[Forum Game] Agorath and the Maegi Prophecy

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    Real Strategy Requires Cunning

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Bialaska

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As reports from the Light Basin arrived back from Three Rivers, Justinus Celestian read over them, frowning.

"Imbeciles and idiots," he mutters. He raises his voice to the advisors. "Tell me how we can lose yet another battle?" The advisors doesn't reply, since Justinus continues his ramblings. "Our saboteurs did not get enough support and we left a weak-hearted fool of a girl in charge of the army, so of course we were doomed to fail!"

He grits his teeth. "Summon my son. Tell him it is urgent. And remind him that the servant girl is NOT his wife, and if he is going to spread his seed it, he should do so with his wife. After all, I need grandchildren, the inheritance need to be secured."

------------------------------------------------------------



Antonius had mixed feelings. On one hand there was the relief that he always felt after spending some time in the arms of a woman, and this one, Mirabelle, was a mighty fine one. She was one of the servant girls and was supposed to be cleaning his chambers, but instead ended up in his bed. On the other he felt a bit of guilt. He did get married and made some vows. But she did not really offer him much joy.

He and Anastanii had spent their wedding night together, but her heart was not in it. Since then she had been sad, though she would not tell him why, spending most of her time in her personal chambers. He assumed it was because of the vile crimes committed against her by the Orc. Or perhaps it was the attachment to the orc spawn she had been forced to carry. After all, who could really understand the minds of women?

He did not even have time to cover himself up, as the door was opened by Gregorius, one of his father's advisors.

"Lord Antonius, you father told me to tell you, that you should spend your time with your wife rather than a servant girl. And then he requested your presence." Gregorius said, before he turned around, having seen a bit too much.

Antonius swiftly dressed, before heading to the meeting with is father.

-------

"Antonius, so pleased you could join me," Justinus said sarcastically, as his son arrived. "You need to stop sleeping with other women and focus on your wife. You might not love her, she might not love you, but at some point you become comfortable with eachother, which then turns into a friendship. Disliking or hating eachother will just cause a lot of grief, as you are stuck together, your souls bound by the magics of the creator. Perhaps if you are fortunate, it will flourish into love, or at least something resembling love."

Antonius shrugged. While he had not heard this speech before, he had heard one quite similar many times. Blah blah duty blah blah continuing family line blah blah political marriage blah blah blah. So he then nodded. "Yes father."

With that said, Justinus turned his attention back to the reason for the summoning.

"The armies in the light basin failed once again. Lack of competent commanders, being led by honourable fools and weak-hearted girls."

Antonius frowns, but does not reply.

"If you want something done right, do it yourself, so I will travel to the light basin and command the Celestian forces myself." Justinus then informs his son. "While I am gone, you will rule Three Rivers in my stead. But shape up, stop sleeping around and make me some grandchildren."

Before Antonius can reply, he is dismissed by a hand gesture from his father, and quite dazed is led from the Great Hall.
 

Deaghaidh

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((EDIT: I will have a quest proposal dealing with the cure for Vampirism at the beginning of the next turn))

((Wrothiron has the cure!))

 

GreatSlayer

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No More Hope

Her throat was still soar. The withdrawal of the army had been an arduous task. Under the cover of arrows and abysmal spells, the Light had cleared a safe passage towards Hroniden. With the message arriving that Saladin still would not come, at least he had offered to open his fortress next to the border of the Wilds for her men. Just hours after the swords had silenced, that’s where they had set their path.

Eylinn had enough. The Darkness in his eyes, no trace of good intent, none of his old kindness or soul. That hoarse airless breath upon her skin, the sensation so foul and intruding... Jacob’s spell and the Wolfen mages had all but erased the bruises from his grip, but she would still wear the scarf. Another trickle of pain seared through her body, and she had felt helpless, unable to embrace her doom.

“What did Jacob mean?” She thought to herself, his bellowing still fresh in her memory. “I could hardly have left him with such an amicable impression that he’d rush in with risk of life and limb to save me.” It was about someone he held dear, she was sure of that. In the end, Eylinn would never imagine herself be worth such effort. Especially not after today. “A woman? A child? And what did he see in the stone?” The stone never showed the future. Never showed any visions. All of it was a trick of the mind, manipulation in its most sinister form. Cruel, unforgiving, and heartless unadulterated suffering. He must have been in so much pain, just as she had been.

Jacob’s miracles, force of wonders, not even that. Not even that could turn the day in their favour. She remembered the first time she saw him, right before the battle. How a greasy, shrubbed man emerged from the heroic glory that was his Light. She had seen a gallant knight, on a steed of white, glistening in golden armour with brilliance wreathed around him. And ye tit wasn’t enough.

She could have sworn the tactics were right. They were ready for an alarm such as this, and it was executed perfectly. The flank attack had only left minimal casualties, but still. Their cavalry, dead. Their skirmishers, dead. And yet, it was the army of Light that had failed, beaten by Dark magic beyond comprehension. She and her men had cowered under the mist, and the Dwarves under the dragons. And now, even within their own ranks, the injured was cursed with something even more impure. Total defeat, with interest, and no idea why. Another sense of pain.

She looked over at Willhelm, his back bent over his horse in grief. She wanted to sooth him so bad, but she couldn’t. It was strange. Something in her wanted him dead. Dead, and cold, and gone. Her right eye twitched. “Stop it. Enough.” She grew empathic. It was too much. Too sad to see. She wanted to embrace him, but she couldn’t. A mental block, in fear of how she’d react, or he. She let his grief escape into her heart instead, bearing it as a burden upon herself. It stung, and her mind repelled violently to rid her of it. It was uncanny, so unlike her, but there it was. She was angry.

A scout came with reports that the Dark Army had not set course to pursue. She ordered a halt, the building of a camp, and set her own Wailers to carry the task of sentry many miles away to warn of any change in Qylan’s plans. She withdrew to her tent, enraged. Alvon had tried to follow her in, but with a glare of embers she growled at him. “Stay... Away...” Ever so obedient, he withdrew without a word.







She threw her sword away, volleyed her gloves at her mirror bench. Pain again. She was sweating.

“Bathe...” She stared at her own reflection. “No... No bath.” She went closer, inspecting herself. “Blood? Oh...” She brushed at her cheeks, but there was no blood. They were just that red. Was she that mad? On what? She felt hot, hotter than she usually felt. She pulled a hand to her forehead, but it wasn’t anything unusual about it. She grabbed her wrist, nothing unusual there either.

It was the strangest ordeal, to pull off her gored leather patchings to ease the encumbering. It felt like she was pulling off the weight of battle, the weight of command, every time she removed what little cloth that could resemble armour. Speed was her creed. Not a trace of steel beside her sword and armguard. “He was faster, though.” She said to herself, sporting an exhausted expression. More pain.

