Wernher

Lancer [Mechs, Magic, and Intrigue]

Name: Major Baron Wilhelm von Zollern-Krauthammer II of New Brabant
Age: 103
Archetype: Soldier/Commander
Gender: Male
Appearance: (A description and/or art, pick your poison)
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Willy is old, really old. Most of the time his age makes him look respectable as he wears his pristine uniform with a veritable shelf of medals, with some of the highest honors of the empire repeating multiple times, giving more weight to the piecing gaze of his one good eye. Some times however he carries the weight of time on his shoulder. For example he usually goes around with a cane and easily goes out of breath from even a short walk and can sometimes fall asleep in briefings.

Occupation: Lancer
Affiliations: Imperial Order of Heroes (Commander), Imperial Military Academy (Dean)

Skills and Abilities:
Illustrious Veteran - Old Willy would have made it to Imperial Field Marshall if he hadn't refused dozens of promotions to remain in the field, he has been part of every war the empire fought for the last century and is the definition of leading by example and never ordering his soldiers to do anything he himself wouldn't do. This 'first in, last out' attitude has earned him the loyalty and admiration of the entire Imperial army and no one would dare to flee the field while this old man still fights.

Century of Favors - Willy never left the battlefield, but most of those who served with him at some point went on to greater things. There is thus several generations of veterans in every walk of life of imperial society that owe this man their lives and whom he can call on for favors.

Faults and Limitations:
Past his Prime - Wilhelm is old, very old. Although he says the years haven't affected him in the slightest, it's an obvious lie. He isn't as quick as he once was and sometimes his mind plays tricks on him. He's been hiding it well, but its showing more and more.

Death Wish - This will be Wilhelm's last campaign and he knows it. That he managed to convince the Prince to take him on is already miracle enough and it won't happen again. This is why, gods help him, he intends to go out like a soldier and not in his own urine in a retirement home.

Biography:
Wilhelm is the model imperial soldier, he came from nothing in the slums of old Earth and fought for his empire and his emperor(s) with tooth and nail for almost a century. He went everywhere and did everything, fighting in civil wars and anti-pirate actions every time with distinction and honor. Just like him however, this story is getting old.

Even in the time of Cassian's grand-father, Wilhelm was old news. At the time he had been the youngest person to make it from enlisted to Major and had a career so decorated it put his name in the history books. When he continued his career and refused promotion after promotion it was seen as exceptional gallantry... for a while. When Cassian's father took the throne however, the narrative had changed. People were starting to get tired of this old man who refused to quit the limelight and who frankly placed unreasonable expectations on the other imperial officers. At first they tried to nudge him into retirement more subtly by giving him the title of Baron and an entire planet for him and his heirs to inherit, then more directly by promoting him to Dean of the Imperial Military Academy, a honorary role that didn't actually require anything out of him.

Wilhelm hung around the imperial palace, watching political events and desperately trying to convince people to give him another assignment only for people to smile at him and politely tell him that he was 'too important to risk' and that he should enjoy a well deserved retirement in the empire he helped building. They were polite but the message was clear: Fuck off, you old decrepit fossil. Finally however he saw his chance with Prince Cassian, going to him to offer his expertise and something that might be of more use than an old soldier: All the favors he had accumulated through the years that would be at the Prince's disposition.

Truth is, Wilhelm doesn't care if he was chosen out of pragmatism, genuine respect or just pity, he needs this. His wife has been dead for years, he has survived most of his children and the rest he doesn't really have a relation with after spending his life on the front line. War is all that he has and he wishes to have one last great adventure so he can die a worthy death like hundreds of friends and fellow soldiers did beside him through all these years.

Mech:
Designation/Callsign: (Old) Ironside
General Description:
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People usually expect the oldest soldier of the empire to show up with an hyper customized antiquity, but are surprise to see him with a run-of-the-mill mass produced BL-6-KNT 'Black Knight' command mech. But the truth is, this is a mech that was heavily customized at his specification; who do you think was the 'average field commander' the mech was designed around?

Role and Doctrine:
As the empire and its military budget grew, so did the ambition to make models after models of small batch hyper specialized mechs for every possible occasion that rely on an army of technicians and logisticians to keep it running. Wilhelm in contrast helped design a work horse, a mech that was modular enough to have an answer to most situations it would encounter and simple enough to always be operable. It is thus said that while the KNT series of mech is never a pilot's top choice, it will be by far the favorite of any technician in a motor pool that will be able to fix it quickly and easily with plentiful parts.

Notable Armaments or Systems:
Roundtable Comm. suite - As a command mech, special emphasis was placed on this mech's information sharing module, allowing it to merge the data links of not just other members of the Lance, but of ground, air and space operatives to give the pilot a bigger picture of what's happening.

Uppercut Missile - A big, dumb, stupid rocket with a needlessly huge payload. Because you might jam this mech's aiming, you may be faster and you may have whatever other trick up your sleeve, but I don't need to hit you if I just delete an entire city block.

Blizzard Canisters - The one 'eccentricity' Wilhelm allowed himself, he loaded most of his smoke launchers with Blizzard Canisters, basically grenades that shower an area with fragments. It won't destroy a mech, but it can severely damage sensors and cameras. It will also turn infantry into pink mist.

