gorgenmast

Black Sun - Age of Wolves (Always Open)

(A collaborative post by Goldeagle1221 and gorgenmast)

The sun had sunk beneath the western peaks of the Tiranines, silhouetting the jagged mountains against a blazing array of reds, oranges, and purples. The darkening skies beckoned the first peeping frogs of spring out of their daytime haunts to sing their chirping songs from Old Valatir's cisterns and aqueducts. Torchglow increasingly illuminated the city streets below and the stars above twinkled faintly into being in the sun's diminishing afterglow. These marked the end of a momentous day in the history of the Night Mother's Empire. And with the day's closed-door discussions and strategic coordinations concluded, now was the time for the dissimination of what the Archons and their servants had discussed.

Regent Ai lounged upon a balcony of one of the Valatirine Sanctum's annexes, joined by Stewardess Helkha of Boria. The dark blue light of dusk tinted the pair dimly, as the ray's of springs day began to fall behind the horizon. A look of thought had taken Ai's visage in the twilight.

"Sometimes I wonder about the divide between the north and south, Helkha," Ai thoughtlessly commented, crossing his arms over the balcony rails, leaning forward into the gust of evening air. The man had taken off his metal bands sometime after the council along with the heavier furs, leaving him in a casual wear that if not for his trademark scimitars of striped metal and darker skin tone, he could easily be mistaken for any common fur bearing Aesling.

"This is a different land, to be sure," Helkha replied, taking up a stone cup of mulled wine from the platter left by the Sanctum's attendants. "The south is an older, more established realm than our northern homelands. Things are naturally quite different in these parts, and as such, their customs and attitudes are often unsual to us northerners to the point of bristling. There is a cultural divide, but we all live to serve Her. We are one empire under Her grace, after all."

"I know," Ai accepted, his eyes fixed on the waxing moon, "but sometimes anguish conquers the fore of my mind."

"Anguish is something with which I am all too familiar," Helkha added with a glance to the moon. "Anguish on behalf of my Vadigar, who does battle against the servants of the moon on the edge of the world even now... Mother willing." With that, she took a long swig from the steaming cup.

"What troubles you, dear Ai?"

"I feel as if I'm growing contempt," Ai admitted, clear guilt in his voice, "being down here is like a cold shock upon my psyche."

"Contempt for whom? I know something of great import was discussed here today. I hope you do not refer to your discussions with Kalon and the Archons."

Ai squeezed the rail, his knuckles betraying his calm tones, "the talks went terrible, horrible even. Sinful."

"Oh dear," Helkha lamented. "Do tell me, dear Ai; tell me what was said."

"They knew," Ai turned to Helkha, "for seven years, while the north twisted itself and wrestled with building the perfect land for all citizens of Illyrica, the South knew about the machinations of Lesmania and did nothing to prevent this."

Before Helkha had a chance to react, Ai continued, fragments of anger in his voice, "and now thousands upon thousands who trusted them are to be put to death in a war, orchestrated by me, not them, with all of us to pay for their sins of sloth!"

Helkha laid her cup upon the railing and stood silent as she processed what Ai had recounted.

"They mean to invade Lesmania? Why must there be a pre-emptive attack? Surely, there can be diplomacy with Charce and Bretturea?" Helkha said reactively, with little forethought. But as she heard her words on her own lips, she had already realized how ridiculous it was to even suggest diplomacy. When had the Night Mother or her Archons ever thought to engage in diplomacy? They had not attempted to treat with the Aeslings, nor with her own Borians. She felt foolish to think, even for but a moment, that things could be different with Lesmania. Invasion - not diplomacy - was the Illyrican way.

"What does this mean for us, dear Ai?"

Ai looked over Helkha's face, as if studying her. Unlike the ears of most of the commanders of the Empire, Ai's twitched at her original suggestion. He lowered his eyes, "if this was brought to me, or even my father, seven years ago, for sure we could have ended this series of events with as little brute conflict as possible. But this is the now and Charce has been prepared for all out war for five years, even attacking our borders, unbeknownst to the north of course."

He sighed, "I asked to initiate parley with Bretturea, if war must come, be it small."

"I certainly hope so. But if what you say is true, Lesmania, from the sound of it, seems entrenched for as prolonged a fight as they can sustain. I fear a great many men will need to be mustered, from north and south alike. How many of my countrymen are requested for this effort?"

Ai's face grew grim, "Thousands upon thousands. I do not think the others realize what their lack of response has done to our countrymen. We are going to not only need to muster for war, but dig in for defense in the North incase all our work is to be seen undone by Atar or rebels."

"Boria is not a populous realm," Helkha said as she poured herself another cup of steaming mulled wine from the carafe. "Thousands upon thousands of our people are not so readily available as they are in the coastal realms. Boria is only still transitioning to an imperial lifestyle, and the peasantry are not yet numerous. Rest assured, I will commit all that I can spare to the war effort, but know that each man that is levied to fight in Lesmania will be sorely missed."

Ai crossed his arms and leaned against the railing, "I have actually pondered often about the duties of Boria in this. I do not think so early in the war it would be a good idea to call the good people of Boria out of their homes. Keep them in their homelands, to defend it should Atar attack. They would be better fit and happy defending their own ground than claiming ground for the far away south."

"That is welcome news to be sure," Helkha said, sipping from her cup in relief. "I could not agree more that the Borian people are of better use to the Mother's designs in Boria."

"But what of you, dear Ai? You do not have the luxury - if it may be called such - of governing a depauperate backwater. You are the Regent Master of the north, the hand of your father. What does this war mean for you?"

"It means that the blood of the innocent will be laid at my feet, while the others play fool as to why this war is so difficult," Ai snapped unexpectedly. With a heaving breath he raised a hand, "I am sorry, but you know this is not the way of my father. We fought wars of priority, putting peaceful conversions before murdering both our own citizens and those of the enemy."

"I feel trapped, never given the option of peace, and skipping right to the part that gave my family its legacy," Ai pulled a wicker chair out from its hiding place in the corner of the balcany and fell into in it, stress plastered about his being.

"I fear for you, dear Ai. I do not wish for you to be sent against the armies of Charce and Breturrea. Everyone that is dear to me leaves and never returns. Vescar, my father, rode against the imperial legions who invaded Boria and was slain. I fear the same has happened to my dear Vadigar. And now that I have come to cherish your friendship, you too seem destined to be sent into the maw of death."

"Do not leave me, Ai." Helkha beseeched, planting her palm upon Ai's hand on the chair's armrest. "You are the only one that I have left."

Ai looked over to her hand, his face macabre with reflection, "the curse of any who acts in war is that you are unaware of how many bonds you have broken beyond that of your sword, or how many hearts."

With that, Helkha stood in thoughtful silence for a moment. She turned and met the Regent Master's moonlit eyes before and pressed her lips against Ai's.

