Ailedhoo
wonderer
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Intrigue of Magic
- Thread starter Ailedhoo
- Start date
spaceman98
Plotting something
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To the Goblin Kingdom of Lutinberg: We will happily accept your offer, if the pay is good.
OOC: Thank you for fixing the map. Also, since this IOT doesn't have any formal stats system, how will the relative power of nations, tribute, payments, etc. be conducted?
Also, how are battles decided?
OOC: Thank you for fixing the map. Also, since this IOT doesn't have any formal stats system, how will the relative power of nations, tribute, payments, etc. be conducted?
Also, how are battles decided?
Ailedhoo
wonderer
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King Cirque XIV of Lutinberg (OOC it be Lutindor... I did a mistake in saying, so I am going to say the nation has both Lutinberg and Lutindor as names) is pleased. A shipment of 1/10 the reward will be deployed; we will honour the rest when you return.
OOC: good point... I will suggest the players regulate the matter to make common agreements and settle a area that the GM can keep a eye over for them.
As for battles; war plans can be a consideration. If all else fails there is dice but I will aim to reward great plans and other RP; the dice is there in cases when it is needed, a tool there as oppose to the required action for all things.
spaceman98
Plotting something
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On a somewhat unrelated note, my adventurers:
The Seekers of the Helmet (OOC: The "helmet" is a reference to the oversized headgear worn by both original Generals Under Balor Pharozinor and Kurazinor (and later Exzeratrix, but we don't talk about him)):
The Seekers were originally crafted by Xynor, an orcsih baron serving under Zangariza, who, while clearly seeing the need for permanent settlement, was nostalgic about the wandering old days. His cause was rapidly joined by Kurlaza, high priestess of a Balor Cult that had not gone with the main cultists (due to minor doctrinal differences on how, and notably where, The Great One is to be recalled to this world). She believed that the old city of Ishtar, where the clash occurred, must also be the site where Balor is reincarnated. Together, they decided to form a large group, to seek out the holy sites of Slava, Ishtar, Kohos and Ormonad (though no one is sure if the later two are even sites). The initial effort failed, because Kurlaza insisted that Ishtar must be found first so the cult's pilgrims may go there, while Xynor, who traced his ancestry back to the sackers of Slava, wanted to first find the fortress (unaware of its dragon occupant). In the end, the first attempt failed after Xynor instead joined the Xeryl campaign, and died there. Kurlaza, left without much funding or support from the state, which was and remains skeptical of Balor Cultists. Her party probably perished, though its fate is unknown.
Eventually though, Kurlaza's successor Amprazair, who was a convert from a rich merchant family of assimilated trolls took it upon himself to organize the local cultists, to seek and reclaim the city of Ishtar. High General of Nuifallash, the great orc Koronioz formally disapproved of the venture, in keeping with the state's policy of official atheism or religious apathy, but secretly backed the venture, in exchange for a promise by the cultists to provide information about the city, and to allow a contingent of secular scientists and warriors led by lieutenant Hanox to accompany them on their (un)holy mission.
With this, a group of around 150 orcs (with a few beings from other species) marched forth from the capital, led by the troll Amprazair and orc Hanox. Their goal: to seek the lost city of Ishtar, wherever it may be, in the case of Hanox for the possible secrets beneath, in the case of Amprazair, to found a cult there.
________________________
OOC: I think an explanation is in order of my non-response to the Taloc-Samond war. The reason why I don't respond similarly to how Baase responds to attacks on Ghouls is that there isn't a real global sense of orcish solidarity in this world. We have mercenaries, pirates, random scattered clans, populations living happily in other nations, and several historical orc vs. orc wars, that are fondly remembered as just another battle. Indeed, IMO, due to the massive dispersal of everyone and everything, this world is, in general, very hostile to the formations of racisms, nationalisms, ethnocentrisms or other forms of community identity based on appearance, because there is little shared culture to unite scattered diasporas. The ghouls are an exception, since they share a common situation (necromancy and persecution) but orcs have almost no shared culture, hence, no incentive to unite, yet.
The Seekers of the Helmet (OOC: The "helmet" is a reference to the oversized headgear worn by both original Generals Under Balor Pharozinor and Kurazinor (and later Exzeratrix, but we don't talk about him)):
The Seekers were originally crafted by Xynor, an orcsih baron serving under Zangariza, who, while clearly seeing the need for permanent settlement, was nostalgic about the wandering old days. His cause was rapidly joined by Kurlaza, high priestess of a Balor Cult that had not gone with the main cultists (due to minor doctrinal differences on how, and notably where, The Great One is to be recalled to this world). She believed that the old city of Ishtar, where the clash occurred, must also be the site where Balor is reincarnated. Together, they decided to form a large group, to seek out the holy sites of Slava, Ishtar, Kohos and Ormonad (though no one is sure if the later two are even sites). The initial effort failed, because Kurlaza insisted that Ishtar must be found first so the cult's pilgrims may go there, while Xynor, who traced his ancestry back to the sackers of Slava, wanted to first find the fortress (unaware of its dragon occupant). In the end, the first attempt failed after Xynor instead joined the Xeryl campaign, and died there. Kurlaza, left without much funding or support from the state, which was and remains skeptical of Balor Cultists. Her party probably perished, though its fate is unknown.
Eventually though, Kurlaza's successor Amprazair, who was a convert from a rich merchant family of assimilated trolls took it upon himself to organize the local cultists, to seek and reclaim the city of Ishtar. High General of Nuifallash, the great orc Koronioz formally disapproved of the venture, in keeping with the state's policy of official atheism or religious apathy, but secretly backed the venture, in exchange for a promise by the cultists to provide information about the city, and to allow a contingent of secular scientists and warriors led by lieutenant Hanox to accompany them on their (un)holy mission.
With this, a group of around 150 orcs (with a few beings from other species) marched forth from the capital, led by the troll Amprazair and orc Hanox. Their goal: to seek the lost city of Ishtar, wherever it may be, in the case of Hanox for the possible secrets beneath, in the case of Amprazair, to found a cult there.
