Mazera Mega Story Thread

A year has passed. Wars have raged. It was the end of the old era, and the beginning of the new.

The time of rebirth has passed. Innocence has passed.

Now is the time of...

Strife



---

Atudire took particular pride in being the first off of the ship. He wasn't the first living soul, or even the first Grigori, to step onto Rinwell, but he would be remembered as the first of this expedition. He held the flag, the signet which would mark the start and center of the new settlement.

The ceremony complete, men and women began streaming off of the boats. The art of landing, of consolidating, was one the Overcouncil had learned, were still learning in the farthest isles, in bloodily through the Chain of Lessers campaign. Speed, decisiveness, were crucial. Soldiers formed the first of the defensive lines, began work on their own battlements. Engineers unloaded supplies, modular palisades constructed in Midgard. Tents, shelter, would not be placed up until tomorrow. Defense was primary; thankfully, the sages expected no rain tonight.

There was only so long to act. By dusk, the ships would leave, sailing into safer territory. All work outside the first rings of the settlement would stop. Torches would be lit, and the guard posted. As the workers, the defenders of last resort, slept and rested, the Ordine Serpentine watched, and waited.

There, as the full moon rose, the first emerged from the sea. The very thrall that had drawn the Grigori to this place. Their Chislev features were no longer so distinctive, wiped away by the pressures of the deep, but they were still there.

The drown wandered. Some advanced, other didn't.

Tonight, the Overlord's thrall were repulsed. Fort Condor withstood it's first night.


---

Hyppoc Tic hadn't slept in days. She hadn't had time to. Thanks to the newer Medicos magics, her body didn't feel the need so much as it once had.

What she had done, however, was endless work. The Island of Trials was still one of the Overcouncil's staging grounds, a bastion in a sea of evil. Though the maps posted across the isle made great note of the number of isles under Overcouncil control, all but the closest to the Fane already occupied, on the Island of Trials was secure against the never ending attempts at new portals on those older Infernal Islands. It would be some time before the purification magics could fully cleanse those lands.

Those maps, Hyppoc always saw, did not mention the Infernal Enclave on the continent. Either their landings in the South, the invasion that saw the last of their fleet destroyed but secured their presence, or the horrid influence up north, where the Hippus kingdom wavered between religions.

But there were Medicos on the continent for that war. Just as there were Medicos and healers across the Chain of Lessers for the wounded there. For the last week, she had been among them. Now she had been recalled, virtually dragged onto a hospital ship bring wounded out of those battlefields. A Medicos was always needed everywhere, it seemed.

A young man, younger than her (but most her patients seemed to be these days) entered the room. He walked with the poise of only one type of Grigori.

"Hyppoc Tic?" asked the Adventurer. "Are you prepared?"

"Always," she responded, as any half-decent Medicos should be. With that he led and she followed, out of the Medicos wing of the citadel and down to the cost. A ship, a fast ship of the Lanun, stood out among the other vessels. It waited for her.

She had lied, though. She wasn't sure she was prepared at all. Her hands shook slightly not from exhaustion, but from nerves such as she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so uneasy.

Never before had anyone attempted surgery on an Angel, let alone Cassiel.

---

Pakun had come up in the world. Once he had simply been another Medicos, one too unfit to ride horses. Then, after becoming a footnote in history as the first sueccessful teleportation of the Khadi, he had found great success in the Dural.

He was no longer just Medicos Pakun. He was the Head Medicos of the Dural Ordine Citadel, the largest university for Medicos instruction in the world. Hundreds of students studied here each week, and he was in charge of it all.

It was no longer just Grigori students, or the Hippus immigrants. Since the Ordine had opened itself to all who would join it, to all who would leave nation behind, there had been an influx of students from around the world. Some were spies, certainly. But even if their lessons were used for foes, the greater health of Mazera was benefited.

And they all came here to learn. Here, the Dural.

Pakun wondered if the Balseraphs would finally agree to a peace treaty. He hoped so; the Dural were a gem of knowledge in the rubble of Mazera. He would hate to see the people's knowledge scattered to the winds.

---

Maour felt pity for Volanna, who sat bound before her. Where once the former Svartalfar had been proud, unbending in light of her conviction, she now sat bent, sad. Not because she had come to think differently, but because she had failed.

"They say he is stable, at least," shared Mouar under the watch of two heavily armed Bannor guards.

