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3 yrs ago
LUV GOIN 2 A RENNASANZ FAIR. LOTTA FAGET NERDBOYS BUT GAWTDAMM I LUV THEM TURKYLEGS. COULD BOUTA DOZZEN OF THEM TASTY LIL FUCKS. LEMME GET A HELL YEAH BRUTHER
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3 yrs ago
MY PAPAW TOLLD ME 1 THING: SON WHEN UR MY AGE, UR GONA APPRESHIATE TAKIN A GOOD SHIT. AND BRUTHER, HE WUZ RITE! KEN I GETTA FUCKEN HELL YEAH?
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3 yrs ago
GONNA HAVE 2 DO SUM COMONITY SERVISE BC I GOT A FUKKIN DUI. I ASKED THE JUDGE IF HITTIN ON FAT-ASSED MEXICAN GIRLS CULD BE A SERVISE 2 THA CUMUNITY! LEMME GET A GOTTDAM HELL YEA BRUTTHER!!
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3 yrs ago
I like a man that knows what he wants. And I love when what he wants is to wear a pirate’s hat and poop on my chest whilst saying “Arr! Swab the poopdeck ye scurvy hedgepig!” Aye aye, daddy! 🥵😫🏴‍☠️
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3 yrs ago
MY UNCLE DONALD TAUGHT ME 1 THING: NEVER ITCH UR BUTTHOLE AFTER EATIN SUM HOT ASS CHICKEN WINGS! CAN I GET A HELL YEAH BRUTHER??
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Good to have everyone.

In the interest of letting as many people participate as possible, I will be giving my realm up for someone else. I will instead be playing as Evar Varvudda and his retinue.

Here to express interest - though I will undoubtedly have questions. Especially since this may be one of my first Nation RPs. But hey, have to start somewhere, right?


Ask away. If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me. PMs are fine, but Steam messenger is the best way to reach me throughout the day - as I have the Steam app on my mobile phone. Steam name is 'gorgenmast' if anyone wants to friend me.

Children of the Greatfather




Since the first days of the world, when the Greatfather and his six mighty sons walked the land, Magnar has been the homeland of the Born: children in their tongue. A dozen centuries have passed since those heady days, and in that time the children of the Greatfather's sons have tamed the rugged lands of Magnar and carved out six great realms, one for each of the Greatfather's sons. The hosts of the vengeful dead have been laid to rest forever and the trolls have been banished to their lairs deep in the mountains. Invaders too have come to despoil the birthright of the Born; the Thalasan invaders, bringing horses and magicks, succeeded in destroying one of the great realms, but they too were ultimately repulsed. Every enemy of the Born, unbowed children of the Greatfather, has been laid low. Magnar was their hard-earned birthright and for hundred of years, the Born have assumed that their homeland would be theirs to inhabit for all time.

But now, Magnar faces a threat greater than all the revenant hosts, savage trolls, and Thalasan fleets combined; an adversary that no amount of courage nor skill at arms can repulse. The doom of the Born is no mortal army, but Magnar itself, for an unending winter has seized the land. Snow is now liable to fall within weeks of the summer solstice, and the tremendous glaciers of the mountains creep into the valleys, crushing villages and forests alike in their inexorable advance. Famished and desperate, the northern realms plunder their southern neighbors. As war rages across frigid Magnar, the court of the Master's Citadel at Draath has descended into madness. So great is the courtly turmoil that the Master has been assassinated for the first time in 700 years.

There is a new Master of Magnar, Evar Varvudda. Never expecting to become Master, Evar became a sailor and traveled to distant lands across the Sturmsee, the Sea of Tempests. Now that he has returned, Evar speaks of bountiful, verdant lands to the south. Faced with the imminent doom of Magnar, the Master of all Born has suggested the unthinkable: that all Bornic men, women, and children abandon the Greatfather's birthright and establish a new homeland for the children of the Greatfather.