Known Limitations or Vulnerabilities:
Mass Produced - The Black Knight is a good mech, compared to other generic mechs. It however lacks the punch, armor, speed and special systems to compete with some of the more exotic mechs out there.

Known Quantity - The Black Knight is one of the longest running Mass Production unit of the last century, chances are if a war had mechs participating in it, it had Black Knights fighting in it. This means that this mech, its strength and limitations, are well known by just about everyone. The pilot might surprise an enemy, but the mech and it's stats certainly won't.

Lancer [Mechs, Magic, and Intrigue]

Hm. Wondering if I should create a Lancer as a second character for times when the ships won't be involved?

Lancer [Mechs, Magic, and Intrigue]

Name: Mika Ganishka
Age: 33
Archetype: Voidtouched/Commander/Scoundrel
Gender: Female
Appearance:
Image
Of asian decent, Mika has the pale complexion of a spacer that doesn't see much sunlight with steely grey eyes and usually sports an annoying smirk that makes people suspicious of her. If she has to wear a military uniform it will usually be a mess but if she can get away with it she will have comfortable and colorful civilian clothes.

Occupation: Navigator/Captain
Affiliations: Cult of Lethos (Former), Pirate Kingdom of Robert (Former), Pirate Federation of Procyon (Former), Republican League of Jacinthas (Former), Bardas Smuggler's Cartel.

Skills and Abilities:
Voidtouched Navigator - Mika doesn't know how to manifest her connection to the Drift like others since she has no training, but she feels it like no others which allows her to do prodigious and otherwise insanely dangerous 'blind' navigation and short distance Drift jumps to surprise anyone she faces.

Piracy Expertise - Years of raving in the Procyon sector have allowed Mika to gain expert knowledge of how to operate in a very low supply and very high hostility situation, she thus always has a creative way to solve logistical problems and deal damage to the enemy, though this might not endear you to the locals.

Faults and Limitations:
Abysmal Reputation - One rarely climbs the ranks without making some enemies, but Mika took this to a whole other level with countless betrayals and backstabbing. There is a long list of people in the sector that are gunning for her and potentially anyone who associates with her.

Voidtouched Amateur - Most agree that Mika has massive untapped potential to control the Drift, but normally people learn to exploit this potential as they grow up along with their power, limiting the possibilities for disaster. She is interested in improving her mastery but the risk factor with her is judged as severe.

Biography:
Mika rose from extremely humble origins, her family being part of a cult centered around a self declared prophet with a taste for extreme sexual activities with very young people (we will skip the details). When she was still young, she attracted the eyes of the prophet and her parents were eager to gain favor by promising her to him. This is why when ships from King Robert, the local pirate overlord, came to extort their usual protection fees, she decided to sneak off world. She was quickly discovered of course but the pirates took her in as a sort of mascot at first, and good luck charm later when they discovered her ability to sense asteroids and other ships through the void.

Eventually she became a navigator and, when the ship was in a particular bad streak, overthrew her captain. Pirate King Robert himself took a liking into her and made her navigation abilities of several high stakes operations that made him one of the most powerful pirate of the sector and gave him confidence to resist joining the Pirate Federation. When she received the offer of taking the seat reserved for Robert if she betrayed him, Mika took her chance and turned some of his ships against him before deliberately misplanning a jump to damage and confuse his forces and wipe them out.

At this point Mika had her longest period of stability in her career and grew into a menace for civilized society in the sector, mostly doing her own things with the benediction of the Pirate Federation. One day however, one of the larger polities of the sector, the Republic of Jacinthas, refused to pay tribute to the Pirates who got in mind to humble them and show themselves as the primary force in the sector. Though the pirates had success in raiding the Republic and it's League allies, any large scale engagement ended poorly and their lairs were destroyed one by one. Seeing the writing on the wall, Mika offered to defect in exchange for a general amnesty for her crimes.

Jacinthas had initially offered her a military rank but after the Pirate War she was quickly demobilized and asked to turn in her remaining ships, the Republic making it clear that she would be allowed to retire with her ill gotten gain but not in a way that would allow her to remain a potential menace. Luckily this demand came with the renewed interest of the Empire toward the Procyon sector, to which she ran with her tail between her legs to negotiate joining Prince Cassian's retinue. In exchange for rank, titles and trade concessions once the sector was brought under heel, she promised her skills, her ships and perhaps most importantly, her very detailed star charts of the sector.

Lancer [Mechs, Magic, and Intrigue]

@Bentus

PM sent.

Pines Holler - A Small Town SoL Sandbox RP [NOT Accepting]

Tentative interest, curious about what kind of characters people will make.

Closed - After The Storm - A Low-Fantasy / No Magic Roleplay

Illumination

Narawen the Prophet

On top of Mount Kedu in the ruins of an ancient forgotten temple, Narawen the Prophet had many years ago made her camp, her 'Cestir' in elvish. Since then the camp had grown into a massive monastery, a refuge for the few elves that during the Storm had found solace in religion and in the rediscovery of the elven gods and how they were all aspects of the All-God, supreme creator of everything.