She slipped down in her dress, the casual one that was her favourite. She always washed it herself to make sure it was just right, every time she needed it. She had spent so much time grovelling in this during the campaign. “Milord this, milord that, milord here, milord there. Fuck you. Fuck you all.” They were bickering, small-minded petty know-it-alls. It wasn’t her fault she was the lesser evil to elect for the army. “They’d rather ruminate over prestige than care for our bloody survival. It’s their entire fault.”

She sent a threatening gaze into the mirror. “It was their fault. I wanted traps in the forest, or even have it burnt down. They claimed we’d lose our only food supply. What food? Hardly any game out here. But of course, they needed to be right. And Kalare committed too early. Anyone could see that. Plenty of stamina in the vanguard left. Fuck him... That fool could commit a charge as little as he could put a slave collar on me. And those Dwarves and their stubborn chauvinism... Axes! It wasn’t like the cavalry was a secret!” She growled again, furious. “And that f... Elf...” His hands tightened around her, no air, that breath on her neck, then...

She smashed the mirror with a roar, her knuckles burst. Where was this anger coming from? She didn’t mean it, yet she was acting out for reasons she couldn’t understand. She looked at her trembling hand, and saw the wounds close before her eyes. “Jacob’s spell... It must have healed it.” She frowned. “It must have.” The pain yet again. It was there. It had not left. “No...” She sat down on the bed. “No... Not now.” She pulled out his knot which she kept hidden in her hair. She squeezed it and sulked. “I don’t think you’re good anymore, Qylan. I will never forgive you.” She danced her finger around Freyr’s gift in her hand. It wasn’t technically a gift to her, more of a principle thing. She had just grown too fond of it to let it be claimed as someone else’s. She aimed her speech toward the seeing stone on the other side of the room; still as dark as the last time she had used it.

“You once gave me advice, now humour me. Was it good? Was it sweet? Or just foul?” She sent the stone a spiteful smile. “You were just jealous. You couldn’t stand it, could you? I followed you to whatever desperate mission, whatever desperate choice you made me take. But in the end, I just never turned out like you. It made you mad, didn’t it? Zephfer was no trouble, Ra’Gru was at least sincere, but me? I came to fight you instead. It angered you, that failure, so now you resort to this? Stealing everything from me?” She could have sworn something was starting to turn in that empty, colourless sphere, but she didn’t care. She was deep in her thoughts, a frightful place, when Freyr stepped in through the entrance.







"Is everything all right, Therain?" She couldn’t even linger her eyes in his. The shame, and the rage, it was building up to the boiling point. He’d be a faint memory, too soon. He walked closer. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"
"Stop... Don't come closer." She didn’t know herself anymore. At any moment, she could go feral for all she knew. The taint overtaking her, controlling her. But she couldn’t bear to threaten him like she should have, instead, she pleaded at him. He responds by kneeling down in front of her, trying to look up at her face. She started shaking. "Don't..." He was still too close.

"What is it? You can tell me." He sounded worried. He usually never was, and she couldn’t understand why. He was so sweet. She wished she was as good an actor as him. She didn’t want to tell him... She was not ready to lose him yet.
"We lost. Again." Freyr fell back in a relaxed exhale.

"Oh, you scared me, Eylinn. Yes we have lost, but we knew this wasn't going to be easy." His face was trying to be reassuring, but it was as if she had heard the witness of another battle.
"Easy? We had a third more in our army at least, yet... He won..." She didn’t know where it had broken, but the break had been brutal. Magic aside, it was a devastating defeat on all fronts. Her mind started to work on other things, and she was successfully distracted for a moment. Freyr, who still had dirt and blood on him from the gruesome day, tried his best to brush it off from his cheek but only succeeded in painting his face with black gore.

"This war won't be won by numbers. How could it? We are facing demons. What numbers we have won't matter. It will be our will to live that will give us victory. My will to live on so we can start our new life together." And her mind was set back on track. Her eyes tearing up, sending a clear orange reflection of the oil lamp on the table his way.
"We'll live?"

"We will live. That is what we are fighting for, isn't it?" She could barely hold up her facade anymore. Just as she was about to spill it all out, she instead asked for another faint moment to lose.
"Tell me of the Pale, Freyr. Tell me of the flowers in the snow, the ice in your trees, that disgusting fish..." She couldn’t help but let out a short lived chuckle. "That weird, strange land from where you come that you swore I'd love so much." And then, Freyr sat with her for a good hour, telling her of the frozen land and the nature in harmony with the snow. He also spoke of Dödr, the grove that was the most beautiful place in Agorath for the Palemen, a place where the dead would once rest. She didn’t like the idea of obsessing so hard over death, but she would enjoy his story nonetheless. Spoken with such passion. He spoke of the people, and how their women were often more fearsome than the men. She grinned.

"I wish I was born in the Pale then. Because I would have wanted to see it so badly." She turned down her eyes. "Would I meet my father? In the afterlife?"
"Depends" Freyr raised his hand and it turned azure. The air grew cold and mist escaped with his breath. "The Unnamed one decides that, my father decides that. And maybe even I can decide that..." He held out his hand, and what looked like frozen droplets in the air merged into an ice clad sparrow. It crooked its head, looked at Eylinn, and flew away out through the tent and into the night sky. "I'm learning." His gaze focused forward, he smiled.

"It's perfect." She felt so peaceful, but it didn’t last long. Her face turned sombre, she moved herself away on the bedside and looked at Freyr with utmost gravity. "I need to tell you something, and don’t come closer. Qylan..." She looked over his shoulder, frowning at the seeing stone in her backpack. “He lifted me up in his grip, and I saw nothing in his eyes. Nothing left of hope, and no soul. All I heard was the fighting around me, and his voice inside my mind."
She swallowed, and composed herself before continuing, trying to find the just and correct way to say this. Remaining with her usual, high soaring language so common with her kin, she hoped it would dampen the effect.” I... Didn't get away in time." She removed her scarf, revealing two puncture marks on her neck, as good as healed from Jacob's spell. Barely even scars, they were slowly disappearing even now. However, the otherwise shallow blue vein had darkened to a blackish green. Freyr stared. "I felt every huff, and those... Like knives, they delved into me. My sight turned red, and I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think..."