________________________
OOC: I think an explanation is in order of my non-response to the Taloc-Samond war. The reason why I don't respond similarly to how Baase responds to attacks on Ghouls is that there isn't a real global sense of orcish solidarity in this world. We have mercenaries, pirates, random scattered clans, populations living happily in other nations, and several historical orc vs. orc wars, that are fondly remembered as just another battle. Indeed, IMO, due to the massive dispersal of everyone and everything, this world is, in general, very hostile to the formations of racisms, nationalisms, ethnocentrisms or other forms of community identity based on appearance, because there is little shared culture to unite scattered diasporas. The ghouls are an exception, since they share a common situation (necromancy and persecution) but orcs have almost no shared culture, hence, no incentive to unite, yet.
spaceman98
Plotting something
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1: Will those war plans be public?
2: I will adopt a policy of keeping track of unspent gold rewards and spending them on specific tasks, and IMO this should be formalized in some form of record system.
3: The only problem I see with war plans is that it gives PCs, who can plan, an unfair advantage over NPCs (even important ones like the Necrocracy), who cannot.
______________________________________________________
The Orcish War Barge:
Designed by the human artisan Renadion from the city of Andorima (OOC: On the northernmost tip of the bay, I will detail them in a later RP, preferably just before I take over them. Think Gotham City - Batman + Merchants and you have a general idea.
), financed by orcish 
filli_noctus
Hmmn
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Spoiler OOC :
"Necromancer Heorot Brosnian of Baase!" proclaimed the herald as the Orc entered the Great Hall of Formont.
"Aff gur, zot nikkum zort!" the Wight King greeted his visitor through the great fangs distending his jaw
"Agh thon lik," responded the necromancer, "I was not aware you spoke the Orc tongue, your majesty."
"A perk of my condition," responded the king, once the fangs had receded "I have learned the language of practically all nations and races of Cumhail. Now, what brings a Baasen embassy to my court?"
"His majesty the Lich King has observed the rise of your kingdom with great interest, although he has some concern over you recent proclamation against ghouls."
"The laws of Formont are no concern of the Lich King, ghouls are destabilising to the Necrite foundations of this kingdom and I will not alter my position."
"His majesty is concerned with all the un-dead.."
"His concerns stop at my borders," Marret interjected, "now did you have other business beyond hectoring me about vermin?"
"Yes, my lord, there was another matter. The Lich King recognises that Formont and Baase are the foremost un-dead kingdoms and he thus proposes we come to a consideration in the face of the hostility of the vital races."
Marret drummed his fingers as he considered the offer, his talon like nails drawing blood and moans from his throne.
"An interesting proposal. I am prepared to accept, but there is one condition."
"Name it."
"To the north, across the Strait of Formont, lies the isle of Nestor, inhabited primarily by ogres. It is my belief that ogres will make excellent Necrites so I have plans to establish a colony on the closest shore from which to gather subjects. However their are few Necrite hosts on Nestor and those that rise are quickly dispatched so we will not be able to call on local aid. If you accompany Lord Varla you can raise the local dead to our service and secure the beachhead. What say you?"
"Your terms are acceptable, your majesty."
"Excellent! Oh, there is one last thing. A gift to seal our bargain. I know Baase lacks mortwrights, so the fluctuations of your Necrite populous are uncontrolled. This should help."
As Marret spoke a figure shuffled out of the shadows into the dim light of the hall.
"Scaanoars bile!" exclaimed the necromancer, "That's Jorath! The king's most gifted student. He left Baase some years ago to found a second Necrocracy."
"He did, did he?" asked Marret, rhetorically, "He obviously decided Formont would be his best choice, believing that his powers could turn my subjects to his control. He was wrong, the bond between Wight and Necrite is intrinsic and cannot be overcome through mere magic. He was captured, infested and executed to rise as a mortwright in my service. And now I give him to the Lich King to benefit the Necrites of Baase.
"Now I suggest you prepare yourself for the voyage, Lord Varla sets sail within the week."
Once the necromancer had left the hall with the mortwright in tow, Marret turned to his senschal.
"The horde is almost assembled, I will ride for the southern border by sundown. With my forces combined with Jat's I expect the southern barons to capitulate quickly. And prepare the dungeons for the Poor Soldiers that were captured. They should be arriving in the next few days and I want them alive when I return, I have some ideas I would like to try."
Spoiler tl;dr :
Ah Kunohir.The land of the proud Trollobin scientists.Recently,there were made innovations on the creation of the liquid fire,but the scientists lacked inspiration on the creation of the mechanism.As such the Technocrats ordered the Trollobin scientists to unite with the human scientists into the creation of the liquid fire.Meanwhile,soldiers were taken to scout and if possible conquer these lands,which were also claimed by the High Technalate of Kunohir,if no organised sentient life form was there:
Any relics,constructs or old buildings that were to be found there would have to be examined by both scientists and the Technocrats themselves.Any wild animals or legendary beasts were to be enslaved and kept guarded by the military until the species could be safely examined by the Technocrats.
Spoiler :
Any relics,constructs or old buildings that were to be found there would have to be examined by both scientists and the Technocrats themselves.Any wild animals or legendary beasts were to be enslaved and kept guarded by the military until the species could be safely examined by the Technocrats.
Spoiler :
Ailedhoo
wonderer
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OOC: I had marked the leader of Baase as a Supreme Leader but since Erebus Kimil is a lich it is not unreasonable for the nick name "lich king" to be used as a secretly mocking gesture... 
Also: in future I wish time to allow NPC diplomacy; I will allow what occurred for now to be."
Anyway: time to conduct my GM NPC responses...
IC:
The Orcish Guardianship brings joy to Missif Opulence
"So" went Massif Opulence to his crew members all standing on deck. "I see the King has gotten the bodyguards for our voyage?"
"Yes!" screak one goblin crewmember. "We are safe hah?"
"Not quite" hissed a one-eyed, one-armed and one-legged goblin sitting on a barrel. "We got zee traitor Admiral Parjure Amiral the now admiral of his own pirate gang, ha?"
"True, true!" echoed another goblin that swimming in a rum barrel. "We got da pirates and but also got zee orcs as our guards against da piracy, yeh?"
"Well" went Opulence. "With the orc barrage will be on zee way to la destination! La demonic theocracy of Lamia will have zee incense and sugar in return for our spice and spider silk to be! Zee mission will commence!"
"Viva la King Cirque XIV!" went the goblins... while driving into open rum barrels meant for the journey.
"Zee how we sail with zee disorder?" asked Opulence to himself. "Simple I guess: we are too in love with zee spice to got go for la journey of danger."