Volanna said nothing. But there might have been a faint sigh of relief.

"You were right," Mouar continued. "It was a spy in the Medicos. That was how the poison was smuggled in."

Volanna still said nothing, even vindicated as she was. It was hard for Mouar to admit that; no one had really thought it possible, until an Undercouncil spy had used the Medicos's own reputation against them. She had called Volanna paranoid, ludicrous when the captive had warned of the possibility.

Mouar felt the silence return. It was oppressive. And the both knew the only thing she had left to say.

"I... couldn't convince the Bannor to change the sentence," Mouar said. "You committed to many offenses. They also hold Cassiel in high regard, if not like us, and they maintain none of this would have passed had you not acted first. Your execution... is in three days."

"They have agreed to give your remains to us, though."

There wasn't exactly anything for Volanna to say. She hadn't pushed efforts for her own defense in the least. The failure was what she had expected.

The Bannor guards moved meaningfully, and Mouar rose, her time up. However, to the small surprise of everyone present, Volanna did speak.

"Mouar," she asked, "that is when your prized Medicos will arrive, no? When I go up to the gallows... would you let me know if they have arrived safely or not?"

Mouar could only nod.

 

The Mandate of Heavens Contested

Every god, good and evil, has a concept of the Mandate of Heavens. The Mandate is the legitimacy of the ruler, supported by the gods own authority. More distinct than simple approval, it is a reflection of conduct. To act badly, poorly, sees the mandate leave.

To Kilimorph, a legitimate ruler must work hard.
To Junil, he must obey and enforce the laws evenly.

Even the gods of evil have an understanding.

The Overlords support those who can enforce their wills best, and each god of hell sees validation in actions that reflect them most.

So long as a leader acts in accordance with his mandate, he is legitimate.

But has ours?

Has ours done his role, directed this world and presented its actors with regular developments? I doubt it. Not so, not nearly enough.

I will claim the Mandate of Heavens. I will rise beyond my station, and take the responsibilities that are being left aside.

If any here would refuse it, then rise! Speak! Take that action yourself! What I take from you, take back!

But by my hand or another's, this world will not be allowed to stagnate. Not yet.

---

 

Oic wat u did thar.

So I take it Operation Condor is in effect?

 

A Year in Review​

In the last year, many things have happened. Some minor, some major. Share your memories... and learn the past of others. The past may well determine your future. Memories need not be in chronological order.

---

History #01: Infernals Reach the Continent

The Infernal Navy has broken through! Even as Overcouncil forces invade the islands, the Infernal navy has punched through the naval armada and made landfall at the continent!

Though suffering extreme and decisive losses, for every ten ships destroyed one ship made it through, and enough ships came to land an army.

Already portals from the Fane of Lessers are linking to the continent, and reinforcements show no sign of ending.

---

 

Spoiler :

did no-one notice that Infernal Independents had been creating a beach-head in Alpharbane for some time now? they had already revoked leadership of the Hippus, and have recently revoked Neutrality.

After months of fighting, the hippus nation's borders have started to receed. In the northern fronteir ... farms are being destroyed by the powers of Ice, and some scouts have discovered small towns left Frozen solid. In the East, the growing Daemonic horde led by Judecca is making ground. At first the Daemons were easily destroyed, although it was later discovered these were scouting parties as Judecca was summoning yet more creatures and fiends.

A massive platoon of Wind-riders was assembled at the plains of Arath ... a legendary field between the Hippus and Svartalphar, the home of many heroic victories of the hippus against invasions from the east. Now the demons are amassing an army on the other side of the field. The wind is crisp and strong in the clear breaking dawn. As the light begins to shine upon the field the Hippus let out their War Cry. The infernals let out their own screeches and bellows, and waves of skelletons, corpses, and sect-of flies. The knights charge forwards ... setting their lances in place.

 

History #2: Flauros attacked, still in critical condition

On his way to return to Calabim lands, the Vampire Lord Flauros was attacked by a group of assassins. Many of them were of Sheaim ethnicity, but three of the agents, now in custody of Flauros' personal guard, were Svartalfar vampires originally employed by Lord Ilyth and later by Lady Alexis against the D'Teshi. Whether Lady Alexis is behind the attack is yet unknown, but Flauros asked to be brought back to the Grigori to be treated for his wounds. His situation is currently critical, several poisons potent enough to kill normal humans in his blood and dozens of wound on his body.

