cael who would barge in with such messages. He quickly took the parchment that had been sent to him from by the Hegemon and noticed that it had arrived before their departure. He quickly read through the message.

“It seems that they are done fighting each other in Canthor. As expected the Hegemon has won the civil war. He’s throwing a party to celebrate his victory after the coronation ceremony. What is that man thinking? I’m getting too old to travel all across the continent. Cael, arrange that the Hegemon is invited to a drink in our temporary residence to celebrate his victory. ” said the king a bit annoyed.

“My liege, Cael isn’t here.”

“What do you mean by isn’t here? He’s always at my side”

King Aidar looked around the room and now only noticed that it was just him and the servant. He could not help but to feel that he was getting too old for his job as he did not notice that his prime servant had left his side.

“I think he has left the royal palace sire. I saw him leaving the guesthouse with one of the new warriors in your warband.”

The king sighed as he heard the news. Once more he turned towards the fire and looked at the flames. “He took Callumn Dubhghaill with him, right?”

“Yes sire, the young one with the large ears.”

The king closed his eyes. If Cael had taken the youngest son of clan longear with him then he knew exactly where his prime servant was going. “Nothing good can come from dealing with that man.” murmured the old Vulpin as he watched how the flames engulfed a piece of wood in the fireplace.

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Second Rhaetian Republic






The City of Krullal, the principal sea port of Rhaetia, basked in the late afternoon sun. A hundred ships swarmed across the placid blue waters of the harbour; the wares of every nation in Mycoria could be found along the wharves and in the great market square currently ablaze with colour. The streets throbbed and pulsed with life as faces of every race hurried to and fro; copper, silver, and gold, changed hands as a thousand deals were made and folk became rich.

Massive stone walls encircled the city, embracing even the harbour itself; two massive lighthouses rising from the headlands to flank the harbour mouth. They soared over a 1000 feet into the sky and black smoke poured from one now as tarred ropes, refuse from the ships below, was burned to provide a landmark even in the middle of the day. On either side, muscled arms reaching high above naked torsos, great legs braced as if pushing, were intricately carved colossus that appeared to brace the lighthouses themselves.

"I always thought they'd have bigger cocks." Captain Sonnu Zen mused aloud, staring up at the huge figures as his ship slid slowly toward the harbour mouth, banks of oars rising and falling in unison.

"I find that about many men," Senator Sessi Dren replied with a smirk. "At least the sculptors of these giants were accurate."

"Heh, fair enough." Zen chuckled. "Fair enough."

He turned to look down the length of his ship. It was the latest in Rhaetian design, slim, sleek, and fast. It would be no match for a warship - that was not its purpose - but it could outrun a more heavily armed foe. Like many other things in Rhaetia, it had been built to be practical and efficient. There was nothing luxurious about the stepped back masts, sharply angled sails, or purple, silver banded, hull; but all of it suggested speed.

"Oars in!" Zen shouted. "Loose all sail!"

Oars clattered against the hull as they were stored and sailors chanted in unison as the towering mainsail rose up the mainmast. The wind caught it at once, causing the vessel to heel over sharply so that Dren had to grab onto the rail before she tumbled into the sea. The Captain shot her an apologetic look.

"Should have warned you, sorry."

"No need to apologize. I do not sail often." She felt her stomach heave as the ships bow met the incoming sea, rising above a wave before plunging down the far side, sending up a great curtain of spray as the vessel gathered speed. "Excuse me." She lurched miserably for the side and vomited, the wind whipping it astern in an instant.
* * * * *


"Oh thank the gods..." Dren raised her eyes skyward as she felt the firm stone beneath her feet at last. She would have got down on her knees and kissed the quay in gratitude, but even in her condition she knew that was a poor first impression to make on the Arkronians. Instead, her stomach growling with hunger, she smiled at the three grey skinned Arkronians who awaited her.

"Alan Arkronis. Welcome, Senator." The lead Arkronian said with a small bow. The two of them were eye level, a gift from her Orcish ancestors, and she returned the bow.

"Alan Arkronis. Thank you, Captain." She offered a smile. "It's been a long time since I was here."

The captain smiled in response and pulled a scroll from his sleeve, holding it up in front of him. "I am afraid the formalities must be observed." He said, eyeing the dozen purple clad soldiers who waited behind her, still on the ships deck. "Is this all of you?"

"Yes, nothing fancy I am afraid."

"We expected such a simple, yet elegant, party from your people." Another smile as he did a brief headcount, recorded the thirteen of them, and then, with another apologetic grimace, he began to read the laws of the city.