Her respiration picked up speed. "Even his tongue lapping at my skin to savour every drop. I felt it... What was only the fragment of a second, felt like hours passed..." She had said it, and whatever restraints she had left abandoned her. She wept. "I'm dying Freyr. And what's left will be so..." He looked at her, stunned, tears falling down his dirty cheeks, leaving trails down his face. She lost all control at the sight, barely breathing between the syllables, crying for what would seem forever between her heavy sobs. ”What the fuck have I done to deserve this?! I’m trying so hard to be nice, I’m trying so hard to do what I feel is right, I-I-I…”

She hid her face in her hands. “And now all those people died, and I couldn’t stop him, and he didn’t care! I couldn’t do anything!” She looked up at him, twisted with sadness with her flushed skin, her tears rushing down to mix with her running nose, her gaze flickering between Freyr’s eyes and the ground. “I’m so sorry! I’m not strong! I’ve never been! I’m weak! I’m scared! I fail, I fail, I fail! I just don’t know what I’ve done wrong!” Her body was shaking as her sorrow mounted. “I just cry all the time! I never fucking stop! I’m so tired of it! Always, always, always just never… It never…”

What had she done? All he loved about her, she revealed to him how wrong he’d been. They were all lies, told by her, or by himself. She had hope, hope that he would stay, but now, that hope was gone. “And now I will lose you! Because now you know all this, and I can’t take it back!” She was petrified, barely recognizable. ”I’m so dumb! But I can’t help it! I fail everyone I love, everyone I know, everyone who depends on me, and you don’t deserve this! I don’t deserve you…” She grabs the side of her neck, and covers her mouth. “I couldn’t even comfort my father... I’m just broken. So fucking weak and useless... I-I-I-I-I...”

She squealed, whimpered, shaming herself to no end. She had no pride left to show, and uttered the words barely audible in a hoarse, high pitched whisper. “I release you. You’re not bound to our betrothal anymore. I just don’t want to hurt you... I don’t... I can’t... I’m sorry... It’s your choice... You can leave me, and I will understand. Kill me if you need. Just... Please... If you do, please do it quick...” She had to. She closed her eyes, pulled away her hair over her left shoulder, and lowered her head, clenching Freyr’s knot tight in her hands in a motion of prayer. “The head... Then... Just... Burn all of me...” From nowhere, Freyr slaps her, breathing heavily.

"Never tell me to leave you again!" He was crying as much as Eylinn, and grabbed her. He pressed his hands around hers, harder to make sure she wouldn’t drop the promise he had given her. His skin was cold, as she felt it against her own warmth. "You hold my oath, I will never betray you. My soul will always belong to you no matter what form you take." Eylinn was speechless. Her cheek burning, but she paid it no heed. She panicked.
"I don't want to die! Not now! I don't want to... I'm so scared!" He hugged her, drawing her close, and put her head on his chest, saying nothing. She gasped for air.

"I will drag your soul back from the afterlife if I have to. I won't let you die until our union, until you know peace and happiness."
"And then what? We're happy and it’s still stolen. And then we get happy again and lose even more? I don't know what this is! What if I hurt you?! I can't!" She wrapped her arms around him.

"I don't mind. A moment of you smiling is worth a lifetime of pain." He spoke in a confident tone; it was too good to be true. She rose up and kissed him.
"I want to see the Pale before I die. I want to see it with my living eyes. Please, will you take me there?" He nodded, and wrapped her in another kiss. He was the best man that ever lived. She would fight for that, or indulge herself, for as long as she could.
 

Deaghaidh

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Long overdue scene, after the Battle of Faltering Light.

The wavering notes of goblin-flutes drifted through the night air. A thousand campfires sent up weak coils of grey smoke that caught the moonlight. The Lord of Kogansunan sat wide awake in the waning watches of the night. A plain rugged brass dwarrow-lamp cast long shadows throughout the tent. Wrothiron stroked his long white beard, watching the glimmer worms inside it curl and float.

The cloth entryway twitched, and a slim figure slid into the tent. Therain Eylinn was wearing a simple dress and a heavy cloth bandage on the side of her head. There were hints of pink blood in her hair. Wrothiron rose, and bowed appropriately to her rank, the fringe of his beard dipping in the dirt.

"Mistress Eylinn, I am glad to see you alive," he said.

The elf carefully curtseyed, clearly struggling to maintain her balance. "My gratitude for seeing me, my lord"

The dwarf lord waved her toward one of the Hrondien cushions strewn about his tent. "Sit, please. A head wound is not to be taken lightly, trust me."

Eylinn sat down and clenched her teeth. "You should invest in a proper helmet," the dwarf continued. "I could order one from my smiths, but I doubt it would be ready in time to matter.

"T-thank you" she said. "but I don't use armour. It's too heavy for my choice of arms."

Wrothiron hummed wordlessly, but didn't speak his disapproval. He would never understand how young people and elves could be so heedless of their safety, but he was not going to waste time and energy arguing.

She seemed to guess his thoughts and smiled. "I do appreciate your concern, and I came to thank you for saving my life. I was convinced it was the going to be the end of me."

He nodded. "No thanks are necessary. It was my duty and my interest to see that you survived."

She gave him a bemused expression and raised an eyebrow. "And what interest would that be?"

"Any enemy of the Enemy is my ally. Once I knew you were one I couldn't let you die."

She relaxed slightly. "Have you ever seen me as anything else?"

Wrothiron poured himself a drink out of a stainless steel canteen. It was only water, the barrels of proper drinks had been left behind in the retreat. He swirled it in a ceramic cup.

"Trust is not a virtue in a King, above or below ground." He poured out another cup for her. He offered it to her and looked her in the eye. "I would have thought the Archmage would have shown you that."

She took the cup and sipped. "What exactly is it that he should have shown me? Qylan is not himself... But I never mentioned anything about trust. I just never thought you'd fear any animosity from my side? Or have I earned such reputation somehow?"

He nodded to himself. "Fear. Fear IS a virtue in a King. I feared you, aye, and feared I would have to kill you." He drank and watched her closely. Her eyebrows curled and her face flushed. But she did not react except to take a long drink.

"You were always close behind Qylan in his causes. You were not with the assembly when he revealed his treachery. And you are an elf, with an affinity for magic, and magic seems to turn elves heads faster than any liquor. Could I be sure that you would not turn, as he did, and destroy us all in the final moment? I could not, until it came to the test."

Her eyes became distant and blank. "Did you not feel his magic in your head? Did you not hear the voices?"

He grunted slightly. "Voices, aye. What of them? Every fool has a voice. But I've been told these things are different for us. Stubborn as stone, for good or ill."

"That would explain it. I cannot speak for anyone else, but for me, it wasn't just voices, milord..." She looked down into her cup. "It was as if it was true, as it happened right there and there. Elven affinity to the Light and magic is not about how easy it is to turn. It's how easy it can cause us harm," she smiled, "or love."

She sighed. "But I assume I will never be able to make you trust me, will I?"

The Underking smiled slightly. "On the contrary. The time for treason was in the heat of battle. You did not turn, so you must either be sincere, or a fool. And though you seem intent on convincing the world otherwise, I do not think you are a foolish girl."

She flinched at this, spilling her cup. and grimacing in pain. "You ought to rest." he said. "The worst thing for a rattled skull is to try too hard to be well."

