Mazera Mega Story Thread

Who is Avantus Tygran? of what nationality? AKA where is dat spider? XD

Another city had been lost. High Chief Votakara sighed and set the parchment on the table next to his throne and rubbed his temples. The war against the Sheaim and Cualli had taken a turn for the worse now that the Sheaim had shared their secret of raising skeletons to use in battle. Cualli and Sheaim skeletons had stormed Agarthis, backed up by Sheaim spectres. The defenders couldn't do much as they were overcome with fright by the appearance of the spectres. It didn't take long for the city to fall and burn to nothing, but ash.
Votakara turned to his adviser, Yilere, and waited for him to speak. "I'm not sure what you wish me to say, sir. Agarthis has been captured and razed, there's not much we can do, but shelter any who escaped." Votakara nodded and looked the parchment again.
"Didn't we just collect the Tomb of Succellus?" Yilere nodded. "Ok..Start training our mages in the use of life magic. If the hellspawn wish to use death against us, we shall use life in retaliation." Yilere nodded again, seemingly relieved that their nation may be saved afterall.
Votakara didn't feel the same. Despite the idea that could save their nation, he still felt as though his nation may be doomed, that the combined Sheaim and Cualli forces would crush them. That night, something whispered to Votakara in his sleep.

The medic checked on the High Chief and made sure he was stable before continuing on.

The approaching army was like nothing Mazera had ever seen, and no-one who survived that day would forget it. It was less an army then a parade. Brightly colored uniforms dotted the landscape, banners hung from the war elephants, and the Harlequins were throwing confetti and candy at the broken bodies of the Dural advance guard. The rhythm of the oncoming soldiers was something plucked from the mind of a mad composer. Every regiment was marching out of time with its neighbors, every soldier was singing a different song (out of key), and yet the whole was hauntingly beautiful, the polytonic melody of a lunatic siren. The Dural could hear them coming from days away.

The Dural had the best military minds train in their greatest martial academies, a life of study of tactics and war. They knew how to counter every assault, how to fight on any terrain; this was their greatest strength. But how do you counter an army with no plan, a king of a thousand minds? A conventional army would have broken themselves upon the Dural resistance but the days end, but this was no conventional army.

The first thing you notice is the freaks. Shock troops to the last, nearly all bearing scars from the Arena, these whithered and diseases monstrosities threw themselves upon the hardened spikes of the earthworks, laughing even as their bodies drained of blood. The Harlequins didn't attack, but instead challenged the Dural troops to a dance-off. Their intricate moves were so hypnotizing, most of the defenders missed countless chances for couter-attacks. And the catapults - it seemed every one fired different ammunition. Some, like the cantaloupes and the featherbeds, were harmless. Some, like the cattle, were no different then stone, except you could hear them coming. But the most damaging projectiles were the puppets. Before the day was out, every Dural soldier cringed at the cries of "Here I Am!", screamed incessantly as the small wooden dolls rained down on the defenders, throwing fireballs and summoning maelstroms. The few that survived the landing would quickly summon Chaos Marauders from the ether before they were torn apart. The losses were heavy, but still the Dural held.

The Dural had the best military minds train in their greatest martial academies, a life of study of tactics and war. They were highly promoted, and rightly so. But a lifetime of training doesn't mean much when your opponent mimics your movements so well only the uniforms can tell you apart. They say the only sure way to kill a Mimic in single combat is to stab yourself in the heart and hope he plays along. The Dural found ways to kill many Mimics, but each one that survived learned the lore of their generals. By the end of the first day, the Dural earthworks were abandoned and the remnants of the defense force were scattered.

Mizuki watched his Goblins captors with horror.

It wasn't that his own unit had suffered the disgrace of being overrun. They had been small already, judged adquet enough to defend the village, which itself had only been garrisoned to guard a road network. A few troops and a palisade were all that could be spared for this flank. Any of the larger goblin forces would have swarmed by weight of numbers alone, no matter what his masters said.

It wasn't because of what they might do to him. Mizuki was fearless of his own health, and had the battle and training scars to prove it. Any delights these goblins might take with him before they stripped the flesh off his bones was a proper punishment for the shame of being captured in the first place.

No, it was the orc that led this intrepid band of cowards. He wasn't that much larger than most other orcs Mizuki had slain. But he was unquestionably brighter, stronger, and more motivated. When their idiot fool of a profane had come out to try and help, the orc had jumped straight into the battlements, removing his head with a cudgel more aken to a tree than a club in a single swing before causing rampant panic on their battlement. He had seen the Profane for the threat he was, eliminated him first, and then gone to cause the distraction that let his goblin followers break inside the battlements. Whether they needed to was a question Mizuki didn't care to dwell on: that Orc fought as viciously as any serpant.