Introduction




Children of the Greatfather is an advanced nation roleplay set in a low-fantasy medieval world. This roleplay focuses on the five realms of Magnar, a septentrional landmass with a culture and climate similar to that of the greater Scandinavian region of Europe's medieval era. Due to a rapid climatic shift akin to the so-called Little Ice Age that occurred in medieval Europe, Magnar's climate has quickly become too cold to sustain its agrarian society. The Master of Magnar - who is essentially the king of this land - has suggested relocating the entire population to the more temperate lands across the sea.

I am looking for 4-5 competent storytellers who can post regularly to control one of each of the five realms of Magnar. I may allow any extra players to assume control of the native civilizations of the southern landmasses, or the non-Born population of Magnar. I am looking for writers that can weave together a compelling story that fits the setting. Creative, setting-appropriate worldbuilding is another skill I am seeking in applicants.



Lore and Setting




History of Magnar











Cartography







Application




I admittedly hate writing applications, but they are a necessary evil. Remember that people really only skim these to get a feel for your nation, so don't spend a lot of time or effort on your application.

Realm Name: One of the five remaining realms of Magnar. Effectively a duchy or great house.
Realm Master: The realms trace their history back to the six sons of the Greatfather, and the master of the realm is a direct descendant of one of the original six sons. Although male masters are much more common - female masters are permissible.
Master's Biography: May be combined with Realm History
Realm History: May be combined with Master's Biography
Realm Seat: The capital of your realm. Not particularly important as you will not be ruling from here for very long.
Realm Boundaries/Location: Again, not terribly important at first as the Born will be fleeing their homeland before long. But for the purposes of immersion, it would be nice to know where everyone is relative to one another. When the colonization of the southern lands begins, your realm's boundaries will be more pertinent.
Hello again, all.

The map and lore fleshing-out didn't materialize, as you can see. Excuses are like assholes and so I won't bother explaining why I haven't made this happen. In any case, my weekend should be much more relaxed and I expect to have a completed OOC thread up by Sunday.

I am thrilled by the outpouring of interest in this concept as well as the WIP faction made up by DeadBeat. Expect a full OOC sooner than later, so in the meantime continue to flesh out your ideas in the meantime.
Nice. We've got a lot of talent between the four of you. I'll give it another day or so for interested parties to throw their hat in the ring before I put up an OOC thread. I'll make a map and jot some lore tidbits tomorrow, so those of you who would like to start on an application early have something to go off of.

Children of the Greatfather


Crossposted from here to get the attention of other advanced roleplayers.



Since the first days of the world, when the Greatfather and his six mighty sons walked the land, Magnar has been the homeland of the Born: children in their tongue. A dozen centuries have passed since those heady days, and in that time the children of the Greatfather's sons have tamed the rugged lands of Magnar and carved out six great realms, one for each of the Greatfather's sons. The hosts of the vengeful dead have been laid to rest forever and the trolls have been banished to their lairs deep in the mountains. Invaders too have come to despoil the birthright of the Born; the Thalasan invaders, bringing horses and magicks, succeeded in destroying one of the great realms, but they too were ultimately repulsed. Every enemy of the Born, unbowed children of the Greatfather, has been laid low. Magnar was their hard-earned birthright and for hundred of years, the Born have assumed that their homeland would be theirs to inhabit for all time.

But now, Magnar faces a threat greater than all the revenant hosts, savage trolls, and Thalasan fleets combined; an adversary that no amount of courage nor skill at arms can repulse. The doom of the Born is no mortal army, but Magnar itself, for an unending winter has seized the land. Snow is now liable to fall within weeks of the summer solstice, and the tremendous glaciers of the mountains creep into the valleys, crushing villages and forests alike in their inexorable advance. Famished and desperate, the northern realms plunder their southern neighbors. As war rages across frigid Magnar, the court of the Master's Citadel at Draath has descended into madness. So great is the courtly turmoil that the Master has been assassinated for the first time in 700 years.

