[Forum Game] Agorath and the Age of Crowns

[Sneakyflaps]

A Forgotten Hero
Part II​

”They are arriving.” Varian said as he stood leaning up against the cold stone, looking out the window as tents began to be set up for the minor clergy arriving. It was easy to spot who would be staying in the fortress and who would be sleeping in a tent. For all their forsaking of worldly goods they sure dressed like dukes and princes, donations taken from the poor and going straight into the clergy’s pockets. Not that Varian cares, well at least not until they start causing him troubles such as now after this damned pamphlets.

“When Your Majesty commands, no man can refuse.” The Duke said making Varian chuckle as they looked out. There was one particularly well dressed mage, must have been from Azeratii by the looks of it, pompous ass. The duke shook his head, leaning on his canes as his grandson and heir stood behind the King and his grandfather. The boy was about ten with brown hair and blue eyes, who stood straight and did his best to look down on the spiritual lord that the two others stared at.

“Well said.” Varian responded as he turned and walked over towards a chair and looked at himself in the mirror before sitting down. His beard had grown and it was about time that he needed a shave, having to meet with the clergy in the morning then it was as good a time as any. Thomas, Varian’s head groom turned to his right where a younger groom stood, a piece of cloth over his arm as he held a box that Thomas opened. He took out a small brush and dipped it into a cream before smearing it over Varian’s cheeks, chin and throat.

Varian’s eyes looked over the spears hanging on the walls, the bows, the swords, the knifes, all of them shining the reflection of the sun back down at him. “I have a treaty I want you to review, its with Queen Nienna and all of my councilors are dismayed at the troops provided, I want your opinion on it, your honest opinion.” Varian said as he turned his head slightly to the side, looking at the old duke who sat down next to him, relieving the pain in his knees.
“I shall be swift as the wind, Your Majesty, you shall have my evaluation before you even know.” The duke responded, making his grandson roll his eyes and look up at him.

“With any luck it shall be before the Dark One rises again.” The child said, making the group laugh as Thomas let the blade glide gently over Varian’s skin. It was at this time that a knock came on the door, and in walked a beautiful woman clad in furs.

This made the old man stand up with a smile on his face while looking towards Valria while his grandson helped him up on his feet from the chair. Varian motion for her to come nearer, as he sat looking into the ceiling.

Valria did just that, bowing as she entered the room before walking over towards Varian. “Your highness...I hope that I am not interrupting,” she said as she looked at the other men in the room.

“It’s fine.” He said as the old man began to bow before Varian raised his hand, “I look forward to your report.” He said before the old man nodded, and the younger one doing an over enthusiastic bow as well, turning around as they slowly left the room, the old man taking his time with the cane. Varian looked at Valria with a smile before he looked back up at Thomas, nodding, commanding him to leave as well as the king stood up from the chair. “I'm glad you came.”

“Of course,” she replied quickly, looking over her shoulder, then back at him. “Who was that?”

“The duke and his grandson and heir.” He said as he picked up the blade and began running over the left side of his chin which was still covered with foam.

Valria’s cheeks reddened slightly. “So...this is his castle then? What a poor first impression.” She smiled at Varian. “I must admit that I did not expect to be called by you so soon.”

“Yes.” He simply said as he looked at his reflection while cleaning the blade before he began running it over his left cheek. “I can't.” he simply said, “And I won't.”

“Pardon me?” Valria questioned, tilting her head in confusion.

He turned to her with a frown, “I can't ask your husband for permission.”

Valria frowned as well, crossing her arms as she looked at him sadly. “But...you had promised.”

“And I regret that now.” He said as he turned back to the mirror, continuing to shave as he looked at her reflection. “I can't go to a baron, no not just a baron, I can't go to any man and ask, heck beg for any such thing. Don't you see how humiliating that is?”

“I don’t…” Valria’s frown grew as she furrowed her brow. “It would be even more humiliating for him if you don’t!”

Varian sighed as looked down for a moment, before back up as he continued to shave. “I will not and I cannot go to him, or any of my subjects and beg for his permission.” Damn obvious as well, how could she not have seen that coming.

“So what are we to do?” She asked, sounding unsure as she shifted from one foot to the other nervously.

“That is entirely your choice.” He said as he finished shaving and looked towards her as he leaned against the table, spots of foam still on his cheeks. “I want you all the same as before, but I cannot degrade.”

“You would not need to beg,” she insisted quickly, “I’m sure if you merely explained...he would consent.”

He just shook his head, “I cannot do that, I cannot just go to him to ask for his blessing.”

“But I cannot just...do that to him!” She pouted, walking around the table. As she passed him he took her hand into his and just looked at her doubtfully. Valria frowned, looking down and away rather than meeting his eyes. “It is not that I do not want to...can you do nothing for him?” She asked pleadingly.

He pulled her closer into his embrace as his finger circled her neck, “I have heard rumours that his son is ambitious, I could offer him a position, see them rise out of their station.”

Valria’s frown improved, but only slightly, leaning against Varian. “He will hate me when he hears about it…”

Varian frowned as his hand went slightly further down and began undoing the laces to her dress. “You know him best, what does he desire most?”

She shook her head slowly. “I do not know him so well as I should your highness. He never seemed to want for much of anything.”

He took a hold of the fur cloak, before ripping the broach off and letting it fall to the floor. “Then why are you so sure he will hate you?”

“Because I am his wife! Betraying him before the entire court! How could he not?” Valria said, sighing heavily as she looked down at her cloak.

“He will gain influence and power, which his other family would very much welcome.” Varian said as he placed a finger under her chin and raised it up so that their eyes met. “And it is not as if he cares for your pleasure now.” He said with a playful grin.

“He did allow me to go to Azeratii…” She stated quietly, much less argumentative with Varian’s hand on her skin.

He spun her around, “That he did.” He said as he place his hand roughly over her throat, the other hand going over to table and picking up an object which she soon felt as the coldness of the blade against her spine as he cut open the back of her dress.

Valria shivered. “He did once,” she said between breaths. “...I have not hated it.” She stopped, the thoughts crossing her mind before finally speaking up “I… alright…”

 

[Tapscott]

Orders and Flames

​

It was the screaming that she disliked the most Zarah decided as she was watched another figure be consumed by the flames. Suffering she could abide by, as long as it was done in silence, but the latest batch of prisoners consigned to the pyres had all begged and pleaded for mercy in vain before letting out the most shrill of cries that she had ever heard come from man or woman. All had been found guilty of one of the worst crimes that could be committed in the Black Island… Espionage. The Drow of Dreagar have always been a suspicious and secretive lot, prone to spying on and documenting one another for their own gain, but recently the activity had grown out of hand. Some placed the absence of the Maegi as the cause for such malcontent but her King and consort Belegûr Arvandu did not care for such excuses. To betray the Kingdom by selling its information, no matter how mundane, to foreign powers was something he deemed inexcusable and requiring the harshest of punishments. Hence the pyres.

The screams finally ceased and the small crowd began to disperse from the royal courtyard, the inert and crispening figures tied to the still-burning posts no longer holding any form of entertainment to the malicious nobles. Amongst the throng of lordlings the King of the Drow towered over all, his pale gaze fixated on the pyres. Leaving her discreet position in the shadows she silently worked her way over to the King, taking note of the lack of any of the normal clinger-ons who sought to win royal favour. King Belegûr did not glance at his Hrondinese agent as she approached, his eyes still studying the fire, but his hand motioned for her to stop.

