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    1. neogreggory 8 yrs ago


Recent Statuses

3 yrs ago
Current Time is an interested concept, how it moves and yet stays still all the same. Flowing and stagnant. Anyways, just stopped by to refresh myself on an old character.
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5 yrs ago
Ha, past me thought eight months too long to go without a status update. Now it has been ten! Anyways, I've D&D things to work on, so I'll get back to that.
6 yrs ago
Mercy it's been eight months since my last status, perhaps it is time to find a RP and get a spot more active for awhile.
7 yrs ago
Just finished Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid. It's always such a bittersweet feeling to finish a show, more so a good one.
7 yrs ago
Welp, it's my 20th Birthday. Starting the day properly with a stupidly big bowl of cereal and latter there shall be porkchops!


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Most Recent Posts

I realize it has been more than a few months and that this is probably not actually happening, and I also realize that with two games of D&D in my life on top of my various other activities that I probably don't have time for this even if it did start, I would like to state that I would still be invested in this and interested in at least trying to partake should it have life breathed into it again.
Last district of Defender held Tautom

The Luxurious Premises of the Marvelous Balti Palace

‘’Do you have business with the King?’’
Gateguard Pelos looks inquisitive at the lamellar sporting barbarian as he approached. The man was clearly a foreigner, and for a moment Pelos wondered if he was a Chlotar, but that couldn’t be. The city is about to fall, what is such a man doing here now at the very worst of times?
‘’State your business now; his majesty is quite busy at the moment.’’

The barbarian gives a sigh, as if he doesn’t know what to say. After half a second he finds himself again and states, “I am here to speak with your king, as a representative of the mighty kingdom of the Lamperts.”

‘’Lampert? A diplomat? You?’’ Pelos inspects the Gastald inquisitively.
‘’Are you the Lampert reinforcements of Lulupus? How generous of the Mighty Lamperts to send us one man.’’ The sentry grumbles sarcastically.
‘’And let me guess, that lamellar you wear is pillaged off the Amalians, right?’’ The sentry looks at Ardoiwn with an almost condescending frown.
The Lampert stares at Pelos with fire in his eyes at the blatant insult, but keeps silent on the matter, he was here as a representative of his king, and too many of his friends died to put him here.
Getting no response from the stoic visitor, the sentry shrugs, scratching his bulging neck muscle.
‘’Well. I’ll grant you passage. Not like it matters at this point.’’

The great door opens, and a large elaborate, gaudy throne room appears. On the back of the hall is the vacant throne, elevated high on top pyramid-like stairs.
It appears a banquet had taken place recently, with there being bits of confetti scattered over the floor, and tables of empty plates with bits of bone and crumbs. Also, the air is moist and steamy. A... banquet-sauna?

Ardoiwn hastefully moved across the room, he did not find any amount of relief in the wet air. As his boots crushed stray bits of paper he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of king this Orso was.
“Certainly not the same kind as King Dalgiserius.” He found himself saying aloud to himself. Perhaps, perhaps this man would be closer to what Ardoiwn believed a king should be…

‘’Hrm? Who let this funny looking man in?’’ One voice says.
‘’Ah, it’s the leader of that Mercenary Company from the Nova Street. I see you have recovered.’’ Another replies. Two men appear from an opening to an adjacent room, concealed behind the hall’s large white columns. One long haired, handsome and athletically built in an ornate plate muscle cuirass. The man behind him thin, almost sickly so, wearing only a towel and covered in a long cloak. At first Ardoiwn mistook the former man as King Orso, until he noticed that it is the gaunt man that has a regal diadem covering his forehead.
‘’I am Abadactus Rogan, Marshall of the Sacred Band. We meet again.’’
Abadactus then takes a step backwards to let Orso walk forwards. ‘’The King.’’
The gaunt man speaks; ‘’Yes Abacus, you don’t have to talk on my behalf now.’’ The pitiful King rubs the sweat off his forehead -- seemingly they came back from an intense meeting, or a sauna -- and looks upon Ardoiwn. ‘’So. You are a Mercenary leader?”

This… was not what Ardoiwn was expecting. Of course, he knew not what he expected of the king of such a place, but whatever it was it certainly wasn’t this. Ardoiwn simply stares for a moment too long before remembering his mission, his sacrifice, and most importantly, his king.
Falling down to a knee Ardoiwn states, “I am Gastald Ardoiwn, servant of the King Dalgiserius, master of all Lamperts. I am to offer to you my aid in these trying times. I was to offer my warband, but they fell to the enemy in your city.”
Ardoiwn stares at the stone floor. It feels as if a weight is slowly passing off him, perhaps it was the air, or the rest he got since the battle. “As per the orders and wishes of the King of all Lampertei I offer to you my blade until we are free of this threat, as well as the blades of any of my comrades who still yet live.”

Orso claps his hands in delight. ‘’That’s fantastic Ardon! You can begin right away! You’re a Castellan, you say? With you on our side, in addition to the exuberant support of the King of Lampertei, I am confident everything will be alright.’’ The King speaks with a laugh, and by the bliss on his face he seems to be whole-heartedly serious about his words. Then he proceeds to tap Ardoiwn’s shoulder with his scepter. ‘’Come come, stand up now, friend. You’re embarrassing me!’’