 

---

A Remembrance of the Second

He was still wavering in and out. It was a struggle, a constant struggle, to merely remain conscious, but he did not give up. He would give up, and that struggle was why he was the highest priest of Sucellus.

But it would be so easy to rest his eyes, to sleep...

YOU WILL NOT

No. He wouldn't. It wasn't in his plans. His... penance?

There was laughter.

No, it wasn't penance. Penance was looking to the path. He was...

Living. He loved it. Why else?

She will not let you.

Who?

You asked, and gave. You will not give up. You are in this together.

Asked... yes, he had. It seemed so long ago. When he had asked Alexis to join him, to remake the Calabim.

Oh, Alexis... why? To the deepest marrow of his bones, if his fears were true... why?

You will never be alone. You are in this... together.

Flauros was too far gone to register when his guards stumbled into a small group of Grigori adventurers heading to Midgard, to dazed to recognize the commotion they made in pushing through the streets to the Medicos hospital. Too far under in anesthesia to see when the Prime Minister's daughter nearly ran into his room, ignoring guards and adventurers alike in her haste.

So it was strange that he remembered the sight of one of those adventurers sitting beside his bed, gazing at him in wary curiosity. Without remembering the context in the least, Flauros remembered that young man's questioning stare.

'Why you?'

He couldn't remember what, if anything, he answered.


---



History #3: Brigit Arrives in Midgard

The freed archangel of fire arrived in the Grigori capital in tandem with the startling arrival of Flauros. As Flauros's arrival created such surprise, the presence of the archangel was virtually unnoticed outside of the Grigori Palace, a happenstance that suited all sides preferences.

Brigit and her Grigori escorts conferred with Prime Minister Esirce. Once the agreement of her release were reconfirmed, that she would not tap into her divine abilities and would not surpass mortal knowledge and practices in Mazera, Brigit departed Midgard and left for the Redeemed, where Jonas had already returned to resume reigns of government.

---


History #4: Autonomous Grigori City-State of Jeden Established

The heretic colony of Jeden has been founded on the main island of the southern sea. Departing from Costa del Sol, the religious refugees, a certain type of heretic known for denying the authority of the gods, have come from across Mazera to settle in their own city.

Though bound by Grigori laws and religious tolerance rules as part of their charter, Jeden is an autonomous colony not directly ruled by Midgard. Set upon a hill overlooking the North Bay, the city-state's political scene is dominated by the charter-founders, making it largely controlled by the very heretics who established it. Despite such a temptation for nepotism, though, governance has been exceptionally honest, a large part in the acceptance for the state of affairs.

For now, Jeden remains a modest settlement, but one growing quickly thanks to heavy investment from the large numbers of Lunnotar immigrating there.

 

Tasunke, where is Alpharbane?

 

OOC: I will restart writing things once I'm done with these papers.

 

The Unsung Tale of Alpharbane (a lesson in current events and history)

Alpharbane is east of the river-fork inbetween Hippus and Svartalphar lands. I say this because much of the land inbetween Svartalphar border, and the river-fork, is belonging to the Demons centered in AlpharBane.

AlpharBane "Used" to be Gareth Minar, a large city in former Svartalphar, and now former Hippus, lands. It is where the treasury of the Svartalphar was first taken, before being Siphoned into the Hippus empire.

The Governor of AlpharBane is Judecca, while its cheif General is Lazarus. Lazarus, an arch-demon, bows only to Judecca, and only because of the promise of power from the ancient daemonic mage-priest. the Pale One is a sickly colored Bezerker-Demon of great power. Born from the soul of the last surviving Svartalphar in the ritual of hellfire, he is the most evil of the warlords under Lazarus's command.

ever since my last post (which IIRC mentions them some-what) the Daemonic Citizens of Alpharbane have broken the uneasy truce between them and the Hippus/Svarts, and have been expanding in all directions. Still, the conflict between Alpharbane and Svartalphar is a story untold, and largely inactive, due to the Svarts reluctance to enter hell terrain, and the Daemon's reluctance to enter Ancient Forest. The armies and people of Alpharbane can be referred to as Baneians, or Infernals of Lazarus, or Lands of Judecca. They are Independent from the official Infernal faction, although they do Respect Hyborem and his goals.

