Starlife
de la terre à la lune
- Joined
- Mar 2, 2010
- Messages
- 1,498
A messenger arrives to Aiolia bringing news from the Ironlaugh Guild...
As written by Sadenk Ironlaugh said:
-
Civilization 7 has been announced. For more info please check the forum here .
SLNES I: Masters of Ethereal
- Thread starter Starlife
- Start date
A messenger arrives to Aiolia bringing news from the Ironlaugh Guild...
Northen Wolf
Young Hunter
My attempt to describe culture and society.
--------
Culture/Society: Before our hero - the wizard - appared, goblins around Goldtier mountains were constantly fighting and raiding their next-door neighbors. Goblin villages had two tiers - most of the village was above ground, with hideouts and treasuries hidden underneath the village (into mining tunnels). This made goblin village looting rather difficult - one could loot on ground, but could not smoke out goblins (and their treasures) from underground.
There was a lot of bad blood. Most goblins were Living in small and backwards tribial communities and every village produced most supplies, that it needed for its survival, on its own. Constant raiding and attacking was considered "Normal" amongst population, especially during winter and summer, where not much could be done on fields.And goblins, well, they don't do so well, in doing "field work", smithing and engineering are quite a different story from farming tho. As every village needed armor and weapons - for raiding purposes - every village also had a smith or two. Two incase of one should die. Every village also had village elder, a shaman and a warrior leader. Village elder did simple things, like decided where to plant seeds or who works. Shaman explained unexplained phenomens, ate a lot of mushrooms (raw) and attempted to cure sicknesses and treat wounds (often in rather "creative" ways). A warrior leader was just that, what you expect him to be - in charge of training recruits, defending hme and looting neighbors. Villages never seemed to get along and rarely did alliance form.
Well, that was before our hero appared. With in few months, unnamed wizard managed to join 5 tribes and total 10+ villages under his dominion. And from there onwards it was a simple task of joining all goblins to work towards one goal. His goal. Goblins, being used to and highly focused in their specialization - for an example: a smith deals with smithing issues every day, 20 hours a day, with passion that can not be compared to other races. Under one leader, who was not as selfish or own-village and bribe friendly, this small "union" grew larger and larger. Goblins underneath Wizard soon nicknamed him "The Prophet" and followed his teachings and orders, like these would have come from Creator itself. There were only few times, when problems in serving our unnamed wizard appared. And "The Prophet" dealth with these "issues" with incredble speed and brutality. Now, no one questions Prophets will. No one questions prophets orders. Specialists work, singlemindedly in their area of specialization - smiths smith, woodcutters chop wood and warriors train in gigantic armies. They can do it now, because they do not have to worry about their safety anymore. As their safety is guaranteed by clan-union. Some of the goblins, even worship Prophet.
Turning these past two years, goblins have expanded their trade networks, they have gained great boost to their overall production and new villages are "converted" under Clan Union name every passing month. And with that, new armies, larger than anyone has ever seen or heared about, are being created. Villagers, now freed from their monthly working-raiding duties are being used to fuel this new machine of war and goblins serve well. They want to serve, because that is what they do best. And because they know what happens with those who do not obey to His will.
Religion: While most goblins believe in some sort of religion, no real region or even similar beliefs existed in Goldtier mountains. Some tribes did tell of a story of a Prophet. A Goblin Prophet who shall unite goblins, form an army out of them, conquer entire world and make everlasting peace last over the entire world. He would also greatly increase "home-brew" productions of goblin kind. Now, within the domination of Unnamed wizard, new cults are being formed, that believe that this greenskinned magican is the Prophet. Wizard has shown no differend behaviour, when goblins refer to him as prophet, king, master, Lord or even The Creator. It seems, this unnamed wizard does not care what he is called or believed to be, aslong as his orders are followed and he is respected.
While wizard himself is not interested in any religion, he does - sometimes - teach his subjects in arts of bending and controlling emotions. For an example, he sometimes visits recruit-training camps and orders recruits to stand in formation. He then casts a rather scary flame-spirit to attack these recruits. While recruits fight, he teaches how to hit these creatures and how one must control his fear - anxiety - lack of sleep - hate and even pain, and focus all feelings towards one single goal - to defeat opposition. Recruits are usually under-equipped and rather easly scared, many (if not all) flee. Those who flee are hunted down by veterans or by wizard himself and every third of them is allowed to retry the exam. Rarely are there more survivors, than 10 out of 100 recruits. But those 10 are stronger and more focused than they were before. By the end of the training, these soldiers are machines: they are not afraid, they are not scared, they are not angry - they have just one goal - to defeat their enemy and to follow orders, no matter if it'll cost them their fingers, other body parts or even, their lives. And this kind of a dedication is rarely seen even amongst "elite raiding-wars" veterans.
With every passing day, more followers that believe, that this wizard is The Prophet increase in numbers. They also believe that He has come here to teach goblins how to control emotions and wield them as tools. And this belief motivates many to work and to sacrifice their own lives for wizard. So often enough, wizard stops and tells a thing or two to civilians of how to control emotions and focus them towards one single goal. Of course, goblins do not know, that ability to focus all emotions towards one goal, is one of the essential skills in spell casting - without it, one would have hard time in casting anything larger than firestorms or tornadoes.
Values:
1) obeying wizards will (new, came out of fear and respect for wizards skill),
2) earning and increasing personal wealth,
3) working for a village (has shifted into working for the Clan-union, in fear of disobeying "Prophets" orders)
4) War - Has shifted from small time raiding to full-fledge war with anyone who is not from the Clan-Union.
5) Professions like Smith, Miner, engineer/inventor, warrior and Woodcutter are always held in high value in Clan-Union society. Alemaker, trader, elder and hunter are thought quite highly of.
6) In private life, families - focus on one certain profession and wealth are rather important.
--------
Culture/Society: Before our hero - the wizard - appared, goblins around Goldtier mountains were constantly fighting and raiding their next-door neighbors. Goblin villages had two tiers - most of the village was above ground, with hideouts and treasuries hidden underneath the village (into mining tunnels). This made goblin village looting rather difficult - one could loot on ground, but could not smoke out goblins (and their treasures) from underground.
There was a lot of bad blood. Most goblins were Living in small and backwards tribial communities and every village produced most supplies, that it needed for its survival, on its own. Constant raiding and attacking was considered "Normal" amongst population, especially during winter and summer, where not much could be done on fields.And goblins, well, they don't do so well, in doing "field work", smithing and engineering are quite a different story from farming tho. As every village needed armor and weapons - for raiding purposes - every village also had a smith or two. Two incase of one should die. Every village also had village elder, a shaman and a warrior leader. Village elder did simple things, like decided where to plant seeds or who works. Shaman explained unexplained phenomens, ate a lot of mushrooms (raw) and attempted to cure sicknesses and treat wounds (often in rather "creative" ways). A warrior leader was just that, what you expect him to be - in charge of training recruits, defending hme and looting neighbors. Villages never seemed to get along and rarely did alliance form.
Well, that was before our hero appared. With in few months, unnamed wizard managed to join 5 tribes and total 10+ villages under his dominion. And from there onwards it was a simple task of joining all goblins to work towards one goal. His goal. Goblins, being used to and highly focused in their specialization - for an example: a smith deals with smithing issues every day, 20 hours a day, with passion that can not be compared to other races. Under one leader, who was not as selfish or own-village and bribe friendly, this small "union" grew larger and larger. Goblins underneath Wizard soon nicknamed him "The Prophet" and followed his teachings and orders, like these would have come from Creator itself. There were only few times, when problems in serving our unnamed wizard appared. And "The Prophet" dealth with these "issues" with incredble speed and brutality. Now, no one questions Prophets will. No one questions prophets orders. Specialists work, singlemindedly in their area of specialization - smiths smith, woodcutters chop wood and warriors train in gigantic armies. They can do it now, because they do not have to worry about their safety anymore. As their safety is guaranteed by clan-union. Some of the goblins, even worship Prophet.
Turning these past two years, goblins have expanded their trade networks, they have gained great boost to their overall production and new villages are "converted" under Clan Union name every passing month. And with that, new armies, larger than anyone has ever seen or heared about, are being created. Villagers, now freed from their monthly working-raiding duties are being used to fuel this new machine of war and goblins serve well. They want to serve, because that is what they do best. And because they know what happens with those who do not obey to His will.
Religion: While most goblins believe in some sort of religion, no real region or even similar beliefs existed in Goldtier mountains. Some tribes did tell of a story of a Prophet. A Goblin Prophet who shall unite goblins, form an army out of them, conquer entire world and make everlasting peace last over the entire world. He would also greatly increase "home-brew" productions of goblin kind. Now, within the domination of Unnamed wizard, new cults are being formed, that believe that this greenskinned magican is the Prophet. Wizard has shown no differend behaviour, when goblins refer to him as prophet, king, master, Lord or even The Creator. It seems, this unnamed wizard does not care what he is called or believed to be, aslong as his orders are followed and he is respected.
While wizard himself is not interested in any religion, he does - sometimes - teach his subjects in arts of bending and controlling emotions. For an example, he sometimes visits recruit-training camps and orders recruits to stand in formation. He then casts a rather scary flame-spirit to attack these recruits. While recruits fight, he teaches how to hit these creatures and how one must control his fear - anxiety - lack of sleep - hate and even pain, and focus all feelings towards one single goal - to defeat opposition. Recruits are usually under-equipped and rather easly scared, many (if not all) flee. Those who flee are hunted down by veterans or by wizard himself and every third of them is allowed to retry the exam. Rarely are there more survivors, than 10 out of 100 recruits. But those 10 are stronger and more focused than they were before. By the end of the training, these soldiers are machines: they are not afraid, they are not scared, they are not angry - they have just one goal - to defeat their enemy and to follow orders, no matter if it'll cost them their fingers, other body parts or even, their lives. And this kind of a dedication is rarely seen even amongst "elite raiding-wars" veterans.
With every passing day, more followers that believe, that this wizard is The Prophet increase in numbers. They also believe that He has come here to teach goblins how to control emotions and wield them as tools. And this belief motivates many to work and to sacrifice their own lives for wizard. So often enough, wizard stops and tells a thing or two to civilians of how to control emotions and focus them towards one single goal. Of course, goblins do not know, that ability to focus all emotions towards one goal, is one of the essential skills in spell casting - without it, one would have hard time in casting anything larger than firestorms or tornadoes.