There is a new Master of Magnar, Evar Varvudda. Never expecting to become Master, Evar became a sailor and traveled to distant lands across the Sturmsee, the Sea of Tempests. Now that he has returned, Evar speaks of bountiful, verdant lands to the south. Faced with the imminent doom of Magnar, the Master of all Born has suggested the unthinkable: that all Bornic men, women, and children abandon the Greatfather's birthright and establish a new homeland for the children of the Greatfather.



Introduction




This is an interest check for Children of the Greatfather, an advanced nation roleplay set in a low-fantasy medieval world. This roleplay focuses on the five realms of Magnar, a septentrional landmass with a culture and climate similar to that of the greater Scandinavian region of Europe's medieval era. Due to a rapid climatic shift akin to the so-called Little Ice Age that occurred in medieval Europe, Magnar's climate has quickly become too cold to sustain its agrarian society. The Master of Magnar - who is essentially the king of this land - has suggested relocating the entire population to the more temperate lands across the sea.

I am looking for 4-5 competent storytellers who can post regularly to control one of each of the five realms of Magnar. I may allow any extra players to assume control of the native civilizations of the southern landmasses, or the non-Born population of Magnar. I am looking for writers that can weave together a compelling story that fits the setting. Creative, setting-appropriate worldbuilding is another skill I am seeking in applicants.



Lore and Setting




This section will be completed if a sufficient interest in the roleplay is generated. Look for a map and a brief history of the world here soon.



Application




For the time being, I need nothing but a statement of interest. However, you are welcome to get a head start on your application if you wish. I admittedly hate writing applications, but they are a necessary evil. Remember that people really only skim these to get a feel for your nation, so don't spend a lot of time or effort on your application.

Realm name: One of the five remaining realms of Magnar. Effectively a duchy or great house.
Realm Master: The realms trace their history back to the six sons of the Greatfather, and the master of the realm is a direct descendant of one of the original six sons. Although male masters are much more common - female masters are permissible.
Master's Biography: May be combined with Realm History
Realm History: May be combined with Master's Biography
Realm Seat: The capital of your realm. Not particularly important as you will not be ruling from here for very long.
Realm Boundaries/Location: Again, not terribly important at first as the Born will be fleeing their homeland before long. But for the purposes of immersion, it would be nice to know where everyone is relative to one another. When the colonization of the southern lands begins, your realm's boundaries will be more pertinent.

Children of the Greatfather




Since the first days of the world, when the Greatfather and his six mighty sons walked the land, Magnar has been the homeland of the Born: children in their tongue. A dozen centuries have passed since those heady days, and in that time the children of the Greatfather's sons have tamed the rugged lands of Magnar and carved out six great realms, one for each of the Greatfather's sons. The hosts of the vengeful dead have been laid to rest forever and the trolls have been banished to their lairs deep in the mountains. Invaders too have come to despoil the birthright of the Born; the Thalasan invaders, bringing horses and magicks, succeeded in destroying one of the great realms, but they too were ultimately repulsed. Every enemy of the Born, unbowed children of the Greatfather, has been laid low. Magnar was their hard-earned birthright and for hundred of years, the Born have assumed that their homeland would be theirs to inhabit for all time.

But now, Magnar faces a threat greater than all the revenant hosts, savage trolls, and Thalasan fleets combined; an adversary that no amount of courage nor skill at arms can repulse. The doom of the Born is no mortal army, but Magnar itself, for an unending winter has seized the land. Snow is now liable to fall within weeks of the summer solstice, and the tremendous glaciers of the mountains creep into the valleys, crushing villages and forests alike in their inexorable advance. Famished and desperate, the northern realms plunder their southern neighbors. As war rages across frigid Magnar, the court of the Master's Citadel at Draath has descended into madness. So great is the courtly turmoil that the Master has been assassinated for the first time in 700 years.