Ardoiwn stood, uncertain how to think of this jovial and seemingly foolish king. Ardoiwn’s mind felt hazy, soft.

The face of the Marshall, however, could be described as much more dire. He slowly speaks up with a brooding tone.
‘’Am I to assume your coming to Tautom... insinuates Baltia has achieved alliance with Lampertei? Did King Dalgiserius actually say such?’’

Ardoiwn’s thoughts returning to his king cleared his mind for the moment. Blinking once he took a deep breath. “No. My lord Dalgiserius has decided, in his wisdom, that the lands of his subjects need protection first and foremost. He allowed me and my- and the band of warriors he allows me to command to offer our aid only because we are not needed elsewhere.”

“See, Abacus?” King Orso snickers and smiles reassuringly.
“Why must you doubt such noble intentions and wisdom?”
He turns to the Gastald. “Ardon, your gesture will not soon be forgotten. In this dark hour we needed heroes, and here you are!
I thereby anoint you the… Grand Domesticus of the Royal… -”
Orso begins to mutter inwardly in contemplation. [i]“-wardrobe is taken, as is stool, as is blade, as is horse… Ah-” He looks back at Ardoiwn. “Ardon. You are Grand Domesticus of the Royal Rampart. Baltia’s last line of defense! We are short on commanders, and I wholeheartedly accept you and your fellows into our ranks.’’
Ardoiwn looked for signs of jest in the absurd king’s eyes. Some joke being played on him. When he found none he bowed his head and raised his hand to his chest, “Very well. I’ll serve how I can.”
Orso smiles and continues. ‘’Ardon, if it does not daunt you, will you take command of the Royal cohort on the left wall? They comprise mostly of evacuated militia and survivors of yesterday's fighting. You might yet make good use of them.”
With a nod Ardoiwn accepted his duties. “We will hold the line till the end, for the sake of those who did the same.” Ardoiwn then turn and left.

As soon as he was gone from the room Ardoiwn sighed a breath of relief. The weight of his loss returned to his shoulders again and he was comforted to once more feel the regret and pain. “Somehow, this is worse than the fear.” He muttered to himself as he wiped moisture from his face with his sleeve. He needed to collect his armor, make sure his spear was ready for combat. He needed to find his men, and then he needed to find the new men under his command. Then… Ardoiwn was thankful for the rest his near death gave him, for he realized that he would have need of it.
Hospice of Baltia
Tautom Rich District

Ardoiwn swore he was dead. There was no other answer for it, was there? He sat, weakened and numb, within a small boat riddled with holes. From each damaged tear in the wood a grey brackish water seeped in, slowly bringing the boat into the waters below. Ardoiwn could see nothing behind his craft, the fog of death lay heavy upon the black waters and his eyes could not see past.
When he turned his gaze down towards the water however he did see something, something of great horror and shame. In the water, just under the surface, floated corpses. The dead, still screaming out silently their final cries. First floated by his warband, his friends. Those he had known all his life drifted by. Each who bore their own desires, their own wishes, their own loves and goals. All now dead in foreign lands, killed as dogs by an enemy who knew not of honor. Ardoiwn wept for them, but their number was small, and soon replaced by new faces as the boat crept onward.
The warriors, the soldiers, whom Ardoiwn and his men had slain. Their arms and armor now rusted within the waters, their final cries for their commander, for order. At first rage wanted to boil out of Ardoiwn, but this land of fog and death allowed no such heat, granted Ardoiwn no such fire with which to warm his soul. In its place he felt only pity, for the men who too had dreams and hopes, who would never see them realized, who died to what they thought savages. Perhaps, Ardoiwn mused, they were right.
However both his men and those men he had slain were but a footnote. As his craft slowly sunk deeper into the void, as the water brushed against Ardoiwn’s legs and brought him the ever closer to the cold of death, he saw the first faces of Tautom. Those who he had come to protect, to save. The dock workers, who cried out for their now ruined vessels, the craftsmen who never found time to craft their masterpieces, the warriors who let fear into their hearts at the final moment, and now cried in pain under the water. The children who cried for their parents. Some in the water deserved as much, one might argue, but Ardoiwn saw far too many who didn’t. The water was to his knees. He knew, that once his boat sunk, that he was join them. Ardoiwn questioned why he hadn’t already. What was there to hold onto? What kept him from allowing the coldness into him, from sinking down and leaving the world behind him?
The bodies were close now, so much so that hands, white as death and red with blood, surged from the water to grip at the edges of the boat, each threatening to bring it down. But then, one last body floated by. One Ardoiwn had not seen for many years. One he could never forget. Her skin was sunken, pale, far too thin, all consequences of the time spent within this river. She had waited for a long time. Her hand, feeble as it was, reached up and gripped the boat. It stopped. The other hands retreated, and for a moment, everything was quiet. Peering into the void Ardoiwn saw her, “Mother?” He asked, as the world around him pulled away.

