Zatherop City, Capital of The Concilio Union, atop the thumb of the Titans Fingers Atop one of the great spires of rock that emerged from the dense jungle below sat a fortress. Like its 4 siblings, the regal bastion that had once been home to the proud elves now echoed with the scrambling pattering of tiny feet as goblins, kobolds, Rodant and myriad of other species, including a noticeably disproportionate number of Corvant, went about their day, all working to try and keep the young nation from being overwhelmed by threats both internal and external.
At the heart of the administrative complex was a large chamber that had once been a gladiatorial arena that had had its floor cleaned and stairs leading from the pit to the spectator stands. Around its 4 walls where stepped benches resembling a parliament upon which a sparse body of scribes, beancounters, advisors, priests, inquisitors, the occasional spectator and other onlookers looked down into the center of the room where the masters of the nation sat. or rather, where 5 of them sat. The center of the room was occupied by a battered antique round table surrounded by 13 seats, the official meeting place of the Council of 13.
At what she managed to make the head of the table though shear holy presence, despite it’s equalising shape, sat Gwendolin Sliverton, head of the Union’s Oratorium and one of the two people in the room more than 5 foot tall. A middle aged human woman who looked older than she truly was. The marks of the stress she was under in her appointed task of keeping the nation of runts together where clear to see, her chestnut hair was streaked with grey, her face marred with wrinkles and stress lines. Despite this, she made an imposing figure as the embodiment of the holy land’s power within the Union, dressed as she was in her gold and white painted enchanted plate armor.
Other than herself, the less than half of the other council members were actually present for the meeting. They were:
Rorshash Fi-Fold, the aging head of the local priesthood, or more accurately shaman-hood. The wrinkled goblin was dressed primarily in bones and teeth of a wyvern, fashioned into symbols of justinian. He was an example of how the Unin prospered, despite his age the old priest still full of fire and religious zeal that could still rapidly mobilize the capital's sprawling populace into zealous militias that would then storm off to enmass to wherever they where needed. Yet he also exemplified the Union's main flaw, in that despite being 15 years younger than Gwendolin herself, Fi-Fold was reaching the end of his days.
Trin Log-Set, the mayor of the city the council met in. He was a young goblin wearing leather pants and waistcoat decorated with a tigerskin as a cape and the last elven ruler of the nation’s crown. He had only recently gained his position as a result of the city’s annual elections that had been held 2 months ago in the largest square of the dilapidated elven city below. Trin had won mayorship because his supporters had chanted his name the loudest, as had been tradition since the conquest of the city 130 years ago. He was the youngest member of the council, full of new ideas and ambitious projects that, even if they did get agreed upon by the council, would probably never be finished during his short stay in power. The ever shifting whims of the populace would see to that.
D’ave, a red scaled Deth-thu wearing a loincloth primarily for everyone else's benefit, was the representative of the untold numbers of Deth-thu who were part of the Union, despite the fact that most of them lived in the oceans around it rather than within it’s borders. Like her, he had been sent to sit on the council by the actual leaders of his group. A collective of unknown organisation whom no surface dweller had met, the sub nautical rulership preferring to govern from their deep sea city and keep their identities obscured from the rest of the Union. Gwendolin often made use of the Deth-thu’s personal opinion on events in the Union’s north to balance out the generally self serving reports from the other council members in the region.
Finally there was Reston Fairheart, a extravagantly robed and stunningly handsome member of the old elven aristocracy who, 130 years ago during the fall of the elven yawanist’s grip on the region, had revealed to the revolutionary pre Union revolutionary mobs that he, along with all the residents of the titan’s pinky finger, had infact been Justinian worshipers all along. The fact that the other 4 fingers had been overwhelmed at this point had nothing to do with this sudden revelation of hidden loyalty. Gwendolin was pretty sure that his subsequent passing the Epiphany of the Perfect World was confirmation of his willingness to throw away old beliefs to save his own skin rather than proof of prior loyalty. The man was considered a useful and consistent feature of the union’s leadership by the Sacrosanctian expedition and so since his appointment 100 years ago, and so, along with herself and her 3 predecessors, he acted as a stabilizing element for the ever changing lineup of the council of 13.
