Jeddaven

Precipice Of War: The Reboot of a Reboot

Warsaw, PUL - 1955

Katarzyna was never one for grandstanding and speeches. They were necessary, in many nations - but they stunk of dictators and oligarchs; tools for whipping the people up into mindless, often violent frenzies. She preferred a lighter, more casual touch.

And so, every Monday, the Polish president sat down in a simple chair, relaxing in front of a spartan tea table, in an apartment not much bigger than those that nearly every person in Warsaw lived in. Cameras arrayed about her, artificial light shining down from above, she cleared her throat - and as the camera began rolling, offering a warm, comforting smile.

“Good evening, workers, comrades, and friends - whoever happens to be joining us tonight.” She said, shifting her stance forward as her palms, clasped together, came to rest in the center of her lap. “I hope you’ve all had a restful weekend - and for those who chose to work, let’s hope you didn’t get [i]too[\i] exhausted, eh?” She chuckled quietly, once again clearing her throat. “The month of January’s already nearly gone by, and we already have plenty to discuss! First and foremost...” She said, biting her lip. “You’ve all heard the news about Albert Einstein, I’m sure. His contributions to workers’ rights, his economic reforms in Germany - I hope you’ve heard of him, at least. In an effort to abide but what I think would be his wishes, I won’t bother you with a thirty minute speech, a sob story - instead, if you happen to be listening, I only have one thing to say: thank you for everything we’ve done. You’ll be remembered for decades to come, I’m sure.” She nodded, swinging one leg over the other. Outside, she could faintly hear the sound of children playing, but, quickly pushing the noise to the edge of her thoughts, continued as she idly poured herself a small glass of Spotykach, the sweet scent of vodka and blackcurrant wafting its way into her nostrils.

“Further away from home, I have a message for our Indonesian comrades in the PKI. We wish you well in your struggle, just like we do every last comrade worldwide. Whether you’re in Surabaya, Jakarta, Batam, or Pekanbaru - good luck, and know that the people of the People's Republic of United Workers/Popolrespubliko de Unuiĝintaj Laboristoj are with you! In fact, that’s the topic I’d like to focus on for today’s chat - the worldwide struggle of the working class. Our country might be one that truly works for its people, but it’s important to remember that most people still live under the pall of authoritarianism. Whether they be on the shores of the Americas or the coasts of spain, people everywhere are oppressed - and I want to make sure you all remember that. Our fight isn’t over until every man woman and child is well and truly free. We’re in this together, comrades!” She announced, briefly dipping her head in quiet remembrance of those the cause had lost. "Most importantly, remember this - you aren't alone, no matter where you come from or what you believe in."

Raising her glass to her lips, Katarzyna smiled as she took a sip. "Until next time, comrades - I'll talk to you soon."

Cameras off, Katarzyna let out a brief groan, leaning her head back with her eyes closed. She was no demagogue, at least - though she couldn't help but think she was delivering little more than platitudes, spewing non-committal words in an effort to avoid angering the enemies of the people too directly.

Soon, she told herself. Soon, she'd be able to make a real difference, she thought, downing the rest of her glass.

---

Surabaya, Indonesia - 1955

Jerzy hated Indonesia. Not the people, of course, but the place - the series of islands that comprised it - they were a nightmare, far too hot and muggy for his liking. Even at its coldest, temperatures soared beyond Polish springs, and sometimes even summers - worse than the weather, though, was the strangling presence of Japanese soldiers on what seemed like every street corner, barking orders in everything from Japanese to butchered Javanese.

He rubbed his eyes as the box truck he was driving trundled along down the road ahead of him, lit by little more than the faint headlights of the vehicle itself. Not far ahead was a small, wooden guardpost, the road blocked by a boom barrier. Two men - Japanese soldiers, by the looks of it - stood just to the side of the street, their eyes pulled away from an idle game of cards by Jerzy's approach. Scratching his shaven chin, adjusting his dark blonde hair, Jerzy slowed to a stop a few meters ahead of the checkpoint, his gaze idly darting between the silenced pistol strapped to the inside of his door and the rapidly approaching guard, hands resting on his steering wheel. Taking advantage of the brief time he was offered before the soldier reached his window, he cleared his throat, silently mulling over the complicated ins and outs of putting on a Dutch accent while speaking Japanese.