In the darkness of Baase
"So... this is true of my apprentice?" went Supreme Leader Erebus Kimil of Baase. "Jorath was not my most favourite personally anyway but publicly his public talents were too special to not declare my desire to see his victories. Alas the product of our making..."
"Tis will be known to be" went a ghoulish necromancer Atçhim the Bloodless. "Marret has... proven to be rather questionable in acts... and Jorath now is to return not in the full destiny we had hoped."
"He would have a good lich" went Erebus. "Alas Death destines its pickings and Death cannot be questioned. Still... the needed alliance will trail Heorot's usefulness to us and by playing Marret's games we will have our understanding."
"Yes. The raven we received gave us the detailing of the ogre venture set forth."
"Very well. The off set creations of Usuul better prove their worth. We will play and observe their game... and hopefully my other apprentices are not expended as what happened to Jorath."
"The mortwright he is now my leader?"
"Mortwright may provide service but keep a eye my apprentice. Meanwhile I want my other apprentices set on their duties and learnings to be more caustius in the future. I do not want another Jorath..."
"By the way; what of the... animal infestation?"
"O yes... Raevyllke. I want the Death Hand forces deployed among the Banahogg to remain on stand by to further orders. Ysaag Dunverys (OOC: leader of the Death Hand of Scaanoar) will not be amused if we lose any of our grand assassins in their protection of our ghoulish kin."
"Death unites all in buity..."
"...for Death is the only thing worthy of being called divine... centuries of recovery after Scaanoar destroyed by those blasted angels and demons... may Death prove to have dominion over the self-proclaimed divines as we march to a dark glory."
"Glory to that Kimil."
"Indeed... glory to that."
OCC: on the 3 questions set to me; I will be in consideration over those issues.
Also: in future I wish time to allow NPC diplomacy; I will allow what occurred for now to be."
Anyway: time to conduct my GM NPC responses...
IC:
The Orcish Guardianship brings joy to Missif Opulence
"So" went Massif Opulence to his crew members all standing on deck. "I see the King has gotten the bodyguards for our voyage?"
"Yes!" screak one goblin crewmember. "We are safe hah?"
"Not quite" hissed a one-eyed, one-armed and one-legged goblin sitting on a barrel. "We got zee traitor Admiral Parjure Amiral the now admiral of his own pirate gang, ha?"
"True, true!" echoed another goblin that swimming in a rum barrel. "We got da pirates and but also got zee orcs as our guards against da piracy, yeh?"
"Well" went Opulence. "With the orc barrage will be on zee way to la destination! La demonic theocracy of Lamia will have zee incense and sugar in return for our spice and spider silk to be! Zee mission will commence!"
"Viva la King Cirque XIV!" went the goblins... while driving into open rum barrels meant for the journey.
"Zee how we sail with zee disorder?" asked Opulence to himself. "Simple I guess: we are too in love with zee spice to got go for la journey of danger."
In the darkness of Baase
"So... this is true of my apprentice?" went Supreme Leader Erebus Kimil of Baase. "Jorath was not my most favourite personally anyway but publicly his public talents were too special to not declare my desire to see his victories. Alas the product of our making..."
"Tis will be known to be" went a ghoulish necromancer Atçhim the Bloodless. "Marret has... proven to be rather questionable in acts... and Jorath now is to return not in the full destiny we had hoped."
"He would have a good lich" went Erebus. "Alas Death destines its pickings and Death cannot be questioned. Still... the needed alliance will trail Heorot's usefulness to us and by playing Marret's games we will have our understanding."
"Yes. The raven we received gave us the detailing of the ogre venture set forth."
"Very well. The off set creations of Usuul better prove their worth. We will play and observe their game... and hopefully my other apprentices are not expended as what happened to Jorath."
"The mortwright he is now my leader?"
"Mortwright may provide service but keep a eye my apprentice. Meanwhile I want my other apprentices set on their duties and learnings to be more caustius in the future. I do not want another Jorath..."
"By the way; what of the... animal infestation?"
"O yes... Raevyllke. I want the Death Hand forces deployed among the Banahogg to remain on stand by to further orders. Ysaag Dunverys (OOC: leader of the Death Hand of Scaanoar) will not be amused if we lose any of our grand assassins in their protection of our ghoulish kin."
"Death unites all in buity..."
"...for Death is the only thing worthy of being called divine... centuries of recovery after Scaanoar destroyed by those blasted angels and demons... may Death prove to have dominion over the self-proclaimed divines as we march to a dark glory."
"Glory to that Kimil."
"Indeed... glory to that."
OCC: on the 3 questions set to me; I will be in consideration over those issues.
filli_noctus
Hmmn
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For most mortal races the journey from the capital to the southern baronies would have been two weeks forced march. For the unflagging undead it was completed in a matter of days.
The hordes of King Marret and Lord Jat came together in the town of Eiriksford where Jat was laying siege to the keep.
"My liege," Jat greeted the King, "how was the embassy?"
"Much as expected, he complained about the ghouls and offered an alliance." replied Marret
"Did you accept?"
"Once I got the necromancer to agree to assist with the invasion of Nestor. And I gave them back their last... emissary."
"Are you sure that was wise, my liege? Now they know his fate they will no doubt take that as proof of what happened to the other three."
"Possibly. The problem with Baase is that they believe that due to our connection to Usuul we are somehow beholden to the heritors of Scaanoar. They do not recognise their own inferiority. They believe that all undead are as a family with the necromancers holding the position of the father when we are in fact like a clan with the chief being whoever is strong enough to claim the title. For centuries the Baasen necromancers have held themselves to be chiefs of the undead as they administer their little fiefdom, occasionally venturing forth to establish short lived domains, normally content to let ghouls or necrites spread the blessings of undeath.
"But now I have created a new form of undeath, with my will I used the Necrites in a way Usuul never envisaged and in so doing shown that we are greater than the necromancers.
"As Formont expanded they realised I was a threat to their pre-eminence so they sent their necromancers, believing their magic could overrule the bond between White and Necrite. Now they know they were wrong. They may send an army next, but I do not believe so, they are half a continent away and whilst our power is waxing, theirs is on the wane.
"No, they shall accept our alliance and comfort themselves with dreams of Scaanoar's glories as they slip in irrelevancy in the face of the glory of Formont."
"I hope you are right, my liege, after all we don't know how many ancient graves remain. They're only an inconvenience when the necromancers find one, but the last one did delay this conquest by two months and gave the Poor Soldiers the opportunity to attack."
