GreivousKhan

The New Empires

If we can get a general idea of how big the world map is, that would help allot with population density, and the like.

The New Empires

I can say from experience you will be taking a big risk of a plotless NRP, those always see allot of post, then dry up when people wonder about waiting for something to do/happen.

That said, I might be interested in being apart of this, been awhile since I have been a player in a fantasy NRP. :K

Edit: Also, 70% of the info on that NS is super not necessary, I mean, Art and Music? That can just be absorbed into a culture section, and some of the other segments seem out of place for a middle age Nation Sheet.

Though, I would advise something along the lines of flaws, and strengths, you'd be surprised how much that helps in creating specializations, also helps keep people form creating prefect realms or all capable armies.

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

It's never too deep, gold, Never. :P

Anyway PM or jump on the chat if your interested Cosmic.

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

Date: 74th of Zieliah, Year 698
Location: Lochbridge Port

Alysara, daughter of Lord Regent Shamgar of House Paragon, stood frowning at the silvered mirror. The dye in the dress was said to come from a tuberous vegetable. Which when simmered produced a deep and pure scarlet. “It's the color of blood,” She said. “This is what everyone in Prostějov is going mad for?”

The seamstress flanking her in the reflection looked pale and drab, almost lifeless. Seated to the left on a settee, Arlohius of House Oloro cleared his throat in a manner all too familiar to Alysara, and she turned, brows lifting, and said. “And what shall we argue about this morning, then? The cut of the dress? The style of the court? Or is it my hair that now dismays you? As it happens, I like it short. The shorter the better. Why should you complain about it, anyway? It's not as though you've let your hair go long as a horse tail just to fit in with the day's fashion. Oh, I don't know why I invited you in at all.”

Mild surprise played with his even features for the briefest of moments, and then he offered up a lopsided shrug. “I was just thinking, it's more vermilion then scarlet, isn't it. Or is it our eyes that are changing?”

“Idiotic superstitions. Vermilion...well.”

“Eldfolk wives call it the “Born of the Hearth”, don't they?”

“That's because they boil the root, fool.”

“Oh, I would think the name more descriptive than that.”

“Would you now? Haven't you somewhere to be, Arlohius? Some horses to train? Some sword to whet?”

"You invite me only to then send me away?” The young man rose smoothly. “If I were a sensitive soul I might be offended. As it is, I know this game- we have played it all our lives, haven't we?”

“Game? What game?”

He had been making for the door, but now he paused and glanced back, and there was something sad in his faint smile. “I hope you'll excuse me, I have a horse to whet and a sword to train. Although, I should add, you look lovely in that dress, Alysara.“

Even as she drew a breath, mind racing for something that made sense- that might even darw him snapping back on his leash – he slipped out and was gone. One of the seamstresses sighed, and Alysara rounded on her. “Enough of that, Ephalla! He is a hostage in this house and is to be accorded the highest respect!”

“Sorry, mistress,” Ephalla whispered, ducking. “Bit he spoke true- you look lovely!”

Alysara returned her attention to the blurred image of herself in the mirror. “But,” she murmured, “Do you think he'll like it?”

---

Arlohius paused for a moment in the corridor outside Alysara's door, near enough to hear the last exchange between her and her handmaid. The sad half-smile on his face remained, only fading as he set out towards the main hall.

He was nineteen turns old, the last eleven of those spent here in the House of Carixus Rientrius Paragon as a hostage. He was old enough to understand the value of the tradition. For all that the word 'hostage' carried an implicit pejorative, caged in notions of imprisonment and the absence of personal freedom, the practice was more of an exchange than anything else. It was further bound by rules and proscriptions ensuring the rights of the hostage. The sanctity of their person was immutable, precocious as a founding law. Accordingly, Arlohius, born of House Oloro, felt as much an Paragon as Carixus, Ealstain or, indeed, Shamgar's daughter.

And this was...unfortunate. His childhood friend was a girl no longer but a woman. And gone were his childish thoughts, and his dreams of pretending she was in truth his own sister- although he now recognized the confusions swirling through such dreams. For a boy, the role of sister, wife and mother could- if one was careless- be so easily blended together into a heady brew of anguished longing. He'd not known what he'd wanted of her, but he had soon how their friendship had changed, and in that change a wall had grown between them, impassable, forbidding, and patrolled by stern prosperity. There had been moments of awkwardness, when ether Alysara or he stumbled to close to one another, only to be drawn up freshly chiseled stone, the touch of which yielded embarrassment and shame.

The struggled now to find their places, shifting about in a search to discover the proper distances between them. Or perhaps the struggle was his alone. He could not be sure, and in that he saw the proof of how things had changed. Once, running at her side, he had known her well. Now, he wondered if he knew her at all.

