Drunken Conquistador

Tear the World Down

Silverwick

The dwarf brushed off Salvio’s request, and the priest was wrong-footed for a moment, but as he glanced around the camp, he saw that many of the group were settling down to rest and his own weariness suddenly flooded into his limbs. It had been a long journey, and he had taken little time to rest, the angel spurring him ever onwards towards Silverwick. The armour he wore suddenly feeling like lead, Salvio took a seat close to the fire, leaning back against a pile of crumbled masonry.

His peace was not long lived, as he heard footsteps approaching the fire. One hand instinctively flying to grip the well-worn handle of one of his hammers, his other hand wrapped around the amulet around his neck. He felt the spirit rush through him, and at once the voice spoke, almost as if it had been waiting too do so.

“Another lost soul, Salvio. You must gain their trust.”

Grimacing against the complaints from his weary joints, Salvio rose to his feet, releasing his grip on both the hammer and the amulet as a figure stepped into the light of the crackling fire. Tall and dark haired, the man had the look of a mercenary, and Salvio couldn’t help but admire the powerful warhorse that he led over the cracked stone remains of Silverwicks once broad and imposing streets. He raised a hand to catch the other man’s attention, calling out over the fire.

“Greetings traveller, how goes your journey?”

“As far as can be expected when one comes to these parts.” Gabriel replied, accessing the other man. “Agatho D’amere, at your service.” He gave a short bow. “And you are?”

Salvio nodded his head in greeting.

“Well, met friend. Salvio Vitelli.”

He gestured towards the handful of other figures gathered around the fire, shrugging apologetically.

“I’m afraid I can’t introduce the others, for I have only just arrived myself. But can I assume that we are both here for the same reason?”

“You mean the greatest terrors of the ancient world drawing us all here?” Gabriel chuckled. “Either that or you sir have some odd ideas about places to visit.”

Salvio managed to hide the stab he felt in his heart at the mention of the evil in which he had surrounded himself as he gestured for Agatho to come closer to the fire and sank back to his own seat by the fire.

“The former I assure you. That's a fine beast you have, how do you earn your coin, sir?”

Gabriel settled by the fire, his horse calmly trotting off somewhere else.
“As of now I’m not earning any coin. But I used to fight in the Free Cities. No shortage of demand for those willing to shed blood. And you, sir?”

“I thought you had the look of a soldier. I have no doubt you have many great tales of your time there! I am afraid I am nothing as grand, although I too have shed my share of blood. I take only what coin the gods provide.”

Gabriel laughed. Act or not, the idea of a Legionnaire taking in with a priest was a funny one. But then again, besides the armor, the old man’s clothing kinda looked like what Gabriel had seen among the clergy of some Free Cities. Not that it mattered much anymore. At least not for the moment,

“Which Legionnaire decided to bring a Priest into our wicked little band?”

Salvio hesitated for a brief moment, hand going to grip the amulet around his neck. The voice within all but spoke through him, as he echoed the words.

“Ravan the Unsacred. Still chasing your paradise, Agabyzus?”

“Of course!” Gabriel laughed, voice growing strangely smoother and accented. “Old habits die hard for both of us, it seems.”

Gabriel turned to look upwards, growing distant for a moment. Before finally speaking, voice back to normal.

“How did a man of the cloth end up tangled in this anyways?” He asked, amusement clear in his expression.

“The same way we all did, I fear. We started hearing voices in our head, and thought it was a good idea to listen.”

Tear the World Down

@Drunken Conquistador@MegaOscarPwn
We ever doing that thing?

@Isotope

Since MOP had to quit i figure we could just write about reaching Silverwick

With Machine Gun and Sword: The Age of Warlords

The Count I

Oziyltomor Simerk knelt silently before the altar, appreciating the heavy incense of smoke hanging in the air as he took the moment to empty his mind. He was not a Count, nor an officer of the Heavenly Imperial Army. At least not now. Now he was but a pious man observing his duties to his ancestors, as any other Minga worth his braid.

