[Forum Game] Agorath and the Maegi Prophecy

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    Real Strategy Requires Cunning

BlackBishop

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The Pale War

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5500 commanded by Jarl Arnulf of Stronghelm
6300 + 1000 commanded by King Kvothe of Kalare, General Kalerus Antillus leading the flanks,
VS
Blekborg Garrison
Ísskógur Garrison


As the sacred month of Hallows came upon the people of the Pale, time of quiet reflection was shattered as two armies marched from the west and the south. Holding the standards of Stronghelm and Kalare City, the armies laid siege to the border fortresses and sent the garrisons into route. As the fall snows fell, the invaders persisted, breaching the Bronsholm and taking Blekborg for their own.

The people of the pale fought valiantly, and the Household of Frostverd managed to escape the carnage, but as Hallows slipped away and Last Harvest came, the seat of the Jarl Frostverd was taken by the invaders, and they hold the province. Jarl Alfdor of Frosverd now rules in exile.

The Sword-wife of a prominent Pale Pane, who reportedly led a valiant charge against the enemy Nords sang a stirring song before being cut down...

The Pale One, The Pale One, hold your sword high!
For when He calls, we lay down and die!

"Let them come,
Let them come,
Our hearts a single drum!

This day we shall feast the Unnamed One,
This night we feel the cold breath,
And now onward iron and steel,
Onward to death!"



4000/5500 Stronhelm Troops Remain
6000/6300 (+1000) Kalare Troops Remain
25 Gold Awarded to both Stronghelm and Kalare!

The Pale is held by Stronghelm and Kalare!
Frostverds holding in G.C. will surly be at risk once word reaches the city!


PLAYERS: Keep in mind for your ICs that this invasion is happening during and shortly after the current battle for the Basin!
 
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BlackBishop

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Wrath of the Drow King

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Rumours spread like wildfire across Norseland and Galadriel of a fleet sailing across the Frozen Sea. Some speculated it was coming for virgin blood in Galadriel, others, to avenge the crimes against Elf-Kind by the Nords. With the King of Kalare already marched north by the time word of the fleet reaches the Norse Capital, the city is struck with panic at being lightly defended.

Near mid Hallows, a great fog rolls into the shores of Kalare, covering the city in darkness. Great flashes of lightening erupt in the distance. The city holds its breath. Great fires, impossible to quench rain down from the black sky, choking the city in flames. As the city burns, great ships empty a host of soldiers before the walls of the burning city.

The garrison soon overwhelmed, the Dark Elves breach the city and burn out the inhabitants, raiding and pillaging into Last Harvast. King Kalare, as he gains a great victory in the Pale is soon given word that his seat of power, the mighty Kalare City, the ancestral home of the Great House Kalare, burns and is held by Drow King Zepher, the Dark Demon-Lord.

Drow King Zepher holds Kalare City-State!
10 100/10 800 Zephfer Troops Remain
30 Gold Earned!

King Kvothe of Kalare now rules in Exile!
His Holdings in G.C. will surly be at risk once word reaches the city!
 

BlackBishop

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The Battle of Snake Dune

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"Hail My Liege, Lord of Hroniden. My Lord-Father may lack the wits to see the legitimacy of your rule, but know that I, Hanash Sands, the rightful ruler of Tirath, stands with you! My men stand ready upon the Outer Wall, ready to give relief at your command! I hope that my being here removes any question of where my loyalty lies. It is my hope you will remember your loyal subjects and perhaps push my rightful claim," ~ Hanash Sands

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Coming down from the North, the army of fallen men, being led by Cole Dondarrion, Swornsword to House Birch, formed ranks before the city of Mutikabir. Leading the charge on a terrible black steed, Cole Dondarrion. The armies clashed before the walls of the great desert city. Rushing out of the east, Sultan Saladin riding with his Mamluks succeeded in remaining undetected from the enemy forces, and obliterating their left flank.

Shah Assad came from the west, eager to join the battle. However, their trek through the desert was a costly one, and their solder gained a sickness most vile, and were unable to contribute in the fight.

As the center flank led by Dondarrion began to crumble, the sickness plaguing the Rostani forces seemed to spread to Saladin's forces. Retching on the battlefield, the center flank of the defenders began to give and were routed to weak and sick to fight.

Najim Al-Din, Champion of Misr and commander of the left flank could only watch in frustration as the same sickness reached his forces. Reeling back before the onslaught of the fallen men, Najim took a grievous wound to his head as he ordered the retreat.

With the defense in route, Hanash ordered his men to march from the walls, and under a volley of arrows, proceeded to the battlefield where Saladin and his Mamluks fought alone.

Though the battle had turned toward in favour of the Dark, they could not withstand the wrath of Saladin. Dondarrion met the Sultan on the battlefield, and with burning eyes, sent spikes of earth up into the air, killing the Sultan's horse. Unhorsed, Saladin turned a charge from the mounted Dark Champion. The right flank of the Dark now in full retreat, and near half of his van dead, Dondarrion had little choice but to order the retreat.

The battle had been a victory, but what of the Basin? The siege, short lived though it may have been, did draw Saladin and Assad from the Basin. Perhaps that was Balthar of Birch's plan all along. Saladin squinted toward the west, wondering the fate of his comrades he left to fight in the Ashenwastes.

House Birch Defeated!
No Infamy Gained!
4600/5000(+ 600) Troops Remain​
 

Deaghaidh

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(( Expect orders from me today. Comb and wash your beards, people, you don't want to meet the Gods looking shabby!))
 

Zex

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The Kalare city has been burned to the ground and the civilians have been driven away with flames, the banner of the Dark Elfs reign over the Kalren city but Zephfers army were going back the their ships. His troops taking Kalare's treasure's on board with their morale high the Dark Elven army chants a war cry, as their lord and their champion look upon the burned and plundered city. Zephfer started to chuckle and then proceeded with mechanical laughter.

Drow Elf King of the Dark Elfs Zephfer:"YES! Burn BURN! My revenge is complete!AELIA MY WIFE! I have finally avenged your death now take my sacrifice of these burning Nord lands and forever rest in peace... Now its time to leave this place as it won't be long before the lord of this land is given news of this horrible epidemic, hehe but before I go I shall leave him with a little present so he can suffer even more!"

Zephfer and his champion go on to Zephfers flagship and made preparations for the sail back home, when ready each ship would sail off to home but they would try to stay with the fleet so the formation wouldn't be broken by raiders or enemy ships of the light when sailing back home. Zephfers ship stayed for about a few minutes as they began to sail off but turned the ship around, facing the burning city as Zephfer stood upon the front of the ship and pulls out the Necronomicon and locate a certain page with a spell called ELGHINN's suliss (Drow Dictionary: Deaths Grace) The spell would spread a plague through the city of Kalare, giving decay and dismay through the city.


Drow King Zephfer of the Dark Elfs:"With death and chaos at hand please the forces of darkness help me to complete my plan. Embody the ones of the fallen from the graves, so that they may walk to put this land into dismay! Let my wrath and rage infuse their torn souls, so that I can take their toll! So evil spirits of of these lands make these Nords suffer by my hand! ELGHINN'S SULISS!!!!!"

As soon of Zephfer's spell was finished he fell down weakened and tired, his champion lifted him on his shoulder as he watches the spell take place afar from his flagship as they sail further and further away from Kalare.
 
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baboushreturns

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Ruler Name: Chief Borguk of Tribe Urdnot
Age: 22
Ruler Trait:Great Diplomat,
Location:Highathar
Race: Orc
Heir:None
Daughter: None
Vassals: Mash
Champion: Mash
Bio: My father was an orc my mother an imperial. My father led a very wealthy clan to greatness through trade, industry and, diplomacy. I began being groomed to rule from a very young age and was shown how to fight and how to talk. In fact I became a master with words able to sway anyone with a few promises. When my father died while warring with another tribe which had raided one of our caravans I battled my way to the top and became the new chieftain. Within a few months I had defeated the enemy and merged the two tribes into one, Tribe Urdnot. My people are industrious and our warriors are strong soon all orcs will be united under the banner of Tribe Urdnot. Be it by cunning or through blood.
 
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baboushreturns

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The Conquering of 24 Tribes

I chieftain Borguk of Tribe Urdnot was born to conquer. After defeating my tribe’s age old enemies the Rockeaters. I formed the Urdnots and now my people will rise to the top. I trained my warriors in the art of attack and defense. I sent my emissary’s far and wide gathering allies from all corners of Agorath.

It was not long before my neighbors took notice. The Spearcrushers had long been jealous of my tribe’s wealth and power and prepared to take it for themselves. I began to hear rumors of raids being conducted against my caravans on the fringes of my tribe’s territory. Then messengers reached me with news that a large host was approaching my main camp at Narzulbur. I readied my warriors and prepared an ambush for my guests. The warriors and I waited at a ford which the enemy would have to cross to reach the camp. I told my men to wait until the enemy forces were split with half of the host on one side and half on the other. Then we charged. It was a slaughter

With the tables now turned my host was lead into the Spearcrushers lands their chieftain Uram was captured shortly thereafter. And I forced him to swear loyalty to me. The lands of the Spearcrushers were soon integrated into Tribe Urdnot. My people celebrated my victories and called for me to conquer in their names. Every few months another tribe would fall to my armies and every month my forces would grow larger.

23 tribes in total now bowed before me though the toughest challenges were yet to come. To the east a mighty tribe, the Crazy Horns had gone to war with an Elven colony. The elves were losing badly and were on the brink of defeat. They called on Tribe Urdnot for assistance. My trusted officer Mash marshalled my forces and we set out for the Elven colony at Cloudrest. There the combined forces of my host and the Elves were not enough to defeat the Crazy Horns. And I was forced to withdraw. Cloudrest soon fell its armies destroyed and its people scattered. It was now my job to restore my honor and seek revenge. I began by leading raiding parties far into Crazy Horn lands burning pillaging and slaving as we went. I then called upon the dwarves of the mountains. They marched in force to my assistance and together the combined forces of Tribe Urdnot the Elves of Cloudrest and the Dwarves. Defeated the Crazy Horns. The victory was a pyrrhic one though.

Victory over the Crazy Horns cemented alliances with the Elven and Dwarven colonies of Highathar. But for now Clan Urdnot waits and gathers strength waiting for the day when all orcs will be united under its banner.
 