Finally, the soldier reached his window, brusquely greeting him in Javanese - or perhaps it was more accurate to say the words came out sounding like a bored, half-hearted demand, the sound of someone who hated what they were doing and simply wanted some rest.

"Ah... Ambroos De Vries!" He said. "Good evening, sirs." He continued, greeting the soldier in his native language. At first glance, he looked a handful of years older than the kind gentleman loitering around the wooden post - a bit more, a bit less, but it was hard to tell at this hour. His greeting, however, seemed to draw the tiniest amount of relief out of the soldier, even if his tone still seemed perpetually angry.

"You speak Japanese, Mr. Ambroos? I don't know many Dutchmen that speak Japanese." He grunted. 'Ambroos chuckled genially, rubbing the back of his neck with a smile.

"Ah, well..." He laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "I started learning a long time ago - in school, yes? My father, he went on these business trips in Japan, so he thought I should learn."

Noticing that the soldier wasn't speaking, waiting for him to continue, Jerzy cleared his throat. "Financier. Investor. I never had the stomach for arithmetic, so I ended up interested in brewing, eh? Right now, I'm moving some, eh? Old friend of mine, he owns a liquor store, and-"

"Where is it being transported to?"

"Gendagan - not too far from here. Old friend of mine." The soldier nodded back at 'Ambroos', glancing sidelong at his comrade.

"I'll be taking a look at your cargo." She said, gesturing for 'Ambroos' to exit the car. He complied, of course - but only after surreptitiously grabbing the pistol strapped to the inside of his door, sticking into an inconspicuous spot in his pocket and leading the soldier toward the back of his truck, quietly cursing himself under his breath for his idiotic cover story. It was believable, sure - but he knew he should've been able to come up with something better. Now, the soldier was sticking his nose into his business - and he'd have to think of something better. Fast. Letting out a grunt, he tossed open the rear doors - and revealed piles of planks and lumber, stacked high to the compartment's roof. He stepped aside, allowing the soldier to draw closer for inspection - then lunged at him, tightly squeezing the unfortunate man's windpipe as he helplessly scrabbled at the agent's arm, fingernails digging into his skin. Before long, though, the soldier dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, leaving Ambroos alone with his fellow officer.

He dropped to the ground, quietly crawling along in the muck beneath the truck, slowly moving toward the front of the vehicle. Down here, he couldn't see much - except for the impatient foot-tapping of the other Japanese soldier. Then, the man called put - and Jerzy swore under his breath. "Gakuto!" The young man barked, adjusting his rifle on its sling, hanging over his shoulder. "What's taking you so long? I don't want to stand out here in the mud all damn night!"

Come on! Go investigate, you useless bastard! Jerzy thought to himself, thumping his fist against the underside of the truck. If the soldier was too lazy to move himself, Jerzy'd have to make him.

Growling, the soldier began to move though not with any expediency. Jerzy briefly wondered if he'd ever seen a man that hated his job so much. The poor boy probably expected the chance to go out and serve his glorious Empire, killing in the name of its territorial expansion - and yet, here he was, on thankless garrison duty in endlessly muggy occupied Indonesia. Still, Jerzy thought, at least the idiot was moving, now alongside the truck.

Leaping into action, Jerzy rolled out from beneath the truck, but before the soldier had a chance to turn around, his pistol was drawn. All it took was a squeeze of a trigger to end the boy's life, his corpse dropping to the wet ground with a pathetic thud.

Letting out a frustrated grunt, Jerzy brushed the mud from his face, hauling the soldier's limp body over to the rear before placing another bullet between the first man's head. He was still breathing, after all - that needed to change. Disposing of the bodies would be an altogether different issue, but out here, he had options - dholes fed in specific ways, and that was perhaps something he could take advantage of. First, though he had to get rid of their heads.

---

Jerzy hated Indonesia. The Japanese soldiers were far too nosy for his taste, feeling the need to stick their faces into everyone's business like they owned the damned place. He did appreciate, however, how many locals shared his sentiment - judging by the enthusiasm with which the PKI guerillas were helping him unload his cargo, at least. Stack after stack of lumber was lifted and pulled aside, one after the other, until they finally reached the back.