Other than D’ave, who she was pretty sure was like her in resenting being sent here every two weeks, the other members of the council present were the ones who actually lived in the city they were in and we're primarily here in order to jostled with each other for authority over the local populace. The other seats where currently occupied by messengers and minions of the council members who, unlike her, had not had the time to make the journey to the capital for the fortnightly meeting.
As for the meeting itself, after the first hour it was finally moving on from local matters to the state of the Union at large, which meant they were going to be listening to the various messenger's reports. These rounds of reports where all the Union really had when it came to organising its various regions and deciding where the Aid of the capital should be sent. First to give a report was an apprentice of Neser Zagrad, who was head of the alchemist's guild and one of the 13. When addressed the young rat-woman, who looked like sho would be much more comfortable in a lab back in Barby instead of infront of 5 of the 13, stood up from where she had been restlessly sitting in her master’s seat for the last hour and, after perching a pair of spectacles atop her snout, retrieved a few pieces of parchment from a satchel and cleared her throat. Before she could begin however, she was interrupted by Mayor Trin, to whom one of the bureaucrats, a Deth-thu, from the crowd had darted forward to show a document.
[color=grey]“Did you get that thing we sent you?”
The Rodant looks perplexed at the Goblin’s very brief summary of what the Deth-thu had spoken with him about. She fumbles with her notes trying to work out what the thing is while Fairheart leaned across to read over the bureaucrats shoulder. Recognising the issue he then gave the Rodant a more descriptive version of question.
[color=grey]“Has the alchemist received the shipment of Theurgia infused crystals that was sent over a month ago? We were expecting absent council member Nast’s request for viper Bolt Throwers built using them to have passed through by now, weapons that were supposed to be sent north to secure the conquests made in the aftermath of the death of the red god Zul”
[color=grey]“Yes. Those. did you get them and make them yet?”[/color] the slightly irritated Trin added unhelpfully
[color=grey]“Well. you see. um.”[/color]
[color=grey]“Been up north, have seen those godless hoofbeast barbarians shrug off bullets, are too big for cannons to be kill more than one. Bolt throwers good middle ground. Less waste. Need those defences before they reorganize”[/color] D’ave, whom had toured the northern warzone recently, added
[color=grey]“Zagrad has used the supplies for his own projects, hasn’t he” Gwendolin muttered to herself, then gave an exasperated sigh and then cut the others off before they could renew their onslaught on the messenger “Enough of this. I will look into it when I return south. Just give your report” [/color]
Released from the pressure the apprentice alchemist began to hastily rattle off the report she had been designated to give to the council, consisting of a long list of casualties reports, requests for more minions, mages and machinery and glowing praise for the head alchemist's great victories over the invading Vex’lir Swarms.
Meanwhile, at the Alchemist guild headquarters, located in the fortress city BarbyNeser Zagrad, head of the alchemists guild and member of the council of 13, was in the middle of hs latest and greatest work. Within a vast chamber situated below the Guild his many apprentices and laborers were putting the final touches on a massive contraption. Mounted upon a ginormous cart, whose wheels were taller than a man, was a contraption of bronze inlaid with runes and glowing stones, forming an immense octuple barreled lightning cannon. Mounted behind this was a ginormous hamster wheel contraption intended move the weapon and atop that on a sturdy platform a miniature shrine to Justinian, used to focus the magic required to power the creation. The many crystal’s the guild had received earlier that month were used as either components to the canons or as an array of mana batteries for powering the weapon.
The Rodant mage paced back and forth muttering to himself on a raised catwalk, mounted precariously halfway up one of the wall opposite the great entrance to the hall, waiting as the final rites were performed.
[color=grey]“Soon, soon, yes, my greatest work shall be complete. Then. Then! We shall crush the nasty bugs and we shall be the Masters of the Underworld! As it was meant to be.”[/color]
[color=grey]“Until Justinian re-makes the world you mean…. I think your cronies are done sir” [/color]
The head of the alchemist's body guard, a female Gnoll named Rishnosk dressed in plate mail who towered over the others in the room despite standing at just below average human height, interrupted his inane tittering.
[color=grey]“Huh. yes yes of course. IS IT READY?”[/color]
There was a call of confirmation from one of the mage’s apprentices below, causing anyone with half a brain to begin to scamper off, trying to put as much distance and masonry between themselves and the machine as possible.