Breaking away from the fireplace where goblins were eating captured Yokaido animals (and maybe a few dead bodies: they hadn't bothered to clean up the torn bodies that now served as stools), the monster orc came and crouched infront of Mizuki.

"You talk, you live longer," it stated simply. "You don't, Thumb-Screw gets to convince you to." He gestured to a clever-looking goblin sitting on what had been his brother's head. Hearing his name, the goblin turned and gave a cheeky wave.

"You think you can torture what you want out of me? I'd rather die first," Mizuki exclaimed.

The orc laughed. "Him not called Thumb-Screw because he screw your thumb. Him like to use thumb to screw. He like people like you."

At first Mizuki didn't understand. Then he saw how most of the other goblins carefully kept their distance just as they did the Orc who commanded them, didn't dare look at him even as his gaze took in all of them...

"That's foul," he whispered, face white. That sort of shame couldn't be repaired even in the afterlife...

The Orc laughed, but was serious. "Then talk, weak god child. Why there a profane" what was next was undoubtably an unprintable epitaph, "here?"

"He was supposed to help us stop you. He and his kind are supposed to give us the power to stop you mongrels while our forces continue to smash the Grigori."

The Orc laughed again. "You out of date," he said. "They know how to make your metal weapons too now. You no longer cut through our weapons like wood now."

Mizuki's eyes widened. "You are Gr-" He was cut off as a small knife slit his throat from behind.

"You said too much," Thumb-Screw said, sheathing his knife. "Leave it to me to cover your big mouth."

"Did I?" asked the Orc. "I knew you keep him from blabbing."

Thumb-Screw snorted. "Well at least we know the rumors are true now. The Yokaido are embracing the Ashen Veil. It won't be too long before they send them to the front, and not relegated to guard duty here. Thank the gods for Yokaido pride, insisting on killing us themselves."

Before the Orc could reply, a goblin approached as fast as his tiny legs would carry him, yelling for his leader.

"Leader! Leader! Leader!" he chimed, and other goblins began to echo it as almost a chant.

"I am here," the orc said, standing up. "What you see, Long-Nose?"

"Snake warriors approach! Tons and tons of them! With shiny weapons and everything!"

"There must have been a unit that a survivor ran into nearby," Thumb-Screw whispered.

"Any mage men?" asked the orc chief.

The goblin nodded frantically. "And shambling men too!"

"Man the palisade!" Groo thundered. "This time we shoot arrows down on them, and they die and run away!" The goblins cheered and skuttled to their posts, but the orc kept Thumb-Screw behind.

"Can you kill the profane before he can direct the corpses at us?" he asked quietly. "If the two of us need to go back and get another Goblin clan..."

'Thumb-Screw' snorted. "Those fools at Aeron's Bounty are fools, amateurs. They put more show into it than needs to be done. You tell me who you want dead, he ends up dead." And with that, Needles disappeared into the woods that the Yokaido would be approaching through.

The Orc shook his head with a smile and made his way to the battlements, where the Goblins would fall without him to keep them their.

"Time for Groo to do what Groo does best."

"Please, Lord Endain. You must rethink this war. It's driving our people to extinction and for what? For your pride!?" Jonas Endain glared at Ishlar Kafahn, This was the third time Kafahn had come to his chambers to demand an end to the war. He had denied him the previous times. "No, Kafahn, and if you aren't careful you will lose your rank and be tossed into the dungeons with the rest of the heretics!"
Kafahn glared back at Endain. "Heretic!? You accuse me of being a heretic!? I am attempting to save our people from death and educate them to become one of the greatest nations on Mazera! How dare you accuse me of being a heretic when all your actions have caused the deaths of thousands of Orcs!?"
Endain struck Kafahn with his fist, causing Kafahn to fall to the floor. "Warlord Ishlar Kafahn, you are hereby stripped of your rank and deemed a heretic of the Clan! Guards, take this heretic to the dungeons with the rest of the scum!" A pair of Orcs approached Kafahn and attempted to grab him by his arms. Kafahn roared and lashed out at them, but he was soon knocked unconscious by one of the guard's clubs. Endain returned to his plans to conquer the Chislev.

Kafahn awoke to find himself being dragged down a stone hallway by two big Orcs. He pulled the left guard's arm down and stood in the same motion. The guard toppled into the other and Kafahn ran down the hallway. He entered a room with an Orc who he assumed was the guard captain. The guard captain charged at Kafahn, who threw him over his back before running out the door. Several other guards rushed out after him, but after three hours of searching, Ishlar Kafahn, heretic of the Clan, could not be found.

