Ninja Dude
Sorry, I wasn't listening...
Also, with Civil Obendiance and 10 cities, I would be generating 100 points, not 125. Although I guess I could use the extra points.... 
Times For Heroes: Chapter 1, Origins
- Thread starter EQandcivfanatic
- Start date
Achilles wanted the ultimate power. He would be the hero who received it. The first god on his list was Dibbler. With his agile mind, given to him by the race of Californians, he quickly found out where the artifact was. Achilles rushed to Los Angeles, where he found Tom Cruise, a wealthy actor and banker in his stronghold treasury. Gold was everywhere, but it was worthless compared to the diamond Cruise was eyeing.
Cruise knew Achilles was in a quest for the power. He lunged at Achilles, only being saved by the Shield of Irvine. The Shield was great and Cruise recoiled. Achilles then cried “Thudd!” and flames exploded from his hilt. Cruise was shocked. Achilles lunged at him, and the flimsy iron armor Cruise was wearing stood no chance.
As Cruise laid dying, Achilles picked up the Diamond. He felt power rushing through him. This was a mere fraction of the power he would claim. Yes. All the worlds glory would belong to him.
Cruise knew Achilles was in a quest for the power. He lunged at Achilles, only being saved by the Shield of Irvine. The Shield was great and Cruise recoiled. Achilles then cried “Thudd!” and flames exploded from his hilt. Cruise was shocked. Achilles lunged at him, and the flimsy iron armor Cruise was wearing stood no chance.
As Cruise laid dying, Achilles picked up the Diamond. He felt power rushing through him. This was a mere fraction of the power he would claim. Yes. All the worlds glory would belong to him.
^Indeed Achilles has captured the Artifact of Dibbler, the Diamond of Dibbler. This will be completely confirmed with the update. I confirm this message. For all those also aspiring to recover artifacts, talk to me before you write stories about it, otherwise you may well make a fool of yourself.
Ace of Gold
MAKE WAY FOR THE BAD GUY
OOC: No, You cant kill Cruise. He is a Star!!
TheLastJacobite
No Commies
The party had not gone as expected. Lowkey, while having enjoyed the start of the evening, found the end to be less than pleasant. Though he did like spending time at Bramberloses
lair, things always ended poorly for him when he had consumed too much nectar around the other gods. This time, his imp had accidentally set ablaze some new creature that the Dark Lady was creating, causing her minions to bodily hurl him from the party, which by Lowkeys standards meant that the evening had not been all that bad. With the happy buzz of intoxication in his head, he had set out to the world to see what he could find. He had briefly stopped by Leifeimaras tree house
or whatever the hell it is, to make a passing joke about the large number of new species she had spawned that past week and the implications therein, resulting in him receiving a large reddened mark on his cheek from the enraged goddess, which he felt was totally worth the joke. He had then gone to the Underworld for a bit, and asked Rorshack how life was treating him, causing the God of Death to place yet another curse on The Trickster Gods head, which he also felt was totally worth the joke. Throughout life, some people gather friends. Others, like Lowkey, accumulate curses, which Lowkey was not all together unhappy with. On occasion, the curses had actually wound up being beneficial, such as the third arm, or the year he had spent with that tail. Lowkey missed the tail. After drinking another few flagons of nectar, Lowkey decided that it was time for him to take a nap under his favorite tree in the entire world. The tree was situated in a large and expansive field in the middle of Azmenaal, its branches reaching hundreds of feet into the air, and, combined with the soft summer breeze from the adjacent lake, and the smell of nature, made it the perfect place for a quick snooze. Lowkey quickly fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of all sorts of tricks to play and pranks to pull. He was eagerly waiting when Azmenaal would have more creatures on it for him to play with.