A treasure trove of rifles, ammunition, and explosives awaited them, stacked high to the roof of the truck, each in an unmarked crate. The men and women excitedly discussed their bounty even as they began to unload it, a few briefly stopping to thank their comrade in arms - the guns were made in Poland, of course, but they were reproductions of local weapons, built to use the ammunition already available to the guerillas in spades.

It was the first of many shipments of arms, no doubt - the instruments with which they'd overthrow their oppressors. And as much as he wasn't the greatest fan of the tropics, Jerzy had to admit that, at the least, he felt like he was doing something that mattered. That was worth something, at least.

Precipice Of War: The Reboot of a Reboot

Nation: People's Republic of United Workers/Popolrespubliko de Unuiĝintaj Laboristoj (PUL)

Map:

History

The Poland of the end of the Great War was a nation divided, ravaged by both conflict fought by foreign powers over its land and the recent struggles of revolutionaries seeking independence. In an attempt to further turn the war in their favour, the Central powers of Austria-Hungary and Germany formed a regency council in the ailing territory desperate for independence, hoping to institute a friendly Polish monarchy.

The Regency Council, however, was easily seen through by the vast majority of people, sparking sporadic incidences of revolutionary fervour in the country throughout 1919, culminating in the abrupt dissolution of the Regency Council in early 1920. Defying demands made by the stretched-thin Central Powers, the Sejm transformed itself into a more traditional parliament, naming renowned socialist Ignacy Ewaryst Daszyński as its head of government. Already a popular figure on the left that maintained de-facto control over much of Galicia, Ignacy's appointment was seen as a great victory by leftists, though he was thoroughly reviled by the right. Gabriel Narutowicz, renowned expert on hydroelectric engineering and brother of former Lithuanian parliamentarian Stanisław, was promptly made the nation's Minister of Public Works. Even early on, Poland saw mass immigration of Russian socialists, seeking refuge with the relatively left-leaning government.

Ignacy only maintained a short tenure until 1922, however, when socialist Artur Śliwiński replaced him as head of government. Rosa Luxemburg and Leo Jogiches, having fled Germany two years prior, were both elected to the Sejm in the same year, and began campaigning fervently for socialist causes in the upcoming presidential elections.

Rosa proved too extreme to win the Presidency, however, in a country that was largely still in the process of deciding where its political allegiances lied. Narutowicz, more moderate and well-liked by both the Centre and the Left, won the presidency in a landslide. A landslide, however, did not mean a peaceful presidency - soon after his election, Narutowicz was being frequently threatened by far-right groups, and was thus assigned a security detail on the advice of his cabinet. A mere few days after his election, in fact, Eligiusz Niewiadomski attempted to assassinate the freshly nominated President while he was visiting an art gallery, only to be slain by his recently formed, ragtag security detail. Though wounded, Narutowicz was able to recover - but Eligiusz was quickly martyred by numerous far-right groups in the country, seen as a man who attempted to save them from the secular Narutowicz, already loved by many of Poland's minorities. Dissent, however, remained largely underground. In Lithuania, meanwhile, the Lithuanian Popular Peasants' Union, a socialist party formed by merger, won a majority of seats in the parliament, securing control of the government. Poland and Lithuania both saw large influxes of immigrants from the east in the aftermath, largely made up of oppressed minorities and socialists fleeing the Imperial Russian authorities.

By 1927, Narutowicz was ousted in a second round of elections, replaced by the increasingly popular Rosa Luxemburg. Rosa's presidency, however, was immediately met with far more violence that Narutowicz's, quickly erupting into civil war. By this point, however, most of Poland's officer corps was made up of socialists - including Marshal Edward Rydz-Śmigły and Minister of Military Affairs Władysław Sikorski - with Piłudski still held in Magdeburg prison, most of the Polish military, therefore, sided with the socialist government, alongside socialist militias and veterans from Russia. The civil war was thus not bloodless - however, the conflict lasted no more than half a year, with sporadic low-level insurgency continuing until 1928. What the civil war did mean for Poland, however, was the end of organized opposition to an increasingly socialist government - which paved the way for sweeping changes headed by Luxemburg. In particular, seeking to avoid the pitfalls of reliance upon capitalist economies that she feared, Luxemburg sought to make Poland more economically independent from the rest of the world. Nonetheless, she appointed Narutowicz as Foreign Minister, seeking a closer relationship with the smaller Lithuania, already friendly to the current socialist government.