"Then spare mine," she whispered, "and return alive."

Black Sun - Age of Wolves (Always Open)

Are you open?

@Brithwyr

Yes.

Horrors of Mongolian Conquest. [MIDDLE AGES]

Hi, I am a dodo. I live on an island in the Indian Ocean. So there are some things I am scared of. Lately these Dutch sailors have been trying to settle our wonderful island, and it is worrying. I have been noticing an influx of rats and pigs eating my eggs. These Dutchmen are very hungry. It appears they have a taste for poultry. Although I run away from them, I have noticed a lot of my friends have been eaten. For those wondering, I am a small, flightless bird that evolved on an island without predators. I love my island, but now am scared of it.

Black Sun - Age of Wolves (Always Open)

The Stewardess of Boria had elicited little fanfare upon arriving in the fortress-city of Sanc Valatir as part of the entourage of Regent Master Ai. Charged with the command of the northern near-half of the Night Mother's empire, Ai naturally received more attention upon his arrival than Stewardess Helkha, who was merely a steward of a depauperate and easily-forgotten realm far to the north. Though she was well received by the welcoming party of Sanc Valatir, the Stewardess was almost-immediately overlooked by Kalon's lackeys as they devoted their full attention to Ai in their discussions about the upcoming council meeting - a council that was to be attended only by the great archons and the greatest of the exarchs. This exclusion did not bother the Stewardess; if anything, the Stewardess was relieved to be excused from the tedium that was imperial politics. With Ai gone to all manner of meetings and councils for the past few days, Helkha found herself with many hours of idle time.

She had spent the morning wandering the lower levels and annexes of the Valatirnine Sanctum. Somewhere in the upper reaches of this great edifice, Ai, Kalon, and the archons were conversing at this very moment about some matter of great importance. While the masters of the Illyrican Empire decided on matters that would shape the course of history on Ethica, Helkha found herself browsing the extensive collections of the Sanctum's archives. Though the Valatirnine Sanctum's archives could scarcely compare with the legendary Bibliotheca of Charce nor the great libraries within the Tower of Shades in Thulthar, Exarch Kalon's collection of scrolls, tomes, and glyph-etched tablets were still far more extensive than the pitiful library that existed back home in Rasthomig.

The archive's wizened curator, unaccustomed to visitors of any sort - especially dignitaries from distant realms - was delighted to assist when Stewardess Helkha requested any maps of the lands beyond Illyrica. Gladdened by the reprieve from the monotony of cataloging and sorting documents, the wisp-bearded librarian seated Helkha at a large table that he soon set about covering with all manner of rolled parchment and scrolls. She thanked the curator for his assistance and set about digging into the maps splayed before her.

The maps of a dozen foreign dominions were splayed out before the Stewardess; distant lands that the Stewardess knew so little of. Born to a tribal lord in the remote northern reaches of Boria, Helkha's education had been rather unconventional compared against that of the nobles of the Motherlands. As such, her geographical knowledge of Ethica was somewhat lacking. She had only learned to read at the age of fifteen when Vadigar left her as Stewardess of Boria; after all, Boria had only a crude and seldom-used alphabet of runic glyphs before the realm was incorporated into the Night Mother's dominion. Helkha's upbringing in tribal Boria had a single purpose: to marry off to the son of another tribal lord in order to cement tribal alliances. But the purpose of Helkha and Vadigar's lives changed dramatically with the arrival of the Illyrican Empire into their homeland. As a young girl, Helkha could have scarcely imagined being the ruler of Boria; she never would have believed that she would travel so far as the Tiranine Mountains. She still could not believe that her brother had traveled beyond the edge of the known world. The lands that Vadigar had reached had to be known to someone. Helkha hoped that someone had charted a map of those distant realms, and that hope had galvanized her to see if Exarch Kalon happened to have such a map in his more extensive archives.

The Stewardess glossed over each map, briefly seeing if the realm it depicted corresponded with Vadigar's rough whereabouts. She looked over a map titled the Southwestern Reaches of Draor Chor, a seemingly-vast and hilly realm far removed from Illyrica's frontiers, before sliding it away. Curiosity struck the Stewardess when she saw a map depicting an unfamiliar landmass whose shores were ringed with reeflike archipelagoes. The features of this land were scrawled in a writing style the likes of which Helkha had never seen and the only Illyrican transliteration offered was that of the title, which simply read Jiaozi. She eventually set that chart aside and rifled through a few more maps.

Helkha eventually came across a map that caught her attention. The placement of such features and mountain ranges and lakes was awkward and unnatural - suggesting that much of the lay of the land was drawn based off of conjecture rather than geographic survey. It depicted a coastal realm surrounded by a chain of great mountain ranges. A great body of water stretched ever westward. Helkha's eyes widened when she read the title of this map: The Sorcerer Kingdoms of the Sunset Ocean. This was the map she had been searching for, the lands against which Vadigar had spent the last ten years campaigning.

She traced her finger around the peripheral realms on the eastern side of the mountain ranges and found Hadu, Basim, and Thedaar. Helkha recalled these strange-sounding names from her final conversations with Vadigar by scrying orb. These, her brother had explained, were vassal kingdoms to an empire ruled by warlocks known as the Djaam. Vadigar would gladly recount tales of battle against Djaam mercenaries in these lands, and how the victories against them had earned him numerous allies among the vassals who were eager to overthrow their hated masters. Helkha guided her index finger northward, into the sheer mountains north of Hadu. Somewhere in those mountains, her brother had attempted to circumnavigate the fortified passes between that linked Hadu and Thedaar to the Djaam homelands. That was also the last place she had heard from Vadigar.

She squelched the fearful thoughts associated with that last conversation, and assumed her dear brother had indeed crossed the mountains. She traced her finger westward, out of the mountains, into the inner provinces of the Djaam Empire. In these coastal lands there were drawings of what appeared to be several large cities orbiting the figure of a great citadel on the coast named Zar Dratha. There was Zar Mythrad in the northeastern province labeled Ayt Sharduum, a seaside fortress in the far north called Vagora, and in the southeast was Kaldir.

Helkha thought of what these distant and exotic lands might be like, what armies their inhabitants might bring to bear against her beloved brother. It was comforting to know that these lands did indeed exist; that her brother had not simply disappeared into the farthest corner of Ethica. Vadigar, she dearly hoped, was fighting in these lands even now. And so, Helkha whispered a prayer to Mother Izalith, asking that she guide her brother through those distant and dangerous lands.
________________________________________________________

There was no doubt now: the Night Mother was with them.

