Grijs

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

Premonition of the four kings

(You're free to only read those sections that are relevant to you.)

---

King of Chlotaringen

At the feet of the Rudines, East of Rudinberg

Lion banners descend from the northern horizon. Companies of warriors and horses, helms and hauberks, swords, shields, lances and axes.
Cauroman’s army arrives at the feet of the Rudine mountains, setting up the great camp of the Chlotar warhost. From all corners of Visandza these warriors have assembled and answered the call to battle of the Chlotar King. The Great War against the Lampert tyrant Dalgiserius is at hand… Once the Chlotars have hold of the Millennium Horn, there will be no stopping them.

Cauroman draws forth his holy sword, Halogan, and points it skyward beyond the mountaintops, over which the Lampertei sky hangs. ‘’Soon.’’
The sunlight reflects on the blade, revealing the runes that were etched into it during his stay in Udos a year ago. Out of some fleeting fancy perhaps, the Chlotar King feels compelled by a mouthless call to inspect the runes, and he holds the blade before his eyes.

A young woman in a white shroud appears in the reflection behind the runes, amid antique weatherworn columns of bygone ages, and the legendary golden domes of Udos shimmering behind her. Cauroman is perplexed by the mirror image of the holy city, taken aback that Halogan is a ‘holy sword’ for a reason.

‘’Eulalie…’’

The mirage-maiden opens her mouth, and words are audible as muffled ringing from the reflection on the blade.

‘’Noble Cauroman…
The Hierophant has revealed to her inner circle insight that has come to my ears... that the city of my ancestors is on the brink of collapse.’’
Cauroman was smiling from seeing her, but observing that Eulalie means only to speak business, his lips sag and his expression stiffens as he resumes back to his usual somber demeanor.
‘’What do you mean? Tautom is falling? That can’t be true. I have heard no news since sending Vierland and my Paladin off to commence the investment on the city.’’

‘’The Hierophant has a plethora of ears, and is fast brought to speed to the happenings in the world, before anyone else is.
Your Chlotars overthrew the Tautans with great slaughter, and smiting the fugitives, pursued them as far as the King's Palace.
Winds of change are coming fast and faster upon Visandza..’’

The Chlotar King is uncertain what to make of this news. Could Vetericus have really breached the famous double-walls of Tautom somehow? Unlikely… but possible. Cauroman is keenly aware of the Baltavigoc’s aggressive temperament… Is it wise to leave the city to his mercy?
‘’Great slaughter… Perhaps I need to step in, and bid Vetericus show merc—‘’
‘’I understand your concerns, my King, and shameful as it is, these wicked deeds must come to pass.’’
The King sighs, and switching the subject, inquires to the maiden:
‘’How is Udos?’’
‘’Unassailed as of yet by the material threat posed by the Lamperts… yet the signs are there. Dalgiserius prepares his attack… The Final attack… all his thought and mind is bent on it. O my King… Please come soon, for when the city falls – our God will be forever a maimed one. All the Visandzan lands will be covered in shadow.’’

Cauroman places a hand to his heart as a solemn salute.
‘’Eulalie, you know that I'd die before I would allow such. Stand fast, be strong, and I swear you my oath shall hold true: the Lampert King shall fall by a Chlotar Blade.’’
A pious boost of conviction enters Cauroman’s voice.
‘’Over the last months, my court has been bracing to bring the fight to Lampertei. Paladin Einhard, and my brother’s Paladin Autchar, went into the Rudines to uncover the Millennium Horn.’’

For a moment she is quiet, and the earlier resolution of the maiden is made to waver by a twinge of doubt.
‘’The Fate of Udos – of all Visandza -- hinging on the Godspeed of two men…

And… Your brother--’’

The King raises his voice, not letting her finish that sentence.
‘’I will make everything right. It is too late now – too late for regrets. I only hope I have not made a fatal mistake.’’

‘’…You are right, my King. There is no going back. So be not heavy hearted; Dagobert’s sacrifice will not be for nothing. And remember; our world will be irreversibly changed from the deeds you and yours are about to accomplish…’’
The priestesses’ voice fades out. ‘’We will speak again, I will keep you informed of the going-ons in the world to the best of my ability. For some of these things I tell you, without the Hierophant’s permission.’’

‘’Eulalie, when next we talk I had hoped we could speak more about... Us.’’

Cauroman wants to tell her that he loves her, but she probably already knows. Her presence had already departed the reflection on the holy sword.

---

King of Lampertei

Nethermost Hall of Skadan Castle

‘’You wail at the mere sight of the pup-king’s forces, you weak livered runt. The snows of last winter yet fill each of the great passes, in addition to each is one of my outposts. Carlovech’s pup, and the rest of his lapdogs, will walk into Lampert Death if he is foolhardy enough to make the trek.’’
‘’Surely so, my great King.’’ A Gastald officer from the marchlands stammers with quick response.
...However, the enemy king and his armies are already upon Lampertei's border, more numerous than ever before. We on the frontier find this cause for alarm. We do not know if – that is to say, the men are—‘’
‘’Silence. There is no risk. I have myself overseen the mountain divisions up in the Rudine strongholds. They have already intercepted and beheaded the Chlotar reconnaissance party, putting the pup’s threat to a decisive halt. No man, and no intervention of their precious God can topple the mountains!
And just as I return from the north, already you dare chafe me over this?!’’ Dalgiserius spews the last words with a hiss of barely contained fury, his face red with anger. ''Begone!'' He screams out, and smites his scepter against the floor.
''My apologies, mighty King. I... You will not hear of me again...''
The marchland officer bows swiftly, and rushes out of the hall.

Dalgiserius is alone in the hall, sitting on his throne. His arm placed against the throne's armrest, as he places his weary face on a fist. Years of excessive warring, violence, yelling and cursing are taking its toll on the aging king, vigorous as he is. The summer days of youth have long past. Then from the shadows, he hears sudden footsteps intruding on his domain.
‘’Runt, I ordered you be away. Disappear, lest I personally strike your head off!’’

‘’Father… it is me.’’

From out the dark appears the Princess, herself covered in long dark raiments and glistering jewelries.
‘’Hrm. Dalgiserata. My one and only…
Where is the girl- your worthless sister?’’

‘’Antonia is gone, father. Long gone.’’
‘’Is she now… So she is.’’ The King proclaims with a low gruff. His daughter’s presence has a calming effect on him. Each Divine splinter has such abilities, and that of the Lampert princess stands out from that of her father.
As she approached, his eyelids become heavy, and Dalgiserius is overcome with even greater weariness. He proceeds to dose off into a slumber, and lucid dreams, or visions? come into his mind. He mumbles something.

‘’I gazed upon armies in silver. Clashing with beasts from the sky...’’

The princess moves in closer to overhear the words of her father.
‘’With beasts from the skies? Are the Chlotars going to fly over the mountains?’’ She asks.
‘’No. I tell you all; it is God himself who will descend from the sky, seeking to destroy us all.’’

‘’I know father, God desires the downfall of the Lampert people.’’

‘’All…’’ Dalgiserius only says, before finally drifting into a deep sleep.

---

King of Baltia

Gardens of the Balti Palace

As Orso braces for the final attack, two members of the Tautan nobility sit in the Palace’s orchard enclosure by a garden fountain. A woman – Madam Kalisto, mother of the late-Theodonus and one of the King’s many wives – and Doux Ephraim, a dark complexioned, bearded and weathered man of the sea that has spent much time navigating the Sea of Tears, as far east as the shores of Ostropathia.

‘’M’lady.’’ Ephraim says to madam Kalisto as he places a fist to his breast.

‘’Ah. You are the representative of Belisar Aetius? A bit late for the Syromean faction to rear its ugly snout… It’s hopeless now. No amount of outside reinforcements could lift this siege from the jaws of the abyss.’’

‘’Indeed, I’ve received word from Belisar, and he has affirmed Tautom is a lost cause. What we need to combine our efforts on now, is…’’ His line of thought is disrupted by the cheery frolicking of nearby children. Kalisto and Ephraim look up, and see many of Orso’s princely spawn playing and splashing one another other in the fountain. They look so happy, so blissfully unaware of the impending peril that is soon upon them. It must be Orso’s drugged blood that pumps through their little hearts to make them so spirited.

‘’…Odovakre’s dynasty?’’ Kalisto finishes Ephraim’s sentence, and the Syromean doux nods and speaks forebodingly:
‘’Forget Tautom. The inevitable fall of this cursed city is the last of our concerns. There is so much more at stake here.’’

Kalisto closes her mouth, default pouting her lips as she gives the Doux a puzzled look. He elaborates: ‘’Once they get their clutches on the Royal Family, those unfeeling and mindless savages know not what they will bring upon themselves, were they to make such a sudden shift in God’s state.’’

Kalisto interrupts with a sigh, betraying her cynicism. ‘’Why do you suddenly care about saving the little doves? Don’t pretend you have standards now, Ephraim, not after what you’ve done in the past. Besides; your allegiance was never to the Baltian royal family.’’

‘’Indeed. My allegiance is to the WORLD. For that is the scope of all that is at stake if this calamity is not averted.’’
‘’The whole world? Aren’t you being a bit melodramatic. Surely this is not necessary, even if a few royals were to perish, such has happened before in last decade’s string of assassinations. The royal house is a big family! Besides… Cauroman wouldn’t kill Children, would he?’’

Ephraim looks again at the royal children playing nearby with a furrowing brow of concern appearing on his face, and he lowers his voice to ensure they not overhear.
‘’Cauroman… perhaps not. But the Chlotar king is not the one leading this attack. Have you seen those Baltian renegades? Particularly that man with the facepaint and the long hair leading them? ...Gives me the creeps. The Baltavigocs are charming, untruthful, bloodthirsty and unreliable wildcards. Do you really think they’ll show mercy, once they get inside the Palace?’’

‘’…Point seceded.
So you tell me, dear Ephraim, how do you plan to evacuate so many misfortunate souls out of a besieged and encircled city?’’

Ephraim’s frown fades, and his lips curve to a sly smile.
‘’The same way my faction has always smuggled Syromean informants into Tautom, madam Kalisto…’’

---

King of Eodaland

Royal Capital of Cantaware

Cantaware is afire in religious jubilee.
King Badastan had declared this day, the day of ancestral rodent reverence, in spirit of the king’s divine revelation that man descends of rodents, and must therefore return and be reconnected to their primal squirrel nature. Man’s gradual transformation from squirrel to simian is a radical new superstition which the King dubbed ‘evolution’. It is yet more unfounded theology that no sane person would otherwise believe, if not for the King’s nigh brainwashing charisma.

Rows and rows of Eodaens from all corners of the island Kingdom have come to the royal capital, to pay homage to the King and his new religion. Each of them with as much acorns as their arms and oxen could carry. Many a cart and wagon of acorns have been pulled through mud, wind and rain now by beasts of burden.
At Cantaware’s central plaza, already mounds of acorns were heaped before a grand wooden statue of Xeaxaenot, the Golden Squirrel Demon. The statue resembles as you may guess, a very large squirrel with the antlers of a reindeer attached to its head, slathered in gold paint. It stretches out human hands on which the deity holds a pair of scales. A reminder that the ancestral squirrel weighs and judges the value of their descendant’s souls.

As the common folk continue on their rites outside of the royal hall, Badastan hosts earls, chieftains and such leaders from all over Eodaland and abroad around his willow table. Even Poppo is there, King of the small continental Kingdom of Radboudy directly to Eodaland’s south.

The red bushy-bearded and stout Radboudic King Poppo raises his tankard of mead with laughter, and is the first to hail his colleague King.

‘’Ho there, good King Badastan, I must say, I was skeptical at first. But now being in your presence here, and seeing the prosperous effect it has had on your subjects, I have come to see you’ve made a convincing case. God is dying, whereas Xeaxaenot is more alive than ever. Demon-squirrel worship is the world’s fastest growing religion!’’

‘’That it is, that it is!’’ Badastan says, slapping his belly and chuckling heartily as he lifts his own tankard of ale in solidarity with Poppo.