"I'm fine..." she said, then looked back at him. "What did you think of it? The battle? What are we to do against such power? Clearly, the Basin is important enough to pursue, if the Dark is ready to protect it with such a host."

He took another sip. "At necros keep, we faced dark magic, and the mercenary Jacob was able to counter it. This man must be found, and persuaded to come. With such help, I like our chances."

Eylinn's eyes narrowed. "You speak of the virtue in distrust, and at the same time, bring up Jacob? If anyone is worth to keep an eye on... he's a mercenary."

Wrothiron smiled. "You are learning. Of course we must watch him. We must watch even our own hands in such times. But we must use such weapons and allies as we have."

She shook her head slightly. "What of Saladin? Do you think he will come? Maybe... If you'd ask him..."

The Underking made a sound something like Hrmp "There is no particular affection between us. But yes, I think he will come. He is not so much a fool as to let the darkness conquer. And the Nords too, despite their ill timed conquests."

The elf leaned her head against her palm, staring into the light of the lantern. "I'm just asking. At least you're a man, and of experience at that." She frowned.

"Experience?" He chuckled sadly. "My experience is of bandits, and goblin raids, and enemies with weapons of steel. These days are all magic and monsters, far outside anything I have seen in all my days."

"Just a man then."

"An old dwarf. But I still have my part to play. Every wheel must turn, as they say."

"Trust" her eyes hardened. "I've never trusted anyone."

Deagrin Wrothiron smiled slightly. "I knew there was something I liked about you"

((End part one. I am never attempting something like this again.))
 

Deaghaidh

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Post Faltering light part 2

Eylinn turned her dark blue eyes on Wrothiron. They blazed with clarity. "I found Ra'Gru in my stockades this evening."

"Good." He said. "We should not have been taking prisoners in the first place. A sharp axe for their necks, and a hot pyre for their bodies, and our task will be that much easier."

"He's gone" she said softly.

Wrothiron stiffened. "Escaped?" he asked. Why wouldn't she have told him before.

"I opened his cell." She said.

Wrothiron closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He clutched his cup so tightly his hand almost hurt. Elves he thought.

"How long ago?" he struggled to keep his voice steady.

"Only minutes before I came to your tent. I felt him as he was dragged past my tent, and I went to talk with him."

Wrothiron rose quickly. "He might still be found then, if we move quickly. He was dangerous before, Great Gods only know what evil he can do now." He hefted his hammer onto his shoulder and stalked toward the entrance.

"Be... Seated... And listen..." Eylinn hissed. Wrothiron stopped short. He turned toward her and dropped to one knee.

"I don't care to hear another sermon on the virtues of mercy, or the healing of the enemy." He growled at her. His anger was all the greater because he'd finally thought she was starting to understand. His own time was running out, and he wanted to believe that some of these young lordlings were up for the task.

"He's not even corporeal anymore. His Darkness was almost too much to bear to speak with him. We have no idea what he could possibly accomplish, what he would do if provoked to slightest anger."

"All the more reason not to let him loose upon the world."

"Yet all he concerned himself with was the safety of his unborn child and its mother."

Wrothiron took a deep breath. "Then they must be taken into custody, someplace strongly guarded. Anything the enemy prizes must be kept from him."

"I concur. Do you think the Krestarii or Celestian feel the same? You who speak so highly of distrust, do you trust them?"

"I find I understand how surface dwellers think less and less as I age. I trust them not to be slaves of the enemy, beyond that who can say?" His eye narrowed. "You understand that every life Ra'Gru takes from this point on is your responsibility?"

Eylinn caressed her throat. "He could have taken mine, yet did no such thing-"

"The more fool he."

"-right before he evaporated into thin air."

Wheels were turning in Wrothiron's mind. If the orc was some sort of evil spirit now, how could he have been captured in the first place? Why wait for her to open the door? He tried to remember tales he'd heard of specters being bound with cold-forged steel, or werewolves restrained with thin silver chains. He'd paid little attention to magic in his life. It hadn't mattered until recently.

"Are you going to kill me now?" Eylinn was smiling at him half-heartedly.

"It was... unwise. I don't doubt your loyalty. But the enemy is a master of deception, and he knows you. Had you considered that it was all a ruse, a deception to strike at your will? If he could have floated away why did he wait?" She had to start seeing. They were running out of time for her to learn.

"He didn't seem to know himself." Her eyes saddened while she kept massaging her neck. "It seems he wanted to warn me of something, I just can't figure out what. And then something about his champion..." She looked confused.

Deagrin Wrothiron leaned in closer to her. "He wants you to hope for a cure, so that if the means fall to us to destroy him, or Zephyr, or Qyburn, you will hesitate to use it. Wars are won and lost in the will, in the ability to do what is necessary. A moments indecision could be the difference between life and death."

"It'd be a good death then." She flinched from her headache again. "I just... don't want to die. I always feared it, but until today, I never feared death itself." She paused. "What if what you say is untrue? Should we refuse them that? Could you live with that?"

"Always consider the stakes. It is not your own life and freedom you gamble with. This is no ordinary war, defeat means death and slavery for every one and every thing. If preventing that means destroying a slave of the Dark One who might possibly have been redeemed, that is no hard decision."

The elf closed her eyes. "Evil for the greater good then..."

Wrothiron was taken aback. "Evil? Is Ra'Gru's life so much more important than any others? Every soldier under your command wants to live as much as either of us. Evil is placing the welfare of the enemy above those who follow you."

"The worst thing is, you make it sound like I even had a choice... Look at me... You think I could have ever stood a chance if I refused to release him?"

"Did you know that at the time, truly?" Wrothiron was trying to gauge her level of irresponsibility.

"Maybe, maybe not." She inhaled. "You do make killing sound remarkably easy, though. Even of those unarmed and helpless. But I won't judge."

"Do not mistake duty for pleasure." He sat heavily down upon his cushions. He was tired, and he was old. "It is a heavy load to bear, but I must bear it, and so must you. Do not shrink from it."

"I won't. Thank you." She smiled at him. "I do mean it."

"And I am glad you did not die. But you should rest."

She raised her eyebrows. "I really should." She forced herself onto her feet. "My Lord... The reason I told you of this, of Ra'Gru, is because I do trust you. I trust you to do the things I can't bare myself to do. If it helps unify the Light, I would support you in leading the army henceforth. If this would get out, they'd kill me for sure."

"We shall see." He gazed at the worms in the lantern. "For my part, I see no gain in publicizing it. So far as anyone needs to know, he escaped through magic. It is close enough to true."

"Good night, my lord." She curtsied more steadily.