Values:
1) obeying wizards will (new, came out of fear and respect for wizards skill),
2) earning and increasing personal wealth,
3) working for a village (has shifted into working for the Clan-union, in fear of disobeying "Prophets" orders)
4) War - Has shifted from small time raiding to full-fledge war with anyone who is not from the Clan-Union.
5) Professions like Smith, Miner, engineer/inventor, warrior and Woodcutter are always held in high value in Clan-Union society. Alemaker, trader, elder and hunter are thought quite highly of.
6) In private life, families - focus on one certain profession and wealth are rather important.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
Cracking Coratoth (part 1)
Coratoth, Avalor
Aralaroo snarled at the gate-keeper, barring his fangs and the gate-keeper barred his in return but while Aralaroo’s teeth mirrored his frustration and anger, the guard merely appeared bored and certainly was not impressed by Aralaroo’s display. The gnoll tapped his knuckles on the bench-top and Aralaroo realized that he would need to bribe him if he wanted to get his cattle to the abattoir today. Glancing quickly at his sons who rode at the rear of the herd to ensure they did not see him losing face and their family’s coin, he reached into his coin purse and passed two bronze discs across the bench top. The guard smiled at him, this time much less bored, and motioned him through. Aralaroo kicked his spurs and led the herd through the gates of Castle Coratoth, sniffing at the air to find his way to the abattoir.
As he glanced back, checking on his herd and his sons, he saw another rancher passing through the gate and as he watched, the rancher flashed a sort of hand-sign at the gate-keeper and the gate-keeper waved him through without either a bribe or the standard toll. The other rancher smiled and caught Aralaroo’s eye. Aralaroo made note of his face and again spurred his mount forward.
Much later Aralaroo and his sons were seated in a small arena. Normally the arena would serve as a proving ground for any number of sports matches the Coratoth enjoyed and the blood stains on the stone and sand floors attested to that but today it would serve as a market for bidders to come and buy the ranchers’ cattle. It is for this reason that the arena was situated under the shadow of the city’s giant abattoir-no doubt it’s scents drove up ticket sales and encouraged aggressive play amongst the competitors. As Aralaroo looked around he saw representatives from the tanning and leather guilds as well as many butchers and grocers eager to maintain their stocks. Additionally he spotted a Society member and his guards.
For Aralaroo these masked men, usually goblins but also orcs, dwarves and increasingly gnolls, were a source of both anxiety and intrigue. They seemed to have very deep pockets and an insatiable thirst for quality leathers and hides. They also travelled with intimidating entourages of lethal-looking men bristling with small half-concealed weapons. They typically bought up contracts for large amounts of hides and leather but tended to be very preferential and in this way drove up the price of cattle for specific ranchers over others. As Aralaroo watched, they placed imposing and commanding bids on several of the cattle of the rancher Aralaroo had seen make hand gestures at the city gates and moments later ignore a series of cattle that Aralaroo though as good or better than that of the mysterious rancher, including several from his own herd.
Aralaroo wondered what the secretive hand gestures, the favorable treatment at the city gates and the high bids placed by the masked Thuggee all meant. There was something going on here and he wanted in.
The Depths of the Labyrinth, Avalor
“The reports I have received from the 4th and 5th circle members placed within Coratoth are indeed promising and certainly match our proposed time-line. Already we have turned members of the city-guard, their militia, including several officers, many prominent merchants, town-criers, an orphanage-house, and even the members of a minor thief’s guild. Our agents have penetrated into most levels of Coratoth society and have only really faced difficulty amongst some of the more high-ranking noble houses. Amongst most others, our influence and the support of other Society members within the castle-city have been sufficient to motivate loyalty to our cause and provide an extensive network of operatives willing to not only provide us with intelligence but to act directly against the noble council, or ‘High Pack’ of Coratoth directly.” The masked goblin sat down, squaring his papers and looked at his peers, though all he saw were thick hoods and impassive masks.
Their leader spoke, “Good work Servant of the Will. I think its time to proceed to stage two.”
Coratoth, Avalor
Aralaroo snarled at the gate-keeper, barring his fangs and the gate-keeper barred his in return but while Aralaroo’s teeth mirrored his frustration and anger, the guard merely appeared bored and certainly was not impressed by Aralaroo’s display. The gnoll tapped his knuckles on the bench-top and Aralaroo realized that he would need to bribe him if he wanted to get his cattle to the abattoir today. Glancing quickly at his sons who rode at the rear of the herd to ensure they did not see him losing face and their family’s coin, he reached into his coin purse and passed two bronze discs across the bench top. The guard smiled at him, this time much less bored, and motioned him through. Aralaroo kicked his spurs and led the herd through the gates of Castle Coratoth, sniffing at the air to find his way to the abattoir.
As he glanced back, checking on his herd and his sons, he saw another rancher passing through the gate and as he watched, the rancher flashed a sort of hand-sign at the gate-keeper and the gate-keeper waved him through without either a bribe or the standard toll. The other rancher smiled and caught Aralaroo’s eye. Aralaroo made note of his face and again spurred his mount forward.
Much later Aralaroo and his sons were seated in a small arena. Normally the arena would serve as a proving ground for any number of sports matches the Coratoth enjoyed and the blood stains on the stone and sand floors attested to that but today it would serve as a market for bidders to come and buy the ranchers’ cattle. It is for this reason that the arena was situated under the shadow of the city’s giant abattoir-no doubt it’s scents drove up ticket sales and encouraged aggressive play amongst the competitors. As Aralaroo looked around he saw representatives from the tanning and leather guilds as well as many butchers and grocers eager to maintain their stocks. Additionally he spotted a Society member and his guards.
For Aralaroo these masked men, usually goblins but also orcs, dwarves and increasingly gnolls, were a source of both anxiety and intrigue. They seemed to have very deep pockets and an insatiable thirst for quality leathers and hides. They also travelled with intimidating entourages of lethal-looking men bristling with small half-concealed weapons. They typically bought up contracts for large amounts of hides and leather but tended to be very preferential and in this way drove up the price of cattle for specific ranchers over others. As Aralaroo watched, they placed imposing and commanding bids on several of the cattle of the rancher Aralaroo had seen make hand gestures at the city gates and moments later ignore a series of cattle that Aralaroo though as good or better than that of the mysterious rancher, including several from his own herd.
Aralaroo wondered what the secretive hand gestures, the favorable treatment at the city gates and the high bids placed by the masked Thuggee all meant. There was something going on here and he wanted in.
***
The Depths of the Labyrinth, Avalor
“The reports I have received from the 4th and 5th circle members placed within Coratoth are indeed promising and certainly match our proposed time-line. Already we have turned members of the city-guard, their militia, including several officers, many prominent merchants, town-criers, an orphanage-house, and even the members of a minor thief’s guild. Our agents have penetrated into most levels of Coratoth society and have only really faced difficulty amongst some of the more high-ranking noble houses. Amongst most others, our influence and the support of other Society members within the castle-city have been sufficient to motivate loyalty to our cause and provide an extensive network of operatives willing to not only provide us with intelligence but to act directly against the noble council, or ‘High Pack’ of Coratoth directly.” The masked goblin sat down, squaring his papers and looked at his peers, though all he saw were thick hoods and impassive masks.
Their leader spoke, “Good work Servant of the Will. I think its time to proceed to stage two.”
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
Cracking Coratoth (part 2)
Coratoth, Horam
Aralaroo flashed the signs he had been taught to the gate-keeper and he flashed a series back. Soon he was into the city with coin for toll and bribe still in his purse. His sons were impressed though Aralaroo had sworn them to secrecy. Some day he would invite them into the Society, but first he would need to be promoted to Circle Two.
And for that to happen, he must serve. Aralaroo wasn’t sure exactly who or what he served. He knew it had something to do with the Thuggee and he knew it had something to do with circles and masks and other ‘cultist’ paraphernalia but he wasn’t sure if it was a secret and dark religion, a criminal syndicate, or some more nefarious secret society but what was clear is that membership had its privileges. In the last three weeks, since he had been recruited by the rancher he had first observed make the secretive hand-signs, he had more than tripled the coin he generated for each of the cattle he sold and his wife and pups were doing better than they ever had before.
Mostly the relationship had been fairly one-way and Aralaroo was now keen to repay the debt he had accrued from his secretive master(s?). Today amongst his herd he was smuggling a package of roots from a plant he recognized as ‘White Veratrum’. These were very potent poisons he knew but his job was not to wonder at who or what but merely to deliver them to a midwife who would recognize the handsigns he had been taught and provide her own passphrase.
And so today, while he left his sons to head towards the abattoir and cattle-market, he rode on towards the midwifery. Sure enough, there, he met with an ancient and weathered old woman who in response to his hand-signs provided the expected pass-phrase, “Today as I waked by the river I saw a spider weaving a web dappled in dew.”
Fair enough, she was whom he was supposed to meet. Looking furtively around, much to the bemusement of the old woman, he handed over the package. As he did the woman waved to a city guardsmen passing by on his mount and he smiled back in a knowing manner.
Maybe she had seen the expression on his face or the worry he was trying hard to hide because she suddenly said, “Don’t worry pup. No one is going to get hurt. This is just a message. Like a arrow shot into the ground inches from the enemy's foot- a warning for folks who's ears don't hear.”
Aralaroo turned his mount, eager to find his sons. The benefits of his membership had been great but he knew now that he would always have to pay… Somehow.
The Depths of the Labyrinth, Avalor
“I have received this week’s reports and again I am happy to announce that our planning continues as we had expected. A great illness has broken out amongst several of the families of the ‘High Pack’ and many of the alpha will require several weeks to recover. Our official ambassadors have been at their sides, providing what care and aid we can but we have not informed them of the source of the sickness or that it is a poison for which we command an antitode. The ‘High Pack’ seems to believe much of the rumours we have spread regarding the displeasure of the ancestors and those members of the nobility that are most accepting of our influence have been spared the sickness. The symbolism is not lost and we are making rapid inroads into the highest echalons of Coratoth nobility, leadership and even their military’s officer core.”
Behind his mask, the council’s leader smiled, “Good work Servant of the Will. I think its time to proceed to stage three.”
Coratoth, Horam
Aralaroo flashed the signs he had been taught to the gate-keeper and he flashed a series back. Soon he was into the city with coin for toll and bribe still in his purse. His sons were impressed though Aralaroo had sworn them to secrecy. Some day he would invite them into the Society, but first he would need to be promoted to Circle Two.