[color=grey]“Excellent! Begin charging the device!” [/color]
The various Rodant priests standing around the shrine began to chant, the self sacrificing tattoos laid into their tails beginning to glow as they changed Theurgia from the crystals into the weapon. Energy flowed from the shrine, into the runes, stones and metal, electricity arching along the copper barrels.
[color=grey]“Open the doors!”[/color]
More and more power flowed into the weapon, lightning arcing across its surface as the front of the chamber opened, revealing the savanna beyond. Beyond could be seen the domains of two of the Unions foes. To the east was the immense tower and palace of the Turquoise Domain, the barren blasted wasteland between it and the Justinian fort line even now was lit by the light of the spells hurled by the Sacrosanctian mages. Oh how the Alchemist evied their holy guests power. To the south was the chasm of unfathomable odds, the source of the subterranean horrors that flowed like an unending river towards the Fortress of Barby. The gateway itself faced directly east, a side entrance to the Union’s fortress from which it’s engines of war could emerge, or in this case, be tested out of.
[color=grey]“Do it. Throw the switch!.. For Justinian!”[/color]
Neser’s belated call to their god was haphazardly taken up by the others as prayer, either to the success of the experiment or simply that they would survive it.
The apprentice standing with the priests eagerly complied, pulling an almost comically sized breaker switch, which mechanically forced touched a rune inscribed lever to the top barrel, completing an inscription that would cause the discharge of the stored energy. The chamber was filled with light as the barrel discharged, sending a blast of lightning out across the plains beyond. Then the light ceased stopped and the barrel configuration rotated, bringing the next barrel to the firing lever, causing it to discharger. Then the next. This process of changing barral began to increase in speed, till the spinning mechanism was a rapidly rotating blur and the shots a constant stream of destructive energy that blasted and tore at the land beyond.
[color=grey]“Yesss, yes! It’s working Ah hahahaha”[/color]
And then Rishnosk noticed that part of the weapon had caught fire.
[color=grey]“Get down sir!”[/color]
She threw herself on the maniacally laughing rat just before the machine exploded.
[color=grey]“No! No no no no! gah!”[/color]
Rishnosk regained consciousness to find her master screaming his head off, the hall a smoking ruin of fire and rapidly cooling molten metal. Of the weapon the was nothing left but splitters, rapidly cooling metal and the bloody smears on the walls and ceiling where all that remained of its crew. Punctuating it all was the din of the bells, warning that the outer defences of the Union’s defencive parameter near the edge of the Chasm had been breached and that a considerable threat was now heading straight for them. Something in the Vex’lir swarm must have spotted the disaster, for a detachment of skittering Swarm Spawn and flying marauders were streaming towards the site of the calamity. They were ignoring the barrage of cannon and gunfire raining down from the battlements of the fortress as they dashed forwards to secure the opening Neser had made for them.
Simultaneously, unseen to those inside inside the halls, a slower moving contingent of earthbreakers and warriors emerged on mass from a second defensive breach, heading directly towards the chasm facing wall of the fortress. This considerably more durable and stronger force was sent as a distraction that was not expected to reach the walls, let alone break through them. It did however cause many of the artillery crews to fire upon this more obvious threat instead of the fast attach contingent, unaware of the disaster that would result from the Riglirs managing to take and hold the broken gates on the east side.
Rishnosk picked herself off of Neser and then helped him stand. The ratman dusted himself off and said dismissively.
[color=grey]“Ah well, we got some valuable data out of that. Back to the drawing board!”[/color]
The rat began to turn to walk back to his lab, found deeper in the fortress.
[color=grey]“Sir. the bells?”[/color]
[color=grey]“What. oh. Right!. CLOSE THE GATES!.... Oh, the gates are destroyed... Crap! Rishnosk, we need to hold that entrance! Rally the troops! I will repair the hinges and remount the door!”[/color]
The bodyguard sighed at how long it had taken him to act and then, while the pair rushed down the stairway leading to the floor of the hall, unsheathed her serrated sword and clanged it against the catwalk’s banister to get the survivors attention.