Luxemburg's diplomatic initiative bore fruit not long afterward in late 1928 as the Lithuanian military attempted to overthrow the socialist government. Though by no means the most modern armed force at the time, Poland's military was much larger and better equipped than its Lithuanian counterpart, including a small air force made up of older aircraft headed by General Ludomił Rayski and a small, experimental armored force under Colonel Stanisław Maczek

The Poles were able to achieve victory by mid-1929, incorporating an extremely friendly Lithuania into a new, socialist state.

By 1930, however, the Republic's army saw its first real baptism by fire, intervening in the German Civil War. Maczek's armored force and Rayski's air force, though armed with mostly old, upgraded equipment, proved highly effective in the conflict, leading Sikorski to place modernization of the Republic's military (including an expanded air force and a general push for wider mechanization) as a top priority, largely made possible thanks to continued industrialization inspired by Narutowicz's policy history and industrial assistance from a now-friendly Germany.

The next decade saw extensive industrialization of the country and a push for energy independence, an already socialist nation having seen relatively few ill effects from the worldwide economic crisis. New farms increasingly dotted the countryside, both to feed its rapidly growing population and to supply an increased need for vegetable oils and ethanol, seen as a necessity to avoid depending on capitalists for fuel. Large spaces of land were also being given over to experimental wind farms, parts of the landscape reshaped by Narutowicz's hydroelectric dams. The largest example of Poland's industrialization, however, was easily the Central Industrial Region, a project to transform Warsaw and the region around it into an industrial powerhouse.

Though only part of his career was under Luxemburg, Gabriel Narutowicz remained one of the most popular Polish politicians for decades to come, even after leaving office in 1938 with the end of the Luxemburg presidency, which saw the increased democratization of the country.

Nonetheless, the trend of increased economic independence and industrialization started by the two continued well into the 1940s, bolstered by a robust, freely available education system.

Serving a second term as president until 1943, Narutowicz was followed by Władysław Sikorski, further expanding and modernizing the Republic's armed forces, including expanding Lithuanian ports. Sikorski's most notable action, however, was easily his leading a military intervention in Belarus against an already divided Russian Empire, again on the behalf of friendly socialists. Though the Republic's army wasn't as large as its Russian counterpart at nearly two million men and women strong, its highly mechanized nature made it able to take care of an increasingly divided Russia and force the country into a peace settlement that surrendered Belarus.

Sikorski's presidency was followed by another former military officer, Brigadier General Katarzyna Balchunas, a fervent socialist who saw combat in the German civil war and commanded an armored division in the war against Russia. Even more extreme than most of her predecessors, Balchunas has adopted an unofficial policy of interfering in the favour of socialist and communist revolts across the world, supplying arms and intelligence through her country's increasingly extensive intelligence agencies, whether in the nearby Ukraine or the distant Pacific. Her strategy, however profitable it may prove to be, comes with great risk - though populous and well-equipped to fight a long war, the Republic's navy, though advanced, is small, lacking the ability to project power at great distance and effectively combat what Starosta privately views as the greatest enemy of socialism today - the United States of America.

Nonetheless, Balchunas knows what she must do - she will not rest until every last enemy of the working people rots in their graves, whether at the tip of Polish rockets or by the hands of their own, even if that means she must spend every moment of her life with a pistol and a knife by her side.

Empire of the Dead

Second post! This one's still a bit short, but with the 'setup' finished, my post length should increase. I probably could've gotten more done, but I felt it was a better option to focus on ending at a nice cliffhanger than to make 'progress'. This is collaborative storytelling, after all!