Converts trickled in from time to time, but they usually were never a great many of them. Recently however, this trickle had become a steady stream mostly coming from Varionmar and areas around the Mycend wood. One of these convert was Elowen the Vain, one of the most superficial elf Narawen ever had the displeasure of meeting. Yet... his new faith seemed genuine.

"I have found it very hard to change the minds of our kinsmen, I am simply curious what it is that caused your change of heart."

The elf smiled before looking away at the mountains that surrounded them. "I... had an experience. A vision. I don't know how to describe it."

If this intrigued Narawen, she didn't show it in any way, remaining neutral and intensely focused on Elowen who then continued.

"Varion -or maybe rather Loriel- negotiated a tribute arrangement with the Mycends of the wood. The main object was core wood, beautiful black ebony streaked with golden amber... but there was another thing. A powder... spores of some kind? Loriel instructed us to use it to 'reward' the more difficult thralls, to drug them into a more peaceful state. I... decided to indulge. When I breathed in the spores I saw..."

He blinked, his lips quivering as he tried to find the words, raising his hands to mimic something, a 'whole' of sort.

"I saw everything! How we're all interconnected in this... vast cosmic web! I could- I could feel the others, their love, their anguish! I initially thought it was just a bad trip or something, but I couldn't get this out of my mind!"

He looked back into Narawen's eyes. "A-and I remembered what you were saying back then, during the storm, and all of a sudden it all made sense! Like I had mist pulled from my eyes for the first time!"

Elowen declared, speaking with the conviction and certitude of a true believer. Narawen continued to look at him and got closer, taking his hand into her own.

"...This powder. Could you get more of it to us?"

tl;dr: Elves experiment with Mycend spores and it seems to cause them to have profound religious visions.

Closed - After The Storm - A Low-Fantasy / No Magic Roleplay

Prelude to Hostilities

“You’re not going to ask why we’re doing this Cormak?”

Ella and Cormak were riding toward the Ordun camp with one of Cassandalur’s banner, that of the supreme Tyrant which they came to represent. The human barbarian (well, maybe that wasn’t fair, he was becoming more civilized every day) hadn’t really spoken during the journey.

“Hm? No. Isn’t it obvious?”

He replied, actually giving to Ella something to think about since the reason she knew Cassandalur had to send them made very little sense to her. Well, they had the fastest horses available so, if Ordun decided to be impolite they could hope to run away.

“Here is fine.”

She declared, choosing to stop on a hill overlooking their enemy’s camp. No doubt their scouts had spotted them already, but hopefully standing so obviously in the open would indicate they were there to talk, not to spy.

“Do it.”

Cormak nodded and cleared his throat.

“Forces of Ordun! The Supreme Tyrant of Tacenie has sent us to talk to your leader! Come out!”

He roared. Khurgan like himself were very common slaves and their language wasn’t very far from the Bikhaan one, hopefully there would be a Khurgan slave with them or a Bikhaan tribesman who could translate for them. This wasn’t ideal, but Ella barely spoke any Khurgan and nothing close to Orduni.

A couple of minutes passed before three riders emerged from the camp and galloped towards the hilltop. One was a legionary of the Innas Shor-Mairan, bronze helmet shaped like a dragon’s head shining in the sun, his face covered by red cloth below the eyes to hide his human features, and a banner embroidered with the image of the Sun Dragon clutched in his right hand. The second one was one of the Bikhaan nobles who joined the army, sons of tribal chieftains seeking glory and riches. Five ears hung from a string passed around his neck and over his steel lamellar armor.

Between them rode Kursh, looking grim as ever in his black robes worn over his armor. The three Ördûni stopped a few paces away from Ella and Cormak. Kursh looked over them both for a brief moment before uttering a single word in the Bikhaan tongue. “Speak.”

The translation process began as Ella spoke and Cormak translated in Kurgan. “Manling, I have come in the name of Cassandalur, supreme Tyrant of all Tacenians, to congratulate you on your victory against our kin Jariel. Since you have shown cunning and bravery on the battlefield, we have deemed you worthy to continue existing as more than thralls.”

“The Supreme Tyrant is willing to accept two thousand thralls, two thousands heads of cattle and two hundred pounds of gold every year as tribute to show your respect towards the masters of the world. He of course understands if honor prevents you from accepting his generous offer without being defeated and he is willing to personally face any champion in single combat or face any army on a battlefield of your choice.”

Kursh took a moment to process the elf’s demands. Asking for tribute from those currently engaged in pillaging their lands was either the height of hubris, or deliberate insult. Her mention of honor and a proposal to choose a battlefield was equally puzzling, and the grizzled warrior surmised that the elves of Tacenie must have been unaware of Ördûn’s way of war. Still, perhaps this could be of benefit.

“We are not here to pay tribute. We came to exact retribution in blood. Since your master is here, you can tell him that if he has any serious proposals instead of foolish delusions, he can bring them to me in person. Until then, steel will talk.” He spared no glance for Cormak, instead keeping his gaze fixed on Ella. There was no anger or hatred in his eyes, only focused attention as he studied the Tyrant’s expression.

“Anything else? Or were you only sent here as a glorified messenger?”

Kursh’s stoicism was met with glee from Ella who didn’t even try to hide her satisfaction at his answer. She responded with crude Bikhaan of her own.

“Thank you. For everything you will give me.”