Ardoiwn coughed a long, hacking cough as his eyes shot open to the world around him. This was not the streets of the great city. The smell of blood was thick, but not as much so as it was before, Ardoiwn’s eyes blinked as he took in the scene before him.

He is lying bare-chested on a bed of the Tautom Hospice, a shelter for the miserable and the dying. At a time like this, you’d expect such a building is crowded with droves of unfortunate and battered warriors. Yet he found himself reserved in a small room in which there is only a single bed. A room.. saved for apparently special people. His lamellar cuirass had been taken off, its muddy and bloodstained iron lying on top a nearby crate.

‘’There you go champ, there’s a big boy.’’ An unwelcome, shrill voice fills the Gastald’s ears. Looking in the direction from whence it came, Ardoiwn observes a beefy barrel chested man sitting on a bench against the wall, his skin oozing with glistering oil.

‘’Old Aba told me to look after you. Honestly barbarian-boy... I took you for dead on that battleground. My dear marshal has a knack for picking out the most exalted of men, I’ll have you know!’’ He places a hand on his lips and lets out a giggle.

Ardoiwn brought his hand to his head, between his wounds and the sound of this massive man’s voice he had to brace himself. Taking another deep breath he found his voice and asked, “My friends, my men. Did any of them survive?”

The man scratches his chin, looking up to the ceiling as he considers the Lampert’s inquiry for a bit. ‘’Not many of them did, sorry to say. From the ones we’ve carried off maybe two or three or so of your fellow barbarians were breathing… Their survival depends on whether they’ll recover from their injuries.’’ His face makes a swift turn to Ardoiwn, and the cheekiest of smiles takes form on it.
‘’Ho ho! Your friends got a good clobbering out there!’’ He says with a chuckle, either unable to read or flat-out indifferent to Ardoiwn’s feelings.

‘Two or three?’ Ardoiwn mentally asks himself. He had arrived with nearly everyone he had known from his village, and now they were reduced to two or three, who ‘might’ live! “I can’t go home.” Ardoiwn says aloud, “They’re dead because of me and I can’t go home.”

‘’Embracing death is part and parcel of the warrior ethos, I thought you barbarians understood that better than anyone? I’m sure they’re having a nifty time in the after-life right about now. You can join the party later, but right now...’’ The man stands up, taking up the great heavy shield and spear he had placed next to the bench. ‘’We’ve got a date with those Chlotarboys.’’

He had barely finished talking before a messenger knocks on the door, who immediately opens it without waiting for permission of entry.
‘’Excuse me, you two...’’ a teenage boy peers into the room, looking between Ardoiwn and the bulky man. ‘’The Chlotars have breached the gate into the Viigoc Quarter! We’ve got instructions from Abadactus Rogan to evacuate to the Balti Palace, right this instance!’’

The man perks up, placing his spear over his broad shoulder. ‘’In the name of all that is carnal… So soon?’’ He looks to Ardoiwn, who has likely hardly recovered from the shock, and asks him:
‘’Can you walk, barbarian-boy? Want me to carry you?’’

Ardoiwn shook his head, clearing away the final fragments of unconsciousness and bringing himself to the moment. “I’ll walk.” Pulling himself out of the bed Ardoiwn quickly tumbles forward before bracing himself on the nearby wall. Raising and lowering his legs he quickly gets to grips with his body again before collecting his equipment and making his way out with the muscle bound soldier.
Tautom Docks

Beyond the Great Chain

Slow and steady the Lampert Company’s ship steered towards a Tautan guard tower at the northern end of the chain.
‘’I am familiar with some of the guard posted up there. Surely, once they recognize me the chain will be lifted…’’ The emissary tells everyone while trying to sound reassuring.
Meanwhile the ship crew could see, no, smell, the smoke from the burning ships being torched in the harbor.
‘’Unbelievable…’’ one of the men on the ship quietly mutters.

‘’Hail! Man on the tower! Is Orangtos there? Or anyone?’’
No reply. For obvious reason it seems whoever is tasked with manning this section of the wall is occupied elsewhere, perhaps understandable for a city under siege. The screams and clashing of metal in the distance bode ill, to say the least.

It was several minutes before someone finally looked down the fortified rampart. In the meantime the crew had to torment themselves with inaction, standing by, waiting as the city fell to enemy slaughter. The Baltian sailors and their Lampert allies were all equally impatient and anxious.

‘’Who is it!?’’ A Tautan guard could be seen looking down to their ship with a bow in hand, an arrow already placed on the string and ready to fire. Unlike most of the city’s guard, this man was geared up in sturdy chainmail with a spangenhelm on his head. Ardoiwn deduced it had to be a Viigoc -- a Tautovigoc guarding the wealthier upper commons of Tautom.