In her room, only a short time ago, he'd spoken of the games now played between them. Not like the games of old, for these were not, strictly speaking, shared. Instead, these new ones held to personal, private rules, solitary in their gauging, and nothing was won but an abeyance of unease. And yet she had professed ignorance. No, ignorance was the wrong word. The word was innocence.

Should he believe her?

In truth, Arlohius felt lost. Alysara had outgrown him in every way, and at times he felt like a puppy at her heels, eager for play, but that sort of playing was behind her now. She thought him a fool. She mocked him at every turn, and a dozen times each day he silently vowed that he was done with it, all of it, only to once more find himself answering her summons- which seemed to be uttered ever more imperiously- and finding himself, yet again, the arrow-butt to her barbs.

It was clear to him, at last, that there were other meanings to the word 'hostage,' ones not codified into the laws of tradition, and they bound him in chains, heavy and cruelly biting, and he spent his days, and nights, in tormented stricture. But this was his twentieth turn of life. He was only a month away from being released, sent back to his own blood, where he would sit discomfited at the family table, trapped in his own strangeness in the midst of family that had grown around the wound of his prolonged absence. All of this- Alysara and her pious father, Alysara and her proud uncle, Alysara and her brilliant though now exiled brother, Alysara and the man who would soon be her husband- all of it would be past, a thing of his history day by day losing force, its power over him and his life.

And so, too sharply felt for irony, Arlohius now longed for his freedom.

Striding into the Great Hall, he was brought up short to seeing Lord Carixus standing near the hearth. The old man's eyes were on the massive slab of stone laid into the tiled floor, marking the threshold of the hearth and bearing ancient words carved into the granite. The Common language struggled with notions of filial duty- or so Ealstain's old friend , a court poet named Gallan, was fond of saying- as if hinting at some fundamental flaw in spirit, and so, as was often the case, the words were Ancient Tilrinic- the tongue of the Arcane order. So many of the Orders gifts to the people of Elyden seemed to fill the dusty niches and gaps left gaping by flaws in the Common tongues character, and not one of those gifts was without symbolic meaning.

As a hostage, Arlohius was forbidden from learning those arcane words, given so long ago to the bloodline of the Paragons. It was odd, he now reflected as he bowed before Carixus, this prohibition against learning the mason's script.

Carixus could well have been reading his mind, for he nodded with a creeping smile on his visage as he said. “Gallan claims he can read the language of the Skien, the arcane words of Order, granting him the blasphemous privilege of knowing the sacred words of near every great temple in Aglil. I admit,” He added, his fat, muilti chinned face twisting slightly. “I find the notion displeasing.”

“Yet, the poet asserts that such knowledge is for him alone, Lord.”

“Ha, poets, young Arlohius, cannot be trusted.”

The hostage considered that statement, and found he had no reasonable reply. “Lord, I request permission to saddle a horse and ride on this day. It was my thought to seek sign of eckalla in the western hills.”

“Eckalla? None have been seen in entire cycles, Arlohius. I fear your search will be wasted.”

“The ride will do me good, Lord, none the less,”

Carixus nodded, and seemed he well understood the swirl of hidden emotions lying beneath Arlohius's bland words. The former High admiral, often called the “Laughing Falcon,” was a man who seemed capable of easily reading others. It was a talent that had helped him greatly in his years of politicking within and without the Great Court of Skyhaven. “This year,” he said, “I must give up a niece who has been almost a daughter to me. And,” He glanced at Arlohius, “A most beloved hostage,”

“And I, in turn, feel as if I am about to be cast out from the only family I truly belong to. Lord, doors are closing behind us.”

“But not, I trust, for ever sealed?”

“Indeed not,” Arlohius replied, although in his mind he saw a massive lock grinding tight. Some doors, once shut, were proof against every desire.

Carixus's gaze faltered slightly and he turned away. “Even standing still, the wold moves on around us. I well remember when you first arrived, scrawny and wild-eyed – the cold Abyss knows you Oloro are a feral lot – and there you were, wild as a cat, yet barely tall enough to saddle a horse. At least it seems we fed you well,” He laughed, both hands on his large belly, and it seemed his entire body moved with the motion.

Arlohius smiled. “Lord, the Oloro are said to be slow to grow-”

“Slow in many things, Arlohius. Slow to assume the trappings of civil comportment, in which I admit find considerable charm. You have held to that despite our efforts, and so remain refreshing to our eyes. Yes,” he continued, “Slow in many things. Slow in judgement, slow to anger...” Carixus slowly swung around and fixed Arlohius with a searching regard. “Are you angry yet, Arlohius Oloro?”

The question shocked him, almost made him step back. “Lord? I- I have no cause to be angry. I am saddened to leave this house, but there will be rejoicing this year. Your daughter is about to wed. House Benedikt has always been a loyal and trusted ally of Paragon and Aglil.”