"Once we've secured all the human lands we will begin searching for any other graves. We have more mortwrights who were necromancers and some of them retain a modicum of their former abilities.
"Now what of this siege. Who's keep is this anyway?"
"I couldn't say, sire. Does it really matter?"
"Not really, have you deployed the angels of undeath yet?
"The angels? Oh, those winged creatures that came with Gelen. No, he says there is insufficient wind to use them."
"Well, order get them ready and I'll arrange the wind."
"Yes, sire." responded Jat, striding in the direction of the behemoths and the angels as Marret began chanting.
"Aralu nemrul chaltan reeyul, killistad memtor OUSH!"
The last syllable hung in the air for far longer than it should, seeming to reverberate for a moment before becoming a whistle, then a roar as a powerful wind blew in from behind the horde knocking tiles of roofs and shaking leaves free of tries. Behind Marret came a series of grunts from the behemoths and shrieks from the angels as they were lofted into the air. Then came the screams of the keep's garrison as the angels of undeath brought their infestation into the heart of the enemy.
The hordes of King Marret and Lord Jat came together in the town of Eiriksford where Jat was laying siege to the keep.
"My liege," Jat greeted the King, "how was the embassy?"
"Much as expected, he complained about the ghouls and offered an alliance." replied Marret
"Did you accept?"
"Once I got the necromancer to agree to assist with the invasion of Nestor. And I gave them back their last... emissary."
"Are you sure that was wise, my liege? Now they know his fate they will no doubt take that as proof of what happened to the other three."
"Possibly. The problem with Baase is that they believe that due to our connection to Usuul we are somehow beholden to the heritors of Scaanoar. They do not recognise their own inferiority. They believe that all undead are as a family with the necromancers holding the position of the father when we are in fact like a clan with the chief being whoever is strong enough to claim the title. For centuries the Baasen necromancers have held themselves to be chiefs of the undead as they administer their little fiefdom, occasionally venturing forth to establish short lived domains, normally content to let ghouls or necrites spread the blessings of undeath.
"But now I have created a new form of undeath, with my will I used the Necrites in a way Usuul never envisaged and in so doing shown that we are greater than the necromancers.
"As Formont expanded they realised I was a threat to their pre-eminence so they sent their necromancers, believing their magic could overrule the bond between White and Necrite. Now they know they were wrong. They may send an army next, but I do not believe so, they are half a continent away and whilst our power is waxing, theirs is on the wane.
"No, they shall accept our alliance and comfort themselves with dreams of Scaanoar's glories as they slip in irrelevancy in the face of the glory of Formont."
"I hope you are right, my liege, after all we don't know how many ancient graves remain. They're only an inconvenience when the necromancers find one, but the last one did delay this conquest by two months and gave the Poor Soldiers the opportunity to attack."
"Once we've secured all the human lands we will begin searching for any other graves. We have more mortwrights who were necromancers and some of them retain a modicum of their former abilities.
"Now what of this siege. Who's keep is this anyway?"
"I couldn't say, sire. Does it really matter?"
"Not really, have you deployed the angels of undeath yet?
"The angels? Oh, those winged creatures that came with Gelen. No, he says there is insufficient wind to use them."
"Well, order get them ready and I'll arrange the wind."
"Yes, sire." responded Jat, striding in the direction of the behemoths and the angels as Marret began chanting.
"Aralu nemrul chaltan reeyul, killistad memtor OUSH!"
The last syllable hung in the air for far longer than it should, seeming to reverberate for a moment before becoming a whistle, then a roar as a powerful wind blew in from behind the horde knocking tiles of roofs and shaking leaves free of tries. Behind Marret came a series of grunts from the behemoths and shrieks from the angels as they were lofted into the air. Then came the screams of the keep's garrison as the angels of undeath brought their infestation into the heart of the enemy.
Thorvald of Lym
A Little Sketchy
Worth noting is that Baase was Ailed's faction in... I think it was Terios?, and as such is a personal favourite. I fully expect it to constitute a "Major NPC", possibly even a late-game boss, if not to the powergaming extremes of Tani's.
Permission to call his throne Lighthearter?
filli_noctus
Hmmn
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Permission to call his throne Lighthearter?
Officially it's the Dead Throne and I thought LH's interests were at the other end of the spectrum, but you can call it what ever you like - even Shirley.
Ailedhoo
wonderer
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On the three questions I was to answer before... with credit to Thor for advise on these matters...
1: yes. I trust the player base in not resulting to "NO U" tactics.
To ease my burden I may request only general strategy and large-scale manoeuvres be posted for PvP fights, then decide who wins which battle based on my own appraisal of previous role-play.
2: as this is not a stat based game (else the focus would be on maximising stats) I am leaving things like gold to the honour of the players.
3: NPCs will have a way of notion; NPCs by nature don't need war plans but they will need some nature in consideration to how a player may set a war plan on them. The policy will be as follows: I will showcase the opposing front and/or drop clues about seditious activities, and then work off whatever the player does. I could suggest the presence of assassins but they will not try to score, at least immediately. As Thor stated:
In relative news: I will ensure NPC reactions to players actions and guidance for situations.
Yep it was Terios; aspects like Scaanoar were barrowed from the game for use in Baase here.
Fear not though; even if Baase does take the mantle of late game boss I will avoid power gaming; I will provide tactical information on Baase and on consideration to their nature such as the Death Hand assassins.
1: yes. I trust the player base in not resulting to "NO U" tactics.
To ease my burden I may request only general strategy and large-scale manoeuvres be posted for PvP fights, then decide who wins which battle based on my own appraisal of previous role-play.
2: as this is not a stat based game (else the focus would be on maximising stats) I am leaving things like gold to the honour of the players.
3: NPCs will have a way of notion; NPCs by nature don't need war plans but they will need some nature in consideration to how a player may set a war plan on them. The policy will be as follows: I will showcase the opposing front and/or drop clues about seditious activities, and then work off whatever the player does. I could suggest the presence of assassins but they will not try to score, at least immediately. As Thor stated:
In relative news: I will ensure NPC reactions to players actions and guidance for situations.
Yep it was Terios; aspects like Scaanoar were barrowed from the game for use in Baase here.