As Lowkey awoke quite some time later, he found that he was feeling even worse than he usually did after drinking too much. Not only was his head threatening to split open, his throat parched with thirst (which made no sense since he had drank quite a lot of liquids the night previous), and the sun threatening to blind him with its evil light, he felt extremely hot and uncomfortable. His drink-addled brain soon realized that this stemmed from the fact that he was currently on fire. After releasing a pain-filled, but still manly, scream, Lowkey dashed to the nearby lake and threw himself into the water. Arising in a cloud of steam he turned to investigate just how it was he had been set alight. The answer came in the form of his favorite tree, which stood as a towering inferno over the land, trailing smoke and causing a brushfire to spread out in all directions to the surrounding plains. As he stood in shock to the loss of the restful spot, Lowkey spotted a band of Centaur fleeing away to the northwest, bearing torches and some primitive weapons. Sparks shot from his eyes and he was prepared to kill the band and all others of their race that he could find for the desecration of his napping spot when he was reminded of the last time he had had a quarrel with the Centaurs patron god, Thudd. Have you ever had your hand lobbed off and seen it hurled from a mountain top, all for making a mildly insulting comment about your current drinking companions mother and the company she must have kept in order to have such an ugly son? Have you then had to climb down a mountain one handed and spend 4 days trying to find the lost appendage, while said former drinking companion hurls large boulders at you? Then try to reattach your hand by yourself with a dagger, a vine, and dust, until ultimately having to go crawling to that self righteous prig of a goddess Vigaliana and beg her to help you, promising youll never ever try to test the theory over whether or not a Goddess of Healing would be able to bring herself back from the dead without first asking her permission to try? Of course you havent. So you have no frame of reference. Needless to say, Lowkey had no intention of openly challenging Thudd again. He would have to be clever, and Lowkey was very good at being clever.
As he pondered how best to combat those who had insulted him, Lowkey was accosted by a large four legged creature that had been meandering around the field. Lowkey asked the creature what it was and who was its patron god. The creature he simply stared at him with large dumb eyes and chewed on the grass in its mouth. Lowkey asked it what skills it possessed and the creature to stare at him balefully, all the while chewing. He inquired if it had any ideas on how to best his new enemies, to which it only responded moo. After a minutes pondering, Lowkey surmised that the creatures large size and massive horns sprouting from its head could be useful, if only it had a degree of intelligence. It occurred to Lowkey that the centaur who had insulted him were not only numerous, but extremely intelligent, their arson of the previous night aside. If only he could find some way to take some of that intelligence from the Centaur and give it to this, this thing. First he would need to figure out who this creature was created by.
After a little investigating, Lowkey was able to determine that the creature he had found was called a cow and Leifeimara had created them at the behest of Semiv in order to help keep grass levels short of the planet shorter. After asking her permission, and promising to that he would stop asking if he could assist in creating a number of Leifeimaras new races, the Goddess of Nature allowed Lowkey to make minor adjustments to the cows physiology. She stipulated that he would also need Semivs permission, so that cows would continue to do as they were originally created. So, Lowkey made his way over to Semivs workshop, which to be quite frank, was always too orderly for his tastes, and discussed with the God of Order, what had transpired so far. Lowkey pointed out that, while there were other creatures that ate grass, the Centaur were running around almost unchecked, and that if Lowkey were able to change cows a bit, that it would bring more order to world. Semiv countered that such a relationship lent itself to problems, as either race could possibly overwhelm the other, throwing everything out of balance. The two agreed that a third race, were it created and husbanded by a neutral god, would keep a perfect balance in the center of the continent. Though Semiv wanted to discuss the details of just how such a balance could be achieved, Lowkey assured him that it would be taken care of. Before Lowkey departed, the God of Order informed him that Semiv had been receiving prayers from inside the centaur camp from the mystics there. He believed that, with guidance, they could be swayed from their murderous path, as they were belittled by their warrior brethren. Lowkey said that he would see what he could do.
With that, the God of Mischief set off to fulfill his revenge against the centaur. Late that night, he made his way into the war camp of the centaur, robed and bewitched so that none could see his face, nor hear his voice as it actually was. The tribes had been rampaging across much of the Great Plains, under the malevolent eyes of Warlord Kresknar. The Warlord was large, even by centaur standards, wielded a massive two-headed ax, which, as Lowkey approached, he realized bore the runes of Crezth, in a manner that only gods could see. He chuckled to himself as he came to stand before the Warlord, and bowed slowly. The great centaur snorted and asked Who dares appear before Kresknar, the Scourge of Azmenaal? Lowkey raised his head and whispered in a dark rasp I come before you as a servant for our mutual lord, The God of War. He is pleased with your progress and commends you and your people on what has been wrought in his name. This accolade caused the centaur chieftains and war leaders that had formed a circled around the cowled stranger to grin amongst each other, and beat their chests and hit sword and shield together in honor of their patron god. Kresknar raised his hand for silence, which fell immediately. The War Bringer could have well relayed that message through one of our useless mystics. What is your true purpose for being here? Now it was Lowkeys turn to smile. Our master fears, though awesome as your host is, that there may be complications in the planning of the grand strategy of your campaign. While you have done well so far, you have no ultimate goal, aside wholesale slaughter and mayhem. This does not fit in with Lord Thudds plans. Therefore he has sent me to...facilitate a speedy victory in his name.