Pausing in place Zarah studied her King curiously. It had been the better part of year since she had fallen into the service of the King of the Drow, and since then she had changed greatly. History, law, politics, alchemy, intrigue and personal combat had all been hammered into her, her natural senses enhanced to be as keen as possible and her ideals slowly shifted to better match the King’s desires. No longer was she a mere woman, she was now one of the King’s dancers, one of his elite covert operatives to be let loose at home or abroad to see the will of the Drow King done… The King to had changed. His seemingly uncaring and disinterested attitude to everything had proven to be a ruse, she had discovered, with the King having a keen interest in history, alchemy… and torture. He kept his emotions guarded and hidden as best he could, but having spent such a long period of time around him she had learnt how to read his taciturn features, albeit slowly. Now, as he stared at the fire and the people being consumed by it, she saw that King Belegûr was not merely taking in his own handiwork, but in fact deep in thought. His mind was elsewhere, despite the results of another victory against the subversive elements that existed within his realm. Sensing, rather than seeing, his expectation for her to make the first move Zarah fell to one knee and touched her forehead with the first and middle fingers of her right hand.

“What is your bidding my master?” The words coming easily to her lips. The sentence that all dancers used when their King wanted something done, as she confidently expected he did now.

Turning away from the fire Belegûr Aravandu studied her, his gaze sending chills down her spine. The calculating look in his eyes worried her, that he may not approve of what she was doing, of what she had done. To disappoint her monarch would not result in any traditional punishment, no, instead she would be subjected to his… magical experiments. She had only suffered such a fate once and was determined to never repeat it. Motioning for her to stand King Belegûr nodded to himself.

“You are ready my dancer. You have learned much, but this will see if your training will serve you well enough in the outside world.”

“You have orders for me, my lord?” Zarah said eagerly, her eyes lighting up with unsuppressed excitement. No matter how much danger or horror any outing he may propose could entail she longed to bask in the freedom that came with any assignment. She would be given complete discretion to do as she saw fit to fulfil the King’s orders… Provided it did not go against his own will of course.

“Yes. Word has reached us of a wedding to be held in the lands of Galadriel.” The King reached into his robes and pulled out something small that glittered in the setting sun. “It is between Anwën Krestarii of the Elven house Mindrilla, and Crown-Prince Armas of the royal Elven house Coamenel… Much of the nobility of eastern Agorath will be in attendance, and is there I wish for you to travel.”

“...For what purpose, my master?” Zarah frowned. “An emissary?”

“No. You are to give this-” He pressed the small glittering item into her hand, revealing it to be a small ring of strange woven design, bereft of jewels but expertly fashioned none-the-less, that felt uncomfortably warm. “To the bride’s young sister… After you have retrieved something for me.”

Leaning forward attentively, a wave of relief washed over Zarah as she discovered that she would have a role more important, and interesting, than that of gift-giver. “What is this item you wish?”

“An ancient war-axe, of early Dwarven make… It is currently in the possession of one Cacame Mindrilla, heir to Mirrorwater and would-be lord of Yurdaest if he ever sought to realize his birthright.” The King snorted, a rare expression of open amusment flashing across his face. “The boy is far too cowardly to ever do such a thing however. He will let the title lie, and the axe locked away. Go to Mirrorwater, retrieve the ancestral Dwarven axe, and play your part at the wedding. Do not fail me.”

“Your will shall be done.” Standing up Zarah left without waiting to be dismissed, all too aware of how much the King hated excessive courtplay. She had much to do, and little time to do it in. She would have to leave today if she was to be in Galadriel on time, but she was confident she could achieve that. Failure, after all, was not an option.

 

[Dadarian]

​

The gathering room, filled with men and women, smelled of sweat, fear, and worry. Twice the meeting had to stopped in order to calm down the more hawkish of the tribesman. Mo'Bog Loo'ijk had to be tied to a pole to keep him from killing Mo'Kru Bha'ijka in a blind rage. This did mean that Mo'Bog was a constant annoyance though, as his continual complaining about the tightness of his bindings interrupted intense discussions more than once. Mo'yokj Gro'ijk, feeling very surrounded by idiots, waited for hours as the tribe talked themselves in circles before finally standing and using his rather tall walking stick to attract attention. Afterall, tired tribesmen are often more willing to listen to an elder than a hyper and active one.

"Descendants of Mo', our plan is simple. These black orcs are different from us. Raiding before an invitation is not the action of an Orc in which we know. Beings from the Forests of the East, we do not know the ways of these Western Orcs. Therefore I recommend we pack up and move north."

The cacophony from this statement was surprising in it's strength. Words such as "Coward" and "Old" were thrown around. Mo'yokj just patiently waited for these people to shout themselves hoarse. When they did, he spoke up again.

"Which would you rather do, fight against orcs more dedicated to the ways of war than us, or move north, grow fat on our herds, and make many babies?"

The blank looks as the tribe thought over this was stressful for Mo'yokj, even Mo'Kru quieted down though, so there was that. After a time, they slowly nodded. It seems an assessment has been made. Preparations for a northward trek was begun.

 

[Sneakyflaps]

A Forgotten Hero
Part III (final)​

Valria stirred in the bed as Varian woke up, it was a bit past eight in the morning when Thomas stood over him. It was only a few hours from now that he would meet with the clergy, to reassure them that they were in no danger of getting hanged, incredible that he actually had to do this because a baron got uppity. Varian rose from the bed, putting on his underwear before getting his night robe from Thomas, both were nice and warm having been laid next to a fire for half an hour before being given to Varian. Varian went over to the side where his breakfast had been prepared, it was fairly simple as he didn’t have time for anything large. Some freshly baked bread and cold meats to quickly get through before he had to get dressed.

The bread was fresh and leavened, the warm air filling his mouth as he bit down on it, his mouth filling with the softness of the inside mixed with the tougher crisp of the surface. As Varian crewed through it, his mind still waking up, he couldn’t help but look at Valria who gently snored in the bed. She had surprised him, her desire to reconcile with the Queen, to create at least a working relationship so that neither would be hurt was something new to Varian, and Valria actually seemed sincere about it.

Varian couldn’t help but smile as he sat there watching her pull the blankets closer to her body, slightly moving her body as her head was pushed against Varian’s pillow. He wanted to crawl back into bed and join her instead of sitting there, instead all he could do was pull his gown closer as the fur around the collar caressed his neck. The way Valria laid there reminded him of how his own wife had slept after the birth of their eldest daughter, it was quiet, happy, peaceful and without a care in the world, a thing that he himself had always been jealous of.

Varian sat there, lost in his own world until he heard the door slowly opening which made him divert his attention. Thomas stuck his head in making Varian send him a nod acknowledging him. Varian sighed as he took the last piece of meat before standing up, walking into the next room while still chewing.

Four grooms stood ready, his clothes had already been laid out, including the regalia that he would wear for the day, Thomas had always said that appearance was everything and today it would surely be used. Varian walked forward, standing in the middle as he stared into the fireplace before him. Varian pushed his shoulders and arms backwards as one of the grooms came stood ready and took off his gown, folding it together before placing it on a table. Another groom extended Varian his pants which he put on, pulling them up before tying them together at the front while the groom bent down and straightened out any folds.

Then came another groom and handed Varian his shirt, holding it out for him to stick his arms through the sleeves, after which the king pulled it over his head. It was soft against the skin, nice to the touch and brought some nice warmth as he tucked it into his pants before he tightened it and tied the knot located just above his chest. He then extended his arms outwards with palms towards the ceiling as a groom on each side tied the lace on each wrist.