“Indeed.” He studied Arlohius for a moment longer, then as if yielding some argument, he broke his gaze and faced the hearthstone, gesturing. “And she will kneel as witness before Kammeth and Valarien within the house her betrothed even now builds for her.”

“Edvard Benedikt is a fine man,” Arlohius said, as evenly as he could manage. “Honourable, pious, and loyal. This binding of marriage is a sure one, Lord, by every measure.”

“Does she love him though?”

Such questions left him reeling. “Lord? I am certain that she does.”

Carixus grunted, and then sighed. “You see her truly, don't you- the turns together, the friendship you have both held for each other. She loves him, then? I am pleased. Yes, most pleased to hear you say that.”

Arlohius would leave here, soon, and when he did, he knew that he would not look back, not once. Nor, for all that he loved this old man, would he ever return. In his chest, he felt nothing but cold, a scattering of dead cinders, the grating promise of choking ashes should he draw breath. She would have a hearthstone. She- and her new husband- would have words that only they would know; the first words of the private language that must ever exist between husband and wife. Kammethein gifts were not simple, were never simple. “Lord, may I ride this day?”

“Of course, Arlohius. Seek out the eckalla, and should you find one, bring it down and we shall feast well. As in the old days when the beasts were plentiful, yes?” The prospect of a feast always did seem to brighten Lord Carixus's mood.

“I shall do my best, Lord.”

Bowing Arlohius strode from the Great Hall. He was looking forward to this expedition, away from this place, out into the hinterlands, the hills Aglil was famous for. He would take his hunting spear but, in truth, he did not expect to sight such a noble creature as an eckalla. In the other times when he had ridden the west hills near Skyhaven, all he had ever found was bones, from past hunts, past scenes of butchering.

The eckalla were gone, the last one slain cycles ago not long after the everwinter came to an end. And beneath him while he rode, if he so chose, Arlohius could listen to the thunder of his horse's hoofs, and imagine such report as slamming of another door. They seemed to go on without end, didn’t they?

”The eckalla are gone. The hills are lifeless. And winter is coming”

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

That's np, RL comes first after all. ^^

On that note here is the map thus far: Map

Also, it seems Ethan, Milk, and Lone are currently MIA, not sure yet if it will be permanent, so their kingdoms are considered NPC's until further notice. Hopefully, we hear back from them.

Also going to wait a bit before my next plot moving post, so Kata and Crab can catch up.

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

74th of Zieliah, Year 698 AU
Under CIty

There were many things a man might live for in his time on this world. Some men found comfort in the gods, or their small rituals they kept in order to keep themselves sane and to find meaning in their hollow lives. Others held to honor, and other virtues that made them believe they were better than other men. Men even sought gold and made acquiring it by whatever means their goal in life. Greed was a dangerous thing however, and often more then not came back to bite him one why other another. There were some men however, who were born so low as to be beneath contempt of even rats, that lived for something else entirely. They lived to rise.

They wanted that piece of gold and glory that other men born with it took for granted. They sought more then they may ever have right to have, simply because it was denied to them the moment they came into this world. The Under King was one such man; of that Baesar was more than confident of. That was a man who had grown up in the improvised district of Skyhaven, the under city, and had used gale, cleverness, wits, and violence to become what he was now. One of the most powerful men in the Valerien Empire. The Black network stretched it's hands everywhere, from the back-alleys of Karviná’s cities to the Freeholds of Tauricia, it even had contacts within the esteemed Bank of Noctua and a relationship with the Black Scorpions that few were even aware of aside from rumours. Indeed, Baesar was fairly certain there was no end to the ambitions of the Under King, or anywhere in Elyden he did not have an ear. Baesar was also fairly certain more than a few lords, High Lords, and even a few Kings among the Great Houses were in the Under Kings pocket. Those dukes or officials who could not be bribed, bullied, blackmailed, or extorted, were simply removed. Soon to be replaced with a more...morally flexible individual. Every men or women within the Black Network played their part. Like a great siege engine of Odesh, every member was like a cog within a greater construct.

The Black Network in many ways was not unlike a living breathing animal, one that needed the functionality of the lesser bits to allow the whole thing to work just right. At least, Baesar often saw himself as such. His was the simple, perhaps only seemingly simple, task of a smuggler. One of the many such individuals tasked with the transport of 'sensitive' material, in and out of the Under City. As any working man in his position though, one had to be smart, know which job was worth its risk- weighed against its promised reward. Some bad scores were easy to spot, often when a costumer wished to dispose or move something quickly and offered an exorbitant amount of coin. Anything, Baesar had learned, that a man was eager to over pay for, could only be something Baesar wanted no part of. Some times though, as Baesar knew all too well, greed could over shadow a mans sense of – well common sense.