Kresknar snorted. And how can you help in this? You do not look to be much of a fighter. The God of Mischief replied I do not need to be a fighter, as your people are the greatest warriors on the face of the earth. Our master has taught me a technique that would allow my body to serve as a conduit for the combined power of the centaur race, and use that power to make your people an even more fearsome force. However, I will need the aid of your mystics in order to complete the spell. This brought sneers and derisive laughter from the assembled chieftains and warriors. Chuckling, Kresknar called for the head mystic, Cenatan. The centaur mystic though diminutive for a member of his own race was still quite large compared to other races, and stood about equal height to Lowkey. He looked upon the disguised god with eyes that had seemingly lost all hope. In a warrior society, the weak and small, especially those who wielded magic, were often misunderstood and ignored, as they were not as skilled wielding a blade as their larger counterparts. Kresknar had kept them alive only because they had proved to be dangerous opponents, able to hurl lightening at enemies, and kill many hearty warriors in mere seconds. Standing behind the Warlord, half in shadow, Cenatan asked how he could serve the great chieftain. Kresknar informed him that the hooded stranger was a servant of Thudd and that Cenatan and his mystics would aid him in completing his spell to further their conquests. His shoulders slumped in defeat, the head mystic beckoned for Lowkey to follow him.
While the majority of the centaur band lived in a large sprawling encampment, filled with raucous festivities and carousing, the mystics resided in a small circular enclosure away from the main camp. Their adobes were small and shabby, unlike the vast tents of the chiefs and warriors. As Lowkey and Cenatan approached, the mystics emerged from their camp homes and formed a circle around the two. Cenatan began to speak, relaying what Lowkey had told Kresknar, when the God of Mischief raised his hand, stopping the mystic in midsentence. While I am able to fool your brethren, I do not intend to deceive you. I come here seeking your aid to punish those who rule you. With that, he removed his cowl and the spells around it, allowing the shocked mystics to see him as he truly was. I come here to tell you that Semiv has heard your prayers for salvation and justice, and such will happen if you aid me. Cenatan recovered first from being in the presence of one of the Twelve and asked What would you have us do, Trickster? Lowkey smiled darkly I need you to collect some ingredients for me.
A few hours later, Cenatan and Lowkey returned to the Warlords tent, carrying a bag full of herbs, a silver dagger and a large stone basin. Lowkey, once more cowled, placed the basin in the center of the tent and asked Kresknar to summon his chieftains and war leaders. When they had all been assembled, Lowkey began. Our lord Thudd has sent me here to make the centaur even more powerful than you already are now. At the end of this ceremony, your warriors will grow in size by an enormous amount, your strength will be second to none, and there will be nothing in all of Azmenaal that will be able to stop you. This brought a cheer from the assembled centaur until Kresknar called for silence. He turned his red eyes towards Cenatan and asked Is it as he says? Have you consulted the auguries? Cenatan stepped forward and bowed low before the Warlord and state that the portents showed that the spell would accomplish all that and more, and that by the end of the night, the centaur people would be changed forever. Then let it be so! Kresknar shouted. Lowkey had Cenatan grind and combine the ingredients in the large basin while the Warlord and the assembled chieftains gathered around it. He then had them each in turn run the dagger over their palm, dripping their blood into the large bowl. As the last chieftain did so, the blood drenched herbs began to smoke. Noxious black fumes filled the tent, causing the assembled centaur to cough and wheeze. Lowkey threw off his robe, gave a mirthless cackle, and, grabbing the basin, vanished in a flash of light. As one, the centaur everywhere experienced a splitting headache, blinding pain, fell to their knees and passed out for several minutes.
When they awoke, the centaur had a hard time figuring out what had happened to them. None of them could recall what they had been doing, or even where they were. This lead to sudden wild and outrageous accusations to fly, and suddenly fights were breaking out all over the war camp. Where they had once been smart and cunning, every mare, stallion and foal was now brutish and dimwitted. Their unified effort disintegrated into infighting and constant bickering. Never again would such a great host be assembled. Had any of them thought to check, they would have noticed that Cenatan and the other mystics had all disappeared, along with the mysterious stranger that none of them ever remembered having seen. Lowkey had sent them to Semiv, who taught them his ways, and over time, had their appearance change, so they only slightly resembled their centaur cousins, at which time they took up the name of their first leader. Lowkey, armed with the intelligence and ingenuity of the centaur, went to work reshaping the race of cows into a more formidable opponent. He made them bipedal, along with strong arms and the wit to know how to use them properly. He also made sure that the Minotaur, as he called them, would be able to stand against the centaur who had insulted him and make sure that the foul beasts never posed as great a threat as they had ever again.
