Mazera Mega Story Thread

As with all campaigns, tactics changed, adversaries adapted.

The Yokaido shadow magics, suspected to have been shared by the elven followers of Esus, made the forests and hills even more deadly for the defenders, and more treacherous to the attakcers. If a Grigori column stumbled into a shadowed ravine, the first to stand were confronted with a Yokaido assault. If a Chislev encampment for the night neglected to put enough torches far enough forward, they could easily find themselves suddenly attacked by the darkness.

And everyone, everyone, hated the snake pits and burrows in shadow-disguised hills.

Even before the news of the Malakim decision, the Grigori had began its burn and clear advance over the mountains in which suspected hills were set aflame by magical and conventional means alike. After seeing its effectiveness at burning out the snake-covered hills and Yokaido bunker-mounds, the Chislev ceased their criticism. Even though the new access to sun mana offered a way to hopefully dispel the shadow magics, few felt comfortable with the delay it would take for that sort of magical mastery.

And so the Grigori and Chislev would advance, burning everything before them and letting flames devour the defenders and their traps alive.

And so the Yokaido changed as well, and found other ways to kill their enemies. Summoned skeletons could wait through the flames unharmed, their bones not catching fire with basic precautions. These skeletons would remain in those bunkers and attack, making it impossible to leave any bunker uncleared.

And so Grigori Serpent Slayers, fearless as they were, would lead the fronts and clear the bunkers themselves. Their heavier armor turned aside blows that would maim other men, and their fearlessness turned the undead's primary advantage aside...

And so the Yokaido learned that a midgarsomar hiding in a valley could raced around the hills, attacking flanks and escaping before an unprepared platoon could organize themselves...

And so the Grigori placed their Serpent Slayers on their flanks, making such attacks take a grievous toll on the giant snakes...

And so the Yokaido cambion elite would charge the Grigori swordsmen from the depths of their shadows, coming out of nowhere to wreck havoc on the lesser armed and skilled mortals with their part-demonic strength and mithril weapons...


And so the war went on, constantly changing in means and methods. About the only thing the remained constant was the slow advance through those foothills, ever closer to the last mountains standing between what is rightfully Grigori and where the Yokaido live.

They are waiting for something. It is a fact. What, though is well worth worrying about.

Hyppoc Tic had been recalled for the war, and she almost wished she hadn't been. Working in the first aid tents reminded her of everything she hated about war in the first place. Mangled bodies, maimed men, and with the Yokaido, the venom.

Always, always the venom. Their snakes were bred for it. Their weapons were coated with it. They took every chance they could to maximize every advantage, and they would have been fools not to.

But that made caring for their victims no less difficult. Yokaido venom was on an entirely different level of the poisonous spiders that infested the Archos, poisons that could be regularly and easily treated with prompt attention and proper dressings. Midgarsomar venom in particular was magical in nature, always shifting and changing in composition, always incredibly lethal. Even with the proper herbs and rapid care, the survival rate was barely half. It was maddening, depressing, agonizing to walk down the litters of patients from a Midgarsomar attack, looking and knowing less than half of them would survive. And then you had to pick which ones were most likely to survive and focus your efforts on them while the others knew and wept and were left to face their end with only the comfort of the Philosophers to provide guidance and last hours of companionship so far from home.

It was almost enough to make one thank the gods that the venom painted on weapons or in the fangs of smaller snakes was weaker, less potent. Almost. Then you remembered what drove the Yokaido, the belief of self-divinity and the Ashen Veil.

There wasn't a night's rest during the advance. If it wasn't helping the wounded from the latest skirmish, if it wasn't applying potice to the latest serpent bite or even more mundane accidents and injuries, it was preparing to do so. Hyppoc and her fellow Medicos often made do with two or three hours of sleep a night, longer coming only when they passed out, often on their feet. The many and ever-changing soldiers assigned to guard them never looked down on them for long for requiring baggage trains and far more help than nearly any officer demanded. After the first few days and nights of watching them toil without little food and less sleep, those soldiers gladly helped anyway they could, even if it meant making space in a wagon and walking outside of it so that a passed-out Medicos could grab a few more precious hours of sleep as they kept with the front.

Even now, the Hall of Sabbathiel remained a busy place, night being no different than day for those who had reason to be here. Most were citizens, people come to worship in these halls, ask instruction or guidance from the priests of the Order. Some were not citizens, but did the same.

A significant number, however, were the functionaries and officials who ran the great Bannor Kingdom. They stuck to their own halls and levels, though, and remained out of sight of the masses and all but the most determined spies.

One such agent of the Government was a young-looking woman, though like most Bannor her palms were calloused and her eyes were older and more mature than any lass of comparative age. Not even Falamar could make these cheeks blush in modesty or embarrassment. Capria would sooner knock his head out from between his legs herself, and Falamar knew it.

