[Forum Game] Shattered Realms ~ Kingdoms of Crypso

[BlackBishop]

((Since I'm not on the map yet, I'm going to claim the volcano NW of Idrus as the newly destroyed city of Khartoba.))

((Sounds good, Deag - though nomadic peoples will not be found on the map until they either establish a settlement using acquired resources, or conquer land belonging to a landed power.))

 

[BlackBishop]

Raids Along the Almamar

The southern banks of the Almamar where Orc bands raid the border lands of the Muklan Sultanate

Along the southern reaches of the Muklan Sultanate, where the poison from the springs that feed the river dissipate, Orc bands are spotted descending the Spine highlands and trekking north along the great river that empties into Sunder Bay. Small holds and villages are attacked by the Orcs, and as villagers flee north, telling the grisly tale of the hellish bands and of the demonic monsters that lurk within their ranks, stout men rally to defend their homes from the scourge. Three days since the attacks begin, word reaches the Sultanate capital of Afeaman.



Missing Cattle in Kitlock

East of the Almamar River, within the lands of Druma, reports begin to surface within the Braln capital Ilchester that herds of cattle have disappeared from the grazing grounds along the Cenmen Coast. Scouts have relayed word that much of the herds have disappeared as well as strange tracks found crisscrossing the pastures belonging to different beasts. Herders fear that predators have migrated into Kiltock, scaring their cattle away, yet so far not a drop of cow's blood has been found.


((Effected players have an opportunity to respond to the crisis. Get your orders in asap.))​

 

[Galren]

Only A Hag​

Thunder cracked the skies constantly. A large red gash was slashed across the night sky, originating in the west. Milo Hartell, nephew of the Braln king and son of the chief of the Dunn Tribe, was woken up by his dog, whining at the sight. Along with his father Derren and his older brother Kevin, Milo went to see the local shaman, who could explain what this bloody sky gash meant.

The shaman was concentrating on the gash when Milo and Derren, staring into it as if trying to decipher its curves and peculiar trails. Not noticing them, Derren would speak to the shaman in order to get her attention.

“Briana, what do you make of this?”

Not turning around to make eye contact with the Hartells, Briana calmly explained, “A sign from Fyaldir. The world will spill much more blood in the future.”

Milo was no stranger to blood, and had killed a fair few men. However, a big sign from a Fyaldir, the god of war, was never a good thing. Milo asked a bit optimistically, “Do you think this could be a sign from another god?”

Briana, while keeping her gaze on the red gash, responded, “No doubts. A red gash of light that pierces the night’s veil clearly signifies blood spilling.”

Kevin, not really bothered by the omen, noted, “Not all of Fyaldir’s signs are ill omens. We Braln were born to fight and spill blood. We will be the ones spilling the blood of other people.”

Briana, not showing her face, was mildly amused at Kevin's confidence and retorted, “Do not forget others may spill our blood as well.”

“We will simply shed less blood than other people, hag,” Kevin avowed in response.

Briana frowned.

“Leave,” she demanded, with hostility in her voice. “What good is a hag to you anyway?”

“Nothing,” Kevin affirmed as he walked away.

Milo, still a bit nervous, went after his brother. Kevin didn’t turn around until Milo spoke up.

“You should perhaps take the shaman’s words into consideration,” Milo contended.

Kevin countered, “Why should I? Omens are just nonsense. I promise, brother, that might will trump over any warning from that hag.”

Frowning, Milo warned, “Be careful of what you are promising, brother. You’re getting a little too cocky.”

Kevin simply turned around and walked away, leaving Milo to wonder who was right.

***​

A Ravenous Mouth​

“Ippolito, do you have your paper at hand?”

Ippolito quickly snapped out of looking at the strange red light in the sky, got his quill, ink, and a book turned to a blank page ready, and was paying attention to what master Edgardo was discussing with Lucio, a diviner who studied omens. Ippolito was already writing down some things in a more personal diary, describing the red gash in the sky as well as his feelings about it.

The reason Ippolito was with Edgardo tonight was because Edgardo wanted somebody to record important conversations and dealings for future references. Although Ippolito was grumbling about having to wake up late in the night, Ippolito was grateful to be considered the best scribe for the patriarch of the Bandinis, one of the most influential families in the Maglian Republic. So, Ippolito was paying attention to the conversation at hand. He didn’t become the best scribe for slacking on the job.

“Start over,” Edgardo casually began. “I didn’t quite catch that first part.”

“Signore, this red light is a bad omen, no matter how you interpret it,” Lucio repeated. “Especially since it came in the middle of the night.”

Ippolito frowned a bit as he wrote down what Lucio said. Looking at it before, that red light also made him quite uncomfortable when he saw it.

“Well then, what would be the most common interpretation of this light?” Edgardo asked.

Lucio hesitated for a bit. “I apologize, Signore Bandini, but I don’t think you will like what I have to say,” he sheepishly admitted. “It’s quite bad, and I don’t believe your family has an exactly friendly relationship with what this light means.”

Ippolito was a bit annoyed at Lucio for not getting to the point. To him, it was a waste of ink, paper, and effort to go record the more formal bits of conversation, but Edgardo always wanted an exact transcript of his conversations. The reason was to make sure that there wasn’t something sneaky about the exact words of when he made a deal or got information from someone else.

“I am going to be quite blunt,” Lucio continued. “Some of the land will be swallowed by the sea.”