Deaghaidh

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The War Council of the Light Army under the Just and Mighty King under the High Mountain, High King Deagrin Wrothiron

High King Deagrin Wrothiron will be in overall command and will lead the center
Lord-Commander Gerald of Westelli, commander of the Golden Army, will command the right flank
Jarl Alfdor of Frostverd, commander of Pale forces will command the left flank

Duke Justinus of Celestian, commander of Three River forces, will serve as master of spies and scouts
Master Goldtooth SwiftThorn will serve as diplomatic advisor


The Lords of Light have come to redeem the Basin. Let all slaves of darkness flee or be destroyed!
 

eidur

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The Last Assembly

Yarpen was pacing around his room, anxiously awaiting messenger from the Golden City. Against all advice from the Elders he decided not to send any representative. He felt that something is going to happen and whatever it was, he wasn’t going to be in the center of it. When he finally received a sealed letter from his friend from the capital he was relieved and scared at the same time. Relieved because no one from his clan was exposed to this and scared of what the future brings.
It was the middle of the night when he ordered The Assembly. Guards woke the elders and escorted them to Yarpen’s quarters.
“I gathered you here because of the troubling news I’ve received from the Golden City, magic is back and a few lords of the Agorath chose the path of darkness. We are just simple folk, affairs of the big world don’t concern us. We trade, we forge weaponry and we protect our land from incursions. We are not prepared for what’s coming next.”
Nobody said a word, all Elders stood petrified.
“Muster the army Zoltan, on the morrow we’re leaving Galadriel. We’re going home. Order every able man and woman to pack everything they can carry on our wagons. ”

Goodbye Galadriel

The next morning thousands of dwarves gathered in the capital. Although Yarpen didn’t tell them anything the news had spread. Strong dwarf column left the Galadriel already and is headed south, to the northern Highathar, to the Mount Carbon.
“My dear dwarves, the era of the darkness, the era of sword and axe is nigh and we’ll do what we always did best. We’ll survive. We’re going into the mountains to reclaim Mount Carbon, home of our ancestors.
Chills ran through Yarpen’s body when he realized that he used the same exact words that strange woman who called herself Queen of Light did. The era of the sword and axe is nigh...
The Time of the White Chill and the White Light is nigh, the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt: Czas Końca, the Time of End. The world will die amidst frost and be reborn with the new sun.
“We must hurry” he thought.

No Quarter

Mahakam army led by Zoltan was already marching for 5 days. Northern Highathar is a dire place. So many treacherous valleys, drops and caves. Nothing was left of the old merchant trade routes in the area. They were moving very slowly. Zoltan felt as if they are being watched. On the seventh day of their journey they reached the destination. Mount Carbon was the highest and the most majestic of the mountains in the area. Just by looking at it you could tell it’s no ordinary hill, it’s something more. On the foot of the mountain there were ruins of the old dwarven settlement. Once it was a very important trade post, a beautiful village full of splendor. Then, one of the orcish war clans raided and plundered it, only a few dwarves came out alive. Orcs had put most of the population to the sword. Almost every dwarf was slain, men, women, children… The yard must have been littered with corpses for weeks.
It was late in the evening and the sun has already hidden behind horizon when they heard the sound of dozens of horns blowing. From the ridge above them, hundreds of small rocks started falling. Zoltan instinctively put a shield above his head as did most of his men. “We must look like one of these exotic animals you hear of, Turtles?”. After a short while it stopped, they saw hundreds of torches lighting up in the valley ahead of them. It was the only way to Mount Carbon.
There they stood, hundreds of orcs, armed to the teeth. Even at this distance Zoltan could see the determination and rage pouring from their faces, shooting glares of pure hatred, ready to repeat the massacre. Dwarves weren’t long due, Zoltan screamed “Sing them a song”. At this moment five hundred of drums started pounding from the back lines and thousands of throats started singing:

Hooouuuu! Hooouuu! Hou.
Czekajcie, klienty!
Wnet wam pójdzie w pięty!
Rozleci się ten burdel
Aż po fundamenty!
Hoooouuuu! Hooouuu! Hou.


As they were singing new spirit entered their hearts. Time passed slowly and every heartbeat felt like it took an hour, the Mahakam flag flattering majestically and proud carried by bannermen. The full moon rose on the starry sky, dwarven steel shone like a million stars.
Orcs. Despite the tales of their bad organization, Zoltan always heard their warriors portrayed as true berserkers, proud and furious warriors. Their commitment to the fight unshakable, their spirit strong and their weapons devastating.
Zoltan gathered his senses and looked back towards the opposition. They were ready. Dwarves finished their song and all was silent. There was no chirping, no birds singing, no whispers of fear, no distant shouting. Nothing. The world stood still, until the volley.
Mahakam formation, hidden behind their shields was closing in on the enemy. Hundreds of arrows darkened the sky and dove upon them, sounds of them driving into wood and flesh overwhelming. Some men fell down but others walked over their bodies and took their place. Dwarven archers responded with their own volley, penetrating what little they could in the narrow passage where orcs had taken position. Zoltan gave order to charge, captains shouted words of encouragement through the cries of pain and ferocious war cries, trying their best to inspire the men and embolden their fighting spirit. The noise grew louder and the captain’s voices became silent as the clasing of steel flooded the night.
An enemy soldiers struck at Zoltan, his full helmet ineffective at silencing cries of rage. Zoltan parried and blocked his strikes, the weight of orc’s sword on his shield felt like a hammer’s blow, his fury like that of a rampaging bear. At the first sight of an opening, Zoltan took his chance and swung his battlehammer low, crushing enemy’s pelvis. The sound of that blow made orcs ahead of Zoltan fall back a few feet. All around him orcs and dwarves fell one by one, but trained Mahakam soldiers started gaining the upper hand, pushing orcs further and further back.
Zoltan ordered his men to halt so that the rangers can greet fleeing orcs with yet another volley, this time there were no shields to deflect the arrows. Dozens of orcs were killed within just a few seconds.
Dwarves didn’t need another order, they knew what to do. Orcs were running, with no hope of escape. They watched as the unstoppable force charged through the valley towards them, the ever-increasing sound of the dwarven steel cluttering louder than a thunderstorm marked the moment when Zoltan’s troops descended upon the enemy like a giant tidal wave and swept them off their feet.

Home sweet home

Yarpen along with the rest of the army and citizens of Mahakam arrived the next day. He saw the blood on the snow and piles of dead orcs. Zoltan set up an infirmary in the old mead hall and living quarters in two of the old mining shafts, they were the best shelter available.
“How many casualties?” Yarpen asked his son
“We’re still counting but currently it’s 94 dead and 107 wounded”
“You’re in charge of cleaning up the battlefield and settling in the incoming dwarves. I have something I need to take care of. Don’t do anything with bodies of the orcs just yet.”
Yarpen visited the infirmary and gave a speech about courage and bravery to the wounded and then went to pray for the souls of the fallen. After he paid his respects he went to the mines to see how are his people accommodating. There was a lot of work before them but the dwarves of Mahakam are able builders and artisans, they will have this place restored to its original glory within a few weeks.
The thought of magic being back in the world didn’t leave him, for some reason he felt guilty. His people are defenseless against it. He didn’t have a time for it right now, there were other, more pressing matters to take care of. The orcs they defeated weren’t the only ones living in these mountains.
Yarpen called in one of the bravest soldiers in his army, besides wielding hammer he was also master tanner. Him and his apprentices prepared skins for the battle drums.
“My brave Radomir, I have a request. It’s not something for feint-hearted and you’re the only person I know who can do it, but I’ll understand if you refuse. In that ditch over there, lie bodies of hundreds of orcs and I want to make an example out of them. Others will be more hesitant to attack us if they hear a tale of 100 drums made of orcish skin. Would you be willing to do that?”
“With pleasure my King, I am one of the survivors of the Carbon massacre from 25 years ago, I lost my wife and two sons to those bastards. It’ll be pleasure skinning them and pounding drums from their hide. It’s a shame they’re all dead, I’d rather skin them alive.”
And so Radomir syn Stanisza started working and many of dwarves who lost their friends and relatives helped him. Everybody grieves in their own way.. A month later Yarpen was presented with 217 drums made of orcish skin. Emissaries were sent to spread the tale. Yarpen’s plan seems to have worked, no orc ever wandered near Mount Carbon till this day.
With passing weeks dwarven settlement started to get bigger and bigger as new refugees arrived.

News from the world

Yarpen let his eyes roll along the clear sky above Mount Carbon as he strolled along the wooden wall of the settlement. He watched a small unit with Mahakam flag ride across the Valley of the Fallen (named after the battle with the orcs). They slowly grew from small black specks in the bright, white snow to normal size as they approached the gates. Yarpen called to the guard to open it. He began to feel his hear pound against his chest as his anxiety grew. It’s a special unit of the best spies and emissaries Mahakam had. Yarpen sent them out to gather the news from the world.
The unit had already dismounted from their horses. They were all white and grand looking, like the elf who approached him.
“A fine looking horse.” Yarpen said politely. Elf stopped and looked back at his steed before replying.
“It is a Hronindian horse, the best of the best. We purchased them at the bazaar in the Golden City.
Yarpen pondered for a moment. The man seemed familiar. Elf read it in his face and introduced himself.
“I am Avallac’h of the Unchained Division, I owe you my life good King. We’ve met before, I fought alongside with you in the conflict with the Nords.”
“What news do you bring me?”
“The Darkness is starting to overwhelm the Light my lord. People tell tales of vile creatures roaming the wilds, there are sightings of dragons and The Dark One’s army is getting stronger and stronger. There are many unresolved issues between Lords of Light and only untied they stand a chance to survive, divided they’ll fall.
Also, your ally Deagrin Wrothiron tried to contact you, but since you left Galadriel the letters didn’t reach you.” Avallac’h handed a bundle of letters to Yarpen.
“Thank you, you are dismissed” said Yarpen.