As Lowkey awoke quite some time later, he found that he was feeling even worse than he usually did after drinking too much. Not only was his head threatening to split open, his throat parched with thirst (which made no sense since he had drank quite a lot of liquids the night previous), and the sun threatening to blind him with its evil light, he felt extremely hot and uncomfortable. His drink-addled brain soon realized that this stemmed from the fact that he was currently on fire. After releasing a pain-filled, but still manly, scream, Lowkey dashed to the nearby lake and threw himself into the water. Arising in a cloud of steam he turned to investigate just how it was he had been set alight. The answer came in the form of his favorite tree, which stood as a towering inferno over the land, trailing smoke and causing a brushfire to spread out in all directions to the surrounding plains. As he stood in shock to the loss of the restful spot, Lowkey spotted a band of Centaur fleeing away to the northwest, bearing torches and some primitive weapons. Sparks shot from his eyes and he was prepared to kill the band and all others of their race that he could find for the desecration of his napping spot when he was reminded of the last time he had had a quarrel with the Centaurs patron god, Thudd. Have you ever had your hand lobbed off and seen it hurled from a mountain top, all for making a mildly insulting comment about your current drinking companions mother and the company she must have kept in order to have such an ugly son? Have you then had to climb down a mountain one handed and spend 4 days trying to find the lost appendage, while said former drinking companion hurls large boulders at you? Then try to reattach your hand by yourself with a dagger, a vine, and dust, until ultimately having to go crawling to that self righteous prig of a goddess Vigaliana and beg her to help you, promising youll never ever try to test the theory over whether or not a Goddess of Healing would be able to bring herself back from the dead without first asking her permission to try? Of course you havent. So you have no frame of reference. Needless to say, Lowkey had no intention of openly challenging Thudd again. He would have to be clever, and Lowkey was very good at being clever.
As he pondered how best to combat those who had insulted him, Lowkey was accosted by a large four legged creature that had been meandering around the field. Lowkey asked the creature what it was and who was its patron god. The creature he simply stared at him with large dumb eyes and chewed on the grass in its mouth. Lowkey asked it what skills it possessed and the creature to stare at him balefully, all the while chewing. He inquired if it had any ideas on how to best his new enemies, to which it only responded moo. After a minutes pondering, Lowkey surmised that the creatures large size and massive horns sprouting from its head could be useful, if only it had a degree of intelligence. It occurred to Lowkey that the centaur who had insulted him were not only numerous, but extremely intelligent, their arson of the previous night aside. If only he could find some way to take some of that intelligence from the Centaur and give it to this, this thing. First he would need to figure out who this creature was created by.
After a little investigating, Lowkey was able to determine that the creature he had found was called a cow and Leifeimara had created them at the behest of Semiv in order to help keep grass levels short of the planet shorter. After asking her permission, and promising to that he would stop asking if he could assist in creating a number of Leifeimaras new races, the Goddess of Nature allowed Lowkey to make minor adjustments to the cows physiology. She stipulated that he would also need Semivs permission, so that cows would continue to do as they were originally created. So, Lowkey made his way over to Semivs workshop, which to be quite frank, was always too orderly for his tastes, and discussed with the God of Order, what had transpired so far. Lowkey pointed out that, while there were other creatures that ate grass, the Centaur were running around almost unchecked, and that if Lowkey were able to change cows a bit, that it would bring more order to world. Semiv countered that such a relationship lent itself to problems, as either race could possibly overwhelm the other, throwing everything out of balance. The two agreed that a third race, were it created and husbanded by a neutral god, would keep a perfect balance in the center of the continent. Though Semiv wanted to discuss the details of just how such a balance could be achieved, Lowkey assured him that it would be taken care of. Before Lowkey departed, the God of Order informed him that Semiv had been receiving prayers from inside the centaur camp from the mystics there. He believed that, with guidance, they could be swayed from their murderous path, as they were belittled by their warrior brethren. Lowkey said that he would see what he could do.