 

The First Charge

Spoiler :

Due to military reforms enacted by the Ultranationalist party, the powerful Clan warriors have taken a back-seat on the battlefield. The majority of these "Windriders" are professional soldiers who have sworn allegiance to the Crown of the Hippus, as opposed to fealty to (the people, and) the Mercenary Guild led by Rhoanna, as was customary practice since even the first Mercenary constitution 30 years ago.

Forward company, led by a youthful Seargant named Justinian, drew the first blood of the battle. If you could call it blood, more like the diseased slime that oozes from a Corpse that has suffered one too many puncture wounds to retain structural integrity.

The undead horrors were crushed underneath the combined power of Thorough-Bred Hippi Warhorses and finely crafted Mithril lances led by those hippi good enough to make it into the forward company. Perhaps not as experienced as the Clansmen, but certainly skilled enough to know how to end their opponents, wether living men, undead horrors, or Daemons. Other diseased corpses, to either side, kept marching forwards. Eventually forward company was completely flanked by the creatures.

 

History #4: Holy Flame Mastered

Holy Flame, the multi-mana magic pioneered by Overcouncil sages, has been mastered after long efforts and suspicious delays. Holy Flame is remarkably effective against corpses, making great advantages against undead armies. At this time, Holy Fire is only stationary fire walls, making offense difficult but defense nearly impenetrable to the undead.

In it's primary appliaction, the Legions of D'Tesh were stopped in their invasion of the Cualli, with their main forces burned to ashes wherever they tried to cross over. The war has entered a stalemate, with the Legions increasingly stripping their occupied half of the Cualli bare to fuel their war machine.

Holy Flame has been exported for other areas as well. The Deadlands are increasingly stable behind walls of holy fire, and the Grigori have prepared mages to use it on Rinwell.

It's effect against all but the strongest undead have alarmed and angered many necromancers of Mazera. The Legions of D'Tesh have only strengthened their friendship and cooperation with the Sheaim since the Overcouncil Development, a happening that does not speak well for the future.

 

The Second Charge

Justinian's Riders keep charging forwards, either not knowing of their precarious situation or not caring. They begin to take losses, but their momentum is nothing other than pure slaughter upon the demonic hordes. Meanwhile, a large wave of hippus light cavalry charge into those troops that have marched past Justinian's Company. They fight in sweeping arcs, in order to re-establish a connected forward line, and to re-secure Justinian's flanks.

 

Thick of Battle

Justinian's knights begin to fight their way back to the lines, and meet with the light cavalry. Several regiments of Horse-archers form line and fire into the advancing demonic hordes. They march into us only to die. Of course, arrows have limited effect against the undead, many of the creatures keep moving fowards, with an arrow clean through the skull, or neck, or chest. It seems more luck than anything else that an arrow will fell such a beast. And yet fall they shall. So many horse-archers ... first it was just a few regiments ... but now the entire battlefield is covered in arrows. Those creatures that make it to the front lines look like pin-cushions, pierced with many arrow-heads of glass and obsidian, not to mention other, cheaper stones and metals.

If ever demons could retreat, that is what they were doing. Before-hand ... the waves and waves of enemy soldiers were crashing against hippus steel, but before the might of their arrows, the demons seemed to be shuffling backwards, pressing towards the forest's edge from whence they came. As the demons made their fighting retreat, Justinian was more than happy to take the fight to them. Over the rest of the battlefield, Hippus officers and recruits alike were patting each other on the back, many yelling in triumph and victory. The clansmen however ... as experienced as they were ... smelled something amiss. Quickly, Alexander fled the battlefield with his Areoul hippus ... in the intent of circling the Demonic encampment, for proper reconnaissance.

 

Blood of Demons

Daemonic Blood and Undead Ichor soaked the ground with a foul stench. The soldiers on the field believed they had won, that the day was theirs. Could they ever be more wrong.