There is a new Master of Magnar, Evar Varvudda. Never expecting to become Master, Evar became a sailor and traveled to distant lands across the Sturmsee, the Sea of Tempests. Now that he has returned, Evar speaks of bountiful, verdant lands to the south. Faced with the imminent doom of Magnar, the Master of all Born has suggested the unthinkable: that all Bornic men, women, and children abandon the Greatfather's birthright and establish a new homeland for the children of the Greatfather.



Introduction




This is an interest check for Children of the Greatfather, an advanced nation roleplay set in a low-fantasy medieval world. This roleplay focuses on the five realms of Magnar, a septentrional landmass with a culture and climate similar to that of the greater Scandinavian region of Europe's medieval era. Due to a rapid climatic shift akin to the so-called Little Ice Age that occurred in medieval Europe, Magnar's climate has quickly become too cold to sustain its agrarian society. The Master of Magnar - who is essentially the king of this land - has suggested relocating the entire population to the more temperate lands across the sea.

I am looking for 4-5 competent storytellers who can post regularly to control one of each of the five realms of Magnar. I may allow any extra players to assume control of the native civilizations of the southern landmasses, or the non-Born population of Magnar. I am looking for writers that can weave together a compelling story that fits the setting. Creative, setting-appropriate worldbuilding is another skill I am seeking in applicants.



Lore and Setting




History of Magnar













Application




For the time being, I need nothing but a statement of interest. However, you are welcome to get a head start on your application if you wish. I admittedly hate writing applications, but they are a necessary evil. Remember that people really only skim these to get a feel for your nation, so don't spend a lot of time or effort on your application.

Realm Name: One of the five remaining realms of Magnar. Effectively a duchy or great house.
Realm Master: The realms trace their history back to the six sons of the Greatfather, and the master of the realm is a direct descendant of one of the original six sons. Although male masters are much more common - female masters are permissible.
Master's Biography: May be combined with Realm History
Realm History: May be combined with Master's Biography
Realm Seat: The capital of your realm. Not particularly important as you will not be ruling from here for very long.
Realm Boundaries/Location: Again, not terribly important at first as the Born will be fleeing their homeland before long. But for the purposes of immersion, it would be nice to know where everyone is relative to one another. When the colonization of the southern lands begins, your realm's boundaries will be more pertinent.
Boria was now several days and forty leagues behind the Stewardess and her host. They had left behind the modest trappings of civilization in Eskar and traded them for the pristine and rugged splendor of the northern frontier. To the east, a jagged chain of snowy mountains rose into the cerulean sky. The hillsides had turned green with fresh young grass that had only recently sprouted in the absence of the deep winter snow that had blanketed these lands only weeks before. Forests of pine and majestic Aesling cedar covered much of the land in patchy blankets of deep, dark green while patches of spring crocuses and daffodils flourished in the meadows. Far to the west, at the bottom of this great valley, the Atari River wound sinuously in the hazy distance - marking the northwestern extent of the Illyrican Empire and the beginning of the lands of Atar. With the fringe of the Atar in sight, Helkha knew that they had nearly arrived at their destination: the fort at Abkehr.

Helkha turned in her saddle to survey the army walking behind her. Stretching across this long meadow was a mass of warriors some 4,000 strong. Their spearpoints were pointed into the sky, catching the sun's rays in a scintillating array of flashes. Some of the spears had been affixed with flags that flapped vigorously in the wind; celemworm banners depicting either the Night Mother's rose sigil, or the wolverine crest of Boria. These decorated spearshafts, Helkha knew, belonged to the three-dozen or so sergeant yeomen in command of a regiment. The vast majority of this lot were comprised of peasant levies who could scarcely afford a spear, but there were some soldiers in this army - mainly folk from the north of Boria - who were equipped and skilled with bows.

"I wish we had more bowmen," Helkha remarked to Baronet Galakhad, who rode right alongside her at the very front of the army. "If this western horde attacks Abkehr, we will sorely wish for archers who can rain arrow volleys down over the walls."