Time of the White Chill

A month have passed since Avallac’h visited Mount Carbon, No one heard anything of events in Agorath after that, but Yarpen was sure that the Light didn’t turn the tide. Every now and then he could hear banshee howl and see flocks of crows darken the sky. Lately very few dwarves of the Mahakam clan could get a good night’s sleep and Yarpen wasn’t one of them.
“Is it you again, Queen of Light?” asked Yarpen in his dream
“Shhhh, no time for talking, there’s so little time left for love” said the beauty with heterochromic eyes as she lustily began to kiss Yarpen.
As if given permission, Yarpen’s hands now started pulling her blouse, and in the blink of an eye it was undone, quickly followed by her bra. His lips fell on one breast as a rough hand grabbed the other. Her body responded to Yarpen’s raw lust, and in answer she ripped open his shirt. Her fingers began to run up and down his chest, slow gentle for the first few moments. Then suddenly she sank her nails into his flesh and drew them downwards. Deep scratches appeared on Yarpen’s body along with a few drops of blood. A grimace of pain crossed his face which then broke into a smile, an instant later she felt a hand up her skirt and her panties were roughly pulled down. The white cotton underwear had barely fallen around her ankles when fingers were running all over her wet with excitement garden. She changed position and Yarpen now had a clear view on the sky. The moon was red.

He woke up sweating and his chest hurt like hell, he had bloody scratch marks on it. He looked out the window and saw a red moon. It was a restless night, there was something bad in the air. Animals beating in the bar, and in the wind you could hear screams. He saw raiders galloping across the sky. It was a Wild Hunt, his father told him about it. Wild Hunt is a group of specters, ghosts from other dimension it usually appears in the time of big battles or catastrophes. It’s considered to be an omen of misfortune and death, it is said to appear mainly, but not exclusively during winter.
iSWeUHdAE1TK5.png
It was high up but Yarpen closed window nevertheless. Hunt brought nightmares and awoken a lot of dwarves in Mount Carbon and across all of Agorath.
A week later Avallac’h and his unit came to Mount Carbon once again, bringing news even worse than last time.
“My King, armies of the Lords of Light were defeated, they stood no chance. Enemies were using dark magic, fallen soldiers were coming back and turning against the army of the Light. Although the armies were equal, because of the undead Light had to face much bigger numbers than they expected.”

White light, White heat

The truth started dawning on Yarpen, reappearance of the Dark One wasn’t something they can just wait out in the mountains. He called the Council of Elders in the Great Mead hall, just like his father used to, and his grandfather before him. They were locked in there for 2 days and two nights and no one was allowed in. When they finally finished and opened the doors there were hundreds of dwarves anxiously waiting to see what the Council has decided.
“Every able man is going to be delegated to certain tasks. Our recent survey revealed that there’s still plenty of mithril under the Mount Carbon. We’ll make Dwimeryt once again to protect ourselves against the magic. In the middle of our settlement there is to be built 80 feet high obelisk made completely of that special metal. Furthermore, our army is to be fully armed in weapons and armours made of Dwimeryt and every citizen of the Mahakam is to receive a necklace for protection against magic.
The forces of the Dark One are starting to overwhelm the Lords of Light, next time we’ll fight beside them. Side by side we’ll wait the might, of the darkest of them all. Our bright armours will announce our coming, long before they can hear our drums and singing. Dwimeryt arrows will brighten the sky..”
And so they began working tirelessly. Thousands of dwarves mining mithril, iron, coal and others in the mountains around the settlement, smelters were making the Dwimeryt and skillful blacksmiths and artisans made armours and weapons.
Dwimeryt is an alloy like no other, it has strong anti-magic properties, is lighter than steel and sharper than dragon’s teeth. It was very popular in the Age of Heroes but it requires vast amounts of Mithril ore to produce it and most sources were exhausted.
Modernizing the army equipment took dwarves of Mahakam almost two months, but when it was done Yarpen looked at them proudly. It was probably the best equipped and most astonishingly looking army in Agorath.

Standard equipment of Mahakam soldier:
j2JqDAB9D77lR.jpg
Three-Quarter or Full plate consisting of shaped and fitted Dwimeryt plates riveted and interlocked to cover the entire body. It includes gauntlets, heavy leather boots and visored helmet. Soldiers wear a thick layer of padding underneath it. Buckles and straps distribute the weight over the body so the plate doesn’t hamper the movement as much. Each suit of plate was individually fitted to its owner by master armorsmith.
Each soldier could choose their own weapon: one and two handed sword, one and two handed hammer, battleaxe, short and long spear, halberd, bill, poleaxe and more.
Ranger division received unlimited supply of arrows with Dwimeryt tips.

Battle drums

Yarpen stood on a ridge looking down on Mahakam army awaiting his words.
“I am well aware, soldiers, that words cannot inspire courage; and that a spiritless army cannot be rendered active, or a timid army valiant, by the speech of its commander. Whatever courage is in the heart of a man, whether from nature or from habit, so much will be shown by him in the field; and on him whom neither glory nor danger can move, exhortation is bestowed in vain; for the terror in his breast stops his ears.
We spent our days in exile with utmost ignominy. We did nothing when we heard of advances of the Dark One and defeats of the lords of Light. Such a life, to men of spirit, was disgusting and unendurable, we resolved upon our present course. If you wish to quit it, you must exert all your resolution, for none but conquerors have exchanged war for peace. To hope for safety in flight, when you have turned away from the enemy the arms by which the body is defended, is indeed madness. In battle those who are most afraid are always in most danger, but courage is equivalent to a rampart. Army fully armoured with Dwimeryt equipment will come as surprise to our enemy. You are but a few compared to their tens of thousands but when I contemplate you, soldiers, and when I consider your past exploits, a strong hope for victory animates me. Your spirit, your age, your valor give me confidence and hope. To prevent the numbers of the enemy from surrounding us, our positions will be sufficient. But should the gods be unjust to your valor, take care not to lose your lives unavenged, take care not to be taken and butchered like cattle, you are men of the Mahakam Clan, fight like rampaging bears and strike like a thunder. On your weapons I ordered to engrave ancient dwarven words “Na pochybel skurwysynom”. May they strike fear in your enemies.
Now we march on, we shall finally find use to the drums made of orcish skin, especially that this vile race seemed to turn to the Dark One.
Close the gates and put out the lights, you won’t be home tonight. Snow falls hard and the winds are blowing cold, wear your steel that’s bright and true and sing the song that must get through, we’ll choose the path where no-one goes and we’ll hold no quarter. Walking side by side with death, the devil will mock ours every step, snow drives back the foot that’s slow, the dogs of doom are howling more. We’ll carry song that must get through to build a dream for me and you.”

Hooouuuu! Hooouuu! Hou!
Czekajcie, klienty!
Wnet wam pójdzie w pięty!
Rozleci się ten burdel
Aż po fundamenty!
Hoooouuuu! Hooouuu! Hou!


Yarpen left the gates first leading his army to the Light Basin. As he marched on he remembered the words of Queen of Light

The Queen of Light takes her bow and then she turns to go,
Prince of Peace will embrace the gloom and he’ll walk the night alone.
Elves will dance in the dark of night, sing to the morning light while The Dark Lord rides his force in
the sky.
Mother will cry: Throw down your plow and hoe, Race now to my bow
Side by side they’ll wait the might, the darkest of them all
hear the horses thunder down in the valley below
wait for the Mother of all, she’ll come and save the world.
When apples turn to brown and black and the tyrant’s face is red
war will be the common cry, pick up your swords and fly
The sky filled with good and bad but mortals never know,
The drums will shake the castle wall, the Wild Hunt rides in black
Mother will cry: Sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before
The magic runes are writ in gold, to bring the balance back
At last the sun is shining, the clouds of blue roll by.
"Verily I say unto you, the era of the sword and axe is nigh, the era of the wolf's blizzard. The Time of
the White Chill and the White Light is nigh, the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt: Czas
Końca, the Time of End. The world will die amidst frost and be reborn with the new sun. It will be
reborn of Elder Blood, of Starszej Krwi, of the seed that has been sown. A seed which will not sprout
but burst into flame. Ess'tuath esse! Thus it shall be! Watch for the signs! What signs these shall be, I
say unto you: first the earth will flow with the blood of Aen Seidhe, the Blood of Elves..."
 

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A Conversation in the Forest

After finding the dead patrol Eylinn wandered off a little. Ragnar pointed it out to the party and Wilhelm said he would find her. It only took a few minutes to find her sitting on a rock using some small fire magic to singe a few leaves and holding a cloth in her right hand, using it to rub her face. Wilhelm went next to her and sat down beside her.

“Hello, Eylinn.” Wilhelm said to the Elf girl beside him.

“Hi. I didn’t mean to wander off.” Eylinn said, looking down at Wilhelm.

“It’s not a problem. I was just worried you might be in trouble.” Wilhelm quietly said.

Eylinn raised an eyebrow at Wilhelm, “Other than going knee deep in blood all day, you mean? I’m never going to get these boots clean.” Eylinn then smiled, looking quite exhausted.

“I meant emotionally. I feel like there is something on your mind.” Wilhelm said, staying serious.

Eylinn frowned, “It’s just this cold. These lands. Besides, I could be asking you the same thing.”

Wilhelm slightly frowned at this, “Yes, that…”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off so stingy. I never did get to… for that.” Eylinn apologized as she looked away, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah, he was the best person I ever met.” Wilhelm sighed.

They sat there for a few moments in silence. Then Eylinn used her magic to send another burst of flame into the leaves. She looked over at Wilhelm and explained, “For boiling some water.”

“Yeah I have some tea. From the Krestarii islands.” Wilhelm said and then sighed again, “Did you see the poem Gilbert wrote?”

“Unfortunately not. Is it true he etched it into the ground?” Eylinn asked.

“He wrote it in ice. It was beautiful. I carry a piece of paper with it written on it around with me.” Wilhelm answered.

Eylinn held out Freyr’s knot that she had hidden under the cloth, “Something to remember them by, wouldn’t you say?”

Wilhelm smiled, “Yes, I suppose so. How is Freyr, you know I’ve never actually spoken with him?”

“The best man I have ever met.” Eylinn smiled mischievously and looked at Wilhelm, “Don’t worry; I’ll keep you a close second.”

Wilhelm laughed, “Second is a good place. Winning was never my thing anyways.”

“Indeed. I would settle for survival and be gone with all this. It’s not our lot I suppose.” Eylinn said.

“No it isn’t. Our fathers died too soon, is why.” Wilhelm remarked.

“How is your family? All things considered.” Eylinn asked.

“I never really knew my mother and you have met my father. My sister is a great person. A normal family I guess.” Wilhelm answered.

Eylinn suddenly turned serious, “And your wife?”

“Navaris is a good person. She makes the best of a bad situation.”