With easy movements he took the bowl of fermented horse milk and placed it upon the gilded altar, taking care not to spill the liquid upon the blue silk covering its top. Mouthing silent prayers as he placed a second bowl, this time filled with dried grain, besides the milk. His father's photograph watched imperiously from the center of the headboard, surrounded by photos and engravings of his mother and siblings. This was his own personal altar, confined to his own quarters and solely for his own use. But even then, the former Lady Simerk had raged when she learned that a concubine was being honored besides her husband in her own (former) bedroom. But there was nothing she could do. If the Count wanted to honor his parents then there was nothing to stop him from doing so. And if said mother happened to be a concubine instead of his own lawful wife, then maybe it was the Lady's own fault for not being cunning enough to get her own children to inherit the title despite all the advantages she got over the competition.

Sure, Oziyltomor's ascension wasn't entirely her fault. After all, it was only one of her sons that fell prey to foreign degeneracy. But the Count had enjoyed taunting his father's wife whenever she got too uppity for his tastes. Just a little payback for all that she had made him suffer through during his childhood. He was actually kinda disappointed she had chosen to return to her brother's estates in the west. Her growing despair had been so very pleasant to watch. But it was for the best, one less opponent to challenge his authority within his own lands. He had enough enemies outside of it as it were. Populist scum giving the masses ideas about rising against the rightful order of affairs while bending over to greedy foreigners, ossified old pricks claiming to have the Empire's best interest of the Empire in mind even as they led it to ruin and a sect of murderers hellbent on destroying the very identity of the nation to honor a cankerous, degenerate ideology from beyond the seas.

He shook the thoughts away. This was not the time for that. Oziyltomor returned to paying his respects, following protocol to the letter as he made his prayers and offered tribute to the altar. All said, that exercise took the better part of the morning and by the time the Count was done with his spiritual duties it was already time to meet his subordinates.

Sparing one last glance towards his mother's photograph, the Count strode off the small tent, putting on his coat and cap as he did so. The guards deployed outside saluted as the Count passed through them, heading for the command tent. The officers inside saluted in unison when Ozilytomor entered, taking his place along the central table holding the map.

"We've received more reports of Nationalist advances, Your Excellency." Colonel Tartu Zamir started. "Another couple of forts was overrun during the night. The Northern Army continues to prove itself unable to stand up to the rebels."

"As expected." The Count grumbled. "How far along has our vanguard advanced?"

"The advanced elements of the Windrider and Stormrider divisions have gotten a few miles from the river but the rebel forces were too strong to risk a confrontation." Zamir replied, pointing to the map. "The bulk of their strength is still out of position to risk a full engagement."

"Their orders remain the same." The Count spoke, toying with one of the army markers. "Attacking now would only give them the chance to fight our forces piecemeal. Make sure to remind them of that." He placed the marker back in position. "What about our aircraft? Are they in position?"

"We've had some hold ups with transport, Your Excellency." Another officer spoke up hesitantly, averting the Count's eyes. "But it has been dealt with. We should be launching the first flights in a few days...and the local airfields should be getting the new anti-aircraft artillery by the end of the week." She added, unprompted.

The Count snorted at that. Of course they would be getting it. The bastard of a Countess ruling this fief had been specially obstructive when it came to allowing the White Bird Host basing and marching rights. Even as the rebel forces approached from the north almost without opposition, Count Simerk had been forced to bribe that beady-eyed beast in bullion and materiel. The worst part was that he couldn't do anything about it. The Empire needed all its forces focused on the greater threat. But if she dared to withhold her own troops and let better men bleed in her own lands, there would be hell to pay.

"Have the Countess' troops started moving?" He asked, already dreading the answer.

"She claims that since her best troops marched with the Northern Army, Your Excellency. She has been stretched thin to protect her fief and that her new recruits aren't ready yet. Likewise, she continues to request more supplies" Zamir replied, frustrated tone making clear his opinion on the matter, passing his Lord a bundle of communiques. "That said, her conscripts have joined Windrider and Stormrider in the planned secondary and tertiary lines and have started entrenching work."

Of course, expecting something different had been too much to hope for. Still, the Count could accept that these excuses weren't entirely unfounded. And keeping green troops out of the way of the rebel hammer, while preparing their fallback positions would allow better trained units to focus on weathering the rebel storm and blunting their attack. Still, the Countess was holding out on them. Oziyltomor was sure of it. Woe to her, if so. These were her lands, and if the rebels forced them out of Deisal entirely, then the Count would make sure that blame would fall on the right shoulders.