Ippolitio didn’t show it, but he was quite shocked at Lucio’s interpretation. To say the least, the last thing the Bandinis want is for Brindisi to get swallowed by the sea. Parts of the Brindisi Gulf were once stretches of land that were swallowed up by the Cataclysm. There was always this fear in the back of their minds that the sea might sink Brindisi one day.

“I see,” Edgardo acknowledged with no anger.

Lucio was quite quick to further explain his point. “The sea will swallow some major amount of land. It doesn’t mean it will definitely be here in Brindisi.”

Brightening up, Edgardo joked, “Maybe one of my rival’s ports will have a bad day.”

Both men had a laugh, while Ippolitio was double checking to make sure he wasn’t missing anything so far. Ippolito nodded a bit to assure himself his writing was correct.

“It was good to see you,” Edgardo assured Lucio. “Perhaps we should meet when we aren’t so on edge.”

“Definitely.”

Edgardo left immediately, while Ippolito was packing up his things. Before he left, Lucio addressed Ippolito.

“Signore, I never caught your name.”

Ippolito simply answered, “Ippolito.”

“Addio, Signore Ippolito. Until we meet again,” Lucio beamed.

Ippolito, with a small smile, responded, “Addio, Signore Lucio.”

***​

Strange Tracks​

Milo was examining the tracks of the supposed things that had taken away the herds from various families in the area. The news of these strange abduction seemed quite odd to Milo, and he wanted to see the evidence for himself. He had his weapons, a bow with some arrows and a sword, sheathed at the moment and was wearing leather armor.

“Yeah, boy,” an older gentlemen confirmed, “what’ver they were, they scared my sheepdog. Noticed she was whining when I foun’ her. There ain’t no carcass or blood anywhere. Not a single bit. I’m telling ya, these’re some strange beasties we got here.”

Milo was a bit skeptical about a large beast carrying the cattle or sheep away. How could a beast carry them away quickly without causing them to bleed? Besides, a beast preying on the cattle or sheep would just kill them on the spot. The tracks, though, were pretty strong evidence there could be multiple beasts. Perhaps the beasts would have chased the herds around?

Milo was pondering what was going on with the herds when his brother, Kevin, showed up on horseback along with some other men, equipped to hunt dangerous beasts.

“Don’t worry brother,” Kevin assured Milo as he rode up to him, “you’ll get a share of the glory today.”

A bit surprised to see Kevin here, Milo probed, “Are you pursuing the beasts?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Kevin argued. “These creatures have to be killed right away.”

“We should get more men,” Milo suggested. “Just in case if this turns out to be more than we can handle.”

Kevin, faking disbelief, jested, “You don’t have to tell me what to do all the time. I was going around getting all of the men whose cattle were stolen together.”

Without confidence, Milo conceded, “You’re right. I need to watch over you.”

“That’s the spirit!” Kevin reassured.

Milo and a few others got on their horses and rode with Kevin’s band in search of the beasts that had taken the herds away.

Spoiler: IC Brief

The Braln believe the red sky is a sign that more blood will spill soon.
The Magioni/Maglians believe that the red sky is a sign that some of the land will be swallowed soon.
Kevin, eldest son of the leader of the Dunn Tribe, is leading a band of disgruntled herders to find the beasts that took the cattle. They'll shoot on sight.

 

[Corman50]

As the Sky darkened and crimson cut across many looked up and pondered their meaning

Reason among Chaos​

One thought it was message about the future of the lands he ruled and worried. He knew that they would be divided again by those hungry for power, while he only wanted to ensure its continued unity. "I will save my kingdom" he states as he enters his throne room. His name was Delosh I Arseen, and it seemed he was the only one still working to prevent a civil war.

In his throne room the king sat interrupting these celestial events as well as earthly ones. The room is empty as he sent out all those courtiers and servants so he could be alone with said thoughts. The room itself is lavish and elaborate, befitting of his station yet ultimately it head little meaning in (perhaps also befitting of his station). Delosh had long been lost in such a mind set when the sky darkened and turned crimson. This only served to increase his many fears and he felt his crown grow heavy and yet when he took it off to look upon it, it seemed dull and rusted its gleam faded. His perpetual state of sorrow however, was interrupted as his Chief Adviser entered unannounced.

"My Lord! My Lord! Do you see the sky?! It is a message from God no doubt!" It is at this moment he finally is hinted his monarch's poor emotional state "My Lord, are you well?"

"I am fine Paldeen, this event has just had me lost in thought."

"I can imagine! First the recent political crisis and now this! It's enough to stress anyone let alone...!"

"You do little to relieve my fears Paldeen!"

"Oh! Yes! Ummmmm?! My Apologies your Majesty!"

"Oh think little of it. But on the topic of the crisis, how are events unfolding?"

"Poorly I'm afraid. Emir IIkin refuses to recant his statements regarding the Church and more nobles are supporting his calls for reform."

"And what of the church itself?"

"Little better. The Patriarch is doing his best to keep order during this ordeal, but his health deteriorating quickly and he is making fewer appearances with each passing day and as things currently stand Archbishop Cumali will replace him. Soon whatever voice the moderates have in the church will be silenced by Cumali and his zealots." Paldeen waits a moment for a reply, but when he receives none he states "You will have to make a stand on the issue soon My Lord. The longer you wait the more the both of them gain influence independently, then you really will have no say on the matter."

"I know Paldeen. I know."