She returned to her elvish and Cormak’s translation. “All this effort to put the Khurgans who despise you under my yoke and train them into killers, to stage a little show that would convince you to get here, I would have been disappointed if you had just surrendered. I’ve been so hungry since I feasted on Ul-Krazol. Know that I will enjoy hearing the lamentation of your women and children when I set my Khurgans loose on your towns and cities.”

Cormak’s voice wavered for a moment as he translated, unsure how much of this was true and how much was Ella obviously trying to bait Kursh into doing something stupid.

Kursh’s eyes narrowed slightly. He was too experienced a commander to interpret the repeated insults as anything other than provocation. He deliberately showed some suppressed rage, a twitch of his lips visible on his full black and silver beard.

“Cheap talk from one who waited behind her walls to be rescued by her master. It is a good thing your kind lives long. You will live to regret these words.”

With that, Kursh and his men turned to ride back to their camp, the Bikhaan noble shooting Ella and Cormak a predatory grin before following his commander.

Ella didn’t shy in smiling and even waving back to the Bikhaan noble. Cormak however, sighed.

“Think your provocation worked?”

Ella looked in the Orduni riding back to camp, her smile twisting itself into something wicked.

“Lets just say that if I were them, I’d try my luck. It’s obvious we’re arrogant to the extreme… A feint attack as we march toward their camp, then a retreat. As we enter their camp, they’ll expect us to disperse and pillage it, so they wheel back and set everything on fire.”

“...Only it wouldn’t quite go like that, would it?”

Ella only continued to smile before turning her horse around and riding away.

tl;dr: Tacenie offers peace in bad faith, it is refused in equally bad faith.

Those Left Behind

Belshanar took a step back to observe his work. It was coming in nicely, but he wasn't sure it was his exact vision... though to be fair, it had been so long he wasn't sure what his exact vision even was. He was doing wood carving, a grand display of wood carving displaying the ancient history of the elves, back when they lived in the trees, were one with nature, an age before even the one before they lived their lives in their flying city. Back during the age of magic, he remembered partying at the house of an elf named Solaris who had such a display in his grand hall, it had impressed a bored Belshanar so much it had given him a love for crafting.

Back then there was of course magic, but while it maybe trivialized technique, it didn't give people vision! With the lost of magic his depression returned as he was left with no way to express his art. He took up his sword and fought as had to do but with no real conviction behind it. When the storm abated and they went out in the world however, he watched with fascination as thralls did the same as he once did, though crudely with basic tools. It was so imprecise, complex and time consuming... but he would have forever to get better at it after all.

Now, he dared to say it was all coming together!

"You've really outdone yourself. This is breath taking..." A female elf wearing a colorful and extravagant robe with red, orange and yellow hues like fire hugged him from behind as she looked at his work over his shoulder. Narwen was a kindred soul who had always found swordplay boring, she herself was much more into carnal pleasures as her choice of distraction however and liked to watch one of her lovers exert his strong arms with a chisel.

"You said it is wood, but doesn't it look like stone?" She asked as she tilted her head to take in the sight. The wood itself was dark as night but was also streaked with golden yellow, forming a unique pattern she had never even seen in the previous age.

"Core wood imported from the western Mushroom forest." He explained before pointing at the yellow streaks. "The core of the tree itself dies as the tree ages and grows, but to prevent itself from rotting, it floods the dead wood with resin, which in times hardens and becomes amber. Wood that won't decay or be eaten away by insects." Back in the previous age, wood had practically be left on earth, deemed as useless, too impermanent, like dwarves, they had embraced the eternal beauty of stone. But now they were rediscovering their roots.

"Think you could do something like that for my new manor?" She asked with a smirk. Belshanar smiled back with a shrug. "I mean, maybe? You know I don't have farmland to sustain my lifestyle. I had to exchange a fair few of my good craftsmen thralls to get this expensive wood, I'd love to give some to you, but..."

Narwen simply laughed it off. "I'll buy it silly! And I'll pay for your time too~"

The craftsman raised his eyebrow. "I didn't know you were so wealthy..."

The lady let go of him and stuck out her tongue mockingly. "For now, buuut, once our Tyrant comes back with thralls and gold from a long campaign, what do you think he and all his warriors, and the thralls too, will spent it all on? I've already prepared a dozen new outfits and reserved all the wine Clarion's vineyard can produce! New glassware too, from Thulieth.~"

All elven names, which was surprising. Elves usually were not so productive, they were too busy with martial training, competitions and never ending feasts and parties you were expected to attend to maintain social standing. It seemed however that now that the Tyrant and all of the diehard warriors, those with passions other than fighting were free to pursue other activities without judgement.

Hopefully the war would take a long time.

"Eh. I think I could make something for you then, I have a design in mind I think you might like actually..."

tl;dr: While the martial elite of Tacenie is gone, craftsmen thrive.

Closed - After The Storm - A Low-Fantasy / No Magic Roleplay

Supreme Tyrant Cassandalur

The throne room of the Supreme Tyrant of all of Nur Tacenie was very much an alegory for the entire country. An obviously once beautiful room with its supernatural craftmanship still visible, but that laid broken and irreparable, the whole structure even listing slightly to the left. Most of the 'seats' in the room were broken columns and loose stones that had fallen from the ceiling since it somehow felt wrong to bring in non-Tacenian craftmanship inside this place. They wanted to keep this just the way it was, as if to remember that their ancient glory hadn't been all a dream.