“Is she taking good care of you?” Eylinn asked as she pulled out a pair of cups and a canteen.

Wilhelm handed Eylinn his tea leaves and said, “Yes, she is doing well. I believe she is making friends in Saxon too.”

"Glad to hear it." Eylinn filled the cups and laid them by the fire to heat, "I can't imagine having to... With someone you don't even love. During grief at that."

"She is a strong woman. Marriage in the Elven lands is different than down south. We see it as a political tool. Not for love. A damn shame too." Wilhelm explained.

"But how do you even bare make a child with..." Eylinn grew silent, "Of course. It's duty. I'm sorry."

Wilhelm was silent for a few moments before he looked up at Eylinn and asked her, “Can you make a promise not to tell a single person, Eylinn?"

"Of course. I haven't revealed any yet. No reason to start now."

"Good." Wilhelm took a deep breath, "Jutarian is going to father my children."

Eylinn kept her head towards the fire, but glared at him from the corner of her eye. She reached down and handed Wilhelm a cup of hot tea, before sipping on her own. Wilhelm took his cup and sipped from it as well. The awkward silence remained for a little bit longer.

“I was betrothed once before. Did you ever hear of that?” Eylinn finally asked.

“Before Freyr? No, I haven’t.” Wilhelm answered.

“It doesn't surprise me. The boy of one of my father's vassals. Handsome young man to say the least.”
my father's vassals. Handsome young man to say the least. Part of an appeasement deal, really.”

“And what happened to him?” Wilhelm asked.

“His father came under suspicion by the council and Lúrien, that he was the one who poisoned my father. I broke the betrothal, and freed them of any allegations. Yet the rumour remains. It wouldn't have been looked at kindly. He was a monster, that boy. Spent almost a whole year to find new ways to torment me. Extorting me into favours, and made me feel small and useless." Eylinn said.

“Well I guess he got what he deserved. There are many worthless men in this world. They hated Gilbert for having red eyes and so they always hit him and called him a marchtfritz. Oh, that is a horrible word for being a man who likes men in Saxon." Wilhelm said, clenching his fists.

“And now he’s gone.” Eylinn said as she sipped her tea.

Wilhelm sighed but kept his fists clenched, “Yeah. Fuck those people you know. They made his life hard and now he is dead and they aren’t.”

Eylinn looked at Wilhelm before saying, “He had you. You loved him, and he loved you. And for your entire life, you had to keep that a secret.”

“Yeah, did I ever tell you the story of how we started being in a relationship?” Wilhelm asked.

“I don’t think you did.” Eylinn responded.

“I was 16 when he told me. I had been having feelings for him for a long time. Whenever he would be there I would stare into his gorgeous eyes. And he would stare back at me. For a long time though he stopped staring at me or hanging out with me. I thought he hated me and I couldn't take it. I cut myself a few times because I wanted to feel something besides pain for Gilbert. But then he told me that he loved me and I kissed him. I remember looking at his wide and surprised eyes after kissing him. One of the best things I ever saw.” Wilhelm told his story.

Eylinn closed her eyes, “It’s how it should be. I never thought I would find it myself.”

“Love?” Wilhelm simply asked.

Eylinn turned away and snorted. This was followed by a small cough and a clearing of the throat. This burst of noise caused Wilhelm to worry, but before he was able to ask Eylinn if she was okay she said, “Yes.”

Wilhelm calmed down and remarked, “Yeah me either, but I guess your story ends happier than mine.”

"Well, he's over there, I'm over here. You think I'm that lucky? I've never been before." Eylinn asked.

"No, I suppose you aren't. I don't know what you have gone through." Wilhelm answered quietly.

Eylinn looked at Wilhelm with a hard face, "Do you think he'd want your family to die with you?"

“Who, what do you mean?” Wilhelm asked, confused.

“Gilbert. You loved each other, did you not?” Eylinn asked again.

“Yes we did. But what do you mean by my family dying with me?” Wilhelm asked once more.

“Your child won’t even be your own.” Eylinn said.

“But I will raise him as if he was. He will be my son in all but truth” Wilhelm said, almost pleadingly.

“And all his life it will be a lie? What about Navaris? I thought you of all would understand the suffering of acting like someone else. To keep pretending, day in, day out.” Eylinn said, trying to get Wilhelm to understand.

Wilhelm’s face darkened and he turned to Eylinn, “You think I don’t? You think I don’t hate myself? Well I do. I hate everything about myself. I hate lying to a child, but tell me an alternative!”

“Your duty.” Eylinn sipped some tea and put her cup down, “To your lands, to your family, to yourself. To the man you loved.”

Wilhelm laughed slightly bitterly, “And what duty would that be?”

“You’re really asking a lady to be so graphic? Make the baby yourself.” Eylinn said.

“Ugh, I don’t know if I can…”

Eylinn laid her warm hand upon Wilhelm's and moved closer, "We don't have this luxury. It's not the lot we've been dealt. But don't think for a second you're alone."

"Thanks Eylinn. I'm just tired. I need to rest. I need to forget." Wilhelm said as he put rubbed his right eye.

Eylinn smiled at him, "They stay with you, long after they're gone. Don't try to forget. But at one point, it will get easier, and their presence will warm you instead."

"Aye, I suppose you are right." Wilhelm slightly smiled, "His eyes were always so pretty, so red and always filled with happiness.” A small tear went down his left cheek.

Eylinn embraced Wilhelm into a huge and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Wilhelm buried his face into Eylinn’s arms and began to sadly cry. “I loved his eyes more than anything. I loved the way he looked at me and the way he would kiss my cheek whenever he got the chance. I miss him, Eylinn. I miss him so much. I just want to see him again, to see his eyes fill up with happiness again. I don’t want to feel pain anymore.”
 

BlackBishop

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The Battle of Azure's Ridge


fantasy-battle-scene-digital-art-13.jpg




Report on forces under the command of the Just and Mighty King under High Mountain, High King Wrothiron, 3 500 strong

Azeratii forces, 6900 strong

Lord-Commander Gerald of Westelli, commander of the Golden Army, 10 000 strong

Master Goldtooth SwiftHorn, commander of the forces of the Tooth, 5 000 strong

Master Ulf the Bear of Stronghelm, commander of Stronghelm forces, 1 000 strong

Tuor Sáralondë, commander of Coamenel forces, 5 000 strong

Saxon forces, 3 000 strong

Green Chasm forces, 5 800 strong

Wolfen forces, 5 400 strong

Duke Justinus of Celestian, commander of Three River forces, 4 000 strong

Jarl Alfdor of Frostverd, commander of Pale forces, 4 900 strong


His Royal Majesty, Sultan Saladin, Lord of Hroniden and her domains, has pulled up camp and marched from the main camp.

His Mighty and Just, King Kvothe of Kalare has pulled up camp and marched from the main camp.

Light Army totals 54 500 troops​


Dark Army led by Lord Qylan the Fallen
34 400 strong

Lord Luk'av shall command his force from Bravengard, 2 900 strong

Alekri warriors and fallen Orcs, relinquished into Qylan's command by Lord Ra'Gru, 10 000 strong

A Total force numbering 47 300 Troops​


Though the sun shone bright across the Wilds, casting its warm rays across the lands in remembrance of a summer lost, in the lands of ash, there was only darkness. The great volcanic rents and mountains spewed forth toxic clouds of ash from the deeps below. As if angry, the land of Agorath bellowed and quaked as tremors shook the world, being felt across the south, from the Black Island to Azeratti.

As if to match the ireful mood of the land, Qylan the Fallen, Thrall of the Dark God Dreagon, descended from the great ridge to take command of the center flank, 10 000 of Ra'Gru's forces under his command, along with thousands of acolytes from the Black Island, Dark Elves of the Ashlands and Fallen Men. Spitting venomous words at his underlings, the Lord Qylan cursed the Fallen Men of King Ashtul who sent no reinforcements for the fight. Though the effort by Lord Balthar of Birch did draw some of the forces away into Misr, Qylan held deep doubts that it would be enough.

Ser Reagear, Champion of Ashtul was relieved of command of the right flank for punishment for the actions of his lord, and sent to guard the Basin. The command of the flank falling to an Orc Captain. The left flank was commanded by Lord Luk'av. Atop the ridge of Azure, the army waited.

Throughout all of Last Seed, skirmishes between the Light and Dark forces broke out as High King Deagrin Wrothiron attempted to lure Qylan's forces from the ridge, and meet them on a battleground that would favour the Light. However, Qylan would not take the bait, and remained on the ridge. Knowing that he had the smaller force, and the numbers of the Light army were dwindling, Qylan made the ridge central to his battle plans.

Following a series of earthquakes ripping out from the Ashen Wastes, Wrothiron, realizing Qylan would not be lured out onto the open field, marched to the ridge. Forced to abandon his trenches of liquid fire and war wagons for a quick victory, the Lord-General decided that he would press his superior numbers in hopes it would outweigh command of the ridge by the enemy.

Wrothiron marched with a strong phalanx in the front ranks, forming a strong shield wall to withstand calvary. Amongst the rank were spellcasters enforcing the wills of the soldiers and standing by to offer healing. Calvary were kept to the rear, waiting to pinpoint the weakest flank and charge when the time was right. Master Goldtooth, appointed to the War Council of Deagrin Wrothiron had left the army in mid-Last Seed, with orders to rally the Deep Clans. Returning from Highathar in late Hallows, however, the Master of the Tooth returned with only the few men that he had left with.

As the shield wall marched forward, the lowlands before the ridge unveiled a nightmare to weaken the morale of the Light forces. Impaled and mutilated dead soldiers were strewn about in the path of their march. A grisly display that served to enrage some, and shake the resolve of others.

Under a reeking cloud of sulphur and ash, the armies clashed. Mists rose out of the ground taking the form of fallen friends and comrades, begging their living companions to focus from the battle and hear their anguished pleas. It was a damaging spell that served to break the shield wall of the right flank. The phalanx collapsed and the enemy drove a wedge deep into the flank, splitting them in two. Luk'av wondered the battlefield with his swornswords. As the flank scattered and fell apart, Luk'av would ensnare them in his trap and send them to their deaths. Lord Gerald of Westelli rallied what forces he could and led a valiant charge, but he was forced to retreat under a volley of Dark blasts from the ridge top.