A green flame arose far behind the front lines, in the middle of the hippi camp ... it grew slowly, releasing a noxious gas among the grasses. As soon as it hit the demonic blood it exploded into an erupting green hell-fire with a Sulpherous smell. The flames jumped up a full 10 feet into the air, and raced across the battlefield along the blood, like flames atop gasoline. Soon Half the army is trapped within the cage of the flames, many being burned alive, many more passing out due to the horrible stench. Justinian and his Company meanwhile, are sewing more slaughter amongst the retreating demons. A few however, are starting to have chills, and cough. Possibly due to some disease which the corpses had. There were a few Empyrean priests back at the camp, although they were of a minority among the church that decided to remain within Hippus lands. Some even wonder if they still carry the favor of their gods ... as their powers have not yet been tested. Further beyond that were tents of the Medicos, although they had not yet been given authorization to enter battle-conditions unless absolutely necessary. Still, all these were several miles back in the direction of civilzation. Here ... on the battlefield, blood was spilled, steel ripped apart flesh both living and otherworldly. Unholy ichors splattered against the armor of the Rough Riders. Here the green flame was soaring to catch up with Justinian and his band of merry butchers.

The flames leaped from corpse to corpse, and finally leaped upon the Riders, gathered onto their very armors. Justinian could feel the searing heat of the unholy flame upon his backside, and passed out from the pain. He slumped off of the horse and lay there, being eaten alive by the sickly green fire.

Back at Mid-field, where the Fire started, every effort was being made to put out the fire. Empyrean priests attempted to stop the flames, dirt was thrown onto the fire. Sometimes large quantities of dirt would temporarily put out the fire, but green flames would eventually bubble back up to the surface. It was a never-ending, and impossible battle. Still, measures were taken, and soldiers were being rescued. Leaders were calling a mobilization of the camp. A retreat to Ihara was in order. Soldiers rescued from the Sulfurous smoke were brought into the Medicos tents. Attempts were made to heal them, but they were slowly dying without sign of recovery. Those at the front of the fire were still working with great effort to put out the fire, even if temporary, in order to rescue more soldiers. All they could hear was the Roaring hiss of the flames, and all they could smell were the Noxious fumes they gave off.

It came from the fires, it was the size of a Nobleman's Estate, wicked looking thing. With curving horns, slimy scales, and a fiery back as Noxious as the flames on the battlefield. The most horrifying thing about the creature was that it was not simply killing the soldiers it attacked. It was eating them. Spare parts of soldiers were flying about, and all within about a 50 foot radius were sprayed with the blood and gore of their comrades. A learned man among the camp exclaimed something about a "Beast of Agares." An empyrean priest wept and fell to the ground, holding himself upright from the knees, praying for Lugus's forgiveness. As he pleaded to his god, a giant claw swung at his midsection, tearing him in half. The beast roared upon the main encampment. Its drool spraying among many Hippi Officials, the acidic droplets searing into their flesh. A knight of Radonnor picked up a lance, and thrust it into the haunch of the beast. He went flying from the buck of the creature, but the damage had been done. The Beast began to buck and scream, killing many; more by accident than by purpose. A liutenant began to run to a supply tent, but was killed by a thrashing tail. A Knight noticed his intent, and found a large net within, with grappling hooks at various intervals. He rallied some men to his cause, and they were eventually able to net the beast. It charged them, killing the half that had not the reflex to duck and roll just in time. However the grapple hooks got themselves snagged upon some debris, and the beast came crashing down ... although it was clear the net was soon going to break. The remaining Knights gathered about what weapons they could and pierced the Beast from all sides and angles. Finally, after much exertion, the best lay dead before them. They gathered the generals together and they marched towards the rear, where the Grigori tents were. There was nothing more to be done for the soldiers left on the field of battle, they would return to Ihara to regroup.

 

Blocked Off

The army was gathered around the grigori tents, loading supply wagons, and readying for the short march west to Ihara. They let the Medicos wagons travel first, with a light compliment of Radonnor Knights, while the bulk of the army marched in the back. In case some over-hasty demons were to attack their rear. Knight of Radonnor Nielson noticed a bright glimmer in the sky. Upon further inspection it looked more like a comet ... a fiery ball-shape with a trailing tail of energy. Oh, wait ... it appears to be getting bigger. It IS BIGGER!! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE! Not moments after Nielson gave the order of evasion than a massive Ball of Fire crashed into the Medicos tents. Several Other fireballs landed in various locations, taking out key wagons. Nielson noticed a man not 100 paces in front of him. He ran forwards, determined to put an end to the foul mage. Somehow, the mage kept his distance, without moving. Eventually the running was too much for Nielson and he slumped to the ground. He didn't notice anything else that was going on around him ... except for the whispered phrase "dispel."