New Responsibilities ​

One thought it was the gods' reaction to he done. He did not know whether it was a message of approval or condemnation, and honestly he did not care. The deed was done and not even the gods could have stopped it. "If the Gods watch me then I shall give them a good show". His name was Gandu Olumauz, and he had just succeeded the throne after his brother's death.

He lays not in his throne room, but in his lavish private chambers, enjoying the fruits of his newly acquired position, when a messenger walks in accompanied by two guards. Displeased by the messenger's presence he exclaims "What isss the meaning for thisss interruption?"

Messenger, clearly frightened, replies "I am s-s-sorry Sultan, b-b-b-but this matter required your attention." He quietly waits for approval, the whole time looking down to avoid eye contact.

"Well? What is it?" Gandu asks clearly still irritated, yet the messenger is still hesitant to speak. "What?!" he shouts with a booming voice.

The Messenger, startled into a reply, hurried says "There are reports of raids along the southern borders! Many villages have already been destroyed!"

"You interrupt me over a few raidersss?

"No! Errrr...Yes. No. Many survivors say among the raiders were strange beasts, demonic even, something from nightmares."

This report seems to effect the Sultan little, he simply sighs before answering "Sssend ssscouts to track the raidersss movementsss, maybe even confirm thessse demon sssightingsss. Meanwhile sssend an army to where they may think to ssstrike next and wait on the outskirts. But try not to inform the villagersss of what we are trying to do, their sssurprise when the raiders attack must look authentic."

With that the messenger hurriedly left. The newly crown Sultan thought little of these events, and saw these raiders as little more than a stain on his crown achievement of becoming Sultan

Spoiler: IC Brief

Two Factions, one lead by Emir Ilkin and the other by Archbishop Cumali, are quickly gaining influence the Kingdom of Shterpeler but the King has yet to take a stance on the issue
The Sultan orders scouts to locate and identify the enemy raiders while the army lies in wait for the next attack, using local villages as bait

 

[BlackBishop]

The Scourge of Minos

Stout men of the Almamar rally to drive off the Orc raiders.​

Along the southern reaches of the mighty Almamar River, the Orc bands that descended the spine to pillage and raid the border holds of the Muklan Sultanate cut a swath of destruction along their path. The bands maintained a close proximity to the river, stopping to pluck the crops of any field they came across, and salting the cryp as they finish. This is a slow process, however, and hinders the bands progress north, and they are soon targeted by Muklani militia, who rally to defend their homes.

The militia is poorly equipped, but numerous. Outnumbering the Orcs, they engage the raiders in a series of skirmishes that cost them dearly, yet succeeds in driving the Orcs back to the south. Meanwhile, in Afaeman, the newly crowned Sultan Gandu Olumauz orders an army to be formed to march south and secure the beleagured border region. Though the Sultan does not seem to take the threat seriously, he recognizes his duty and orders his lands to be made secure.

Olumauz is able to muster an army of one thousand troops to rapidly march south. For nearly a week, the soldiers trek down the Almamar River valley toward the southern reaches of the Sultanate. As they reach the borderlands they come to discover the grisly work of the Orcs. Entire families are impaled outside their burned homes, other strung up and hung from trees, their entrails spilled out and left to rot. Fields have been burned and salted and the dead desecrated.

As the Muklan army linked up with the peasant militia, they discovered signs that the scourge was still present in their lands, despite the Orcs being driven out. It appeared that the Valkron among the Orcs managed to hide from the militia, and continue their campaign of terror behind their ranks. Now, however, the Valkron found themselves caught between the Sultan's army and the peasant militia.

Skirmishes broke out along the river, where the undead monsters feasted on the flesh of the living. The exact number of the Valkron was hard to determine, as most were able to submerge into the river. After the fighting ceased, and the deaths were tallied, the Sultanate troops counted some 50 Valkron slain, while the militia slew another twenty Orcs. The army hastily formed by the Sultan fared well, as the Valkron seemed intent on avoiding conflict, most perishing to distant arrows and slinking away before their spears. The militia fared far worse.

By mid spring the borders were secure, a force of a thousand troops maintaining it's defense. The raids did little damage in the grand scheme of things, only effecting small border land farms along the river, and yet the populace did learn one thing; fear the Valkron.

((70 Valkron troops lost in Makhannet raids. Raids quelled by early spring, leaving Makhennet to focus on other things.))

 

[Draorn]

- Clan Chief Kailoq’s POV -

As the council of elders met to discuss the way forward for the coming season Kailoq expected few surprises. The meet open as it had for the last two years, with Ligor pushing to launch raids on the neighbouring empires to acquire the resources that allow the tribe to flourish in the hostile environs of the Cruetia Marshes. Li-itza as had been customary, quickly seconded support for Ligor’s proposal, ever desiring to demonstrate her clan’s prowess in battle.

However the great surprise came when Loqmazda and Garxhol, who had been pushing for a new way of life for the clans spoke in support of the raid. Their position since their ascension to the position of clan chief of their respective tribes, when their predecessors had perished in a large raid to the North, had been one of peaceful coexistence with the neighbours, after the significant losses incurred by their clans. They proposed a great raid, much like the one that had claimed the lives of their predecessors. Their support became less surprising as their plan was described. Settle in the wake of the raid? Yes the lands they would claim were poorly inhabited but were they not the domain of some empire of mammals?