After going through the traditional required protocols, she stood before the guarded doors of the highest level, doors only the highest priests stepped through without requiring prior permission, and she stepped into a space between worlds.

Sabbathiel's chambers were both small and simple and of infinite space. Capria could never truly guess how large they were, only that they were always large enough to functionally hold all who stood in this space between Heaven and Mazera.

"Capria," Sabbathiel hailed upon her arrival. "You have come at last." Though he had no hint of censure or impatience in his voice, the stern expressions of the High Priests of the Order suggested that they felt otherwise.

Capria cared not what they thought, and so ignored them and knelt before the ruler of the Bannor Empire. "My Lord Sabbathiel, I apologize for my delay," she said.

Sabbathiel gestured for her to rise. "It was a matter of minutes, and I am aware of the cause of your delay. Tell me, Capria, what have you learned from observing the Grigori advance?"

"My Lord," she began, "the Grigori will win the war. Of this I have no doubt. Though the Yokaido make it bloody and costly, the Grigori are prepared to pay it and more. Nothing short of a catastrophe could hope to change the balance, and even that likely would not be enough to reverse it in full. The Chislev presence is enough to ensure that."

"That is of no real surprise," Sabbathiel reminded. "Cassiel is not a fool to fight unprepared: we have witnessed his gathering of knowledge and strength these last months. He has made allies and alliances, and he is reaping that which he has sown. Though I was surprised by the Malakim's decision: did you uncover evidence that it had been planned?" he asked.

Capria denied it. "From those sources inside the capital, Varn Gossam's request came unexpectedly after attempts at a regular trade agreement. Though Cassiel seized the opportunity, it was not planned in advance. Otherwise, I suspect, Cassiel would have waited longer to bring the Malakim's sun mana into play."

Sabbathiel considered, and accepted. "Very well. I can not say that Varn Gossam's decision surprises me, considering the state of the Malakim, only that he sought Cassiel's protection instead of ours. Capria, what did your investigations in the final matter return?"

Capria frowned before she answered. "Only that Cassiel's secrets are safe with him," she replied. "Since the unraveling of the Svartalfar network, Cassiel's palace has been nine times more secure from intrusion. Not a bribe or favor can be passed without it being known. Our sources could only say that the Grigori focus on the Yokaido in concordance with their Chislev allies. What is intended afterwords... nothing could be found."

Sabbathiel nodded in understanding. "So we could not verify or disprove the Winter Court's warnings," he determined. "Cassiel's intentions towards us remain a mystery."

"Do we not trust his mediation?" Capria asked, "even though our traders profit in the Grigori lands?" One of the priests made as if to object to her question, but Sabbathiel allowed it.

"We can trust what we know," Sabbathiel said. "Cassiel's desire for a war ally was genuine. His interests and the Grigori's are served if we are distracted and if we do not encroach on his territory. Mediating our war was an end to those goals: the Chislev would naturally be agreeable to assist, and in exchange for our understanding to not encircle the Grigori, we were left free to focus on the greater evil in the Deadlands."

"However," he continued, "we can not ignore what might happen after the Yokaido are smashed. Already Faeryl Viconia's warning is coming true: the Grigori have launched a massive assault against the Yokaido, and even if they halt at the mountains they will have neutered the Yokaido's ability to strike them in the future. And I doubt that the Grigori and Chislev will stop at such a boundary. Though I do not doubt Faeryl Viconia's ability to lie for her own gains, that is not reason to cast them aside either. The Chislev's lust for war remains to be considered, and the Grigori's own benefit from removing us from their side will also be an attractive appeal to a nation flush from victory."

"What is your direction then, My Lord?" asked Capria. "Will we conscript and train more men, to guard our borders? Or will we call back those men we have sent to fight the Sheaim?"

"Have Donal see to garrisoning the border," Sabbathiel ruled. "The men we send to the Deadlands fight for all of creation. Unless things deteriorate further, I will not leave our allies to whether the Sheaim's blows."

"And Cassiel and the Grigori?" Capria asked.

"You will see to them," her divine king directed. "Go to Cassiel's court, and see once again what you can find. Find out if the Grigori have any misled intentions, and determine whatever it might take to persuade them otherwise."

The room was filled with chatter, and Lord Ilyth tried hard to keep some sort of order in the thoughts in hid mind. All around him, in the comfortable seats of the council, the nobles of the ruling houses of the Calabim lands sat in discussion.

Silence fell as Flauros, the de facto ruler of the Calabim, took the high seat. He looked around at the nobles, and only the bravest or most defiant returned his gaze. Lord Ilyth was one of those rarities. Flauros swept his silvery hair away and spoke with a loud voice to reach the entire council:

"As you are probably all aware, we are gathered here due to the recent passing of many of those near us. I regret to inform you that after inspecting the bodies of the late victims, it seems as if we have an assassin on the lose. Someone with access to a poison that is able to kill even the... strongest... of us."