‘’Hail friend!’’ The Tautan emissary speaks. ‘’I am the King’s emissary, Lulupus of Sonimossos! Is Orangtos up there..?!’’ The emissary asks with a hopeful glint.
Following a moment of hesitation, the Viigoc guardsman finally lowers his bow. He deadpan answers. ‘’He’s dead.’’
The emissary’s face pales, before the Viigoc guard adds;‘’There’s been a mutiny in the Amalian unit. Your friend was among the casualties of their treachery. They’ve failed to capture this section of the wall though.’’

The emissary goes mute. He tries to reply, but all he does is stammer incoherently.
Witnessing the uncertainty of the emissary Cleph steps forward, “Be there any chance you can lower the chain?”

‘’I fear not.’’ Replies the Tautovigoc. ‘’The leverage has been captured by the mutineers. They’re in control of most of the dockyard.’’

‘’Is there no way in then?” Cleph cries up at the guard.

Wait there.’’

The Viigoc guardsman disappears behind the wall. After a moment of rummaging he returns with a rope in hand.
‘’Here. Climb up with this.’’ The guard attaches the rope to a hook, and then casts it down to the ship below his sentry tower.
‘’Honestly, it seems like a lost cause to me. You might want to think this through. If you want to get away with your lives, now’s the chance.
If you’re really serious about saving this festerin’ dunghill of a city, well, be my guest, you dapper warriors.’’

“There are people who need our help, who need our steel and our courage. We must help them.” Ardoiwn states, looking over his friends and allies as he takes a grip on the ropes and begins to climb.
Behind him his companions and life long friends too take the rope and begin climbing up towards their fate.

One by one the Lampert delegation and some of their Baltian allies were pulled unto the wall. Admirably most of them were committed to the relief and liberation of the city, regardless of the Tautovigoc’s warning. Only the emissary, the ship’s captain and a few of the core crew remained behind.
‘’Lord Gastald, we will row the ship further ahead so the attackers won’t spot us… That means there will be no way back once inside the city. Good luck, sir. God guide you.’’

Climbing up the wall Ardoiwn looks down to the captain, “Best of fortunes to you as well sir!” Turning back to his task of climbing the man mutters, “God? Guide? Hump.”

That same hour, most of the reinforcements managed to get up the wall with the help of the Viigoc. They number close to eighty men. It can hardly be called an army or even an expeditionary force. It is Ardoiwn’s personal Lampert war band.

Getting a view at the environs, Ardoiwn spots a largely empty section of wall connecting to the guardsman's sentry tower on which they stand. It seems this Viigoc is the only one of the Tautan garrison that mans the sea wall. The wall section connects to another tower, which is the only way down into the harbour. The door of this tower has been barred shut by a tall stack of crates containing arrows, rations, supplies and whatever else the man could find. Presumably the Tautoviigoc moved them there as barricade against the Amalian mutineers. It shows, considering they’ve not taken the sea wall yet.

‘’Good. Your ship’s reinforcements is inside now…’’ The Tautovigoc guard begins to address the foreign company surrounding him, his voice more hushed than before. ‘’Honestly I was about to look for a means of escape myself, but with you lot being here, we may actually be able to drive them back!’’ The man chuckles, though it was of a nervous sort to cope with the very dire straits they’re in.
‘’I don’t think they could’ve spotted us. Your presence should catch these mutineers completely by surprise.
That said, time is really of the essence. By the looks of it the Chlotars are already inside the central commons and are advancing on the Palace. If I had to guess, they want to get to the King. Your best bet is heading straight there. And doing that…’’

‘’Let me guess, we’ll have to make a path through the mutineers.’’ Cleph finishes the Viigoc’s line.

“Very well then.” Ardoiwn states as he makes his way towards the barricaded door. “Disloyalty and treachery are foul beasts, things to be put down. We shall draw up and closely as we can before springing on the enemy and taking as many as possible. At that point we cut down any who get between us and the palace.” Pulling a crate away from the door Ardoiwn also adds, “Don’t forget, we’re here to save the city. If anyone should come across those in aid do what you can.”
Shifting a final large crate out of the way Ardoiwn opens the door and allows Cleph the van, following not far behind and then followed by the rest of his band.

The Lampert warband descends down a narrow set of stone stairs in the tower’s interior. At the bottom is a small barracks. A close iron door leading outside, a table at the center with empty chairs, and in an opening behind the stairs a bed where a Tautan guardsman is resting motionlessly. Were Ardoiwn to look closer, it becomes apparent that the poor man is dead. His throat had been slit in his sleep. Apparently some of the mutineers had already passed through here.
‘’Typical Celesean cowardice.’’ One of the Lampert warriors mutters to himself.

The war band of eighty men all gathered in the cramped confines of the tower, ready to barge out when the Gastald gives the signal to attack. After Cleph did a headcount, ensuring everyone was assembled, he nods to Ardoiwn.
The Gastald raises his spear. ‘’My friends, ahead of us is glory! Let us take it!”
The company of warriors roar and cheer in choir, and grasping their swords, axes and maces, rush out through the door, aching to strike down any man foolhardy enough to come upon their path.