Fear not though; even if Baase does take the mantle of late game boss I will avoid power gaming; I will provide tactical information on Baase and on consideration to their nature such as the Death Hand assassins.
spaceman98
Plotting something
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Claims:
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Send the Seekers of the Helmet (aka the Cult of Ishtar) northwest, up the coast of the bay (OOC: Am I allowed to detail some of what is there?)
War plans for dealing with pirates, regarding our security mission:
The war barges will be the main force protecting Massif Opulence. With them, there will go numerous small scouting ships, that can be launched from the barges. These ships will search for possibly hostile enemy shipping. If one of these ships reports suspicious activity or does not return, then depending on the size of the disturbance, we are either to:
place the war barges in a circle around the merchants, rams pointing outward, so that incoming pirates can be rammed into woodchips or
if the disturbance is large, or several scouts fail to return, change our course so that
1: We are moving away from the disturbance
2: Have the back of the war barges pointed towards the likely direction of enemy approach, so that we can quickly ram with the rear ram if we are chased.
It is important to note that war-barges are capable of making reasonably fast turns with enough rowers (and there will be sufficient crew), but nonetheless.
Regarding the slaves from last turn: Split them up (keep families together though), order them to build something useful, provide each of them with tools of their choice, maybe even a slave or two if we think that what they offer to build requires it, but not with weapons. If they do well, then they have earned their freedom and can choose two other families of slaves to become their slaves, so they can start being useful to the Conglomerate. If they can prove that they are a government official or a lieutenant, offer them a chance to participate in a war-game. Those that pass their tests will be free to start business here, and, as I mentioned above, will earn to families of slaves to begin with. However, they will not be free to leave the country. Those that fail their tests will be made into rowers, unless they are too old. If they are too old, have them replace younger slaves working on farms, and make the former farmers into rowers.
Also, to clarify: High General of Nuifallash, the great orc Koronioz is our faction's leader, for now at least.
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Send the Seekers of the Helmet (aka the Cult of Ishtar) northwest, up the coast of the bay (OOC: Am I allowed to detail some of what is there?)
War plans for dealing with pirates, regarding our security mission:
The war barges will be the main force protecting Massif Opulence. With them, there will go numerous small scouting ships, that can be launched from the barges. These ships will search for possibly hostile enemy shipping. If one of these ships reports suspicious activity or does not return, then depending on the size of the disturbance, we are either to:
place the war barges in a circle around the merchants, rams pointing outward, so that incoming pirates can be rammed into woodchips or
if the disturbance is large, or several scouts fail to return, change our course so that
1: We are moving away from the disturbance
2: Have the back of the war barges pointed towards the likely direction of enemy approach, so that we can quickly ram with the rear ram if we are chased.
It is important to note that war-barges are capable of making reasonably fast turns with enough rowers (and there will be sufficient crew), but nonetheless.
Regarding the slaves from last turn: Split them up (keep families together though), order them to build something useful, provide each of them with tools of their choice, maybe even a slave or two if we think that what they offer to build requires it, but not with weapons. If they do well, then they have earned their freedom and can choose two other families of slaves to become their slaves, so they can start being useful to the Conglomerate. If they can prove that they are a government official or a lieutenant, offer them a chance to participate in a war-game. Those that pass their tests will be free to start business here, and, as I mentioned above, will earn to families of slaves to begin with. However, they will not be free to leave the country. Those that fail their tests will be made into rowers, unless they are too old. If they are too old, have them replace younger slaves working on farms, and make the former farmers into rowers.
Also, to clarify: High General of Nuifallash, the great orc Koronioz is our faction's leader, for now at least.
Thorvald of Lym
A Little Sketchy
Standing around a map on a table in the command tent are Crown Prince Rasmus and two generals, head of a regiment of regulars eight thousand strong. Even before Hakkan's report back to the capital, the army had begun its march to Blotskig, joining with elements of the county garrison before turning to the western valley. The task is straightforward, if not simple; the troop has steadily swept through the marshy forests, exterminating the scattered bands of ghouls it encounters. To the soldiers, the skirmishes have been target practice; but Rasmus is a seasoned tactician and wary of their string of easy victories. He does not believe Hakkan's fight to be as pivotal as his fellow officers claim—a mortal wound to the horde, the leftovers of which he is now sweeping up. To him, the fact that they have only encountered small packs portends concentration deeper into the country.
By Cumhail's calendar, Rasmus is 34 years old, the royalty's eldest child. His physical appearance resembles that of his late father, dark copper fur across his crown and down the bridge of his muzzle in the usual vulpine pattern. Drawing a border between the red and white, his mother's inheritance runs as silver stripes down the sides of his face and around his shoulders, merging at his spine and trailing down his back like a narrow cape all the way to the tip of his tail. Since coming of age, most of his career has been in defence of the realm, and he currently holds the post of Marshal of the Army, an unusual, though not unprecedented profession for an heir-apparent, and to which Rasmus has proven abundantly capable. Across to his left is a wolf from upper Ostugland in command of the troop's southern branch; to his right, a Blotskigger, a fellow fox whose jet-black fur makes his eyes practically glow in the evening candlelight. Presently, the latter draws invisible lines about the map as he reports his contingent's latest findings.
"The ogres have had little trouble with the packs themselves, and thus first-hand accounts of their size and strength are too unreliable to be of value. However, by inferencing the slow recovery of their prey herds, we can deduce that the ghouls are falling back to the west, or at least have ceased moving up the river."
"That would corroborate the increased activity near Noun," Rasmus nods. "Ola, you say you found nothing north of the Gronig?"
The wolf shakes his head. "Nought but residual bands. The land is greatly distressed, so the pack must have moved north recently."
"Which means the epicentre must be located within this area." Rasmus traces a loose circle around the land east of the mountain pass, within the tributary rivers.
"Found you any leads, milord?" asks the fox.
"One," he replies, pointing to a spot north of the goblin town. "A hamlet abandoned during the initial swarm. The Nounlinger still avoid it; they talk of an evil presence, and shadowy figures that stalk the woods."
"A lingering pack?"
"Or a checkpoint," remarks the wolf. "If it lies along a major thoroughfare, they may use it as an ambush point."
"What remains of the main road leaves Noun due southwest," Rasmus frowns, "T'is too remote."
"Unless..." The black fox leans in, briefly peering over the map before huffing in frustration. "Have you a map in greater detail?"
"Sadly, no."