And for that to happen, he must serve. Aralaroo wasn’t sure exactly who or what he served. He knew it had something to do with the Thuggee and he knew it had something to do with circles and masks and other ‘cultist’ paraphernalia but he wasn’t sure if it was a secret and dark religion, a criminal syndicate, or some more nefarious secret society but what was clear is that membership had its privileges. In the last three weeks, since he had been recruited by the rancher he had first observed make the secretive hand-signs, he had more than tripled the coin he generated for each of the cattle he sold and his wife and pups were doing better than they ever had before.
Mostly the relationship had been fairly one-way and Aralaroo was now keen to repay the debt he had accrued from his secretive master(s?). Today amongst his herd he was smuggling a package of roots from a plant he recognized as ‘White Veratrum’. These were very potent poisons he knew but his job was not to wonder at who or what but merely to deliver them to a midwife who would recognize the handsigns he had been taught and provide her own passphrase.
And so today, while he left his sons to head towards the abattoir and cattle-market, he rode on towards the midwifery. Sure enough, there, he met with an ancient and weathered old woman who in response to his hand-signs provided the expected pass-phrase, “Today as I waked by the river I saw a spider weaving a web dappled in dew.”
Fair enough, she was whom he was supposed to meet. Looking furtively around, much to the bemusement of the old woman, he handed over the package. As he did the woman waved to a city guardsmen passing by on his mount and he smiled back in a knowing manner.
Maybe she had seen the expression on his face or the worry he was trying hard to hide because she suddenly said, “Don’t worry pup. No one is going to get hurt. This is just a message. Like a arrow shot into the ground inches from the enemy's foot- a warning for folks who's ears don't hear.”
Aralaroo turned his mount, eager to find his sons. The benefits of his membership had been great but he knew now that he would always have to pay… Somehow.
***
The Depths of the Labyrinth, Avalor
“I have received this week’s reports and again I am happy to announce that our planning continues as we had expected. A great illness has broken out amongst several of the families of the ‘High Pack’ and many of the alpha will require several weeks to recover. Our official ambassadors have been at their sides, providing what care and aid we can but we have not informed them of the source of the sickness or that it is a poison for which we command an antitode. The ‘High Pack’ seems to believe much of the rumours we have spread regarding the displeasure of the ancestors and those members of the nobility that are most accepting of our influence have been spared the sickness. The symbolism is not lost and we are making rapid inroads into the highest echalons of Coratoth nobility, leadership and even their military’s officer core.”
Behind his mask, the council’s leader smiled, “Good work Servant of the Will. I think its time to proceed to stage three.”
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
Cracking Coratoth (part 3)
Coratoth, Lorsen
A crowd had gathered around the inner keep, eager to hear the pronouncements of the seneschals’ council. Aralaroo, like so many others pressed against the masses, eager to hear the pronouncement. If the rumors he had heard were correct, there had been an attempted coup amongst the ‘High Pack’. Members of the beta had attempted to take advantage of the illness amongst the alphas to claim rulership for themselves. The battle had been bloody and soldiers of both the alpha and beta houses had drawn blades and bows in the heart of the castle and amongst the estates of the countryside.
But Aralaroo had not heard the outcome and now that the fighting had died down and the corpses had been cleared away, he was eager to learn. The crier arrived and howled, long and clear, and the crowd grew silent. At his side and slightly behind him stood an unassuming Thuggee goblin, silent and serene, his emotions unknowable behind an uncharacteristically impassive (metaphorical) mask. “Pack of Coratoth; know that the coup against the Alphas did not succeed. The rebel Betas have been turned, thanks in great part to information provided to us regarding their coup by the good ambassador from Thuggee himself.” Here the crier turned and acknowledged the quiet goblin behind him, even giving him a sort of half-formed and minute military salute.
The crier turned back to the crowd, continued, his face grace, “Unfortunately many of the Alphas have been slain or wounded in the battle and for the foreseeable future, we the Seneschals’ Council shall provide leadership and guidance. To assist us in that task the Thuggee, in response to our request, have agreed to provide us with members of their military to assist in the maintenance of order and law. This is a temporary measure and as soon as new Alphas can be chosen to replace those lost, the ‘High-Pack’ shall return to its traditional role.”
Aralaroo wasn’t sure what had happened but he knew he had had some role in the affair, no matter how small. What had happened to his city? Who were the gnolls of Coratoth now? Somehow he didn’t think things would ever bee the same.
The Depths of the Labyrinth, Lorsen
“It is done. There was some moments when we were not sure the plan would work. At one point it looked as if the rebel Betas would be successful even with the intelligence we had provided and we had to actively provide misinformation to these patsies for them to fall into the Alpha’s trap. We have been very successful in selectively ensuring the death of the majority of the ruling council not loyal to our Society and if all goes to plan, new Alphas will be chosen from amongst those loyal to us.”
Pressing his hands into a ‘A’ before him the leader of the small council chuckled, “Good work Servant of the Will. And so the Coratoth taste the might of those behind the masks.”
“Yes milord,” spoke the first goblin, “Though Coratoth may appear to remain independent, we will most certainly be able to dictate its policies henceforth."
Coratoth, Lorsen
A crowd had gathered around the inner keep, eager to hear the pronouncements of the seneschals’ council. Aralaroo, like so many others pressed against the masses, eager to hear the pronouncement. If the rumors he had heard were correct, there had been an attempted coup amongst the ‘High Pack’. Members of the beta had attempted to take advantage of the illness amongst the alphas to claim rulership for themselves. The battle had been bloody and soldiers of both the alpha and beta houses had drawn blades and bows in the heart of the castle and amongst the estates of the countryside.
But Aralaroo had not heard the outcome and now that the fighting had died down and the corpses had been cleared away, he was eager to learn. The crier arrived and howled, long and clear, and the crowd grew silent. At his side and slightly behind him stood an unassuming Thuggee goblin, silent and serene, his emotions unknowable behind an uncharacteristically impassive (metaphorical) mask. “Pack of Coratoth; know that the coup against the Alphas did not succeed. The rebel Betas have been turned, thanks in great part to information provided to us regarding their coup by the good ambassador from Thuggee himself.” Here the crier turned and acknowledged the quiet goblin behind him, even giving him a sort of half-formed and minute military salute.
The crier turned back to the crowd, continued, his face grace, “Unfortunately many of the Alphas have been slain or wounded in the battle and for the foreseeable future, we the Seneschals’ Council shall provide leadership and guidance. To assist us in that task the Thuggee, in response to our request, have agreed to provide us with members of their military to assist in the maintenance of order and law. This is a temporary measure and as soon as new Alphas can be chosen to replace those lost, the ‘High-Pack’ shall return to its traditional role.”
Aralaroo wasn’t sure what had happened but he knew he had had some role in the affair, no matter how small. What had happened to his city? Who were the gnolls of Coratoth now? Somehow he didn’t think things would ever bee the same.
***
The Depths of the Labyrinth, Lorsen
“It is done. There was some moments when we were not sure the plan would work. At one point it looked as if the rebel Betas would be successful even with the intelligence we had provided and we had to actively provide misinformation to these patsies for them to fall into the Alpha’s trap. We have been very successful in selectively ensuring the death of the majority of the ruling council not loyal to our Society and if all goes to plan, new Alphas will be chosen from amongst those loyal to us.”
Pressing his hands into a ‘A’ before him the leader of the small council chuckled, “Good work Servant of the Will. And so the Coratoth taste the might of those behind the masks.”
“Yes milord,” spoke the first goblin, “Though Coratoth may appear to remain independent, we will most certainly be able to dictate its policies henceforth."
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Warden's Will (part 1)
Janet groaned as her swordmaster tossed her training sword again from her grips. "Learn to use you thrust momentum to counter my attack!" spoke the gruff halfling named Keith. He flicked her fallen sword back up, so she can catch it. Before she can ready her grip, he cried, "On Guard!" and jabbed at her shield.
Janet concentrated on his flickering sword, trying to hold back from instinctively casting "Aura of Confusion" or "Blinding Speed". They were practicing discipline as well as swordplay. She remembered the day when hundreds of Guard-halflings volunteeered to join Wendell's new army. She was one of the hundreds who were accepted, and one of the two dozen who were found with magical ability and joined the Wardens. The simple spells they learned were easy to master, but like most trainees, there seemed to be an immeasurable gulf to master the next tier of magic. She snorted inside: she can barely get her swordplay right!
Keith saw Janet losing her concentration, muttering at herself, so he scowed again. He himself was just one of the older, more experienced inductees into the Wardens. He can never understand the younger one's impatience: He never lashed out with magic. He decided to teach Janet a lesson. While she instinctively blocked his backhand slash, he suddenly cut upward, rapped her on her wrist, and then pulled the sword out by its guard from her weakened grip.
Janet felt furious, and wild waves of magic was beginning to tear through her self-control. She felt light headed and she flushed as the magic rose within her... however, she made peace with herself. Instead of attacking Keith with a "Burst of Fear" or striking him with a "Unseen Blow", she cast an "Aura of Calm" upon herself. Breathing slower now as the spell slowly smoothed out her anger and embarrassment, she picked up the word and nodded towards Keith. "I'm Ready."
Wendell, watching the Wardens with a mind probe, smiled inside. His trainees are almost ready for The Ceremony.
Janet groaned as her swordmaster tossed her training sword again from her grips. "Learn to use you thrust momentum to counter my attack!" spoke the gruff halfling named Keith. He flicked her fallen sword back up, so she can catch it. Before she can ready her grip, he cried, "On Guard!" and jabbed at her shield.
Janet concentrated on his flickering sword, trying to hold back from instinctively casting "Aura of Confusion" or "Blinding Speed". They were practicing discipline as well as swordplay. She remembered the day when hundreds of Guard-halflings volunteeered to join Wendell's new army. She was one of the hundreds who were accepted, and one of the two dozen who were found with magical ability and joined the Wardens. The simple spells they learned were easy to master, but like most trainees, there seemed to be an immeasurable gulf to master the next tier of magic. She snorted inside: she can barely get her swordplay right!
Keith saw Janet losing her concentration, muttering at herself, so he scowed again. He himself was just one of the older, more experienced inductees into the Wardens. He can never understand the younger one's impatience: He never lashed out with magic. He decided to teach Janet a lesson. While she instinctively blocked his backhand slash, he suddenly cut upward, rapped her on her wrist, and then pulled the sword out by its guard from her weakened grip.