Having slurped merrily from his tankard of honey and grain, Poppo’s cheeks blaze pinkish with drunken jubilation.
‘’T’is a shame I could not bring my son and heir Aldgillis to see the glory of this acorn hoard! I think it’s that woman, Sunniva’s fault. The Eodaen princess has possession of his ear -- and seems irrationally hostile towards your most righteous religion.’’ He says, taking in another gulp from the tankard, before belching. ‘’Women!’’

‘’Women? Acting hysterically? What else is new, good King Poppo? Ho-ho-ho!’’

Badastan's influence has become absolute in the Eodaen Kingdom, and by it, the spirit of God has been all out driven. The red squirrel Lamble on Badastan’s shoulder nods in approvement, she is the King’s spiritual guide.

The Fading Light of V'landriel [Ended, Reboot in Progress]

Location: Central-north Gardonia, before the City of Donvoile
Date: February 24th, 4901 YDC YDC
Fourth Cycle of the Fararual Calendar - Season of the Scion

---

A storm has swept over the land. A flood of death, pillage and fire, for wherever the hordes of Miran appeared, a new horde of the displaced refugees was driven before them. They fled eastwards, now clamouring and begging for shelter in the city of Donvoile, the greatest hub of northern Wulfram.

It wasn’t long after that the Miranid army arrived, with the conqueror Amir Miran himself leading the core, consisting of some of the world’s most powerful creatures, forged into a single unit. After days of burning and ransacking, his multiplus hordes have assembled before the city of Donvoile to bring Wulfram one fell and devastating blow.
Donvoile is one of the grander piece of Strigoi urban architecture, its spires and gothic arcs of all sorts piercing the skies in fashion that seemed to defy the laws of nature. Mostly because they did. The Master of Donvoile, like that of any other city, had found the perfect way to deal with being so outnumbered by the mortal populace within his walls: use his magical abilities to hold it all together for an enchantment exists only for as long as its enchanter does. ‘Defy me and see the ground crumble before you’.
This day, however, the Master had a new and greater threat than his own citizenry to contend with. Because today it is the subjects of Miran that are bent on crumbling the city, for the destruction of the powerful city of Donvoile will be a blow so total… so decisive, that Wulfram himself will be brought to his knees. The warriors of Miran number in the hundreds of thousands, so numerous that the earth and fields behind them have been stripped and plucked bare of life. Not even the grass there remains, only bleak patches of barren desolation is what the once lush fields of Gardonia have become.

The same warlord as before, Jafaroglu, and his advisor Valjeanus, are positioned on the left flank with their cohorts of Tzücomen, Gnolls and Gardonian defectors. They are still licking their wounds after the damage their army sustained in last week’s battle.

The Firesage Antaxaxes commands the right flank. A great Fararual marshall leading a cohort of flame; Üarim with arquebuses, Golems and many beasts of war, Griffon riders and scores of cannons. With his golden skin, arcane scepter and flaming hair, Antaxaxes is a rare and imposing sight. Particularly for the denizens of Wulfram, who certainly have never seen one of such mystical beings in the flesh, their existence having, at best, only passed into legend.

And at the last there is Amir Miran himself among his most elite in the centre. Originally but an Üarim warlord from the Fararu Luminescence, the warlord Miran has in the last decade risen to legendary standing. The lands of Transtulania have not seen his likeness in perhaps a thousand years. Through scores of successful military campaigns he achieved a rare supremacy over most of the Üarim lands, though Amir Miran’s victories are owed largely to the skillful employment of the great Üarim super weapon; the Oliphaunts, amid which he now stands. Colossal monsters, that carry similarly monstrous sized heavy and ruinous bombards on their backs. Casted in the mystical foundries of Aranagh, the bombards are so devastating that its power is supposedly owed to the fiery blessing of Axbak-Kamen.

Miran raises his sacred Flaming Sword, Zara-Thuster, and points it towards the mountain-like city before him. With a sonorous voice he proclaims: ‘’Consume the Vampires in flame! Raze low the mountain!’’

A fell, ear shattering barrage blasted from the monstrous bombards on the Oliphaunts and right into the walls and buildings of Donvoile. Stone crumbles, walls shatter and the rubble created pelts down on the helpless citizenry as they wailed, and fled, and died.
The lower districts of Donvoile had to sustain the brunt of the devastation. Their hope now lies with their Strigoi oppressors/protectors, whose armies have arrived to engage the invaders.

In front of the Miranid camp, the Strigoi host had established its own, complete with field fortifications, the work, it seemed like they had expected the horde to come tumbling down against them the very moment whatever the warlord that headed them was named heard about their presence. After she had sacrificed whatever surprise effect she might have had, this would have served Hildegund, Favored Daughter of Wulfram, a lot of trouble.

In short, she had to empty every village, every city from Vaudevent to here, bribing, menacing and sweet talking her way to here to amass something resembling an army. Thousands of local strigoi landlords with whatever served as their cohorts ranging from the more organized Day Guards to rabbles of cannon fodder and masses of fanatics craving for blood and the promise of immortal children.

That had been the easy part.

It had been 14 hours since they established camp as the morning light rose, daring the enemy to attack them during the day light (something everyone had hoped for as to cast a nice eclipse spell and violently counter attack and be done with it) and during most of this time, the Favored had been in a tent with a hundred of her kin, all screaming at her for how to act.

She knew how to act, she knew she should listen to the little voice of reason against her ear, a Daywalker under the name of Vincent who whispered sweet words of wisdom. Vincent was not a local land lord or powerful kin, he rather simply was an educated student of the Realm’s War Academy. Little knew the Realm even had such a thing, but it was she, Hildegund, who had commissioned its creation to study and counter Amrea’s military. To make sure that despite the terrible state of the Realm’s internal affairs that it might stand a chance if worse came to worse. But despite the effort she had made to have this opinion that she knew held more wisdom than this entire assembly of centuries or more old Strigoi could offer, his voice had been drowned, like all others, with another, her own.

‘If they are so eager to all die foolishly, why stop them?’

She HATED them all, none of them liked her in return, none of them even appreciated how she was the only one trying to stop this Miran! Instead of trying to stop a needless slaughter, why not just… let it happen and instead plan for the fallout? It wouldn’t even be so bad actually, a new page in the history of the Realm! So much free land, she could award it to loyal servants who knew how to obey, who’d be indebted to her. Yes, let them all die!

And so it was decided. At dusk, they attacked. The vile creatures, those who had never in their long lives encountered anything that could match their savagery, cheered. Attack and be done, the weaks may die, but of course, the weaks were everyone but them, right?

The Fading Light of V'landriel [Ended, Reboot in Progress]

WAKE ME UP INSIDE

The Fading Light of V'landriel [Ended, Reboot in Progress]

5th Year of the Gwangyeong Era, (23rd February, 4901 YDC)
The Jungles of the Aarehani Principality

---

A steady stream of grey, wispy smoke rose through the air as the Amrean Steam-Junk pushed through the waters of the Eaamhan River. Sweat continued to drip down Kong-Lan’s brow whilst he stood on the deck, peering out into the jungle that bordered the banks of the river. And not just his brow, his entire damned body was sweating. He could see why the Aarehan shaved themselves now. The heat was a secondary concern for him though. It wasn’t the worst thing about this Sun-damned jungle!

No.. the worst thing about this place is not the suffocating heat, nor the mosquitos, not even the local customs… No, none of that. The worst thing is the monkeys -- The Monkeys are everywhere! Hanging from every liana, and hounding the ship from the ceiling of branches that follow the river as though waiting to strike. One of them had the audacity to hang low enough to snatch away Kong-Lan’s hat, only to put it on his own head. This was an hour ago, and ever since the hat-wearing monkey had been trailing their ship, as if to taunt them…

The rest of the crew seemed to be faring much better than him as well. Most of them were merely annoyed at the heat, rather than suffering as he was. That perhaps was to be expected, given that he was not used to the tropical heat of Southern Amrea and the Aarehan Principalities. Being born and raised in the temperate capitol region tended to do that to you.

In the distance, banked to the shore of the Eaamhan, lay the foremost municipality of the Aarehani principality. There is the estate of Prince Zaanjikyong, appearing strikingly Amrean, though lacking in regal furnishing. The Aarehan are a very austere people and it shows in their buildings. It is the first sign of civilization since having left the domain of the revered Gwangyeong Empress, and into the great perilous unknown that awaits them in the wild southlands. The steamship began to push through the river currents with newfound strength and the paddle-wheels mounted on each side cut through the water faster than before, as the crew were eager to make landfall after nearly a week in the Sun-forsaken undergrowth.

The ship finally docked at a pier on the edge of the estate, the primitive steam engine sputtering out its last few gasps of smoke before turning off.
As the crew disembarked, they can hear the deep resounding of a gong, used to signal the denizens of the municipality of the arrival of visitors. Hastily, the serfs working on the spice plantations withdraw into the estate, and a delegate appears on the pier. It is a bald man, completely shaved, including the fox-like ears and tail, a custom for which the Aarehan are known. In addition to the robe-like garments he adorns, his absence of hair makes him very reminiscent of a monk. Perhaps he is a monk.

He makes a deep bow before the delegation, speaking monotone:
‘’My master, the Prince of the Set Sun bids the subjects of the Gwangyeong welcome. I am Zezhao of Laanba monastery, here to receive you.’’
He remains bowed down, not looking up before the delegation have articulated their motive in visiting. In response, Kong-Lan bows lightly, in recognition, before explaining his presence here. “I am Count Kong-Lan, of the 2nd Rank.” He says, making sure to emphasize the rank in particular. The northerners did pay special attention to the noble titles granted by the Imperial Court, after all. “I have been charged with delivering a message to the Warlord Miran, and have come to inquire with your master on his whereabouts.” Kong-Lan says this rather impatiently, as if he cannot stand the sight of the shaved man before him.

The delegate stands up straight. ‘’I will be showing you into the Prince’s estate, revered Count Kong-Lan. Be mindful, that as your coming is on short notice, I cannot say if my Prince will be able to receive you immediately.’’

“Even if he cannot, I can wait.” He says tersely before following Zezhao inside.

---

Sitting on an ornate chair in an austere stone hall, Prince Zaanjikyong looks sternly to the guests that have entered his domain. In contrast to his subjects, the Prince is bushy haired, with a bearded jawline and long, flowing red hair reminiscent of manes combed backwards. The base of his tail is shaven save for a great plume at its end. It is no mistake that this man is going for a lion aesthetic, a tradition among Aarehani leaders. Zaanjikyong certainly looks imposing enough to be called a lion, with his broad shoulders, athletic build and dark-gold-like skin complexion.

He addresses the Amrean delegation with a low, graveling voice.
‘’Late is the hour where the Empress has begun to show care for its southern neighbors. Much too late… State your intent, northerner.’’

Kong-Lan bowed deeply, in reverence to the Prince whose nobility outranked his. As shaved as his tail may be, Prince Zaanjikyong was still an Amrean, and nominally an Imperial subject. Thus, it was only proper to bow in respect.

“O Prince, our revered Empress has commanded me to deliver a missive to the Warlord, Miran Shaykh Gurkani. It is of great importance, thus I come south to ask you of his whereabouts.” He replies, head bowed until he finished.

The prince scowls. The Count’s mannerism and words did not satiate him in the slightest. ‘’She would ask of me this boon... Tell me, Count, where was your Empress’ aid when my people, her people, were subjected to the sword, pillage and fire?’’

He lets out a gruff sigh and reveals his left hand. The top phalanges off his fingers are missing. They had apparently been cut off, and then seared painfully by fire to seal the wounds. ...This gesture alone conveys more than any words could.

Whilst Kong-Lan’s head hangs low in shame, Zaanjikyong lowers his disfigured hand and continues;

‘’We Aarehan are a strong people, not simply cowed by force. Many thousands, tens of thousands, had perished defending these lands against the Miranids. The actual statistics on the death toll is accumulating even now... We fought, to stall them from entering your lands also, but Amrea stood passive, silent....
...And now, you ask for my boon.’’

Receiving no response from the ashamed dignitary, the Prince sighs again.
‘’Nevertheless, I shall humor the Empress -- and this should please you. Amir Miran has departed for the realm of Wulfram. Having taken along the better portion of my Aarehani army with him.
I suppose, now, their skills are put to test in the slaying of the ungodly Strigoi and their vampiric ilk. Well deserved I say.’’