Then came the next part of the process and Varian once again pushed his shoulders back and extended his arms, the fourth groom stood ready and helped the king into his doublet, gently and slowly pushing it upwards until it rest on Varian’s shoulders. Two grooms stood at the front, one taking a hold of each side of the doublet and pressed it together at the front. The other began to button it up, the buttons were on the inside, hiding it from the rest of the world, and in truth were very small so the King wouldn’t feel them. This was a design that always annoyed the grooms of any Ecclestian noble, it made it problematic to button up the doublets and at the same time it was expected they did it at the first attempt.

The doublet itself was black, just like the pants and it had a high collar. Gold was woven into the fabric in the pattern of various flowers as well as the Krestarii family symbol, the harpy, next to it stood Varian and his father’s own private symbol and that of their line, the proud lion of Ecclestius standing proudly in defiance of their enemies. The doublet itself was made out of a varied amount of materials, including silk, velvet, satin, some hardened leather to give it shape. There were slits in the doublet over the arms, letting them puff so they appeared bigger, crimson red fabrics filling it out and adding colour.

A groom went over and picked up a large belt before going over to Varian. The groom knelt down as he tied the belt around Varian’s waist, at the same time another groom held Varian’s dagger before tying it to the belt, letting the dagger rest at his left side. The dagger was mainly for show, but sharpened all the same in case the king should need it if he came under attack, a very unlikely occurrence but a chance all the same. The hilt of the dagger was gilded with symbols of the Light and Ecclesiasties.

Then the fourth groom came with a box and Thomas finally moved forward, opening it and looking over the content before selecting three rings at which the King extended his hand and stretched out his fingers. One of the rings needed to be looked at by the king’s jeweler, it had felt small and squished the king’s finger, making Thomas take it off again before selecting another that sat much more comfortably. Then one a cushion came Varian’s necklace, it was a fine piece of jewelry, four different strings covered by pearls held it together, and eight different pieces of gold ordained with amber or sapphires with large red rubies in the center that reflected back light. Thomas placed it over Varian’s head, linking it on to the shoulders of the doublet as the backend of the necklace went down the center between his shoulder plates and the frontal part of the necklace down to the center of his chest. It felt heavy to wear, it always did but it took only a minute for it to be adjusted correctly and the weight to distribute itself over Varian’s shoulders.

Three of the grooms then went over and lifted up the royal mantle, one which was only worn at the coronation or special state events such as this. It was the most expensive piece of clothing that Varian would wear, even more so than his crown, the sheer amount of fabric, fine fabric that is, made of the most expensive and wealthy fabrics. Then woven with gold threads to create symbols of crowns, branches and eagles, finally the edges were made of ermine, white fur with black spots going over the king’s shoulders and along the edges of the mantle. It was tied onto the King’s doublet in similar fashion to the chain, and then also further tied below around the King’s upper torso by a large piece of golden threads.

Thomas left the room as they tied the mantle on to Varian, only to return a moment later, carrying the crown on a cushion and going over to Varian before kneeling. The king took the crown off of the cushion before raising his hands up and placing the crown on his head, standing straight as the grooms bowed before him, a smile forming the Kings face as he was finally done.

They left the room, going towards the great hall at which the members of the clergy had gathred. As Varian approached an announcer inside hit his staff against the floor, and announced that the king entered. The clergy rose up from their seats, bowing to His Majesty as he crossed the great hall, going to the throne set up below a trophy of the great beast of which the Duke owed his name. Varian turned around, looking out over all the clergy who stood in front of their seats. Several rows of benches had been put out to accommodate them all, the most influential clergy members being given chairs of their own.

Despite their anger at the events that unfolded and the dead priest, they still all showed up when summoned making Varian draw a slight grin before sitting down in the throne, which was followed by a lot of noise as every member of the spiritual world sat down and looked upon their sovereign.

Varian cleared his throat before he began. “Members of the Clergy, I have gathered you here today in light of recent events which has shocked our kingdom, and my conscious to its core. The murder of a priest, a priest from this very shire, was done without our knowledge or blessing and much to our anger, had we known we would have interceded to prevent the murder, as it was a crime that was committed. We grieved when we were informed of the events passed, that our laws and decrees were not only carried out against our will, with punishments not sanctioned. But furthermore that a member of our administration saw fit to appoint himself judge, jury and executioner and carried out such a deplorable act.

That however does not justify the murder of the Baron by the local garrison, all of our subjects must obey the law and decrees that we issue, granted and shown to us by the Creator and divine will. As such I hereby pledge and enforce once more that any member of the clergy will receive and be granted the rights in accordance with the law already decreed and written. This as in the case of the nobility as written in our law, affords them a trial before a gathering of their peers, both spiritual and temporal, with all the rights of the Nobility.

As such my Lords spiritual you have nothing to fear of injustice in face of the law, for you are our subjects, just like the nobility or the peasants, therefore you are under our protection and we have taken an oath to do defend you, an oath which we will enforce and keep or the Creator will find us an unfit servant. This is the law that both force you to halt and prevent distribution of the pamphlets which caused this, as well as give us your true obedience, and at the same time protects you from injustice and grants you our love.”

As Varian finished speaking the clergy rose up and applauded him, cheering him on as he stood up and left the hall, having given them what they wanted. He could finally rid himself of the Crown and mantle which the grooms took away under guard once more.

Varian though went up the stairs, his day not yet complete as he climbed up to the quarters of the old duke, a servant opening the door as he entered, the duke sitting at a desk, resting. Varian approached him slowly, sitting down in the chair opposite of him, the necklace he wore giving off a quiet sound making the duke look up.

“Your Majesty.” The old man said.

“Your Grace.” Varian responded, “Did you look at the treaty?” the king asked with a soft smile as he looked the old man in the eyes who slowly nodded in return.

“I have.” He said as he slowly straightened himself “It is a good treaty, you don’t gain a lot of soldiers if you wish to invade Westmarch, but so what. The symbolic message of friendship and aid matters more, both to your people and the world, it frees you up to intervene in other diplomatic affairs without having to worry about the Elves opposing you.” The duke took a deep breath “You will people will welcome this treaty, and the stability that it brings and it will further deter the Nords from raiding our shores. Use this treaty to start up negotiations with Kalar, end the conflict before it begins.”

Varian just shook his head, “The republic hasn’t acted and wont, they are too weak.” He said self-assured.

The duke shook his head in turn “They are biding their time, you heard the rumours of their fleet, don’t put your people into a needless war when diplomacy can save the lives of thousands.” The duke leaned back in his chair, his eyes once more growing tired as he pulled his clothes closer to his body, clinging on to it. “If it because Rodney oppose it then let him be damned, he wants all to cower at our feet, your monarchy won’t survive if you… give him… free reign.” The duke said as he began closing his eyes as Varian sat there nodding.

The King bit the innerside of his cheek as he considered the Dukes words before looking back up “Thank you Matthew.” Varian said as he rose from the chair as the Duke fell asleep.

That was the last service the Duke would grant the Kings of Ecclestius as Varian was informed for his passing the following morning. The Duke had fought at Azure’s Ridge, Espadilla Downs, the defense of Coal and the Battle for the Golden City, he had served three Kings and one Emperor, seen the fall of feudalism and the rise of absolutism and was always a staunch support of house Krestarii. Now Matthew the Duke of Wolfen was no more, having passed into the annals of history and leaving his earthly processions and inheritance in the hands of his nine year old grandson.

 

[Terraferma]

Late Night​

Hasam feverishly wrote down his thoughts, the latest wave of ideas transmitted from mind to quill and then translated onto words. The Emirate was facing several decisions, they weren’t the only ones given the events taking place in the former Hroniden, but these were too many with too little resources. Squinting, the Padishah stared up at the chandelier-style candles hanging ominously over his head.