Deputy Commander Rhalik of the hippus Ultranationlist forces watched in horror as his army was going up in smoke. He noticed many of his men were suffering of halucinations ... or worse. He gathered his loyalists in front of him, and demanded they cut him a safe path through this chaos. They barely made it to the lead wagons before something pale, graceful, and extremely quick cut down his men. There was not a more elegant soldier in all the lands. Knife-eared, sickly pale ... and yet tainted by that same twisted demonic glaze which corrupts all Infernal Ilk. Rhalik would learn he goes by "The Pale One". Never was a demon so graceful as this Bezerker-Assasin from the depths of hell-fire and brimstone. It is said he once lived among the Svartalphar, as one of them ... and then was driven mad by hatred far greater than most living things ever learn of. Legends vary on how long the Pale One's time was in the Machine of hell. Some say weeks, others say months. they all agree that his immense desire to spread his despair among the world made him the fastest yet to meet all proper requirements. After the Pale One killed off the rest of his body-guard, and ate their tongues, it grabbed him, and shoved him forwards through the blood and smoke.

As his brief journey came to an end, Rhalik noticed a figure not 5 paces ahead of him. An old man, with red leathery skin ... too leathery, is that scales? And the clothing, a robe all black with blood-red trimmings. The cloth underneath was covered in ancient and arcane symbols, and he seemed to be wielding several ancient tomes underneath his heavy sleeves.

"greetings, General. come, we have much to discuss. Zedvahn ... assemble the other human officials of high rank. And bring them to me. Do what you will of the others."
And so the Pale One re-entered the smoke.

 

"Do you know what the fault of the Reformed Calabim are, Alexis?"
The Head of the Overcouncil turned, terrified at the fact that someone was in her private chambers with her. Tears were running down her face and she could not see clearly. Even then, she could recognize the voice that haunted her now, in her hardest moment.
"Trust." Os-Gabellas voice cut into Alexis' mind like searing knives.
"Flauros trusted you. Like you trusted Dora, Deledien and Alia."
"You!" Alexis screamed at Gabella. "Why?"
"You know that. I know that."
Os-Gabella went over to Alexis' desk and opened the drawers. They were all filled with letters with broken seals on them. One and all, the seals were Os-Gabella's own.
"Why do you keep refusing your destiny, Daughter?"
"Nobody decides my destiny but ME! Not even the gods!"
Os-Gabella, normally in the darkest mood, managed a little chuckle.
"You sound like one of the Grigori. But remember who you owe your life - and the life of your brother if he survives. A God. You are like the Grigori; agnostics ruled by an angel. You're pathetic."
Alexis sobbed pathetically. "But..."
Os-Gabella emptied the drawers onto the floor around Alexis. "Let's see if they trust you now. Guards!"

As Alexis guards entered moments later, they found her crumbling in a corner, crying. All over the floor, discriminating letters from Os-Gabella to her daughter were lying in piles.

 

OOC: Oooh, nice twist. I like it. I'll have to think on that one.

Ahem. Tasunke, consider this your answer to your PM.

---

History #5: Ordine Serpentine Formed; Ordine Expands

Hail the Serpentine Slayers! Their exploits and valor are beyond doubt. Their bravery beyond question. These champions are the unquestioned backbone of the Grigori military; armed with mithril, tested in the worst terrain of the Grigori Progress, even routinely Altered to make a new, better type of fighter.

The need for them is never-ending. The Medicos cathedrals need a dedicated protective force. The external settlements need protection, and their is always a need for more on the Archos front and in the western sea.

In recognition of their status and need, the Grigori Progress has elevated the Serpentine into an Ordine of their own, on level with the Ordine Medicos. The Ordine Serpentine now carries out the marshal duties of the Grigori Ordine, and the Medicos are safer to practice their much-needed craft.

As Ordine, the Ordine Serpentine are a force of their own, albeit one funded, directed, and kept on a much shorter leash than the Ordine Medicos. Also as Ordine, the Serpentine are open to all who would lead their lands behind and join their ranks. For those who despise the gods' war, this is a chance to strike back that never existed before. For those without a home, this is a chance for a new one.

Even foreign friends of the Grigori may send one or two individuals to train with the Serpentine, to understand that their strength is in their mindset and courage as much as their tactics. It is something possible learn, but near impossible to recreate.