Kong-Lan bows multiple times upon receiving the answer.

“Thank you for your beneficence, O Prince. For now, rest assured that the time will soon come for the barbarian to be put in his place. The Phoenix has risen yet again, and its fury shall be known. How many day’s ride to Miran’s warhost?”

‘’You mean to trail the footsteps of the Miranid horde?’’
Zaanjikyong strokes his reddish beard as he analyzes the men accompanying the Count, as if to determine their capability of undertaking such a rigorous journey. After a brief discomforting quiet, he raises his voice.
‘’I understand fully your devotion to carry out an imperial decree, but know that you might well be riding to your death. I say this in good faith. Not just for the prolonged arid climate and sandstorms, but more the marauding locals who will be drawn to assail one as prestigious as an Amrean Count… If crossing the width of Transtulania, and then the Pyrünüs mountains into Wulfram isn’t perilous enough, there is no saying what Miran’s men will do to you even if you reach them… It is as you say; they are barbarians.
I urge you consider carefully.’’

Kong-Lan begins to wonder, searching the recesses of his memory for a map of the Southlands he once saw. He couldn’t remember much, but he did remember that further south were larger, more ancient cities, home to races who rivalled the Kou’ji in prestige and blood. Perhaps he would find ears there?

“Tell me, where is the nearest city that swears fealty to the Warlord? It has been made clear that attempting to track him is foolhardy. What alternative do you suggest, O Prince?”
‘’The Eaamhan streams into the Jeravan river, which leads to proximity of Aranagh, the city of Fararuals, a more civilized race. I advise you go there. Sun God willing, you will find a listening ear.’’

The Count nods in acknowledgement. The Fararuals… At the very least, he’d be able to get home faster than if he’d crossed the length and breadth of the Southlands on a fruitless chase.
“I will take your advice.” He says, bowing deeply one final time.

The Prince places a fist to his chest in a dismissive salute. ''Sun God’s speed.’’ He then motions to his robed and bald servants, to show the Amrean delegation out towards the pier.

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

INTO THE STORM

Deep Rudines

Day breaks over the mountains, with beams of light breaking through the overcast mountain skies. Since the Jet Hound’s attack, no Darkling had fortunately been drawn towards them in the night.
Raditsch was the first to stir from slumber in the cave’s seclusion, and as he emerged into the light of day, a bird flew over, loosening a blob of its feces that landed stark on his head… invoked by the unholy and cruel powers of the curse.
Raditschs grumbles. ‘’Forgot mine hat in the grotto.’’ He was about to retreat back into cover, when he spotted on a distant sky the gathering of dark clouds, many of them, hanging over some unseen dale beyond the far mountain tops. It is a great and heavy tempest, another anomaly of these sinister lands.
The cursed wanderer looks upon them, and a glimmer of hopeful anticipation reflects in his eyes. ‘’The day of reckoning has comen…’’ He murmurs under his breath.

Einhard having been roused by the cursed man’s wakening followed his lead out of the cave, being met with the very same view. For the Paladin the dark clouds had the opposite effect, filling him with doubt and pondering on their meaning.
“How many men has your King doomed to wander these mountains?” Einhard asks Raditischs somberly.

But Raditsch speaks to him reassuringly, making erratic hand gestures and motioning towards the clouds as if they are a good omen.
‘’That is where the Horn is… and the lair of the Huntsman’s beast.
That is where you must go, Paladin.’’ This he says, but not without his usual layering of foreboding.

Einhard nods his head at Raditsch’s statement, “If that is what you state, I don’t believe I will ever understand these cursed mountains.”

For the better part of the day onward, the three moved towards their destination, treading cautiously, moving through narrow passes and treacherously steep trails. All the while Einhard never lost sight of those looming dark clouds beckoning him from afar… Is the Millennium Horn really there? How will he recognise it?

Hours follow, and having come close, the tempest now nearly engulfs them. The sound of the wind seems to speak to the three through ominous howling. Distant and unrecognisable sounds are carried on them, yet none in the company can surmise from what they are. But regardless of from where they’ve come, the three are very close to its source…

Marozia had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the whole day. But now she pipes up nervously to Einhard, “Uh… Master Einhard, I think I hear something through the wind.”
Einhard continues to forge ahead as he takes in the sound of the wind. After a long quiet he answers; “Aye little one. It must be the sound of that demonic creature… And something else...”
Indeed, carried on the wind are yells, screams, the fierce clank of iron and the dull chop of wood being cut and splintered.

‘’Lamperts.’’

Their objective is past them, and Einhard, bound by oath to his King, will kill as many of them as is necessary to see his mission done.
The sound of men seems to be coming from down ahead. When he observes a cliff leading down into a clearing, the Paladin pauses, and looks behind towards his Shieldbearer, and then to Raditsch. He raises a hand and says:
“I will take a look. Stand back.”
They nod.
Einhard proceeds to climb the slope in front of them to peer down the edge of the cliff.

His intuition proved correct: as the Paladin looked, he observes a great Lampert encampment, perhaps more like a makeshift fort, protected by battlements, rock formations and palisade walls. He sees armed and mustached men moving all over the place, carrying felled game, recuperating and patrolling.
Einhard goes on to analyse if indeed the Horn is there.. or the Demon Hound… Or anything. But what he sees is none of the things he came looking for, but something entirely different that catches the Paladin completely off guard.

“Autchar…!” he hisses under his breath.

Against a pole in the centre of the encampment is a gagged and bonded Autchar -- he has been captured by the Lamperts!
And standing opposite of him is a tremendous presence, clearly distinguished from the other Lamperts by his stature and armor and iron crown. The pinnacle of Lampertei’s host.
‘’The God-hating Lampert King himself? Now? Here of all places?!’’ Einhard curses inwardly at this turn of events. With Dalgiserius’ presence here, it explains the unnatural clouds looming over this place.

The paladin returns to brief his two traveling companions, with a hush filling them in on what he surveyed...
‘’King Dalgiserius is here? What terrible luck!” Marozia splutters.

Einhard grimly looks to Raditsch, and sensing what he is thinking, Raditsch is filled with shame. “I fear it is mine curse at work again to be so afflicted.”
But before Einhard can start to reconsider the wisdom in having brought the cursed man along, Raditsch continues:
“All is not lost on this day of reckoning. For I ken the lore of shapeshifting. With a brew of Rudine fauna growing near here, I can create you a concoction which allowaz you assume different form. Thereby you can enter the camp, and liberate your swordbrother.”

Einhard sarcastically mutters to himself, almost loud enough for Raditsch to hear. “Perhaps you could turn me into a dragon, so I can turn the lot of them to ashes...” Einhard does not know whether to take the man’s word seriously, but speaks louder this time, “Go do what you will, I will search for a way into the encampment.’’

As the Paladin left to see to his work, the cursed wanderer turned to the shield bearer.
‘’Marozia, was that your name? So you are of Lampert stock, as much as I.’’
Marozia turns to the cursed man with a half smile, “Ah yes, my parents were originally from the Lampert side of the mountains.’’

‘’I need you to leave.’’
‘’What?’’
‘’In the dale we had passed in our coming here, I observed there grew special Rudine fauna in its blossoming. With the Purper flower there, I can create mine shape-shifting concoction. You must go, Marozia, and reap it.’’
“Uhhh… why do I have to go and get the flowers, you are the one who knows these damned passes!”
‘’With mine old eyes, I ken not to differentiate between the purple and the blue. And we need purper flowers specifically.’’

Marozia sighs and heads off to find the flowers. Making sure to wait till she is out of view, Raditsch then approaches Einhard who is keeping vigil into the enemy encampment, and frowning deeply by what he sees.

“The odds are stacked against us…’’ Einhard grimly proclaims, sensing Raditschs’ approach, and gestures towards the rigid Lampert defenses.
‘’So they are.
I never doubted your good will when you vowed to lift my curse, Paladin.
Though I am long beyond reproach, I beg your forgiveness.’’
Einhard turns his head sideways, not sure what the rambling man is on about this time, when he is suddenly pushed, forcefully cast down the rocks and into the clearing below.

‘’There -- There he is!’’ A Lampert man with a missing eye snarls at the fallen Paladin, and immediately an assortment of armed watchmen carrying halberds encircle the dumbstruck Chlotar. He is betrayed.

The Fading Light of V'landriel [Ended, Reboot in Progress]

Location: North-western Gardonia
Date: February 11th YDC
Fourth Cycle of the Fararual Calendar - Season of the Scion

---

Mirza Jafaroglu, a warlord of the Üar-og Emirate rides over the virgin soil and grassy hills of western Upstream Gardonia, at his back a multitude of rows of monster and man. The Beys of the Tzücomen lands have crossed the treacherous slopes and trails that line the Pyrünüs mountains, each leading their own clans into cohorts. The Gnülonlar savages of the northern wastes spanning from Transtulania to Dathanar, and amid them many other absorbed and conquered peoples.

‘’This issuh Gardonois, mon Mirza.’’ Says Lanfranjean Benencase with a thick Gardonian accent. He is a defector from Wulfram’s border outposts, many guards of whom have opted to join the invading Transtulanian warlord over being utterly ravaged and despoiled by mindless gnolls. Lanfranjean is a hunchback with red disheveled hair and a lump of sagging skin covering his right eye.
‘’We-uhh shoulda expectois zhe armée du Wulvram any time soone.’’ The honourless hunchback henchman speaks to Jafaroglu, galloping his white pony in a swift trot by the warlord’s side. ‘’Wid all zhe villáges zhat had been pilláged, zhe local armée must hav been made awares.’’
Jafaroglu grunts affirmatively, pretending to understand what the Hunchback is saying. In truth he is very poorly versed in foreign speech, being able to speak but a single Transtulanian dialect. He therefore keeps a multilingual interpreter as part of his retinue, whispering into his left ear, even to the fields of war.
His army of some twenty thousand men, beasts and creatures move on as Lanfranjean continues to use his single useable eye to scan the horizon for sign of the local lord’s banner.

---

“Sauvages.” On the other side of the battlefield on a hill dominating the battlefield, Etinivien Christofalde looked in his spyglass, the large and expensive well ornamented golden piece of equipment mounted on a tripod. The man wore a magnificent and chique uniform along with the most fanciful of tricorn hat adorned with plumes of exotic birds.

In front of them, a horde of unwashed barbarians grossly the same color prepared to attack them. This irked the Daywalker who had a love of symmetry and aesthetics. But then again, these savages would be blown to pieces into a modern work of ‘Art-Chaotique’ by his artillery so it wasn’t that bad. No, the worst part was when he removed his eye from the spyglass to look at his own forces. Some wore a similar uniform to his, others another kind and others still were just a step above those he faced. The army of Wulfram seemed indeed to include very little of his sons and daughters!

Truth was, Christofalde and his ilk were part of a compromise solution by Favored Daughter Hildegund. For the invading army this was barely understandable, that nation on the continent with the most professional warrior per habitant would be so paralyzed to deal with an invading force, but for him it was part of the usual business. Strigoi feared nothing, nothing but an equally fearless and powerful opponent, so, nothing but each other. Which was why this whole ‘Miranid Invasion’ was only a sideline to them, a little annoyance to be bribed for it to go away while they schemed against each other.

Hildegund was a practical woman who prefered to use a minimum of resources to deal with a problem. While she would have prefered to bribe Miran directly like she did with Amrea so he’d begone, truth was this would send the wrong message to the other neighbors of the Realm. Paying Amrea, the most powerful nation on the continent, the eternal enemy, for peace was one thing, but if any upstart warlord found wealth in the Realm there would be no end to this.

Thus, the present situation. Twenty three thousand men, mostly mortals, tasked to end this little rampage and return business as usual. This was kind of insulting really, Christofalde had the largest mercenary army of the realm, some eleven thousand men, more than enough to defeat an army of savages exhausted after crossing the mountains, but Hildegund had been extremely clear that she wanted thus crushed, no surprise defeat or unexpected outcome. Well… he found solace in the fact he was still being paid his full tariff. She hadn’t even tried to negotiate.