"Get some sleep, Mistress"

((I am seriously never attempting anything this involved again))
 

BlackBishop

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((Sorry guys, I had hoped to have the next turn started by now, but work and wife refuse to acknowledge the importance of the struggle between Light and Dark in the world of Agorath. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, I should have the next turn ready to start tomorrow... as well as the crowning of a new king ;)))
 

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BlackBishop

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The Impaler Lord


The sun hung low on the horizon, casting its faltering light over the land. The first of the evening stars shone through in the dark eastern sky and a lone carriage rode along a twisting mountain road in north-eastern Ecclestius. In the back of the carriage sat a young man of fair features. His grey eyes poured over a book as the patter of hooves and the hoot of owls were heard from outside. This was the County of Wallachia, ruled by Vlad the Impaler of House Drakwyla, and the new station of the Mage who rode to what would be his home.

Running his fingers over the pages of the lengthy tomb, entitled The Fall of Beren, Mikhail of the Order of Light let his mind wonder from the book and to his present predicament. Having just turned twenty five a few days earlier, the mage, now fully ordained in the Light of the Creator, was now ready to begin his tenure as a Mage of the Order. He had hoped to be posted in Azeratii, the capital of Ecclestius and the seat of King Asharian. Instead, Mikhail found himself posted to this backland county far from the capital. He would have preferred to stay in the fowl Golden City then be dispatched here, but he had little choice. He guessed he should count himself lucky he was far from the west.

A pile of blankets in front of Mikhail began to stir. A slender leg poked out from underneath. Mikhail had found her earlier this morning, bloodied and weak under a pile of leaves. Apparently the victim of a wolf attack, Mikhail dressed her wounds and cleaned her up, electing to take her with him to Basrab Castle, the seat of Count Vlad of Drakwyla. The poor girl had been so weak and cold to the touch, that the mage feared her dead, but after warming her under blankets she seemed to be more at ease. His green eyes remained on the creamy skin of her leg. The driver cleared his throat loudly. Mikhail looked up to find his page, Podrick, grinning at him. Mikhail returned the sly grin and climbed up to the front to join the lad.

"I thought you Mages took a vow of celibacy?" Asked Podrick.

Mikhail laughed. "Celibacy? Of course not. We are forbidden wives but only few ever take the vow of celibacy." Podrick frowned. Guessing what the boy was thinking, Mikhail lauged. "Ha! You wanted her for yourself, is that it?"

"No!" Exclaimed the page. "It's just I never...."

Mikhail's eyes grew wide. "You have never had a woman?"

The boy blushed. "No! I mean... Well... It's not that I ever.... I just..... the timing has just...."

Mikhail chuckled at his tongue-tied page. "Now, now, Podrick. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's just something that we shall just have to remedy." The mage looked at the back of the carriage, and the naked leg that stuck out of the blankets. Podrick followed his gaze and his face became redder. The woman stirred under the blankets and the two quickly looked back to the road.

"What do you know of Wallachia?" Asked the page, quickly changing the subject.

"I know there are better assignments we could have been given." Sighed Mikhail. "House Drakwyla has ruled this land since the Age of Heroes. Known for cunning in battle and unparalleled cruelty. During the rebellion against the Empire, Count Vlad earned the name The Impaler, for his preferred form of execution of captive soldiers."

Podrick shivered.

"There are many rumors that surround House Drakwyla..." Continued Mikhail. "They are said to be descended from the Hero Rabu who had the power to shift his form to that of a giant bat. The hero was accused of serving the Dark and purified in fire."

The carriage rounded a bend and looming overhead, the dark castle of Drakwyla cut into the dark sky like a knife. The stone was black as if cut from obsidian, the towers tall and jagged. It was a most unwelcoming sight that silenced the conversation of Mikhail and his page. There eyes watched the castle with a sense of dread as it loomed closer and closer.

A sudden sound behind them caused their hearts to leap up in their throat. With a flush of embarrassment they remembered the woman they had found by the roadside. She was now out from under the blankets, and had her knees drawn up to her chest, her chin resting upon them. "Where am I?" She asked.

Clearing his throat, Mikhail shook off a sudden chill and turned back to the girl. "We are taking you to Castle Drakwyla, my dear. You have suffered an attack by wild animals, it seems. How do you feel? Are you hurt?"

The girl looked up from her knees. "I'm..... I am fine."

"Good, your lucky we found you in time. My esteemed Page here, Podrick of Rhineholt, found you under a bed of leaves. If not for his sharp eye, I fear you would have remained there."

"What's your name?" Asked Podrick.

"Melia... and thank you Podrick of Rhineholt." The boy blushed.

"Melia," began Mikhail. "Do you remember anything of the attack?"

"We were waylaid by a wolf... my cousin...." She returned her gaze to her knees.

A pang of guilt was felt in Mikhail. The poor girl. Her hair was a tangled mat upon her head, her body trembling with goosebumps broke out on her pale skin despite the warm night. "It was a single wolf?"

"Yes... but the largest wolf I had ever seen. Bigger than a man full grown."

Podrick and Mikhail exchanged glances. A direwolf. What would a direwolf be doing this far south? The question posed in Mikhail's mind had no time for an answer. The gates of the Castle were upon them, and after inspecting the seal of the Order of Light, the guards opened the gate and the carriage proceeded through.

It was now fully dark, the courtyard was lined with torches that licked up in the air, as well as great spikes that lifted the bodies of dead up in the air. Mikhail brought his hand to his mouth in disgust, and Podrick looked as if he would be sick.

A guard caught their expressions and laughed. "Worry not 'bout this lot. Caught worshipping the Dark, they is."

That did little to comfort Mikhail, he took the hand of Melia and helped her down from the carriage. A flash of lightening ripped across the sky. And the doors of the castle creaked open, stepping out to greet them was a large pale man, with a large brow and receding black hair slicked back in a widow's peak atop his pale head. He wore a flowing red robe ordained with gold embroidery. His lips parted in a smile and his dark eyes seemed to pierce through them. "Welcome to Castle Drakwyla, I have been expecting you. I am Count Vlad of Dradwyla, Lord of Wallachia...."

* * *

A mist forms in the seeing stone and gives way to a dimly lit chamber. A man of fine features, wearing a mages robe bursts into the room, followed by a woman.

"Bar the door!" Hollers the man as he approaches the stone. The woman, her face shrouded in mist, lifts a heavy wooden bar against the door. The mage's eyes are wild with panic as he looks into the stone. "I'm sorry Podrick.... I'm so, so sorry."

"There was nothing you could have done." says the woman behind him. "He is too poweful.... too pure."

"Lord's of Light hear me!" Cries the mage as an insistent banging pounds the door. "I have made an awful discovery in Castle Drakwyla in Wallachia, Count Vlad is a vampire!"

"Sooo pure," hisses the woman behind him.

"He guards an ancient secret, a talisman that may heal the inflicted...." A sudden spray of blood erupts from the neck of the mage. The sound of his awful dying is heard as the vision of the stone darkens in the dark red liquid before going dark altogether.