Janet felt furious, and wild waves of magic was beginning to tear through her self-control. She felt light headed and she flushed as the magic rose within her... however, she made peace with herself. Instead of attacking Keith with a "Burst of Fear" or striking him with a "Unseen Blow", she cast an "Aura of Calm" upon herself. Breathing slower now as the spell slowly smoothed out her anger and embarrassment, she picked up the word and nodded towards Keith. "I'm Ready."
Wendell, watching the Wardens with a mind probe, smiled inside. His trainees are almost ready for The Ceremony.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Warden's Will (Part 2)
There was a new Moon.
Ontop of a pedestal imbued with rules, Wendell stood chanting. From the center of the pedestal mana flowed out and began arranging patterns upon the hilltop. Crystals- crushed, polished or rough- flowed and evolved pattern after pattern, reflecting the heaven's stars.
Silently came the twenty five wardens. They walked up the hill slowly in five lines of five. To the trainees, it seemed like a dance of a colony of crystal faeries. As they drew closer, the crystals parted around their feet. They walked until they parted no longer.
The crystals are still.
The chanting stopped.
Janet looked at the wizard, and heard a silent command as if it was in her mind. No... it is in her mind. The voice, deep yet kind, spoke only one word. "Feel". She closed her eyes...
And Keith felt the strangest sensation. it was as if he has two bodies. His own and... another that was lifting out of his own. Somehow, he knew that his spirit body, his mana body, was now free. He pressed against the boundaries of the magical frontier then...
Janet felt it simply fading away. The world is so large, yet she is so little. She cowered in her thoughts, trying to hold together. However, she soon felt the thoughts of others, and listened to them. Encouraged, she dispensed her shyness and began to look out...
To find himself fading away. However, Keith didn't feel like he was dying, he felt incredibly alive. The thoughts of all the wardens... they are his brothers and will look out for each other. He knew his friends better than they once knew themselves. And he looked upon himself to find...
The spirits of thousands of beings behind her. She can sense that the others sought their own visions, but she saw her Parents and their small family at their village. Her son, with her granparents smiled at her as if he was real... no he must be real. She smiled back and looked beyond them...
And saw the rest of the world. How the Confederacy was surrounded by good and evil, and even those who just wish to look after themselves. Keith wondered at the different spirits, and saw new techniques and powers. Then... he can feel more and more and more...
And they can feel everyone now. Everyone's thoughts rolling in a large wave in the circle. Mana grew on their combined spirit as they gasped in wonder. Wendell himself guided them as they felt the truth of the world, the springs and nodes of mana... not for the use of war, but for protection.
And they now understood their true goal.
They are the Wardens, all.
They are now ready.
There was a new Moon.
The sky was sprinkled with stars.
The ground was sprinkled with mana.
Ontop of a pedestal imbued with rules, Wendell stood chanting. From the center of the pedestal mana flowed out and began arranging patterns upon the hilltop. Crystals- crushed, polished or rough- flowed and evolved pattern after pattern, reflecting the heaven's stars.
Silently came the twenty five wardens. They walked up the hill slowly in five lines of five. To the trainees, it seemed like a dance of a colony of crystal faeries. As they drew closer, the crystals parted around their feet. They walked until they parted no longer.
The crystals are still.
The wardens are still.
The world is still.
The chanting stopped.
Janet looked at the wizard, and heard a silent command as if it was in her mind. No... it is in her mind. The voice, deep yet kind, spoke only one word. "Feel". She closed her eyes...
And Keith felt the strangest sensation. it was as if he has two bodies. His own and... another that was lifting out of his own. Somehow, he knew that his spirit body, his mana body, was now free. He pressed against the boundaries of the magical frontier then...
Janet felt it simply fading away. The world is so large, yet she is so little. She cowered in her thoughts, trying to hold together. However, she soon felt the thoughts of others, and listened to them. Encouraged, she dispensed her shyness and began to look out...
To find himself fading away. However, Keith didn't feel like he was dying, he felt incredibly alive. The thoughts of all the wardens... they are his brothers and will look out for each other. He knew his friends better than they once knew themselves. And he looked upon himself to find...
The spirits of thousands of beings behind her. She can sense that the others sought their own visions, but she saw her Parents and their small family at their village. Her son, with her granparents smiled at her as if he was real... no he must be real. She smiled back and looked beyond them...
And saw the rest of the world. How the Confederacy was surrounded by good and evil, and even those who just wish to look after themselves. Keith wondered at the different spirits, and saw new techniques and powers. Then... he can feel more and more and more...
And they can feel everyone now. Everyone's thoughts rolling in a large wave in the circle. Mana grew on their combined spirit as they gasped in wonder. Wendell himself guided them as they felt the truth of the world, the springs and nodes of mana... not for the use of war, but for protection.
And they now understood their true goal.
They are the Wardens, all.
They will protect them all.
They will be them all.
In their hearts, they will find the power to succeed. They are now ready.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
The Spell
I am a force of nature. I am the muddy brackish slow-moving waters of the Saltmere. I am the fog-shrouded, shadow-laden conifers of the western Raimore. I am the dizzying sun-speckled wind-tossed leaves of the Woodmind. I am the snow-draped peaks and shadowy crevices of the mountains my master calls home. I am all these things.
And I have purpose. I am spell.
I am the the secrets of the mountains. I move stone and metals. To the still stone, the vein of copper, the iron sword or plough which waits with patience no mortal knows and which longs for the urgency of the spring flood and the grace and borderlessness of the wind, I am the wish-granter. By my purpose, and by my spell.
For the soaring birds and grazing goats, the foraging bear and the industrial goblin, I am a rustle amongst the stones, a pebble fallen from a ledge, a dull throb in the veins that brings an awareness of something… something extraordinary. For the cobbler in his shop or the child collecting firewood, I am shadows lengthening, and a chill in the soil, and I am gone. For I have a purpose and I am spell
I pass the vein of silver, wide but hidden deep. As I pass I quicken it, feeling its need to flow. Soon the distant sun of autumn mountains shines on a glinting outcrop and I know I bring happiness to the heart of the mountain that no mortal shall know. I pass beneath roads and paths trodden by mules and man, merchant and soldier, those who feel nothing and the rare few. These rare few feel my passing like a chill in their spine. They are the servants of the Society and they know my passing. They feel the trailing wisps of the mana that stick to me like the cocoon upon the butterfly reborn. They know my purpose. They feel my spell.
Southward. My purpose guides me and as I approach the terrible fortress that is my goal, there is a nod in my direction. One of the riders acknowledges me. I feel his awareness, his sentience pulls at me and I feel his command of spell. By his will metals will flow, stone will wander, what is broken shall be whole and what is whole shall be sundered. Wrapped in thick leathers trimmed with ermine he sits astride a beast of coal and fire, iron and bronze, a creature from the depths of the labyrinth, a mechanical monster with two heads and wide glistening wings, a tail armed with a long sabre-like scythe, a monster forged from the will of my master. The man is captain, but there are others like him, riders too, but he alone commands and he is the first to sense my presence. My purpose is his purpose. My spell prompts his war-cry.
Amongst the towering mountains the fortress rises like a lonely crooked finger. I feel its ancient stones, the weight of centuries upon them, the fatigue of old mortar, the tired spine bending ever so slightly with each gust of the autumn wind. At its foot are twisting tunnels carved into the stone, tunnels teeming with scratching slithering reptilian beasts and the men who command them. They hear the captain’s war-cry and they stir. My being touches them, gently, a tendril of stone along a flank of scale and they know not what I am, know not my purpose, know not the spell.
Creature crafted of bronze and iron, of spring and clockwork, creatures formed to appear as a child’s teddy-bear dressed in a ballerina’s tutu, clowns and monkeys, all armed with bristling blades and spring-loaded crossbow bolts surge from the mountains, intent upon the tunnels. I feel their purpose, the spell that drives them. One missteps and threatens to fall from a high cliff and I catch it, returning the toyish soldier to surer footing. Within the tunnels, the reptilian creatures charge the entrances and I know my duty. Bars of granite and copper, gypsum and basalt, whatever is near form like molded clay from the very walls of their tunnels, hold them fast, block their path. Throughout the tunnels my majesty is terrible. The mighty soldiers of the fortress, the kings of the sky are trapped in my realm where I am king. And now they know my purpose. Now they know my horrible spell.
The creatures, who’s makers call ‘gwemwins’ pour into the tunnels. They hold torches and bowls of burning pitch and soon the wyverns, for such is the name given to the stone bound reptiles and the men who ride them are coughing, sputtering, their lungs acrid and burning as cinder and smoke flows around them. I save a few, sending walls of stone or forming small chimneys, but my mercy is limited for my purpose is elsewhere. From the fortress walls and from tunnels distant rise more of the riders, proud in their majesty, their long history without challenge to their reign, not knowing the cloying death their fellows face within their homes. Like hawks spying a mouse in the tall grass, they spot the toyish gwemwins amongst the stone and rocks, the stealthy goblin soldiers scrambling on the steep slopes and like the hawk they pounce. They do not expect me. They, like their fellows, will learn my purpose. Soon they will taste my spell.
The goblins are not trained for this, they scatter and seek cover knowing not that I am with them. As the wyvern riders dive, I form the stone below them, drawing the cutting edge of obsidian and solid strength of granite, weaving a hundred times a hundred thick coils of bramble-like tendrils, their lengths twisted with cutting thorns of dark glass, wickedly sharp and by my will, thirsty for blood. Within the goblins are safe and secure now. They turn their deadly metal bolts upon the riders as they impale themselves, as I wrap coil after coil around their wings and throat, a rider’s thigh, a gauntleted wrist. Everywhere it is the same, the mighty are brought low, by my purpose they taste the swords and crossbow bolts of the goblins. By my spell they are wrapped in briars of chill stone and cutting glass.
Above us, distant from my purpose, I feel the spellcraft of the captain and his knights. They do battle with the wyverns I have not been able to entangle or trap, those who circle and do not strike, who witness the end of their reign and uncomprehending are rendered still by cowardice. The magic of the knights knits the broken mechanical wing, the bent metal scale, aligns the clockwork knocked out of place by wyvern tale or claw. And though they heal, their enemy does not and each lash of a scythe-like tail, each cinder-filled breath of smoke and fire, brings the sky further and further into their reign. I feel jealousy for I yearn to bring them my purpose for them to fear my spell.