With that, the God of Mischief set off to fulfill his revenge against the centaur. Late that night, he made his way into the war camp of the centaur, robed and bewitched so that none could see his face, nor hear his voice as it actually was. The tribes had been rampaging across much of the Great Plains, under the malevolent eyes of Warlord Kresknar. The Warlord was large, even by centaur standards, wielded a massive two-headed ax, which, as Lowkey approached, he realized bore the runes of Crezth, in a manner that only gods could see. He chuckled to himself as he came to stand before the Warlord, and bowed slowly. The great centaur snorted and asked Who dares appear before Kresknar, the Scourge of Azmenaal? Lowkey raised his head and whispered in a dark rasp I come before you as a servant for our mutual lord, The God of War. He is pleased with your progress and commends you and your people on what has been wrought in his name. This accolade caused the centaur chieftains and war leaders that had formed a circled around the cowled stranger to grin amongst each other, and beat their chests and hit sword and shield together in honor of their patron god. Kresknar raised his hand for silence, which fell immediately. The War Bringer could have well relayed that message through one of our useless mystics. What is your true purpose for being here? Now it was Lowkeys turn to smile. Our master fears, though awesome as your host is, that there may be complications in the planning of the grand strategy of your campaign. While you have done well so far, you have no ultimate goal, aside wholesale slaughter and mayhem. This does not fit in with Lord Thudds plans. Therefore he has sent me to...facilitate a speedy victory in his name.
Kresknar snorted. And how can you help in this? You do not look to be much of a fighter. The God of Mischief replied I do not need to be a fighter, as your people are the greatest warriors on the face of the earth. Our master has taught me a technique that would allow my body to serve as a conduit for the combined power of the centaur race, and use that power to make your people an even more fearsome force. However, I will need the aid of your mystics in order to complete the spell. This brought sneers and derisive laughter from the assembled chieftains and warriors. Chuckling, Kresknar called for the head mystic, Cenatan. The centaur mystic though diminutive for a member of his own race was still quite large compared to other races, and stood about equal height to Lowkey. He looked upon the disguised god with eyes that had seemingly lost all hope. In a warrior society, the weak and small, especially those who wielded magic, were often misunderstood and ignored, as they were not as skilled wielding a blade as their larger counterparts. Kresknar had kept them alive only because they had proved to be dangerous opponents, able to hurl lightening at enemies, and kill many hearty warriors in mere seconds. Standing behind the Warlord, half in shadow, Cenatan asked how he could serve the great chieftain. Kresknar informed him that the hooded stranger was a servant of Thudd and that Cenatan and his mystics would aid him in completing his spell to further their conquests. His shoulders slumped in defeat, the head mystic beckoned for Lowkey to follow him.
While the majority of the centaur band lived in a large sprawling encampment, filled with raucous festivities and carousing, the mystics resided in a small circular enclosure away from the main camp. Their adobes were small and shabby, unlike the vast tents of the chiefs and warriors. As Lowkey and Cenatan approached, the mystics emerged from their camp homes and formed a circle around the two. Cenatan began to speak, relaying what Lowkey had told Kresknar, when the God of Mischief raised his hand, stopping the mystic in midsentence. While I am able to fool your brethren, I do not intend to deceive you. I come here seeking your aid to punish those who rule you. With that, he removed his cowl and the spells around it, allowing the shocked mystics to see him as he truly was. I come here to tell you that Semiv has heard your prayers for salvation and justice, and such will happen if you aid me. Cenatan recovered first from being in the presence of one of the Twelve and asked What would you have us do, Trickster? Lowkey smiled darkly I need you to collect some ingredients for me.
A few hours later, Cenatan and Lowkey returned to the Warlords tent, carrying a bag full of herbs, a silver dagger and a large stone basin. Lowkey, once more cowled, placed the basin in the center of the tent and asked Kresknar to summon his chieftains and war leaders. When they had all been assembled, Lowkey began. Our lord Thudd has sent me here to make the centaur even more powerful than you already are now. At the end of this ceremony, your warriors will grow in size by an enormous amount, your strength will be second to none, and there will be nothing in all of Azmenaal that will be able to stop you. This brought a cheer from the assembled centaur until Kresknar called for silence. He turned his red eyes towards Cenatan and asked Is it as he says? Have you consulted the auguries? Cenatan stepped forward and bowed low before the Warlord and state that the portents showed that the spell would accomplish all that and more, and that by the end of the night, the centaur people would be changed forever. Then let it be so! Kresknar shouted. Lowkey had Cenatan grind and combine the ingredients in the large basin while the Warlord and the assembled chieftains gathered around it. He then had them each in turn run the dagger over their palm, dripping their blood into the large bowl. As the last chieftain did so, the blood drenched herbs began to smoke. Noxious black fumes filled the tent, causing the assembled centaur to cough and wheeze. Lowkey threw off his robe, gave a mirthless cackle, and, grabbing the basin, vanished in a flash of light. As one, the centaur everywhere experienced a splitting headache, blinding pain, fell to their knees and passed out for several minutes.