As the forces commanded by Lord Luk'av turned and swarmed over the forces of High King Deagrin, already struggling to turn to the charge of Qylan the Fallen, a great song was heard from the east. The forces of UnderKing Yarpen charged from the rear, reinforcing the center flank with over 6000 stout Dwarves. Qylan and Luk'av withdrew, for a time. Great pulses of sickly corpselight flashed on the ridge. Screaming ethereal skulls tore through the air and came down upon the fighting armies, taking men whole in their jaws and devouring them. The lines of the High King faltered, and as the Dwarves died around him, Wrothiron called the retreat.

The battered lines of the center and right flanks routed, Alfdor of Frostverd and his flank stood alone. All seemed lost. The Dark energy poured over the remnants of the Light, but still they stood. The shield wall had held firm. Armed with the Dwarven fashioned weapons, and the war song of the Pale Ones, the left flank was able to smash the enemy right, and withstand the onslaught of the emboldened enemy convergence. As Luk'av took a grievous wound and fled with what was left of his army, and the rest of the Dark abandoned the ridge and fled back to the basin, Qylan was no where to be found.

The great enemy host that held them from the Basin all this year was finally defeated. All that was left was the garrison defending the Basin.


Report on forces under the command of the Just and Mighty King under High Mountain, High King Wrothiron, 3 500/3 500 remain

Azeratii forces, 6 900/6900 remain

Lord-Commander Gerald of Westelli, commander of the Golden Army, 9 000/10 000 remain

Master Goldtooth SwiftHorn, commander of the forces of the Tooth, 3 900/5 000 remain

Master Ulf the Bear of Stronghelm, commander of Stronghelm forces, 400/1 000 remain

Tuor Sáralondë, commander of Coamenel forces, 4 700/5 000 remain

Saxon forces, 2 100/3 000 remain

Green Chasm forces, 5 000/5 800 remain

Wolfen forces, 4 900/5 400 remain

Duke Justinus of Celestian, commander of Three River forces, 3 500/4 000 remain

Jarl Alfdor of Frostverd, commander of Pale forces, 3 700/ 4 900 remain




Dark Army led by Lord Qylan the Fallen
29 700/34 400 remain

Lord Luk'av shall command his force from Bravengard, 2 200/2 900 remain

Alekri warriors and fallen Orcs, relinquished into Qylan's command by Lord Ra'Gru, 9 000/10 000 remain

 
Last edited:

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Ulb3R5d.png


No Home No More

Oh the joy! The glorious triumph over the Dark Forces! The Palemen held the victory dear to them, many had fallen during this short year. Many had given their lives so their home could stay safe. The thought of finally returning home to rest was like sweet honey on their lips. The Pale Ones had collected the dead, burned them on pyres and put the bones in the sacred Ökutæki and were prepared to be carried home to their families burial mounds. The Unnamed One had claimed their souls, now their bones were to rest as heroes with their loved ones.

- "FOR OUR FAMILIES!" Alfödr raised his bronze goblet and his warriors cheered. The Pale forces were celebrating as they always did for whenever they had an excuse. "FOR OUR FAMILIES!"

The feast weren't long until a messenger entered the tent. His voice was dry, barely able to utter a sound and weak.

- "What is it friend? Here drink from my goblet of mead." Alfödr stood up and started walking over to the poor boy.
- "Home...." he whispered, Alfödr stopped, starring at the boy who were bursting out in tears. "Its gone!"

The life and light in all the Palemen's faces disappeared. Alfödr fell to his knees, his thoughts to all the thousands of The Pale Warriors that sacrificed their lives to protect the other realms. And now their bones had no where to return to, their souls to ever wander in the abyss without returning to their families. Not a word nor sound was uttered by the Pale Ones that night, full of grief of what they had sacrificed just to loose their home in return. The very thing they fought for, was gone. The distant reward of all their efforts taken away from them.

Alfödr didn't care why, The Pale Ones didn't want revenge. They just wanted their home.
 
Last edited:

Galren

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Breaking the Bonds

In the middle of the desert, the forces from Herasnia start their preparations for the camp. Asad made his way to a campfire, where several men were chatting with each other about their families, gossip and other things. Asad liked to be with his troops. He believed it gave the troops more morale if their commander was getting to know them. As he approached, he picked up their conversation:

Soldier 1: "-- Kalare and Stonghelm have attacked the Pale Ones. Their backstabbing makes me want to go to the Dark, but I have an obligation to Shah Asad. He isn't as bad as them, you know. At least I'm not straggling behind to conquer more land and not support the effort to the Light Basin."

Soldier 2: "We might be too late to get there and help them at the Light Basin, you know."

Soldier 1: "Hey, we had to defend our land from House Birch. At least they were from the Dark. Here, Kalare and Stronghelm are conquering their neighbors while the inhabitants go off and fight for the Light. Bunch of shab'la's1. I'd love to shove a sword up their ass and see --"

Asad: "Hello gentlemen, how are we doing this evening?"

The soldiers looked surprised that their liege has joined them. The soldier who was insulting Kalare and Stronghelm is now red-faced.

Soldier 1: "Doing fine. You didn't catch all of that, did you?"

Asad: "Yes."

Soldier 1: "I didn't mean it against you! It isn't like--"

Asad: "It's okay. Everyone is entitled to their opinions."

Asad was surprised by the news, though. Kalare and Stronghelm attacking the Pale? As he thought about it, a messenger appeared.

Messenger: "Shah Asad, I come to you with a message from High King Wrothiron."

Asad looked at the message. It looked real, so he opened and began to read the message. After reading it, Asad looks up at his soldiers.

Asad: "We've won."

Soldier 2: "Won? Won what?"

Asad: "We've beaten Qylan at Azure Ridge. All that's left to do is make one final push on the Light Basin." Asad looks at the messenger. "Tell the soldiers that we have defeated the Dark forces."

As the messenger goes off, it seems that the news travels fast. Soon, all of the soldiers were cheering in victory.

Soldier 1: "What happened?"

Asad: "We barely won the battle. All was lost until the Pale Ones charged into the Dark forces. It seems they are the heroes."

Soldier 2: "Pity they won't have a hero's welcome when they get home. I don't think they have a home any more."

Soldier 1: "Damn Kalare and Stronghelm. Jarl Alfodir is a more honorable man then they are combined. He is deserving of the title of king then Kalare is."

Soldier 3: "Isn't Alfodir 'The Crownless'?"

The soldiers break into a laugh. Even Asad chuckled a little at the joke.

Soldier 1: "Seriously, Alfodir saved the day. Kalare and Stronghelm decided to stay behind and backstab him. Like I said earlier, I'd like to shove a sword up their ass and see what it feels like to be backstabbed."

The messenger comes back to the campfire.

Messenger: "Is their anything I can do for you, Shah Asad?"

Asad: "Yes. Deliver this message to Arl Arnulf of Stronghelm."

As the messenger goes off, one of the soldiers looks in curiosity at Asad.

Soldier 2: "What is inside that message?"

Asad: "It's pretty simple. I'm breaking ties with House Stronghelm."

The soldiers look at him in awe, almost with a new found respect for Asad.

Shah Asad is breaking Ties with House Stronghelm.



1: Insult meaning traitorous bitch. ((YEAH, DEAL WITH IT!))

((I hope you have a hospital nearby, Marschalk, because I gave you a SICK BURN!))
 

Groogy

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ailalE8.png


The Mourning of War

The following nights a deep humming could be heard from The Pale part of the camp. The soldiers had put together a new war song around the camp fires and sang it to their mead and meat to raise their spirits for the coming battles.

"Oooh huum... Oooh huum...
Far away from the cause,
into the dark ones jaws!

For our homes, for our friends,
but a poisoned dagger they sends...
Hear us cry! hear us cry...

Oooh huum... Oooh huum...
All we have left is our lord,
for him we will draw our swords!

We will cut it down, we will take it back
There shall be nothing left black!
Hear us cry! Hear us cry...

Oooh huum... Oooh huum...
The Palemen will not detour,
For the light, we will endure."

....

The song could be heard quite often being mumbled by the soldiers as they walked around doing their duties. The Frostsverds were the only ones not found singing. The thanes close to them said the pain was to heavy on their heart to summon the strength. When the entire camp joined in together during the nights around the campfires in loud and proud song. Frozen droplets could be found on-top of the ashes on the ground.
 

BlackBishop

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The Dire Amulet

The Impaler Lord
Part Three​


The Champions of Light surrounded Isabelle as she lays naked and covered in blood on the foliage of the forest floor. There were three Elves, a Nord, an Imperial, and a Hronidian, as well as Prince Atarian.

"Is she bitten?" Asks an Elf, the Therain of Green Chasm. "Look at her neck! Are there any signs of infection?"

Another Elf, a male and older than the young Therain, lowers himself onto his knees and inspects the Count's daughter.

Vlad watched the scene from his castle, through his mind's eye. "I do not like this Isabelle. These are Champions of Light, not some horny celibate mage."

His daughter only responded to the intruders. "Help me..."

The older elf covered her mouth. "You must be quiet. We aren't here to hurt you. Are you alright?" He slipped his hand from her mouth, and turned her face from side to side, looking at her neck.

"Wolves... I must warn the castle."

The old elf frowned, turning to Elyinn. "What should we do?"

The Therain sneered. "Now you ask me, Elorhir? Am i free to act now?"

"You're always free to act my lady," Returned the Elf named Elorhir, "but we don't need you being eaten by a wolf now do we? So what should we do, leave her or help her?" Vlad could see the elder elf was reaching for a blade on his belt.

"Isabelle!" Vlad warned through their telepathic link.

"I see it, father." Isabelle returned calmly.

The Lady Elf approached, feeling for a heartbeat.

"The Castle... They must know... Please help me."

"How can you help one who is already dead?" Questions Eylinn solemnly. She turns to the rest of the party. "Anyone wish to feed her your blood? I bet that would help her."

The Champions only blink. They begin arguing, some calling for the girl's death. While the champions make their cases to kill her, abandon her, or help her, Eylinn leans in close to Isabelle. "Does he have a cure? For the infection? Is there any cure to be found?"

Vlad could feel a pulse of excitement emitting from his daughter. "Isabelle? What is it?" But she would only respond to Eylinn. "Please help me..."