The Razor Tails would lend some small support to this grand endeavour, so as not to risk the clan, but to share in its glory should it succeed. With the support of four clan chiefs, the matter was all but decided, all that remained was to discuss the details…

 

[Plutonium95]

Primal Fears
​

Vulf the Ysling. It was a name he had lived with for years since beginning his work as a mercenary, and only now did it truly seem to fit. Here he sat, alone atop a hill a few days from Irem as the sky bleed and his own blood ran cold with an animalistic desire to cower and flee.

Pain and suffering seemed to shimmer in the red glow that seeped from the tear in the heavens. The tall grass that marked the Gant Plains, usually so soft, stung him as though it had been rubbed against an open wound. The air itself snarled and snapped and bit at his flesh, and his every breath brought white flame coursing into his lungs. It was a pain that he understood better than most, a pain that he felt deep inside, in a place he had tried to forget.

The plains were empty, mile upon mile of vacant grasslands, without so much as the chirping of crickets; The Ysling was alone with the pain. But the pain was not alone with him. With the pain, threading through its every splinter, came terror and panic, despair unlike anything he had felt when braving the Wastes of Kalifa without a guide. This was deeper, more.

And yet, only a small portion of this pain and terror and despair and death was Vulf’s; the rest came from outside. It entered into his heart from the cool spring air, where the heavens burned.

This was Cataclysm and so Vulf wept.

 

[BlackBishop]

The Scourge of Minos
Part II

"The Scourge" - A depiction of the Valkron assault upon the Braln of Kitlock

​

In the lands of Kitlock, the grazelands of the Dunn Tribe, missing cattle compelled the tribe to dispatch Milo and Kevin, sons of the Dunn leader. Gathering hunters and dispossessed herders, the brothers set out across the land, following strange tracks of unknown beasts. The brothers were dubious on the exact identity of the invading predators. The general consensus was feral beasts migrating from Rayatik.

Too late, the brothers found their land was beset, not by mere predators, but rather the Beastfolk of the Spine. The Braln hunters drove the beastmen off only to be waylaid by Valkron terrors. Grossly outnumbered and ill-prepared for such a fight, the hunters were massacred, the beastfolk regrouping to cuff off their retreat. Only Milo survived, his brother Kevin viciously skewered by an undead spear.

Word soon spread across the Confederacy of the nature of the threat. Scouts tracked the Valkron and their Beastfolk thralls headed east, toward Cennan, burning as they go. As if that wasn't bad enough, a second horde appeared west of Ilchester, a mixture of undead and orcs one thousand strong. The foul warband left a path of dead as they approached the Confederacy's capital. Raising a camp, the horde prepared a siege.

((Kitlock is under siege from the Valkron Horde.))​

 

[Korona]

Reckoning
​

Gnurl stood on the sandy bank of the Vash'ric Forest, his head reared up towards the sky. A bright red light illuminated his yellow eyes, his pupils narrowing at the brilliant light. Next to him stood an orc, taller than Gnurl, and with a look of fascination on his face. Gnurl reached out a gauntleted hand, placing it upon the shoulder of his compatriot.

Gnurl spoke in a low, guttural voice. "Ashgog, it is going to begin."

Ashgog looked at him, his eyes mixed with confusion and fear. "Father, what is?"

Gnurl, his eyes still transfixed on the light, smiled. "It is a sign from the Gods, my son. This is a reckoning from the heavens, a sign from the sky!" Gnurl turned around to see a vast host of Vash'ric warrior, priests, mothers. The whole tribe was with him, during this time of awakening. Gnurl held up an armored hand, drawing attention to him. "Orcs of Vash'ric! Today marks a new era in our history! Today, we will claim our birthright by iron and fire! Today, we claim our kingdom, we will take back our realm from the demons of the wood! Let the drums of Bara-Hîr ring throughout the woods!!"

The assembled orcs cheer, a mighty sound echoing throughout the forest. And then the drums, never ending, always beating. The time of reckoning has begun.

((The Orcs of Vash'ric are preparing for war.))

 

[Jako473]

"A Pact Forged"
​

The Spine was one of the most inhospitable regions in Pangea Minos, its mountains were impossible to settle, and the water itself was toxic to life. It seemed that nothing wanted to live here, even its inhabitants being long dead. The unliving had their own needs however, and that feeling has never gone away. Every species fights for its own survival, but what does one do, when it is already lost that fight? Subjugate all others to the same fate, some would say.

The howls of the wind scraped against the hard stone of the mountain, a lonely cave up a downtrodden path would be the only shelter to the storm outside. A small fire was lit some wood and rocks around to keep its strength. An armored figure sat next to it, studying the flames as his gauntlet allowed the fire to lick at it, heating the black steel. He was waiting in this dark alcove, his guest having finally climbed the entrenched path, his antagonist, his friend, the traitor walked inside. The fur cloak clasped to the other man fell to the wayside as he peered out at Azzaut. "Why the gloom? Today's a good day, brother." His raspy voice marked a scar from long ago.

"For whom, the upstart who thinks he can change the world.. Or the disgraced taskmaster who has to look for his lessers for help?" Azzaut hissed out at him, allowing Fenrir to rebuke. "You think yourself better than me? You think your wit alone allows you to live? Where has that brought you now... Oh yes, pleading for help, my my, you can do nothing without me." The hound snickered, but his attention waned, this wind grew more dangerous as Azzaut pulled his scythes, burning from the heat.