On the throne sat Cassandalur Elandril, Supreme Tyrant over all elves, tired, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation as he wondered why he even tried.

He knew Ella well, the deviant who had gone native. She had been one of his greatest tools at times, but now she was one of his greatest headache. All around him elves argued about the news of Ordun's raid within their territories. The discussion wasn't about what to do, everyone agreed this meant war and an invasion or Ordun, no, they argued about who should get the loot and rule over Ordun once they had won, as if victory was a sure thing.

"Its a desert. They have walls. Do you imbeciles really think this will be that easy? Does no one remember Ul-Krazel?"

Cassandalur said, his voice prompting a silence in the room. Ul-Krazel, it had been the capital of the Krazel Kingdom, the most developed polity Tacenie had faced before, that is until now. Its walls had given them trouble and it had been in a perfect area to lay siege, the Supreme Tyrant could already see the logistical nightmare that the invasion of Ordun would be.

"Sometimes I wonder why I'm even sitting on this throne."

"Yeah, sometimes a lot of us wonder that to."

All eyes turned toward the elf who had said this, Solandil. Solandil, also known as 'Tacenie's Champion' was one of the rare elves that could claim to be undefeated in combat and one who even had been Supreme Tyrant for a while.

Cassandalur's annoyance became anger as he rose from his throne.

"Oh really?! Do you Solandil?! Well if you're wondering, how about we resolve that right now!"

He drew his sword, to which Solandil only rolled his eyes. Cassandalur however would not let go.

"Ohhh no, you don't get to ignore me! Say it, say why it is ME who is Tyrant and not YOU!"

Indeed, in Tacenie where might made right, Solandil should be the one to rule, shouldn't he? The champion gave the Tyrant an annoyed glare but finally relented.

"Fine! You rule Cassandalur, because you have an inkling of what you're doing! And I don't! We trust you to lead us through this ordeal so please!"

The Tyrant sheathed his blade and slowly sat back down, satisfied. Solandil was right and everyone knew it. All the elves were ancient by the world's standard, but even by elven standard Cassandalur was old, so old he remembered a time before Tacenie even took off the ground, back when elves involved themselves in worldly politics during the previous age and what it took to build an empire. Solandil had tried to rule the world at the edge of a blade, but it had almost led to disaster, civil war even! Cassandalur brought stability and most could now not even conceive of another being supreme Tyrant. He may not be the strongest warrior, but none dared to challenge him.

"That's right... And as I have committed to do so, I will protect life and property of all elves, but I will decide how we will win, and what the spoils will be."

tl;dr: Supreme Tyrant explains why he is in charge and commits to strike back against Ordun

Tacenie Prepares for Battle

Cormak rode with Ella and her warband to meet with the legendary supreme Tyrant. He had been surprised when Ella told her she knew him personally, calling him a practical man, but she then explained that most elves knew each other, or at least of each other. It came with living such a long life. The sight of his warband was... out of this world. He personally knew what one of these warriors equipped with Tacenian Steel could do and had never seen more than 100 assembled together, but here there must have been 5000! Plus a countless number of thralls... though to his surprise, a lot of them didn't seem equiped for war, instead they looked like builders. It made sense then how quickly the army of the Supreme Tyrant established camp and even fortified it, leaving nothing to chance even in friendly territories.

When the fated meeting finally happened in the luxurious silk tent of the Supreme Tyrant, another thing that surprised Cormak was to see among those close to Cassandalur were some humans and other non elves. Ella opened her arms as if greeting an old friend.

"Cassy! You old rascal, how have you been?"

Cassandalur's eye twitched, as if the mere presence of Ella was starting to give him a headache.

"I'm coming personally to get you out of your own mess, as I am certain you have planned that I would, so do me the favor of not 'Cassy'ing me, Ella!"

In response, the lesser Tyrant smiled and bent the knee, doing so with far more respect Cormak had ever seen Ella do in his entire life! He and the rest of her entourage did the same.

"I apologise, Cassandalur, and I thank you for lending your helping hand in these difficult times. I will repay you tricefold, this I swear."

This at least appeared to soothe the Supreme Tyrant who sighed before looking down on Ella.

"Good. You wish to repay me? Then how are the roads I commanded you to build. Did your thralls begin crop rotation the way I instructed?"

"Errr, it's uh, it's getting there, my Tyrant?"

Cormak looked at Ella with narrowed eyes. Roads? Crop rotation? Cassandalur rolled his eyes, understanding perfectly that Ella had ignored his orders. There was no anger however, unfortunately he had come to expect his own kind to never lift a finger to do anything that didn't immediately benefit them.

"You damned fool. Well you wanted me here so now I expect things to change. I expect you burned your crops to deny them to the enemy? I brought grain so your thralls don't starve and can plant new crops, which they will ROTATE with the seasons from now on! Get your people to work with mine, we'll need to build roads for the supply lines while we march into Ordun."

Ella nodded meekly to the command, simply happy to avoid punishment. Cormak however dared to rise his head to look at the Supreme Tyrant, curious about a person that obviously was a lot different from most of the elves he knew. Cassandalur spoke one final time.