To the dismay of the others, Elorhir wraps his cloak around the girl and carries her over his shoulder. Eylinn passes her a flagon from her pouch. "Drink this." The others protested, arguing the folly of letting the girl among them. "Whatever she's done, she deserves better than to die in the cold of night in a ditch." Snarled Eylinn. With that, the party moved forward toward Basrab.

Vlad was sitting at a grand organ in his main hall, playing long sorrowful notes. The Lament of Rabu, the ancestral hero of the Drakwyla line. Vlad could feel the intruders eyes upon him. He was careful in dismissing the guards upon the wall, giving the champions the opportunity to slip inside, and they succeeded.

Vlad's fingers skip over the troll-bone keys, playing the stirring climax of the song before he slouches his shoulders, taking a sidelong glance behind him. "I have been waiting for you."

"I bet you have," Says Eylinn, stepping forward with accusing eyes. "Did Ra'Gru tell you we would come?"

"Of course he did!" Says Prince Atarian, his hand squeezing upon the hilt of his sheathed sword. "Count Vlad is in league with the Dark, and a traitor to the King!"

Vlad lets a somber laugh escape his lips, echoing throughout the chamber to the ears of the Champions. "Ra'Gru? That Dreagon pawn? I am not in league with the Dark nor do i seek their counsels!"

"In any case," Began the older elf. "if you knew we would be coming, surely you know why we are here as well."

The eyes of Eylinn grow softer, her tone more diplomatic. "We found your servant, bloodied in the woods. She's outside the walls near your blind sentry. You might wish to care for her as soon as possible."

Isabelle slips in from a door beside the organ, still wrapped in the Elven cloak, embracing her father. "Do you feel it, father? She is one of us." She whispers.

"No, my daughter," Vlad whispers in return. "Not yet. She is one of them."

Isabelle turns to the Champions. "As you can see, Therain. That will not be necessary." She turns back to her father. "They carry silver weapons."

"I wanted only to show our good faith..." Continues the Therain of Green Chasm. "For I believe you have Wilhelm with you, if he arrived any earlier than us."

"Yes. Wilhelm is here." Confirmed the Count. He warned me of your coming and sees to the defense of my castle."

"He is in league with a traitor then?" Snarls Prince Atarian.

"A traitor?!" Questions Vlad venomously. "You know nothing of the battles I have fought against the Dark. While you and your kin greedily sought to claim the Empire for your own, I had wrestled with the black whims of the Vampire Lord! Now you have won a crown, and unjustly so! And seek to rule over the ancient northlands of Ecclestius by which you have no right!" The Count had seemed to grow taller, his eyes darker. "Ecclestius was once a land of three kingdoms in the ages of old, and so shall it be once more."

Atarian did not shy away from the menacing count. "The Old Kingdoms are dead! You are a subject of His Majesty, King Asharian of Krestarri! Talk of anything else is treason!"

Eylinn steps between Vlad and Atarian. "Would you people leave your fucking politics aside! Just one minute! Vlad! Is the rumours true? Do you have a cure?"

Vlad's dark eyes fall on Eylinn. They flicker with pity. "Do you feel him, Therain... fell his taint within you?"

The Therain steps back. "S-Stop it..."

Vlad persisted. "Aye.. you feel him, feel his Dark claws wrapping around your very soul."

The older elf interrupts. "Perhaps we should speak about our business and leave personal matters out of this, do you have a cure or not."

"A cure for what, Elf?" Vlad asks, his eyes never leaving Eylinn.

"Please... Milord," whimpers Eylinn "I can't die. Not now. Please, tell me you have a cure."

"A cure for Vampirism?!" Vlad and his daughter laugh. "Why would you ever want a cure from this power!" Vlad drew up menacingly like before, but taller and darker and truly terrifying. The flames of the candles that lined the room rose up tall and bright. The shadows of the flame dancing against the form of Vlad the vampire. The candles returned to normal as did Vlad, satisfied with the glimpse of his power he shown the Champions.

Eylinn turned away from him. "Stop it! No more! I don't want it. I didn't ask for it!" Eylinn returned her gaze to Vlad, her eyes pleading for help. "I will lose everything. I have to find it!"

"No Therain," Said Vlad sternly. "You will gain everything!" The count clasps an amulet around his neck. "You will finally have the strength to defend your own people!"

The swornsword of Eylinn stepped up. "You heard the girl, Count. She asked you a question."

"Not everyone wishes to have that kind of power Vlad," chimed the old elf, full of ignorance. "Surely you have researched the possibility of a cure in the past."

"Stop it!" Eylinn yelled. "When are you people going to realise?! What the Dark really is?! Cruel, sadistic, it bears no power! It only hurts, and it steals everything from you."

Vlad sighed. "There is no cure from the gift. I can only show you how you may cure yourself of the influence of Dreagon."

Eylinn's face became pale, void of all colour. "No...."

"I know how you feel, Therain." Whispered Isabelle taking a step toward her. "For I had once felt it."

The Therain wraps her arms around her stomach, convulsing in dry heaves. Her face twists in rage. "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU ALL!" The Elf-Lady begins to laugh manically. Her rage turns to Isabelle. "You have no idea how I feel! How I should feel! What is better!"

"There is much I can teach you, Therain." Says Vlad calmly. "Much that we can accomplish."

Before Vlad's eyes, he sees a mist begin to shroud his view. He hears Wilhellms voice somewhere in the distance. "Vlad! The Castle has been breached! The Dark is here!" He thinks he see's Eylinn slap the Saxon Count but he cannot see. An icy grip chills his dead heart. The sound of battle erupts.

A voice hisses... "The Amulet is mine!"

"Father!" Calls Isabelle in some distant void.

Vlad's neck splits open, and his vision goes black. A death long awaiting finally finds the Count of Wallachia.


Ra'Gru has taken the Dire Amulet!

The Dark is Victorious!

Vlad of Wallachia has Fallen in Battle! The Rule of the Province falls to Countess Isabelle!

Dark Players in quest Gain 30 Gold!

Ra'Gru Gains Infamy!​
 

BlackBishop

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((Players, please hold off on submitting orders. I still need to update state, then there shall be an event that will be a precursor to the next turn! I hope to have it posted later today.))


((Player's inflicted with Vampirism - That's right, there are more than one ;) - Must decide whether to continue playing as their character, though they will gain a bonus roll for their Dark power, they will also gain a misfortune roll when fighting Dreagon's minions - this misfortune roll is only when fighting Dreagon, and not the other Dark NPC's or Light Players - Otherwise a bonus roll is aquired.

You may choose to kill, or exile your character. There is a cure... Keep this in mind for your decision))
 
Last edited:

Deaghaidh

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((There is a cure... Keep this in mind for your decision))

118931123_volcano_368875b.jpg


((Cures what ails ya!))
 

GreatSlayer

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Eylinn's Lullaby


“Mum?” Eylinn was pulling at her mother’s blouse. The fever was oozing the room with uncertainty, and her faint breathing was worrying her further.

“Don’t worry, dear. Your sister will be coming soon. It’s not long now.” Her hair was lank from sweat, and her face had an unhealthy gloss from weeks spent bedridden. Eylinn usually came in during the afternoons to wipe her with a cloth, but the priests were quick to intervene the moment they found out she was there. “Do not disturb!” they would chant, “She needs her rest, not your grooming!” they would add. But she didn’t care. Whenever they weren’t looking, she was there to keep her company. All signs were showing that her mother would give birth today, and she’d be damned if she would miss it just because some grumpy old preachers told her to.

“You feeling better, mum?” Eylinn took another hard grasp at the bedside and pulled herself up. “I brought some snacks.” She held the shaved meats she had stolen from the kitchen in front of her mother’s face, seeing if it could raise any appetite. They were certainly raising hers.
“You’re too sweet. But you keep them. Save them for later, or eat them now.” Her mother swiped the curls away from Eylinn’s eyes and smiled. “I insist. I’m not hungry.”

“You need food. The cook said girls don’t grow unless they finish supper.” Eylinn was not dumb. She could see her mother had lost weight, even though her belly was growing. It made her worried, but her father had assured that’s what happens when women get pregnant, that the child needs all the energy. But something was wrong. It definitely was.

“You again!” It was the head priest of the Chasm, here to chase her away. Again.
“I’m not going!” She yelled. “Mum needs to eat first!”

“Don’t worry, Eylinn.” Her mother responded. “You wait outside. I’ll tell them to fetch you once the baby is coming. Go to your father.” The young girl gave her mother a suspicious look, before returning her frown towards the priest.
“Yes, mum...” She jumped off the bed and marched out with rebellious pacing. To her surprise, her father was standing right outside the door. She shrunk and fettered her gaze to the floor, bracing herself for the imminent scolding.

“Come sit with me.” Galimon said. He didn’t seem angry at all. She obeyed, but as she sat right next to him, he lifted her and placed her in his lap instead. “You need to learn some patience. In just a few hours, you’re going to be a big sister. You need to set an example for her, just as much as you have to for your future subjects.”
“Yes, father...” She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She could see through his facade. He was just as worried as she was. “Is mum really going to be fine?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course she will be. You’ll know when you have children of your own. Bearing them is very straining for our kind.” Eylinn didn’t know what our kind really meant. He kept reiterating it from time to time during his long sermons.
“She seems so weak. And she smell. She smell very bad.” Galimon chuckled.
“That’s not very nice. Make sure she doesn’t hear you say that.” He rubbed at her hair. “And it’s smells. Not smell.” She had finished her lessons for today. Was he really going to start them already? The sun hadn’t even set, even less so rise.



“Master.” One of the medicos’ was signalling for Galimon to come closer. He rose and placed Eylinn in his chair, hinting with his finger for her to stay put. They walked down the hallway, and started to whisper. Little did they know that she had exceptional hearing. Every word ushered in silence was as clear as if they had shouted right into her ear. “Master Galimon, the child has turned in the womb. We need to start aligning it immediately if the child is to live, but it may trigger your wife’s labour early. She’s already weak... I fear we cannot guarantee her survival anymore.” Her father’s face melted, but he kept his posture.
“Do we have time to say good bye?” Eylinn didn’t understand. Survive? What kind of word was that? And what did he mean with good bye? She was right in there, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m afraid I must insist it be quick. Ten minutes at most or it may be too late for us to save either of them. I’m sorry.” Galimon slowly turned back and entered her mother’s chambers without even as much as offering Eylinn a look. It was clear something was wrong. She nibbled at one of the meat chips she had brought, hoping to find comfort from it, but the taste was as absent as ash from a burnt out stove. She nervously struck her dress, looking around, grasping at the wood of the chair, waving her legs. Be patient. It wasn’t as easy as he made it sound. She wanted to go in, but she didn’t want to catch her father’s ire needlessly. Grim thoughts were invading her mind.