Soon the battle is done and my master is victorious. But I am not yet done. There is more to my will. Gently I lift the wyverns and their riders through the stone, and lie them prostrate, trapped in bands of stone, upon the mountainous ground. The goblins crowd them, stab them and pull at their scales. Soon the reptiles will know a new master. The tower I pull apart and I feel its relief, the ache of the tired mortar finally stilled. In its place I raise a giant network of interlocking tendrils of stone and metal, a tower of thorny vines but of copper and granite, obsidian and quartz. Within I carve walkways and chambers, bureaus and beds, cupboards and thrones. It shines and glitters in the cold autumn sun, its crystalline silhouette mighty and lonely at the edge of the mountains. I birth the ‘Stonebriar Fortress’. Here is the final testament to my purpose. The artwork of my spell.
But I know not rest. I await, from my master I will receive, new purpose. this is the tale of a spell.
I am a force of nature. I am the muddy brackish slow-moving waters of the Saltmere. I am the fog-shrouded, shadow-laden conifers of the western Raimore. I am the dizzying sun-speckled wind-tossed leaves of the Woodmind. I am the snow-draped peaks and shadowy crevices of the mountains my master calls home. I am all these things.
And I have purpose. I am spell.
I am the the secrets of the mountains. I move stone and metals. To the still stone, the vein of copper, the iron sword or plough which waits with patience no mortal knows and which longs for the urgency of the spring flood and the grace and borderlessness of the wind, I am the wish-granter. By my purpose, and by my spell.
For the soaring birds and grazing goats, the foraging bear and the industrial goblin, I am a rustle amongst the stones, a pebble fallen from a ledge, a dull throb in the veins that brings an awareness of something… something extraordinary. For the cobbler in his shop or the child collecting firewood, I am shadows lengthening, and a chill in the soil, and I am gone. For I have a purpose and I am spell
I pass the vein of silver, wide but hidden deep. As I pass I quicken it, feeling its need to flow. Soon the distant sun of autumn mountains shines on a glinting outcrop and I know I bring happiness to the heart of the mountain that no mortal shall know. I pass beneath roads and paths trodden by mules and man, merchant and soldier, those who feel nothing and the rare few. These rare few feel my passing like a chill in their spine. They are the servants of the Society and they know my passing. They feel the trailing wisps of the mana that stick to me like the cocoon upon the butterfly reborn. They know my purpose. They feel my spell.
Southward. My purpose guides me and as I approach the terrible fortress that is my goal, there is a nod in my direction. One of the riders acknowledges me. I feel his awareness, his sentience pulls at me and I feel his command of spell. By his will metals will flow, stone will wander, what is broken shall be whole and what is whole shall be sundered. Wrapped in thick leathers trimmed with ermine he sits astride a beast of coal and fire, iron and bronze, a creature from the depths of the labyrinth, a mechanical monster with two heads and wide glistening wings, a tail armed with a long sabre-like scythe, a monster forged from the will of my master. The man is captain, but there are others like him, riders too, but he alone commands and he is the first to sense my presence. My purpose is his purpose. My spell prompts his war-cry.
Amongst the towering mountains the fortress rises like a lonely crooked finger. I feel its ancient stones, the weight of centuries upon them, the fatigue of old mortar, the tired spine bending ever so slightly with each gust of the autumn wind. At its foot are twisting tunnels carved into the stone, tunnels teeming with scratching slithering reptilian beasts and the men who command them. They hear the captain’s war-cry and they stir. My being touches them, gently, a tendril of stone along a flank of scale and they know not what I am, know not my purpose, know not the spell.
Creature crafted of bronze and iron, of spring and clockwork, creatures formed to appear as a child’s teddy-bear dressed in a ballerina’s tutu, clowns and monkeys, all armed with bristling blades and spring-loaded crossbow bolts surge from the mountains, intent upon the tunnels. I feel their purpose, the spell that drives them. One missteps and threatens to fall from a high cliff and I catch it, returning the toyish soldier to surer footing. Within the tunnels, the reptilian creatures charge the entrances and I know my duty. Bars of granite and copper, gypsum and basalt, whatever is near form like molded clay from the very walls of their tunnels, hold them fast, block their path. Throughout the tunnels my majesty is terrible. The mighty soldiers of the fortress, the kings of the sky are trapped in my realm where I am king. And now they know my purpose. Now they know my horrible spell.
The creatures, who’s makers call ‘gwemwins’ pour into the tunnels. They hold torches and bowls of burning pitch and soon the wyverns, for such is the name given to the stone bound reptiles and the men who ride them are coughing, sputtering, their lungs acrid and burning as cinder and smoke flows around them. I save a few, sending walls of stone or forming small chimneys, but my mercy is limited for my purpose is elsewhere. From the fortress walls and from tunnels distant rise more of the riders, proud in their majesty, their long history without challenge to their reign, not knowing the cloying death their fellows face within their homes. Like hawks spying a mouse in the tall grass, they spot the toyish gwemwins amongst the stone and rocks, the stealthy goblin soldiers scrambling on the steep slopes and like the hawk they pounce. They do not expect me. They, like their fellows, will learn my purpose. Soon they will taste my spell.
Spoiler :
The goblins are not trained for this, they scatter and seek cover knowing not that I am with them. As the wyvern riders dive, I form the stone below them, drawing the cutting edge of obsidian and solid strength of granite, weaving a hundred times a hundred thick coils of bramble-like tendrils, their lengths twisted with cutting thorns of dark glass, wickedly sharp and by my will, thirsty for blood. Within the goblins are safe and secure now. They turn their deadly metal bolts upon the riders as they impale themselves, as I wrap coil after coil around their wings and throat, a rider’s thigh, a gauntleted wrist. Everywhere it is the same, the mighty are brought low, by my purpose they taste the swords and crossbow bolts of the goblins. By my spell they are wrapped in briars of chill stone and cutting glass.
Above us, distant from my purpose, I feel the spellcraft of the captain and his knights. They do battle with the wyverns I have not been able to entangle or trap, those who circle and do not strike, who witness the end of their reign and uncomprehending are rendered still by cowardice. The magic of the knights knits the broken mechanical wing, the bent metal scale, aligns the clockwork knocked out of place by wyvern tale or claw. And though they heal, their enemy does not and each lash of a scythe-like tail, each cinder-filled breath of smoke and fire, brings the sky further and further into their reign. I feel jealousy for I yearn to bring them my purpose for them to fear my spell.
Soon the battle is done and my master is victorious. But I am not yet done. There is more to my will. Gently I lift the wyverns and their riders through the stone, and lie them prostrate, trapped in bands of stone, upon the mountainous ground. The goblins crowd them, stab them and pull at their scales. Soon the reptiles will know a new master. The tower I pull apart and I feel its relief, the ache of the tired mortar finally stilled. In its place I raise a giant network of interlocking tendrils of stone and metal, a tower of thorny vines but of copper and granite, obsidian and quartz. Within I carve walkways and chambers, bureaus and beds, cupboards and thrones. It shines and glitters in the cold autumn sun, its crystalline silhouette mighty and lonely at the edge of the mountains. I birth the ‘Stonebriar Fortress’. Here is the final testament to my purpose. The artwork of my spell.
But I know not rest. I await, from my master I will receive, new purpose. this is the tale of a spell.
To some of the more mystically inclined, magic was a fiery ball of passion, only directed by the force of will and dampers of symbols. To others magic was a plant, slow to grow, smoothly morphing from the weak and flexible to the strong and immobile mana of a deep spell. Many likened magic to air, or water. To the wizard Aeolus, magic was the absolute zero of the deepest mana pit, where, if you were strong enough to resist, you could create anything you wanted.
His trance deepened as he searched the ley lines of the time of Ethereal. After the cutoff of the rest of the multiverse they had begun to change, and new mapping was in order. He also needed new ideas for his traders to carry, and the age of the Sulariean Empire was a good place to start.
In his mind, Aeolus rounded the corner of a twist in the darkness, the cold chilling every part of his being. The pulse of the ley-lines corresponding to the time he wanted led to the root of that time, and it seemed near. His mind was too deep into the matrix now for real thoughts, other than the base instinct that had guided him so far, and the pain was beginning to break thorough his mental barriers. Just a little more and he was there, his mind haveing just enough capability to picture standing next to a freshwater lake on a mountain, with innumerable streams running from its depths. And the slip of a boot, and the impossible pain of a mind shattering into innumerable pieces, although this didnt last long.
Like a swimmer suddenly caught in a riptide, what was left of Aeolus's mind clawed its way upward, out of the deepest parts of the magic. No longer able to rationalize the path, blinded by pain, it blundered onto alleys to be avoided by the strongest consciousness in the sunlight. Minds of those lost previously in the matrix sensed an escape and latched on. When what was once the very soul of Aeolus the Merchant finally left the labyrinth of magic, it was a patchwork Frankenstin, with schizophrenia.
His trance deepened as he searched the ley lines of the time of Ethereal. After the cutoff of the rest of the multiverse they had begun to change, and new mapping was in order. He also needed new ideas for his traders to carry, and the age of the Sulariean Empire was a good place to start.
In his mind, Aeolus rounded the corner of a twist in the darkness, the cold chilling every part of his being. The pulse of the ley-lines corresponding to the time he wanted led to the root of that time, and it seemed near. His mind was too deep into the matrix now for real thoughts, other than the base instinct that had guided him so far, and the pain was beginning to break thorough his mental barriers. Just a little more and he was there, his mind haveing just enough capability to picture standing next to a freshwater lake on a mountain, with innumerable streams running from its depths. And the slip of a boot, and the impossible pain of a mind shattering into innumerable pieces, although this didnt last long.
Like a swimmer suddenly caught in a riptide, what was left of Aeolus's mind clawed its way upward, out of the deepest parts of the magic. No longer able to rationalize the path, blinded by pain, it blundered onto alleys to be avoided by the strongest consciousness in the sunlight. Minds of those lost previously in the matrix sensed an escape and latched on. When what was once the very soul of Aeolus the Merchant finally left the labyrinth of magic, it was a patchwork Frankenstin, with schizophrenia.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
thomas.berubeg
Wandering the World
THAT is most certainly not the Goblin wizard
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
time to design a new unit...
thomas.berubeg
Wandering the World
Courtesy of Immac:
A small squad of Lost Dwarves.
A small squad of Lost Dwarves.
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
That carnival girl looks like somebody Lucius would employ...