"We have about 500 archers; not as many nor as skilled as I would like," Galakhad admitted. "But they will be numerous enough to make any attacker think twice about making an attempt on the walls. Not to mention the 400 Narzads that have joined us," the Knight-Commander turned and gestured to the cavalry formations riding along the flanks and rear of the massed infantry.

"Then the attackers will simply lay siege to the fort, and I doubt Abkehr's granaries and stores are sufficient to hold out for a prolonged siege."

"Let them lay siege, milady," Galakhad declared. "Regent Master Ai has pledged to commit 5,000 of his own forces to Abkehr's defense. They are a fortnight behind us at the latest. They will relieve Abkehr if a siege should occur. And if they should fail, then the combined armies of all of Illyrica will be brought to bear on this Djaam menace. No incursion will be allowed any farther than Abkehr."

"Assuming the collective might of Illyrica is not already committed against Lesmania," Helkha added.

"At the very least, we shall have support from Doma and the other northern domains. Regent Master Ai has wisely kept much of his forces in reserve here in the north. They will be sufficient to repel any attack."

"Mother willing," Helkha added.

The Borian host marched another two leagues northward, following the crude dirt road through the great old-growth forests of the imperial hinterlands. Helkha and Galakhad led the army down this road, walking betwixt huge cedars who had been fully grown a hundred years before the Night Mother's empire was ever thought of. The Stewardess, raised on the windswept plains of Boria, was unaccustomed to such an enclosed environment - perhaps unsettled as well. On the Borian plain, one could see anything approaching across the rolling plains from a league or two away. But with these great trees spreading forth in every direction except directly forward and behind and the dense understory brush - surprisingly opaque despite still being bare from winter, Helkha was unsettled by how easily an ambush could be laid here. Not just by this mysterious horde coming from the west across Atar, but the indigenous northerners of this land. The Empire's rule over the remote hinterland was tenuous at best, and there were yet many northerners who were still hostile to the Night Mother's servants. Hostile enough, perhaps, to waylay Helkha's forces as they crossed through the forest. She pressed her heels into the haunches of her horse, beckoning her steed - and the army following it - to move that much faster through the forest.

"Not so fond of these trees are you, milady?" the Knight-Commander noted with a reassuring smile.

"Not at all," Helkha admitted. "I miss the Borian plains, Galakhad. I miss how open it is out there, where you can see everything around you. The mountains, the hills, the wind rippling through a thousand acres of grassland... I miss Vadigar."

"Old Boria," Galakhad concluded. "The way things used to be be, before we were cooped up in Rasthomig and Eskar, tasked with turning it all into an imperial simulacrum. That is what you miss."

Helkha gave a nod.

"Do you miss it, Galakhad?" The Stewardess asked. "Old Boria?"

"How could I not? You were but a child when Old Boria became what it is today, but I am nearly twenty years your senior. I was old enough to remember life before the arrival of the empire and after. Those were simpler, happier times, without question. But, these are better times.

"We do not squabble and fight incessant wars over grazing lands as our ancestors did. Now, we fight to protect the entirety of our homeland and toil to improve the lives of our countrymen. It has been a little over a decade since the empire came to Boria, but think of the progress we have made. The lives of the common men are longer and healthier. The serfs harvest a surplus of wheat and potatoes so that they do not starve in the winter as they had before. Boria is now inhabited by craftsmen and merchants who enrich our people and our land. But most of all, we serve the Night Mother and thereby earn her blessing and protection.

"It is natural to miss the simplicity of childhood, milady. Likewise, we pine for the simpler times when Borians ruled themselves. But just as we mature in our older age, the Borian people have matured. I recognize that life is better serving the Night Mother, even if it does not always feel that way. It is a heartless man who does not miss old Boria, but it is a fool who wishes to go back."