He had taken one such job recently, one that the Under King himself had arranged. Or so Baesar had been told; he had never met the King Under the Mountain personally, from what he understood, almost no one had. No, the information had come down from someone higher up in the chain then himself. The word had gone out among the smugglers of the under city, and Baesar's long time partner, Stanude (an Odesh with a habit of partaking of to much Golddust) had heard of it and informed Baesar. At the moment him and Stanude, along with the rest of his crew were moving through the underbelly of Skyhaven; Cayiene, a women who was rather short even for a tilrin, but deadly with a knife. Colndin, another royallander who was supposedly some part Kreshvi (so he claimed), and another who's parents had apparently been Lorem's Folk , named Svenfdir.

Here in the under city district was perhaps the most improvised little pocket of despair in hinterlands of Aglil. The under city was technically a mining district, though poorer occupations and small time businesses also littered the blocks. The under city was a pretty damn densely populated area, the streets were narrow, the air stank of shit, sweat, and smoke, with traffic tending to making travel difficult at best. Most braver citizens tended to cut through the even narrower alley ways; which was what he and his small party were doing just now. The stink of the under city was largely blammed on the fact that the dung farmers that clean the starts of top town (the name given to Skyhaven's top districts by those who lived in the under city) tended to throw the filth down the gutters that lined down into huge sanctioned off pits. Usually when it was dried and hard, the stuff was used to warm fires or more often went to the forges as fuel. Massive deep chimneys where built in such a way as to filter out the smoke from the rear part of the mountain that Skyhaven sat upon. It took a near life time for those not used to the stink to get used to it. The folk who lived most their lives here almost forgot all about it.

Baesar often wondered if every city of Elyden had it's own dark underbelly, kept out of sight and well hidden so that those better off never had to feel pity for those poorer or less privileged then them. He had heard that outsiders thought the city of Skyhaven as the most beautiful in all the Greater Realm. Every time he did he laughed. As he wondered down a piratically narrow alley, he had to nearly hop over a lame vagabond, then scoot around a pile of garbage -the old fools only possessions perhaps? It did not take them long to reach the assigned meeting place. It was a small intersection of back-alleys, and leaning against a broken wooden wall stood a hooded man in light brown tunic and pants.

The cowl of his tunic was pulled deeply over his head, and he seemed to have the lower part of his face covered. However, Baesar doubted it was to keep his identity secret as much as it was to keep some of the terrible smell of the place out of his nostrils. Or perhaps it served the duel purpose of both intentionally? Baesar made a gesture with his hand and his follows stood back in the shadows as he approached the man. The figure noted his entry immediately, though he made no movement on his part. Baesar however had been at this long enough to know that this one had been aware of his arrival before he had ever stepped into the light. He knew too, of course, that the man was not alone. The minute movement of figures behind bared windows and the subtle sounds of movement above made that apparent.

When Baesar was just outside of arms reach the man spoke, “Are you the handler?” the mans voice was rough and held a distinct eastern accent.

“Aye, that'ed be me,” He gave a slight nod of his head towards the box near the mans feet. “That be the package?”

Only then did the man look up at him, with a set of dark eyes that revealed nothing...and told him everything all at once. The man stooped and lifted the box easily. It was small enough to be carried under arm, and looked more like a chest banded in tight ropes then a box up close. The man studied down at the package in his dark hands, as if reading something. He looked up with Baesar with those same flat unreadable eyes. He handed the chest over slowly, but then stopped and brought it back at the last moment.

“The phrase.” He said, waiting.

Baesar almost slapped himself for his forgetfulness. “Moon, Stars, and Suns, none shall set but two.”

The man stood studying Baesar as closely as he had the small chest in his hands. Finally, he handed over the chest, which Baesar took gingerly inspecting it closely as one might do for a promising piece of produce bought at the market.

“Do not open.” Said the man before him.

Baesar only smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of it, we're of the kings men after all,” He gave a slight chuckle at that. The many only stared.

Sobering he asked. “Though, I do wonder what someone would want delivered so badly as to offer such a...generous pay of crowns?”

The mans eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Heh, nothing but harmless wondering is all!”

“Do not open.”

“Alright, alright, heard you the first time.” Baesar sighed. Why did they always have to be so serious in his line of work? “So where's this lovely gift going?”

The man eyed him a moment longer, then produced a rolled scroll and handed it to Baesar. He took it daftly with his free hand, the chest was lighter then he had expected. Which was good, as it made the prospect of travelling with it easy.

“That holds you destination, a man will be waiting for you, you shall know him when you see him. He will be wearing ivory robes and a staff of green glass.”

Baesar smiled. “Heh, sounds I'm meeting the head of a church, might this be a deneir holy relic? Haha,”

Again the man did not laugh, but merely stood there like a statue of unnerving stone.

“Keep you bundle hidden at all times, you must not risk t-”

“By the winters breath! This is not my first time doing this you gank, I'll get your precious gift to where's it needs going. Of that you can be assured. The Under King himself vouched for me did he not?”

The many only stared.

Baesar sighed.