"Ella. Take some of your companions, SOME of them. You will be my peace envoy to Ordun. Demand our tribute so they may not say we didn't warn them."

Ella sighed but didn't protest. She knew they would refuse, hell Cassandalur surely knew it too, but the Supreme Tyrant insisted on consistency in diplomacy.

tl;dr: The Supreme Tyrant arrives and is unhappy with Ella, preparations are made to invade Ordun and send a peace envoy.

Closed - After The Storm - A Low-Fantasy / No Magic Roleplay

Ego and Arrow

Jariel was as always disappointed by the Kurgan 'warriors' he was training. Well, training probably wasn't the best word for the pummeling he was giving them, with the only advice he handed them, if you could call it that, being to get up and try again. He had demanded 20 of them fight him knowing full well at a certain point adding numbers was meaningless since they didn't even have the space to attack him, but that wasn't really the wait, was it? No, it simply felt good to pummel humans, to feel superior compared to these mayflies who could never hope to match his experience.~ But somehow, despite his horrible teaching style, they were getting a little bit better, taking in new moves and learning to parry by observation and trial and error.

This session however was interrupted by a rider coming in the village's training field at full speed before deftly jumping off his horse to then kowtow in front of the elf.

"My lord! I come from a stream east, Bikhaan riders-"

He caught his breath as Jariel smiled with satisfaction. That human fucker Ella had been right again! She had expected a retaliation from Ordun and instructed him and his riders to keep watch over the few watering holes of the dry region, knowing any substantial force would have to stop to one of them.

"Good! Get me my armor and prepare yourselves for battle."

He said with glee. Most of the Kurgans let out a cheer for battle and began to prepare, but some looked at each other with worry. One finally spoke.

"M-my lord, didn't Tyrant Ella command us to move the population to the castles once we caught sight of Ordun's reprisal forces?"

Jariel looked at the man with an annoyed expression before pulling out one of his swords from its sheath with lightning speed, placing it under his throat.

"Ella just wants to be part of the fight to have a share of the loot, but didn't want to wait in your ugly fucking muddy village for it. Send a messenger warning her of my upcoming victory and never question me again."

The man gulped and nodded, Jariel then removed his sword, but not without sliding it against the human's skin and drawing some blood.

"We ride, to victory!"

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And so to meet the Bikhaans Jariel and his riders went. From the start one might have expected the outcome: Jariel and his riders were outnumbered, something he expected to overcome with the sheer determination and skill of his Aspirants, something he might have been right to think, if only the Bikhaans had been so kind as to fight in melee, the way Jariel would have wanted them to fight. They did not.

The elf let out a scream of frustration! His horse had been shot from under him, same as those of all that was left of his Aspirants as they huddled in a circle to form a shield wall to block the arrows raining on them. From time to time they replied by chucking spears at the enemy riders but it was inferior in every way to their bows! With every moment, the circle of riders closed in on their position, their shots becoming more accurate.

Jariel stood proudly at the center, a dozen of arrows sticking out of his magically tempered armor while more clinked and clanked against it to fall harmlessly on the ground. Some had went through, but it would take much more to bring down a Tacenian! Even wounded he was, Jariel still had the energy and focus required to seize a spear being thrown at him mid flight before in a fluid motion twirling it around and throwing it back, sticking it in the chest of a Bikhaan who had dared to get too close to him.

He didn't care, he'd kill them all himself if he had to, he was Jariel Silorian and had lived for five centuries, the human who would kill him wasn't born yet!

But before he knew it, the number of his Aspirants had further dwindled and he saw the enemy lining up for a final melee charge to break up the last remaining stuborn survivors. Finally, glorious melee!

As the enemy charged, Jariel put all his strength and rage in his blade, ignoring the lance breaking against his chestplate as he swung and decapitated the horse in front of him, his blade continuing to then split its rider in half. For a moment, the battlefield seemed to stand still at this display of strength, but as the dust fell, it was clear that he was now alone.

More arrows hit his armor harmlessly, some being struck midair by his blade as brave men surrounded and charged him. Unlike his aspirants during their 'training' at the camp, these men were more afraid of what would happen if they failed to hit the elf than what would happen should they manage to hurt him! Something hit him behind the head and even with his helmet things started to become blurry.

Then, a lucky hit.

Jariel tried to scream as he raised a hand on his neck, but all that came out was a gurgle. He tried to charge the man who had struck him, but his legs refused to follow and he fell down to his knees, a look of... surprise on his face. He was going to die. How could this have happened? He was Jariel, he was Tacenian...

tl;dr: The man in charge of watching the Ordun border thinks he can face its forces and fails to do so.

The only thing you can do

"I do not understand. We are more numerous, we are the more skillful warriors- why not ride out and crush them?" The human asked to his Mistress. Ella pouted, annoyed that her boy-toy was being so chatty today. She guessed she could understand however; here they were, naked in her chambers after a session of lovemaking while an army camped outside the castle, having just burned down his village after he had been ordered to burn down his own crops to deny them from the invader.