Empire of the Dead

Lazily discarding her robes, Arane's shimmering, alabaster skin was laid bare, so unnaturally flawless that it seemed to glisten faintly in the dim light of the moon. Much of the deck of her vessel was drenched in shadow, shielded by the massive, rocky outcroppings that formed the sheltered cove it was moored in - but glimmering beams of moonlight seemed drawn toward her, bent by arcane might. None else among the Silverwind's crew were afforded such luxury, though few needed it - most were by now busying themselves playing quiet games under the dim light of shrouded lanterns, or simply lacked the will to do anything but stand statue-still belowdecks, awaiting further command.

Her eyes closed, Arane broke the silence with her honeyed voice, feeling the careful hands of her Captain dusting her deadened skin with arcane reagents. "Captain," she said, briefly distracted by the faint pressure of a blade pushing through the surface of her skin. "What do you remember of our homeland?"

For the briefest of moments, the blade froze, embedded in Arane's skin.

"... Somewhat." The Revenant minor sighed, a puff of dry, salty air. Arane could not see the woman, but she could sense the hesitation in her voice, nonetheless. For a moment, it seemed as if she intended to brush the question away, opting to bury her discomfort in her careful work. But, still, the blade moved.

"The memories are... Clouded. Unclear. I find myself wondering which are true and which are simply figments conjured up by my own mind to fill the gaps in my thoughts." She explained frankly, squeezing Lady Tiedriel's shoulder. Arane reached up and back, gently squeezing her fingers in a rare gesture of compassion - again, she could feel little but a faint pressure, but it was present nonetheless.

"We know that it exists, do we not, Alaras? We cannot return there, perhaps, but..." Arane chuckled, quietly shaking her head. "At least we can make that bastard necromancer pay along the way." She shrugged. Alaras's hand abruptly slipped from her grasp. By now, Arane thought, she would be busy drawing the requisite ritual circle around her Lady, a formation of arcane runes painted with powdered metals Arane's own fluids, bone, and crushed gemstones. The Captain had gone completely silent, choosing to separate herself from the conversation - all for the best, Arane supposed, rather than make some grave error in the creation of the ritual circle and risk something truly catastrophic. Perhaps she was avoiding the conversation, perhaps not... Either way, Arane possessed the wisdom needed to avoid forcing an answer out of an experienced Elven mage-knight. Dogged loyalty aside, there was no reason to risk angering one of the few people she could truly trust.

Still, the sorceress couldn't help but let her mind wander back to her question - to home. To rolling green hills, towering snow-capped mountains beneath which whole cities were built, great ivory towers that reached fearlessly up toward the heavens, capped in bright, eye-catching domes... She remembered the salty air of the docks, the foul smell of butchered fish around the markets, even the feeling of cobbled stones against the soles of her feet and the biting insects that infested the spaces near local swamps and lakes. Her home was distant, to be sure, but especially so in time - how much had changed in those intervening decades, Arane wondered? Was her home still ruled by the same Queen? How fared her cousins? Her friends? Did they even remember her?

A pinprick suddenly broke Arane from her reverie, followed by the sound of her Captain's gruff voice. "I've finished, milady."

Opening her eyes, Arane nodded, gesturing for Alaras to step back. She did as bidden, of course, watching as Arane knelt in the center of the ritual diagram, completely nude. Eldritch sounds began to pour out from between her lips, suffusing the moonlight with a secondary bluish glow that was drawn to the diagram like moths to a flame, glimmering just brightly enough for anyone else on the vessel's deck to see. The reagents abruptly launched into the air with a great gust, flowing toward Arane and into her mouth, her skin briefly glimmering as it was suffused with the strength of steel. Then, she rose, the magic completed just as quickly as it came. She was a fragile sort compared to many of Eagoth's monstrosities, and with stealth being so necessary, Arane could hardly afford to wear anything more than filthy rags which she quickly began dressing herself in.

"We depart immediately." She said, tossing a brown cloak over her shoulders. "Leria awaits."
__________________________________

The Southern Lerian Foothills

"There," Arane said, gesturing to a far-off mountain peak. Behind her were four, perhaps five people, all dressed in plainclothes in various states of filth and disrepair. Each was an elf, a rarity on Leria in themselves - but they'd gone to great lengths to hide their unusual bodies, whether hunching over to mask their height or hiding pointed ears beneath thick cloth hoods. To an onlooker, they looked like little more than a band of ghouls - mindful ones, but simple human ghouls, nonetheless.