When they awoke, the centaur had a hard time figuring out what had happened to them. None of them could recall what they had been doing, or even where they were. This lead to sudden wild and outrageous accusations to fly, and suddenly fights were breaking out all over the war camp. Where they had once been smart and cunning, every mare, stallion and foal was now brutish and dimwitted. Their unified effort disintegrated into infighting and constant bickering. Never again would such a great host be assembled. Had any of them thought to check, they would have noticed that Cenatan and the other mystics had all disappeared, along with the mysterious stranger that none of them ever remembered having seen. Lowkey had sent them to Semiv, who taught them his ways, and over time, had their appearance change, so they only slightly resembled their centaur cousins, at which time they took up the name of their first leader. Lowkey, armed with the intelligence and ingenuity of the centaur, went to work reshaping the race of cows into a more formidable opponent. He made them bipedal, along with strong arms and the wit to know how to use them properly. He also made sure that the Minotaur, as he called them, would be able to stand against the centaur who had insulted him and make sure that the foul beasts never posed as great a threat as they had ever again.
Israelite9191
You should be reading
Most non-Upper Midwesterners woudn't know those locations.For instance, I know where lake Michigan is, but I have no idea about the rest
We, the Little Folk of the Valley, Children of Pertruc, are quite insulted that you would deny us our identity. We are no Gnomes, though they are our closest kin, we are Peit'hom; we would appreciate it if you would remember that.
As to the claims of terrorising your villages and trade, we must respectfully disagree. It is not in the nature of the Peit'hom to be aggressive towards our neighbours, particularly not our brethren Little Folk. We hope that in the future you will not be so quick to judge peaceful Peit'hom traders and lure them into battle. We are indeed brethren, we Dwarves, Gnomes, and Peit'hom; it is only proper that in the future that the Little Folk work together.
OOC: As I have specified the Peit'hom as generally peaceful folk, intent mainly on defending their homes and growing their wealth through trade, we can only assume that any conflicts with your ships have been misunderstandings.
Well, yeah, I assumed that the Marine Dwarves were an isolated group, like the Hill Dwarves, although I can imagine that there would be other populations throughout the Great Lakes, and on Hudson Bay. I'll put more of them in for the next map, or if EQ asks me to change something.
Israelite9191
You should be reading
When the Fourth Generation of Mortals came to an end the lands of Cên'schla [1] were split between the ancient Dwarven Kingdom of Dunoor and the Gnomish Kingdom of D'lasu. While long the brethren Little Folk had lived in peace, this was not to last, for the Gnomish farmer and the Dwarven miner could not live forever in harmony. When war came, it was brutal. For five years the Dwarves and Gnomes fought one another, raising great armies only to see them destroyed in cold blood.
It was in the Sixth Year of the Fourth Generation that the Great War of the Little Folk came to its head, in the Battle of Poh'viy. The Gnomes, long on the losing side against their larger, more muscled foes, had gathered en masse in one final, all-encompassing armies. They were not alone. King Perfin the Valiant, at his wits end, had turned at long last to the mother of the Gnomes, Rei'arb the Forestwalker [2]. In Her children's time of need she sent the Ent folk, Her most beloved creation.
On seeing the ancient Ents leaving their forest homes, the Dwarves fled in terror, seeking refuge in their caves and ancient halls. Seeing his beloved sons flee before such weak things as the soft vegetable matter of the Ents, the Dwarven King Armo turned to his Father, the G-d Duteir of the Mines [3]. Furious at the intervention of the sentimental Rei'arb, Duteir sent his own servants into battle. From the heart of the earth, from the bottom of the Dwarves' deepest mines, the Giant Spiders emerged, lending their strength to the Dwarven armies and giving them the courage to march against the Gnomes.
Thus on the battlefield wood met steel and life met death. In the beginning the Gnomish forces seemed poised to win, the Ents crushing their victims with easy strides as the Gnomes manoeuvred with deft through the battlfield throng. Then came the death of Perfin the Valiant. Standing astride an Entish ally Perfin was struck with a Dwarf's throwing axe, plummeting to his death. As powerful as the Ents were and as cunning as the Gnomes were, without the strong leadership of their king, they stood no match to the numbers, strength, and ingenuity of the Dwarves and Spiders. Once the Ents fled the battlefield, relieved of their obligation by the death of Perfin, the Gnomes stood no chance under the pressure of Dwarven axes. By nightfall the battle was secured.
Thus the Kingdom of D'lasu, as old as the Age of Mortals, was destroyed. There would be no new king to succeed Perfin as the Gnomish villages and towns dissolved and their inhabitants fled southwards, towards the lands of their fabled cousins the Toata. Likewise the Kingdom of Dunoor was destroyed, falling to internal bickery over the spoils of war. The Dwarves were scattered to the north and west, across the expanses of Cên'schla to the hills of the north and the mountains fo the west.