“Alright then,” Baesar finally said after a moment, “We'll have it out the Under City by tomorrows eve, now I trust this man and his fancy staff will have my pay?”

The man only reply came in a harsh whisper. “You will be given what you deserve.” With that, and not so much as a goodbye or farewell Baesar noted. The man turned began leaving. As he did Baesar took the time to awkwardly unfold the scroll. Upon seeing the destination he scowled.

“This is damn far you know, when are we supposed to get there? You never mentioned.”

“He will be waiting when you arrive.” And the man was gone, as if he was but smoke fading into shadowy nothingness of the alleys darkness.

Baesar shook his head and stuff the scroll into his pockets, before walking back to his comrades, the feeling of alien eyes on him following a him all the way.

He hated working with the Black Scorpions.

---

Phoenix Palace
71th of Zieliah, Year 698 AU

The royal guards rushed past the Gori in a hasty sprint as he proceeded casually down the hall, now erupt with the concerned calls of the guards. The clank of their heavy armor vibrated off the walls and muffled the squeaks of their boot soles as they scrambled in an organized chaos. The smell of a corpse beginning to rot had so slightly began to tease the air with a disgusting tinge. Gori knew he would soon see the Lords erupt from their rooms and offices at such a commotion and ceased his advance to wait for them, body still frozen in the Atrium.
A couple minutes had passed by and Shamgar, tailed by Heldan and accompanied by royal guards stampeded down the busy hallway towards The First Star. All shared a blank stare, and Gori’s Ashtoken guards fell in step behind him as he approached the new Lord Regent and Seeker.

“I hope the royal guards suspicions didn’t interrupt anything too important, my humble apologies,” Gori spoke collectively, giving a slight nod of simple courtesy, “There is not much room for action at this point in the new imposing situation that had aroused such suspicions however.”

"By the flame, what is the meaning of this?" Shamgar looked about, and made up his face. "And what is that stench?"

Gori shook his head slowly, “It would appear a death had taken place the night before the summit, and it’s victims discovery was to be postponed until a few moments ago, as we had so soon found out,” The Voices face changed ever so slightly with his own words, as if to emote a sense of frustration.

“Black Scorpions,” Gori continued briefly in his wild deep accent, his words trailing on in a sing-song way, like that of an exotic bird, “I believe the Black Scorpions are behind the death,” he added with another nod.

Shamgar seemed surprised with the news and for a moment stood silent shaking his head as he considered what this could mean. “Who is the victim? Have you uncovered how the intruders gained access to the Palace?” It seemed almost impossible the same group would have infiltrated such a secure fortress two times in row. The idea was baffling.

Gori closed his eyes slowly, he knew the answer to how they got in, as it was quite obvious, “The Kreshvi got rid of the guards the day before, to pull their prank,” he spoke with a small sigh laced into his last few words.

“However, the intent is not so clear, Lord Regent,” Gori continued with a strong voice and his opened eyes locked on Shamgar, “Clearly it was not for one of the Lord’s assassination, as we all live, minus one poor servant who had gotten in the assassins way, no, I assume the assassin was here for information, or he would still be here,” with the last part of his tiny speech, his pale eyes scanned the decorative hall behind Shamgar almost suspiciously, seeing two men approaching down quickly from the far end enveloped in defensive guards.

“By the dawn, can we have no peace from cut throats even within the capital!” He sighed. “Firstsword Gori I wish for you to double the guard, and be sure to search the entire Palace for anyone- or thing- not accounted for, if there is even a scrap of dust not where it is supposed to be, make me aware of it. If it is information then it is likely that the Wind Hold was their aim.” The Wind Hold held everything from the history of the Paragon line and the realms High Houses, to more sensitive details of plots uncovered throughout most of the Greater realm. Anyone who obtained that could very well blackmail any of the Kings and Lords of the realm. The backlash from this could be detrimental to the crowns ability to...

It then dawned on the former Dawnbringer what the thieves might have truly been after, and he visibly paled. “Also, if at all possible, keep this as quiet as you can, we can't allow this news to get out too soon. It could cause further panic and unrest then is brewing as it is.”

Gori’s gaze did not falter as Shamgar gave him his orders, “Do not worry,” Gori said simply, a reassuring tone conquering his voice, “None shall dare threaten us, not without swift justice to befall upon scheming heads.”

He clicked a heel and one of the loyal Ashtoken guards hurried to his right side, staring intensely at The First Star, who twitched his eyebrow and exhaled. The guard bowed his head obediently and quickly ran off, two others trailing him.

“A discreet alert has been sent to all guard authority in the capital, if the trespasser is not already gone,” Gori blinked and tightened his grip on the Spear of Ashtoken, “He or she will never escape the law, nor bring harm to anyone else.”