"I cannot recall for certain, but while in Sang Folie I was briefly shown an illustration of the valley. I believe," his finger trails upward past the ruined village, "This land here is flat and cleared. The foothills would shelter it from wayward travellers, and common traffic would follow the route through the hamlet. If there is a main camp, t'would be a suitable site."
Rasmus stares at the spot, slowly nodding his head. "We shall set forth at dawn." The officers straighten up as Rasmus folds up the map. "Rest well; if we travel at quick march, we should reach Noun by mid-day." They bow, and each retires for the night.
------------------------------
The cloaked figure creeps toward the camp's outer perimeter. A low orange glow reflects off the tenting from fires further inside, snippets of conversation drifting through the air from the night watch. Slowly it steps forward, zeroing in on the chatter to determine where the guardsmen are gathered. Suddenly, a flash of movement in its peripheral vision sends it diving down behind a cluster of bushes. It watches as a pair of sentries stroll past, cursing under its breath at its clumsiness; that strange hybrid armour makes them almost silent in the grassy field. At least it had taken precautions and made sure to mask its scent; varreven soldiers are said to be able to smell the enemy upwards of a mile distant.
Making sure no further guards are rounding the corner for a surprise, the figure hurries into the shadows of the tents. Weaving in and out of the temporary town, it stalks toward its target, the sleeping quarters of the commander it had observed for the past few days. After about five minutes' searching, it locates the tent; there is no light within, and steady breathing suggests the prize is asleep. It checks to make sure the coast is clear, then withdraws a small knife. There is a soft hissing sound as a slit is cut in the fabric. The figure quickly steps inside, surveying the room. It is a humble abode; armour hanging from a small wooden rack, a large backpack whose scent speaks of provisions; and lying on a cot on the ground, clad in a simple tunic and pants, the Crown Prince Rasmus.
The figure simply stands, listening attentively. The varreven royal's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, a long, slow breath followed by a sharp exhale. His pointed ears flick this way and that; a dream, perhaps, judging by the occasional spasms in his leg. Confident its target is fast asleep, the assassin replaces the knife and withdraws a much larger dagger. Slowly, silently, it kneels down next to the sleeping prince, the blade hovering over his lower chest as one hand extends to grab his muzzle.
The varrev suddenly lurches forward, and the figure instinctively thrusts down. The prince hisses as the blade sinks in, but an instant later the figure is grabbed by the shoulder and hurled over the bed and onto its back. It quickly recovers and tries to bolt through the entryway, but the prince is just as agile, grabbing his assailant by the ankle and felling it once more. The assassin frantically tries to kick him off, but by now Rasmus has adjusted his grip, and the kick drags sharp claws down its leg, causing it to roar in unexpected pain. But it does free its leg, clambering to its feet and dashing out of the tent...
...running headlong into one of two guards sprinting in the opposite direction. The figure falls back into the tent and onto the ground, where the prince has picked himself up. He jumps atop his would-be killer, pinning its arms under his legs. He grasps the dagger, takes a moment to pry it from his abdomen, then without another word plunges it through the assassin's left eye and deep into its skull. The figure convulses violently for a moment before it suddenly slackens, a puff of air signalling its passing.
Rasmus clutches his side, mouthing a silent scream as his body finally registers the attack. Somewhat shakily, he rises to his feet, prying the dagger from his assailant with a sickening squelch. The guards' eyes are immediately drawn to the wet red patch on his tunic, one ducking his head back outside. "A surgeon! Quickly!" The other guard moves to assist the prince, but he waves him off, gesturing to the fallen figure. Pulling back the hood, they find the face of a male orc with strange tattoos on his face. The prince raises the blade to his nose and softly sniffs the little metal not stained with blood.
By now the commotion has attracted a small crowd, including the two officers with whom the prince had conversed not two hours earlier. As they enter the tent, their breath catches in their throats. "A poisoned blade," Rasmus states matter-of-factly, turning the knife this way and that before them. "T'is not serious," he says as they eye the wound, although his reassurance is undercut as he winces in pain. "T'will smart something terrible in the morning, though." He looks down at the bloody spot in annoyance. "Alas! I fear I shall heal much better than this tunic."
The black fox cannot help but grin. "Your Highness has inherited his mother's gift for phrase."
The other guard helps his colleague to drag the corpse outside, where the light of torch-bearers aids everyone in inspecting it properly. Soldiers carefully pick through the orc's belongings, removing various weapons, packs of rations, and what smell like a collection of poisons. "Whoever he was, he came prepared," mutters Ola.
The soldiers then turn to peeling off the assassin's armour in search of any identifying markings. "Heyo," one calls as they undo the cloak, exposing bare arms, "Gimme a light." A torch-bearer leans in close; tattooed just below the right shoulder is a blood-red hand with long, skeletal fingers, its upturned palm formed into a jagged spiral.
The three generals share a look. "A Death's Hand assassin," Ola finally states. "T'would appear we tread on someone's toes."
Rasmus gives a crooked smile. "At least we know we are on the right course."
By Cumhail's calendar, Rasmus is 34 years old, the royalty's eldest child. His physical appearance resembles that of his late father, dark copper fur across his crown and down the bridge of his muzzle in the usual vulpine pattern. Drawing a border between the red and white, his mother's inheritance runs as silver stripes down the sides of his face and around his shoulders, merging at his spine and trailing down his back like a narrow cape all the way to the tip of his tail. Since coming of age, most of his career has been in defence of the realm, and he currently holds the post of Marshal of the Army, an unusual, though not unprecedented profession for an heir-apparent, and to which Rasmus has proven abundantly capable. Across to his left is a wolf from upper Ostugland in command of the troop's southern branch; to his right, a Blotskigger, a fellow fox whose jet-black fur makes his eyes practically glow in the evening candlelight. Presently, the latter draws invisible lines about the map as he reports his contingent's latest findings.
"The ogres have had little trouble with the packs themselves, and thus first-hand accounts of their size and strength are too unreliable to be of value. However, by inferencing the slow recovery of their prey herds, we can deduce that the ghouls are falling back to the west, or at least have ceased moving up the river."
"That would corroborate the increased activity near Noun," Rasmus nods. "Ola, you say you found nothing north of the Gronig?"
The wolf shakes his head. "Nought but residual bands. The land is greatly distressed, so the pack must have moved north recently."
"Which means the epicentre must be located within this area." Rasmus traces a loose circle around the land east of the mountain pass, within the tributary rivers.