Starlife
de la terre à la lune
- Joined
- Mar 2, 2010
- Messages
- 1,498
Update 4: Fall, Year 1
The Beauty of Madness
The army of Ng'graa Akh'rrr during the breaking of Senda.
Part I
The Beauty of Madness
The army of Ng'graa Akh'rrr during the breaking of Senda.
Part I
The Southland has either entered an era of great prosperity or an era of profound madness. Either way, the sheer power held by these WIzards is truly magnificent.
- Magalas, the Sage-Historian of Aniok
The Norclove Steppes
The walls began to tremble. Hadrid Mygenor, a young man of fifteen, ran alongside the stretch of wall, touching the stone with his hands. It shook his fingertips. He peered through one of the small cracks in the wall section near his neighborhood. He could see brown and black fur, coming closer and closer. There was a deep fall breeze coming into Senda at the moment. As Hadrid's hair whipped upward, the fur also danced. Shortly after seeing fur, he looked again. They were closer. Now he saw those canine teeth, those meat-gouging mandibles, flicking up and down with rolling red and black tongues slightly protruding. A short glance downward from those dogs, and the wolves could be seen, leather-saddled and insatiable bellies full of horse, smiles on their ever-hungry faces. Hadrid could not turn away. He knew he should warn his family, but he could only stare in awe at the long line of wolves and dogs about to burst through Senda's wall.
Hadrid gathered his courage finally and ran to his neighborhood. He rang the large, silver bell and everyone began to panic. He quickly found his sister, a beautiful little princess the age of seven, and his entire family. He told them what he saw. They, too, began to run, towards the shelters near Senda's once-lonely docks. As they ran, they heard the galloping of horses and the clattering of iron and steel. The Knights of Senda rode forth to the wall, while everyone else made haste away from it. It was at that moment, the moment that Hadrid saw those brave knights charging to the broken place, that everyone in Senda suddenly froze still. A loud cry could be heard in the distance. It shattered windows on the buildings in Senda. It caused the air to rupture and everyone to clasp their hands to their fragile ears. It rang out, loud and shriveling, a cackling, high-pitched hyena's laugh, unmoving over several minutes. Further and further into their minds it went. Deeper into the fear parts. When it had finally ended, it made no difference - it was still ringing pure in the minds of many. And in that moment, Senda witnessed sheer, utter chaos. Ng'graa Akh'rrr's Fear the Pack.
The Knights of Senda desired to continue to the wall, but the horses would not have it. They flung most of their hosts off either to die or fight the wolves unmounted. Men and women quickly lost track of their children as the mob headed towards the docks. The fear drove them, and the fear only. Soon the initial cackle was supplemented by the grunting of the gnolls and the vicious slobbering of the wolves they rode. Stone could be heard moving and shattering. Hadrid found his sister in the chaos and led her safely to the docks. The dogs had gotten through. Hadird could hear that vicious howling, the barking penetrating the bones, and the bones cracking. At one moment, Hadrid looked behind him and through the flipping of his sister's blonde locks he could see the necks of knights being torn from their bodies. He could see the gnolls laughing and their tongues firing. Smoke began to rise from every building in the city. Hadrid could feel the heat and the summer breeze no longer seemed to matter.
When Hadrid and his sister arrived to the docks, people seemed a bit calmer. They led the children onto a boat, which carried a flag the likes of which Hadrid had never seen before. That flag was hope to him, and the fall breeze seemed to be of great importance once more. Behind him, the flames grew stronger and the consistent rupturing of skin by the canines could be heard in unison. As Hadrid and his sister boarded the ship, it began to sail away, with several others alongside it. Many were left behind - no room. They stood at the docks pleading. Many of them jumped into the water and attempted to swim, only to drown shortly after. The vast majority, though, suffered a fate much worse than death. As Hadrid looked into Senda from the sea, he could see many survivors being rounded up, ropes around their necks, shackles around their ankles and wrists.
As the dogs ravaged Senda, Captain Pwyll of Gwydion's raiders rode horses to the western border of the Akhoowoo realm. They did not enter into the gnollish realm. Rather, because Ng'graa Akh'rrr's entire army was preoccupied, several citizens of the towns the gnolls had conquered ran out to meet the raiders, telling them stories of torture and slavery. Their muddy faces caused great grief in the mind of Captain Pwyll, who gnashed his teeth and clutched his fist around his sword's hilt. The raiders rode out from the border, as the muddied citizens of the torn towns informed the barbarians that the gnolls had begun to set up encampments in an attempt to spread their western border. Captain Pwyll commanded his men to burn the gnollish huts, which were mostly empty. The encampments were thus burned, and the smoke rose in the Norclove as a beacon of hope to the slaves in the towns across the border.
Practical:
Spoiler :
Gwydion's explorer Arthur made great discoveries in the Olivia Gulf. He led an expedition that settled many barbarians around the town of Caernarfon, on the western edge of the Windflay Peninsula. The barbarians of Caernarfon were eager to join Gwydion's kingdom, and looked in awe at the war galley that had graced their docks. Many smaller villages throughout lands straddling the Olivia Gulf joined Gwydion's seafaring kingdom. And then there is Quentora. Princess Silvia was invited by Gwydion personally to the citadel Gwynedd. The horse of flowers that had enchanted the stables of Quentora was still marveled by Princess Silvia, who had adopted the horse as her own. Gwydion explained to Silvia that the horse's fate is sealed - that it would vanish into thin air one day. To Silvia, this made the horse all the more beautiful. To her, the transient stallion represented the fragility of all life. A large fanfare was held for Princess Silvia, including Gwynedd's best bards and their lovely songs and a showing of beautiful artworks made by the artisans of Stryddinas. Yet to Princess Silvia, it was the green land throughout Gwydion's kingdom that impressed her the most, along with the culture of the land. They rode together through the countryside, visiting markets and harbors and enjoying each other's company.
During his travels, the explorer Arthur visited some pubs around the Sea of Halendil to inquire about reports of phantoms and other strange events. He met a man named William Hobbleskon. A tavern near Quentora on the bay's edge had informed Arthur that Hobbleskon had been one of the only survivors of a ghost ship attack. Arthur found Hobbleskon in a small cottage near the sea. He was the only one fishing in those waters when Arthur found him, dangling his legs from a rock and smoking from a pipe. He talked with a raspy voice. He was a man of about fifty years, but he looked twenty years older than that, scars on his face and pock marks where it counted. His tattered brown clothes rustled in the fall breeze. Hobbleskon told Arthur to avoid the Sea of Halendil altogether. 'Do not go near those waters, boy,' the old man spoke to the explorer. He told Arthur details about his survival. A ghost ship filled with skeletons and ghouls surprised his caravel and its crew. They attempted to fight, but it was no use. Hobbleskon told Arthur that he remembered a dark force on the ghost ship, a figure completely draped in a black cloak, hood over his head, no face to be seen. He also told Arthur about the violence. Limbs being hacked off by skeleton mobs. Fierce cries from ghouls with no faces. And the men who went mad thereafter, dying back in their hometowns of mysterious illness, some of them chopping their families to bits before perishing. Hobbleskon, initially difficult to talk to, eventually kept talking and talking.
Groz was an Orcish drake rider. He was of the Drakefang Clan. And he loved to show it. Until the mountain began to shake. The Orcs saddled their drakes and began to ride from their caves. The stone flowed outward around the cave opening like it was fluid. That stone-fluid merged into the ceiling of the cavern and rippled, sending waves of stone buckling throughout the Drakefang caves. Many drake riders were crushed instantly by the falling stone, becoming mangled in the spikes that had formed underneath them as they took flight. Some of the drake riders escaped, and found lines of goblin crossbows aiming for their wings. The drake riders attempted to assault, but as they swept downward, walls of stone gathered around the goblins, with holes perfectly fit for their crossbows. The goblins fired, and Orcs flew from their beasts, slamming into stone walls or i the crowd of goblins. The Orcs that stood to continue fighting were strangled by steel, as their weapons bent around their necks and their armor constricted around their chest, causing an ugly scene in the Raimore. An ugly scene caused by the Thuggee.
Thus Groz and his friends rode up and up and into the sky, attempting to escape. But Groz found that the stone from the mountain began to follow him. He turned abruptly. The stone turned abruptly. Crossbow arrows kept a steady flow. His drake had been shot at least ten times and was beginning to slow. The stone was catching up. The drake was tired and began to land on a tall tree. The stone wrapped itself around the tree and broke it, gobbling up Groz and his drake, trapping them behind marble and iron. They appeared as forgotten gargoyles as the sun began to set. That was when the machines assaulted the survivors, who stood upon the rock attempting to gather their weapons and trying desperately to make sense of the madness. The machines fired projectiles into the Orcish bodies, and they fell one by one to the massacring machinations. Those Orcs that still attempted to fight were further marauded by the scythes emerging from the other hand of the gwemwins, who relentlessly chopped away - leaving almost nothing. A couple other drake riders were still in the air. Goblins riding mechanical, fire-breathing monsters emerged from the woods below. Their flames tagged the tails of the escaping drakes, and the sounds of dragon cries could be heard throughout the Raimore. These hooded goblins raised their arms and the swords of the Orcs flew out into the sky, turned around, and paralyzed many Orcish legs. The burned Orcs fell into the forest, where they were covered in crossbow bolts.
After the chaos and after every single Orc had been slaughtered, the stone to the drake cave began to move. Crossbowmen entered first and were immediately assaulted by riderless drakes, angry at the demise of their masters. Yet soon Thuggee's gwemwins arrived, putting enough poisoned bolts into the drakes to calm them down. The other crossbowmen entered and secured the drakes. Some Orcs were still alive, writhing about on the cavern floor. They were taken prisoner, as the Society had hoped to learn some secrets to training the drakes from them. Drakefang Keep, which had once emerged forth from this cave, was no more. Now a twisting tower of stone and metal had wound itself around the mountain and had stretched upward. The goblin troops discovered several drake eggs and younger drakes, which they have since put under their most sincere care.
When the stunning battle had concluded, a massive parade was held in Thuggee. Goblins clanked their crossbows and machines laid drum rolls through the Raimore's echoes. Drakefang Keep had been conquered through magic and iron.
