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From Dawn Till Dusk: A New Era

Day ???, Week ???, Cycle ???
Springtime, Deep Harbour

"Let the challenger stand forth!" The acclamation was greeted by the thunder of a hundred log drums as Merdhrai wielded wooden clubs with a steady and rhythmic beat. Seashell horns made from the corpses of massive sea snails droned out a haunting huuuuuun that echoed over the barbaric scene unfolding in the small clearing.

Deep amid towering trees and surrounded on all sides by a mighty river delta, the Challengers Circle waited the coming battle. A space some forty space lengths wide had been cleared in the deepest part of the delta. In its centre a deep hole had been dug and four trenches dug to channel water into it. A circle of black stone had been set four spear lengths from either side of the hole, leaving the rest of the space to be filled by the hundreds of Merdhrai who swayed and chanted with the beat of the drummers. To the humans who hunted the delta, the strange and menacing music was warning enough not to stray far into the watery expanse.

No torches existed here, not in this place of the Merdhrai, only the bright moon above served to light the space and the still waters of the centre pool appeared inky black beneath a surface turned to burnished silver. This was a battle of the strongest and most cunning of their kind, a struggle to be named Skipper of the Merdhrai, the highest position among their kind.

"Riverjack!" The roar came from hundreds of throats as a tall brawny male, nearly four and half feet tall, stepped from the crowd and into the black stones. His brown fur rippled as he flexed impressive muscles and expertly spun a long wooden spear shaft between his paws. The current Skipper of the Merdhrai was an impressive figure though greying fur around his muzzle showed he past his prime.

"Streambattle!" This cry heralded the arrival of a smaller female who bounded into the circle on all fours, her long tail slapping the ground with excitement. Fur nearly as black as night was pierced by a pair of savage looking eyes and white teeth flashed in the darkness.

There was no further need of an announcer, all present knew what must come next. The two would fight and the first to be killed, knocked unconscious, or thrown from the black stones, would be the loser.

Riverjack eyed his opponent carefully through half lidded eyes even as she circled toward him. The attack, when it came, was blindingly fast as she rushed him down low. Despite their ability to walk on two legs, the Merdhrai were most dangerous when they resorted to their most primal fighting methods. Dangerous, unless their opponent was more experienced.

The heavy stick flashed in the moonlight, its bone white colour easy to track, and the crowd roared their appreciation as it slammed into Streambattles shoulder to send the smaller Merdhrai sliding across the ground toward the silvery pool.

In an instant the bigger fighter dropped his stick and lunged, using his weight to tackle his smaller opponent into the pool. Water exploded into the air like a thousand small moonstones as the two shapes blew the clam surface apart.

Down into the blackness they went as Streambattle fought to regain her breath from the blow. Riverjack, wise in the ways of war, clamped his teeth over the back of her neck and bit down hard enough to pierce the thick fur. Streambattle opened her mouth to cry out and inhaled water at once.

The Merdhrai were meant for the water, they gloried in it, but even they couldn't live by breathing in water. In an instant the fight was forgotten as Streambattle struggled frantically to try and escape toward the surface and the moon directly above, a silver orb that seemed to grow smaller as Riverjack drove her deeper.

When she regained consciousness she was lying on the edge of the Challengers Circle, just beyond the black stones. The night was quiet, the crowds gone, the drums silent. Only her mother, Riverjacks first wife, remained crouched on her hind legs, watching her daughter intently for a moment before speaking.

"Well, did you prove your point?"

Streambattle rubbed the back of her neck, the terror of her near drowning fresh with the pain that still throbbed there. She nodded slowly.

"Aye, he's a tough old bastard."

"Next time, Streambattle, he will kill you."

She did not doubt that at all.

The Unknown Lands: A Viking Saga

@Fiscbryne, no worries, thanks for the heads up!

From Dawn Till Dusk: A New Era

MERDHRAI

Otter Folk

RACE TRAITS:

• Athletic (-1)
  Members of this species, through evolution or adaptation, have developed a robust cardiovascular system that allows them to keep doing physically demanding tasks for much longer than others, and deal with the generated heat more efficiently.
• Small (0)
  Members of this species are much smaller than other species, most likely due to some form of natural predator in their early history. A few feet tall, they possess a small stature that is easy to hide. While fast on their feet and quite nimble, they are usually not as strong due to their smaller size, and will take less punishment.
• Special Diet (+1)
  Members of this species gain most of their nutrition from a single food source close to their home region. Their bodies have evolved to efficiently break it down to the point where they are unable to digest food that is too different from it. This can be a specific type of plant or certain animal that only dwells near their living area.
• Resilient (-1)
  Members of this species are unnaturally hardy, able to resist otherwise deadly infections and eat a range of poisonous plants. Even open wounds will pose little risk to their life, and most of their organs are robust enough to sustain themselves for a while with damage that would be life threatening for others.