Vadigar, surrounded by his entourage of lieutenants, marched triumphantly up the spiraling causeway up to the inner citadel of Kaldir. They were halfway up to the rock-hewn summit of this mighty citadel, and from this point Vadigar and his men were already afforded a breathtaking vista of the city that they had so-effortlessly taken. From here, they could just look over the walls - more than one hundred feet high even at their lowest point - and survey the rolling hill country the comprised the breadbasket of the Djaam Empire. Kaldir's ramparts, shimmering in the late morning sun with black obsidian in some places and glowing orange-red with red lavastone in the others, were too tall to have been built up with mortar and bricks. These walls, and the rest of the city, had been carved, not built. Vadigar's native translators said that Kaldir was once a small volcano, whose frequent eruptions of ash enriched the surrounding hill country. But the Djaam, in an earlier age, used their magic to silence the volcano forever. Over the course of hundreds of years, their slaves whittled the volcano into a citadel surrounded by a great wall of solid rock, leaving the impregnable citadel of Kaldir in its place.

Impregnable, perhaps, against the most numerous of armies and the greatest siege engines in Ethica. But Kaldir's fortifications were very seldom put to the test. The mammoth gates into Kaldir's walls were so heavy and cumbersome that it took nearly an hour to shut them, and so the gates were left open during the night and day, with only contingents of guards standing at the gates to control the inflow of travelers. The Djaam had no idea that Vadigar and his host had crossed the mountains, and were caught woefully unprepared when his army stormed through the open gates in the dead of night and put the Djaam's warriors to the sword.

By dawn, most of the Djaam's warriors had surrendered, save for those who had fallen back into the citadel itself to defend their masters. But it would not be long before the citadel was breached, and those few loyal warriors paid the ultimate price for defending their doomed masters. Even now, Vadigar could hear the percussive thud of the battering ram against the citadel's hardened obsidian doors. Within a reasonable time, Vadigar imagined, the doors would give way, and 1,000 of his seasoned Borians would storm through the breach.

A satisfying crack of stone breaking under strain resounded across the captured city, prompting Vadigar to look up to the citadel. The rhythmic thud of the ram continued however, giving proof that it had not been the citadel's doors being broken by the battering ram. Something else had broken, and Vadigar looked around to see what it was.

In one of the city's plazas below him, he saw the source of that noise. A cadre of his soldiers, armed with pickaxes rather than swords or spears, were scrambling away from a huge circular dais carved from obsidian. A colossus of the same glistening obsidian stood some sixty feet high upon the pedestal. The figure was a nubile goddess, nude with arms wide open. Three pairs of batlike wings spread forth from her back, and she wore a crescent-shaped crown upon her parted brow. Vadigar recognized this being as Rabal - the moon goddess worshiped by the Djaam. He could see that the colossus was now leaning forward, teetering on the pick-hewn stumps that had once been her ankles. The colossus suddenly tumbled over forward, shattering upon the plaza with a thunderous peal.

"HAIL IZALITH!" Vadigar heard shouted from the plaza. The Exarch wore a wide smile as he continued up the causeway toward the citadel.

A smaller plaza existed at the base of the citadel - a wide open space surely designed to allow the Djaam to rain their fell magic down upon attackers from the upper reaches of their citadel. Indeed, a few black scorch marks on the plaza stones gave proof that the warlocks had cast thunderbolts down on Vadigar's soldiers. But a number of archers trained on the upper windows and balconies of the spire were enough to keep the Djaam at bay, allowing the Borian shock troops to continue battering against the doors unmolested. As Vadigar and his lieutenants entered the plaza, one of the soldiers manning the iron-tipped log left his post and ran over to address him.

"Hail, Exarch!" The soldier saluted, throwing his arm around his lord's cape-clad shoulders to embrace him.

"Doremun," Vadigar exclaimed, returning the embrace. "I have heard that your performance in the attack was exemplary. Many of the Djaam's men died upon your blade; you fought well."

"Only because it was the Night Mother's will," Doremun reminded, releasing Vadigar from the embrace.

"Indeed," the Exarch affirmed. "She has been kind to us this day."

"You don't know the half of it, milord. Come, Look what these Djaam imbeciles have allowed us to have."

Vadigar directed his lieutenants to take Doremun's place on the ram before being led away from the citadel to a collection of buildings surrounding the citadel plaza. At the doors of these buildings, captured warriors of the Djaam were watched over by Vadigar's soldiers as they laid armfuls of swords and spears upon linen sheets at the feet of the occupiers.

"We can field several thousand warriors with these arms," Doremun said as they watched the plunder of the armories. "Warriors I am certain that we will easily muster from the people of Kaldir. Even in their own cities, it would seem that there is little love for the Djaam."

"Mother be praised," said Vadigar.

"Oh, but I have saved the best for last, milord."

Doremun led Vadigar away from the armories to a tall, long edifice built of lavastone brick that Vadigar guessed to be a warehouse full of grain. But the fact that the doors were some 30 feet tall and 16 feet wide, coupled with a low bestial growl emanating from within the building, suggested that this building housed something different entirely.

Doremun and Vadigar slinked through the cracked doors, and were immediately confronted with the putrid stench of confined beasts. As far as Vadigar was concerned, this building's interior looked more like a stable than anything else, except that it was built three times too large. On Vadigar's right and left were stalls much like a stable, with great iron bars. Vadigar saw nothing in these first two stalls but he could hear something breathing heavily in the next stall to his right. Something big.

Within the iron bars of this stall, Vadigar could see the outline of a great beast sleeping soundly upon a thick bed of straw. His eyes had not yet adjusted completely to the darker light inside this building, but Vadigar believed he could see a four-legged animal perhaps four or five times larger than a horse, whose arms and legs were chained to iron pegs planted firmly into the stable floor. A torso of leathery gray skin rose and fell with every growling snore.

"What is this beast, Doremun?" Vadigar whispered.

"The native translators tell me it is vilespawn."

"Vilespawn?" Vadigar repeated incredulously. "The same vilespawn as-"

"Yes," Doremun affirmed. "The translators tell me that the vilespawn are more prevalent here in the western lands. More numerous and more varied in their form. There are vilespawn that look much like men, and there are those that are more bestial. The servants of the Djaam go into the wilderness, hunting for suitable vilespawn. Those that suit their fancy are captured and sequestered by the Djaam. As these monsters are the product of corruption, the Djaam cleverly recognized that vilespawn can be easily corrupted and manipulated. They perform wicked magics on these captive vilespawn, accentuating useful features of these beasts, while pruning away others that are less desirable. The Djaam remove the savageness and cunning of these captive vilespawn, making them docile, predictable, and subservient. The Djaam force their bodies to grow to incredible size."

Vadigar's eyes had now adjusted to the relative darkness, and he could see the beast sleeping before him with greater detail. It had a snout that resembled a crocodile, with jagged and irregular fangs protruding from its maw. Four sunken pits in the beast's skull suggested that this beast once had two pairs of eyes; knowing that numerous eyes are purported to give strength to vilespawn, Vadigar suspected that the Djaam had likely pruned its eyes away completely with their magics. A twisting pair of tusks protruded from the corners of the beast's mouth, and the beast's skull - misshapen by runaway magical corruption, poked out from the skin of its head in a spiny frill. A loud crack from outside - the sound of the battering ram fracturing the doors of the citadel - seemed to have woken the beast from its slumber. It gave a gurgling roar, seemingly irritated at being awoken.