In response a longsword was drawn, and the two clashed blades, an overhead swing blocked by the two scythes trapped them both in deadlock. Fenrir had the advantage, the aggressor, while Azzaut was merely locking the attack in a standstill. "Your speed.. Has improved, who has taught you?" Azzaut's helmet steamed, his horns charring up in anger.

Fenrir laughed. "Perhaps you have grown old.. Why do you not give your cult to me, I can do much more with it.. Those orcs, stupid little things, I would make sure they could never rebel again. He broke his own advantage in haste, wanting to swing at his opponent, and so the two sparred. Azzaut slowed the attacks, his reach not allowing him to close the gap or make any meaningful offensive himself. "They would chew you alive, or rather, dead. You think you can change this world by yourself? Your mind allows you to believe we are anything more then a memory.." He made a spitting noise in disgust.

A time ago, when the cur was a pup, he might have realized his elder's demands and balked his attack. He might have heeled away, and licked his wounds to strike again, but this time he stood his ground. The winner wouldn't have much, but the respect of his attacker, which Fenrir craved deeply. "Tell me, has sitting shown any results? As my brood grows, your decays, when we finally met.. I had hoped you would be so much.." The helmet shook. "More." An underhanded swipe allowed him to surprise the Defiler, striking away one of the scythes and his leg darted with speed.

Tripped, on the ground, and a sword striking down to take his soul. Giving up or pleading Azzaut had no intention, his horn streaking out to catch the blade within it. He howled in pain, but shook it off and allowed the reeling to get himself up, and charge at Fenrir. The two were now locked in mortal combat, dropping their weapons they thrashed at each other, trying to clasp at something, but their armors blocked any fatal injury from this. It was a grappling game, and as they edged towards the cliffside, a winner would have to be determined. Fenrir made the first move, grappling the horns that had failed his blow, and threw them as hard as he could.

The slight push was enough to give him leeway, grasping for his blade he pointed it directly at Azzaut, who could charge no longer. "It seems as though you have failed.." He breathed out, as if he was gasping. The challenger had won, letting Azzaut recoil until he was on the edge of the mountain.

"Kill me then. But you will not rule my kin, they would rather kill you than follow you.." This provoked a laugh from Fenrir, "Do you not understand what this all meant? What I wanted? Brother.. I would never kill my own." If he could grin, one would be certain he would. He dropped his blade and a hand stretched out.

Apprehensively, Azzaut was not convinced. "W-what do you want then? Why did you call me here, if not to challenge me.." His voice trailed off, watched the hand infront of him, and the Valkron he once thought as a boy stood tall. "I wish to join you... We could do so much together, united. The old fools would wish to kill us, but the King, he knows nothing outside of his own abode. If we forge together, our own path would be ablaze, the mortal world will know who strikes fear within them. They will be our slaves." The hand was joined by another, and soon they shook.

"We can discuss this further... Do not expect me to trust you, dog, for I will not.. But what you propose, well." Azzaut would finally be allowed to leave this accursed place, if for a while. "It is mighty interesting. Now tell me your plan." The two walked inside of the cave, once enemies, now allies.. Or so they would like to lead the other to think.

 

[BlackBishop]

Battle of Bloody Roots

Orcs of Vash'ric advance upon the Elven glades, intent on their destruction​

In the great forest of Viric, home to goblins, orcs, and elves, violence breaks out in the early weeks of spring, following the Bloody Sky. Taking the celestial event as a sign to begin their ascension to dominance of the forest, the orc leader Gnurl the Restorer, former slave-captain of the Valkron, rallies his followers for an assault upon the Elves. The Orcs set out into Elven held glades, challenging the ala'Viric Remnant to meet them in battle. A few of the elven hunting parties are ensnared, and viciously cut down, their bodies strung up on the trees to antagonize the tree dwellers. Alarms soon rang deep in the forest, and before long a large elven host marched to meet the encroaching orcs.

Gnurl's warband numbered a mere seven hundred and fifty, and all he was able to free from the binds of Azzaut the Defiler, found themselves facing a much larger elven army more then twice their size. Though they were outnumbered, the stout orcs sounded their war drums, welcoming the odds they faced. Gnurl planned to show them that their numbers mattered little when faced with orc superiority.

((Gnurl the Restorer's advance into Elven territory is challenged by an army of 2000 elves. Gnurl must now draw up battle plans for the battle, and the remainder of his spring campaign.))

 

[Tapscott]

Red Sky Over the Sands​

Out amongst the dunes of the windswept Kalifa Desert a trade caravan huddled together in fear and superstitious awe at the terrifying spectacle occurring before them.

“It’s the end times!” One of the Sidonian guards cried out. “The gods have surely deserted us in this cursed land!” The rest of the guardsmen fell into arguing fearfully, gesturing wildly at the blood-red sky as they debated whether they should continue their course, stay or flee back to the coast.

Standing slightly away from the main group a woman tossed her auburn bangs irritably as she complained to her weathered companion. “I swear Vadim, these louts are as superstitious as the worst peasant hag!” Scowling at the sky she shook her head angrily. “We shouldn’t have to stop, in the middle of an area that is perfect for anyone who would want to ambush us, just because the sky changes colour!”

Stroking his long white beard to conceal his smile, Vadim tried his best to stern and wise. “They have every right to be fearful Zhanna. This event is mentioned in several different religions, all with their own meanings, and has not been recorded as ever happening before elsewhere in the world.” He paused as the sky above slowly changed from a blood-red hue to a more darker and malign tint. Unable to tear his eyes off it, his voice shook with either fear or awe, Zhanna couldn’t tell which, as he slowly gestured around him. “It is not our choice to make regardless, of whether the caravan should move or not. The caravan masters will be the judge of what shall happen, and our word isn’t worth spit to them. We are leeches, as far as they are concerned, and you should remember that.”