FLAVOUR TRAITS:

• Playful (0 TP) They are a playful and ridiculous bunch. Where humans brawl and murder each other, the Merdhrai are rambunctious and fun loving. Like their smaller, and distant cousins, the Otter, they are always up for an impromptu race or wrestling match.
• Quick Wit (0 TP) Enjoys poems, riddles, and rhyming. Many tales tell of Merdhrai who will gift you a valuable pearl if you can defeat them at their favourite past time.
• Amphibian (0 TP) Though it should go without saying, the Merdhrai are excellent swimmers and thrive in water. They are capable of high speeds, can fight as well under the water as they do above it, and can hold their breath for up to ten minutes.
• Fur and Fury (0 TP) Their small size belies the fearsome energy and battle prowess of the race. Sharp teeth and savage claws make even an "unarmed" Merdhrai a dangerous opponent to face.

RACE PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
Merdhrai stand at about four feet tall and weigh thirty to forty pounds. They have short legs and arms, about nine inches each. All have claws, sharp teeth, webbed feet and hands, and opposable thumbs. Their body is covered in a layer of waterproof fur that ranges in colour from white to black, though the most common colours are slate grey or brown. Whiskered faces give them a kindly look and the older males grow bushy beards that are nearly always white or silver in colour. Males are, generally speaking, larger than females but exceptions are common enough to no longer be a conversation piece. Muscles ripple everywhere and only a fool follows an Merdhrai into the water.

POPULATION:
4,500 - 6,500

RACE BEHAVIOUR:

The masters of all things water, the Merdhrai believe themselves to be better than other water going creatures, for they are among the few sentient ones. Merdhrai are very arrogant and rude to strangers, but once you gain their trust they become very kind and honourable. Merdhari children are very social playful but adults are can be distrustful to those outside of their own species. The Merdhrai were created when a god gave human intelligence to a normal otter. The otter escaped into the wild and bred with a normal otter, passing its intelligence on to its offspring. Eventually their bodies evolved to suit their intelligence, and they evolved opposable thumbs and bipedal movement. Merdhrai live in large tribes, usually of several males, their mates, and their children. Raising pups, feeding the clan, and defending it, fall equally among all members.

From Dawn Till Dusk: A New Era

Is there an operational discord link somewhere?

From Dawn Till Dusk: A New Era

@6slyboy6got any room for another!?

The Unknown Lands: A Viking Saga

@Fiscbryne we’ll be making another stop in the Orkney Islands, then pushing on to Iceland. You’re more than welcome to get us to the Orkneys and we can hang out there for a few posts? We’re pretty flexible on how this works out.

Precipice Of War: The Reboot of a Reboot

---

THE REPUBLIC OF ARGENTINA

---

Tales from the Front: Part I

Lieutenant Fernando Niembro lay on a salvaged mattress, cushioned on all sides by sandbags that were stacked three feet beneath the largely intact roof of an old stone barn. The building itself was nothing special but the view it commanded of the Chilean town of Osorno was nothing short of spectacular. The spires of Cathedral San Mateo soared above the town, magnificent in their beauty. The vaulted ceiling that has once housed Gods faithful was little more than a shall now, largely blown into oblivion thanks to Neimbros own efforts.

Several slats in the barn roof had been propped up on sticks to allow a view of the valley without leaving an obvious hole to be spotted by the enemy. Through this slim gap he could sweep the town with binoculars, watching for movement and hoping to find none. The roll of a forward observation officer - a FOO - was largely one of sitting and waiting. It had also proved to be the single most important role thus far in the campaign since low lying cloud cover had rendered Argentine air power impotent.

He suppressed the feeling that he'd been conned into into his current situation by the bomb-happy Major who had come by earlier lamenting the lack of boom boom. The conversation was still wheeling about in his head when he saw movement, a quick blur of grey steel between buildings. A tank? He focused his gaze and waited, breathing slowly, the same way a sniper might before taking a shot.

Yes! There it was again! An armoured car? Two! And a tank! His pulse had begun to race and he stifled the urge to giggle - it was an unnatural feeling - and instead glanced down at the map lying in front of him, establishing as quickly as possible the map reference of the tank, which was relatively easy, it being on the side of the hill in direct line with the road that bends right just before reaching it. He called over the wall to Menem, now jammed in a very small trench with the remote control he'd managed to drag over here, "Able Troop targetmap reference 985638 - right ranging - fire!"