Helkha rode in silence for a time, considering what Baronet Galakhad had said. But before she had another opportunity to speak again, she saw the forest suddenly give way to a vast clearing. An area a quarter of a league around had been completely stripped of its ancient forest, replaced by an expanse of half-rotten stumps erupting with all manner of mushrooms. In the middle of this emptied land was a stronghold ringed with a palisade wall rising fifteen feet high. Guard towers were fashioned from planks cut from the ancient trees felled around the fort, atop which small catapults were affixed. In the middle of the wooden fortifications was a keep built from native stone. From the battlements, banners flapped in the wind bearing the rose sigil of the Night Mother. At last, the Borians had arrived at Abkehr, and judging the multitude of guards gathering atop the palisade ramparts and the battlements - Abkehr's garrison knew it as well.

At Galakhad's order, the Borians formed ranks and the mounted Narzads joined Helkha and Galakhad at the front of the army. Synchronized bootfalls rumbled across the clearing as Helkha, Galakhad, and the Narzads led them up to within a hundred feet of Abkehr's southern gate. Galakhad raised his palm up, signaling to the yeoman sergeants to halt. At once, the Borian army halted, trading stares with the garrison of Abkehr looking down upon them from the ramparts.

"Friends and fellow servants of Mother Night," Galakhad called out to the guards standing above him. "I am Baronet Galakhad, and I am joined by Helkha, Stewardess of Boria in lieu of Exarch Vadigar; and the levies of Boria. We have traveled for many days from to reinforce this settlement against the purported threat from the west. I bid you to let us through the gate and feed these men, and that my lady Helkha and I may hold court with Exarch Errocas."

Without response, the solid timber gate was winched open before the Borians. As the gate opened, Helkha and Galakhad saw a grizzled man, with a salt-and-pepper beard and mane grayed more by the pressures of combat than age. He was tall with broad shoulders accentuated by the pauldrons of his plate-and-mail cuirass. Flanked on either side by a cadre of what Helkha recognized as Stromist honor guard, the man standing on the opposite side of the gate's threshold scanned over the Borians with gray eyes before ultimately deciding to swagger over to Helkha and Galakhad.

"So you lot are the reinforcements?" He said, looking across the Borian spearmen with those stern gray eyes. "How many are you? Three, four thousand?"

"We bring 4,120 levies and 380 horsemen from the Narze to assist in the defense of Abkehr," Galakhad reported.

"Less than 5,000 men in reinforcements, hmm? It seems I'm not the only one who isn't terribly concerned by this approaching army I've been warned about."

"Not at all, good sir," Galakhad said. "We are merely the first of the reinforcements to arrive. Regent Master Ai has dispatched another 5,000 men to Abkehr's aid."

"I didn't need anyone's aid."

"Who precisely are you?" Helkha snapped, clearly irritated by the man's lack of respect.

"Ah, I've never introduced myself. I am Marshal Dulas, serving commander of Abkehr until Lord Errocas returns."

"And where might Errocas be?"

"On an errand from the Mother herself."

"I see," Helkha acknowledged. "In any case, I regret that this was not the support you had anticipated, Marshal. But this is all that Boria could spare. We in Boria are unsettled by the news of this army approaching from the west."

"I hardly see why," Dulas replied with the characteristic nonchalance he had in the presence of everyone but Errocas. "Abkehr has seen plenty of attacks from Atar. And yet, here we stand."

"This is not another Atari border raid, Marshal. If the rumors out of Atar are true, we face a much more formidable enemy than any force that has come out of the Realms of the Red Witches," Helkha explained.

What exactly are we up against, then?"

"Allow us inside, and we will divulge all we know."

Dulas gave a nod, and turned to his Stromist guard. "Escort these soldiers to the barracks, see that they are fed, and show them to where they may pitch tents or be quartered. I will go with the Stewardess and her knight and let them speak their peace." With that, Dulas beckoned the Borians into fort Abkehr.

Brainstorming a faction atm.
Stewardess Helkha had traveled from Sanc Valatir, first by steed and now by boat, to the north. To Boria.