"The translators call them val shakum" Doremun declared. "Vilesteeds."

"Vilesteeds, hmm?" Vadigar repeated before turning his attention to the sound of the battering ram crashing against the doors of the citadel. His eyes scanned over the beast's clawed digits and fearsome fang-tusks, and then thought back to his tiring soldiers battering ineffectually against the citadel's door.

"Let us see if we cannot find someone among the surrendered warriors who can tell us how to fit this beast for war. I would like to show these Djaam how vile their steeds can truly be."

Heirs of the Dark Lord

@Flagg Is this still open? If you don't plan on continuing it, I would be interested in possibly GMing...

@VoiD

I say go for it.

Diplomacy-focused NRP

My interest is piqued.

Black Sun - Age of Wolves (Always Open)

Rasthomig's stable, typically silent at this predawn hour, was a cacophonous hive of activity this morning. Sleep-deprived stableboys busied themselves drawing up horses from their straw-strewn stalls. The horses snorted and shook their heads in annoyance as their handlers shoved bits in their mouths and affixed the saddle cinches around their bellies. Shod hooves clacked against the cobblestones of the stable chambers, plate-and-mail cuirasses of the Stewardess' mounted guard clinked and clanked as the knights swaggered over to their steeds. All was nearly ready for the departure for Doma, save for Stewardess Helkha herself.

All of the preparations were finished, her steed readied and waiting in the stable. She was dressed appropriately for the journey; she wore a riding dress beneath an ornate-yet-comfortable doublet of true silk was cinched around her bosom as snugly as a horse's saddle. But in her mind, she was not prepared. Her attention was paid not to her meeting with Ai or the council to which she would accompany the Regent Master, but to her brother's whereabouts. Where could Vadigar be? Why had she not heard from him in so long? As she often did when she was lost in these all-to-familiar anxieties, she stared vacantly. Looking out over the stables, Helkha was startled when Hemigan laid a wrinkled hand upon the Stewardess' shoulder.

"Putting off the ride? I cannot blame you; the ride across Ciskhadania is a long ride to make in a single day," said Hemigan, referring to the sparsely-populated wards of the Fifth Legion to the immediate south of Boria.

"Which is why I elected to leave as early as possible," Helkha replied, turning to face her aging adviser. "We will reach Portus Furcata by sunset. Doma is only another four days by ship from there."

"I know you are not the procrastinating sort," Hemigan nodded, looking silently into Helkha's eyes for a moment. "Something else stays you, and I think I know what anxiety that is." Helkha nodded in tacit affirmation.

"How long has it been, milady?" Hemigan asked, almost whispering. "When did you last speak with Lord Vadigar?"

"It will have been a year's time within a fortnight." A lump formed in Helkha's throat as she recounted their last conversation by scrying orb. Hemigan's eyes widened.

"Where was he? Do you recall?"

"He is so far, Hemigan. He told me that he had crossed the Erg Sea in the Shattered West. I have looked in the library for maps, trying to find where he might be. None of our maps even chart lands that far west. He was beyond the known world, high in a great range of mountains. That's all I know," Hemigan could see tears welling in the corner of the Stewardess' eyes.

"I am so worried, Hemigan. I fear I will never see by brother again; that I will only have that view of him in the scrying orb, so wretched cold, to remember him with!"

"Helkha," Hemigan said in a soothing whisper. "Do not fear. You know your brother as well as I do - better, in fact. You know his resilience better than I, do you not? His persistence? His resourcefulness and tact?"

"Yes," Helkha affirmed.

"How then, can you possibly doubt that your brother is alive?"
____________________________________________________________

Heavy particles of ice fell from a sky of churning stormclouds, plinking against the jagged stone all around him. Vadigar's bootfalls were slow and deliberate; the icy stone was terribly treacherous and a single misstep could easily spell one's doom. The loss of any member of this host could be a heavy setback, but the loss of his own life at this juncture would likely damn all of the soldiers in his command. The exarch cast a glance over his shoulder to his host following at his heels. Marching three or four abreast, they stretched all along this narrow path that skirted along the mountainside, a great snake of warriors that wound sinuously into the distance where the haze of falling snow and ice obscured the host's rear guard. Numbering just over 20,000, his army lumbered along the ice-glazed path at a turtle's pace, winding around fallen boulders, and climbing over rockfalls and talus. Treacherous was an understatement for the trail - a mere goatpath - that wound up and around the jagged slopes of the Crown of the North. The exarch glanced down the mountainside for a moment and stared into a dizzyingly deep crevasse that, Vadigar knew, would become the tomb of any of his men that made a false step. The yawning canyon below served to reiterate the sole command Vadigar gave to his soldiers upon beginning their ascent through this passage: Move deliberately.

"It is best not to look down, Egarko," a stunted, rat-faced man walking beside Vadigar suggested in the stilted Illyrican that the people of the far west spoke with. "Makes you dizzy... not wise in this place."

"I will bear that in mind. Thank you, Onur," Vadigar said to his guide, focusing once again on the ascent up the mountain path. He firmly planted one boot, secured purchase with the other, and then stepped. It was a tortuously slow pace, especially in the freezing, turbulent mountain air. Speed of passage, however, was not Vadigar's priority. Negotiating the Crown of the North with as many soldiers alive was his only concern. At the head of his army, the exarch was able to set as safe of a pace as possible for the soldiers behind him.

"Good, good," Onur praised, brushing a layer of ice pellets off of his wispy mop of hair. "Your step is cautious, and you do not even shiver in this cold. You set a good example for your men, Egarko."

Our guide is as observant as he is congratulatory, Vadigar thought, unnerved by the fact that Onur noticed that he was repressing his urge to shiver in the cold. The Exarch had spoken to his sister Helkha, who remained in his homeland of Boria, the night before. He remembered watching her through his scrying orb, her lips quivering with every bout of shivering. He could not afford to elicit a similar reaction from his soldiers. But the fact that Onur noticed this bothered him. His memory is sharp, and he talks too much. I do not like that. I wish I did not have to trust him.

Onur, however, had proved his loyalty to the Night Mother's cause, or at least Vadigar's cause. Mercenaries in the employ of the Djaam had come to his homeland looking for thralls and sacrifices for the barbarous rites of their masters. Onur explained that he had been in the hills looking for pasturage for his flocks when the mercenaries took his wife, and that they killed his son when he resisted them. Onur had even shown Vadigar the boy's grave. And so when this shepherd offered to guide the exarch's army through the great mountains of the Crown of the North, into the heartlands of the Empire of the Djaam, Vadigar had no reason to question his loyalty.