Arch Dawnbringer Roman turned the corner, accompanied by his guard retinue, to find Shamgar, Gori and Heldan already investigating the scene. The smell had hit him first, an awful stench of rot that had seeped down the nearby hallways of the palace.

“Kammeth’s Flame,” he uttered, eyes locked on the body. “What happened here?”

Gori nodded his head at the Arch Dawnbringers approach, “Assassins, Black Scorpions, however it is now taken care of at the moment,” he explained calmly, he glanced over at Shamgar then back at Roman, “There is not much left to do besides fortify and turn the capital inside out as discreetly as we can,”

“For now we must endure the knowledge with a sensible intellect and withstand despite the intrusion, as I am certain, more immediately matters require attention as well as this horrific trespass,” Gori spoke casually yet commandingly as he leaned the ancient spear against himself, loosening his grasp. His own mind fluttered with colorful and loud thoughts and clever strategies to counter any possible situations that may arise from this, and the unseen future. However he conducted such intense thoughts in an organized and almost emotionally sterile fashion, so uniquely Ashishian and common in eastern philosophies.

“...Yes, well,” Roman stammered, “I do pray Skyhaven fortifies itself against this plague of assassins soon. I cannot bear to think it one of us in that lad’s stead.” Roman looked up from the limp figure to the Lord Regent, then to the Marshal, remembering his discussion with Lord Sigfryd just minutes earlier.

“What was his name?” Heldan asked coldly, drawing the curiosity of those present as the Seeker spoke for the first time.

"From what sources I had immediately," Gori answered swiftly, " He was recognized as Gene Ricguy."

“Gene Ricguy.” The Seeker repeated. “Servant within the Phoenix Tower. Assassins that possessed every opportunity to murder any high lord of their choosing kill instead a simple mop boy. Curious.. curious indeed.”

“If you will excuse me now my lieges, there are secrets to be sought.” With that, the cloaked Seeker left his peers without another word.

“On another note, gentlemen, Lord Sigfryd and I require your attention on a pressing matter. One that may decide the future of House Karacid.”

“Please go on, Arch Dawnbringer,” Gori asked, his interest piqued.

Shamgar recovered himself quickly, by now having produced a stripe of cloth from his pockets to cover his lower mouth from the smell of the body. At the mention of needing to speak of important matters from Roman, Shamgar gave a mute slow nod of his head. “One moment, Lords if you please, if we will be discussing anything else, I would like us to do it elsewhere. Perhaps you are more accustomed to it than I, but I fear the smell of a rotting corpse does little for me stomach.”

“Yes,” Roman agreed, casting a last, momentary glance to the victim at his feet. “These walls may have ears. If you would join me in my office, please.” He turned to head back the way he came, motioning for the others to accompany him.

“Wise, I agree,” Gori added quickly, following Roman intently, his own guard trailing him down the hall obediently.

---

-Several turns of the glass later….

“...And there you have it,” Roman finished. “Lord Sigfryd and I believe these issues to be of utmost importance to the spiritual well-being of Elyden.”

A cold feeling seemed to resonate throughout Shamgars body, it had started when what Roman advised became clear. He could not rightly described it, only say he contributed it to a mix of trepidation and anxiety. He sat within the office of the Arch Dawnbringer, his former office he might add, and just stared in stiff silence at Roman as if he was growing a second head. He shifted in his seat as he considered the implications of what Lord Roman was suggestion. He had always known the man to be strong and true in his faith to Kammeth, indeed this was one trait Shamgar shared and admired the man for. If more of the Lords among the High Houses, and low Houses, showed as much resolve as Roman Benedikt. Well then, the realm might not be in such a state of turmoil. Yet, for all that, what he suggested now was...unprecedented...no perhaps even overtly radical.

A call for Immolation of the unbelievers...

There had not been an Immolation called since the last great Gothica invasions. That of course had been against beastlings, this would be aimed at the races of men. Still, should be so shocked? Long had the faith suffered the island holds their false gods. Kammeth after all preached patience and amity against deniers. The quickest way to win over those who would seek the wrong road was to win them over with sound arguments. It was why the faith had slowly consumed and replaced many less deities and false cults over the cycles. That had not worked with the Tauricia freeholds, and it showed with their constant attempts at insurrection or outright rebellion. Baitzas Karacid had been the first however, to show some form a path toward peace...and he had been removed- and if rumours are to be believed it was rather violently in some barbaric practice.

The faithful had allowed these deniers to fester like an open sour, a wound upon the realm that would otherwise hold no blemish. Had it come to this now? To force by the sword what words had failed to do?

He looked up at Arch Dawnbringer Roman Benedikt with steady grey eyes. “Arch Dawnbringer...” the title almost sounding like an accusation. “Are you certain such steps need be taken...this is a rather...dangerous road we tread.”