"Found you any leads, milord?" asks the fox.
"One," he replies, pointing to a spot north of the goblin town. "A hamlet abandoned during the initial swarm. The Nounlinger still avoid it; they talk of an evil presence, and shadowy figures that stalk the woods."
"A lingering pack?"
"Or a checkpoint," remarks the wolf. "If it lies along a major thoroughfare, they may use it as an ambush point."
"What remains of the main road leaves Noun due southwest," Rasmus frowns, "T'is too remote."
"Unless..." The black fox leans in, briefly peering over the map before huffing in frustration. "Have you a map in greater detail?"
"Sadly, no."
"I cannot recall for certain, but while in Sang Folie I was briefly shown an illustration of the valley. I believe," his finger trails upward past the ruined village, "This land here is flat and cleared. The foothills would shelter it from wayward travellers, and common traffic would follow the route through the hamlet. If there is a main camp, t'would be a suitable site."
Rasmus stares at the spot, slowly nodding his head. "We shall set forth at dawn." The officers straighten up as Rasmus folds up the map. "Rest well; if we travel at quick march, we should reach Noun by mid-day." They bow, and each retires for the night.
------------------------------
The cloaked figure creeps toward the camp's outer perimeter. A low orange glow reflects off the tenting from fires further inside, snippets of conversation drifting through the air from the night watch. Slowly it steps forward, zeroing in on the chatter to determine where the guardsmen are gathered. Suddenly, a flash of movement in its peripheral vision sends it diving down behind a cluster of bushes. It watches as a pair of sentries stroll past, cursing under its breath at its clumsiness; that strange hybrid armour makes them almost silent in the grassy field. At least it had taken precautions and made sure to mask its scent; varreven soldiers are said to be able to smell the enemy upwards of a mile distant.
Making sure no further guards are rounding the corner for a surprise, the figure hurries into the shadows of the tents. Weaving in and out of the temporary town, it stalks toward its target, the sleeping quarters of the commander it had observed for the past few days. After about five minutes' searching, it locates the tent; there is no light within, and steady breathing suggests the prize is asleep. It checks to make sure the coast is clear, then withdraws a small knife. There is a soft hissing sound as a slit is cut in the fabric. The figure quickly steps inside, surveying the room. It is a humble abode; armour hanging from a small wooden rack, a large backpack whose scent speaks of provisions; and lying on a cot on the ground, clad in a simple tunic and pants, the Crown Prince Rasmus.
The figure simply stands, listening attentively. The varreven royal's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, a long, slow breath followed by a sharp exhale. His pointed ears flick this way and that; a dream, perhaps, judging by the occasional spasms in his leg. Confident its target is fast asleep, the assassin replaces the knife and withdraws a much larger dagger. Slowly, silently, it kneels down next to the sleeping prince, the blade hovering over his lower chest as one hand extends to grab his muzzle.
The varrev suddenly lurches forward, and the figure instinctively thrusts down. The prince hisses as the blade sinks in, but an instant later the figure is grabbed by the shoulder and hurled over the bed and onto its back. It quickly recovers and tries to bolt through the entryway, but the prince is just as agile, grabbing his assailant by the ankle and felling it once more. The assassin frantically tries to kick him off, but by now Rasmus has adjusted his grip, and the kick drags sharp claws down its leg, causing it to roar in unexpected pain. But it does free its leg, clambering to its feet and dashing out of the tent...
...running headlong into one of two guards sprinting in the opposite direction. The figure falls back into the tent and onto the ground, where the prince has picked himself up. He jumps atop his would-be killer, pinning its arms under his legs. He grasps the dagger, takes a moment to pry it from his abdomen, then without another word plunges it through the assassin's left eye and deep into its skull. The figure convulses violently for a moment before it suddenly slackens, a puff of air signalling its passing.
Rasmus clutches his side, mouthing a silent scream as his body finally registers the attack. Somewhat shakily, he rises to his feet, prying the dagger from his assailant with a sickening squelch. The guards' eyes are immediately drawn to the wet red patch on his tunic, one ducking his head back outside. "A surgeon! Quickly!" The other guard moves to assist the prince, but he waves him off, gesturing to the fallen figure. Pulling back the hood, they find the face of a male orc with strange tattoos on his face. The prince raises the blade to his nose and softly sniffs the little metal not stained with blood.
By now the commotion has attracted a small crowd, including the two officers with whom the prince had conversed not two hours earlier. As they enter the tent, their breath catches in their throats. "A poisoned blade," Rasmus states matter-of-factly, turning the knife this way and that before them. "T'is not serious," he says as they eye the wound, although his reassurance is undercut as he winces in pain. "T'will smart something terrible in the morning, though." He looks down at the bloody spot in annoyance. "Alas! I fear I shall heal much better than this tunic."
The black fox cannot help but grin. "Your Highness has inherited his mother's gift for phrase."
The other guard helps his colleague to drag the corpse outside, where the light of torch-bearers aids everyone in inspecting it properly. Soldiers carefully pick through the orc's belongings, removing various weapons, packs of rations, and what smell like a collection of poisons. "Whoever he was, he came prepared," mutters Ola.
The soldiers then turn to peeling off the assassin's armour in search of any identifying markings. "Heyo," one calls as they undo the cloak, exposing bare arms, "Gimme a light." A torch-bearer leans in close; tattooed just below the right shoulder is a blood-red hand with long, skeletal fingers, its upturned palm formed into a jagged spiral.
The three generals share a look. "A Death's Hand assassin," Ola finally states. "T'would appear we tread on someone's toes."
Rasmus gives a crooked smile. "At least we know we are on the right course."
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christos200
Never tell me the odds
The Fleet sails:
- James Bismarc
- The Fleet of the Great Kingdom of the Sea
- James Bismarc
Spoiler :
- The Fleet of the Great Kingdom of the Sea
William III of the Great Kingdom of the Sea has decided to end the threat of the Krakens. So, he has created the Office of Logistics and Supplies, which will make sure that our Navy will be well supplied, both in food and equipment. The King has also decided to send 40 ships with 30,000 warriors to hunt down the beasts of the Sea and secure that the trade routs are open for trade to anyone. We shall secure free trade, even with force, if needed.