Knowing that she would not have another chance to speak with Ai, she saw no need to prolong her sojourn in the south and found speedy passage back to the north on the river cog Sargassum in Ardaza. For an extra 250 silver thorns, she persuaded the merchant boat's captain to bypass Thulthar and sail up the River Khad toward Eskar. As the Sargassum sailed up the great rivers of the north, Helkha watched from the window of her rude cabin as the landscape beyond the riverbanks gradually transitioned from the great manorial estates of the coast to wilder country whose forests and hills were scarcely touched by man. When it had been nearly a day of sailing since the last settlement passed by - a tiny collection of wattle and daub huts built around a few jetties into the river - Helkha knew they were getting close.

There was little for the Stewardess to entertain herself with as the boat crawled up the River Khad. She brought numerous books with her before leaving for Sanc Valatir, but she had already read them all. Helkha had given up checking her crystal scrying orb to reach Vadigar, and was now wishing she had asked if Ai possessed a similar scrying orb with which she could attune hers. She spent a time reviewing that conversation with Ai on the balcony of the Sanctum. She regretted being so brash and wished that she could speak with Ai now to explain her sentiments more clearly. But now, with the great impending war in the south, Ai would either spend much of his life subjugating the Lesmanian factions or die in the attempt. In any case, Helkha did not expect to cross paths with him ever again. With no one to confide with, Helkha resigned herself to looking through the window of her cabin and watching the open hill country of Ciskhadania roll past.

"Port ho!" Helkha heard a deckhand call from outside. Having passed Portus Furcata in the middle of the night, Helkha knew that there was only one port settlement of any size this far up the River Khad: Eskar. At long last, Helkha was nearly home again. She gathered up her belongings and left her cabin in preparation for disembarking.

From the Sargassum's cramped deck, Helkha watched as her home city inched closer toward her. Strategically situated on a point of land in the middle of the confluence of the rivers Khad and Isna, Eskar was perhaps as large as a settlement could reasonably be this far from the imperial heartland or any major trade routes. A palisade fortified with rudimentary watchtowers demarcated the town's boundaries on land, while a half-dozen wharves jutting out into the River Khad provided ample harborage to the odd vessel that found its way this far north. A few small warehouses and craftsmen's shops lined the waterfront row, and overlooking the city's houses and shops was the modest keep of Rasthomig.

But as the Sargassum's deckhands drew out oars and paddled up alongside one of the free wharves, Helkha noticed something unusual about the city. In the city's vacant lots and open spaces, a number of tents had been pitched. Men in silvery kettle hats with spears in their arms could be seen marching about Eskar's streets or milling about in loose clusters. Helkha's heart raced in her breast at the sight of so many soldiers. This had all the earmarks of an occupied city. What in the Mother's name had been allowed to transpire while she was away? Perhaps the baronets in the north of Boria had recognized an opportunity with the Stewardess' absence and had overtaken Eskar. But if that were the case, Helkha would expect to see the city brimming with mounted Narzads. The men that marched through the streets now seemed outfitted as imperial levies. The thousand questions swirling through the Stewardess' head would have to wait until she disembarked to be answered, and that could not come quickly enough. As soon as the Sargassum's moorings were hitched, the gangplank laid out, and the Stewardess' horse brought up from the cog's hold; Helkha slapped five large orichalcum coins worth 100 thorns apiece into the captain's hand. Without so much as a farewell, Helkha mounted her unsaddled horse and galloped off the gangplank and onto the wharf.

As Helkha rode through Eskar's streets, it became clear that the soldiers that milled about the city were not here as part of a coup mounted by the baronets. The soldiers, upon recognizing the Stewardess, stopped what they were doing and bowed their kettle hats to her in deference.

"Hail, Stewardess!" A soldier exclaimed as Helkha cantered past.

"Welcome home, milady!" Another greeted.

The fact that these men were attempting to greet her, rather than seize her, gave proof that these were not the warriors in the employ of some upstart baronet; but rather her loyal levies. But why had they been mustered?