“You may enter.” The mean tone of the priest’s voice was gone as he beckoned for her to come back in. Her father was holding her mother’s hand, and they were looking at Eylinn. Their smiles were so insincere that it hurt. Eylinn started to cry as the cruel realisation washed over her.
“Mummy...” Galimon took her in his arms, and then placed her beside her mother in bed. She crawled up beside her. Eylinn didn’t dare look into her eyes when she started to caress her cheek.

“There, there...” Her mother’s strokes were soothing, like silk brushing every worry away. Eylinn cuddled closer, letting herself be enveloped in a final embrace. “Thank you for keeping me company every day. I know it gave you a lot of trouble.”
“I missed you.” Her father wasn’t the best at telling stories. She appreciated when he tried, but it was just not the same. Her mother had a different passion when she read from those old tomes.

“I missed you too. But look at you, you’ve managed fine. And you will continue to do so.”
“No...” Her lips were trembling. The very thought too hard to bear.

“Yes, you will. You’re my little girl, and that says it all, doesn’t it?” Her father’s sobs were faint, but audible still. “I’m not really going, you know.” Eylinn looked up.
“Really? You promise?”

“Of course. Whenever you’re scared, whenever your sorrows are too hard to bear, I’ll be there to make it all go away. As long as you live, I’ll help in any way I can.” She pulled Eylinn’s head towards her chest. Her heart was weak, but pounded still. “I’ll be in here.” It was no great comfort, but it was something. “When I was a little girl, my mother taught me a song. She used to say, that whenever the pain was too great, when it was too overwhelming, whenever you think there’s no escape, if I sung it she’d appear. Out of thin air if needed be, and she would make it all better. Would you want to learn it, so I could do the same?” Eylinn nodded.







She was coughing with a wheezing, almost gurgling sound. It had been a day since they left Vlad’s castle and the sealing of her fate had been set. It was no escaping it. Her back stung, and her feet were getting numb. The world was in a constant spin as the illness was taking its last grab of her. Eylinn could barely ride anymore, and she probably should have stopped doing it a long time ago. But she insisted they’d keep riding, heading north. Or at least somewhere that wasn’t here. These wretched lands with their molten corpses and fields of blood. Where Men had died to gruel beasts tainted with Dark. Glory, gold, death, all over.

Ecclestius ran rank with their selfish ideals and needless hunger for power, and in his very last moments, Vlad had tried to lecture her, Her, what a gift she’d been bestowed. Her mind was venomous. Every thought, how small it may have seemed, was fully focused on the disgust she felt towards everyone else. She didn’t want to think that way, but she couldn’t help it. During their approach to the castle, they’d done everything in their power to make her look like a helpless fool. A helpless child. A helpless girl. And it hadn’t changed a goddamn thing but making her feel even more worthless when they congregated in the old count’s throne room. The pain shot like flashes of lightning through her spine, ebbing out into her every extremity. She stopped her horse.

“Alvon... I don’t feel so good...” Her speech was thick. She made another violent cough and stained her steed’s mane with a splatter of her own blood. “By the Light... It’s gruesome.” Alvon kept his calm, rode back and stopped by her side. She could feel his gaze studying her. “I’m so sorry...”
“You should have told me.” He spoke short.

“I know. I’m so sorry.” She looked up at him, wondering if he felt hurt. It wasn’t her intention, but it ought to have seemed like she hadn’t trust him. “I just wanted someone I cared about to stay the same. You know, treat me as if all was normal.”
“What will your sister think?” Eylinn had forgotten to send any letter for at least a month. The constant travel offered much time to dwell on many things, but no thought had ever reached her to tell Evhana about her condition, or her plans. Or even to ask how she was doing. She felt terrible.

“She’ll be fine.” The wind was turning cold with the changing season. The long, careful voyage through Wallachia, and the nights among frosty leaf beds had reminded her of the intended destination since her departure from the Light Army. Her sister hadn’t even met Freyr, not even known they had been travelling to the Pale to get married before everything changed. It struck her. She was not going to see them again. “What have I done...? I should have brought them! Evhana will have no one left. She’ll be the last Mindrilla!” In the corner of her eye, she could see him, like so many times before since they separated in Coal. At first, it had startled her. But as the nights grew longer and the cold became her only blanket, it had been her only source of peace. But now, it was just a fountain of sorrow. She lost all control for a moment, planting her face into the stained hairs of her mount.

“Therain!” Alvon grabbed at Eylinn’s dress, keeping her from falling off. “We need to raise camp. There’s no time to find an inn.” She just stared at him.
“No time, you say?” Alvon was taken back.

“I didn’t mean it like...”
“You’re right. I don’t think I can ride any longer.” With a firm grip of his hand, she dismounted. Her legs felt unsteady, and she channelled her energy to remain somewhat stable. Retaining some dignity, before sinking beside a nearby tree. “I just need some rest, and then I’ll help set it up.” Her head was pounding remorselessly. It was hard to concentrate on anything.
“Stand up.” Alvon commanded. She glared at him.

“I’ve had enough grownups lecturing me for a week. I just need a minute’s...”
“Stand up!” He took a grip of her waist and pulled her to her feet. She clenched at the tree to remain upright. The evening dew had moistened her dress. She already regretted her decision to sit down in the moss. Alvon started to unpack the tent gear from her luggage.
“Fine... I’ll help.”

“You stand right there.” It was just as she feared. Now he was treating her as a child too. Her seemingly perpetuating embarrassment had no end in sight. She opened her mouth to speak, but let it rest. Instead, she spent her time waiting for Alvon to finish by gazing at the stars. It was a dim night, but the moon was clear as the sun was in daytime. She soaked in the moist air through her nose. So calm, so vibrant, so cool. She tried to taste it, but her tongue wasn’t really up for the task. It made her sad.



“I told you I was sorry...”
“It doesn’t matter.”

“Well it does to me! I didn’t mean to shut you out. I didn’t want to burden you with it. I thought I could fix it. Be cured. And if not, I could at least have someone beside me that wasn’t going to let me delve into my own misery. I need to hear you understand this. I really need...” Alvon threw a tent rise into the ground and barked at her.

“It doesn’t matter! Didn’t you hear me, girl?!” He wasn’t his usual self. The last dam to his emotions was breached, now venting his since long bottled up frustration. Eylinn couldn’t answer him, but instead grasped at her side with a grip of the pain that kept spreading with unsympathetic speed. Alvon went back to his chores, speaking with his back turned to her. “When did I ever pamper you? Did you ever stop to think that telling me would have made this whole journey easier? You can speak all night of what you need to hear, need to understand, but you won’t hear me offer any comfort in that regard. Your needs have been my only priority for nearly eight years. This was one strange occasion to start doubting it would remain so.” She deserved to hear the hard truth, but it didn’t make it less hurtful. She only never told him because she couldn’t bear to see the same look she’d seen in Freyr and Nienna’s eyes.

“What do you want me to say?” She pleaded. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to...”
“Just stop.” He pounded the last peg into the ground, and started working on bringing in the bedrolls and straw. “You don’t have to say anything, is my point.” Her legs were shaking. In a staggering motion, she walked towards the entrance when they finally caved in. She fell flat to the ground and couldn’t move. Alvon rushed towards her, picking her up in his arms and carried her in.
“Luckily you’re light as a feather.” He smiled at her, and it was painful to see. He carefully sat her down at a foldable stool. Her bedroll was placed on a stack of hay, and he had even found time to light a small lamp in the middle of the tent in a vague attempt to spread some light and warmth. “I’ll prepare a fire. Get into bed.”

“Fine.” She pouted. When he had left, Eylinn removed her wet dress. She was freezing, and her every motion was as tedious as a whole day’s toil. It was an agonizing task, and whenever her hand touched the skin, it felt as if an arrow pierced her flesh. Her chest could barely rise with her breathing, and as a final surge for power, she removed her breast bonds to ease the tension on her ribs. She threw the cotton wraps away and limped towards bed, slowly crawling under the cover and resting her head against the pillow.

She felt nauseous, and prepared for what would likely be another hurl, but it never came. It was just another sign from her curse that it was the stomachs turn to recede. She tried to draw her legs up closer to the body, but then she noticed she no longer could feel the toes or the tip of her fingers.

“Alvon!” She yelled, and he came rushing in. “Alvon, help!” Her heart was filled with terror, no longer steeled. Her legs were pins and needles, slowly making its way up, and in its wake, all sensation was gone. “I can’t move my feet... I can’t move my hands... Alvon, help...” He pulled up the stool beside her bed and simply tucking her in. He raised his cool hand and placed it on her burning forehead.

“Be still, Eylinn. Do you want something to drink? Something to eat?” She made another round of wheezing coughs as a batch of blood sought to exit her mouth. Alvon damped a cloth with his hip-flask and wiped it gently over her face. Eylinn started to chill.

“It’s cold...” He reached for his backpack and pulled out another blanket, placing it over the covers and all the way up to her shoulders. It didn’t make much difference, but she tried on a smile regardless. “Thank you.” He went outside the tent and brought the firewood inside. The sound of him striking the flint loomed in her ears. The crackling sound of the newborn fire was a calm reassurance that she was still alive, but even as the sparks hovered in the air, she could see how they gradually blurred and unfocused. The smell of the burning wood was slowly fading away, and the tingling in her arms grew into unbearable discomfort. “Alvon...” He sat by her once again. She wanted to tell him everything, everything on her mind, from her past, from her present, what she hoped to see in the future. Everything, before it was too late. But she didn’t know where to start. “You have to forgive me. Please, you have to.” She gasped for air, but her lungs hurt. Alvon pulled up the cloth again, carefully moistening her face and wiping the sweat away.

“There’s nothing to forgive, I assure you.” He affectionately combed her hair with his fingers, arranging the tangled mess that had bothered her all day. He was too kind. She couldn’t stand it anymore. She felt guilty, not worthy of his loyalty or care.
“You’ve always been with me, and I’ve always been so mean, and so ungrateful. Why? Why have you stayed for so long?” Alvon’s hard face softened, smiling at her as if it was his natural disposition.