“Welcome to Akronia, capital of the realm. Residence of the King of the Arkronian nation and supreme overlord of the realm. Before entering the city I must first inform you of the most common laws. The carrying of weapons within the city walls that are longer than 16 inches is prohibited. Violating this law will result in disarmament and arrest by Arkronian police. All weapons that are prohibited must be left at the gate. These will be administered and stored upon leaving the city walls, these belongings can be repatriated by request in compliance with Akronian weapon laws as stated in the book of weapon laws, chapter 8, section 17, appendix A.”

The captain paused a bit before he continued. “The drawing and usage of weapons is considered a violation of the law until proven otherwise in front of an Arkronian court. Weapons should remain sheeted in public at all times. Being caught with unsheeted weapons by Arkronian police will result in disarmament and imprisonment. In accordance with the laws as written down in the book of weapon laws, chapter 12, section 4. The carrying of weapons within the walls of the royal palace is only allowed in the guest quarters assigned to the diplomatic mission.”

The guard continued to state a long list of laws. With ever increasing patience, and amusement, Dren listened at to laws that governed every aspect of day to day Arkronian law. If it existed, the Arkronians would have a law for it. Rhaetia itself was not so different, though there were even more laws for the freedom of all, and rule of the majority. At least they didn't insist on reading it to everyone who visited; though ignorance of the law was no excuse.

It took nearly 20 minutes of reciting laws, and stacking of weapons, before the Arkronians began to lead their Rhaetian guests into the city. Massive walls fronted the port and they had to pass through one of the massive gates, the smell of bubbling oil drifting down from above and faces stared down from murder holes. Rhaetians were common enough in Arkronia that their passage drew few glances from the general public.

Dren would have to have been made of stone not to notice how empty the streets were. They were largely deserted and only a few scattered folk came out to gawk at the purple clad guardsmen. The streets were still neat and orderly, almost as much as those in Rhungora. The few Arkronians stood well apart from each other without trying to make it to obvious.

"Things seem quiet, captain." Dren muttered quietly to the Arkronian who walked beside her. She had turned down the offer of a carriage for a chance to see everything for herself.

The male looked at her out of the corner of his eye as thought gauging how to answer the question. Then he shrugged slightly before glancing around the street.

"Rhaetia has long been a loyal friend to the Crown. You will the find truth soon enough. Our people are dying. Not all, mostly the young and old at the moment, but that is enough." He sounded deeply sad, and Dren could not blame him. Deep down she was concerned that the plague could easily spread to her people. They were of the same family blood after all.

The captain escorted his guests through marble streets and towards the centre of the city. The strict order and fortifications were a stark reminder of the sheer power wielded by Arkronia. They walked in silence now; each lost in thought of their own people, and what the plague might mean for them all. Dren found herself imagining the streets of Rhungora as empty as those around her, the great market barren of merchants, the forum devoid of life, the river free of boats.

Their winding path, almost unnoticed now by a populace cowering from an enemy they could not see, brought them to Arkronian Royal Palace. It was a massive walled complex that encompassed hundreds of smaller buildings and the main palace itself, a titanic white structure that dwarfed anything in Rhaetia. The white walls reflected the sun so that it was almost painful to look upon the structure and the wide moat, alive with ducks and turtles, that lay before the walls.

"It is an impressive sight." Dren said, breaking the silence at last.

"Yes, though I have heard Rhaetia has impressive sights of its own."

"Nothing quite like this. Perhaps you should come and visit Rhaetia some time, judge for yourself." The Arkronian delegation in Rhungora had its own small contingent of soldiers that was well liked by the locals.

"Maybe." The word was hollow. None of them could predict what would happen in Mycoria. Only fools could not see another war on the horizon. It was not a matter of if, but when.

Their path led them across the outer bridge and into the first ring of defences. The diplomatic villas were located here, it was not Drens first time spending a night in one. The Rhaetians usual villa was among the smallest, built among a cherry blossom trees and neatly kept. A small party of servants and a handful of guardsmen, permanently stationed in the capital, awaited the senator.

"This is you, Senator." The captain said with a nod. He made as if to turn away and then paused, glancing at her.

"I hope our people can look forward to many years of peace and prosperity between our nations. We may need allies more than we need vassals soon enough." He bowed. "Until then, senator."

"Goodbye, and thank you." The senator watched him go, his words echoing in her head. She hoped he was wrong, but in her heart of hearts, she knew.

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