Order of Light

The Council of Mages proposes a quest of champions to infiltrate and investigate the Basrab Castle, seat of Count Vlad of Drakwyla. If a cure for vampirism should be found, the Order requests the talismen to immediately be placed in the Order's care so that the inflicted may be healed. Time being of the essence, a small party of champions, acting in stealth, have a far greater chance of success rather than an armed response to this threat. Lords of Light, lend us your champions for this worthy cause!
 

GreatSlayer

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Eylinn Mindrilla leave her position as lady general of the Light for unexplained reasons to embark on the quest to infiltrate and investigate Basrab Castle. Being exceptionally trained in the arts of light and subtle combat owing to her small stature, she also offers to lead the companions through the castle.
 
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alexander23

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Early in the morning


It was early in the morning just before the sun raised over the lands of Agorath. The lords ladies and most soldiers were sleep and the guard was in the process of changing shifts. But There was one lord that wasn’t sleeping In fact neither were his entire army, the biggest component of the light army.

He moved swiftly across the camp surrounded by his guard, directly going to the camp of all the other lords, all across the resting camp of the light army you could spot group of ten, twenty or thirty man full armored an equipped moving around.

Soon the armed bands that roamed the camp got to their objectives as silently as they could. Their target was the injured and sick camps. Taking care of restrain any guard they encounter in the camps they began to drag away all the soldier that were confirmed infected with vampirism and all the ones suspected with vampirism.

Soon enough the entire Light army camp start waking up to hundreds screaming and all over the camp. No lord area was left untouched from the people of the desert to the elf from the forest to even the Nord men from the pale, all camps were raided by the Kalare men.

Kvothe Kalare and his guard got himself to the ligh mage tent were they were attempting to cure some infected elf unsuccessfully.

Guard: Who are you, you cannot enter when the light mages are working

Kvothe: restrain the fool.

After subduing the guard Kvothe entered the room with a couple of his guards.

Kvothe: Esteem mages stop your work and hand over the infected as they are hereby under arrest until a cure is found for their disease or they are burn by the Inquisition.

Mage: You cannot do this stop, immediately!

Kvothe: Shut your mouth before I hit you in the face. If you want to continue helping this monsters or trying to cure them then follow me to their imprisonment place.

After dragging the men the priest decided to send some to follow and contact the lady General to wait for future instructions.

By the time people start figuring out what was happening not much could be done by anyone all infected and suspected infected were dragged screaming across camp to the Kalare camp were unnoticed by anyone a makeshift prison had being build. The elf and pale soldiers were the only ones that moved quick enough to try to interfere, but it was too little to late.

The following letter arrived to each lord commander camp:

-Howdy! My dear lords as no one, specially the commanding officers had start doing something about what I consider a great security and purity of our army risk. I had taken on myself to gather all the infected and suspected infected people in the army and arrested them. The scream that make have awoken you, are by those men as they are dragged to their cells in the Kalare camp section. I appreciate your cooperation as this is an important matter. I will only hold them until a cure is found or deemed that no cure exists and so they shall be purified.

Furthermore I ask that Karen Burnside and Maraj Faramaren hand themselves voluntarily to imprisonment of course cell suitable to their rank has been prepare beforehand.

Have a good day

Signed by Kvothe Kalare
 

Deaghaidh

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I've officially decided to stop with colored text for my ICs

As it happened, Vampires were the subject of conversation in the Citadel of Kogansunan at that very moment. In the private sitting room of Prince Benthorn and Princess Żelisława, a pair of Dwarven scholars were nervously twiddling their beards and rearranging a heap of books laid out upon the table. They had scoured the Citadel's library (generally agreed to be the finest in the Dwarven world) for every tome and scroll on the subject of vampirism. They read and reread them, comparing and debating non stop since the first confirmed reports of vampires at the recent battle. When they were called into the private quarters they knew they would be presenting their findings to their next ruler, and were eager to make a good impression.

At last the door to the sitting room opened, and the scholars ceased shuffling their books and assumed a respectfully upright posture, prepared to bow. But instead of Deagrin Benthorn, the form that shuffled in was his young wife. Now nearing her eleventh month of pregnancy, the golden haired dwarf princess was nearly as wide as she was tall. A tired looking handmaiden hovered a step behind her, habitually offering her hand for support only to be waved away impatiently.

The scholars were taken aback, but only slightly. Word had trickled through the fortress of the unorthodox tendency of their Prince to allow his wife to sit in on important meetings and question his advisors. It was well known that her family, the Mahakams, while respectable Dwarves in most respects and certainly worthy allies, were somewhat loose with traditions of propriety. This observation was typically accompanied with the sad slight head shake usually reserved for discussing relations who were not altogether sound of mind, and the theory that their eccentric ways were no doubt due to too much close contact with elves. It was widely believed that the Prince humored his wife so as not to upset her during the late stages of her pregnancy, an admirable sentiment in the opinion of his subjects, all of whom had stories of hysterical rages that accompanied a close relative's last quarter-term.

The stolidly conservative scholars therefore did not hesitate to show her the respect due her station, bowing so low that their noses nearly touched the ground. "Senior Archivist Loni Sandfinger, Mistress, at your service. May I introduce my colleague and cousin Archivist Loni Inkbeard." "At your service, Mistress."

Żelisława landed in a magnificently carved obsidian chair (thankfully covered with plush cushions in the Hrondien style) with a less than regal thud. She smiled at her guests, both older than her father. "Thank you for coming, Archivists. I appreciate your coming to see me here. The physicians have absolutely forbade me to climb the stairs to the library proper, and my honored husband has ordered his guards and my handmaidens both to block the hall if I try."

This set off another spasm of bowing from the scholars. "It is an honor to be asked into your home, Mistress" Sandfinger said.

"An honor and a pleasure" Inkbeard added. His cousin shot him a disapproving look. Not only was he trying to upstage him, but he was now quite aware that the two of them were alone with their ruler's wife and an unmarried dwarf girl in their private quarters quite unsupervised. It was a sign of trust, albeit a uncomfortable one. That insistence on adding pleasure into the situation seemed vaguely unseemly.

Żelisława smiled but said nothing, while her handmaiden fussed with the cushions behind her mistress's back. "Oh leave it Zora! Its quite all right. Go and fetch me something to drink- cool water with sweet pod syrup. Oh, how I can't wait to have a proper drink again! Would you care for something to drink, or perhaps a biscuit?"

"Oh, um no, thank you mistress" Loni Sandfinger's face turned pale. In the library he was known to chastise and scold anyone, no matter their rank, who brought the merest crumb or smallest sip anywhere near his precious books. But here he was quite outside his territory, and his fierce protectiveness of his duty warred with his mortal terror of giving offense. He was momentarily quite paralyzed with indecision.