Gori nodded, his mind brimming and spilling over with solutions, “As I see it, it need not come to violence at all,” His blue eyes shot glances at both of them, “to win a war, one must win before the first battle is sought,” he threw down an old eastern proverb, “Like-wise, I have devised a possible solution for both of you.”

Gori lifted his hand and tapped his ring finger on the table, just audible enough to hear, causing an Ashtoken guard to rush over with a copper cylinder, which was promptly handed to The Voice before a swift retreat back into position. Gori unscrewed the cap and gently poured out a large rolled up parchment. With careful movements he unrolled it across a bare part of the desk. Revealed on the face of the paper was an old incredibly detailed and pin point accurate map of Elyden, labeled in an unreadable language.

“Oyticon the explorer,” Gori explained, “His maps are quite detailed, albeit written in old script, none the less, please listen to my words.”

He pointed to House Cragmore, Whiteshorn, Sovanid, and Suttbray.
“If you intend on showing deniers how serious you are, but without total chaos and war, here is what you must do.”

He circled the two groups of islands with his ashen finger, “These are useless lands, as they cannot sustain a population, and would starve quickly without the mainland” he said bluntly, looking at the two, “A trade Embargo would render them both as useless as their lands, dually with church agents sent to their trading Houses to arrest any fugitive Conrads and Karacids for a proper lawful trial is within the justice of the lands jurisdiction as far as claims of paganism is aware, as well as the forced embargo," His observant eyes locked on the map.

“Of course they will wither, and grow desperate if they resist the trial and the embargo is forced to remain, and their actions beyond that are up to them, but as a rotted nation, it would hold no force against us, repelling a Karacid rebellion, and any Conrad uprising.”

Gori looked up from the ancient map and blinked, “No one here wishes total war, so it is best we suppress rebellions where we can, but we must not seem like aggressors, for we do not wish to fan the fires of such a delicate situation," He paused thoughtfully.

“However, one cannot be too careful with the most recent events, perhaps a readied army should be in order, well equipped and aware of what may come?” Gori raised a brow.

“Aye,” Roman agreed. “While your plan is commendably tactful, I should not think the Karacids would sit back and allow us to go through with it. We should be prepared for whatever retaliation this may stir. Concerning this trade embargo, perhaps we ought to inform the Master of Coin.”

Gori’s mind buzzed and he nodded at the words of Roman, “If things get nasty, know this, I harbor the command of the Royal army, roughly twenty-two thousand well trained men, as well as the fierce Eastern Alliance, doubling the first number, however, against Islands, these numbers do not matter unless they plan on taking the mainland, in which case they are doomed to fail at such a mighty force, for not only in quantity but fine quality. Ashishia is a sleeping den of bears, so far undisturbed for twenty years, but still practiced and sharp in the art of war.” Gori paused collectively and rested his hand on the pommel of Lam’Token, “Should we see a single motive against us, the army will scramble south and west, sealing off the mainland to the isles, and dooming them to a slow painful demise.”

The Arch Dawnbringer nodded, envisioning the combined might of Elyden brought to bear. With Gori’s cooperation, there was little the Isles could do to impede them. “Very well, Marshal Gori. I am confident in our ability to follow through with the plan presented. How soon do you think it will take to put it into motion?”

“With both your blessings, I can dispatch the news to Ashishia to be on guard, scramble and ready our current troops, and contact Osmodeus immediately,” Gori explained, his accent swooping, “If there be any revisions to this plan, they will be mended immediately, as far as I am concerned, this military will be a well communicating and functioning machine, fit to carry out any and all orders given with obedience and efficiency.”

He stamped his Spear into the floor with a click, his blue eyes blazing against the sun that peaked through the windows, “Shall warrants for arrest of possible necromancy be also issued?”

Roman nodded grimly, cradling the Arch Dawnbringer’s staff in his arm. “Yes, immediately. I cannot sit idly while the possibility of reanimation threatens the faithful who have passed in Kammeth’s service.”

With a silent nod Gori spoke once more, his voice booming, “So be it, every noble of House Conrad shall be arrested, and trade to either island house forbidden, the order to be given at the end of this meeting, Houseblades shall be sent to Odesh, Noctua, Stormgully, The Isles of Men, and The South with the official decree, all accounts of resistance will result in the scrambling of the Royal Army to meet rebellion and to enforce the embargo,” he nodded with his own words, before sitting back against the spine of his elegant chair and finishing, “my last comment will be that of a suggestion, a small force be kept in the south during the embargo, to secure the lands.”

“Excellent; I thank you for your cooperation in this matter, Marshal,” Roman said, nodding his head in respect. “The Church commemorates your judgement. Lord Regent Shamgar, I trust you have few to no objections with this course of action, as laid down by our Marshal?”

“I serve Elyden, Ashishia, the desert and their protection solely, Arch Dawnbringer, I am happy you see this as well,” Gori swiftly concluded with an authoritative exotic tone before looking over at the silently thinking Regent.