“Time. More time,” he said to no one in particular.

His grand study was spacious, filled with racks of books at least 10 feet high. Some he had read, others merely a collection. All had a thin film of dust gathering. A light creak was heard though quickly dismissed due to the floorboards usually being the culprit, except the candles were swirling. The still air had been disturbed, he was no longer alone.

Still, Sabir looked down at the gold-clad table and continued to put thought down to paper, perhaps it was the good general returning with another report from the Steppes.

A sultry giggle met his ears as a soft, pale hand caressed his garment covered chest. The body stiffened, for the briefest of moments the startled statesmen thought the worst. Regaining his composure he responded coolly, “Aliya.”

Her beautiful hazel eyes came into view, partially obstructed by her straightened raven colored hair. She was mostly covered from head to toe in a golden hijab made of the finest silk found in the nation. Beneath that, she found it attractive to wear a black corset to imitate the rumored “lady like” attire found in certain areas of the East. Seeking attention Aliya pressed her warm dimpled cheek against his, brushing it slightly. Pulling away she gave off a playful pout before forcibly sitting on his lap.

“Oh your eminence, why does the Padishah of Shiek spurn and burn his beloved?” She purred. His wife had gone through the trouble of wearing eyeliner as well as other cosmetics to accentuate her beauty.

“Perhaps because you should be with the children?” He still did not meet her gaze.

“No Padishah, you should be. Late is the hour.” Aliya’s voice remained seductive, wanting. “You are their father, you treat them like outcasts. Lock them away—“

“For their safety. And yours.” He interrupted.

Clicking her tongue Aliya went straight for his neck leaving a trail of long, sensual kisses from the earlobe straight down to his exposed collarbone.

“Now is not the time my crescent.” He grabbed her shoulders and gently forced her off.

With a hiss, Aliya got back on her feet. Taking a step back, his consort reached into her modest bosom to draw out a letter.

“Here, this came. An invitation to a wedding sent by House Mindrilla. It was sent across the land, I did not burn it due to it being addressed to you.” The wife made a rather disdainful face, “Do not want to commit treason, my master.”

“Watch your tongue.” Snatching it from her fingers Hasam read its contents and sighed. Pushing himself off the table he stretched. Hours had gone by within the chamber, his back was starting to ache due to the blasted old wooden-chair. It was his fathers. So was the study.

“Well then, I will accept the invitation. However, you and the children are going. You will represent the Emirate in my stead.”

Aliya just stared dumbfounded. “You’re…jesting yes?”

Met with a cold stare she found the answer.

“By your will Padishah.” Bowing she was set to leave before Sabir grabbed her by the hand. Stroking her cheek he murmured, “Sometimes I wonder. Did your love come before…or AFTER my rise to prominence? Regardless, do have fun dear wife. You and the children deserve to see more of this world while you still can.”

Forcing a smile the ruler of Shiek continued. “Use your charm, find out what the latest gossip and talk is around the realms.”

She could not help but return the gesture with a rather predatory grin. “It would be my absolute pleasure.” Stealing a kiss she turned on her heel and silently made her way back out of the dimly lit room.

Heavy, is the weight of the crown.

A letter is sent out to courts all over Agorath, bearing the seal of house Mindrilla.

Spoiler: Invitation

Dear pious Lords and Ladies of our bountiful continent.

Many years have now passed since our lands stood ablaze from the scorching haunt of the Dark One's mace. What seemed a near impossible task, so far away, our realms have been rebuilt. Our people yet again water the millstone for the harvest, our hunters leading from the great gifts of the forests, our miners breaking artistic metals in silver and gold, not only iron to be soaked in blood. As the Dark days seem behind us, there is now again time appropriate for the celebration of all life's beauty once more. Such as the love inside one's hearts.

I hereby invite you to witness the celebration of my daughter and heir's wedding to his highness, the crown-prince of Coal, Armas of house Coamenel. The Elven capital will invite you with open arms to celebrate this just and heartfelt occasion in which two loving youths may swear their duty to each other in the eyes of the Creator. His divine gaze that fill our lives with Light every day, will now have a chance to rejoice as his children, instead of force, celebrate harmony and peace.

May the Light preserve you,
Eylinn of house Mindrilla, Therain of the Green Chasm.

Spoiler

On behalf of the Emirate of Shiek, I accept this invitation. Unfortunately due to events beyond our control, I will send my wife and children to take my place. I wish the magnificent couple a wondrous union filled with happiness and longevity.

Hasam Khanduras Sabir, Padishah of the Emirate of Shiek

 

[AzagalTheGreat]

Of Underkings and Old Age
Part I of V

''Awake. Alive still.''

Underking Brathor Greybeard opened his eyes and slowly rolled over to the end of his bed. A bedchamber fit for a King, richly decorated with paintings of long forgotten battles and long defeated enemies. Next to the bed laid his trusty walking stick. Age had started taking a toll on the Underking, and ever more was it noticable. No longer would he fight orcs.

He stoop up, leaning heavily on the stick. Walking was possible yet, and he got to the bell near his clothing. It rang beautifully, light as a bird, representing a subtle yet clearly audible. While he waited for a servant to aid him being dressed for the day, he contemplated his new life, a captive in all but name of the regency council. Yet he had made peace with recent events. At last had he been liberated from the heavy duty of ruling. Not anymore would he be bothered by petitioners, power groups or ambitious nobles even.

Now, he could do anything he wished. It had not made him lazy however.

The servant came in and asked : ''How is your Majesty doing today'' ?

''Fine. Much shall be done.''

She helped him dress, then left to order the other servants to prepare various things. Thump. Thump . Thump.
The distinctive sound of his cane echoed through the halls and soon enough the palace awakened fully.

As he made his way to the Royal Hall, he could already hear his grandsons argue.

''Not again'', he thought.

He moved to the right wall which lead to the door of the halls, and put up his cane in his left arm. He walked slowly but silently to the door, telling passing servants to not announce his arrival just yet. He entered and overheard the argument :

''I must urge to you again Wartooth, I am truly the best to lead on this mighty realm after our beloved grandfather passes onto the next plane of existence. You might be a warrior of great renown, but we do not need warriors. We need administrators. Kogansunan needs to rebuilt from years of Orcish occupation, not wage war.''

Brathor Wartooth, the oldest and strongest and longest of his grandsons, had since his early childhood, always sought for a fight. No matter where or when. Known for his temper, this situation would have surely spiralled out of control had it been anyone else he was discussing with. But, he was still alive due to this man, his brother, Brathor Goldfoot. During the struggle to reclaim Kogansunan, in the heat of battle, a powerful orc charged straight into their lines. It fought a mighty duel with Wartooth, and it was about to deliver a killer blow, when Goldfoot charged down to his brother, mounted the Orc from behind and cleaved the skull of the orc in two. He was forever in debt to Goldfoot.

Goldfoot is best described as a curious character. While a capable warrior himself, he was much more interested in running day to day affairs and ruling. Truly, when his grandfather had increasingly started to age, many said he was the true power behind the throne. In the back alleys of Kogansunan, it was even whispered it was him who ordered the explosive attack, in order to consolidate his own power.

As it did. He had become the head regent for his grandfather. Now the most powerful dwarf in the Underkingdom, many expected him to proclaim himself Underking after the timely demise of his grandfather.

''But what about honour and our external situation ? We must show strength dear brother, lest we fade into nothing. I will lead the realm to glory and victory like in the olden days. The reclamation of Kogansunan is but the first step in the progress of a truly Dwarven Highatar. ''

'' While such aims are noble and understandable Goldfoot, it is not wise to commit to such a course at this moment. We wish not to alienate all our neighbours or make our liege hostile to us. Under my rule, we will eventually move towards such plans, and I shall make sure to put you in a central position once we do get to such a stage.''