“I never wanted to bother you with this, but there was a time when I had a child of my own. A son. I lost both him and his mother some eighteen years ago. I was never given the chance to raise him, but then your father presented me with another offer.” He turned the cloth and started to wipe the cooling water from her face. “You see now, girl? There never was any condition to my presence here. Every decision you made on your own, just made me more proud, even when it meant hiding all this from me. There is no need for forgiveness on my part. You saved me from myself a long, long time ago.” He didn’t understand. She didn’t want him to care for her. She didn’t want him to sit with her now. The reminders of all she would lose came over her. Everything she had managed to garner the past few years, everything that had enriched her life, and soon she would live no more.




The shadowy figure stepped out of the corner of the tent, making his presence known to them both. They said nothing, didn’t even react. What would have been the point? If he wanted to kill her, someone had beaten him to it. He spoke in his usual low, shrill but calm tongue.
“Very touching.” Eylinn turned away her face from him, having enough of his mockery. She would not stand for it at a time like this. She didn’t want to speak, and wanted to avoid it as long as she could. Alvon decided to speak up in his warden’s stead.

“Here to pay your respects?” The man took a few steps forward to let himself be looked at in full.
“You must be Alvon, I take it?” He responded, seemingly avoiding Alvon’s courtesy.

“Aye.” It felt weird to see him so short with words again, now that she finally had got to know where he was coming from. But her ears were aching, and it was hard to hear. She settled for fewer words, and closed her eyes.
“Pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” The man responded, drawing his lips into a comfortable smile.

“The Therain deserves some peace, milord. If you don't mind.” Alvon retained his stalwart dismissive attitude. The man was a stranger to him, and it was clear he didn’t feel that he belonged. The Dark in him could be felt by Elves, and she wondered if he was able to tell.
“That she does. But she also knows that peace will not last. Dreagon will not let it be so. Not even in that forest of yours.”

“Alvon will take care of it, Ra'Gru.” Eylinn mustered herself to say, before another roll and stretch of coughs brought flem and blood into her mouth. She tried to swallow it back down, but her throat wasn’t that responsive, and instead it slowly poured out the corner of her mouth down the chin.
"Aye." Eylinn could see Alvon take a soft grab of the sword sheathe hanging from his waist. Ra’Gru curled his lips, seemingly contemplating hard what to say next.

“He does not need to kill you. There are other ways.” Eylinn took a few moments to compose. The memories of Vlad’s headless, standing body. The shock at him knowing nothing of a cure. The ridiculously small comfort that was the amulet...
“You took that chance from me. I can’t even get mad.” She still felt pity for him, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know if he deserved it, or if he even wanted it. She looked at him and smiled, thinking of the innocents he had bred into this web. “Alvon will take care that Evhana knows to talk to Asharian. Maybe we can take the child to Coal.” She looked into his pale, ice blue eyes. “It was good to see you nonetheless. But now..." She remembered what state she was in, and looked away in shame. "This is demeaning as it is. You shouldn't see me like this. I wanted to..." The head ache was paralyzing. "In peace, so please..." Ra’Gru walked over to the bed and put the amulet on her chest. With a smile, he spoke reassuringly.

“Take it. But remember, that if a cure is found, I will want it back.” She looked at him in tired awe. She held back the tears, and spoke softly and weak.
“Thank you...” She whispered. Alvon wiped off the goo that had soiled her face, and she let out another tormented cough.

"She needs her peace." Ra’Gru looked down at her but said nothing. He made a nod, and with that, he returned into the shadows from whence he came. She felt the amulet on her chest, but it was not what she had come for. It was his kindness she had come to appreciate. She couldn’t understand his intentions, but it was the thought that mattered.
“You must still do it...” She quivered, her eyes fixed at his sword. Alvon nodded.

“I know what I must do. Don’t speak of such any more.” Just a moment ago, she wished he hadn’t given her such devotion, but now; Eylinn was done lying to herself. She was so happy he was here. She wouldn’t even have made it this far without him. The grief of losing him swirled over her like the tide. She wept like she never wept before.
“I don’t want to go!” She wretched out. “I’m not ready! I don’t want to die...” Alvon leaned over her, placing his forehead against hers and hushed. Her arms were burning, but she turned her shoulders to reach around his back. The smell of him was gone, and her sight was turning murk. It was all striking at her so fast now, that she had no time to brace for the end. “What did I do to deserve this? What did I do? I just wanted to be happy. I didn’t know it was too much to ask. I just didn’t know! I take it back! Dear Creator, the Light, the Dark, please, forgive me. I take it back, just let me live...” Alvon hushed at her again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Eylinn. It’s not your fault.”
“I take it back!”

“Try to rest. Try to be at peace. Forget the hurt, forget the pain. It will all be fine. You have nothing to fear.” Her breath was wearing out. She made three short inhales before turning her head to cough out the blood that was filling her lungs, the red liquid too thick to be soaked up by the linens. It was such a demeaning way to go. Alvon settled with wiping her lips and continued to soak the cloth with water. He pulled Freyr’s knot out of her hair, and placed it in her hand.
“Tell him I love him. Tell Evhana I love her. Tell Nienna I love her. Tell them all to stay safe.”

“I will.” He reassured her.
“Would you... Bring Evhana to Coal? They’re better defended than the Chasm.”

“I will, you need not worry. Try to relax.” There was no time to relax. There was barely any time left at all.
“I’m scared...” Alvon embraced her.

“I know, I am too. But you needn’t worry anymore. I’ll take care of everything. You’ve done your part, and will have to answer to no one anymore.” She couldn’t move. Her body had given up. It was only a matter of time before the illness would reach her heart, and there was no escape. She spent her last minutes soaking in all the colours of the world before the panic returned. “Isn’t there any thought? Any memory that could calm you down? Make you at peace?” Her mother’s voice reappeared. It was so simple, melancholic, yet so full of hope. In a last attempt to see her again, she was going to do it.

“My mother taught me a song once. The last song she ever sang to me. I guess when all other attempts have been in vain...” She took a deep breath and let the melody fill the room.


Eylinn's Lullaby
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eOsJ_05qI0o


Sing for me, my voice is failing
Every tune have run its’ course
For when all, gone dark and fading
I will see your face no more

Can you feel it? I hear it
How the silence shroud all sound
I am weary
You are gone, cannot be found

The leaves will burn, from my desire
To not walk this path alone
Yet as my head, now slowly tire
I must brave it on my own

Would you hold me? Then hold me
I can barely feel at all
I am leaving
What was summer turns to f...

Her mother hadn’t appeared, but she felt better. As 8the last breath left her lungs, faltering at the very last word of her song, she was still able to see. She couldn’t close her eyes, but the world was only a dark mist of dampened unsaturated colours at this point. They were no use to her anymore. She tried to close her mouth, but even this was for naught. It was stuck in syllable, and there was nothing she could do to change that. It was surreal. Her body was gone, but her mind was still vaguely awake. She could hint Alvon’s hand reaching over the horizon, closing her lids for her, and everything went dark. Her thoughts rushed in a stream through her head, as they slowly disappeared one by one. Her consciousness was dripping away as it pulled backwards, away from her mind, away from her head. She didn’t hear. There was no pain. She would miss them. First it was all black, then there was nothing left at all.

Eylinn Mindrilla recieves the Amulet from Ra'Gru.
However...
 

GreatSlayer

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Alvon Sontessa sends a letter to Evhana Mindrilla and Nienna Coamenel seperately.
"My Lady,
I send here a letter in my Therain's stead. She wished to tell you she loved and cared for you deeply, and asks of you to stay safe.
I request that you do not disclose the fate of Eylinn to anyone before her sister has been brought and moved into safety away from Green Chasm

Alvon Sontessa, strategist and tactician of the Green Chasm."​

He sends another letter to Alfödr Frostsverd, and embedded in the envelope is a curl of the young Therain's hair.

"My Lord,
I send here a letter in my Therain's stead. She wished to tell you she loved and cared for your son without limits nor remorse, and wishes he stay safe.
I request that you do not disclose the fate of Eylinn to anyone before her sister has been brought and moved into safety away from Green Chasm.

Alvon Sontessa, strategist and tactician of the Green Chasm."​
 

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qUiZ56h.png


To the distant relatives

Freya was shivering as they walked trough the forest on the tribesmen side of the silverfish river. It was scary, usually the river was never crossed by neither Palemen or tribesmen. She grabbed a hold of Anastasia's arm for warmth, her step mother wrapped her cloak around the little girl. As they had fled from Blekborg she hadn't been able to grab a pelt before the soldiers stormed into the fortress. The thanes and housecarls in their company were dead quiet, constantly scanning their surroundings. The tension could be felt in the air.

A low sob could be heard from Freya. One of the housecarls looked over to Anastasia and Freya.

- "Jarless Frosverd, you should not need to share your pelt with your daughter." He almost whispered. The man sat down on his knees in-front of the little girl and put on his own pelts on her properly and as he finished he smiled, not caring that his skin started to slowly turn purple from the frost. "There we go, much better now isn't it lady Freya?"

Freya was about to object but he just pushed her in-front of him and forced her to keep moving. As they walked the shock eventually hit her, what had happened, all the people that had been killed. Her playmates and family friends who had been slaughtered or raped. The tears started to run, she couldn't stop it. She rubbed her hands to her eyes several times wiping it away begging it to end.

- "Stop it.... STOP" she thought to herself. "What would father say if he saw you..."

The tears were running even more. She wiped again and the pelt got stuck in her necklace.

- "Brother...." she untangled the mess. She looked to Anastasia. "Are we heading to father and brother?"
- "No, we are heading home to my father, your is too far away." her voice was comforting "We will be safe there until Alfödr and Freyr comes home."

Finally they were out of reach from the forces that had attacked them. As they eventually sat up camp, the kind man was still with them. Shaking of the cold but as the fire sparked to life he was fine again. Some of the other housecarls started to cut up some pelts from the tents that he could use for tomorrow.

As everyone were having stuff to do, hunt, melt ice, put up tents. Freya just sat on a cold stone near the fire wondering why it has happened, whose fault it was... THEM. Freya's sorrow started to be filled with rage, she didn't know the banners of the ones who attacked them. She hadn't bothered much with the politics of Agorheim, but now she swore to herself that she would find out and she would revenge her home in any way she could.

By her name as a Frostsverd, she would never forget what she saw that day.