"You're very kind, mistress. It is only that, well, around the texts-" Inkbeard began to explain.

"Oh of course, how silly of me. Well, Zora will stand well away with my cup, and I shall drink very carefully. Well then, Senior Archivist, I understand you and your colleagues have been hard at work researching Vampires?"

"Oh yes, mistress!" The both nodded vigorously, beards wagging.

"Well then, what findings do you have to report?"

Sandfinger hesitated. "Surely it would be better to wait until Master Benthorn arrives?"

Żelisława made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "My husband is quite occupied elsewhere, I am afraid. We would waiting all day, and there really is no time to spare. You may make your report to me, and I will inform him of your findings. What are they?"

"Well" Sandfinger began. "Well, then. To begin with, I think I should say that while there is a great deal of literature on the subject, there is really very little agreement about key facts."

"Such as?"

"Whether simply being bitten once is sufficient to infect a victim with vampirism" Inkbeard responded quickly, "or whether multiple bites, three being the most often cited, are necessary. Some sources insist that the victim must also consume some of the vampire's blood."

"Furthermore" Sandfinger interrupted, "There is disagreement over the effect of sunlight. Most sources describe it as being fatal to Vampires, but a minority insist that they can be abroad in sunlight, but that they loose their power and become no more than ordinary mortals. A handful describe a peculiar, "sparkling" effect with no other disruption, but we are generally agreed that those are the least reliable of sources."

"Indeed" Inkbeard interjected, "our research suggests they are the mere fantasies of a bored human woman, and are not at all grounded in reality."

"Along similar lines, there is dispute over whether Vampires become fully catatonic during the day, or can remain active if hidden from the sun, and if they must 'sleep' whether they must do so in some sort of consecrated grave.

"There are differing accounts of the effectiveness of several methods of killing or warding off Vampires as well. Several of our sources insist that a vampire cannot enter any sort of dwelling without first being invited in. Others describe effective deterrent uses of certain spices. Garlic is the most common, although some accounts describe human peasants defending themselves by tracing a line over their threshold and window sills in mustard seeds."

"Mustard, truly?" Żelisława was listening eagerly.

"It is less well attested than Garlic, and of course other sources dismiss all such food-related measures as foolishness. There is more agreement on holy water, sacred oil, or various sacred objects having an effect both as a deterrent and as a weapon. But the consensus seems to be that to truly destroy a vampire you must strike at the heart." Sandfinger had quite forgotten his earlier hesitation, and was now pontificating comfortably. "One popular strategy seems to be to come across the vampire in its grave or hiding place, and use a wooden stake to pierce its heart, thus nailing it into the ground and preventing it from rising. Other accounts have the stake itself being sufficient, even without having any surface to nail the creature too."

"There is also a widely cited strategy of cutting the heart out of the monster, and then destroying it, most commonly by burning." Inkbeard interrupted. "It is also possible that burning the heart while still present in the body, say by submerging the vampire in magma, achieves the same effect. There are conflicting accounts regarding decapitation-"

"- though a wide consensus that other, normally fatal injuries have no effect-"

"-unless the weapon in question is somehow specially consecrated-"

"or made of silver!"

"There is strong evidence that the notion of using silver is simply based on confusion between vampire's and werewolves."

"It is only sensible that a metal with properties against one kind of evil spirit would have properties against others!"

"Sensible is of no meaning when discussing magic, I'm sure you'd agree mistress." Inkbeard snapped. Without ever actually addressing each other, the scholars had somehow begun to argue, quite heatedly.

"I see. Well, sirs, it seems that all your knowledge is little better than ignorance after all. With so many contradictory strategies, what action can my husband possibly take?"

"Oh!" Sandfinger said, suddenly quite aware that they were making a rather poor impression on his patron's wife. "Things are not so grim as all that. For one thing, though the Mountainhomes were all attacked by the Vampire Lord in his last rising, there are no accounts that we could find of vampire's actually attacking dwarves within them. So either the belief about invitations is correct, or the runes of warding are effective at preventing their entry, or both."

"Also" Inkbeard chimed in, "there is no reason not to consecrate weaponry with holy water, sacred oil, or light runes. Sources may disagree on their effectiveness, but there is no argument for it being in any way harmful to the wielder."

"And even if it isn't effective against vampires, there is still much to be said for issuing silvered knives to soldiers, and including some silver bolts in crossbow traps. There is a firm consensus on its effectiveness against werewolves, and the two types of abominations seem to often appear together."

"And mustard seeds are inexpensive." Żelisława smiled. "Thank you for your report, gentlemen, I will pass it along to my husband. Please, leave your sources with me, I should like to read them myself." Heeding the tone of dismissal, the scholars bowed and pledged their service to her again, before hastening out the door.
 

Deaghaidh

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Meanwhile at camp

The commotion in the camp awoke Deagrin Wrothiron. On being informed of the happenings, he drafted the following public response.

To Kvothe Kalare,

I respect and share your desire to address the risk of vampiric taint in this army. But in seizing soldiers and followers of other lords, you have overstepped your authority and position. The lords here gathered are not your vassals and are not subject to your law. Also, no explanation is being given as to why these people in particular are under suspicion. To my knowledge, you have no advantage over any of us in identifying vampires and other agents of the enemy. If the sole criteria is your own suspicion, it is quite likely that some will escape confinement and throw suspicion on the innocent in an effort to undermine us from within.

I insist that those in your custody be brought before a tribunal of light priests and mages. Evidence will be presented briefly, the suspect questioned, and a ruling made as to whether they be released, detained, or destroyed. Until such time as that tribunal is arranged, I also insist on your returning any Deagrin or Mahakam Clan Dwarves into my own custody.

Yours etc,

Underking Deagrin Wrothiron

He also called for a vote of the light lords present for a new commander, and nominates himself
 

Plutonium95

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My brother, Elrohir Oronar Champion of Coamenel, shall join Lady Eylinn on the quest to infiltrate Vlad's castle. He served as a ranger for five years and is very adapt at stealth and subterfuge. With any luck we will be able to save the poor souls afflicted with this sickness.

I condemn the actions of Kvothe Kalare, and ask all other lords of Light to join me, he over steps his bounds at every opportunity and this is no different. He has no right to attack other lords and their men, no matter what his reasoning for doing so may be. I demand that all men captured by Kalare be released to their respective lords immediately.

I support Underking Wrothiron as our new commander, he has fought and leads his troops valiantly. But I have to wonder if calling a vote is strictly necessary, if the lady general cannot simply select a replacement for herself.

Larien Coamenel, Regent of Coamenel
 

Deaghaidh

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"Whether or not it is strictly required legally, I feel it is wise to confirm than any prospective commander have the support of the lords whose troops he commands.