Meanwhile the Amalian soldiers were busy; flames had begun to light up every inch of the docks as shadows moved from jetty to jetty, ensuring that no boat could be used to escape the city as the timber constructions were torched. The soldiers, only about twenty in all, had all gathered to watch the flames, some had even removed their helmets. There was no joyous cries from them as the orange glow bathed their somber and hard set expressions, glinting off of their armor and shields, some well aware their only escape was now crumbling into ash and falling into the water before them. The stern expressions were suddenly broken by alarm, most of the soldiers spotting movement as a tower door was opened a few hundred feet away, watching as soldiers began to stream through into the open.

“Fuckin’ hellfire! Those bastards are rallying!”
“We cleared that tower, who the fuck are they?!”
“They’re gonna hit our rear!”
Suddenly a sharp voice cut through the confused tones, an officer with a red crested helmet started grabbing the nearest soldiers and shoving them towards the new threat as he roared at the top of his lungs. “THEY’RE YOUR NEXT MISSION SOLDIERS! MOVE, MOVE, I WANT THOSE SHIELDS UP IN FRONT OF THOSE BASTARDS NOW BEFORE THEY GET THROUGH TO THE GATES!” The small squad began grabbing their helmets, hurriedly trying to pull them on as their faces grew white. The officer, a grizzled and broad man with several medallions on his chest declaring his experience, snarled and slapped the nearest soldier around the head. “Leave the helmet Triscus! I SAID LEAVE IT! GO!” With the initial shock over, the soldiers left helmets and their equipment behind, sprinting with their shields to get between the advancing Lamparts and the rear of Quintus’ detachment. As they watched, more and more soldiers began to spill from the tower, it wasn’t long before a sickening realization dawned on them, that they were outnumbered.

“Triscus, RUN! WARN THE GENERAL!” Triscus stared, dumbfounded at what was happening in front of him, the words falling on deaf ears as the soldiers assembled in front of the Lamparts, shields locked as tireless drilling took over their thoughts and actions, but even the soldiers extensive training and experience never prepared them for a fight with such poor odds. “Triscus I swear with Godas as my witness I will SODOMIZE YOU WITH MY FUCKING FIST! PAY ATTENTION!”
“Sir?!” Triscus snapped back to reality, looking to the officer as he tightened the grip on his own blade, having fallen in at the rear of the formation. The officer reached out, grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back, growling in his face, the thick smell of olives washed over him and Triscus couldn’t help but wince.
“Get to the general. Warn him we have one hundred swords advancing on their rear, we’ll fight a beating retreat but we’ll need support!”
“I… I…”
“It’s not optional. MOVE IT!” The officer simply shoved him back, and then stepped into his place. The men all stood with shields forward, ready to face the charging horde as the officer began to shout encouragement to the men, some of whom were already looking over their shoulders to the safety of the gatehouse, but the majority knew it was far too late to try and outrun the enemy. Triscus blinked, taking one last look at the twenty or so men he had spent years fighting with, eating with, living with. Then he turned. And ran.

The Lamperts wasted no time seeing how unprepared they caught the crew of mutineers. They must not squander this opportunity.
“Cut them down!” cried Cleph, pointing his mace at the Amalian crew being hastily assembled in a pitiful attempt at obstruction.
“Break through these mutts. No quarter!” The war band rushes forward letting out terrifying battle roars as they engage the mutineers. The Lamperts were upon them with such speed that there was barely chance for the Amalians to form a cohesive formation. The battle had begun.

The Amalians use their spears to attempt and hold the incoming crowd at bay, but they were utterly swamped after failing to set up a solid line of defense. Mercilessly the Lamperts bludgeon their way through the men.
“Stand fast! Stand fast!” the officer exclaims in an effort to stem the flood. But when the strait gets too dire he himself joins the crucible and hews his blade into the nearest barbarian, which slides off his helmet and hits then into his shoulder. The struck Lampert warrior recoils sideways. The officer takes the opportunity to bash the staggering enemy with his kite shield, who loses balance indefinitely and stumbles into the Lamperts adjacent him. For a moment there is an opening for the Amalians who waste no time to jab their spears into the disoriented opponents.
The Lamperts on the left flank have been repulsed! Then Cleph appears besides the officer, and his mace batters his unguarded side before he even thought of raising his shield in defense. And before he could question how the Lampert got past his unit, the officer observed how the right flank had collapsed. He and ten of his remaining men are now completely surrounded.
“Reform into circle formation! Shields out you wretches! Do not let up! AAAARGHHHH!” The officer screams wildly ignoring the bleeding wound made on him. “DO NOT LET UP! GODAS OBSERVES THIS DECISIVE MOMENT!” For what felt like an age the Amalian circle held its own. Some dared to hope they would make through to see a new dawn. But they soon found this hope sadly misplaced. After several minutes of stubborn hand to hand combat, the officers head was finally struck by Clephs mace. Hard enough that the officer’s helmet went flying, ricocheting over the cobblestone tiles. The remaining soldiers lost heart. And soon they were no more.