Similar stories had motivated a great many of the soldiers that now comprised Vadigar's army. When Vadigar left the Illyrican Empire nine years ago on a campaign to conquer the world - known and unknown - in the Night Mother's name, he had assembled an army of some 8,000 Borian volunteers. After nearly a decade, thousands of miles of desert wastelands, and dozens of battles and skirmishes, less than 4,000 of those original Borians remained. Vadigar's army was now a gestalt legion of exotic warriors from seven realms, comprised of soldiers and mercenaries who joined Vadigar's host. Some of these men joined as mercenaries, or in hopes of some share of the spoils of war; but the majority had come to the exarch seeking nothing more than the chance to exact revenge against the Djaam and their lackeys.

Before Vadigar left Illyrica, he had never heard of the Djaam - virtually no one in the Empire had. But as his host journeyed into the lands known as the Shattered West, it became apparent that the Djaam were the dominant power over this broken land. Those that defected to the exarch spoke of a realm of terrifying power far to the west on the coast of the Sunset Ocean. That realm, they claimed, was ruled by men imbued with the power of gods who called themselves the Djaam. The Djaam, it was said, were granted power by their moon god in return for enormous sacrifices. Vassal states all along the periphery of the Djaam Empire were expected to make regular payments in human beings for their continued existence. Their sacrifices to their barbarous god gave the Djaam great arcane power, but created numerous enemies. Enemies that Vadigar welcomed into his ranks with open arms. It seemed that even in this distant land, the Night Mother had been gracious to her servants. For the Djaam and their allies were afraid, and had thrown their armies against Vadigar numerous times. Each time, the exarch and his men repulsed them. Now, Vadigar was at the very doorstep of their empire, with a host capable of fighting a protracted war against the Djaam in their own homeland. How could the Night Mother not be with them?

The switchback path rose up to a flat shelf that skirted along a jagged cliff in the mountainside, running some two hundred paces from the cliff wall to a sheer precipice into the crevasse. Vadigar and his guide led the forward guard of the army into this wider area, welcoming the newfound elbow room they had not been afforded walking four abreast along the goatpaths. Vadigar turned to one of his lieutenants - a seasoned Borian veteran who had fought for a decade alongside the exarch - to instruct his men to spread out on this wide shelf and rest. Vadigar continued alone toward the precipice edge. The exarch stood on a promontory that jutted above the crevasse, where he looked out over the mountainscape that surrounded him. Jagged fangs of ice-blanketed stone surrounded Vadigar on all sides. Even through the haze of the falling snow and ice particulate, tumultuous eddies of snow and ice swirled about the high peaks. But across the canyon, off to the west, Vadigar caught a glimpse of golden sunlight; a window through the blizzard to clear weather off in the distance. Just beyond the profile of a particularly tall and fanglike mountain, the foothills of the lowland countryside could be seen, just now growing verdant in the early spring. The exarch could hear Onur approaching now, and he pointed out into that distant patch of sunlit green.

"That pasturage down there, where is that?" Vadigar asked, directing his guide's view down the hill country where the shadow of clouds could be faintly seen rolling over greening plains. Upon laying eyes on it, Onur smiled wide, baring his yellow-orange teeth.

"That is Ayt Shardum, Egarko," Onur declared. "The northwest edge of the Djaam Empire. In a week's time, we will be there."

There could be no doubt now in the mind of Exarch Vadigar. The Night Mother was with them.

Black Sun - Age of Wolves (Always Open)

Cold drizzle fell upon the moss-mottled roof of Rasthomig, the keep and central nexus of puny Eskar. As keeps of the time went, Rasthomig was quite modest; especially modest given that this particular keep served as the seat of power for an exarch of Izalith's grand empire. Those exarchs in the more prosperous Motherlands to the south ruled over their dominions from mighty citadels defended by small armies, mages, and magical constructs. But Rasthomig, in contrast, was little more than a stone-built lodge built atop a low-built platform of stonework overlooking the town. Such rude fortifications would elicit laughter from the denizens of greater cities such as New Galenave or Adarza, but Rasthomig's stone walls and lichen encrusted shingles were strong enough to withstand the rain and retain the warmth of the fire hearths. For the folk that called this keep home, that was enough.

Stewardess Helkha watched morosely from the head of the table as the rain pattered against the dining hall's paneled windows, observing as day morphed into night in gloomy dusk. The dreary weather outside the keep should have made the firelit warmth inside all the more cozy. Such coziness only elicited guilt from the Stewardess, reminding her of the misery her beloved brother was enduring half a world away on the fringe of Ethica. Helkha could not forget that last moment where she had seen Vadigar through her scrying orb, clutching his cape against a furious blizzard, shivering so furiously. Even now she wished she had disobeyed him all those years ago, that she had left Boria and the tedium of statecraft and imperial politics behind to support Vadigar in whatever Mother-forsaken hell he found himself.

As much as she wished she could change the past, the Stewardess remained here in Eskar serving as Izalith's representative in the realm of Boria. It was an important post, to be sure; the realm of Boria was relatively new to Izalith's dominion. Installing an imperial government in a land where tribal society was so deeply ingrained was a important task - unenviable as it may be. Without careful governance and direction, the Borians could easily revert to the old ways, and from that point revolt against the empire would be nearly certain. The Borians, particularly the horsemen living in the hill country north of the Weald, would never heed the command of some imperial magistrate appointed by an exarch in the Motherlands. The people of Boria would only ever heed a fellow Borian, and among their people there was no one more universally-respected than Helkha save for Vadigar himself. Reminding herself of this fact, Helkha withdrew from her reverie and resigned herself to her role as the Stewardess.

A plate of thick stew of pork and squash grew cold in front of her, and she began prodding a fatty chunk of pork about with a spoon as she took stock of the Rasthomig court seated around her at the dining table. A dozen or so of her advisers, courtiers, and visitors dined around her discussing the events of the day in between loud slurps of stew - an even mix of native Borians and imperial appointees and advisers.

"I'm not sure I can believe that," Helkha heard an imperial guest exclaim dubiously. "His spies are certainly in Doma, that I can believe. But Colonia Mania? What could possibly compel the Lord of Sheol to send his spies this far west?"

"All I shall say is that I have it on good authority that a scrying orb was found on the person of a supposed hillman that had been living within the palisades of Colonia Mania," Hemigan, a balding, geriatric native of southern Boria and the Stewardess' closest thing to a spymaster reported. "A scrying orb carved from obsidian of such blackness that no one could ever see who or what watches from the other end. Even so, there is little doubt as to where something like that originated."

"What would interest him out here?" The imperial reiterated. "The Lord of Sheol seems to concern himself with embarrassing the other archons and extending his reach across the coast. He surely does not care about these undeveloped backwater tracts of the empire."

"No offense intended, milady," the imperial visitor added apologetically.