The Ordine Serpentine's chief training grounds are the Isle of Trials. Though the surface is clear, underneath are seemingly hundreds of caverns and passages that have not been purified. Training fields of perdition, burning sand caverns, these are the testing grounds for the strength of men's souls.

---

 

The Orc Iskar Harad, Leader of the Republic's Guards, The Elite regiment of Guardsmen, has left today, along with his Boon companion and Second in Command, the Elf Jetra Thingel, for the Isle of Trials, accepting the Invitation for training from the Ordine Serpentine.

(OOC: invitation being "even freinds of the Grigori may send one or two individuals to train with the serpentine)

 

Vladivostok

No longer a man, but something more. Emerging from the arcane labratories funded by the hippus, worked upon by ex-Calabim and Balseraph ... even with the help of a few Illi-mages deciding to trade one despot for a warmer one. Vladivostok had a family once, but he can no longer remember them. The psychiatric conditioning brought upon him by the Dragon-Core stripped him most of his warm and happy memories. All he knows is the dance of battle, and his status as experimental guinea pig ... to be jeered at and mocked, as well as having millions of denarii spent to see him learn a new trick. Once but a man, a great warrior. Captured, proto-type for the Dragon-core, before they were Hippus were taking "volunteers" from their own streets. A powerful warrior of a southern Doviello tribe, no longer bound by any tradition other than the order to kill. However, Vladivostok fully thinks of his own accord, even as he realizes he is but a puppet of the Hippus legions with a very tight leash.

His skin is hardened, almost scaly ... an aura of ice emanantes from his skin, creating a magical barrier, as well as imbuing a limited sense of flight, among other abilities. Due to the Flesh-crafting back in the labs ... they were able to give him a pair of modified gargoyle wings, completely fold-able, and used best for Gliding. In order to incorporate this with the rest of his body, many changes were made to his back, as well as his legs, in order to adapt himself to his new stature. Fingernails are largely replaced by razor-sharp claw-nubs ... barely a few milimeters long but still sharp enough to rend flesh like a steaknife through butter. The Luchuirp had him crafted special enchanted gloves, so that he wouldn't have to worry about the claws effecting normal non-combat situations. Also, his hands and arms are so though and attuned to the powers of Dragon-kin that he need not worry too much about scratching himself.

He looks more like a Demon than a Man, and wears an ancient breast-plate re-molded specifically for him. The remains of a large piece of armor found deep within the catacombs of former Khazad. Perhaps it was the Breastplate of a Giant, an Ogre, or a cave Troll. Whatever the origin, the Luchuirp completed their aid, and part of the bargain, by recrafting it into the finest full-plate piece of armor Dwarf or Gnome has ever seen on Mazera.

This is such a man that the Hippus send to the Isle of Trials, to train with the Serpentine.

The encampment on the ridge overlooked the Dockyards. It was raining heavily. The Serpentine were sitting around a camp-fire sharing stories and ale. One of the scouts noticed a large shadow race across the sky, and then in a matter of seconds that shape seemed to materialize in a dusty explosion as it landed with a hard thud in the midst of the camp. Suddenly all the Serpentine stood ready and encircled the beast. It seemed to be wrapping itself with its wings, whatever it was. A heady recruit grabbed a pike and ran towards the commotion, stabbing into the wing. A cry of anger from the beast shocked all present, and suddenly the entire wingspan unfurled, and swung about in a large arc, knocking all present to their feet. Gargoyle wings are a weapon, not a weakness.

The Serpentine Liutenant recognized the creature from a sketch he had seen in an Ordine newsletter. He called his men off, and helped many of them back to their feet. Meanwhile, Vladivostok folded his wings in onto his back as he had been trained for weeks by Luchuirp engineers and Calabim flesh-crafters.

"Pardon the recruit, he is a bit hasty to judge on intrusions," the lieutenant said warily.

"No. It is I who shall ... apologize ... for this incursion. My manners do leave me sometime. That is, Im sure I had manners at sometime. I will take my leave, that ship leaves for the Isle yes? And ... thank you for showing Niceties for one such as me. A mutant who is but a pawn in the games of man. You wish to rebuke the games of gods, yes? Tell me, which is more petty, the games of gods or the games of men?"

With that, Vladivostok unfolded his wings and ran towards the cliff-face. He dropped down and then swooped out to sea, circling back into harbor. He lazily glided onto the docked Cargo Ship, entered an inventory cabin, and quickly put himself to sleep.