Practical:
Spoiler :
The Woodmind sanctuary glowed through the dark hours of the fall. Many Elves from Lydai gathered to learn a new form of art. Many of their loved ones had died from illness, and they all stood around them in the sanctuary for days on-end. The priests coated the bodies of the dead in an embalming fluid mixed with salt to remove moisture from the bodies. The bodies then laid out in the air to dry, as ceremonies were performed by the Woodmind Priesthood. After drying, it became clear that the salt had preserved more flesh than bone. A special sect of the Woodmind Priesthood then came forward with trade goods from the forest. Special oils from the mysinox wood, and perfumes from the dytelia flower. Ritualistically, these priests with help from some of the Elves ritualistically anointed the bodies with the oils and perfumes. The emptied body was thus dehydrated, and decomposition was prevented. The Dark Elves of Juukkeshi had taught the Elves how to mummify their dead. The Woodmind Priesthood spoke of this as the greatest honor the Elves could give to their deceased loved ones. Since the beginnings of mummification in the Woodmind, many Elves have been practicing the art form. The dead were wrapped with linen and canvas, thus protected from the elements, and placed in special family tombs.
Lydai had grown in size since the summer. Five thousand additional Elves now inhabited the city. Meanwhile, the northern Woodmind had mysteriously been emptied of Elves that once caused the goblins from Thuggee much torment. Elements from Juukkeshi had infiltrated these regions, and in doing so, had done the Thuggee a favor. Without the Elvish bandits in the northern Woodmind, the Thuggee army was able to focus all of its efforts on breaking Drakefang Keep. Elves from the northern Woodmind were visited by skilled dopplegangers from Haru Gom, who told the Elves about glorious Lydai and how it would harbor all Elves who wished to find sanctuary. The intrigued Elves thus moved to Lydai, and more continue to follow. Some of the goblins conducting wood-chopping operations in the northern Woodmind suspecting the Dark Elves. After all, where else would these Elves go? Yet this act by Juukkeshi has only strengthened the once-tenuous relationship between Haru Gom and Thuggee.
Practical:
Spoiler :
The Sul Mountains
The groans from the sorceress Merogia Soter could be heard throughout the entire northern Sul region. She huffed, grunted, and tore her quarters within the Pragaom Citadel to pieces. She was with child, and that child was being born. On the fall month of Fyadock, Merogia Soter brought a son into Ethereal. She was exhausted from the arduous birth, but even upon birth the son looked like a warrior. She knew his fate. Despite her condition, she ordered the child to be protected and kept in a heavily guarded area of the Citadel, only to be raised by the finest warriors and herself. Two months after her birth, during the month of Agamen, winter approached and snow began to fall on the northern Sul.
The great contest for Fort Redtear began at the first sign of winter. The cold air caused the minotaurs to find more of their vigor. Gilgahar's champion, a Sword-slinger by the name of Denok, was to fight the champion Rasaon 'Spirit-Taker'. Rasaon was outfitted with Netheryl which had been delicately carved and altered by Merogia Soter herself. She had hoped to embed the spirits of the fallen minotaurs into his vest. Rasaon was a massive bull with strong legs and fast movements. He was also extremely agile, able to change his charge at the slightest moment. The Sword-slinger Denok was much smaller, but he swung his blade around in a taunting fashion before the great contest, impressing many of the minotaur onlookers. The ceremony began. Merogia Soter had brought a band of minotaur drummers to the contest. They banged their drums and grunted in rhythm, shaking the snow from the peaks and causing them to fall upon the outskirts of Redtear.
Before the two began to fight, however, a large horn rang out from the minotaur watch tower near the fort. Another champion was arriving. But who could it be? Riding swiftly on a powerful steed, a Dark Elf arrived to the scene wearing a large coat and brandishing a sword. His armor was also Netheryl and his eyes glowed with sinister light. However, this Red Moon Champion made great care to not offend his hosts. He introduced himself as the Dark Elf known as Avanai. He told the crowd that he wished to fight in the contest for control of Fort Redtear. Initially, the minotaurs began to laugh boisterously. Many guards approached Avanai, but Avanai would not allow them near. He gripped their throats and cut them gently and swiftly. The minotaurs were impressed, as were the Orcs. Thus Avanai, the Dark Elf from the realm of Juukeshi, was allowed to participate in the contest.
The first fight was to occur between Rasaon and Denok. Denok charged forth swinging his sword, and putting a scratch in Rasaon's leg. However, this was no matter. Rasaon let out a vicious war-cry and charged Denok, quickly impaling the Orc with his horns and nailing him to the ground below. Denok attempted to lash out at Rasaon with his sword, but Rasaon simply lifted the poor Sword-slinger above his head and shook him back and forth, spilling his insides upon the arena. Avanai could be seen smiling in the corner of the arena, gripping his sword.
That was when the sound was heard and the mountains began to shake. Rasaon's Netheryl vest began to turn black and crooked until it eventually wrapped around Rasaon, attempting to break through him. Thinking quickly, Rasaon shattered the vest, but it was too late. Something strange had begun to happen, and the entire audience, including the champion Avanai, looked to the mountain wall near Fort Redtear. On top of the cliffs and pouring down to the arena were minotaurs - but not normal minotaurs. Their skin was translucent but their horns were terrifyingly opaque. Their war-cries were not of this world. They shattered skulls and pierced through the minds of many in the audience. To prevent being surrounded, Rasaon and Avanai, with the assistance of Merogia Soter herself, fled the arena and retreated to Pragaom. Merogia Soter welcomed Avanai to the Citadel, and sat the two champions down to explain to them the situation. She had inadvertently unleashed minotaur spirits into the world while experimenting with Rasaon's Netheryl vest. In the madness, the entire audience of the arena had been slaughtered by the ghosts of minotaurs fallen in battles from long ago.
Starlife
de la terre à la lune
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Update 4: Fall, Year 1
The Beauty of Madness
A glimpse into a tavern on the route of Wendell's Unity.
Part II
The Beauty of Madness
A glimpse into a tavern on the route of Wendell's Unity.
Part II
Upon trying my first bite of Landi Cave Fish, my eyes widened and my old taste buds tingled.
- Magalas, the Sage-Historian of Aniok
The Far Southland
Near Tarunia, a storm began to gather. The sound of thundered shattered the fall silence of the Doanine Grasslands. The storm came quickly, and the unseasonal rains poured strong upon the grasslands. Through the falling drops, a faint chanting could be heard. Citizens of the Doanine listened to the wise voice shuffling through words of ritual. Lightning caused brief fires in the grasslands, later put to rest by the subsequent rains. The strange weather of the Doanine Grasslands became stranger and stranger through the season. It was a boon to many of the farmers, though it did flood the Suldrain River and even parts of Wirsmarch. Yet to most citizens of the Doanine, it was an unexpected pleasure. The rain would come and go, and when it was gone for the day, the golden light of the sun perfectly lit the grasses coated in raindrops, creating a beautiful sight to behold. And during the rains, the sound of each drop hitting the wooden tops of taverns made many feel relaxed during their day. The rains were not endless, but rather incremented perfectly. When it was clear that the rains were caused by the Wizard Tarnum, who whispered to the sky from Tarunia, nearby lands succumbed to his influence. This process was expedited when the spell came to its fruition.
On a dark afternoon, when the rain was especially heavy, thunder billowing from the clouds, the whispering in the sky grew louder and louder. A large pounding could be heard throughout the Doanine, as if gods were hitting the ceiling of the earth. A tornado formed for a moment, whirling through an unpopulated area of the grasslands, but near the city of Wirsmarch. The people there went out to their towers to look upon the beautiful sight. Lord Juergen of Wirsmarch himself looked upon this spectacle and felt both fear and awe simultaneously. The tornado eventually drifted downward, and more loud thumping noises were heard. A few moments later, the clouds had come forth from the sky and merged into a humanoid figure, three meters in height. Wizard Tarnum could be seen in the distance beyond the figure. The elemental looked upon itself and greeted the Wizard, who was accompanied by a group of diplomats. They all headed towards Wirsmarch. At first cowering in fear, Lord Juergen summoned his army, but soon it became apparent that the group of Tarunians were not at the edge of Wirsmarch for a battle. They proceeded to enter Wirsmarch and meet with Lord Juergen, greeting him kindly and displaying the power of the storm elemental. By the end of fall, Lord Juergen had visited Tarunia twice.
The Central Forests
West of Tarnum's realm, near Lan'Aurelia'Oramor, Elvish rangers gathered in the forest at the edge of Noskepak. They found strange tracks in the woods. They were Orcish, but the movement patterns were far different from standard Orcish tracks. The rangers separated to search the expanse of land in the woods near Noskepak. In the early evening, the strange sounds began. There were cries in the woods, shrill cries, that pierced the long ears of the rangers but did not inflict pain upon them. The rangers followed these eerie sounds. Footsteps were heard throughout the forest, even when no one laid a foot on the leafy ground. As the rangers tracked the strange Orcs, a large pillar of blue light could be seen emanating from the canopy of a small grove. The rangers flocked to that area and spied upon the creatures they searched for. The Orcs were there, standing as still as statues, their eyes glowing blue. They did not move a single muscle in their bodies. They stood around the pillar of light in a circle, faced outward. One group of rangers descended upon the Orcs, firing arrows and attempting to scare them away. The arrows simply bounced off of the motionless Orcs. The light grew fainter and fainter until it had disappeared. At that moment, the Orcs began to move. They charged the rangers who had fired arrows, their fierce shrill war-cries heard throughout the whole of the wood. The other rangers fled as they witnessed the gruesome killings in the forest. The blue-eyed Orcs took axe and sword to the rangers, fiercely marauding them and leaving no survivor. The report given to Elatair deeply disturbed him.
Practical:
Spoiler :
The Free Realms of the Southwest
The Halfling Warden named Morlos Bandyek felt a sudden turn within his mind. A soft chanting could be heard through the sky coming from Marburg Fords. The feeling grew within Bandyek's mind. For a long time, he had been assigned to patrol the roads, part of an elite squad from his village. Suddenly, those old tasks and assignments mattered not. As the chanting grew more prominent in his mind, so did the music. The drumbeats clacked through the valley, creating a resonating echo that seemed to last for eternity. The strings of lutes danced along the earbuds of the Halflings, whose brains began to click and tap and form beats in unison. Morlos Bandyek felt his mind enter a state of ecstasy that he had never encountered before, not from the brothel nor from the pipeweed grown in Pordos Burrows. Images began to run through his mind. Images of places he had never been, family he had never had. And then the smiling face of Wendell the 'Tall', standing atop his Citadel in Marburg Fords, his armed crossed and his head bobbing to the beat of the music.