Zhanna muttered a curse under her breath as she glared at the terror-stricken guardsmen, who all huddled together shouting and carrying on so that the pre-dawn lands around them seemed to echo with their voices. Shaking her head in disgust again she turned tail and began to walk ahead of the caravan, towards the interior of the Kalifa. “Where are you going?” Vadim called after her, his voice carrying on the wind.

“A walk!” She snapped back. “I’ll see what the path ahead is like!” Continuing to stomp onwards she slowly began to calm down. Her actions had been foolish, she recognized unhappily. Wandering off into the Kalifa, by oneself, was almost certainly a death sentence if they did not have experience in how to survive in such a climate. Whilst she was confident that she’d last longer than most, Zhanna knew that in the end the Great Devourer, as the locals called it, would claim her bones.

Turning around to find her way back, Zhanna’s heart leapt to her mouth as she was confronted by three men, all of whom were covered in the layered silks of the Sha’ddin. Behind them, in the distance, she could make out the shapes of the caravans being plundered, the dead scattered around them. Opening her mouth to let out a war-cry, determined to not die without a fight, Zhanna barely felt the heavy hit that knocked the back of her skull and dropped her into black unconsciousness.

Spoiler: IC Summary

A Sidionian trading caravan is plundered by men of a Sha'ddin Qabayla whom take a few of their number alive. The Red Sky marks a distinct rise in Sha'ddin hostility to outsiders.

 

[BlackBishop]

((A reminder that orders are due tomorrow.))

 

[Deaghaidh]

((Urist McDeaghaidh has canceled job "Write IC": Interrupted by menial retail job.

My Dwarves are busily packing for their journey, filling leather bags with Magma. Should have time for an IC tonight at last.))

 

[BlackBishop]

Battle of Bloody Roots
Part II

Gnurl's warband shift to outflank the ala'Viric Elves.​

Urged on by the Blood Sky, Gnurl the Restorer swears the Orc ascension is ordained by the Gods, and rallies his people to confront the ala'Viric Remnant. With seven hundred and fifty orcs at his banner, Gnurl seems unmoved that the elves have raised two thousand of their own to halt his encroachment on their lands. With the heads of their hunters, Gnurl orders a volley of the grim trophies into the elven ranks in an attempt to demoralize them. A tide of emotions runs through the remnant's ranks. Fear, dread, and anger.

Proceeded by a volley of arrows and javelins, Gnurl divides his smaller force in three. Two bands, led by his son Ashgog and his mate Borba, he sends to assault the elven flanks while he charges into their center, with the largest contingent at his back. The move is a gamble, as the already smaller force is spread thinner. What Gnurl didn't count on, however, was the elven mastery of the forest. High up in the lush green canopies, the elves had positioned snipers, who rained down volleys of arrows on their heads. Ashgog's troop succumbed to the archers, only a few regrouping with Gnurl as he charged the center lines. Borba's orcs reached their target, springing upon the elven flank but with many dead and wounded by the elven arrows. They cut down many, but were soon forced to retreat, their losses to great.

The battle hinged upon Gnurl, who had quickly cut deep into his enemy's ranks. With mad fury in his eyes, he turned the spears of the elves, trodded forward like a beast even when pierced by several arrows. His intent was to reach the elven commander and cut him down, ending the battle with a swift stroke and sending the enemy in disarray. The enemy commander was easy to spot, adorned in a silver helm - a relic of a bygone time.

Slewing the commanders guardians, the mad orc bellowed his intent to impale the elf upon his spear. The fighters closed, and their spears clashed in splinters. So great was Gnurl's swing that the elf's spear snapped. The elf was nimble and fast, and attempted to flee, but Gnurl was on him in a flash - the panicked elf tripping over one of his own. Gnurl made good on his promise and drove his spear into the vermin's chest.

Soon after the elves sounded the retreat, demoralized by their commander's death. They hadn't the steel for fighting, the orcs surmised, for though they had plenty troops, their cowardice would compel them to flee. The orcs had won the day, but taking stock of the dead strewn about them, the victory had been costly. Two hundred orcs were dead, and another hundred were wounded and would need the remainder of the season to heal. The elves, on the other hand, took grievous losses. The orcs devoured their black grog in celebration as they counted their trophies - five hundred elven heads in all. The helm of the elven commander going to Gnurl, and the head within it.

Spoiler: Precious Metal

((Gnurl defeats the Elves in the battle of Bloody Roots, gaining a block of Precious Metal, and must now plan the remainder of his spring campaign.))

 

[Arrowfiend]

Somewhere in the Cruetia Marshes​

As the scarlet comet shot across the sky, the Uvarathi camp was rife with commotion. The camp itself, a motley assortment of tents, lean-tos, and crude huts, seemed to be quivering with both excitement and tension. The occasional desecrated ruin, a relic of a bygone time, dotted the clearing. It was at one of these ruins, which still seemed to be relatively intact (at least compared to its peers), that a large crowd gathered. Hushed chattered fluttered through the crowd, with words such as "omen", "end times", "blessing", and "curse" being thrown around.