"None taken," Helkha replied dispassionately.

"I suspect that the Master of Sheol is probing for weaknesses, perhaps determining the strengths of his enemies," offered Hemigan.

"Enemies?" the imperial nearly scoffed. "Rivalries, certainly, but enemies? To suggest that there are enemies within the Mother's dominion strikes me as almost unthinkable. In spite of our differences we are, after all, one empire."

"To hold an opinion that naive strikes me as unthinkable," Hemigan retorted. "As someone with some knowledge on this sort of affair, I have no doubt that spies in the employ of nearly every archon and a great many of the exarchs have their informants abroad. The Master of Sheol simply possesses the most advanced surveillance apparatus in the land. I would make a sizeable wager that there are foreign spies here in Eskar even now."

"In Boria?" exclaimed an imperial merchant whose demeanor suggested he had a few cups too many of barley wine. "What would a spy relay to their masters about this place? The number of sheep? Depth of the mudholes in the roads?" The merchant bellowed, eliciting some laughter from his fellow guests.

"Whether Vadigar is coming back," Hemigan corrected solemnly. He could see the Stewardess cringe at the very utterance of her brother's name.

"Speaking of which, has anything been heard from Lord Vadigar, milady?" Baronet Galakhad asked. "I would much like some word from our lord."

As would I, Helkha thought.

"It has been some time since I have last heard from Lord Vadigar, Knight-Commander," the Stewardess reported. It had been nearly a year now since the siblings had last communicated by scrying orb, to be more precise. As the anniversary of that last conversation drew nearer, Helkha's mind filled with dread. She hoped that Vadigar had simply broken his scrying orb in his long march through the mountains, but in her mind she could not help but paint gruesome images of more macabre fates.

The Stewardess withdrew into reverie once more, pondering about where her beloved brother might be at this very moment. She paid no mind to the conversations going on around the table and scarcely acknowledged the kitchen maids as they went about the table taking the bowls of stew and replaced them with trays of honey-candied apricots. With no interest in the desserts nor the after-dinner discussions, the Stewardess was just about to excuse herself to retreat to her bedchambers. Before she could bid the diners good evening, the dining hall's doorway was thrown open. Felegad, Rasthomig's courier boy, stood in the gaping doorway joined by two kettlehat-sporting keep guards.

"Milady!" the squeaky-voiced lad announced, silencing the dining hall as he approached the Stewardess with a tightly-bound scroll with no fewer than six intricate seals. "A rider has come from Doma, bringing word from Regent Master Ai. He bids you read it at once."

Wide eyes followed the courier boy as he presented the scroll to Stewardess Helkha, bowed once, and promptly left the dining hall.

Correspondence with the archon's regent was not terribly unusual. Helkha and Ai had come to become good friends since Vadigar's departure, and Helkha had come to see the Regent Master as a surrogate brother in Vadigar's long absence. As such, scrolls from Ai were not unusual. What was unusual was the sense of presumed urgency with this particular missive. Why could this scroll not wait until morning? With a raised eyebrow, Helkha drew a butterknife from the table -still clean- and separated the rose emblem seals from the celemworm silk of the parchment before unfurling the scroll and reading silently to herself. All the diners at the table watched with held breath as the Stewardess' eyes scanned across the letter, looking for some indication as to what the archon's regent so urgently needed to convey to the Stewardess. Only the soft roar and crackle of the dining hall's fireplaces and the pattering of rain were heard as Helkha read to herself.

With wide eyes, the Stewardess furled the scroll back on itself and rose from her seat.

"Arrange to have the maids pack my belongings and ready my steed in the morning. Regent Master Ai has summoned me to Doma."

Black Sun - Age of Wolves (Always Open)

Vadigar

Vadigar

Titles: The Conqueror in the West, Djaam-Bane

Type: Exarch

Appearance: The harsh and varied climates in which Vadigar has spent the last thirteen years have aged the Conqueror in the West beyond his years. The typically pale skin of the Borian people is tanned and leathery from a years of exposure to wind and sun on his campaigns. On his current campaign, Vadigar generally wears only light trousers and a celemworm-silk shirt, as the Shattered Wastes are too hot for heavy clothing. He is almost always seen wearing a cuirass of ringmail, with a plate on the chest embossed with the Night Mother's rose silver-gilt upon it. A red cape of true silk, frayed and tattered, is clasped around his wide shoulders - a cherished gift from the Archon of War that Vadigar is seldom seen without. Vadigar's sun-grayed hair is kept short and his face closely shaved in the imperial fashion. The long, silky horsetail he once wore in keeping with Borian tribal tradition has not been seen since Vadigar swore fealty to the Night Mother.

History: Vadigar is perhaps the newest of Izalith's servants. Born to Vescar, a tribal lord of the Borian hinterlands, Vadigar had nearly reached manhood when two legions of the Night Mother crossed the River Khad with the intention of claiming Boria for Izalith's already-massive dominion. Vescar committed his tribe into an alliance with the other Borian tribes in order to repel the incursion. Vescar, aware that this was going to be a savage and protracted conflict from the beginning, brought his son Vadigar and his daughter Helkha to ride out with him and his tribesmen so that they might be educated in the ways of leadership and warfare.

The Narzad, the ruthlessly-effective light cavalry of the Borian tribes, proved successful at harassing and weakening the lumbering legions of infantry hailing from the Motherlands. In these early skirmishes with the Night Mother's forces, Vadigar was permitted by his father to ride out and accompany the Narzad javelin-throwers. This proved to be a very formulative time for the young tactician; Vadigar was able to see firsthand how small numbers could, with appropriate application of force and superior strategems, could disperse even large numbers of enemies.

The initial forays against Izalith's legions were effective in delaying a major incursion into the Borian tribelands, but in the second spring of the war with the Night Mother, eight legions under the command of the Archon of War arrived to put paid to Boria's resistance and make loyal subjects of the restless hillfolk of the North. The Night Mother's invasion had begun in earnest.

The Night Mother's armies at last began to gain ground, conquering the more hospitable southern reaches of Boria and forcing the tribes to retreat into the windswept foothills of the Crown of the North. The Borian tribes continued to ride out to harangue the Night Mother's legions. But with a strong contingent of archers and the powers of the Archon, the Borian riders were now taking substantial casualties with each raid. It was during one such raid that Vescar took an arrow to the clavicle that ended his life. Vadigar took command of the tribe and took it upon himself to resume his father's war against the Archon and the Night Mother.