When Helkha rode up to the foot of Rasthomig Keep, she encountered Hemigan and Baronet Galakhad surveying a platoon of spearman levies formed in ranks in an open plaza near the keep's gates - the closest thing Eskar had to a parade ground. As soon as Hemigan and Galakhad noticed the mounted Stewardess, they dismissed the soldiers and immediately approached.

"Milady!" Hemigan exclaimed. "Am I ever glad to see you!"

"Hemigan, Knight-Commander Galakhad," Helkha addressed as she reigned in her panting horse, "what is the meaning of all this? Why is the city teeming with soldiers?"

"I fear there has been some... disquieting news of late," Hemigan reported; a dour expression replacing the excitement of the Stewardess' unexpected return. The Stewardess' wizened adviser waited for the last of the spearmen to march out of earshot before he continued.

"Word has reached my ear from Atar that is profoundly alarming. I have no reason to question the source of this knowledge; invaders have arrived in the Lands of the Red Witch. There they speak of an army that crossed the western edge of Atar within the last month, moving east."

"From where?" Helkha asked.

"All that was said to me is that they hail from the west," Hemigan confessed. "With an array of soldiers and beasts the likes of which their people have never seen. Weapons that they have no words to describe. It all sounds frightfully familiar to the stories you recounted of your brother in the far west. I fear these warriors may hail from the Sunset Ocean."

"Djaam." Helkha concluded, speaking through a lump in her throat. Already, it seemed as though Illyrica was poised to suffer yet another surprise attack from its peripheries. First from Lesmania, and now from the Djaam by way of Atar. It was said that the Night Mother was capable of overcoming any foe or difficulty; but resisting two attacks across two very distant battlefields struck Helkha as a feat that even the Night Mother might have some difficulty achieving.

"Djahm?" Galakhad pronounced with difficulty.

"The sorcerer kings in the far west that my brother fought against," Helkha explained, before turning back to Hemigan. "Do you think they have come to avenge themselves for whatever injuries Vadigar inflicted against them?"

"I am told that these warriors are paying no heed to the indigenous peoples of Atar. They do not appear to attack or move toward the haunts of the Red Witches, only moving eastward at a very rapid pace. The Red Witches seem to have no interest in softening their blow against us. If anything, I would expect the Atari to mobilize any attacks after the arrival of this western host on our border."

"This must be the work of the Djaam," Helkha concluded. "In which case, we must look to the defenses of our western frontier."

"Agreed," Galakhad added. "It would seem your brother has rattled quite the hornet's nest. But, rest assured, milady, we will crush this expeditionary force of theirs. I have summoned as many levies as I was able from the south of Boria and the Baronets in the north will also heed the call to battle. Their Narzad cavalry will ours to command against this horde."

"That will be nowhere near enough to repel such a force," Helkha concluded. "If these are the same men my brother has fought against for the past ten years, they will be formidable foes to be sure. We must notify the whole of Illyrica."

"And I have sounded the call to the arms in your stead, milady." Hemigan reported. "I have sent riders as far as Thulthar to warn our fellow exarchs against this threat. But I fear there is no time to await any response. The time to fortify the empire's western flank is now. And to this end, Knight-Commander Galakhad has taken it upon himself to lead our forces to strengthen the existing garrisons of the empire's border forts along the western frontier."

"Indeed," Galakhad chimed in. "I will lead our forces to the fort at Abkher."

"And I will join you," declared Helkha.

"Milady, while your offer is generous, there is no need for-"

"No, Galakhad," Helkha stated firmly. "We will lead our forces to Abkher first thing tomorrow morning. For while it is possible that these monsters put my beloved brother to death, a daughter of Vescar yet draws breath. May the Mother damn me if I sit on a throne while the Djaam, the enemies of my Vadigar, take their war to the Illyrican homeland. So long as I live, I will help repel the Djaam."
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