‘’Mon capitan!’’ Shouts one of the watchmen of Christofalde’s host.
‘’Zhey are coming!’’
Indeed, the bark and clamour of gnoll and beast echoed over the fields as the interlopers advanced swiftly towards them, now clearly within sight and aim of Gardonian artillery. Split divisions of the savage horde had been manoeuvring from the north and the south to beset the Gardonian hill from three directions. Thousands and thousands of them streaming over the valleys!

‘’Scatter Üalfrum’s pathetic slave army! Those halfman vampire-thralls are undeserving being called men, for they willingly live like sheep, where we live like LIONS. We shall now show them the wild pride of FREE MEN!’’ Jafaroglu cries in his own dialect, so that only a fraction of the mostly foreign-army could understand, yet by the forceful way spoken, all men and beasts could easily guess what the Mirza wills of them. The warlord raises a pistol and fires a shot into the air. ‘’Charge!’’

The archaic Tzücomen cavalry, primarily armed with javelins, bows and arrows, charge the frontlines, firing their projectiles as they ride while the Gnülonlar swarm the neglected north and south flanks of the Gardonian host.
Before the shock infantry even reached the enemy, other Gnülonlar formed up down the hill, armed with all manner of ranged weaponry from crude matchlock muskets to slings. There they indiscriminately fire shots, bolts and fling rocks into the enemy as much as they do into their fellow gnolls.

“As expected.” Answered a smirking Etinivien. “Artillerie! Distance Maximum! Feux!” The larger cannons fired their ordinance at the incoming onslaught as they passed the distance markers already in place. “Rockets, Feux!” The enemy advanced rapidly but now was time to try something new in Christofalde’s arsenal. Amrean rocket artillery! It may sound dramatic, especially for an old worlders, but these were wooden frames with rocket propelled arrows with at their tips, small amounts of explosives. The 3 constructs began firing their payload but soon after, screaming was heard in the ranks.

“Feux! Feux feux feux!” Looking away from his spyglass in annoyance, Etinivien saw something what would be comedic if it happened to any men but his own. One of the rockets had been stuck in the device! Trying to unjam it, it had become loose and fell on the ground, creating a small explosion downing 3 men. But it wasn’t the end of it as soon after, the entire area was covered by a cloud of smoke as the reserve ammunitions were ignited, destroying the engine and its remaining non fired rockets!

The incompetence! Looking for the responsible, the artillery master covered his face with shame. Still, the remaining, more reliable artillery, did what it could to weaken the enemy. “Graaah! No matterz! Send in zhe skirmisherz to cover zhe flanks!” After a quick acknowledgement, a soldier sounded for the skirmishers to engage and on the south, there was a rumble of hooves… But nothing from the north. Christofalde had to turn his eyes to the skirmishers, part of another company than his own to see him point at the enemy with incomprehension. “You’ree skirmisheurz! Skirmish for Moon’z sake!” The commander screamed at the top of his lungs. The captain of the lesser mercenary company sent him a look filled with resentment, thinking the man nominally in charge was an imbecile trying to get him killed.

This battle which seemed to be nothing but a series of blunders and communications problem continued, getting all the more ridiculous and frustrating for the man in charge as it went. What a ‘gachis’ he thought, for all these problems, the mercenaries did a superb job whenever they actually did what they were meant to, having a superiority of equipment especially in the form of artillery and heavy armor, even with some mages to cause significant casualties to the enemy! Further more when the second wave of humanoids engaged, after the gnolls were butchered, a lot of them actually switched side! The fools had enrolled Gardonians in their armies, no doubt promising them freedom from Strigoi rule but after spending some times with these savages they had began to have second thoughts.

In the end, the mercenary ensembled was battered, much more than it should have been when facing a relatively inferior enemy as they had today, but they can sense victory. The gnolls and horsemen had been repulsed, and the enemy infantry had been coerced into a disorganized withdrawal, demoralized by rampant death and the soaring blasts of Gardonian artillery.

However, all men could then also sense a reverberating quake through the valley, and the faint braying of trumpets beyond the hills… The most damningly piercing of which coming from a great horn drafted onto the battlefield.

---

It was a carnage, or rather a devastating stampede followed by a decisive en masse surrender of the mercenary army. The Miranids rounded up prisoners while Lanfranjean was given Christofalde, for him to do with as he pleased. The hunchback was beating the mercenary leader’s face to a blue and blotched mess while tirading: ’’Zhis is what you get for getting all zhe wimmen, pretty boy! Where iz your 'andsome pretty face now?!’’

Meanwhile Mirza Jafaroglu and his gryphon flew over the red field to observe today’s dead. A scowl formed on his face: for every Gardonian felled, there were at least three Gnülonlar or Tzücomen. Worse yet, of those Gardonians dead none of them were Strigoi and but a few were daywalkers. It was a diversion, as much as his own army had been. Nevertheless, these vampire-slaves had pulled fate’s short straw this day.
Looking over his shoulder, a titanic beast is casting its vast shadow to encompass this valley of death, the selfsame to whom is owed his victory. The numbed Gardonian prisoners are overcome by feelings of fear and awe both; it is seldom they had seen such a godly monstrosity. Though is it the beast for whom the mercenaries of Wulfram cower, or more the menacing specter of regalty perched atop the beast’s head, clutching a radiant flaming sword...

The Fading Light of V'landriel [Ended, Reboot in Progress]

Date: Unknown
Fararu Luminescence, the Holy City of Aranagh

---

Kind solace in a dying hour.
Such, Axbak-Kamen, is not now my theme—
I will not madly deem that worldly power
may shrive me of the sin
that unworldly pride hath revell’d in—
I have no time to dote or dream:

You call it hope—that fire of fire!
It is but agony of desire:
Through my atrocities and slaughter --
I still catch cinders of the haunting dream
of the Luminescence's daughter..

''Negh… Worthless. The last lines does not flow…''

In the dark temple of Axbak Aranagh, the Conqueror sits crossed legged before the altar of Axbak Kamen, writing, outpouring his soul on a piece of parchment held in his calloused hands, put against a hand-held wooden board.

An idol of the Luminescence’s daughter rests on the altar before him, though it failed to capture her beauty. Like a depiction of the sunset could never hope to truly integrate the glamour of the true sunset. Replicating such beauty is not in the fingers of the artist, only the Divine.
He takes up a blank slate of parchment, and sets it on the board to put into words his laments.

In my torch I carry your light
Where its rays sear me true
Pain of your flame is reminder of the why-
Of why I took up the flaming sword

In my charger swift I delight no more,
Nor in costly garb and in finery,
Little do I care for conquest’s booty
Who is there the glory that is mine to share?
Before whom shall I of my conquest boast?
Tore whose gaze shall I my rich garb display?

''No.. no.. Worthless, wretched.''

With a savage gash he scratches the last lines, then fumbles the paper altogether before casting it away. He tries again on a new piece of parchment.

O! craving heart, for the lost flowers
And sunshine of my summer hours.
Th’ undying voice of that dead time,
With its interminable chime,

O! Axbak Kamen
Know thou the secret of my spirit
Bow’d from its wild pride into shame.
O! yearning heart, I did inherit
Thy withering portion with the fame,
The searing glory which hath shone
Amid the jewels of my throne,

Tears in the eyes never convince,
But rather defies under weight of sins
All the same, I bid you, grant me your boon
As I walk your armies into the den of Ualfrüm

Finished writing, he is scarcely content with it, yet perhaps the Divine Fire may appreciate it all the same. The Conqueror offers the writ up to the pyre upon the altar. The old fumbled parchment swiftly catches fire and in seconds is subsumed by flames. Smoke rises towards the ceiling dome of the sanctum, and the Conqueror knows that through such revered rituals, the writ has passed the boundaries of worlds into the otherworld, where his loved one is waiting.

‘’Fire of Fire, brighter than all flames. This I dedicate to Axbak Kamen and you.’’

He rises from the altar, about to leave the sanctum’s premise. When suddenly, a flicker appeared from the cinders remaining of his writ upon the altar. A flare. The Conqueror turned around, and his golden eyes widen in disbelief:
‘’Mulk Khamun.’’

The form of a woman appeared upon the altar, a blazing beacon more stunning than you could imagine, her long hair flowing radiantly about her head with the likeness of sun-beams. It is a display of such regal majesty that to behold it, takes the breath from the Conquerors lungs.

When their eyes meet she stretches out a hand to him, smiling warmly and with otherworldly grace. She wants to say something. Possessed and enraptured the Conqueror is not himself, and takes a small step towards her. He reaches out his battered hand to clasp hers.
And at the moment their fingers touch she flickers out. Like a lamp that had been abruptly turned off, she vanished. The Conqueror is perplexed, and the light leaves his eyes.

His knees fall upon the rigid stone tiles before the altar. He is truly alone.

---

''Amir Shaykh Gurkani…''

The Conqueror had only just left the sanctum when a voice calls from out the dark, with footsteps reverberating towards him.
‘’Forgive my intrusion, it is I; Hierophant An-Mara. Rekindled as your most humble, willing slave.’’
The Conqueror does not look him in the eye, staring stark at the murals on the walls with his arms placed stiff to his back.
‘’An omen, my Amir.

Late in the night, as the silver beam of moonlight shone unto the pond, I beheld therein three carps, two silver and one gold. The gold one had died, but drifted at the pond’s surface, with the two silver ones rapidly swimming circularly about it, as though keeping it afloat. Than.. a single droplet landed on top of the golden carp’s eye.’’

‘’Elaborate now, Hierophant.’’ The Conqueror speaks orotund.
‘’It is a sign from the Sun God. The Silver carp, truly it represents you, where the golden carp represents the late Luminescent. The Sun God at last acknowledges you as The One successor of Kamen’s Lineage, keeping his authority afloat on this mortal coil.’’
‘’Are you certain of this?’’
‘’I speak these words beyond the shadow of doubt, Amir Shaykh. The omens are right.’’
‘’And who, pray tell, is the other silver carp, if one of them is me?’’
The Hierophant lowers his head, and strokes his long grey beard.
‘’Time will tell, Conqueror.’’

The Fading Light of V'landriel [Ended, Reboot in Progress]

The Miranid Empire

Motto: IN RECTITUDE LIES SALVATION

The double-headed eagle was based on the eagle of Yllendir, whose colony the Miranids had come into contact with. Miran had adopted the double-headed eagle as coat of arms for his own aspiring empire; one to rival Yllendir.

Nation Sheet

Type of Government: Empire of conquest
Head(s) of Government: Pir Miran Shaykh Gurkani, abroad known as Miran the Lame, because he walks with a limp.
Economy Exports: A lot of dairy, spices, carpets, cattle, animal pelts, mounts and in the mountainous regions minerals as quicksilver, lead and charcoal.
Economy Imports: From other lands little is imported other than weapons and spices. Though at times marauding warbands would make attempts to cross over into different lands to return with booty.

Primary Species:

Fararuals

Fararual Elves – If they can be considered Elves at all is up to debate. Within the Miranid Empire, they are a caste of clergy and magistrates. Fararuals are the fire kissed progeny of the Fire God, they are immune to burning and are naturally gifted fire sorcerers. For all their expertise however, they grow weak in the absence of sunlight and especially at night.
Historically the Fararuals built the first civilization in Transtulania with remnants of their Ziggurats and Fire Temples lining the steppes to this very day. They number few, and procreation is a great ordeal, for pregnancies take long, and miscarriages are all too common. This is because a Fararual womb is as a furnace, and a newborn spawn worthy of entering this world must literally pass a trial by fire before they may join their brethren among the living.
This excruciating breeding process ensures the potency of their offspring, at the very least.
The perpetually low birthrate of pureblood Fararuals and common miscarriages has for thousands of years opted male Fararuals to breed with humans, their slaves, which gave rise to the Üarim race.

When a Fararual dies, their bodies innate magical energies escape, causing the corpse to disintegrate to ashes.