Emboldened by the death of Vescar, the Archon of War sought to capitalize on the demoralizing effect of the dead chieftain and led 5,000 of his men from his fort in the south of Boria against the tribes. The Archon attempted to cross the River Khad at a shallow stretch deep in forest, hoping to catch the tribes off guard during their funerary rites. Instead, it was the Archon that was caught off guard; Vadigar had intercepted the legions and met them across the banks of the river. Among the trees, the Archon's archers could not fire effective volleys, but the Borian javelinmen were perfectly capable of skewering the Night Mother's infantry as they waded across the Khad. Were it not for the Archon's terrifying powers, the Borians would have killed the Night Mother's forces to the last man. Humiliated, the Archon and his survivors were forced to fall back and retreat south. Having avenged his father in some small measure, Vadigar returned to his camp to mourn Vescar's death in earnest.

During the funerary rites on the following day, Vescar was laid out upon a funeral pyre. As the pyre burned, a bolt of lightning struck the burning wood, completely scattering the pyre. Vadigar and Helkha were astounded, for the lightning bolt had come from a clear, sunny sky. Where the roaring pyre had burned only minutes ago, only a circular heap of coals and ashes remained. The wooden logs of the pyre - still burning, had been cast out such that they pointed toward the burning cinders. Vadigar and Helkha, upon inspecting the scene, found the remains of the pyre much resembled a symbol of the sun - a circle with rays radiating outward. A black, fire-scorched sun.

For the rest of the day, Vadigar and Helkha consulted with the priests, attempting to determine what this portentous occasion signified. Satisfied by none of the answers given, Vadigar and Helkha discussed the day's happenings all through the night themselves amongst themselves. They could only come to one conclusion that made any sense to them: the destruction of Vescar's funeral pyre was the work of the Night Mother, her black sun symbol created from the ruined funeral pyre was meant as a sign that Boria owed fealty to to Izalith.

The other tribal leaders were naturally dismayed by Vadigar's conclusion. Vadigar and Helkha were able to persuade a modest few that the destruction of the pyre was a miracle meted out by the Night Mother. Most, however, had assumed that Vadigar and Helkha had lost their minds. The disagreement broke out into a civil war among the tribes between those who supported Vadigar and Helkha, and those who would not suffer the perceived turncoat in their midst.

After the stinging defeat at the Battle at the River Khad, the Archon of War was delighted to hear of the infighting among the Borians. He sent emissaries to Vadigar's camp, congratulating his turn toward the Night Mother and offering assistance in making the rest of the Borians submit. Vadigar thanked the Archon for his offer, but denied his help. For he knew that if the Borians were to ever accept the way of the Night Mother, it would have to be brought to them by one of their own - not a foreign invader.

After a series of defeats against Vadigar, the hostile Borians at last came before him and announced their wish for peace in the Boria. They knew that even if they could destroy Vadigar and his forces, they would not be able to oust the Night Mother's legions stationed in the south of the realm. They knew Vadigar to be wise and gracious, and knew that peace struck with him would be far more agreeable than surrendering to the Archon. With that, Boria was pacified, and Vadigar went before Archon of War to officially swear fealty to the Night Mother.

Pleased with Vadigar's conversion, the Archon name Vadigar an Exarch and Master of Boria. Recognizing his battlefield prowess, the Archon selected Exarch Vadigar as his general, and sent him to lead his campaigns in the various wars throughout Ethica. Vadigar's skill as a tactician was made clear after several great victories on foreign battlefields. After three years of ceaseless campaigning, the Archon of War offered his celebrated Exarch some time to rest and tend to matters within his wards in Boria. Exarch Vadigar thanked his Archon for his reassignment back home, but petitioned his lord for an alternate assignment. Vadigar wanted to expand Izalith's sprawling empire. He offered instead to traverse the Erg Sea, the trackless expanse of desert in western Ethica, and conquer the fabled lands on the other side in the name of the Night Mother. The Archon of War was pleased with this request; he named Helkha as Regent Master in Boria and gave Vadigar his blessing to carry out his conquests in the far west.

Nearly ten years later, Exarch Vadigar finds himself in the extreme northwest of Ethica, beyond the Erg Sea at the foot of a great mountain range. Here he has encountered a depauperate, sparsely-populated land inhabited by a people who have only heard legends of Izalith. They speak of the Djaam: an empire beyond the mountains ruled by powerful sorcerers who draw their power from a moon god they call Rabal. Determined to put paid to this heresy and bright the Night Mother's rule to this exotic land, Exarch Vadigar forms an army to vanquish the Djaam. But a thousand leagues separate Vadigar from Izalith and her empire, and it has yet to be determined if she has any power over this strange land.

Armaments: Malperkh - A fearsome pole-mounted glaive. Malperkh was crafted in the Borian tradition and wielded in battle by Vadigar's father Vescar. The Archon of War graciously offered to have the weapon imbued with powerful enchantments befitting of an exarch's weapon. Vadigar kindly declined his Archon's offer, for he felt that a blade that ended the lives of so many of the Night Mother's loyal servants should never receive Izalith's blessing.
Abilities: While Vadigar possesses superb tactical acumen, he is not blessed with the great powers that his peers have been bestowed with. With so much of his life spent in foreign lands, Vadigar has not been afforded the opportunity to visit the Night Mother and partake in the Rituals of Imbuement from which most of the exarchs gained their powers.

Boria

Boria

Map

Type: Exarchial desmesne under the vassalage of the Archon of War

Culture: The Borians are a primitive and insular people compared against the more cosmopolitan folk of the Motherlands to the south. Few people from the south come to this sparse, remote land. With such little guidance, the transition from the old ways of the Borian people to the new realities of Imperial society has been slow and awkward. The tribal lords of the hill country have simply become Imperial Baronets, peasant rituals are directed to Izalith now rather than the old gods. The masters and names may have changed, but life is much the same as it always has been for the denizens of Boria.

Description: Boria is a windswept realm in the rugged northwest of the empire within the dominion of the Archon of War. Up until thirteen years ago, this was ruled by a fractious confederation of mounted herdsmen. Exarch Vadigar has been charged with commanding the wards of Boria, but on the account of his constant absence, the Exarch chose his sister Helkha to serve as Regent of Boria in his stead. While Vadigar wages war against foreign adversaries, Helkha has had the unenviable task of transforming the tribesmen of Boria into a functioning feudal society like those seen in the Motherlands. Stewardess Helkha's rules Boria from Eskar, a small town in the south of the realm situated on the confluence of the rivers Khad and Isna. While Eskar, with it's small fortified keep, boat jetties, and smattering of craftsman's shops make for a convincing simulacrum of a minor imperial town, Boria is culturally distinct from the rest of Izalith's Empire once one leave's Eskar's immediate environs.

Military: In times when the Archon of War demands levies for his numerous wars abroad, Stewardess Helkha can reliably call upon the Narzads of the hill country to heed the call. The Narzads - perhaps the finest light cavalry in the land - are effective at softening infantry formations with withering javelin volleys and can inflict surprisingly-powerful charges despite being lightly-equipped and armored. In times of more urgent need, the baronets of the hill country are able to provide levies who fight rather well despite being untrained peasants on the account of their upbringing in a relatively inhospitable land and clime.