She understood however. Cormak, unlike many of her previous Chosens, cared about his people. After his promotion during the raid on Ordun, he had came back with many ideas on how to improve things for his people, good ideas even, but now it was all gone and there was nothing he could do to protect his home.

"Because I'm telling you we're not doing that, isn't that enough?" She said from the bed to Cormak as he paced around the room, audibly annoyed that he'd question her. He turned to look at her and sighed before being silent for a moment.

"...Do not misunderstand me, my Tyrant. I am not questioning your order, I am just wondering why we do what we do. I want to understand so I can better serve you."

Ella raised an eyebrow and smiled, amused that Cormak actually had quite the way with words. He was still questioning her of course, but he did endear her to answer.

"Because you can't outskill an arrow." She said with a shrug. Cormak frowned, uncertain what this meant so she continued. "If we go out, they'll just get on their horses and leave, then when we turn our backs on them, they'll ride back in and pelt us with arrows. And I don't have anything against that. The only way to beat tactics like this is either get them to follow us in a forest, which we don't have any near and if they're smart, they don't follow us in, or to have more missile units than them, and it would take months for me to train you guys to use bows, years for you to actually be good with one."

She explained. Cormak looked at her for a moment, taking in what she said before sitting on the bend and leaning forward to rest his chin on his fist.

"...After this, I will have every man and child train archery for one day every week. I now understand that this is an area in which we are lacking."

Uh. No raging against how dishonorable this was? Just acceptance of the facts. Ella was pleasantly surprised. She moved from the bed to sit beside him and give him a pat on the back. Suddenly however, the door flung open, showing one of Ella's elven companion.

"Ella, you might want to come and see this."

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The first thing Ella noticed with great satisfaction when she reached the gatehouse overlooking the Ordun camp in front of the castle was how a lot of them were shitting themselves, literally. Looks like they had drank the water from the well she had 'spiced up' for them. The second thing was a very large man clad in a huge heavy bronze armor screaming at the Castle.

"Tyrant! Come and face me you craven knife eared witch! You attack peasants in the middle of the night and hide behind your walls when Oran-Shor's retribution comes for your head! See how you fare in combat against a true dragon hearted warrior!"

Ella's reaction was to have a half snort/half giggle of amusement at the challenge, though behind her Cormak stepped forward and placed a knee on the ground.

"My Tyrant, allow me to face this upstart in your name."

Around him, Ella's elven cohort frowned at the suggestion.

"Watch your mouth, thrall, you are unworthy of such an honor!"

Still amused, Ella winked at Cormak.

"Yeah thrall, don't think you can just rob me of my fun."

The elf nodded in agreement until his eyes widened in surprise as he turned toward Ella.

"W-wait, you can't mean-"

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The doors of the castle opened to show a single Tacenian walking out. Ella was barefooted and wearing luxurious silk gown probably worth more than the Legionary would ever make in a lifetime alongside a simple shortsword at her side. She raised her arms as she walked toward the man who had been taunting her.

"Here I am, manling! The knife eared bitch who enslaved your kinsmen, killed your priests and pissed on the altar of whatshisname your dragon god."

There was a moment of silence and... hesitation, at the sheer overconfidence displayed before them. The bronze clad warrior finally raised his hand to undo the brooch holding his cape to free himself from it and let the sun shine on his armor.

"Oran-Shor blesses me this day for his light has blinded you to your own hubris and I will be his tool to teach your kind humility."

Saying this, he took out his sword and readied his shield. Meanwhile, Ella pouted.

"Hmmmm... I think I will kill you with... a thumb. The left one. The right one's too powerful for you."

She said clearly while raising her thumb, provoking a bout of laughter from the assembled elves and men on the wall behind her. With this, she began walking toward the would be champion of Ordun as he did the same toward her.

He wasn't mediocre, but Ella could tell from his swings that he had the vibe of 'best student at the academy'. With a certain natural talent and a few tricks since he was left handed but lacking real experience. She simply dodged and weaved, strategically placing herself with the sun at her back as she seemed to move with supernatural speed, starting to dodge his next move before he had even began making it. Until all of a sudden there was a flash of light that blinded the human as Ella stepped to face the sun and drew her short sword at the perfect angle to aim the light at his eyes. In the same swift motion, she sliced at his sword hand, Tacenie alloy effortlessly slicing through his leather gloves and his fingers.

As he reeled and screamed in agony, Ella was a blur of movement as she struck at his heel and the inner elbow of his shield arm to make him fall to his knees with his tendons sliced. The Bikhaan tribesmen watched in silent horror as the Tyrant reached down and took one of the Champion's fingers from the dirt.

"...I never said I'd use MY thumb."

Ella declared loudly with a sadistic smile on her face as she brandished her new 'weapon' and placed a hand on the man's helmet to steady it for the final blow through its eyehole.

tl;dr: Ella explains why she decided to just wait out the riders before facing a champion in a duel.

Closed - After The Storm - A Low-Fantasy / No Magic Roleplay

Tacenie Vainglorious

Even when the storm battered the ruins of Tacenie, its warriors risked the wrath of the skies themselves to dominate. It was their birthright, Tacenie was to enjoy the finer things in life and the world was to provide! The storm might have made the world forget this fact, but it would be made to remember.