Üarim

Üarim – Considered a race in their own right, they are technically humans of half or partial Fararual descent. Other cultures would consider them ‘halfbreeds’ or a ‘bastard race’, though the Üarim themselves certainly do not regard themselves as such. Rather as 'lesser Fararuals', for the pureblood Fararuals are regarded by them as a divine race of ancestors, venerated to the point of worship. To preserve the potency of their Fararual blood, the Üarim have in recent centuries opted to only breed among themselves as to truly distanciate themselves from humans.
They are physically more robust than humans, olive skinned, dark haired and with bright orange eyes resembling sundisks and somewhat pointed ears betraying their ancestry, they appear otherwise not too dissimilar from humans. They are famous beastmasters and huntsmen that have harnessed wildland spawn ranging from warhounds, warglar, golems, griffönlu and, most of all, the tremendous Oliphaunts; their trademark superweapon.
In sunlight is where they excel, for it genuinely makes them stronger and fiercer warriors. Because of their ancestry they are also naturally resistant (but not immune) to burning.
The Üarim people originally comprised the armies of the Fararuals. Today, with the Fararuals slowly going extinct and taking on spiritual & ascetic roles in Transtulanian society, the Üarim became self-serving and under Miran Gurkani, rose above the other races in their own bid to Empire, and accordingly form the core of the Miranid Empire’s leadership.
Temperamental, aggressive and innately expansionist (let’s just say they have fiery personalities); in the absence of powerful leaders or warlords, Üarim would go rogue to form marauding warbands.

Humans

Tzücomen – Full blooded humans, natives to the southern steppes of Transtulania. Throughout history they’ve been serfs and roaming herdsmen, and in ancient times the slaves of the Fararuals. They are distinguished from other humans by their swarthy complexion and artificially deformed cone-shaped skulls, achieved through ritual head binding. They have a long history of cooperation and kinship with the Üarim. Their warriors too fill the ranks of the Miranid army as auxiliaries. Militarily they have some uses as light cavalry and skirmishers, due to being lighter weight than their often bulkier Üarim cousins.

Arier Gardonians - Locals to Ariers Haven, they descend mostly of human refugees from Wulfram fleeing Strigoi domination many centuries ago. Ariers Haven was formed as bulwark against the Vampires and headquarters to all who seek to fight them, and liberate their kinsmen. To this end they have made very little progress, and the Arier Gardonians could do little more than serve as an Order of frontier guards ensuring no Strigoi heads further north and east.
They are in a perpetual state of near-impoverishment and always ill-supplied, and dependent on their friendly ties to Dathanar. In return for Dathanar keeping them supplied, the rangers of the Haven patrol their western frontier against hostile interlopers. Hypocritically, the Haven also established trading ties with nearby cities in Wulfram, establishing that their goal no longer appears to be belligerent warfare against Wulfram, but rather to fight rogue Strigoi. With all their attention directed south and west, however, they were swiftly overwhelmed and annexed by the Miranids.

'Amreans'

Aarehan – Pastoral Amreans, nomadic tribal cousins of the denizens of Amrea. Men with fur such as the Amreans are deemed effeminate and weak in the lands of Transtulania. Having adopted the Üarim mentality since migrating outside of Amrea, the Aarehani are easily distinguished for shaving their animal parts religiously. Their would-be majestic foxtails are rendered ratlike appendages, earning them the pejorative nickname of ‘Ratmen’ to outsiders. The Higher Ranking Aarehan, such as their champions and ruling families, shave their tails only with the exception of the tip, giving them plumed ends as though that of lions. They also grow the hair on their heads to resemble manes, dignifying themselves Lion Men. They are further distinguished from their northern Amrean cousins by being much less groomed, having a darker tanned skin complexion and with their males sporting long Manchu mustaches. Today the Aarehani domain serves in Miran’s mighty army, either out of free will or coerced by force.

Gnolls

Gnülonlar – Sapient canines resembling hyenas walking on two legs. Other cultures would call them Gnolls, and they are natives of the sandy northern wastelands of Transtulania.
They are less intelligent than their equally savage human and Üarim neighbours. But while being driven by the most base of instincts and generally dimwitted, they are also capable of acts of shrewd cunning. They make for excellent ambushers and surveyors, and more so than any man can analyze weakness and opportune moments to strike. Because they are arid creatures, and smaller and generally weaker than men, they require less food to sustain themselves and breed rapidly. However as they are carnivores native to an arid dominion, food is sparse, and thus for ages now the Gnulonlar were locked in endless cycles of tribal warfare against each other where they kill and eat other Gnulonlar; this having the effect of a self-imposed population control. They rely on numbers and savagery and make for excellent shock infantry and skirmishers.

Unique specimen:

Efreets

Efreets - Holy and revered entities that live between worlds, Efreets only appear in the confines of religious sanctuaries and other holy sites such as temples. They are conjured from the ashes of dead Fararuals, based on the Fararual's innate magic still contained in those ashes. They are not spirits of the dead, but rather an afterglow, a memory, of the dead Fararual magically given form. They often serve as oracles, and their words are always very cryptic. The meaning behind which (if there are any) is entirely up to interpretation.

Golems

Golems - Beasts of animated Stone said to have come into being through an ancient curse. They are native to the rocky dunes and canyons in the west where they are spawned through wizardry. The Golems resemble gorillas, and are barely sapient, but do understand war. The Üarim beastmasters had long since tamed them and used them as an integral part of their wars.

Daywalkers

Üarim Daywalkers - Some Üarim communities that have served in Wulfram as mercenaries offered up some of their daughters as part of a sinister pact with their Strigoi overlord. Part of the pact involves the Üarim community keeping the offspring, with some of them being sent to Transtulania. Üarim Daywalkers can be told apart from regular Daywalkers by their grey skin color, and unlike regular Daywalkers have a good resistance against the sun. Because of a Daywalker’s famously super-human strengths, many Üarim daywalkers have risen to the top as warband leaders and champions.

Small minorities:
Strigoi - not subjects of the Empire, but considered a wildlife nuisance.
Gorgar - along the western rivers, also not subjects of the Empire.
Anhreinn Humans - in the Tementafel Twinstates

Literacy: The population, save for the Fararuals and high-standing Üarim, is almost completely illiterate.
Population: some 70 to 80 million total, the vast majority of which conquered peoples. The heartlands of Transtulania are compared to surrounding lands arid and sparsely populated. Most of the population live around rivers and in the recently annexed territories closest to Amrea and Wulfram.

Fararual Elves: 40.000. Pureblood Fararuals are a dying breed. Most of them live in the Holy City of Aranagh; the spiritual centre of the Miranid Empire.

Üarim: 36 million, the majority of the Miranids and rulers of the Empire’s western heartlands, namely the Fararu Luminescence (their ancestral place-of-origin) and the two Emirates.

Human Races:
Tzücomen: 13 million
Gardonians: 2 million
Anhreinn: 500

Aarehan: 1,5 million

Gnülonlar: 17 million

Golems: 80.000

Culture: Masculine and warlike. Every man is expected to be capable of some martial skill, archery and life in the saddle of whichever beast they have mastered, a tradition that echoes bygone ages. In addition to the people's rogue lifestyle, very few leaders have been able to assert control over the unruly masses. Üarim respect strength above all, for strength and confidence are the measure of a man.

Most of the population live a rural and nomadic lifestyle, and only some 2-5% of the population comprise of city dwellers. Most Üarim and certainly every Tzücoman, no matter how poor, herds cattle for sustenance and owns a steed.

Spicy food, the sort that metaphorically or literally burn your taste buds, is an integral part of Transtulanian diet, and it is the spice trade (importation and exportation alike) what made Transtulanian cities wealthy. Chili and peppers is what Uarim people eat practically on a daily basis.

Religious and Other Beliefs: The Sun God (the same as Amrea's) and the Fire God; Axbak Kamen

According to ancient legend and oral tradition, many thousands of years ago Axbak Kamen was the first Emperor of the Fararuals that ruled an Empire spanning the southern half of the Continent. Upon death, the Fararuals believe his spirit ascended to Godhood, and in Transtulania he is revered as 'the Fire God, son of the Sun God'. Beyond this key difference, their religious practices are virtually the same as those of Amrea.

Location/Territories: Much of the present Miranid borders comprise a land referred to as Transtulania.

Map of the Miranid Empire

Climate: Very diverse, though overwhelmingly (sub-)tropical and arid.
From north to south:

In the Aarehani Principality; hills covered by tropical rainforests

In the Gnülonlar Badlands, Tementafel Twinstates and Fararu Luminescence; rocky arid flat wasteland

In the Emirate of Uar-ög and the Dunes of Kurtkoc; mountainous with many canyons

In the Tzücomen Beyliks and the Emirate of Ushji-Dash; grassy steppes and flat riverlands


Military:
There is a tremendous emphasis on war beasts in the Miranid Army, and it is their harnessing of beasts that has been their truly distinguishing strength.

Oliphaunts

Oliphaunts - great Elephants native to the southern Transtulanian plateau. Indomitable and titanic creatures, their steps are a prelude to devastation. Few have the skill to tame and harness their power, and among the Üarim the secret has been passed down to befriending these monsters. For over a thousand years they have been the Üarim superweapon.

Griffons

Griffönlu - Great beasts, vaguely reminiscent of horses combined with eagles; since ancient times the chief source of Üarim power. When their enemies were confined to the mortal coil of land, the luminescent army took to the skies. Today, with competitors also having a similar access to aerial combat, this boon had been somewhat negated.

Cavalry Skirmishers

Mounted archery - In this day that largely means rifles and fire-arms, though there are some (namely from the Tzücomen Beyliks) that still use old fashioned bow and arrow, and lances for charging.

Beyond that, the different races listed above give an insight to the purpose each race serves in the Miranid army, with Tzücomen and Gnülonlar being generally cheap levies and rank-fillers, the Golems as crude fantasy-tanks, and the Üarim as professional soldiers.

Magic Prevalence/Usage:
Fire!
And conjuring tempests.

History/ Background Info:
Miranid History is linked to the warlord Miran Gurkani, whose history goes back only a few decades; prior to then it was a remote land always on the outskirts or part of another power's empire.
It is known that in ancient times, Transtulania was part of the Amrean Empire and the first Emperors are to this day revered in Transtulania and considered as their Emperors as well.

Miran was born Miran Shaykh, of lesser Üarim noble birth in a long line of Holy Defenders sworn to the Holy City of Aranagh, ruled by the Arch Luminescent, the King of the Fararuals.
He was a man strong in body and relentlessness in spirit, and though his career as a warrior painted for himself a font of a vicious brute and killer, he draws little enjoyment from his bloodsoaked deeds. His true passion is - (don't laugh!) - in writing poetry. In fact it was his writing that caused Miran from a young age to befriend the Luminescent’s Daughter; Mulk Khamun, who is more divine than mortal -- the most beautiful woman in all the world.

One day a High Priest of Kand known as the Hierophant had Mulk Khamun seized and brought to the monolithic city of Kand, of which Grand Temple he was Master of Rites, in a bid to sacrifice her to the Sun God. This was to reverse the decline of the dying race of the Fararuals. Only one of such potent divine lineage would make for an offer powerful enough to invoke the protection of the Gods.
Immediately Miran mustered his band of Holy Defenders and pursued the Hierophant to the gates of Kand. They prepared the investment on the City, however fortunately for Miran one of his friends was among the city guard, and helped smuggle him inside. At seeing the Holy Defender barging into his temple, the Hierophant mistakenly believed Kand had fallen, and he rushed into a hidden passage leading outside of the walls… Where Miran’s men easily captured the Hierophant. Later that month he was presented in chains before the Luminescent to answer for his crime against the royal family.
This feat accomplished, the Luminescent inquired what reward Miran desired most, to which the Holy Defender gave resolute response: the hand of Mulk Khamun, to whom his sword and heart was pledged. But this was not allowed, for his blood and birth was not pure. Instead he obtained land grants as compensation, with the grand title of ‘Gurkani; meaning ‘son in law’.
However Miran Gurkani disobeyed the Luminescent, and he and Mulk Khamun agreed to marry in secret.