In their place would rise a new people, under a different g-d. Pertruc of the Jest [4], long content to remain out of the affiars of the Mortal Races, came to Cên'schla....
[1] - Roughly the OTL Upper Midwest, including northern Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin, southern Ontario, Michigan, northwestern Ohio, and northern Indiana
[2] - Leifeimara
[3] - Crezth
[4] - Lowkey
All names/terms are in Peit'hom, so other people feel free to use other names for entities mentioned herein. This (mythic) history is also as it is recorded among the Peit'hom, so versions known to the Dwarven, Gnomish, Centaur, and other folk may be different.
It was in the Sixth Year of the Fourth Generation that the Great War of the Little Folk came to its head, in the Battle of Poh'viy. The Gnomes, long on the losing side against their larger, more muscled foes, had gathered en masse in one final, all-encompassing armies. They were not alone. King Perfin the Valiant, at his wits end, had turned at long last to the mother of the Gnomes, Rei'arb the Forestwalker [2]. In Her children's time of need she sent the Ent folk, Her most beloved creation.
On seeing the ancient Ents leaving their forest homes, the Dwarves fled in terror, seeking refuge in their caves and ancient halls. Seeing his beloved sons flee before such weak things as the soft vegetable matter of the Ents, the Dwarven King Armo turned to his Father, the G-d Duteir of the Mines [3]. Furious at the intervention of the sentimental Rei'arb, Duteir sent his own servants into battle. From the heart of the earth, from the bottom of the Dwarves' deepest mines, the Giant Spiders emerged, lending their strength to the Dwarven armies and giving them the courage to march against the Gnomes.
Thus on the battlefield wood met steel and life met death. In the beginning the Gnomish forces seemed poised to win, the Ents crushing their victims with easy strides as the Gnomes manoeuvred with deft through the battlfield throng. Then came the death of Perfin the Valiant. Standing astride an Entish ally Perfin was struck with a Dwarf's throwing axe, plummeting to his death. As powerful as the Ents were and as cunning as the Gnomes were, without the strong leadership of their king, they stood no match to the numbers, strength, and ingenuity of the Dwarves and Spiders. Once the Ents fled the battlefield, relieved of their obligation by the death of Perfin, the Gnomes stood no chance under the pressure of Dwarven axes. By nightfall the battle was secured.
Thus the Kingdom of D'lasu, as old as the Age of Mortals, was destroyed. There would be no new king to succeed Perfin as the Gnomish villages and towns dissolved and their inhabitants fled southwards, towards the lands of their fabled cousins the Toata. Likewise the Kingdom of Dunoor was destroyed, falling to internal bickery over the spoils of war. The Dwarves were scattered to the north and west, across the expanses of Cên'schla to the hills of the north and the mountains fo the west.
In their place would rise a new people, under a different g-d. Pertruc of the Jest [4], long content to remain out of the affiars of the Mortal Races, came to Cên'schla....
[1] - Roughly the OTL Upper Midwest, including northern Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin, southern Ontario, Michigan, northwestern Ohio, and northern Indiana
[2] - Leifeimara
[3] - Crezth
[4] - Lowkey
All names/terms are in Peit'hom, so other people feel free to use other names for entities mentioned herein. This (mythic) history is also as it is recorded among the Peit'hom, so versions known to the Dwarven, Gnomish, Centaur, and other folk may be different.
Crezth is correct, and i believe i mentioned earlier that though there is no set amount of time for each update, they are considered no longer than a year.
DarthNader
Destroyer of Worlds
Most non-Upper Midwesterners woudn't know those locations.
We, the Little Folk of the Valley, Children of Pertruc, are quite insulted that you would deny us our identity. We are no Gnomes, though they are our closest kin, we are Peit'hom; we would appreciate it if you would remember that.
As to the claims of terrorising your villages and trade, we must respectfully disagree. It is not in the nature of the Peit'hom to be aggressive towards our neighbours, particularly not our brethren Little Folk. We hope that in the future you will not be so quick to judge peaceful Peit'hom traders and lure them into battle. We are indeed brethren, we Dwarves, Gnomes, and Peit'hom; it is only proper that in the future that the Little Folk work together.
OOC: As I have specified the Peit'hom as generally peaceful folk, intent mainly on defending their homes and growing their wealth through trade, we can only assume that any conflicts with your ships have been misunderstandings.