The world might hope that with their numbers of fewer than 60.000, there would be a limit to the wants of the elves, but every victory only served to heighten their ambitions. More thralls were needed to make bigger palaces, to make more luxury goods and afford to throw more extravagant parties and celebrations about one's self and deeds. 'Every elf a tyrant!' they said.

All an elf needed to have a good life in this new age was the ambition to take from the world what it wished for.

Tacenie at the edge of the Verdant Loom

"All the thralls are dead Varion, this is an abysmal failure!" One of the elves told the Tyrant. Varion clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to scream back at him 'don't you think I know that?!'. They stood atop what was a small hill of dead Huskborns after the tide of their numbers had finally subsided. It had started to go wrong the moment they had stepped in the forest and had become impossible to manage the moment they had found what one could call a 'settlement' of these mushroom people. The only saving grace the invaders had was that it had been a particularly hot and dry day, so when they decided to set everything on fire it caught on rapidly and dissuaded more enemy reinforcements to show up.

And so they had 'won'. But what had been the point? All the humans they had brought with them were dead, these things had no loot to speak of and Varion doubted they even understood the concept of being taken away from their wood to serve others. At this point however, he had to save face. "You." He said, pointing at one of the... mushroom man that stood in the middle a circle of armed Tacenians. Smaller than the 'warriors' they had faced, bigger than the child sized ones that formed the majority of the captives and they made noises, almost like... singing. They were smart enough to understand that trying to flee led them to be cut down, so, maybe...

Varion walked towards it, taking it by the 'throat' before looking down in disgust at his own hand at the feeling of touching this creature. "YOU! Do you understand me? Tell the others that I want tribute! Give to me, or I will return and I will burn down your disgusting forest!" He dragged it outside the circle and threw him away on the ground before returning to his Brotherhood. Before re entering the armed circle, he stared down every Tacenian survivors. The silent ultimatum was clear: Did anyone want to challenge him for the role of Tyrant here and now? One by one however they looked away. Not here, not now. Good. Maybe he'd keep his rank for a week more, but Varion needed to show some profit or he knew challengers would line up to face him.

With this, the small band left the forest with about two dozen Mycends of all shapes and sizes in tow, maybe they could teach them to farm or something.

tl;dr: A minor Tyrant tries his luck in the mushroom forest, it goes poorly. Gets some captives out of it but that was not good use of resources.

Raid on Ordun

Ella watched with satisfaction the captive walk out from their burning town in their hundreds, walking in a long line with their heads bowed toward Tacenie. Her Kurgan thralls had performed amazingly, which had defied most of her companion's expectations. Kurgans were a battered people, beaten and enslaved by Ordun until they fled east only to meet the Tacenians and a fate that wasn't that much better. But the desire for vengeance was a powerful thing and when Ella called upon them to raise a warband to raid their previous oppressor, they did so with zeal. The Kurgans were like any other humans really, you could give them proper training and weapons, proper motivation however was more unique and made them special somewhat.

"You."

She said, pointing a gracious finger toward a giant of a Kurgan, his scruffy dark hair being the same color as her silky own. She signaled the man to come forward in front of her. "I hear that where others hesitated, you stormed the dragon temple and led the slaughter of the guards and the priests? Impressive." The human simply nodded, having understood that elves didn't like the sound of their rough voices. There were other things they liked however... Ella reached up to the man's face to move it around, look into his eyes, slide her thumb under his lips to examine his teeth like she would livestock. Finally, she smiled, liking what she was seeing.

"Good. Take your pic of the loot and two of the women you want, but do not breed them yet, I want you in my tent tonight." The human's eyes widened as he looked on his fellow thralls as grunts of approval, laughter and cheers erupted. Tonight he would lay with a demigod! "One last thing. You may be my Chosen, if you wish to seize the opportunity." This brought silence among the thralls as eyes turned from the new champion... to the old one. The older Kurgan chief screamed as he tried to pull out his sword, but the younger warrior that had just earned Ella's favor didn't bother and rushed his elder to begin a grapple, throwing him on the ground to he choked the life out of him as everyone around him cheered for a new Chosen.

Ella walked away from the scuffle with satisfaction, not caring the least about the looks of disgust that her Brotherhood gave her, judging her for lowering herself to 'beastiality' and sex with humans. They didn't speak up however, despite her 'quirks' Ella was a generous Tyrant who brought wealth and thralls to those under her. One of her lieutenants approached her.

"It went well, this time. It's been a while since I've seen humans fight like that. We had the drop on them this time, but if they knew we were coming..." Ella merely shrugged. "But they didn't! Come on, whoooo cares about their big bad armored temple guards? If I were you I'd be more annoyed about their fucking walls. I don't have time for walls! Especially not walls in a damn desert where we can't forage for supplies. Nuh uh. Nope. We're going home, I am not dealing with this." The lieutenant raised his eyebrows in surprise. A big victory like that and then just leave? She... did make good points about the logistics of taking walled cities in the desert however.

"...My Tyrant, what if Ordun retaliates?" To this, Ella had a cunning, predatory smile. "Then we won't have to walk through the desert to find new thralls, how kind of them it would be~"

tl;dr: A warband raided an Ordun town, enslaving its population. The warband however finds the idea of trying to siege another city to be daunting and decides to leave with their plunder.