Brathor Greybeard then stood up and spoke in a thundering voice : ''Silent young ones. I am not even dead yet and you already plot your own rules. Let me live out my last years in dignity. If I hear such talk in these halls ever again, I will make sure you will not live in these halls ever again. ''

Both men said : ''Sorry grandfather.''

He then said : ''Now, let us eat and drink, we have a long day ahead.''

(To be continued, obviously)​

 

[Duke Dan `the Man`]

Spoiler: Letter to Bethod the Bloodless

I offer to you my terms for peace among our realms

• All lands formerly held by Jarl Gunthar shall be returned to him, under his administration, as a vassal of the King of Strongheim
• King Bethod shall agree to give Ethelbor the vassalage of lands coming south from the Jarldom, their rulers being under Ethelborean overlordship.
• Gunthar shall surrender his fortress of Ethelbor to the armed forces of the King of Strongheim, and accept a position as a subject of the realm of King Bethod

[X] Jarl Gunthar Gustafsson, Lord of the Skagarene Coast, and Jarl of Ethelbor

Spoiler: Letter to Bethod the Bloodless

[] King Bethod the Bloodless of Strongheim

 

[oxfordroyale]

Spoiler: Letter to Bethod the Bloodless

I offer to you my terms for peace among our realms

• All lands formerly held by Jarl Gunthar shall be returned to him, under his administration, as a vassal of the King of Strongheim
• King Bethod shall agree to give Ethelbor the vassalage of lands coming south from the Jarldom, their rulers being under Ethelborean overlordship.
• Gunthar shall surrender his fortress of Ethelbor to the armed forces of the King of Strongheim, and accept a position as a subject of the realm of King Bethod

[X] Jarl Gunthar Gustafsson, Lord of the Skagarene Coast, and Jarl of Ethelbor

Spoiler: Letter to Bethod the Bloodless

[] King Bethod the Bloodless of Strongheim

[X] King Bethod the Bloodless of Strongheim

 

[jcucc]

((Sorry, but I'm gonna have to drop out. Agorath II started at the same time as my first semeester of college, so I really haven't been able to spend a lot of time on it at all. I have to focus on my studies, but I wish everybody else the best!))

 

[Mikkel Glahder]

The Army of Damasiz​

When the Hroniden was still a unified sultanate, the armies of the Fatumid family were loyal to the Ayyubid Sultan and fought with him against the forces of the Dark One. Especially the horses from Damasiz were fought to be of the best breed and they are in focus of the army and most professional. Much of the army was lost in the fight against the Dark One, and even more lost in the ensuring chaos and civil war in the emirate of Damasiz, where the army commanders were forced to support either Salah Al-Aziz or his younger brother Muhammed. As many of the famous Katafrakts died a secondary focus on the army was laid on the infantry, who before where mainly lightly armoured where now supposed to be a Katafrakt without a horse, called 'Alrrajul fi al'asliha' That meant new and improved armour, better weapons and extensive training.

There is a strict hierachy in the army of Damasiz that shows the importance of nobility and their role. In the top there is the Sultan or in this case the Emir called the Almushir 'aw almarshal. Next come his generals and commanders, that are for the most part the aristrocracy of Damasiz. Other ranks include but not limited to: Aleaqid alrrukn (colonel), Rayid (major), Mulazim (lieutenant) and Shawish (sargeant). Apart from the Aleaqud Alrrukn, most of these officers are of common birth and are chosen by merit as most of the commanders and generals even though some of them have proven to be incompetent commanders.

A common looking Katafrakt under service of Emir Salah Al-Aziz
​

The katafrakt is a heavily armoured cavalry unit in the Damsiz army and was the primacy of the army until some years ago, when a shortages of horses made that idea infeasible. The katafrakt has the same status as knights and are groomed in a young age, primarilly from aristrocratic families, even though exceptions are made. The novices are trained in a variety of different weapons, ranging from bows to spears they use in their infamous charges. They are what led Salah Al-Aziz to victory in the battles against his brothers. Or so it is told. As they are not as numerous as earlier, many nobles are calling for an increase in the training of katafrakts, especially the older and more traditionally shieks.

A common looking Alrrajul fi al'asliha in full armour
​

The Alrrajul fi al'asliha are what most of the light infantry was converted into after the civil war. The light infantry were only semi-professional and of questional quality, as they only had been given limited training. The heavier Alrrajul fi al'asliha are full time soldiers in the army of their respective noble and the training and equipment is standardized so they can stand as a wall with no weak links in between. They are sometimes called the 'Unnoble Katafrakts' but they are a deadly fighting force in their own right, fighting with clubs and a variety of swords and spears.

The emirate of Damasiz is in 5 subdivisions, called Thayimat. Each of these are required to field, train and arm a certain amount of soldiers. A number that usually depends on the size and what resources and how much manpower they have available. They are also required to appoint officer candidate who will travel to the capital Baniaz to be trained in the art of commanding.

 

[BlackBishop]

A Wedding Scorned
Last Harvest, Autumn, 20th Year of the New Age

News has spread across Galadriel and neighboring lands of turmoil surrounding the wedding of Crown Prince Armas Coamenel and Princess Anwen Krestarii. Details are scarce but what is known is that King Varian Krestarii, ruler of Ecclestius, withdrew his support and forbade the wedding to take place mere days before it was to happen. It is rumoured that the presence of Westmarch dignitaries was taken as a personal slight to the king and Ecclestius as a whole. Varian was said to leave Coal in outrage along with his delegation of leading Ecclestian nobles. The controversy seemed to stem from lingering resentment from Westmarch's secession and the death of King Ares, former ruler of Ecclestius, at the hands of Westmarch lords. Tensions came to a head when Varian attempted to leave with his sister Linderal, but left her with her mother, the Queen Dowager after a bitter confrontation.

Those who attended the wedding were struck by the beautiful and lavish affair that it was, yet this was overshadowed by the rumour regarding the king of Ecclestius. Varian was not present to give the bride away, and seemed to confirm the rumours that swirled around the festivities. After the ceremony, Eylinn Krestarii of Green Chasm named Princess Anwen Mistress of the Tall Pass, a tract of land along the western borders of the Chasm, with Armas being named the Master and all rights of lordship of the holding.

Nearly a fortnight after the wedding passed, declarations were issued from Azeratii, banishing Queen Dowager Eylinn Krestarii, Evhana Mindrilla, and Anwen Coamenel from Ecclestius under pain of death. Caravans of their belongings were sent in the weeks proceeding, cutting their ties to Ecclestius. An event that was wrought with much hope and optimism turned sour by diplomatic fallout of the worst kind. No doubt the events that transpired will have far reaching implications for Ecclestius and Galadriel, and perhaps even Agorath as a whole, for years to come. ​

 

[Sneakyflaps]

The Start of A New Adventure
(IC with Jako)
(For those wondering I wanted a char in another setting to IC with, as I find it can get a bit dull/limiting only playing Varian, so I decided to make one, the char is in my sign up post and is purely IC)​

It had been somewhat of a walk, but it paid well and she needed the money now that she was running low. She had been hired by some chieftains wife to kill another chieftains wife that had insulted her, and now with the war she could no longer kill her in a feud. An odd culture to say the least, but it paid well. The trip here had been fine, sure it had gotten slightly colder with autumn approaching but at least it was still some time before full blown winter, only the last two days had been particularly bad. It was a dour day, the skies were grey and rain poured down, it had truly become autumn in this godforsaken part of the world. Vaeri had arrived a bit into the evening, having spent the entire day walking there, and now she needed to find a vendor for her equipment which was soaked.. There weren't many out at this time, and those that were sat under covers from the rain, at tables waiting for dinner or simply playing games to pass the time. Other wilders were getting busy in the mud, breaking bones and punching out teeth, the spirit of the camp was surprisingly high.
Vaeri was covered in a cloak as to hide herself from most, walking with her head downwards and her bow over her shoulder. Her boots were dirty from the mud, and her clothes underneath the cloak was wet and stuck to her body. She had walked around for some time now, she had tried two merchants but neither had a spare tent, or really anything out here, and eventually she sat down near an open spot and began hitting her bag in frustration.