Just as the crowd seemed to want to explode into yelling, a figure appeared outside of the doorway to the ruin, quickly hushing the mob. With fierce orange scales and charcoal-grey armor, the Draconian figure carried a commanding presence. His simple existence seemed to calm the crowd out of respect. The figure surveyed the crowd, scanning all who had gathered, as he began to speak.

"My people, as you all are well aware, the years have not shed kindly on us. Five hundred winters ago, a great cataclysm shook the world to its core. Thousands, if not millions, died in this catastrophe. While all dwellers of Pangaea suffered, none suffered more than Draconians." Many of the onlookers grimly nodded in agreement.

"Our great empire, spanning eastwards as far as the eye can see and ruling over all of the reptillian races of the world, crumbled. Our culture, our technology, our history..." the figure motioned towards the building behind him. "...all washed away by the deluge."

"And this was not the end of our suffering. By some stroke of twisted fate, we were cursed to infertility. While the other races could replenish and rebuild, we could not. In our time of weakness, new empires rose. The peoples of the old world exploited us in the new. Those who once bowed before our might made us bow down in return." The figure paused for a moment, pointing up to the blood-red sky.

"Yet this has appeared. For five hundred years, we have struggled to survive, eking out a meager existence of the land. Yet, this has appeared. We have faced challenges and hardships that our ancestors would shudder at. Yet... this has appeared." The figure paused again, the crowd bristling with anticipation.

"Before my father died, he told me of an old prophecy. He said that 'in our time of greatest peril, the world would burn with fire and char the bones of our enemies.' That fire, my people, is what you see before you. This is our time, my people. With this flame leading the way, we can reclaim our old empire, through fire and steel, and make the Uvarathi a people to reckoned with once more. We can banish the curse that enfeebles us and usher in a new age. We can do this, and much more. All I ask, my people, is for your support." The crowd roared and cheered with approval.

 

[Deaghaidh]

"Unto the mountains from which we came, we entrust the remains of our kin. Flesh from Stone, Blood from Fire. Here they shall rest until the four powers come together again, and their spirits and ours, along with all our honored dead, shall labor together and make the world aright. Let none disturb them, or else suffer their judgement. So say we all."

"So say we all." Khar Narroweye replied along with the others.. The survivors of Khartoba watched as the gates to their mountain home swung shut for the last time. The traps that were still functional had been armed, and a simple device rigged to drop the locking bars when the granite doors finally came to rest. They had taken all they could carry with them. Their loved ones spirits would guard the rest.

Khar Narroweye's Kingship had lasted three weeks. He came to it in fire and death, and left it behind in grief. He remained while the priest carved runes of warning upon the door. Then he turned his back on his home and looked out over his people.

Thirty thousand dwarves, maybe more, were spread about the valley. They lived in hurriedly made tents, pitched in clumps around handcarts. Seven great ox-driven wagons dominated the center of this vagabond city, along with dozens of mules, all the property of Urist Redrover the trader. Well known in Khartoba, Redrover made his fortune bringing leather and cloth from human farms in Cosmogene to trade for gems, glasswear, and whatever other baubles the reclusive city of Khartoba would part with. Fate or luck caused him to be nearby when the mountain awoke enraged.

His cargo made up the tents and bedrolls. Narroweye had given him all the gold and jewels he could reach for it, and for his wagons. They were now filled with food and liquor, tools and weapons, precious books and records, everything that was movable and had value to a Dwarven community.

In the east the mountain rumbled. A sullen red glow leaked out. In the western sky there was also fire. Khar Narroweye looked out at his people. They were waiting for him to speak. He was King of Nowhere now, but they still looked to the House of Khar for leadership.

"There's nothing left for us here." He said. "Let us go."

Embarking so many is no easy task, especially when most had never gone out of sight of their home mountain. It took the better part of the next three days before the Kharakrim were gone entirely. Two of every three went south and east. They had kin in the flourishing Dwarf cities, or hope of succor, or else had family members who were not strong enough for the other road. There was no blame or shame attached to their choice. They marched and pulled their carts down the known road.

Narroweye, his niece Khar Sweetfire (the only other survivor of the royal house), and ten thousands of dwarves were not going with them. He and the hardened remainder would carve their own road.

When the Pyroclasm hit and the terrified refugees rushed out under the night sky, they saw slightly to the north of west that there was fire faraway in the sky. Narroweye was a studious geomancer. He knew how to read signs in the balance of the Powers, Fire, Stone, Wind and Water. He would have followed a much subtler clue than that. Far away in that direction lay the new home of his house.

As the dwarves made their slow way through the mountains, many looked back at the only home they had known. Many sighed, a few wept. Khar Narroweye did not look back. His spirit was made of stone. But under a hard enough blow any stone will break.


TLDR:
((The Kharakrim Dwarves interpret the fireball as a sign leading them to their new home, and are trudging after it toward Wali-Dah. It is very sad. Don't try and loot Khartoba, it is full of magma, booby traps, and watchful dwarf ghosts.))