Black Sun (A Warhammer/ Game of Thrones /Crusader Kings Hybrid)

Name: Vadigar

Titles: The Conqueror in the West, Djaam-Bane

Type: Exarch

Appearance: In progress

Personality and Drive: In progress

History:

Vadigar is perhaps the newest of Izalith's servants. Born to Vescar, a tribal lord of the Borian hinterlands, Vadigar had nearly reached manhood when two legions of the Night Mother crossed the River Khad with the intention of claiming Boria for Izalith's already-massive dominion. Vescar committed his tribe into an alliance with the other Borian tribes in order to repel the incursion. Vescar, aware that this was going to be a savage and protracted conflict from the beginning, brought his son Vadigar and his daughter Helkha to ride out with him and his tribesmen so that they might be educated in the ways of leadership and warfare.

The Narzad, the ruthlessly-effective light cavalry of the Borian tribes, proved successful at harassing and weakening the lumbering legions of infantry hailing from the Motherlands. In these early skirmishes with the Night Mother's forces, Vadigar was permitted by his father to ride out and accompany the Narzad javelin-throwers. This proved to be a very formulative time for the young tactician; Vadigar was able to see firsthand how small numbers could, with appropriate application of force and superior strategems, could disperse even large numbers of enemies.

The initial forays against Izalith's legions were effective in delaying a major incursion into the Borian tribelands, but in the second spring of the war with the Night Mother, eight legions under the command of Archon [insert name here] arrived to put paid to Boria's resistance and make loyal subjects of the restless hillfolk of the North. The Night Mother's invasion had begun in earnest.

The Night Mother's armies at last began to gain ground, conquering the more hospitable southern reaches of Boria and forcing the tribes to retreat into the windswept foothills of the Crown of the North. The Borian tribes continued to ride out to harangue the Night Mother's legions. But with a strong contingent of archers and the powers of the Archon, the Borian riders were now taking substantial casualties with each raid. It was during one such raid that Vescar took an arrow to the clavicle that ended his life. Vadigar took command of the tribe and took it upon himself to resume his father's war against the Archon and the Night Mother.

Emboldened by the death of Vescar, Archon [insert name here] sought to capitalize on the demoralizing effect of the dead chieftain and led 5,000 of his men from his fort in the south of Boria against the tribes. The Archon attempted to cross the River Khad at a shallow stretch deep in forest, hoping to catch the tribes off guard during their funerary rites. Instead, it was the Archon that was caught off guard; Vadigar had intercepted the legions and met them across the banks of the river. Among the trees, the Archon's archers could not fire effective volleys, but the Borian javelinmen were perfectly capable of skewering the Night Mother's infantry as they waded across the Khad. Were it not for the Archon's terrifying powers, the Borians would have killed the Night Mother's forces to the last man. Humiliated, the Archon and his survivors were forced to fall back and retreat south. Having avenged his father in some small measure, Vadigar returned to his camp to mourn Vescar's death in earnest.

During the funerary rites on the following day, Vescar was laid out upon a funeral pyre. As the pyre burned, a bolt of lightning struck the burning wood, completely scattering the pyre. Vadigar and Helkha were astounded, for the lightning bolt had come from a clear, sunny sky. Where the roaring pyre had burned only minutes ago, only a circular heap of coals and ashes remained. The wooden logs of the pyre - still burning, had been cast out such that they pointed toward the burning cinders. Vadigar and Helkha, upon inspecting the scene, found the remains of the pyre much resembled a symbol of the sun - a circle with rays radiating outward. A black, fire-scorched sun.

For the rest of the day, Vadigar and Helkha consulted with the priests, attempting to determine what this portentous occasion signified. Satisfied by none of the answers given, Vadigar and Helkha discussed the day's happenings all through the night themselves amongst themselves. They could only come to one conclusion that made any sense to them: the destruction of Vescar's funeral pyre was the work of the Night Mother, her black sun symbol created from the ruined funeral pyre was meant as a sign that Boria owed fealty to to Izalith.

The other tribal leaders were naturally dismayed by Vadigar's conclusion. Vadigar and Helkha were able to persuade a modest few that the destruction of the pyre was a miracle meted out by the Night Mother. Most, however, had assumed that Vadigar and Helkha had lost their minds. The disagreement broke out into a civil war among the tribes between those who supported Vadigar and Helkha, and those who would not suffer the perceived turncoat in their midst.

After the stinging defeat at the Battle at the River Khad, Archon [insert name here] was delighted to hear of the infighting among the Borians. He sent emissaries to Vadigar's camp, congratulating his turn toward the Night Mother and offering assistance in making the rest of the Borians submit. Vadigar thanked the Archon for his offer, but denied his help. For he knew that if the Borians were to ever accept the way of the Night Mother, it would have to be brought to them by one of their own - not a foreign invader.

After a series of defeats against Vadigar, the hostile Borians at last came before him and announced their wish for peace in the Boria. They knew that even if they could destroy Vadigar and his forces, they would not be able to oust the Night Mother's legions stationed in the south of the realm. They knew Vadigar to be wise and gracious, and knew that peace struck with him would be far more agreeable than surrendering to the Archon. With that, Boria was pacified, and Vadigar went before Archon [insert name here] to officially swear fealty to the Night Mother.

Archon [insert name here], pleased with Vadigar's conversion, named him an Exarch and Master of Boria. Recognizing his battlefield prowess, the Archon selected Exarch Vadigar as his general, and sent him to lead his campaigns in the various wars throughout Ethica. Vadigar's skill as a tactician was made clear after several great victories on foreign battlefields. After three years of ceaseless campaigning, Archon [insert name here] offered his celebrated Exarch some time to rest and tend to matters within his wards in Boria. Exarch Vadigar thanked his Archon for his reassignment back home, but petitioned his lord for an alternate assignment. Vadigar wanted to expand Izalith's sprawling empire. He offered instead to traverse the Erg Sea, the trackless expanse of desert in western Ethica, and conquer the fabled lands on the other side in the name of the Night Mother. Archon [insert name here] was pleased with this request; he named Helkha as Regent Master in Boria and gave Vadigar his blessing to carry out his conquests in the far west.

Nearly ten years later, Exarch Vadigar finds himself in the extreme northwest of Ethica, beyond the Erg Sea at the foot of a great mountain range. Here he has encountered a depauperate, sparsely-populated land inhabited by a people who have only heard legends of Izalith. They speak of the Djaam: an empire beyond the mountains ruled by powerful sorcerers who draw their power from a moon god they call Rabal. Determined to put paid to this heresy and bright the Night Mother's rule to this exotic land, Exarch Vadigar forms an army to vanquish the Djaam. But a thousand leagues separate Vadigar from Izalith and her empire, and it has yet to be determined if she has any power over this strange land.

Armaments: In progress

Abilities: In progress