All he wanted was to see was one round. If it landed anywhere close to that damned tank, he'd go into "fire for effect" - maybe five rounds gunfire - enough to satisfY command that he'd shelled the stupid thing. He didn't have to wait more than a minute or so, it seemed interminable out there on the road. Estimating the range from gun to target at about 4,200 yards, he figured the shell would take about eight seconds to come up from the gun when it did fire. And when at last he heard Menem calling out the message he's received from the guns, it sounded like: "Shot - four thousand." Meaning, of course, the range at which the shot was fired.

He started counting to himself, "Hippopotamus one, hippopotamus two, hippopotamus three ... " Before he reached seven, there was a sizzling overhead, and before he could get he glasses up, wham, there it was, an orange flash in the middle of a violent puff of rolling smoke very close to the tank. He slapped his hand down in excitement and shouted to Menem, "Five rounds gunfire - fire!"

He heard the guns begin to thump; watching the shells land was something else, and the only way watch them was to quickly swing down to ground level and stand on the road. He went down on one knee and got the tank in his glasses just in time to see the shells bursting all around it. No correction was needed - in fact he could almost imagine a couple of rounds hit it. Not that that would make any difference to the men inside if the hits were direct or not - they would be getting bounced around badly enough to injure or kill them all. Satisfied, he darted back back into the barn and joined Menem in his cramped trench.

When, after a minute, the firing stopped, he immediately give the order "Repeat!" as though the target really meant something. A head poked up from a hole nearby and asked, "Are those ours?" When Neimbros assure the infantryman that they were, the man yelled, "Give 'em hell, lieutenant!" This seemed to arouse other soldiers, and by the time the second bombardment is completed, a cheer sounds along the ridge. With a start, Neimbros realized that these were the first Argentine shells these guys had ever heard being fired, maybe ever. They were only recently arrived on the line and it had been a quiet couple of days.

As the last rumbling explosion reverberated around the valley, he leapt up from the bottom of the trench and scurried back up the ladder into his "nest". It took him a moment to find the tank again as dust and debris continued to obscure the area for a long moment. Ah, there it was! It had been blown completely onto its side, both tracks had been torn to pieces, and he was certain he could make out the shape of an armoured car crumpled in the dust beyond it. He was so pleased with himself that he almost missed in the shout from outside.

"Incoming!"

He didn't even paused as he turned and dove off his perch toward the ground. He hit the ground with a thud, rolling heavily on his shoulder, wasting not a second more as he hurled himself into the trench. Menem broke his fall with nothing more than a grunt as the first Chilean shells plowed into the hillside. They fell wide of the barn and he gritted hit teeth. He had been trying to locate this particular battery for the last three weeks. It was now or never.

"I've got to spot them!" He shouted over the thundering explosions outside. Not waiting for a reply, he slithered out of the trench to the base of the ladder that suddenly looked extremely tall. He took several quick breaths and then scrambled up the wooden rungs as quickly as he could and burrowed into his hideout. He smashed the roof shingles clear now, sending them cascading into the yard below, and frantically scanned the landscape for the enemy guns. Nothing but silence. He swore. If they didn't fire again he would have no idea where to look.

Thud! Thud! Thud-Thud-Thud!

There they were! Four of them! Firing from a hundred yards to the rear of an old elementary school, carefully camouflaged as just another collection of cheap shanties.

"Incoming!" He roared the words out, made a rough guess on his map where the guns were firing from, and then hurtled toward his ladder once again. The first shell hit forty yards away and the concussion rocked the barn. The floor beneath him buckled and in an instant he was free falling. He hit the ground hard and felt the wind driven out of him even as dust filled his mouth and nose. He couldn't breath, he couldn't cough. He groped in the darkness toward the trench and, to his everlasting relief, he felt Menem grab his wrist and heave him to the relative safety of the communications pit.

"All batteries..." He was gasping what little air he could get now, yelling in Menems ear. "All batteries - targetmap refernce 985651 - five rounds - repeat - fire!"

He could heard Menem screaming the words into the radio as the ground around them continued to shake and rattle. He wrapped his arms around his head and tucked them between his knees and waited for the Chilean rounds to cease. When they did, as it always happened, a strange silence descended over the scene. His ears were ringing but he couldn't hear any screams and the barn was still standing. He staggered into the open air again and sucked in grateful lungfuls as he observed the hillside. The Chilean shells had fallen sporadically across the area, a sign of inexperience, and for that he was thankful.

He jumped at the sound of a distant explosion and turned swiftly to see dust and smoke rising from the area around the back of the elementary school. His ears were still ringing so badly he hadn't heard his own shells go over. The crescendo continued and it occurred to him that he had ordered - repeat - meaning the guns would continue firing until they were ordered to stop. For a long moment he stood and watched the savage violence that tossed pieces of building and vegetation high into the sky.