"Any reports from the County that needs my immediate attention?" Oziyltomor asked as he pocketed the communiques.

"Nose so far, Your Excellency. Everything going as planned."

"And what about the 19th?" Oziyltomor prompted.

"No trouble either, Your Excellency. It seems the presence of soldiers, even the green recruits of the 19th, has been enough to dissuade our local allies from harassing our supply lines." Zamir declared proudly.

The Count nodded, running a mental checklist on other pressing issues that had yet to be discussed. That would be their last chance at doing so before moving closer to the frontlines and taking up the challenge of stopping the rebel advance and salvaging what was left of the Northern Army.

Tear the World Down

Noice, PMs or just some kind of collab maker?

@MegaOscarPwn

PMs, Google docs, discord. Whatever you prefer.

Of course, we will need Isotope too. Unless you wanna Skip ahead and have our guys interact already in the city

Tear the World Down

Is someone against Rägnar reaching Silverwick and seeing Gabriel and Meera in there? Or do ya two wanna collab with lil' old me?@Drunken Conquistador @Isotope

@MegaOscarPwn

I would be Fine with a collab, tomorrow I have most of the day free

Tear the World Down

Near Silverwick

Gabriel dreamt of floating away on a stream. Of cool, soothing water enveloping his sore body and nothing else. Forgotten were the stink of sweat and the painful soreness of his body as Gabriel simply drifted away into the nothingness. A sharp tug, as if someone was pulling him down by his hair, was all the warning he got before Agabyzus unceremoniously brought him back to the waking world.

There wasn’t even enough time to groan at the still present soreness in his body before the Prince’s voice warned. ”Stay sharp, she is one of us.. Gabriel immediately saw the woman in question through half lidded eyes and suppressed a sigh. He quickly stood up, ignoring his aching legs as he waved for Megathocles to settle down. She probably was no threat, yet at least.

“Good morning.” He called out in his accented Vahkranite. “I do hope you can understand me, my lady. Otherwise this all is gonna be rather awkward.”

Meera nodded and pulled aside the loose scarf covering her face with one hand even as the other remained ready on the dagger under her cloak, “I can, though it appears it is a mother tongue to neither of us. I am informed that our destination may be the same traveller, you head for Silverwick?”

“Indeed.” He smiled at her, hand resting at his pommel. “And I presume your source has already enlightened you of our shared purpose?”

Meera paused for a moment, regarding the man carefully, before she relaxed and dismounted her horse, “As you say. Forgive my caution, but the nature of our common undertaking demands no less.”

“So it seems.” He agreed. “But I find that going straight to the point sometimes works better than subterfuge. At least in this case.” He regarded Meera for a second before continuing. “But where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself: Agatho D’amero. At your disposal.” He declared with a short, flowery bow.

Meera affected a cordial smile and returned ‘Agatho’s’ bow, albeit more conservatively. At least, she considered, the chosen of the worlds greatest evil had manners. Without more than a passing thought she introduced herself falsely, “Kasi Iyer. A pleasure to meet you, Agatho. It seems we’ve stumbled across each other prematurely, but perhaps this was for the best. I do find myself wondering if all of our fellows will be so… Pleasant.”

”Do not get your hopes up. For all we know she can prove to be a liability to our Dream.”. Gabriel regarded her for another moment as he measured his next words. “Let’s hope so, then. Things would be so much easier that way. Though from what my benefactor told me, his fellow Legionnaires might not have had the chance to be picky, considering our shared circumstances.”

”Enough with the pleasantries, this man may be our ally but until we know which of my fellows acts as his patron he is still a danger. Doubtless they’d say the same of me, but many of the other Legionnaires were dangerously unstable, and worse yet, without the moderating effect you have Meera,” Akar warned.

Aquizencing to the demand Meera queried, “True enough, but we may yet hope. In the spirit of ‘going straight to the point’ as you say, may I ask your benefactors name?”

“That is a fair question.” Gabriel nodded. “I work with Agabyzus, the Brass Prince. And you?”

Meera answered, “The Legionnaire Akat.”

”Be careful, by the time of our defeat, Akat had grown out of control, her drive for absolute justice turned into senseless cruelty and pointless vengeance. Gabriel nodded at that. “With introductions out of the way, then why don’t we proceed to Silverwick together? I’m sure we will find whatever answers we seek there. No point in delaying.”