Lord Ilyth shook his head. Flauros was such a coward! He had not used the word 'Vampire' in the council for years, even if everyone understood what he was talking about. He attempted to keep his thoughts clear as loud discussion rose around them...

At the end of the day, Lord Ilyth rose with the others from the council chairs, and was about to make his way home, when Flauros suddenly stood in front of him. "I hear you lost a brother to the assassin, Ilyth?"
Lord Ilyth nodded. It had been the best way to test out the poison. Now there was no doubt about who ruled the house Ilyth. And if he was lucky, it might make him look like a victim. "I did," he said, head bowed.
Flauros put a hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry for you. Your brother was a good man. Like you are. We need good men in times of strife, Ilyth."
Lord Ilyth's controlled facade almost cracked into a grin as Flauros left his side. If only he knew...

The caravan slowly came to a stop at the guardpost on the Amurite border. Ghian walked towards the group of guards, finding the scout that had spotted them earlier in conversation with the man he took for the captain of the post. As Ghian came closer, the man looked up and at him, sending the scout off.

"Good day to you, Calabim. I hope you don't have anything against stopping here briefly. It's our duty to check all traders passing into the Amurite Empire. The name's Captain Turyo, by the way."

Ghian nodded and smiled politely. "Of course, Captain, no worries. I am used to the tradition of customs. It is not the first time I travel in Amurite lands."

The Captain nodded gratefully. "Well, that makes it easier, then. Let me see... You have six wagons in your caravan... What are you bringing?"

Ghian put on a thoughtful grimace for a moment before anwering: "Two wagons with casks of the finest wine of all Erebus, and four wagons of supplies, spare parts for the wagons, and some local Calabim delicacies for the Amurite nobles."

The Captain fell into deep thought for a moment. "I see... I have no problems with you bringing food into the lands, but can we take a closer look at the wagons with the casks?"

Ghian kept his calm. "Of course. They are the two wagons over here, come along."

They walked to the two wagons, and soon arrived at one of them, stocked with about seven dozen large caskets. The guard let a hand rest on one of the barrels. "The best wine in all of Erebus, you say?"
Ghian nodded.
"Do you mind if I ask you to open one of the casks - just to make sure you are not lying through your teeth?"
Ghian smiled: "Of course not. You can open this cask and taste for yourself, captain. You can keep the cask."
Ghian reached onto the wagon and struggled to get one of the casks down. The Captain opened the cask and dipped a metal cup in it, and tasted.
"I must say," he exclaimed. "I am no great wine-taster, but this is definately among the best wines I have ever tasted."
He clapped the cask he had been given. "Are you bringing any more shipments into Amurite this season, trader?"
Ghian shook his head: "I am afraid that the vineyard doesn't yield more than these casks each year. This year has even been a good one, I'm afraid. And besides, we'll have to think of the market at home aswell... So I'm afraid it might be many years before we're returning."
The Captain hesitated for a moment to word his reply correct. "So, you wouldn't have anything against letting me keep another cask, for memory?"
Ghian supressed a smile. "Of course not, Captain."
"Glad to work with someone who knows our custom," the Captain replied while extracting another cask from the wagon. "You can your caravan can pass through. I hope they pay you a good coin for that wine. Have a good journey."
"Thank you," Ghian replied, leading the wagons back on the road.

The only close-quarters Dermei Diranth saw that battle was after the end, in which he had taken his mace to smash in the head of a diseased corpse that wasn't quite dead enough yet. The Veil-worshipers still used the the zombies to make final use of their dead, but had long ago ceased killing their own for the bodies.

First, goblins practitioners of the Ordine Medicos had made the once-terrifying effects of the diseases much less frightening. A few herbs smuggled through the Clan lands, some strong and reinforced chicken or pig broth, and a potential epidemic was staunched at a number sick and a few dead at most. The Veil-worshipers had turned to summoning pit-beasts instead: while no match for an iron-armed Orc or even an unarmed Ogre (not that there were such Ogres in his kingdom), they did more damage and havoc than the zombies.

Second, Dermei and his hoard gave them all the corpses they needed.

He had had help, Dermei had to admit. He had long since gone beyond suspecting that the better-disciplined of his soldiers were more than just runaways from the Grigori west, come to join a green-skin kingdom. They didn't share the conquest-spoils like the others, tended to keep to their own groups too much... unless they tried to using extensive arguments to make a native goblin or ogre come to their way of seeing. And then that goblin or Ogre would join those fires, and sooner or later half the army would pretend to be civilized while the other were the brutish and more stupid.

Dermei liked intelligence. It and an excellent sense of self-preservation were why he remained alive and powerful today.