Husayim the Grey, named so for his grey skin and Daywalker heritage, was another and mightier Holy Defender of Aranagh, and he witnessed their secret marriage. He was quick to inform the Luminescent of Miran and Mulk Khamun’s disobedience. The Arch Luminescent was outraged; to him this was the ultimate betrayal by disobeying the one thing he strictly forebade. As punishment Miran was stripped of his lands and titles and sent into exile into the deserts of the Gnülonlar, his survival left to the judgement of the Gods (this was considered merciful, for had it been anyone else the penalty would’ve surely been death then and there). All the while Mulk Khamun was placed under house arrest in the citadel of Quaraash.

Miran and a handful of Holy Defender defectors accompanying him, wandered into the wasteland. The absence of these defenders provided Husayim the opening he conspired to get, for he was a henchman of the Hierophant all the while, determined to enact his scheme to revive Fararual Power in Transtulania. Swiftly, Husayim the Grey assassinated the Luminescent and kidnapped his daughter from Quaraash back to Kand.

Immediately Miran and his band, accompanied by Gnülonlar auxiliaries that had joined them on the road, rode against Husayim in Kand. But they were too late, Mulk Khamun was cooked alive in ritual sacrifice committed to the Sun God.

In the subterranean halls of Kand, Miran defeated Husayim in single combat. During this battle, Husayim cleft Miran's foot, causing him to walk with a limp ever since. When at last Husayim relented to Miran's mercy, Miran showed none; in wrath he threw him to the Gnülonlar who ate him alive.
Then he retrieved the ashes of Mulk Khamun and interred them in the Holy Temple Axbak-Aranagh to be among her ancestors.

With both her and her father’s death, the Fararual Royal bloodline went extinct. In accordance to ancient Fararual prophecy, this is the prerequisite of apocalypse, the end of an era, and the beginning of a cycle of darkness. Was Husayim trying to restore the Fararuals to power, or was he an acolyte of Armageddon that superstitiously sought to bring about the downfall of the world?

It matters not, for one thing Miran agreed with him on; the final war is at hand. Most of the Emirs and chieftains of Transtulania regarded him as the successor of the last Luminescent. …He had made him a son in law (Gurkani) after all, even if that title had technically been revoked. But Miran avenged both the Luminescent and his daughter by capturing the Hierophant and killing Husayim the Grey.
Speaking of the Hierophant; he was still alive. And as a prominent sage of Transtulania, Miran begrudgingly turned to him for counsel. This he said:

‘’Conquer the world, and Mulk Khamun will be brought back from the ashes.’’

And Miran believed him. For at the very least, the thought of getting her back is a flame that keeps the aspiring conqueror to the path of conquest.
In Kand he was anointed the Sword of the Fire God, and received the Flaming Sword Zara-Thuster which he carries into battle on his relentless campaigns.

It was a hopeless quest, for how can a man actually conquer the world? Miran resigned himself to doom from the beginning when he accepted Zara-Thuster, but nevertheless he is resolute to carry out his given duty as Chosen One of the Fire God.

Over ten years have passed since then, and though there were other warlords, it was Miran who pulled firmest at the threads of fate to come out on top. Many atrocities had been committed: his armies of Üarim and Gnülonlar swept across the land, and with sword, scores of cannons, pillage and much fire the nations of Transtulania and the southern steppes were brought to heel. This became the foundation of a nascent Empire of the south, which has been dubbed the Miranid Empire – the subjects of Miran Shaykh Gurkani.

The Fading Light of V'landriel (Closed for Soft Reboot)

The Miranid Empire

Motto: IN RECTITUDE LIES SALVATION

The double-headed eagle was based on the eagle of Yllendir, whose colony the Miranids had come into contact with. Miran had adopted the double-headed eagle as coat of arms for his own aspiring empire; one to rival Yllendir.

Nation Sheet

Type of Government: Empire / Khanate
Head(s) of Government: Pir Miran Shaykh Gurkani, abroad known as Miran the Lame, because he walks with a limp.
Economy Exports: A lot of dairy, spices, carpets, cattle, animal pelts, mounts and in the mountainous regions minerals as quicksilver, lead and charcoal.
Economy Imports: From other lands little is imported other than weapons and spices. Though at times marauding warbands would make attempts to cross over into different lands to return with booty.

Primary Species:

Fararuals

Fararual Elves – If they can be considered Elves at all is up to debate. Within the Miranid Empire, they are a caste of clergy and magistrates. Fararuals are the fire kissed progeny of the Fire God, they are immune to burning and are naturally gifted fire sorcerers. For all their expertise however, they grow weak in the absence of sunlight and especially at night.
Historically the Fararuals built the first civilization in Transtulania with remnants of their Ziggurats and Fire Temples lining the steppes to this very day. They number few, and procreation is a great ordeal, for pregnancies take long, and miscarriages are all too common. This is because a Fararual womb is as a furnace, and a newborn spawn worthy of entering this world must literally pass a trial by fire before they may join their brethren among the living.
This excruciating breeding process ensures the potency of their offspring, at the very least.
The perpetually low birthrate of pureblood Fararuals and common miscarriages has for thousands of years opted male Fararuals to breed with humans, their slaves, which gave rise to the Üarim race.

When a Fararual dies, their bodies innate magical energies escape, causing the corpse to disintegrate to ashes.

Üarim

Üarim – Considered a race in their own right, they are technically humans of half or partial Fararual descent. Other cultures would consider them ‘halfbreeds’ or a ‘bastard race’, though the Üarim themselves certainly do not regard themselves as such. Rather as 'lesser Fararuals', for the pureblood Fararuals are regarded by them as a divine race of ancestors, venerated to the point of worship. To preserve their Fararual blood the Üarim breed only among themselves. They are physically more robust than humans, olive skinned, dark haired and with bright orange eyes resembling sundisks and somewhat pointed ears betraying their ancestry, they appear otherwise not too dissimilar from humans. They are famous beastmasters and huntsmen that have harnessed wildland spawn ranging from warhounds, warglar, golems, griffönlu and, most of all, the tremendous Oliphaunts; their trademark superweapon.
In sunlight is where they excel for it genuinely makes them stronger and fiercer warriors. Because of their Fararual ancestry they are also naturally resistant (but not immune) to burning.
The Üarim people originally comprised the armies of the Fararuals. Today, with the Fararuals slowly going extinct and taking on spiritual & ascetic roles in Transtulanian society, the Üarim became self-serving and under Miran Gurkani, rose to the top in their own bid of empire building, and accordingly form the core of the Miranid Empire’s leadership.
Temperamental, aggressive and innately expansionist (let’s just say they have fiery personalities); in the absence of powerful leaders or warlords, Üarim would go rogue to form marauding warbands.

Humans

Tzücomen – Full blooded humans, natives to the southern steppes of Transtulania. Throughout history they’ve been serfs and roaming herdsmen, and in ancient times the slaves of the Fararuals. They are distinguished from other humans by their swarthy complexion and artificially deformed cone-shaped skulls, achieved through ritual head binding. They have a long history of cooperation and kinship with the Üarim. Their warriors too fill the ranks of the Miranid army as auxiliaries. Militarily they have some uses as light cavalry and skirmishers, due to being lighter weight than their often bulkier Üarim cousins.

Arier Gardonians - Locals to Ariers Haven, they descend mostly of human refugees from Wulfram fleeing Strigoi domination many centuries ago. Ariers Haven was formed as bulwark against the Vampires and headquarters to all who seek to fight them, and liberate their kinsmen. To this end they have made very little progress, and the Arier Gardonians could do little more than serve as an Order of frontier guards ensuring no Strigoi heads further north. They did, however, grow to a significant regional mercantile power, and began hypocritically trading with nearby cities in Wulfram. With all their attention directed south, however, they were swiftly overwhelmed and annexed by the Miranids.

'Amreans'

Aarehan – Pastoral Amreans, nomadic tribal cousins of the denizens of Amrea. Men with fur such as the Amreans are deemed effeminate and weak in the lands of Transtulania. Having adopted the Üarim mentality since migrating outside of Amrea, the Aarehani are easily distinguished for shaving their animal parts religiously. Their would-be majestic foxtails are rendered ratlike appendages, earning them the pejorative nickname of ‘Ratmen’ to outsiders. The Higher Ranking Aarehan, such as their champions and ruling families, shave their tails only with the exception of the tip, giving them plumed ends as though that of lions. They also grow the hair on their heads to resemble manes, dignifying themselves Lion Men. They are further distinguished from their northern Amrean cousins by being much less groomed, having a darker tanned skin complexion and with their males sporting long Manchu mustaches. Today the Aarehani domain serves in Miran’s mighty army, either out of free will or coerced by force.

Gnolls

Gnülonlar – Sapient canines resembling hyenas walking on two legs. Other cultures would call them Gnolls, and they are natives of the sandy northern wastelands of Transtulania.
They are less intelligent than their equally savage human and Üarim neighbours. But while being driven by the most base of instincts and generally dimwitted, they are also capable of acts of shrewd cunning. They make for excellent ambushers and surveyors, and more so than any man can analyze weakness and opportune moments to strike. Because they are arid creatures, and smaller and generally weaker than men, they require less food to sustain themselves and breed rapidly. However as they are carnivores native to an arid dominion, food is sparse, and thus for ages now the Gnulonlar were locked in endless cycles of tribal warfare against each other where they kill and eat other Gnulonlar; this having the effect of a self-imposed population control. They rely on numbers and savagery and make for excellent shock infantry and skirmishers.

Unique specimen:

Efreets

Efreets - Holy and revered entities that live between worlds, Efreets only appear in the confines of religious sanctuaries and other holy sites such as temples. They are conjured from the ashes of dead Fararuals, based on the Fararual's innate magic still contained in those ashes. They are not spirits of the dead, but rather an afterglow, a memory, of the dead Fararual magically given form. They often serve as oracles, and their words are always very cryptic. The meaning behind which (if there are any) is entirely up to interpretation.

Golems

Golems - Beasts of animated Stone said to have come into being through an ancient curse. They are native to the rocky dunes and canyons in the west where they are spawned through wizardry. The Golems resemble gorillas, and are barely sapient, but do understand war. The Üarim beastmasters had long since tamed them and used them as an integral part of their wars.

Daywalkers

Üarim Daywalkers - Some Üarim communities that have served in Wulfram as mercenaries offered up some of their daughters as part of a sinister pact with their Strigoi overlord. Part of the pact involves the Üarim community keeping the offspring, with some of them being sent to Transtulania. Üarim Daywalkers can be told apart from regular Daywalkers by their grey skin color, and unlike regular Daywalkers have a good resistance against the sun. Because of a Daywalker’s famously super-human strengths, many Üarim daywalkers have risen to the top as warband leaders and champions.

Small minorities:
Strigoi - not subjects of the Empire, but considered a wildlife nuisance.
Gorgar - along the western rivers, also not subjects of the Empire.
Anhreinn Humans - in the Tementafel Twinstates

Literacy: The population, save for the Fararuals and high-standing Üarim, is almost completely illiterate.
Population: some 70 to 80 million total, the vast majority of which conquered peoples. The heartlands of Transtulania are compared to surrounding lands arid and sparsely populated. Most of the population live around rivers and in the recently annexed territories closest to Amrea and Wulfram.

Fararual Elves: 40.000. Pureblood Fararuals are a dying breed. Most of them live in the Holy City of Aranagh; the spiritual centre of the Miranid Empire.

Üarim: 28 million, the majority of the Miranids and rulers of the Empire’s western heartlands, namely the Fararu Luminescence (their ancestral place-of-origin) and the two Emirates.

Human Races:
Tzücomen: 13 million
Gardonians: 2 million
Anhreinn: 500

Aarehan: 1,5 million

Gnülonlar: 22 million

Golems: 80.000

Culture: Masculine and warlike. Every man is expected to be capable of martial prowess, archery and life in the saddle of whichever beast they have mastered, a tradition that echoes bygone ages. In addition to the people's rogue lifestyle, very few leaders have been able to assert control over the unruly masses. Üarim respect strength above all, for strength and confidence are the measure of a man.

Most of the population live a rural and nomadic lifestyle, and only some 2-5% of the population comprise of city dwellers. Most Üarim and certainly every Tzücoman, no matter how poor, herds cattle for sustenance and owns a steed.

Spicy food that burn your taste buds is a big deal in Transtulanian diet, and it is the spice trade (importation and exportation alike) what made Transtulanian cities wealthy. Chili and peppers Uarim people eat practically on a daily basis.