"Cease fire!" He shouted back toward Menem who was still faithfully sitting by his radio. The call took a moment to make and another twenty shells or so thundered overhead to add their explosions to the din. He quickly took up his glasses and scanned the location. There wasn't much to see at this range but he could make out at least one gun barrel pointed skyward. He waited one minute, then two. Nothing. The battery had been silenced.

"Well done Menem!" He grinned as he hurried over to the trench. The Sergeant offered a dust covered smile and nodded, radio still held to the side of his head.

"Eh, no problem boss, that's what I am here for. Though, I wouldn't mind moving our spot. I suspect the enemy might demolish this barn the next chance they get."

"Yea, good idea. Get the half-track up here and let's find a new home."

The Unknown Lands: A Viking Saga

Kjartan Knudsen

---

The touch still lingered as Kjartan made his way into Lynn. To call the impromptu community of wood and canvas shacks a town was being generous. In truth it was a collection of wooden shacks built around a Roman ruin that had once served as a storehouse for the salt of an empire none of the Danes who now sheltered amid its grandeur could ever understand. To the Kjartan, the Romans might have been gods. He had once seen the great stone arches that had carried water to Lunden and stood beneath stone that seemed hung in the air, higher and stronger than anything built since. Even the Christian Churches, built of brick and stone, were dwarfed by the ruins of a ghostly empire.

Familiar faces leapt out at Kjartan as he made his way through the shelters; warriors he had fought alongside, merchants who had done business with, and one or two women whose favours he had enjoyed. The muddy paths that crisscrossed the space sucked at his tall boots and more than once he had to step over human shit. Disease would come soon if this continued. Keep to many folk in a space to small for them for too long and people would begin dying.

Canvas roofs twitched in a strong wind that blew in from the ocean and he could see, in the distance, the white beaches where he knew small troupes of Saxon slaves worked a half salt pans to the white crystals as they dried in the sun. The Romans had built hundreds of such pits, enough to need the building in which he now stood, but most had been eroded with time; there were simply not enough people to work them. Not on the scale the Romans had managed.

It was strange to think that he would be sailing away from England. For so many years he had fought to reach the rolling green fields until he had made it, at last, and then he had fought to take his own small portion of it. Now it was all for nothing, of all it, for nothing. Danish fortunes were waning in England, any fool could see it. Even in Northumbria there were rumours of uprisings and more attacks from the Scots. The English were on the march in Wessex; they had at last solved the Danish problem. No Jarl wanted to throw away their men against fortress walls and all of southern England was covered with fortified Burghs now; more were being built every year. Those Danes who remained were converting to Christianity - the nailed God was winning the war.

He looked down at his hands. They were still strong, the hands of a warrior, but a thousand small cuts had turned them into a mess of white scars that cross-crossed everywhere. The tip of his left thumb was missing, lost during a skirmish with the armies of Wessex. He had a limp on cold days - he had been thrown from a horse - that hurt when the worst of weather was closing in. He was not a young man anymore.

The distant wave tops were starting to show white flecks as a grey wall of rain advanced southward toward Lynn. More rain. He was sick of the rain. Was there anywhere in the world that it did not rain? A glance over his shoulder revealed the small forest of masts above the few ships that had arrived so far. Tomorrow they would begin travelling North. A stop in Northumbria, perhaps the Norse settlements in the very north of Pictland, and then West.

West. To the unknown lands.

* * * * *

The storm blew itself out overnight. Only two shelters collapsed and one burned with its occupants inside. More ships had arrived as well, swelling the population to the point where to many folk were crammed into too small a space. Fights broke out as men angry and humiliated by Thetford looked for any excuse to vent their rage. The dead of Thetford, those of the fyrd - unburdened by armour - had begun to float downriver now and some became wedged beneath the hulls of the longships drawn up on the soft sand.

Kjartan shoved one of those bodies clear with a spear as others stood to the gunwales and grunted as they thrust the longship into the running current with their oars. The river snatched at the hull, trying to twist it and drive them backward downstream. He could hear the whisper of sand as it caressed the hull - a glance overboard revealed only a muddy swirling mass that streamed out beyond the longship as it drew into deeper water.

He looked over the crew and was happy to see some new members, mostly women, had joined them during the night. It was evident that they had their own demons, it appeared that no one among this crew could not, but all looked capable fighters. Åse had chosen them well. The lady herself was standing nearby, her own face turned into the breeze, toward the ocean. She must have felt his gaze, turning her head to catch his eye. She smiled and he felt his heart warm.

"North, steersman, north and then west."

The Unknown Lands: A Viking Saga

I’ll be posting tomorrow if no one plans on posting before then!

Tales of World Conflict

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