A curious eye had been following the woman until it finally materialized in a hand on her shoulder. “Down from the weather?” Asked a serpentine tongue, drenched in silver. The elf above her was Aeron, the Champion of Coal and a Royal Captain of the Queen’s Guard, which she would discover later in the night while talking to the other soldiers. He did not expect to have another elf besides Narien here, so when he saw the woman’s frame he could not help himself from approaching her.

“Down from the creator once again cursing me.” She said, hitting her backpack once again as she sighed in frustration. “Everything is drenched, me, my clothes, my backpack, my tent, sure he is having a great laugh up there.” She responded as she looked at him and gave a small nod. Her clothes were simple but her amber eyes shined brightly. “And if I don't find a new tent before tonight, either I will not sleep or I will need to march and find a tree to sleep in.” She sighed once more, “Do you know if there are any merchants around the camp?” She asked, a slight annoyance in her voice.

He laughed, slightly bemused over her situation, or about her manner. He walked along the put out campfire, once a bright blaze now a small ember in the rain. “This is a war party, and we are quite far off from any civilization at the moment, I doubt you’d find anyone with any stock, much less someone who actually has a comfortable tent lying around. However we do have quartermasters…” He looked back at her, “That is, if you are apart of the army, and not some.. Camp Follower?” a polite term for a sleeping wench.

No doubt that's what he would have liked, or so she thought “In this camp, no doubt I could walk out with a princess purse if that was the case.” She said, with part disdain looking at the overall lack of women, and men with far too much anger and frustration stored up. “I am neither, if I was I wouldn't be trying to buy a tent.” She said as she stood up and walked up next to him, looking slightly upwards to the taller Elf. “I am here on a private errand for chieftain Bolac of the Helvitas.” She shook her head, not that it was actually true, but that wasn't his business, “Tried the quartermaster already.”

He snarked, “What’s an elf doing in service to a Wilder lord.. The Princess Narien I can understand.. She’s a princess.. But you? Tell me, I’m intrigued.” He was willing to help if he judged her fair enough for his service, but her presence disturbed him.

She pondered for a moment, why would it make more sense for a princess to serve a wilder lord, “I have to make a living and he offers the coin, we cannot all choose who we serve.” She said as she looked at him surprised. “We must do what we can to make a living.”

He frowned “And why not make that living in Galadriel, and not this war torn land? This isn’t a place for an elf.” He doubted her abilities as his silver eyes peering at her.

She looked back into his eye with a smirk, “Yet you are here all the same.” She said as they walked, “Galadriel has its charm, but it's peaceful and quiet, war means conflict and money, easy coin.”

Aeron shrugged and gestured around them. “An easy way to die. I am oathsworn to be here, not for long however, I am leaving as soon as this tour is up for the season. I suggest you to do the same. They consort with elves and the dwarves are at each doorstep, always watching. The Wilders are somewhat of a doomed people, to infighting or outside invasion, this sortie cannot last long I tell you.” The young king had not heeded his most stable of advice and he worried doom would be upon them soon. “If you enjoy fighting join a real army.”

She leaned a bit closer so the wilders wouldn't hear her, “Let them die.” She said without much care, because she quite frankly didn't, she knew none of them and they didn't know her, why care. “I do not have much to return to.. or want to return to.” she shrugged, “And at least here I get to see this world, enjoy life and do what I want.”

“See a wasteland, oh what joys this weather must be.” He smirked and walked off, “Enjoy your freedom, let’s hope it does not serve you an early goodbye to the world.”

She shook her head before walking around camp once more, trying to find a vendor, surely someone here had to sell something. Eventually though she gave up, she reached into her bag and pulled out a map of the area, looking for some forest that she could stay in, instead of this wretched camp. As she looked he came back with his own second tent, placing it on her lap with a nod.

She looked up at him with surprise, not something she had expected following his earlier disdain. “Thank you.” She said as she looked at the tent, hiding it away from the weather so it wouldn't likewise get drenched. “What do you want for it?” She had never been a beggar or a charity case and surely would not start now to a stranger.

The knight was going to leave it for free but decided to tease her to get some amusement out of this droll day. “What would you give it for?” He didn’t let his face betray him, looking at the tent, inspecting its value almost.

“I can pay you, clean that armor.” She said nodding towards what he wore. “Pay your dinner, some wine?” She asked, trying her way forward to see what he wanted as she stood up and walked over to an open spot and began setting up the tent.

This made Aeron laugh a little. “You can do all of those things if I throw in a clean blanket?”

“A pair of pants and a shirt as well if you have them.” She said, “I can't do any if my own clothes are drenched.” She said as she kept setting up the tent.

Weighing the choices, he gestured at his own apparel. “They are men’s clothes, I don’t keep a women’s breeches with me sorry to say.”

“I’m not picky, at least not anymore.” She said as the tent was finally starting to come together as a smile started appearing on her lips, before turning her head back and looking at him with a sly smile “You wouldn't want me cold and wet, now would you?” She asked, fainting innocence in her voice.

This did strike a cord but not a very deep one, albeit stammering his response. “N-no, no one deserves that, it could kill you, you know. Follow me, I set up my came opposite of the King’s.” He walked along the campsite, “I don’t have much of a selection.” That was surprisingly easy she thought to herself.

“You have more than me.” She said as she followed him, past the many tents as the rain began to stop, if just for a short while as another dark cloud was approaching. “You must live in a decent tent if you are next to the king.” She said, not sure if to call the wildling a king.

He nodded, “Unlike others I take care of my belongings..” He looked at her in somewhat disgust. “A disciplined army is the most effective. An action the king could not perform, to cull his forces is a dangerous thing, leaves you with less warriors. But it is needed. There are many great fighters here. But backwards. Unruly. You must know how to act as a unit if you are to ever succeed.” He explained warfare to her, if only to pass the time.

“Said things need to be solved before the war starts, I doubt this king can do a lot before more join the revolters.” She said, not doubting Aeron, but the available options of the king, “But perhaps.” She shrugged her shoulders while walking through the camp.

He shook his head “That is why I am leaving. I am going to tell my… Our Queen the news of the front. She will be remiss, she cares for these savages in some obscure way, perhaps as a woman cares for a pet I suppose.” He laughed, kicking over a drunkard.

She raised an eyebrow, looking back at the drunkard to see if he was fine before looking back at Aeron. “Perhaps that is why she wants you here, she cares for them, finds them important.” She looked at him more sternly, “Don't devalue a woman’s care, perhaps you wouldn't have been cruel to the man had you had some.” She said as she walked ahead of him, finding that kick quite unneeded.

He snarked and shook his head as he followed her, whatever reason he was sent her was obviously wasted.
Eventually they reached his tent, she got the blanket, the clothes and then paid him well for it, more than it was worth, that was for certain. As for his armor, he could do damn well scrub it himself.

The following morning she met with her contact and got her directions, heading out in the early hours of the morning, going south-west.