Religious and Other Beliefs: The Sun God (the same as Amrea's) and the Fire God; Axbak Kamen

According to ancient legend and oral tradition, many thousands of years ago Axbak Kamen was the first Emperor of the Fararuals that ruled an Empire spanning the southern half of the Continent. Upon death, the Fararuals believe his spirit ascended to Godhood, and in Transtulania he is revered as 'the Fire God, son of the Sun God'. Beyond this key difference, their religious practices are virtually the same as those of Amrea.

Location/Territories: Much of the present Miranid borders comprise a land referred to as Transtulania.

Map of the Miranid Empire

Climate: Very diverse, though overwhelmingly (sub-)tropical and arid.
From north to south:

In the Aarehani Principality; hills covered by tropical rainforests

In the Gnülonlar Badlands, Tementafel Twinstates and Fararu Luminescence; rocky arid flat wasteland

In the Emirate of Uar-ög and the Dunes of Kurtkoc; mountainous with many canyons

In the Tzücomen Beyliks and the Emirate of Ushji-Dash; grassy steppes and flat riverlands


Military:
There is a tremendous emphasis on war beasts in the Miranid Army, and it is their harnessing of beasts that has been their truly distinguishing strength.

Oliphaunts

Oliphaunts - great Elephants native to the southern Transtulanian plateau. Indomitable and titanic creatures, their steps are a prelude to devastation. Few have the skill to tame and harness their power, and among the Üarim the secret has been passed down to befriending these monsters. For over a thousand years they have been the Üarim superweapon.

Griffons

Griffönlu - Great beasts, vaguely reminiscent of horses combined with eagles; since ancient times the chief source of Üarim power. When their enemies were confined to the mortal coil of land, the luminescent army took to the skies. Today, with competitors also having a similar access to aerial combat, this boon had been somewhat negated.

Cavalry Skirmishers

Mounted archery - In this day that largely means rifles and fire-arms, though there are some (namely from the Tzücomen Beyliks) that still use old fashioned bow and arrow, and lances for charging.

Beyond that, the different races listed above give an insight to the purpose each race serves in the Miranid army, with Tzücomen and Gnülonlar being generally cheap levies and rank-fillers, the Golems as crude fantasy-tanks, and the Üarim as powerful professional soldiers.

Magic Prevalence/Usage:
Fire!
And conjuring tempests.

History/ Background Info:
Miranid History is linked to the warlord Miran Gurkani, whose history goes back only a few decades; prior to then it was a remote land always on the outskirts or part of another power's empire.
It is known that in ancient times, Transtulania was part of the Amrean Empire and the first Emperors are to this day revered in Transtulania and considered as their Emperors as well.

Miran was born Miran Shaykh, of lesser Üarim noble birth in a long line of Holy Defenders sworn to the Holy City of Aranagh, ruled by the Arch Luminescent, the King of the Fararuals.
He was a man strong in body and relentlessness in spirit, and though his career as a warrior painted for himself a font of a vicious brute and killer, he draws little enjoyment from his bloodsoaked deeds. His true passion is - (don't laugh!) - in writing poetry. In fact it was his writing that caused Miran from a young age to befriend the Luminescent’s Daughter; Mulk Khamun, who is more divine than mortal -- the most beautiful woman in all the world.

One day a High Priest of Kand known as the Hierophant had Mulk Khamun seized and brought to the monolithic city of Kand, of which Grand Temple he was Master of Rites, in a bid to sacrifice her to the Sun God. This was to reverse the decline of the dying race of the Fararuals. Only one of such potent divine lineage would make for an offer powerful enough to invoke the protection of the Gods.
Immediately Miran mustered his band of Holy Defenders and pursued the Hierophant to the gates of Kand. They prepared the investment on the City, however fortunately for Miran one of his friends was among the city guard, and helped smuggle him inside. At seeing the Holy Defender barging into his temple, the Hierophant mistakenly believed Kand had fallen, and he rushed into a hidden passage leading outside of the walls… Where Miran’s men easily captured the Hierophant. Later that month he was presented in chains before the Luminescent to answer for his crime against the royal family.
This feat accomplished, the Luminescent inquired what reward Miran desired most, to which the Holy Defender gave resolute response: the hand of Mulk Khamun, to whom his sword and heart was pledged. But this was not allowed, for his blood and birth was not pure. Instead he obtained land grants as compensation, with the grand title of ‘Gurkani; meaning ‘son in law’.
However Miran Gurkani disobeyed the Luminescent, and he and Mulk Khamun agreed to marry in secret.

Husayim the Grey, named so for his grey skin and Daywalker heritage, was another and mightier Holy Defender of Aranagh, and he witnessed their secret marriage. He was quick to inform the Luminescent of Miran and Mulk Khamun’s disobedience. The Arch Luminescent was outraged; to him this was the ultimate betrayal by disobeying the one thing he strictly forebade. As punishment Miran was stripped of his lands and titles and sent into exile into the deserts of the Gnülonlar, his survival left to the judgement of the Gods (this was considered merciful, for had it been anyone else the penalty would’ve surely been death then and there). All the while Mulk Khamun was placed under house arrest in the citadel of Quaraash.

Miran and a handful of Holy Defender defectors accompanying him, wandered into the wasteland. The absence of these defenders provided Husayim the opening he conspired to get, for he was a henchman of the Hierophant all the while, determined to enact his scheme to revive Fararual Power in Transtulania. Swiftly, Husayim the Grey assassinated the Luminescent and kidnapped his daughter from Quaraash back to Kand.

Immediately Miran and his band, accompanied by Gnülonlar auxiliaries that had joined them on the road, rode against Husayim in Kand. But they were too late, Mulk Khamun was cooked alive in ritual sacrifice committed to the Sun God.

In the subterranean halls of Kand, Miran defeated Husayim in single combat. During this battle, Husayim cleft Miran's foot, causing him to walk with a limp ever since. When at last Husayim relented to Miran's mercy, Miran showed none; in wrath he threw him to the Gnülonlar who ate him alive.
Then he retrieved the ashes of Mulk Khamun and interred them in the Holy Temple Axbak-Aranagh to be among her ancestors.

With both her and her father’s death, the Fararual Royal bloodline went extinct. In accordance to ancient Fararual prophecy, this is the prerequisite of apocalypse, the end of an era, and the beginning of a cycle of darkness. Was Husayim trying to restore the Fararuals to power, or was he an acolyte of Armageddon that superstitiously sought to bring about the downfall of the world?

It matters not, for one thing Miran agreed with him on; the final war is at hand. Most of the Emirs and chieftains of Transtulania regarded him as the successor of the last Luminescent. …He had made him a son in law (Gurkani) after all, even if that title had technically been revoked. But Miran avenged both the Luminescent and his daughter by capturing the Hierophant and killing Husayim the Grey.
Speaking of the Hierophant; he was still alive. And as a prominent sage of Transtulania, Miran begrudgingly turned to him for counsel. This he said:

‘’Conquer the world, and Mulk Khamun will be brought back from the ashes.’’

And Miran believed him. For at the very least, the thought of getting her back is a flame that keeps the aspiring conqueror to the path of conquest.
In Kand he was anointed the Sword of the Fire God, and received the Flaming Sword Zara-Thuster which he carries into battle on his relentless campaigns.

It was a hopeless quest, for how can a man actually conquer the world? Miran resigned himself to doom from the beginning when he accepted Zara-Thuster, but nevertheless he is resolute to carry out his given duty as Chosen One of the Fire God.

Over ten years have passed since then, and though there were other warlords, it was Miran who pulled firmest at the threads of fate to come out on top. Many atrocities had been committed: his armies of Üarim and Gnülonlar swept across the land, and with sword, scores of cannons, pillage and much fire the nations of Transtulania and the southern steppes were brought to heel. This became the foundation of a nascent Empire of the south, which has been dubbed the Miranid Empire – the subjects of Miran Shaykh Gurkani.

The Fading Light of V'landriel (Closed for Soft Reboot)

Miranid Empire

Nation Name: Miranid Empire
Flag:
The double-headed eagle was based on the eagle of Yllendir, whose colony the Miranids had come into contact with. Miran had adopted the double-headed eagle as coat of arms for his own aspiring empire; one to rival Yllendir.
Type of Government: Empire / Khanate
Motto: In rectitude lies salvation
Head(s) of Government: Pir Miran Shaykh Gurkani, abroad known as Miran the Lame, because he walks with a limp.
Economy Exports: A lot of dairy, spices, carpets, cattle, animal pelts, mounts and in the mountainous regions minerals as quicksilver, lead and charcoal.
Economy Imports: From other lands little is imported other than weapons and spices. Though at times marauding warbands would make attempts to cross over into different lands to return with booty.

Primary Species:

Fararuals

Fararual Elves – If they can be considered Elves at all is up to debate. Within the Miranid Empire, they are a caste of clergy and magistrates. Fararuals are the fire kissed progeny of the Fire God, they are immune to burning and are naturally gifted fire sorcerers. For all their expertise however, they grow weak in the absence of sunlight and especially at night.
Historically the Fararuals built the first civilization in Transtulania with remnants of their Ziggurats and Fire Temples lining the steppes to this very day. They number few, and procreation is a great ordeal, for pregnancies take long, and miscarriages are all too common. This is because a Fararual womb is as a furnace, and a newborn spawn worthy of entering this world must literally pass a trial by fire before they may join their brethren among the living.
This excruciating breeding process ensures the potency of their offspring, at the very least.
The perpetually low birthrate of pureblood Fararuals and common miscarriages has for thousands of years opted male Fararuals to breed with humans, their slaves, which gave rise to the Üarim race.

When a Fararual dies, their bodies innate magical energies escape, causing the corpse to disintegrate to ashes.

Üarim

Üarim – Considered a race in their own right, they are technically humans of half or partial Fararual descent. Other cultures would consider them ‘halfbreeds’ or a ‘bastard race’, though the Üarim themselves certainly do not regard themselves as such. Rather as 'lesser Fararuals', for the pureblood Fararuals are regarded by them as a divine race of ancestors, venerated to the point of worship. To preserve their Fararual blood the Üarim breed only among themselves. They are physically more robust than humans, olive skinned, dark haired and with bright orange eyes resembling sundisks and somewhat pointed ears betraying their ancestry, they appear otherwise not too dissimilar from humans. They are famous beastmasters and huntsmen that have harnessed wildland spawn ranging from warhounds, warglar, golems, griffönlu and, most of all, the tremendous Oliphaunts; their trademark superweapon.
In sunlight is where they excel for it genuinely makes them stronger and fiercer warriors. Because of their Fararual ancestry they are also naturally resistant (but not immune) to burning.
The Üarim people originally comprised the armies of the Fararuals. Today, with the Fararuals slowly going extinct and taking on spiritual & ascetic roles in Transtulanian society, the Üarim became self-serving and under Miran Gurkani, rose to the top in their own bid of empire building, and accordingly form the core of the Miranid Empire’s leadership.
Temperamental, aggressive and innately expansionist (let’s just say they have fiery personalities); in the absence of powerful leaders or warlords, Üarim would go rogue to form marauding warbands.

Humans

Tzücomen – Full blooded humans, natives to the southern steppes of Transtulania. Throughout history they’ve been serfs and roaming herdsmen, and in ancient times the slaves of the Fararuals. They are distinguished from other humans by their swarthy complexion and artificially deformed cone-shaped skulls, achieved through ritual head binding. They have a long history of cooperation and kinship with the Üarim. Their warriors too fill the ranks of the Miranid army as auxiliaries. Militarily they have some uses as light cavalry and skirmishers, due to being lighter weight than their often bulkier Üarim cousins.

Arier Gardonians - Locals to Ariers Haven, they descend mostly of human refugees from Wulfram fleeing Strigoi domination many centuries ago. Ariers Haven was formed as bulwark against the Vampires and headquarters to all who seek to fight them, and liberate their kinsmen. To this end they have made very little progress, and the Arier Gardonians could do little more than serve as an Order of frontier guards ensuring no Strigoi heads further north. They did, however, grow to a significant regional mercantile power, and began hypocritically trading with nearby cities in Wulfram. With all their attention directed south, however, they were swiftly overwhelmed and annexed by the Miranids.