To Archmage Jarsun Agyth, Highest Mage on the Board of Magical Trade and Resources, Economics.

From Cassiel of the Grigori, Leader of the Grigori Nation.


Greetings and salutations, and sincere hopes that this finds you well in both health and mood. I am given to understand that any more pleasantries tend to bore you, so I will skip directly to business.

The Grigori nation requires a response to our inquiries of trade between our two countries. Though our trade caravans make frequent and regular visits to Grigori lands, we believe that there remain great opportunities for increased trade between our two nations.

I speak, of course, of the lifeblood of the Amurite war effort against the Illians: mana. You want mana. You need mana. The more mana nodes you can access, the stronger your magics. You have spent long and hard campaigns around capturing such nodes, and I congratulate you for your recent successes and sympathize for more recent setbacks. I understand their importance as well as any mortal or immortal, even though I can not claim tutelage or lessons worthy of Kyorlin's heirs.

As you know, the Grigori nation is at war ourselves. We face our own intractable enemy, who no amount of bronze or iron can dislodge from our borders. But our means and methods differ from yours. We are not such experts in the ways of magic as you are. We have few needs that require mana. In short, we have excess of what you truly need for your own war.

Teach us knowledge of the ether, of how to form and transport it from the ground, and we will send it to you for a reasonable fee, whether of money or precious metals or luxury goods. Teach how to mold that mana into specific types, to use the ether for our own war whether to hurl burn forests or increase the abilities of our soldiers, and the Grigori can guarantee you a source of mana far beyond the reach of even the Devil Bird who has harmed your operations to date.

But as I said, we require a response soon. Our own war drags on, and my people are impatient.

Sincerely,

Cassiel


P.S.: I am given to understand that it is Amurite practice to not only offer mutual gain, but to coerce acceptance through the use of veiled threats. Though I would never consider harming the descendents of Kyorlin or aiding the Illians against them, I should mention that the Khadi have already expressed interest in exchanging rudimentary knowledge of ether in exchange for mana. If you wish us to refuse such, war magics will be preferred.

Did I do that right? I'm afraid I am unused to bureaucratic warfare...

To Perpentach, First Clown of whatever you wish to be called today.

I'm making crumpets in a few days, as well as draining some of the first drafts of the new Grigori Brewery. I have high hopes that it will soon drown thirty souls in your carnivals (not literally, I hope), and I welcome you to join me in enjoying both treats at your convenience.

-Cassiel

P.S.: Bring Solomnium cards.

P.S.S.:I check the deck, though.

P.S.S.S.: I would remind you that even as a fallen archangel, I am still immune to your mind-tricks. While that must be a unique experience for you, don't think you can cheat like you did with Falamar.

P.S.S.S.S.: I would appreciate it if your entourage doesn't make off with the guest lamp again. Or if they do, to not give it back afterwords. Our valuables aren't that valuable that we need them back after you men have had their way with them.

To the fallen Archangel Cassiel, Leader and Teacher of the Grigori Nation

From Archmage Jarsun Agyth, Highest Mage on the Board of Magical Trade and Resources, Economics.


Greetings, Cassiel. I am pleased to hear from you as we ourselves were about to contact you. We have noticed your war with the Yokaido and have chosen to not get involved. We have spoken with the Yokaido ourselves and have agreed to not interfere in the war. However, it did not include trade restrictions. We will trade your some of our best silks and reagents in exchange for mana. I hope this deal will suffice.

Sincerely,

Jarsun Agyth


PS. There is no need to threaten. That is Valledia's tactic.

To: Archmage Jarsun Agyth, Highest Mage on the Board of Magical Trade and Resources, Economics.

From: No-longer Archangel Cassiel, Leader and Teacher of the Grigori Nation

Salutations once again.

I am unhappy to state that the present proposal does not meet the needs of the Grigori. Overly critical review might even call it stingy and a scam: what need have the Grigori for reagents without the spells and magics to use them for? What purpose has a landborn nation in the middle of a war for delicate silks and cloths? I do not share such sentiments, please understand, but pleasant and healthy as they may be, they are not what we require most.

Such a deal would be impossible for a basic and primary reason: getting the mana to you would be impossible. Impossible, that is, until the means to harvest and distribute it are developed. As Grigori laws ban foreign mages from altering Grigori lands for whatever reason, it would be regretfully impossible to perform such a deal... unless it came with the minimum instruction to handle and manage ether.

If this mixup over Grigori property and labor laws were unintended, I would be more than happy to welcome Amurite mages in our lands for instructional purposes immediately. If not, I'm afraid we must pursue other avenues immediately.

Sincerely,

Cassiel

PS: The Khadi it shall be then?