Then, what are these claims Dvergarian citizens and traders have made, and also, what of the sudden influx of hill dwarves and gnomes who have come to escape the "expanding Peit’hom kingdoms". If you can prove us wrong, then do so, for we do not want to be correct in this assumption. However, should the evidence be overwhelming against you, we will have to retaliate, or at least demand you stop and compensate us.
We apologize for our calling you gnomes, but as of now, all we have heard about you fits the exact description of a gnome. Also, we must take offense to you calling dwarves and gnomes "Little Folk". Sure we are shorter than most others, but in our culture, "Little Folk" applies to faeries and the like...and we are no faeries. We would consider you to be kin, cousins to the collective dwarven race, and we would be much more happy if you were to consider us as kin as well.
So, if we settle this whole issue about the raiding, then we will be happy to establish connections with you, including trade routes and possibly an alliance. However, this dispute has yet to be resolved, and you have a lot of explaining to do, and should explanation not be made, we will have the exact opposite of trade and alliances between us.
@ EQ: Were my roads and tunnels built...you know, the ones indicated in my first story?
Milarqui
Deity
I've got a question: since my friends the Ourim are a part of the nation of Warden, can I create special units that are Ourim and not Elven? Also, how is it possible that the Drell have been able to get into the Labrador Peninsula (I think it's called like that) when the Ourim and the Elven are right in the middle between the Drell's starting place and that other place?
Most likely they came by way of OTL Baffin Island. You may have noted that there are Ourim in OTL Nunavut. I imagine that there is significant overlap between Drell and Ourim in those regions.
Keep in mind that the northern realms are sparsely populated (with the exception of Hek'Hekath, I suppose), so it probably wouldn't be hard for migrating tribes to pass by each other.
Milarqui
Deity
So, there shouldn't be any problem expanding into Labrador (which, from now on, shall be named Dun Ibera), the Drell in there can be expelled without consequences?
Well, the Drell there are Barbarians- I imagine they'd just be pushed into the peripheries and marginalized, or maybe wiped out. However, they might try to escape to the north. Who knows, it's up to EQ to decide. Once again, just my opinion.
Vertinari118
Deity
@ Milarqui: sure go ahead as the Ourim have no nation. If you need some ideas just ask and I will be happy to help.
Milarqui
Deity
Great! I'll see what can I come up with! I hope that you like my ideas...
Amon Savag
The Great
Amonomo
"Shogun, the orcs have been gathering in the east. Shall we not do something about this!?" said Daimyo Kisiraga to the old Amonomo Shogun, sitting on his throne. His ornamental helmet shining in the sunlight.
For the throne of the Amonomo Shogun was a throne mounted on an especially bred huge spider. Much bigger than the other spiders. The throne was made of gold, with an ornament of the crescent moon above it, to signify that the Shogun had the will of heaven on his side.
The shogun looked to his subbordinate, and asked "How big is this threat?" he asked.
"Shogun, the threat right now is not that big to us as a whole. Left unchecked, however..."
"I understand where you're going to", Interupted the shogun, and he stood. Looking over to his scout, he asked "Did you not say there was a dwarf of some repute among our lands at this moment?"
The scout said back "Yes, Shogun! His name is Morgad Borstout! Anyone would be honored to accomplish a task set forth by the Shogun!"
"Fine! Daimyo Kisiraga! You are entrusted with the task of finding this dwarf and employing him to deal with the orcs. You are to aid him to achieve victory over as many orc clans as possible!"
"Shogun, the orcs have been gathering in the east. Shall we not do something about this!?" said Daimyo Kisiraga to the old Amonomo Shogun, sitting on his throne. His ornamental helmet shining in the sunlight.
For the throne of the Amonomo Shogun was a throne mounted on an especially bred huge spider. Much bigger than the other spiders. The throne was made of gold, with an ornament of the crescent moon above it, to signify that the Shogun had the will of heaven on his side.
The shogun looked to his subbordinate, and asked "How big is this threat?" he asked.
"Shogun, the threat right now is not that big to us as a whole. Left unchecked, however..."
"I understand where you're going to", Interupted the shogun, and he stood. Looking over to his scout, he asked "Did you not say there was a dwarf of some repute among our lands at this moment?"
The scout said back "Yes, Shogun! His name is Morgad Borstout! Anyone would be honored to accomplish a task set forth by the Shogun!"
"Fine! Daimyo Kisiraga! You are entrusted with the task of finding this dwarf and employing him to deal with the orcs. You are to aid him to achieve victory over as many orc clans as possible!"
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
To all, including Morgad Borstout
Go Capture or Kill Centaurs young warriors, we offer 10g per Centaur Head and 25g for every Centaur 'Tamed' out of his or her wild ways.
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