With the bloody deed done, Ardoiwn raises his crimson stained spear.
“Onwards! We cannot stand still, take the gate!” Lowering his weapon and giving a sigh of relief at this initial success. Cleph runs up to him, his mace crimson but himself seemingly unharmed. Nonetheless the look on his face was dire, “Who?” Ardoiwn asked.
“Daufer, three spears to the chest. What will we tell his sister?” Looking over the water, before turning his head up towards the city Ardoiwn replied, “Nothing, not yet. We need her focused on the battle ahead of us. Don’t let her know until after the day is done.”

As Cleph ran off to coordinate the men, the Viigoc guard from before walks up to Ardoiwn.
“Lord Gastald, bypass the columns and warehouse to the right and follow the street through the white arch. There you will doubtlessly meet the bulk of the defenders.”
With a nod Ardoiwn placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, “Thank you. Without your aid this city and its people would be far worse off. Try to find somewhere safe, with your family if you have any. Otherwise, feel free to fight with us in glory, you have earned that right.”
The Viigoc gives a nervous smile, then looks over the harbor. All the great ships have already been torched or rendered unseaworthy. Only a few smaller vessels remain that the mutineers seemingly overlooked, or had not the chance to destroy. None of the mutineers are in sight. They must be trying to link up with the Chlotar Army in the central plaza. The coast is clear.
‘’..I don’t think escape is an option at this point. There’s no way to bypass that chain. ...I might as well try to make it inside the Royal District with you.’’

With no time to waste and having already emerged victorious from the initial skirmish, the emboldened Lampert company march through the harbor streets. The air about the place smells of fire, charred wood, salted fish and now the smell of deathly decay. From expired fish more so than slain Tautans. But the screams heard in the distance are a grim reminder that time is truly of the essence. And so the foreign warriors head straight for the northern district past the corridor. But as they come closer, they are met with a dreadful surprise. The mutinying forces are not at the plaza at all, but were right there at the far end of the street, as if waiting for them in the arches leading to the Royal Quarter. They could just make out one of the mutineers running up to the group.

“Sir! Sir!” Quintus turned to look as he heard a hurried voice pant out behind him. The officers surrounding him all scowled as they looked on Triscus, doubled over and red faced, struggling to catch his breath “Sir the Tautans! They’re in the docks sir! They’re killing us!”
“What?! WHERE?! How many!?”
“Behind me! No more than uh… One hundred? Maybe two?” Quintus gritted his teeth and grabbed the young soldier by the neck plate, pulling him close as he growled. “Think man! THINK! How many?!”
“Uhm… One hundred sir!” Quintus released him and immediately started barking orders to the officers.
“Vitellius, I want the first, second and third Centuries on me now. The rest are to remain here and guard the entrance to the docks. I will send runners with information.” Vitellius nodded to Quintus, pulling his helmet over his head, he and two other officers began jogging to sections of soldiers, all waiting eagerly, already their shouts were being drowned out by the sounds of screams and shouting from behind then, the sounds of battle. Quintus ground his teeth at the thought of an enemy force sneaking behind them. How? As far as he knew the docks were practically sealed on all fronts. He reached down, pulling his sword free and spat on the floor. He could find out later if there were any survivors. Behind him, there was a cry.
“Soldiers. About face! You will advance on my command!”. Quintus drowned the words out in his mind and began walking through the ranks of soldiers, the first Century and it’s officer, Vitellius were now facing where the supposed threat of the enemy was coming from. Already the sound of fighting were growing quieter. It wouldn’t be long now before the grey cobbles would be thick with blood. “SOLDIERS. ADVANCE!”

Ardoiwn had transitioned towards the van of the moving warriors, and thus was among the first to notice the enemy line.
Looking over the enemy they were both more numerous, and far better prepared than the last group. “We can’t just charge through that.” A warrior next to Ardoiwn said, almost to himself. The Gastald had to agree.
“HOLD!” Ardoiwn shouted to his warriors as he pushed ahead. The Lampert band halts, forming a thick mass of muscles and weapons behind the Gastald as he took a few steps ahead. Perhaps if Ardoiwn could single out and defeat their leader the main body of soldiers would rout, or surrender.

Three strides past his men, Ardoiwn stared over the enemy line before slamming the metal capped butt of his spear into the stone tiled road and shouting out, “Hail! A Gastald of the insurmountable kingdom of the Lamperts stands before you! I will have words with your leader, should he not be a coward!” Several laughs and cries from Ardoiwn’s band punctuate the point as the Lampert leader stood awaiting response.

The marching tramp of studded boots didn’t falter at first, shields hiding the bodies of the men behind them, helmets catching the daylight as swords poked through the strong shields like some kind of spined animal. As the word “Coward” was called out, there was a sudden cry from the ranks approaching the Lamperts. “Centuries, HALT!”.