I wish to extend my best wishes and encouragement to those attempting the quest, and invite them to call upon my subjects in Kogansunan, who I am ordering to prepare weapons that are edged with silver, blessed with sacred oils, and etched with light runes, to better combat vampires, werewolves, the walking dead and other unclean spirits" ((If necessary, I'll use a diplomacy or plot order to create weapons that give a boost to rolls against them))
 

unmerged(473486)

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The stream of wolf-riders came in to Wolf's Den, evidently carrying the tides of defeat but also, the nord proposal.

Laughter is heard around the court as the Nord proposal was read, however, Matthew took it seriously.

"Blasphemy! This "Kvothe" seeks to undermine Wolfen by arresting it's brave men, taking the brunt of the battle after hard fighting? This will not do. House Coamenel's proposal seems logical as the insanity of Kvothe should be stopped here and now."

"Rider! Send my approval to House Coamenel, with my compliments"

Thus the rider started for House Coamenel's lands at full speed.

"A cure to vampirism? Surely this will help. James, I need you to join Lady Eylinn in this quest"

"I give an abstention to change the commander of the army, but will follow my King whatever he does"
 

BlackBishop

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Lord Commander Gerald of Westelli
Captain-General of the Golden Army


It is with great an elated heart that I hear word that Wrothiron of Deagrin puts his name forth as commander of the forces to cleanse the Light Basin. I fully endorse and support his tenure as Lord-General. Furthermore, for his shining example, and for putting the interests of the realm ahead of his own, time and time again, the Order of Light and Lords of the Golden City have ordered the crown of the High King of Highathar be relinquished to it's rightful place, upon the head of Deagrin Wrothiron. Long live the High King!

I pledge ten thousands swords to the effort of cleansing the Basin, and bring the Crown of Highathar with me as well. May the Creator give us victory!

~ Lord-Commander Gerald of Westelli​



Master Goldtooth SwiftThorn
Master of the Tooth


Long have the Dwarves of Highathar toiled under the Mountainhomes, struggling with the Orc Clans and the dangers that lurk under the earth. After centuries, great kingdoms under the mountains were formed and many stand to this day. However, it wasn't until the Age of Heroes that Dwarves grew so great in power and influence that they established a kingdom above the earth. The title given to the ruler of this kingdom was called a High King, for his ability to lead was so great that he commanded the kings under the mountains, as well as the Dwarves above the earth.

It is with great pride that I see this great kingdom above and below Highathar formed anew, and proclaim myself his loyal subject. Long Live High King Wrothiron Deagrin! May his reign be blessed!​

((Because of the scarcity of Dwarf players, the Tooth Province in Highathar shall be controlled by me and, like PC's, will have an army of 5000, its own goals and ambitions and is declaring loyalty of the new High King.))
 

BlackBishop

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Mirrowater for Mirrorwater

Over the summer, Elron of Mirrowater consolidated his power within the province having the lesser lords swear fealty to him, Elron was able to raise an army and bring the province back to its former glory prior to the Nord invasion. Issuing an official exile for Elder Nion has been put in place for his designs of usurpation of the rightful claimant of the province. With an army now at his back, and the people of the province behind him, the lightly manned garrisons of the Galadriel Alliance had little choice but to abandon their holdfasts and return home.


An artist's depiction of Elrond giving thanks to the Galadriel Alliance, and securing their safe passage home​
 

BlackBishop

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The Lesser Lords....

Master Elron, Lord of Mirrorwater, eager to prove the legitimacy of his lordship, conducts diplomatic missions across Galadriel. Though new trade partners were made, scorn was met by some and the manner in which he ascended to the lordship.
No Prestige Earned!
20 Gold Earned!

Emir Azeem, fearing the might of the Sultan of Hroniden, set to work in building a castle on the southern border of his land, to keep a watchful eye on his neighbours.
Fort Level Increased!
50 Gold Lost!

Master Goldtooth SwiftThorn has decreed a great festival commemorating the return of Highathar to a High Kingdom is to take place for the entire last week of Last Seed.
Prestige Earned!
10 Gold Earned!

Arl Farkark mourns the death of those lost in the battle of Honey Hall... the Arl is said to be lost in drink. In other words, business as usual at Honey Hall.
No Prestige Earned!
5 gold Earned!

Dark Lord Astul meditates upon the Dark.
-10 Gold for Dark Spells

((Note: Rewards earned by the NPCs will not take effect until the end of this turn - results were rolled for only to save myself some time.))​
 

Galren

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Emir Asad was about to speak when his champion, Maraj, stands up and starts speaking. Asad notices that Maraj looks a bit paler than usual.

"Lords and ladies of the realm, I am Maraj Faram, champion to Shah Asad. I will be joining the quest to infiltrate Vlad's castle not only on the sake for my lord, but also for myself."

Maraj shows his wound from the battle.

"I have nothing to lose, only many things to gain. I feel I am slipping to the eff ... effects of ..."

As Maraj show signs of fainting, Asad immediately rushes up to him and catches him.

"Damn it, why didn't you tell me?"


"You know, Asad, you probably know the answer yourself."

A figure appeared in front of Asad.

"You ..."

"Yes yes, it's me, the one and only Dreagon."

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I figured since Maraj is in a coma, I thought I could take the chance to have a little chat with you. Let's get one point straight: You can't protect everyone. You can't protect everyone you love. Even this street rat that you've made your champion."

"He is not a street rat, he is a brave soldier who I saw potential in."

"Hmph. I guess you really are stubborn like the rest of them. You aren't going to join us, are you?"

"Why would I renounce my allegiance to the light? The Darkness is nothing but a path that leads to disaster.

"Well, you still are a resource to us. I don't blame the position you're in, though. You're being dragged around like you've always been."

Dreagon waits for a moment to let his statement sink into Asad's head. He grins as Asad's eyes flicker with rage at the statement.

"Too bad I can't stick around for some more fun. Keep me in mind if you ever change your mind."

Dreagon disappears as quickly as he came. After Dreagon vanishes, the others start talking again. It seemed that Asad had been stuck in time for a little bit.

"Asad. Is there anything you would like to tell us?"

"Yes. I will be holding a service in order to honor those who have died during the Battle of Faltering Light and the Battle of Vahamil Steppe." ((Diplo Order))

After speaking, Asad leaves and takes Faraj to a doctor.
 
Last edited:

Groogy

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The acts of Kalare does not surprise me. He is a mad man with a king's crown. The men should be released immediately and Kalare should keep to his own men.

I find High King Wrothiron Deagrin a fitting choice for a commander of the Light Army. You have me and my men to command.

Signed Alfödr af Frostsverd, Jarl of The Pale, Lord of Blekborg, Warrior of The Unnamed One

Alfödr votes for Wrothiron to take over the Commander position in Eylinn's absence.
Alfödr demands that Kalare releases the captured soldiers