"*That* is the mountain we seek. Somewhere, hidden amongst the peeks, is an old Elven fortress. Isolated. Safe from Eagoth. If luck is with us, the Necromancer has yet to plunder its holds." She explained, taking a step forward. The cloaked heads behind her glanced between one another, then back toward the snow-capped peaks towering ahead of them. Then, one step after another, the ghouls followed their Lady, obediently plodding along an ancient stone path so scarcely used that it was nearly overrun by weeds and moss. The stone was still usable, nonetheless, if slippery and treacherous - but its faint presence was the party's only guide, wooden signposts long since rotted away to nothing beneath the pall of undeath. High above the foothills, closer to the mountains, Arane could see the hints of untainted flora - but those places were incredibly distant, and Arane would need to pass through much more of Eagoth's land before she could reach her destination, visible as it was.

Briefly casting a glance back at her followers, Arane wondered how many of them would survive the fight against Eagoth, only to quickly dismiss the wandering thought, a hand resting gently upon her belly as feet squashed rotten detritus beneath.

It didn't matter, not really - not compared to the joyous thought of becoming the spark that saw all of Eagoth's works burn to ash before his soulless eyes.

All she needed was an army that could neither live nor die.

Empire of the Dead

@TerminalPulling him away from a new project is probably going to be the more difficult of the options, I'd imagine - Arane intends to travel in secret on her journey, but she thinks Rixis can be of use to her (I won't reveal too much about exactly why, but I'm sure you have a few guesses), and she has an interest in the Locus, too. My initial thought was that he might have interest in her attempts to reverse undeath, even if his rather unusual form renders him personally unable to take advantage of it. I can tell you a bit more in detail about what Arane's planning in PMs, if you like, but, in basic, she needs powerful, disgruntled allies like Rixis, and the Locus is a rather potent source of magickal power, if one that's extremely difficult to harness. More importantly, it's a thorn on ol' Eagoth's side. She intends to make her way up toward Rixis's territory once she finds a hidden place to moor her feet along the way and, hopefully, acquire an item of arcane importance along the way.

Empire of the Dead

<Snipped quote by Jeddaven>

The jewel plot is entirely open-ended at its conception, so you're welcome in on it if you'd like.

@Oraculum

@Jeddaven

Right -- as of the end of his latest post, Faustus is on the road with Razzak and they are currently about to be engaged by Bloodhammer. After that's done with, Faustus is supposed to be moving up to Necron, and with Comirion next door it's likely that Faustus will then be able to get the gemstone from Ghural in short order. So on this current trajectory that's probably at least two posts, maybe even three, before Faustus would be in possession of the gemstone and in a position to do something with it, just so you know where we stand with that.

Afterward Faustus could indeed encounter Arane and perhaps she could come into possession of it, but you may want to consider seeing Rixis first because I imagine you could get that ball rolling a little bit faster.

@Cyclone

That might be the best option at this stage, yeah - I left Arane's exact destination a bit vague on purpose, but if y'all already have plans there, I'm happy to wait. Arane can't exactly go near Necron at the moment, anyways - she'd be putting herself at rather enormous risk of getting caught.

@Terminal would you be interested in setting up a meeting with Arane?

Empire of the Dead

I'm noticing that The Whisperer might be about to get his hands of something of great value to Tiedriel, too - though idk if @Cyclone and @Oraculum already have plans for that enchanted bauble

Empire of the Dead

There goes my first post! Arane's got her proverbial eyes on Faustus and Rixis.

Empire of the Dead

Somewhere in the Seas West of Leria

The scent of burning incense filled Lady Tiedriel's nostrils, forcing upon her a floral, copper-tinged stench so powerful that even her undead body could sense it. Deadened nerves were set alight, rocking her body with a painful sensation, so powerful it felt as if she had been set alight.

Kneeling quietly at the center of her quarters, Arane sucked in a deep breath through her nostrils, silently struggling to calm herself as the body of her flagship gently rocked and swayed beneath her.

Then, suddenly, the pain spiked - she felt a spear forced through her sternum. Pangs of fear at the possibility that her child would die. The realization that her existence as one of the living was about to end.