“Are you certain?” Quintus glared at Vitellius, his brow creased in a mix of anger and yet excitement was clear in his eyes. “Aye sir. He said Lampert. I’d wager a month’s pay on it.”
“If you’re right i’ll GIVE you a month’s pay…” Quintus responded, his face lifted towards the lines of the enemy, several ranks of men stood between him and Ardoiwn. A Lampert. The men who had slaughtered, raped and nearly annihilated his home. The men knew it too, many of them were already whispering in the ranks, casting sidelong looks at each other. Quintus brushed it off, his mind racing. After all this time, here presented a chance for retribution. A prelude to the long war to retake Amalia, that he and his men had always hoped for. Here was a prize worth solidifying their alliance with the Chlotar forces tearing through Tautom behind them. Then he felt it in his heart, a burning hatred and passion to end this creature’s life. With one outstretched, open and waiting hand, he discarded the rational thoughts in his mind, and gave in to his anger. “Spear.”

The ranks of the Amalians stood still, Quintus had made sure he’d picked only the best, and it showed. But even now as word spread through the ranks that before them stood Lamperts, even some of the older veterans began to shift, twisting their weapons, hatred clear in their eyes. The mood of the Lamperts meanwhile was the reverse, almost jovial as several of them threw jeers and taunts. Cleph tried to keep the host controlled as Ardoiwn awaited response, but one man can hardly hold back eighty.
Suddenly, there was movement. Small, thin, invisible perhaps to those without the eyes for such. Indeed, Ardoiwn would have missed it had he not been staring at the enemy line intently, waiting for a sign of a departing commander. A javelin flew through the air, whistling death aimed at the Gastald. A half dozen hurried steps back into his war band and the spear lodged itself in the dirt where the man once stood. Sighing in relief Ardoiwn stepped forwards again, examining the weapon. It was nothing remarkable, a simple javelin which had desired his life. A lone weapon, thrown from an unseen enemy. The thought brought a fury to the breast of the warrior, someone had sought to kill him in so indignant a fashion! The men around the Gastald held similar thoughts, and the jeering and merry threats turned sour and fierce.
“Not just a cowardly leader, but an entire band then.” A sigh escaped the Gastald’s lungs. He had hoped for a parley, a few words, maybe an honorable duel that would allow the defeated to leave with a semblance of honor intact. “Very well. If they wish to see blood spilled.” Ardoiwn’s voice rose as his introspection turned to rallying cry, “If they wish to meet cold iron and blazing hearts, if they wish to know the fury of the Lampert, than who am I to stop them!? Such weak men will only be kindling to the likes of us, their numbers merely further glories for us to claim! To me warriors! Death to God!” His warriors cried alongside their leader, and charged the enemy line with fervor.
For the sake of Ardoiwn, the sake of the story, and the sake of this beautiful world you've woven I can force myself to do a little more writing.
I'd like to apologize. I simply don't feel inspired to continue partaking in this. I wish I had a better excuse, or some thing to say, but the simple truth of the matter is that I can't find the will or desire to continue with this.
I think I'm going to pull out of this RP. The idea that I might in some way hold back the RP due to my laziness and lost interest is terrifying and my pardon for any problems I have caused, or will cause as a result of my leaving.
I wish you all the best of fortune and the with the rich minds required to do this RP justice, I am sure you will all have fun.
Gulf of Baltia

The journey across the waters were fairly uneventful. The waters were calm, the winds gentle. The crew of the ship went about their duties, however Ardoiwn’s crew were not content to sit around and do nothing. While few could say they were useful the men and women under Ardoiwn’s command did try their hands at ship based tasks, most meeting with expected failure.

Ardoiwn himself however had more important duties. The first day was spent discussing with the captain, ensuring that the supplies would last, ironing out the finer details of payment, hearing a few rumors carried on port winds, and generally getting on good terms with the captain of the ship. However after that first day Ardoiwn decided that it would be wise to learn of the place he was sought to aid. To that end he located the envoy that had brought the matter up with the king in the first place.

Having gone in the same direction Ardoiwn had convinced the man to journey with him to back Tautom, there were not many ships heading that way from Lampert coasts and it was not difficult. Now Ardoiwn sought the man out to learn more of the land and the king, and with a quick look over the deck saw the envoy leaning on the rail near the bow. Ardoiwn ran up with a wave.

‘’Greetings, Ardoiwn!’’ Said the Tautan emissary. Bruised and battered as he was.
‘’I just can’t get over it, I didn’t think I’d get out of there alive. I understood the risks. How is it your people can weather your King’s aura?
We are fortunate to have a docile and incompetent King. His aura is a joke. ...And that’s no figure of speech.’’

Ardoiwn shrugs as he steps up beside the envoy, “We Lamperts are built of sturdy stock, his presence is commanding, but he tries to be fair.” Ardoiwn then takes a moment to look at the man standing next to him. “I am sorry for what befell you.”

‘’I am just so grateful that at least one of Lampertei’s Lordlings would hear my plea. I knew I couldn’t count on much support -- or any, really. You are too generous, Lord Ardoiwn.’’ The man chuckled and revealed a smile with missing teeth. His broken arm wrapped in cloth from the beating he received of the Lampert palace guards.
‘’At least I don’t return empty handed… Madam Kalisto will be pleased.
Anyway, we’ve come a long way. We should be getting near.’’