[color=grey]“Servants of Justinian! Get your asses out of that rubble on the double! Form lines and hold the entrance at all costs. For The Union! For Justinian! For the end of this world and the beginning of the next! Stand and fight, do not let them take the gate!”[/color]
The impromptu militia pulled itself from the rubble and, armed with knives, clubs, worktools and the occasional matchlock pistol, they began to form a barricade before their master, who now stood atop his still burning failure, channeling energy. Onward the horde of chittering swarm came, their losses horrendous as lead, lighting and iron rained down upon them, yet despite their casualties the unbreakable Riglir reached the entrance. Their enemies having cleared the region that could be safely bombarded the Union forces sent out their own air forces to engage the marauders. Various goblins, kobolds and others of the smallest races armed with spears, pistols and firebombs launched themselves down from the fort’s battlements mounted atop huge Killer bees.
In the savanna beyond trumpets sounded as Gatherfolin Plumstruth’s Thundering Herd, massive elephants upon whose backs batteries of lighting cannons had been mounted, and a pack of hyena riding warriors, lead by a Gnoll matriarch and her husbands mounted atop lions, swept around from the rear of the fortress to pin the swarm’s second wave of attackers against the fort’s walls. Inside the footsoldiers of the Union, varying from leather clothed fighters as poorly armed as those already inside to a few plate coated veterans, were arriving in the far end of the hall, rushing to aid the militia at the fallen gates.
As the swift moving monsters of Vex’xalar crashed into the Justinian mob’s hastily erected barricade and the battle for air superiority commenced, the alchemist himself raised his arms to the sky, drawing from the power still stored in the remaining pieces of the machine and from the the Theurgia granted from the (accidental) sacrifice of the Justinian's who had just had died in the explosion. In doing so, the gates began to rise painfully slowly back to their original position. It would be a long, hard, bloody fight.
[color=grey]“Once again, I can assure you that Neser Zagrad, head of the alchemist guild and trusted member of this council, is in no way engaging in unsanctioned experimental weapon development and that the Fortress of Barby is 100% safe in his hands”[/color]
Concluded the apprentice. Before her colleagues could drag this part of the meeting out any further, Gwendolin told her to [color=grey]“Good. Expect my presence at the fort next week to verify those facts.”[/color]
This drew mutterings from the stands:
[color=grey]“A Sacrosanctian at Barby. There's a first” “Maybe they’ll take the Vex’lir threat seriously after this” “ha. Doubt it. Humans don’t understand that the world has depth.” “Only time they go underground is after they die” “well they do have miners...” “oh shut it Penfold” [/color]
“Silence!” roared Gwendolin, slamming her armored fist down onto the table and bringing the talk in the stands to a strict conclusion. There was a brief pause as the room awaited to see if there were to be reprisals for their misbehavior, but Gwendolin pushed on with concluding the matter instead, giving orders to her colleagues to deal with the problem as best they could.
[color=grey]“Now then. Log-Set, see if you can rally up some more volunteers for the south, D’ave, speak with our merchants in Roc port to see if the west has sent any more materials that can be spared in the south. Also try and convince Kensu to actually show up to the next meeting. Log-Set, Fairheart see if the local mages and craftsmen can make something to take the place of the bolt thrower shipment.”[/color]
After a hasty chorus of affirmations from the other council members she moved the meeting along, the Rodant apprentice gladly taking her seat once more to make minutes of the meeting for her master. The rest of the reports where as to be expected, vague if optimistic reports from the northern front, reports of a disastrous attempt to kill one of the local dragons which Woston the dragon hunter had once again survived, complaints from the southern tribes about the amount of sacrifices the Sacrosanctian expedition required for their seemingly eternal bombardment of the Turquoise Domain, various minor internal squabbles and disputes that the involved parties believed the 13 needed to intervene in, requests for aid with dealing with red god and yawanist bandits and a hundred other issues that the council really didn't have enough control to deal with.
She was glad when it was over and she could step out of the packed room onto one of the nearby balconies for some air. It was but a brief respite however, as once her flock of waist high guards and inquisitors had come down from the stands to join their leader they all set off together to begin the journey back south. There she would briefly pass by Stage to report to her superiors in the Sacrosanctian expedition and get some well needed human contact before she went to Barby to remind the Alchemist that he had to share his toys with the other children.
Fetzen,
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Lord Zee,
Neziul,
Ariamis,
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Shadowheart