“As you say. We may only hope our introductions there will be as affable.” Meera gave a last smile and turned to mount her horse.

As she returned her scarf to her face she listened to Akat carefully, ”Agabyzus is among the more trustworthy of our fellows Meera, you were lucky to meet his chosen here. His goals were always nobler than the others. I doubt his opinion of me is so glowing, but as long as we make no move against him he will remain an ally. I cannot guarantee that with the others.”

Gabriel returned to his own horse, the pain in his legs now much more manageable as he dug out a parcel from his saddlebags. “Want some?” He asked extending his hand. “I don’t know about you, but even stale bread sounds delicious at this point.”

High above, the large eagle darted away, in direction of Silverwick.

Tear the World Down

Ah, coolio.

In any case, I suppose I am the only one that doesn't use coloured text. Gaze upon my orthodoxy and beware!

@Isotope

Isotope enjoying the setting sun

Tear the World Down

Post out.

@Drunken ConquistadorWhat timezone are you in BTW? Need to work out when we can do that collab.

@Isotope

I'm at GMT-3. Right now it's 00:42 over here

Tear the World Down

GABRIEL DIGANI

En route to Silverwick

Gabriel had barely stopped these last two weeks. Ever since leaving his men to die beneath Lanteran pikes, the former Thorn Captain, because as far as everyone else was concerned he had either died or deserted, had ridden Megathocles to his limit. First to escape the Lanteran outriders, which cost him essential travelling days as was forced to lose them in the Sirosan Heights. And then the hard ride south towards the ruined city of Silverwick.

The thought still made his stomach flutter and his spine tingle. "You knew this day would come from the moment I revealed myself to you. You must be ready for this. Only the Gods Below know what manner of individuals my fellow Legionnaires have managed to call upon. This first meeting will be vital in making a good first impression. My fellows will fall upon any perceived weakness like hungry wolves." Gabriel knew that yes, but knowing and actually being prepared were two different things. Sure, he trusted the Brass Prince and was truly intent on seeing the Dream made true. But the other Legionnaires were another matter, from what Agabyzus had shared of his fellow Lords, few if any shared their purpose. More interested in wanton destruction and senseless bloodshed than actually doing anything productive with their power. "It was this stupidity that led to our downfall. I can only imagine how much they may have decayed and what sort of people they have taken as their Chosen."

Turning back was not an option, however. Gabriel's fate had been sealed the moment he picked the silver earrings from the sacked Rivaldi caravan. Now the only path forward was seeing this great enterprise through to the end. And that, he was more than willing to carry out. Onto victory or death. "Preferably the latter, I doubt we will get another shot at this.".

And then silence. Even running over the same thoughts, plans and doubts again and again got tiresome after a while. Gabriel was exhausted, his limbs felt like lead after hours of riding without rest, even holding on to the reins was becoming too much. Megathocles wasn't much better, the horse was even more tired. A lesser beast would have already collapsed. But the black horse was no mere beast of burden, even if it still had its limits.

Unwilling to push his horse further and not in any conditions to travel further this night, the Chosen guided his horse out of the beaten trail and into a thicket of thorny, dry bushes. Half stumbling out of the saddle. Wincing and tearing up a bit as his sore legs struggled and failed to support his weight. A nearby boulder helped him avoid a humiliating fall face first into the dusty ground of the wasteland as he used it to slid himself to the ground. Not bothering with much else. Megathocles would never flee, too trained for that. And judging by the sweat and his tired panting, it was not like he could go far. Not that Gabriel himself would be able to catch him in his current state.

A fireplace, Gabriel decided, would be more trouble than it was worth. The night was hot and the fire might alert others to his presence. Oh, and of course, he was so tired that even the rough stone at his back was lulling him into sleep. Though to be fair, he had slept in worse conditions. The smell of a single man and horse didn't even bothered him anymore. And the pain in his body was only another reason why he should let his eyes close and sleep it away. They were close now. Another hard ride and they could reach Silverwick tomorrow before lunch. So tired was Gabriel that he almost missed Alessandra landing atop the boulder.

Tear the World Down

I should have my second post ready tonight.