Another breath - useless and unnecessary for maintaining her bodily functions, animated as they were by foul magics, but helpful for meditation nonetheless. Truthfully, it was more a dry, unsettling sucking noise, but in this case, the effect was the same.

A touch at the back of her shoulder, as if a soul reaching through the veil. Where its fingers made contact, powerful stinging sensations built - then vanished just as abruptly as they came. Just as suddenly, the sound of her ship's travel seemed to fade from the world around her - and soon afterward, the burning scent of incense was replaced by the smell of... Ash, perhaps? The spray of the sea? She couldn't be sure. Even the grounding feeling of wood beneath her pale, smooth-skinned legs seemed to fade after a few moments more, replaced by thousands upon thousands of fine, smooth grains, each so paradoxically obvious that she swore she could feel every last one being pressed into her skin. Wind blew across her face, simultaneously sending shivers down her spine and making nonexistent sweat drip down her brow. Nothing made sense - not a bit of it, she thought to herself.

Rising to her feet, Arane wiggled her toes, feeling grains of sand pass between them. She swore she felt them scrape her skin, opening thousands of tiny wounds, blood pumping out of the many gashes - but, ignoring the sensation, Arane pressed on. She wasn't sure where, precisely - or was she? She knew where to walk, as if led by instinct - yet she scarcely understood where she was going.

The further she walked, the stronger the scent of ash and smoke became. Each step drew her closer to the flame, though she swore she could smell the salty water so strongly that she must've been aboard the deck of her ship. That worry soon passed, however, once she realized she'd been walking for far too long to have not simply waltzed off the edge. Cut after cut marred her feet, tearing into flesh like thousands of razors - and yet, the mage doggedly persisted in following a path she wasn't even entirely certain was the right one.

Then, in an instant, nearly everything changed. Gone were the sands beneath her feet in favour of the wet, mossy ground of a forest, thousands of birds chirping in her ears as other creatures howled out in agony. The scent of smouldering flame persisted, however, though it was now accompanied by the morning dew;- and still, Arane persisted, each step carrying her deeper into the woods.

...Or were they woods? No, now they were the broken cobbled streets of an abandoned city, the sounds of playing children echoing through nearby alleyways. Then she found herself in a desert, a small village - and, finally, that initial expanse of cutting sands and paradoxical winds. She felt a presence - something - staring past her, even with her eyes closed... And so, Arane opened her own.

A great, golden orb floated high in the sky above her, its surface covered by what seemed like thousands upon thousands of unblinking eyes, each belonging to a different species. A fly's compound orb gazed down at her from beneath a feline eye, next to that of a blue-eyed man... And not a single one of them blinked. This, she concluded, was the source of the smell. Here, it was stronger than ever, so undeniably invasive that it nearby drowned out all of the rest of her imaginary senses. Reaching out towards, she smiled.

It blinked. Thousands of eyes, all at once, so many that the sound was clearly audible - then abruptly began to fall toward the earth, catapulting a massive cloud of ash into the air upon impact. The cloud rushed toward Arane, engulfing her - then she was awake. Sensation rapidly rushed back to, the same sights and sounds that always accompanied her vessel filling her thoughts as she rose to her feet.

"A good omen, then." She smiled, holding out her arm as a tiny, crimson shape landed upon it. Taloned feet gripped tightly at her skin, though they dared not cut her flesh, instead opting to cackle quietly from beneath amber eyes. Its face, slightly soft and feminine in appearance, canted to one side, staring unblinkingly into Arane's eyes. Arane only smirked in response, pushing open the door from her quarters that led out onto the ship's deck where dozens upon dozens of ghouls mindlessly toiled away. Most earned little but an incredibly brief, pitiful glance from their mistress, but one, possessed of the same pointed ears as she, caught her eyes. Much like Arane, her body was one that was relatively well-maintained, still beautiful as elven women often were; if not for the ragged, charred wounds that left her face a brutally damaged ruin exposed bone, charred black by flame along her jawline and cheeks, her head utterly bald. Her plate armour, on the other hand, fared much better, glistening like the day it was first forged, decorated in the same reds and golds as Arane's dress. At her hip lay a sharp, wickedly curved sword - but the very moment she noticed Arane, she turned, rushing to the Revenant Major's side.