‘’Gastald!’’ A sudden cry from the ship’s watchman.
‘’Tautom on the horizon!’’

Ardoiwn leaned over the rails to try to get a better look at the proud city coming into view. The high walls, unassailable and untouched. The palace rooftops peaking out above, its high dome gleaming radiant in the sun. “But… Isn’t that too much smoke?” Ardoiwn asked as he squinted his eyes.
The closer they got, the clearer the view, Ardoiwn saw what happened. The flag flying above the gate, the proud gate doors thrown open, the city walls had been assaulted! No, as the sounds of battle began to carry on the wind Ardoiwn realized the city was currently under assault.
Tautom is under attack! Ardoiwn shouted, loud enough for the crew and his men to hear alike. Rushing up the deck to the captain Ardoiwn was quickly joined by several of his band as they quickly went over their options.
The returning emissary’s face turns pale with horror, his eyes widening as he grasps for his cheeks.

“We need to get in there!” Ardoiwn states urgently, “We need to save Tautom.”

‘’Hrm.’’ The captain snorts, himself a Baltian local. ‘’Look at the pier -- it’s no use. The Tautans have raised the chain to deny entry to ships seeking portage. Just what is going on?’’

“Can we land ashore?” Cleph asks, running up to join the discussion, “Catch the attackers in the rear and cut off their retreat?”
Ardoiwn brings his hand up to his chin before denying the possibility, “I doubt our numbers are enough to make a meaningful hammer, and we don’t know the state of our anvil. Not to mention that cutting off their escape route will force the enemy into a corner, we don’t know how many they are or how strong. Putting them in that spot will only make them bolder still.”

‘’Lord Gastald’’ The emissary taps Ardoiwn on the shoulder. ‘’I can attempt use my influence to petition the dock’s overseer to raise the chain for us… Those measures are reserved to keep out alien ships. But ours isn’t one, so legally we must be permitted access.’’

The captain retorts. ‘’Hrmm.. Think I’ll have the ship steered towards the guard tower to which the chain’s attached. Objections?’’

Ardoiwn considers the options, but he couldn’t see many. The only way to help the people would be to get inside the city, and the only sensible way to do that was through the docks. “Very well.” Ardoiwn issued, “Bring us up to the guard tower. Everyone! Grab your things and prepare for battle!”

I will be going to the dentist in a few hours, and I imagine I'll be at the dentist for a bit. I try to devote some time after the dentist to coming up with a post but I don't imagine I'll be able to come up with it today.
My pardon if my post is too short or if there is any error in it. That said I should let everyone know that on the 24th I shall be heading to see my family for my birthday and won't be back until the 30th. I don't imagine having access to internet during this time, or at the least certainly not being in a position to write long well thought out posts. My pardon for any inconvenience this may cause.
A Dirt Road In Lampertei, A Mile Out from the port town Bressenra

"I've been meaning to ask Ardoiwn, how was he?" Mounted on horseback Ardoiwn and his comrades were journeying eastward towards the coast in order to book passage to the great city of the Tautoms. Riding alongside Ardoiwn was Cleph, one of his closest friends, a man with fine hair and a thick mustache, who carried a thick shield with which he protects his friends.

He was of course talking of the king. After returning home Ardoiwn told his comrades and the village as a whole his duty and where they were bound, before gathering his closest allies and the supplies required for such a trip. However during the days nobody had asked Ardoiwn how his time in the capital had gone, indeed the normally jolly leader had been almost forlorn and reserved during the days of travel.

Now that the party, numbering only shy of a hundred, neared the port town however Cleph decided that this quietness had gone long enough and was ready to press his friend for answers.
Ardoiwn was still ruminating on the king. His loyalty was of course never in question, but the near constant fear that dogged the young man during his stay in the capital still haunted the deepest parts of his mind. The nights he spent in the capital weren't exactly peaceful either. The ideals of leadership that his father had imparted to him were now in open conflict with what the king had displayed, and-

"What?" Ardoiwn was snapped out of his thoughts by his friend, who upon waiting too long for an answer to his question decided to jab Ardoiwn in the gut with his sheathed blade. "Well? How was he? The king?" Cleph asked again as Ardoiwn seemed to return to the world around him. "Ah, um, er-" Ardoiwn stammered before finding himself again and answering, "He was kingly. His presence demanded respect and his words impossible to ignore." Cleph nodded, accepting his commander's words before asking, "Is it true he spends all night atop a tower shouting at god?"
"Yes, I can't imagine how anyone in the palace sleeps at all." Ardoiwn states, as Cleph brings his chin down into his hand in thought, before wondering, "If he spends all night shouting and all day in is duties when does he sleep?"

Ardoiwn hadn't considered that... "Ah haha! I have no idea!" Before long Ardoiwn and Cleph were laughing, making jokes and friendly insults at one another as they crested a hill and descended into the town. It did not take long to charter a ship, this was of course the official business of a Gastald. Once prices were haggled out the party were packed into a ship along with fresh supplies before setting out from the port towards Tautom.
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