The leader of the ships and the army will be Admiral James Bismarc, a human who has managed to impess the Fomori King with his intelligence. James had commanded in the past forces of the Kingdom, but those were small. So, this will be the first time he will command such a huge army. Although many would expect that the Fomori warriors and sailors would not be happy to accept the command of a human, James has managed to impress them and gain their trust, thanks to his bravery and because he had married a Fomori woman.
James' strategy is to first locate the locations of the Krakens, then surround them and finally, fire at them with everything he has. Instead of dividing his ships and try to destroy all the Krakens at once, James will attack one team of Krakens at the time with his entire fleet. This may slow down his effort, but it will also limit the chances of Krakens escaping. So, with his massive armada, James is ready to restore free trade to the seas.
Ailedhoo
wonderer
- Joined
- Mar 19, 2012
- Messages
- 7,811
A few things of consideration Christos...
1: your image is too large and causing problems for the page. If possible spoiler it.
2: the famouri are a marine species; they can swim well and can breath under water. Letting ya know that.
3: the trade post Manannán your trying to secure is under the sea (design to connect surface trade with sea deep trade)... along with the kraken. Thankfully your playing as a species that are native to living under the sea and able hence to deal with zee kraken threat that way.
Still: kraken do love boats and they do go to the surface plenty of times, epically as the traders will head to the surface to begin to deliver the trade goods to your kingdom.
1: your image is too large and causing problems for the page. If possible spoiler it.
2: the famouri are a marine species; they can swim well and can breath under water. Letting ya know that.
3: the trade post Manannán your trying to secure is under the sea (design to connect surface trade with sea deep trade)... along with the kraken. Thankfully your playing as a species that are native to living under the sea and able hence to deal with zee kraken threat that way.
Still: kraken do love boats and they do go to the surface plenty of times, epically as the traders will head to the surface to begin to deliver the trade goods to your kingdom.
christos200
Never tell me the odds
Sorry about the image. Can I say that the ships can go under the water? I have already writen a large RP about the ships and it will take some time to change it.
Also, boats could be used by the Fomori for organization and because of their firepower.
Also, boats could be used by the Fomori for organization and because of their firepower.
Ailedhoo
wonderer
- Joined
- Mar 19, 2012
- Messages
- 7,811
Submarines? I will need to think about this... what are the other players ideas on this matter?
I am not denying the possibility of Fomori using boats; just noting tactics to consider.
Also I should point out that this stage that gunpowder has yet to be invented.
filli_noctus
Hmmn
- Joined
- Nov 22, 2010
- Messages
- 2,221
In the dim twilight of the early hours the streets of Haaphavn were all but empty. Silence and stillness reigned, save for nocturnal criminals returning to their holes.
Clop, clop, clop. The silence was broken by the sound of hooves on cobbles as a hooded rider made his way through the streets. Clop, clop, clop. Whenever he passed one of the few inhabitants they instinctively pressed into the shadows, fur standing on end due to a fear they could not explain to themselves. Clop, clop, clop. Towards the palace of the Queen of Raevelyke.
The sentries were drowsy due to the early hour but straightened as the rider approached, readying their weapons.
"Halt," called one, "state your business."
"I wish to see your Queen," the rider responded in a hiss that sent chills down the sentries' spines
"At this hour," responded the second sentry, unconsciously shaking away the feeling, "you must be mad."
"My liege, Marret of Formont, sends a message to her majesty. Concerning the ghouls you are having some... issues with."
"The White King," gulped the first sentry, "erm... ahh... please, errr, wait here my lo... um... sir and I'll... I'll go and see if... if the queen can be... um... roused."
"Thank you," replied the rider as the the first sentry scurried into the palace.
OOC: Thor, I'll let you decide if this will proceed.
Clop, clop, clop. The silence was broken by the sound of hooves on cobbles as a hooded rider made his way through the streets. Clop, clop, clop. Whenever he passed one of the few inhabitants they instinctively pressed into the shadows, fur standing on end due to a fear they could not explain to themselves. Clop, clop, clop. Towards the palace of the Queen of Raevelyke.
The sentries were drowsy due to the early hour but straightened as the rider approached, readying their weapons.
"Halt," called one, "state your business."
"I wish to see your Queen," the rider responded in a hiss that sent chills down the sentries' spines
"At this hour," responded the second sentry, unconsciously shaking away the feeling, "you must be mad."
"My liege, Marret of Formont, sends a message to her majesty. Concerning the ghouls you are having some... issues with."
"The White King," gulped the first sentry, "erm... ahh... please, errr, wait here my lo... um... sir and I'll... I'll go and see if... if the queen can be... um... roused."
"Thank you," replied the rider as the the first sentry scurried into the palace.
OOC: Thor, I'll let you decide if this will proceed.
christos200
Never tell me the odds
The Campaign begins:
- James Bismarc
- James Bismarc
The huge fleet of 40 ships has left the ports of the Great Kingdom of the Sea. It now sales against the enemy. The Commander of the Fleet, Admiral James Bismarc has called his Fomori Generals, Hwo Weng, Alexander and Nikos to his cabin in order to plan the campaign. They have already set some goals and the strategy that they will follow, but now the fleet needs more specified goals.
Of those men, the first to speal was Hwo. He pointed in the map three locations north-west of the current location of the fleet, in which it was known that Krakens had attacked trade ships.
"In those three locations ,Hwo said, our trading ships have been attacked by Krakens again and again. So, the Krakens must be based somewhere near those three location.
Alexander took the map and looked it for a few minutes. He then talked to James.
"Sir, should we divide our fleet in three groups and have each group to search each one of those three locations?"
No. I think, James said, that dividing our forces may give us speed, but it will also doom us. The Krakens are very powerful and only with the whole power of our entire fleet can we defeat them."
But, sir, Nikos asked, is it not Manannán our main goal?"
"Our goal, James replied, is to destroy all Krakens and open the trade routes. Manannán is an important trading post, but we first need to secure the surface. That's why, we shall move with our entire fleet against each one of those three locations, and once those Krakens have been killed, we can talk about operations under the sea."
James then took a small miniature of a ship and placed it on the map. Then pushed it towards one of the three Kraken locations, the one named Athespart.
"This is where our fleet will move. We shall go to Athespart. We shall first send two small ships forward and keep our main fleet at a small distance. The Krakens will come to destroy them. Once they attack the two ships, our fleet will move to surround them and massacre them with our ballistas. That is our plan. Time for free trade to flourish again!"