But Dermei was also smart enough to recognize that he needed dumber strong-men to be powerful himself. An ogre smart enough to debate the worth of worshiping gods in general had long-since become smart enough to realize that he could still get his war spoils and meat if he overthrew you and took your place himself, and that then he would get even more spoils. You needed brutes just smart enough to fight well, but dumb enough not to get any stupid ideas. Stupid ideas like, say, supporting the overthrow of a goblin war-chief.

Dermei much more preferred the iron weapons the Grigori sent. Those didn't have dangerous ideas, but made his ideas far more dangerous. No one questioned you when you were flanked by two massive ogres with iron war hammers. (Or maybe they were forge hammers, but they were stained red enough now to be either.) Even better, the Yokaido didn't bother sending cambion with mithril weapons out to the frontier, and with no iron deposits of their own Dermei often enjoyed the rare goblin advantage of having better weapons than his enemies.

No weapon the Grigori could send, however, could match the two adventurers that sat around his campfires at night. Surprisingly, they didn't sit around the one with the 'civilized' converts: though they sometimes did, Groo the Wanderer made sure to bond with all the men. Despite openly admitting that he was a Grigori here only to help shape the war, Dermei could relax around the massive ogre. He had a comfortable grin and accent that reminded Dermei of home. Groo, if he ever changed sides, would let you know first, and then strike you from the front. He was a reliable broad sword in Dermei's forces, making bonds with everyone very easily.

Needles, sharpening his knife beside him, bonded with no one, even the civilized ones. Dermei had once tried to entice the other goblin into his personal service, but had stopped after seeing the way Needles had been looking at his vitals. Just what or why Needles followed the Grigori, not even Dermei could figure out. If it had been for the job of killing, the followers of Esus in the Svartalfar woods would have accepted him. If it had been for the Grigori philosophy, Dermei would have expected him to share it more. Once, but only once, Dermei had once been about to jokingly ask if Needles was Aeron's Own, Chosen by the god of warfare to hand out death on Mazera. Then he had considered if he really wanted to know, and had asked another question instead.

These were the two warriors that Deremei Diranth walked up on the post-battle field after crushing the last zombie. As he had expected, they were gathered around the corpse of the leading Veil Profane, searching through his body as they did for every practitioner of the supernatural that they found on the battlefield. Deremei knew better than to ask why: the messenger hawks that regularly came to and fro carried enough written paper in both direction to tell that the two were searching for any useful clues.

Groo spotted him first, waving a hand in greeting. His other still gripped a longsword of pure mithril, taken from the Yokaido front and delivered all the way here by Cassiel's own command. Deremei suspected some sort of enchantment assisted the blade, but Groo insisted that it was just the power of mithril. Having no base of comparison, Deremei was in no position to disagree.

Needles was still searching this last corpse with one hand, idly twirling his poisoned knife in the other while whistling a Grigori rhyme. He didn't even notice Deremei's presence until after he had already scanned through the letter and handed it to Groo.

"Anything important from this lot?" asked Deremei.

"Not in the battle," Needles answered. "Typical Profanes. So confident in their arcane powers, they don't notice any deception. Good work on the ambush today, by the way: I didn't expect you to pull off the ambush in their own town." Coming from Needles, it was rare praise.

"From any distance, a fully dressed Orc can be passed off as a hume. They heard the replies, they saw the men on the ramparts, we opened the gates..." Deremei chuckled. "I bet they never expected the portcullis to divide them so. It was too easy after that, and the zombies were just stuck outside."

Groo just shook his head, still reading. "Idiots," he muttered. "They should have believen the people who ran." It wasn't quite what someone expected to hear in such broken speech, but anyone who underestimated Groo's mind was a fool.

Deremei was about to ask another question when Groo frowned, his face darkening visibly. Groo turned to Needles and asked "You see this?"

Needles nodded. "That's why I gave it to you. Doesn't sound good, does it?"

Deremie held out his hand expectantly, and Groo handed over the missive. "Read the end," he instructed.

'And finally,' the message conveniently resumed, 'go to Miyun and secure it from that accursed Goblin's forces. For now, don't worry about securing the countryside or pushing him back: when the Ceremony is complete, they will fall before us like ashes in the wind.

~Todou, Palace Adviser to His Majesty

P.S.: Do not worry about searching for more sacrifices. We already have enough at hand.

Deremei considered the message as he handed it back to the Adventurers.

"They're planning something big," he reasoned. "So big, they think we're a negligible distraction. Something big... and probably aimed at your people," he reasoned, and both Needles and Groo nodded. "I have heard that the Yokaido have been fighting for time in the mountains, and this might be why."

"Very well," Deremei ruled. "Go and send your messenger hawk to Cassiel. It might be important for him to hear of this."

As Needles called for one of the 'civilized' goblins to fetch him a messenger hawk, Deremei realized that not-completely loyal goblins and ogres might well be the least of his problems.