"Captain!" Arane barked, a smirk marring her features. "There has been a change of plans. We sail for Leria at once. Any amongst the crew who manage to express dissent are to be slain immediately; I will make use of the corpses in my rituals."

For a moment, the Captain simply stared back at Arane, only to quickly bring her fist to her chest in salute, hand over her heart. "As you command, milady Tiedriel! It will be done."

Questions yet remained, of course. There were few among the risen dead who had what Arane needed, and even fewer who could be trusted. Two, however, stood out as being of use - one was a coward, and the other a criminal.

Empire of the Dead

Name: Lady Arane Tiedriel

Rank: Revenant Major

Description

Compared to the average ghoul, Lady Tiedriel is mostly intact - due in no small part to her expansive knowledge of magecraft. One might even call her beautiful, in the same manner as an ancient vampiress - though her skin is smooth and unblemished, it is deathly pale, utterly unmistakeable for that of a living elf. Her face, though sculpted to near-perfection, is marred by apparently empty sockets lit by dark, purplish-black flame. Her skin, much like her hair, is snow-white, the colour of death - though it remains somewhat luscious thanks to extensive efforts by the noblewoman herself. By and large, she is a strange parody of the picture of Elven beauty - slender yet healthily voluptuous, though her beauty does little for her these days.

Nonetheless, Lady Tiedriel goes to immense lengths to dress herself as she was in life. Most often, she wears robes coloured with the red-gold tones of the Noble House she was formerly heiress too, refusing to clad her body in anything but the most expensive, intricately designed robes she can find. That is not to say that she goes out of her way to put form over function, however - they are weighed equally, and, as such, she is often seen clad in robes of practical design with absurdly expensive embellishments and fresh dyes.

Not all of her equipment is so easily maintained, however. Her staff of office, once used as a training implement as she trained in the arcane arts, has been permanently marked by the foul magic that animates her body. Once bright, shining diamonds now have the colour of curdled blood, seeming to ooze foul energies, and while the silvery platinum haft is mostly free of damage, it is permanently ice-cold to the touch.

Background

Once the heir to a great collection of Elven holdings, Tiedriel's promising future was ruined by the sudden rise of Eagoth. Her parents, friends to many of the Kings of Leria, pledged their assistance against his undead legions - and Tiedriel, having only just recently begun her training in the arcane arts, sought to use the conflict as a way to prove herself. During this conflict, she grew close to another Elven Prince involved in the war - and the two grew close, much to the pleasure of their parents.

Nonetheless, young love or not, Tiedriel was anything but lazy - though inexperienced, her magical potency proved impressive enough to turn handfuls of battles in the favour of the living, even saving her love's life on a few equations. The two were eventually wed closer to the end of Eagoth's conquests, and Tiedriel was with child.

Unfortunately, her happiness was not to last. Slain alongside her husband in one of the final sieges, her parents slaughtered, Tiedriel cast a spell of enchantment on her unborn child in a desperate attempt to save it, knowing the likely fate that awaited her. Valued as a mage, Tiedriel was eventually resurrected, made a Revenant Minor in Eagoth's armies. She eventually began to prove more independent than expected, however, and was raised to the rank of Revenant Major, her unliving child shielded from Eagoth's eyes by power illusion magic.

However, Tiedriel's independent streak - and magical skill - eventually proved too great of a risk to leave on the continent. Given command of a moderately sized fleet, Tiedriel was sent on a suicide mission to break the blockade of Leria. Tiedriel was a woman of ego, however, often defiant and abrasive - and rather than obey, she hid her fleet under a cloak of storms, setting sail back for Leria in hopes of exacting her rightful vengeance - and saving her child.

Now, she seeks allies - and just as important, objects of magical import with which to conjure into being an army of her own - one that Eagoth cannot turn to his own use. Her options for both are limited, however - and may come to involve forces she can scarcely control, whether otherworldly in nature or simply untrustworthy.

Wards: None. Tiedriel's lands on Leria were stripped from her after her disappearance on the High Seas.

Posting in the OOC as requested! Apologies for the excessive length - I had trouble cutting it down.