Shamgar had merely been sitting back in his chair as he listened to the Firstswords idea. It seemed he had chosen wisely in picking The Voice for the position of Lord Marshal. Indeed they did have the Royal Army, but he wondered if they had considered the implications of calling a true Immolation. Subduing the Conrads could very well avoid an all out war of the faith. It was perhaps their best move. “Given the sensitivity of the issue, I believe it is our best interest to implement the Firstswords idea's. The other council members must also be notified of course, the Master of Coin must see to organizing this embargo, and the Seeker will need to be informed so he may track the whereabouts of members of House Conrad.”

"Of course," Gori agreed, "but let us also send houseblades as soon as possible in advance to known allies to promote the arrest in case any already seek shelter there, it will save time and resources, as well as update all involved."

"Besides," Gori added, "Conrads extensive marriages are not unknown and are prevalent in these southern houses, our authority should also become prevalent, in a tasteful manner."

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

Currency as of today. This is mostly for fluffs sake, I wont be using it as a hard state for people, as it would not work for this kind of RP where we lean more toward the honor system.

After around 83 AU (After Unifaction), coins in Elyden are minted in either the Royal Mint in Lochbridge Port or the mint in Skyhaven(I might make a mint in House Sovanid lands as well).

Coins were referred to by the following names:

Falcons are copper pieces = 1
Dawns are silver pieces = 10
Crowns are gold pieces = 100
Tricrowns are Gold pieces = 1,000

Exchange Value
Copper piece (cp) = Are worth only one Falcon
Silver piece (sp) = 10 Falcons are worth a single Dawn
Gold piece (gp) = 100 Dawns make a Crown
Gold piece (tgp) = 1,000 Crowns make a Tricrown

Tricrowns tend to be thrice he size of a normal coin hence their name.
(if you have been to Canada you have seen fat ass coins the equivalent sized loonies.)

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

Bridgeburner said
I am done with my NS - All I have to add is some history, and would I be able to do that as I delve into the role play?Me and Benedikt have some plotting to do which will give me good ideas for the history of my house.Also, could I use the excuse that House Jaegar was not able to attend the summit as Sigfryd was taking care of a beastling problem by the Dreadkeep?Sucks that I completely missed the voting of the inner council, crap.

Yup, your sheet is good to go, a bit high on plated infantry, I will assume they are using half plate however, which would make their number a little more believable, they have better heavy infantry the the Royal Army, and the tilrinic's are master armorsmiths.

Aside from that, you should be able to post IC, and damn, I wanted to use Dawnguard for the Wardens of Dawn. :P

Sidenote: If anyone has some fluff they want to add to the world, it can go here.

Also as for passage of time during the IC, play it by the ear, usually a day in RL is roughly a day IC, but leave major time skips to the end of chapters or when they are needed(which just means I will handle them).

Also, I come access a nice way to replace established nations, in that ppl can still join but as a minor house within the Realm, so if a player goes missing, drops, or vanishes, these minor player houses can take over, heck they could even pull a Lannister, and smelt down their ancestral weapon into what they would like for their own house.

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

Events!

Realms

71th of Zieliah, Year 698

Ashishia
A massive fire has started in Orakash, destroying much of the settlement older buildings. No one can say for sure the cause of the fire, but repairing the damage will be time consuming and expensive.

Noctua
Mountain bandits have struck several caravans within the passage, a small but well coordinated operation as it would seem. Reports and rumors say their base of operations are somewhere in the mountains north of Noctua. If something is not done soon, a blow will be struck to the regions primary source of income as traders adopt to braving the seas rather then travel through the Wall of Elyden.

Kreshva'ik'va
A sickness has started up within the fortress city of Lvnell. The plague causes bouts of diarrhea, vomiting, sweating palms, and chest pains. Not many have yet died, possibly due to Kreshvi natural fortitude. However, if something is not done soon, it will surly spread, and cause panic among the masses.

Tauricia
Strangely, a similar sickness has risen up around the castle of Jade Point. With fatalities at the moment restricted to poorer improvised families. No one has yet discovered it's origin...

Stormgully
An old cult has risen up within the lands of the Stormgully, known by those outside the circle as Noxism. They preach of the old god of the Gullish, Guut-Nox; God of mines, crypts, the underbarren, and the unknown. The cult has remained hidden for the past several cycles since it's near destruction 600 turns of the wheel prior. Now, with sufficient numbers, it is spreading slowly throughout Stormgully, primarily among the Mining towns. A priest of Noxism, along with a few retainers, has also traveled south, where the Southland borders the Stromgully, preaching of this old god.

World Wide

Now with summer gone, the temperature has slowly started to drop, primarily in the lands of the north west. Conditions are closer to fall now than in previous months, with a few early snows falling in Noctua.

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

Alright, in chapter two, there's more general nation rping that you would be used to. will have a set of events tomorrow.