'Amreans'

Aarehan – Pastoral Amreans, nomadic tribal cousins of the denizens of Amrea. Men with fur such as the Amreans are deemed effeminate and weak in the lands of Transtulania. Having adopted the Üarim mentality since migrating outside of Amrea, the Aarehani are easily distinguished for shaving their animal parts religiously. Their would-be majestic foxtails are rendered ratlike appendages, earning them the pejorative nickname of ‘Ratmen’ to outsiders. The Higher Ranking Aarehan, such as their champions and ruling families, shave their tails only with the exception of the tip, giving them plumed ends as though that of lions. They also grow the hair on their heads to resemble manes, dignifying themselves Lion Men. They are further distinguished from their northern Amrean cousins by being much less groomed, having a darker tanned skin complexion and with their males sporting long Manchu mustaches. Today the Aarehani domain serves in Miran’s mighty army, either out of free will or coerced by force.

Gnolls

Gnülonlar – Sapient canines resembling hyenas walking on two legs. Other cultures would call them Gnolls, and they are natives of the sandy northern wastelands of Transtulania.
They are less intelligent than their equally savage human and Üarim neighbours. But while being driven by the most base of instincts and generally dimwitted, they are also capable of acts of shrewd cunning. They make for excellent ambushers and surveyors, and more so than any man can analyze weakness and opportune moments to strike. Because they are arid creatures, and smaller and generally weaker than men, they require less food to sustain themselves and breed rapidly. However as they are carnivores native to an arid dominion, food is sparse, and thus for ages now the Gnulonlar were locked in endless cycles of tribal warfare against each other where they kill and eat other Gnulonlar; this having the effect of a self-imposed population control. They rely on numbers and savagery and make for excellent shock infantry and skirmishers.

Unique specimen:

Efreets

Efreets - Holy and revered entities that live between worlds, Efreets only appear in the confines of religious sanctuaries and other holy sites such as temples. They are conjured from the ashes of dead Fararuals, based on the Fararual's innate magic still contained in those ashes. They are not spirits of the dead, but rather an afterglow, a memory, of the dead Fararual magically given form. They often serve as oracles, and their words are always very cryptic. The meaning behind which (if there are any) is entirely up to interpretation.

Golems

Golems - Beasts of animated Stone said to have come into being through an ancient curse. They are native to the rocky dunes and canyons in the west where they are spawned through wizardry. The Golems resemble gorillas, and are barely sapient, but do understand war. The Üarim beastmasters had long since tamed them and used them as an integral part of their wars.

Daywalkers

Üarim Daywalkers - Some Üarim communities that have served in Wulfram as mercenaries offered up some of their daughters as part of a sinister pact with their Strigoi overlord. Part of the pact involves the Üarim community keeping the offspring, with some of them being sent to Transtulania. Üarim Daywalkers can be told apart from regular Daywalkers by their grey skin color, and unlike regular Daywalkers have a good resistance against the sun. Because of a Daywalker’s famously super-human strengths, many Üarim daywalkers have risen to the top as warband leaders and champions.

Small minorities:
Strigoi - not subjects of the Empire, but considered a wildlife nuisance.
Gorgar - along the western rivers, also not subjects of the Empire.
Anhreinn Humans - in the Tementafel Twinstates

Literacy: The population, save for the Fararuals and high-standing Üarim, is almost completely illiterate. It is whispered that Miran himself barely knows how to write or read.
Population: some 70 to 80 million total, the vast majority of which conquered peoples. The heartlands of Transtulania are compared to surrounding lands arid and sparsely populated. Most of the population live around rivers and in the recently annexed territories closest to Amrea and Wulfram.

Fararual Elves: 40.000. Pureblood Fararuals are a dying breed. Most of them live in the Holy City of Aranagh; the spiritual centre of the Miranid Empire.

Üarim: 28 million, the majority of the Miranids and rulers of the Empire’s western heartlands, namely the Fararu Luminescence (their ancestral place-of-origin) and the two Emirates.

Human Races:
Tzücomen: 13 million
Gardonians: 2 million
Anhreinn: 500

Aarehan: 1,5 million

Gnülonlar: 22 million

Golems: 80.000

Culture: Masculine and warlike. Every man is expected to be capable of martial prowess, archery and life in the saddle of whichever beast they have mastered, a tradition that echoes bygone ages. In addition to the people's rogue lifestyle, very few leaders have been able to assert control over the unruly masses. Üarim respect strength above all, for strength and confidence are the measure of a man.

Most of the population live a rural and nomadic lifestyle, and only some 2-5% of the population comprise of city dwellers. Most Üarim and certainly every Tzücoman, no matter how poor, herds cattle for sustenance and owns a steed.

Spicy food that burn your taste buds is a big deal in Transtulanian diet, and it is the spice trade (importation and exportation alike) what made Transtulanian cities wealthy. Chili and peppers Uarim people eat practically on a daily basis.

Religious and Other Beliefs: The Fire God, Axbak Kamen

Location/Territories: Much of the present Miranid borders comprise a land referred to as Transtulania.

Map of the Miranid Empire

Climate: Very diverse, though overwhelmingly (sub-)tropical and arid.
From north to south:

In the Aarehani Principality; hills covered by tropical rainforests

In the Gnülonlar Badlands and Fararu Luminescence; rocky arid flat wasteland

In the Emirate of Uar-ög and the Dunes of Kurtkoc; mountainous with many canyons

In the Tzücomen Beyliks and the Emirate of Ushji-Dash; grassy steppes and flat riverlands


Military:
There is a tremendous emphasis on war beasts in the Miranid Army, and it is their harnessing of beasts that has been their truly distinguishing strength.

Oliphaunts

Oliphaunts - great Elephants native to the southern Transtulanian plateau. Indomitable and titanic creatures, their steps are a prelude to devastation. Few have the skill to tame and harness their power, and among the Uarim the secret has been passed down to befriending these monsters. For over a thousand years they have been the Uarim superweapon.

Griffons

Griffönlu - Great beasts, vaguely reminiscent of horses combined with eagles; since ancient times the chief source of Üarim power. When their enemies were confined to the mortal coil of land, the luminescent army took to the skies. Today, with competitors also having a similar access to aerial combat, this boon had been somewhat negated.

Cavalry archers

Mounted archery - In this day that largely means rifles and fire-arms, though there are some (namely from the Tzücomen Beyliks) that still use old fashioned bow and arrow, and lances for charging.

Beyond that, the different races listed above give an insight to the purpose each race serves in the Miranid army, with Tzücomen and Gnülonlar being generally cheap levies and rank-fillers, the Golems as crude fantasy-tanks, and the Üarim as powerful professional soldiers.

Magic Prevalence/Usage:
Fire!
And conjuring tempests.

History/ Background Info:
Miranid History is linked to the warlord Miran Gurkani, whose history goes back only a few decades; prior to then it was a remote land always on the outskirts or part of another power's empire.

Miran was born Miran Shaykh, of lesser Üarim noble birth in a long line of Holy Defenders sworn to the Holy City of Aranagh, ruled by the Arch Luminescent, the King of the Fararuals.
He was a man strong in body and relentlessness in spirit, and though his career as a warrior painted for himself a font of a vicious brute and killer, he draws little enjoyment from his bloodsoaked deeds. His true passion is - (don't laugh!) - in writing poetry. In fact it was his writing that caused Miran from a young age to befriend the Luminescent’s Daughter; Mulk Khamun. She is more divine than mortal -- the most beautiful woman in all the world.

One day a High Priest of Kand known as the Hierophant had Mulk Khamun seized and brought to the monolithic city of Kand, of which Grand Temple he was Master of Rites, in a bid to sacrifice her to the Sun God. This was to reverse the decline of the dying race of the Fararuals. Only one of such potent divine lineage would make for an offer powerful enough to invoke the protection of the Gods.
Immediately Miran mustered his band of Holy Defenders and pursued the Hierophant to the gates of Kand. They prepared the investment on the City, however fortunately for Miran one of his friends was among the city guard, and helped smuggle him inside. At seeing the Holy Defender barging into his temple, the Hierophant mistakenly believed Kand had fallen, and he rushed into a hidden passage leading outside of the walls… Where Miran’s men easily captured the Hierophant. Later that month he was presented in chains before the Luminescent to answer for his crime against the royal family.
This feat accomplished, the Luminescent inquired what reward Miran desired most, to which the Holy Defender gave resolute response: the hand of Mulk Khamun, to whom his sword and heart was pledged. But this was not allowed, for his blood and birth was not pure. Instead he obtained land grants as compensation, with the grand title of ‘Gurkani; meaning ‘son in law’.
However Miran Gurkani disobeyed the Luminescent, and he and Mulk Khamun agreed to marry in secret.

Husayim the Grey, named so for his grey skin and Daywalker heritage, was another and mightier Holy Defender of Aranagh, and he witnessed their secret marriage. He was quick to inform the Luminescent of Miran and Mulk Khamun’s disobedience. The Arch Luminescent was outraged; to him this was the ultimate betrayal by disobeying the one thing he strictly forebade. As punishment Miran was stripped of his lands and titles and sent into exile into the deserts of the Gnülonlar, (this was considered merciful, for had it been anyone else the penalty would’ve surely been death then and there). All the while Mulk Khamun was placed under house arrest in the citadel of Quaraash.

Miran and a handful of Holy Defender defectors accompanying him, wandered into the wasteland. The absence of these defenders provided Husayim the opening he conspired to get, for he was a henchman of the Hierophant all the while, determined to enact his scheme to revive Fararual Power in Transtulania. Swiftly, Husayim the Grey assassinated the Luminescent and kidnapped his daughter from Quaraash back to Kand.

Immediately Miran and his band, accompanied by Gnülonlar auxiliaries that had joined them on the road, rode against Husayim in Kand. But they were too late, Mulk Khamun was cooked alive in ritual sacrifice committed to the Sun God.

In the subterranean halls of Kand, Miran defeated Husayim in single combat. During this battle, Husayim cleft Miran's foot, causing him to walk with a limp ever since. Then when Husayim relented, Miran showed no mercy: in wrath he threw him to the Gnülonlar who ate him alive.
Then he retrieved the ashes of Mulk Khamun and interred them in the Holy Temple Axbak-Aranagh to be with her ancestors.

With both her and her father’s death, the Fararual Royal bloodline went extinct. In accordance to ancient Fararual prophecy, this is the prerequisite of apocalypse, the end of an era, and the beginning of a cycle of darkness. Was Husayim trying to restore the Fararuals to power, or was he an acolyte of Armageddon that superstitiously sought to bring about the downfall of the world?

It matters not, for one thing Miran agreed with him on; the final war is at hand. Most of the Emirs and chieftains of Transtulania regarded him as the successor of the last Luminescent. …He had made him a son in law (Gurkani) after all, even if that title had technically been revoked. But Miran avenged both the Luminescent and his daughter by capturing the Hierophant and killing Husayim the Grey.
Speaking of the Hierophant; he was still alive. And as a prominent sage of Transtulania, Miran begrudgingly turned to him for counsel. This he said:

‘’Conquer the world, and Mulk Khamun will be brought back from the ashes.’’
And Miran believed him. For at the very least, the thought of getting her back is a flame that keeps the aspiring conqueror to the path of conquest.
In Kand he was anointed the Sword of the Fire God, and received the Flaming Sword Zara-Thuster which he carries into battle on his relentless campaigns.

It was a hopeless quest, for how can a man actually conquer the world? Miran resigned himself to doom from the beginning when he accepted Zara-Thuster, but nevertheless he is resolute to carry out his given duty as Chosen One of the Fire God.

Over ten years have passed since then, and though there were other warlords, it was Miran who pulled firmest at the threads of fate to come out on top. Many atrocities had been committed: his armies of Üarim and Gnülonlar swept across the land, and with sword, scores of cannons, pillage and much fire the nations of Transtulania and the southern steppes were brought to heel. This became the foundation of a nascent Empire of the south, which has been dubbed the Miranid Empire – the subjects of Miran Shaykh Gurkani.