 

[BlackBishop]

Mid-Autumn
Twentieth Year of the New Age

The army of Goi'Orka pushes across the Wilds​

It proves to be a tumultuous autumn across Agorath. The war in the Wilds escalates as rumours spread of King Oruk flexing his muscle against Orc nomadic tribes in the region, laying siege to their fortifications and demanding their surrender. This comes as their Ordivanti allies have been pushed back by the Borci wildmen. Now news of Ordivantis unrest becomes more widespread as a supposed Quellstrii uprising seems to hamper High Chief Einir Tudonii's war in the Wilds. Meanwhile to the south, it is rumoured that Karmont forces have sacked an Elven fortress in Vahamil, and consolidate their power in the Steppes.

In Highathar, the kingdom mourns for the loss of their High King, meanwhile blame for his death shifts to various actors, such as Ghullkazid, Yurdaest, and Dreagar itself. Benthorn's son Victor is expected to succeed his father, however it is rumoured that the underkingdoms have been slow to swear fealty to the young Dwarf. Parallels are being drawn between Highathar and Hroniden, and many Dwarven scholars fear a dissolution of the Highathar High Kingdom.

Tensions in Hroniden grow as Shah Zaahir Rostani is said to have laid siege to Mutikabir, while others maintain Herasnia's army is merely present to maintain peace in the city. The claimant said to be Nasi al-Din Ayyubid, grandson of Sultan Saladin, seems to have disappeared or returned to hiding as his presence is unknown and he has not seemed to surface since declaring his intentions in the spring.

Further east, the kingdoms are reeling from the diplomatic fallout between the shattered alliance between Galadriel and Ecclestius. The wedding between Crown Prince Armas Coamenel and Princess Anwen Krestarii promised to bring the two kingdoms into a solidified alliance, but subsequent withdrawal of support from King Varian Krestarii signaled the death toll of the marriage pact. Curiously, the wedding went ahead despite the king's condemnation, and the Krestarii family is said to be split apart in their loyalties.

In the north news spreads across Norseland of fighting among the Jarls of the Frostfang Inlet and a victory for King Bethod the Bloodless as he secures the surrender of Ethelbor and subjugating Jarl Gunthar Gustafsson under his rule. It is rumoured that Jarless Harma of the Twin Isles has been killed in battle, her head delivered to King Bethod the Bloodless as a token of peace between Ethelbor and Stronghelm.

In the West, largely unknown to the peoples of the East, it is said that Dreagar Isle has spread its influence once more, securing the allegiance of mainland Orcs as it had done in ages past. To the north, Ghullkazid exerts its dominion over the numerous goblin tribes that infest the forest, said to unleash golems against any of the base creatures that dare oppose King Deftspear. Meanwhile, among the Orc clans of the Ashlands, rumours spread of an outlander Orc whom holds the power to speak with trees.

 

[Mikkel Glahder]

Message from the Emir of Damasiz to the Shah Rostani
​

The army camped outside the walls of Mutikabir is an attack on all of Mutikabir and Hroniden. This unneeded show of force is completely unprovoked and is unjust in its treacherous nature. We therefore request that you pull your men away from Mutikabir and return to Herasnia as soon as possible. The emirate of Damasiz will not stand idly on the sidelines as you strengthen your power in Mutikabir via military force.

~ Emir Salah Al-Aziz Nasir Fatumid

 

[DeMarchese]

fˈɑrɔ
​

Ioron suddenly woke up, gasping and fighting to fill his lungs with some air.

The echoes of that terrible howl were still ringing in his ears, deafening both sound and sense. For such noise reminded him of the beast and the horror he had let loose upon the world, back in the hidden and mythical valleys found among the peaks of Highatar.
What other choice he had? Even as he ran without pause, returning to his people from the remote mountains with all the strength he could muster in his legs, the rumors haunted him at every moment the same way the beast did.

Here and there peasants, merchants and travelers spoke of the birchian army heading towards the steppes. Rumors at best, fleeting words whispered at worst just before turning away when he approached.

Too soon. Everything was happening at a dizzying speed. Was he too late already? Many will die for his actions on that day… Was it worth the sacrifice? If his people disappear will it be worth it? They entrusted the guidance of their people to him. What kind of protector is absent in the most dire hour for the people he is supposed to protect?
These and other similar thoughts gnawed his mind and eroded his mind. The calm and confident demeanor was long lost in this battle. He surprised himself at moments uttering prayers to the Light during his journey ‘…please spare them, please make them safe, please…’

He who remained silent in more than one occasion, only to speak when wisdom was needed. Now afraid and lost.

Ioron looked around, trying to remember where he was before falling asleep, tired beyond measure from the hard journey. Around him, the branches and leaves of the many ancient trees filtered the light of the sun, splitting it into a myriad of thin rays reflecting the bright autumnal colors.
For the first time in days, Ioron stopped to allow himself a moment of respite: He took a deep breath to feel the freshness of the last drops of rain upon the humid leaves. He took a moment to taste the dried meat and the old and lonely apple left on his pouch. He even permitted the luxury of spending a few minutes to pray in solitude, the dim light of the sun bathing his face under the forest.

Then suddenly, wrath and ruin!

More than a wind, a storm flew over the forest, shacking every tree to the core. Leaves rained everywhere. Soon after that an ominous and deep shadow fell across the forest, extinguishing all light and gripping Ioron’s heart with grief and fear.
A mighty roar followed, so vile and furious that not even the ancient forest could contain its rage. Some of the trees cracked under the hideous rage, others lost many of their branches in the blink of an eye.
The ominous and sinister shadow slowly rose and covered all the landscape in sight, towering everything on its surroundings, like the Great Mountain of the dwarven kings.

Ioron didn’t hesitate for a moment, he ran once again as fast as he could, putting as many distance between him and the beast. The Doom of Kranox Vale have found him once again.
The river was near.

The hunt went on.

 

[BlackBishop]

((GM Note: I am opening sign ups again to new players. If anyone is interested, PM me with ideas or catch me on IRC. Lots of room anywhere on the map, but we are especially short on human factions in Ecclestius and Westmarch.))

 

[Tapscott]

Late Autumn
Twentieth Year of the New Age

The Dwarves prepare for war.​

​

The assassination of the Dwarven High King Deagrin Benthorn had seen Highathar as a whole undergo a short period of uncertainty and unrest. The identity of the group behind the assassination was unknown for a time, although several groups were suspected, until a messenger arrived at the Dwarven capital of High Mountain. Speaking on behalf of Yurdaest, now under the rule of Clan Dáin, the messenger defiantly told the shocked court that the Underking of Yurdaest, Dáin Blacklocks, declared that he was the perpetrator of the heinous killing of the High King.

Yurdaest was no longer subject to High Mountain or the High Kingdom the messenger stated, and that with the High King’s death they now viewed the throne empty for perpetuity. The Underkingdom of Yurdaest would rule itself, and answer to no-one, just as the Dwarven realms had done in the days of old. This proclamation of independence was followed up swiftly by military force as the warriors of Yurdaest mobilized themselves to defend their home and independence shutting off all-roads and tunnels leading to their mountainhome. Whether they sought a campaign of aggression or mere defensive unassailability was yet to be seen.

The court was still reeling from the sudden events from Yurdaest when a messenger arrived from Mt. Carbon, under the rule of the storied Clan Mahakam, to pronounce the freshly crowned High King Deagrin Victor as a pretender and a usurper. Mahakam Yarpen, the wise patriarch of his clan, claimed that he was a truer claimant of the throne that the youthful Deagrin. Claiming strong blood ties to the royal Deagrin dynasty Mahakam Yarpen declared that Deagrin Victor was too young to handle the responsibility of wearing the crown of the High Kingdom. Unless he abdicated in favour of the Mahakam leader there would be war.