Music permeated the realm. Special crystal staves were crafted and brought to the water mages of Horace's Point as a gift. The finest fabrics and foods were gathered from around the land, including cave fish from Landi's fish pond. Instead of throwing deadly projectiles, the hurlers tossed gifts to the crowds as the Halflings paraded down the long road stretching from Horagrid to Kess-fal. Each village the parade encountered, more Halflings would join, eyes wide and mouths singing, dancing along the way. The sheer glee of the crowd swayed the water mages, along with their special gifts, as Horace's Point was officially pronounced realm and keep of Wendell the 'Tall'. The parade continued northward and then eastward, close to even Arya's realm. The complete and unified happiness and shared memories and experiences of the crowd was an almost eerie or frightening thing for some outsiders to witness near Wendell's borders. Yet the gifts and ale showered upon those onlookers soon turned their dread into a greed-fueled delight. Their eyes, too, became wide and filled with love and joy. Villages and towns joined Wendell's realm and the Halfling marching band steadily played its beats and tunes for the entire season. The massive party and parade held and had by all in the Pordos Valley and the outward regions can still be felt to this day, especially in the form of numerous Halfling hangovers.
The Maldia Plain was quiet. The fall winds that grazed the rest of the Southland came to the Maldia as well, where they were welcomed by villagers tending to their fields and centaurs roaming the yellowing grasses. One day the quiet of the season would abruptly end. Villagers leaned their ears to the earth to listen carefully. The thundering sound of several stampeding centaurs trembled through the farmlands and shook entire towns. The stampede was carried to the walls of Lakestone Keep, as Camrol Steedi echoed his voice throughout the Maldia Plain, demanding the corrupt barbarian Warlord Maion surrender his throne to free the warrior priests. Warlord Maion was not pleased at the army of beastmen that had gathered outside of his walls. He launched a preliminary defense, which crippled some of the beastmen troops, but made them no less determined. Within the sturdy keep, movements friendly to Steedi were under way. Klailak's Priesthood had gathered in secret for months, fueled by notes being fed to them by beastmen messenger archers.
The clandestine meetings held in various tavern basements within the keep walls proved to increase the morale of the once-broken priesthood. Warrior Priest Raigon was the first to gather a band of fellow warrior-priests. Their leather creaked in the thick of an evening in which the beastmen had withdrawn to camp outside the walls. They began to chant together as they approached Warlord Maion's lines behind the keep walls. As they chanted, the glow of their armor and weapons began to increase until a large swath of light covered much of the castle. When seen by Maion's archers from the keep walls, it appeared as if bright spirits were whirling through the keep, barraging Maion's infantry below with colorful arrays and subsequently bashing them with staves. The warrior-priests had crafted staves after their cache of swords had been confiscated. Such a change to their armament made them no less deadly. The warrior-priests opened the keep walls by morning, at which point Camrol Steedi's troops stampeded through. The Gorgon Mistress summoned by Steedi slithered through, her darkness being concealed in the night, and her reddened, maddened eyes terrifying many of Maion's remaining troops. As they attempted to flee the castle or jump over the walls, the slithering mistress caught them and broke them into two. The display caused much terror to Warlord Maion himself, who surrendered and was spared by Camrol Steedi... for now. The warrior-priests rejoiced and the castle was given to the honorable Camrol Steedi.
Practical:
Spoiler :
A dwarf, orc, and man sat in a tavern in a small village within Lord Arthurdin's realm. A table near them began to gossip about them. The dwarf stood up and walked over the table, asking them what all the chatter was about. They asked him if he 'belonged' to Lord Arthurdin. The dwarf simply laughed. The orc and the man walked over. The three began to tell stories about Lord Arthurdin and about Hadhodrond. 'Have you seen that Citadel?' 'The tunnels are magnificent.' 'The walls have been enchanted to protect us from evil spirits.' Comments like these flooded the tavern. This talk spread beyond this tavern and to other villages and cities beyond the borders of Lord Arthurdin's Imperium of Peace. Thus many villages and towns throughout the southern Goldtier came under the influence of the Dwarven lord.
Snow began to fall early this season in the southern Goldtier, yet the low mountains and hills remained free of a white blanket. Some Dwarvish warriors escaped from the cold and began a hike through the northern Maldia Plain. They reached the city of Jolang, and at that city's gates they chatted with the guards and informed them of their mission. Welcoming, but no less cautious, the barbarian guards allowed the Dwarves to enter. They were greeted by Prince Zahir, who had communicated with Lord Arthurdin a few weeks prior. The Dwarves brought weapons and tactical knowledge to the barbarian populace, and began to assist in training them for a fight against Zahir's crooked brother Prince Raheed. The Dwarves also brought food, and thus built great trust and a lasting friendship with the starving citizenry of Jolang.
Amid these preparations, a horn sounded out from the city gates. Prince Raheed's army was returning early from raids throughout the Maldia Plain. Perhaps they had been blocked by centaurs from Stabila. The Dwarves remained in the city and had devised a plan in the event of Prince Zaheed's early return. Much of the citizenry of Jolang fled into their homes, but a few buildings were left empty. Prince Zaheed's army was allowed to come into the city and in fact was welcomed by Zahir and some of the populace. Raheed was rude and quick with his brother, decrying the organized centaurs and asking for more of the populace to join his army. 'I do not have enough men!' he cried out. At that point, his brother gave him a solution. 'I have trained an army for you, my brother.' Zahir's newly trained army emerged from several buildings. Raheed smiled and hugged his brother. Yet while they embraced, Zahir's troops began to spear their once-noble protectors. Battle songs began to be sung throughout the city. Raheed began to call Zahir a traitor. At that point, the bulk of Raheed's army marched through the city attempting to escape. However, buildings were demolished by the clever Dwarves, who then assaulted Raheed's troops from within the city, their axes swinging and carving into hundreds of men. Zahir's troops then launched another attack as the barbarians retreated to the city walls. It was a bloody scene, but the Dwarves had succeeded in their mission and were duly thanked by the barbarians of Jolang. Since then, Lord Arthurdin's influence has begun to spread over this barbarian city, with many citizens of Jolang calling him a savior.
Practical:
Spoiler :
The Westmark
When the weekend came during that fateful time in Byranon, the old blacksmith Charles Grishfel awoke with a headache. He leaned over the bed and barked at his wife for water, or something to wash this dreadful taste that had made his throat as dry as cotton. She kept sleeping, and he grew more violent, yelling at her until he could no longer even get the words out of his mouth. He walked outside to the trough the horses usually drink from and noticed a few other men sipping from them. He saw the drips of water coming off of their lips and he licked his own lips, and dove in for the water. It was crowded around that trough. Too crowded. Some of the men began to fight, not able to say a word and only able to get out grunts. Some pounded their chests and started punching. The riot was intense and lasted for hours, as men, women, and children ran throughout Tysis, fighting over water and tearing their clothes off. Old Charles Girshfel ran out of their home bare naked, and headed straight for the Saturday fruit stand, gorging herself on summer delicacies.
The military of Tysis, led by a Captain Burde, attempted to seize control of the city amidst its chaos. But his soldiers soon started to exhibit the same symptoms. They tore their armor off and let it sit in the street. Some picked it up and began to bang it on the sides of homes. Others rode their horses and attempted to pick up women, who flailed about helplessly. Soon Captain Burde himself was speaking nonsense behind his helmet, waving his sword around in a careless fashion, severing some limbs here and there. That was when the city walls began to shake. A large wooden battering ram plucked from the finest woods began to slam into the stone. As stone went flying, the primal citizenry continued their actions, albeit in a more confused manner. Some went over to the wall to touch it as it wobbled, only to find their skulls crushed shortly after by the ram coming through to the other side. As the wall crumbled, the army of Envoy Lucius entered.
Rebels, unaffected by the spell that had been placed upon Tysis, came out from underground and met the army with open arms. Together they secured the city. However, many of the troops from Inavi were massacred by a mob of cavemen-like assailants. Half-naked and full of spite, they took pieces of wood and slammed them into the horses of some lancers as they rode their horses through the city, securing what they could. The result was the loss of some knights, but the city of Tysis was eventually under control of Envoy Lucius. Not many civilians lost their lives, making it a remarkable success for the strange Wizard from Inavi.
Practical:
Spoiler :
Starlife
de la terre à la lune
- Joined
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Update 4: Fall, Year 1
The Beauty of Madness
Part III
The Beauty of Madness
Part III
During my travels I kept parchment and ink among my belongings. With my tools I made a map of these lands.
- Magalas, the Sage-Historian of Aniok
Map of Ethereal
Spoiler Map of Ethereal :
Direct Link to Map
Awards
* New currency and successful propaganda of Lord Arthurdin: +40 gold.
* Mana crystal tributes to Tarnum's Storm Elemental: +50 mana crystals.
* Gifts from Ruria to Gwydion: +20 gold.
* Expansion of Mother Nature temples by Camrol Steedi: +20 mana crystals.
* Upgraded markets in Wizard Wendell's realm: +50 gold.
* Successful Unity Parade by Wizard Wendell: +50 gold.
* Increased influence over Coratoth by Thuggee: +30 gold in tributes.
* Drakefang Victory Parade: +10 gold.
* Juukkeshi's planting of new forests: +30 mana crystals.
* Gifts from Merogia Soter's son's birth: +20 gold.
Landmarks
Windflay Peninsula: The peninsula that the Eastern Isthmus connects to the main continent.
(Previously revealed landmarks can be found in the Maps section of the rules.)
Magical Items
None this turn.
(Previously revealed magical items can be found in the Magic section of the rules.)
Cities Revealed
Lonelai / Dark Elves (20,000 / 80)
Telurgrae / Halflings (41,000 / 164)
(Previously revealed cities can be found in the Maps section of the rules.)
Castles Revealed
3: Goblins
14: Dark Elves
15: Unknown
22: High Men
Wylias / Beastmen
Spoiler Wylias Keep :
(Previously revealed castles can be found in the Maps and Castles Listing section of the rules.)
Starlife
de la terre à la lune
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- Mar 2, 2010
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I'll add it tomorrow. I need to change the 6 castle to Wylias, anyway. Sorry about that.
nutranurse
Unlikeliest of Slash Fics
- Joined
- Jan 30, 2009
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Hrm, so what are the practical rammifications of the events in Sul? Redtear still stands with an angry horde of ghost-spirits around it? And who is this Dark Elf fellow!?