While the royal court of Highathar erupted into furious debate over what was to be done word of the crisis of the High Kingdom quickly swept across Agorath. The seemingly stable Dwarven realm was descending into civil war and there seemed to be no solution save bloodshed.

 

[BlackBishop]

Dla Magna Mater
Part I
Last Harvest, Twentieth Year of the New Age
Based upon Dwarven lore by Eidur
​

The flames of the campfire licked up toward the darkening sky, consuming the dead wood in its glowing embrace as Narien and her party looked on. Gharold, the Ordivanti thane who swore a life debt to Narien, sung a haunting tune in the Wilder tongue about a Princess of Wilderana who fell in love with the son of her enemy. It was a popular song in Dracona, and one that Narien requested often since she found out her thane could carry a tune.


Sir Lucias eased himself down next to Narien, passing her a flagon of wine. She took a deep drink, feeling the warm glow radiate out from her belly. They were now but a mere day from the Green Chasm, and by Dusk tomorrow, they will be in Lurien. At long last Narien would be reunited with her family beyond the frightening confines of the seeing stone. She and the knights of Ecclestius found their proximity to Galadriel cause enough for celebrations and drank perhaps more then they should. Narien tipped the flagon back once more, emptying the skin before tossing it back to Lucias.

"Another!" She demanded, a slight smile betraying the authoritarian tone.

Lucias shook the empty flagon as if wine might materialize out of thin air. "Impossible, Princess. You drank the last of it. No more wine until we reach the Chasm."

Narien tilted her head back, resting the back of her wrist on her forehead in feigned distaste. "Then I am to wither and be blown away, parched that I am!"

"How about some Dwarven beer, Princess?" Grinned Sir Varys, twirling the end of his mustache between his fingers.

"I would steer clear if I were you, Princess," grunted Sir Gauis, the old campaigner. "Wine and Dwarven beer don't mix."

Narien plucked at an offered bottle of beer, biting the cork from the spout and spitting it into the fire. "Princess, princess, princess," she said mockingly, taking a drink from the bottle. "Why do you lot insist on referring to me as a princess?"

"And what would you have us call you?" Asked Lucias, prodding the campfire with a stick. "Banner-Captain of Ordivantis? In case you haven't noticed you haven't a banner to captain."

Narien snorted. "I'm still more captain then princess."

"Have you forgotten where you come from?"

"I assure you I haven't, Sir Lucias. As I am sure nor have you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lucias asked, raising an eyebrow.

Narien pointed the tip of the beer bottle toward Lucias accusingly. "Oh please! You don't think I know why you're here? The eyes and ears of my brother, that's all you are!"

The knight only shrugged. "What of it? Is it so insidious to wish to know the goings on of one's blood?"

The princess laughed at this. "One's blood!"

Lucias only furrowed his brow, looking perplexed. "Perhaps we have had enough to drink." The party groaned at this, urging Gharold on for an other song. Lucias exchanged some cross looks with his knights, but sighed in defeat as they kept drinking, and saw little point in pressing the issue. Looking back to where Narien sat, he saw that she was gone.
​

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~
​

The beer bottle fell to the ground with a hollow thud as Narien stumbled, reaching for the trunk of a tree to regain her balance. The camp had disappeared behind her, hidden by a thicket of trees. Taking in a deep breath, Narien closed her eyes, trying to will the world from spinning. How long has it been since she had been to Galadriel, she wondered. Probably nearly five years, and then it was when she and Einir were passing through from their flight from Norseland. The last time she had spoken to her mother it hadn't exactly been cordial.

"What did she expect?" Narien questioned aloud. Imagine being raised among the royalty of Ecclestius, believing simple truths all your life. The daughter of Ares Krestarii, King of Ecclestius... It had been a lie. She was the daughter of the fallen hero Jacob Eccleson, the blood of emperors flows in her veins. "What would say if you knew, father?" Narien sighed, leaning her back against a tree. "Did you know?"

"Know what, lass?" Asked an unknown voice.

Narien opened her eyes, blinking in disbelief as a Dwarf seemed to materialize out of the night air. He was clad in chainmail with a heavy iron pauldron crowning his shoulders and a helm atop his head with a single horn that jut out from above the upturned visor. A long blond beard was braided below his chin and a scar ran the length of the right side of his face. "I am no one," Narien said at last, wishing it were true.

"No one, eh?" The Dwarf chuckled, taking a step toward her with inquisitive eyes. "You're a halfling, aye... and in peculiar company. Tell me, lass, what business does a halfling with a compliment of Ecclestian knights have in the shadow of Carbon?"

"We are passing through, on our way to the Green Chasm. Come share the hospitality of our fire, friend." Narien took a step toward her camp, but the Dwarf strode in front blocking her path. She was struck with a sinking feeling of menace, suddenly aware of the axe the Dwarf wore upon his hip, and the voice of the old elf of the Bristled Griffin drifted back to her mind, a tale of malicious Dwarfs and a dead king. She instinctively reached for her hip, but her sword was back at camp.

"On your way to the Chasm? Ho ho!" Laughed the Dwarf. "You are a Mindrilla!"

The feeling of unease grew stronger, Narien attempted to sidestep the Dwarf, but he only planted his feet firmly in her path. "And who might you be, friend?" Narien pressed.

"Ho ho! No one of consequence to the likes of royalty like you." The Dwarf smiled amiably yet his eyes were dark as coal. "Ever cozy are the Deagrins and Mindrillas. Close as kin, ho ho!"

"What is the meaning of this?" Narien demanded. "But one call and a dozen knights will be upon you in a flash!"

"I would welcome it, lass." The Dwarf's smoldering eyes burned into Narien. "Where are my manners? Such a rude host, I am, ho ho! Kowal Gharth is my name." The Dwarf removed his helm and bowed low.

Narien sneered at the Dwarf's false politeness. "Well then, Kowal Gharth. I give you this one chance to step aside. I suggest you take it."

"But of course, my lady," Gharth smiled, stepping aside.

Narien frowned as she stepped past him, keeping a wary eye on him. The snap of a twig drew her gaze forward to catch Lucias stepping into the brush. "There you are, Princess. I..." Lucias stopped short when he seen the Dwarf. Catching the wary look of Narien, the knight unsheathed his sword in an instant, but it wasn't fast enough. The blade of the axe was upon Narien's throat just as fast and strong hands seized her.

"Unhand her, cur!" Lucias seethed. The sound of commotion broke out from their camp, the sounds of shouting and swords. The axe persisted at Narien's neck.

"I don't think so, my lord." The hot breath of the Dwarf fell upon Narien's neck. "Drop your sword and I won't bleed the halfling." Lucias cursed, and slowly dropped his sword. The Dwarf laughed. "Good! Ho ho! Now then, you lot will be coming with me."

"By the Light we will not!" Narien spat, sending a firm elbow into the Dwarf's gut, only cementing his grip upon her.

"Oh yes you will, girl." The Dwarf smiled. "The Dead Prince will know what to do with you."​

 

[Endovelicus]

((GM Note: I am opening sign ups again to new players. If anyone is interested, PM me with ideas or catch me on IRC. Lots of room anywhere on the map, but we are especially short on human factions in Ecclestius and Westmarch.))

((Yes, we actually do need more people, need some intrigue!))

 

[AzagalTheGreat]

((Yes, we actually do need more people, need some intrigue!))

((Need some Dwarven players, its lonely here in Highatar ))