 

[happycats517]

Black Walls Hide Dark Secrets Chapter 1: A Father's Shame ((Leopold Blackwall))​

The Blackwall Manor stood at the center of Sidon, right across from the Lord Mayor's Palace. It was a sprawling estate so opulent that some say that it rivals or even surpasses the palace. The Blackwalls support these claims and are quick to remind others that for the first seventy years of Sidon's existence, the Blackwall Manor housed the Lord Mayor. While the Hargsblatts were content in living in some primitive loghouse and the Fariuses chose to let their estate resemble an overgrown garden, the Blackwalls understood that such a manor projected power and carefully cultivated its look. When one enters Blackwall Manor and stands in its hall, he knows that he is in the home of a king. Now it sat as an opposing seat of power to the Lord Mayor, a challenge to the radical policies of Skarr. The main building housed the head of the household and his family and the public operations of the house, with side buildings housing servants, guards, and extended family members were closest to the main house. With sentry towers, storehouses, and the like further out.

In the outer dining room, a small room near the gardens where Leopold and his family commonly eat breakfast, an array of food was laid out for Leopold and his wife, Julia. It was a nice and warm day and the windows were left open so as to allow the fresh air in. Leopold sat at the table, his short black hair and goatee carefully groomed even this early in the morning, idly munching on cheese in honey, panther sausage, fruit, and bread as he spoke with his wife. "Unfortunately, I'll be indisposed today. I must head over to the Lord Mayor's Palace to help block another one of Skarr's bills. This time he wants to place limits on the garrisons of merchant houses. He says we're building personal armies and that it could disturb the peace. He already gouged the heads of the major houses with that exorbitant tax he calls the 'Merchant General title'. I wonder if Raser threw his support behind that one in secret, he seems quite fond of being allowed to flash that Ebudikan iron sword around now. Yes, he's quite proud to show off that whoreson's sword," Leopold took a moment from his rant to take a sip of wine. He wasn't fond of House Farius, but he had to admit that they made the best wine by far in Sidon, "Anyway, Skarr wants to limit the size of all house guards to fifty men."

Julia quickly looked up from her book and her small plate of biscuits and tea. "Fifty men?" Her face was aghast. "What, does he expect us to start asking our cousins to carry weapons around the estate? I think after Lukas took his progeny with him to Harton we finally got under fifty family members living here, but not by much. I suppose fifty trolls is more than enough to keep Skarr protected though, I doubt he cares much about what happens to the rest of his family however."

"Oh, I'm sure Skarr will find a way to keep all of his trolls. The way he uses them to get contracts from the lesser houses will probably allow him to classify them as businessmen or some such. Either way, I will not allow this bill to pass and I am sure Raser will stop flip flopping long enough to look after his own interests and Elaeda and House Farius will pull their heads out of their collective ass long enough to take notice and look after their own interests." Leopold smirked. Whatever Skarr was hoping to accomplish from this was doomed to fail. He'd enjoy watching the old man squirm and shout when he didn't get his way. He would likely go on his usual rant about how the great houses, the ones who built and protected this city, were now ruining Sidon. Before that happened though he'd have to look after his own house. "Tell Stefan that he is in charge today. Make sure he gets the deal with the harbormaster done and that makes it to the noon meeting with House Astor to sign the new contracts to secure their lumber. And tell him that I swear if he buys another 'trendy fashion boutique' that he promises is a sound investment, I'll gut him like a fish."

Julia regarded the words with a slight pause in her reading, before continuing. She had heard it all before. "Yes dear," was the only response she gave before sticking her nose back into the book.

Leopold raised an eyebrow and tried to figure out what it was that she was feverishly reading. He looked at the spine and was confronted with a jumble of letters that he supposed someone meant to be words. Isiim ele Shantu: Salleesh daer Khaseem. He tried saying it a few times before giving up and asking, "What are you reading, Julia?"

She stopped for a moment. If there was one thing she liked more than reading it was bragging about what she was reading. "Oh, this old thing? Just something Alice recommended to me at our last social. It's an old elvish text written by some weird mountain cult. It's a bit hard to read, it's not quite like what the Fariuses speak but it's close enough that I think I got it. It's about their religion and their claims about how the sky would run with blood and then a year later the world would be replete with magic. It's fascinating stuff, like most of these elvish texts are."

Leopold rolled his eyes. "Oh, one of your cult books that your friends are so fond of. I thought the world was supposed to end this year. Wasn't that what some prophecy written by a guy who could see the future said?"

Julia folded her arms and pouted. He was ready to reach out to her and tell her he was teasing her when she asked, "Well, what do you think it was all about?"

Leopold stopped and frowned. "Well, isn't it obvious? The thing, whatever it was, came from the west and there's only one thing to the west of us. It was probably some evil magic by the Ebudike. Some long lost spell that their whore witch gave them or some such. Probably took some of our crews while raiding and used them for human sacrifice to power it or something unholy like that."

"You really think so?"

"I'm sure whatever it was had to do with the Ebudike and that probably means nothing good for us. There is one thing this family has always gotten right. The Ebudike are nothing but trouble. Most of Sidon also understands it. Unfortunately our good Lord Mayor doesn't. Did you hear that Skarr was considering a trade deal with them? A trade deal, when they still raid our ships and kill our crews. Or does Skarr believe that are ships are magically disappearing from something out of Sea Monsters of the Cataclysm? It's bad enough that we let people trade with them without seizing their ships, but now he wants a-" Leopold turned his head to grab another bit of food while he was speaking, a thoughtless action that may have saved his life. As he grabbed some more fruits, he heard the whine of a bolt whipping just a few centimeters past his ear, uncomfortably close to where his skull was a few moments before. The bolt buried itself into a wooden shield on the wall opposite the gardens as Leopold's instincts kicked in. While he wasn't used to being on this end of an assassin's blade he didn't need anyone to tell him what an assassination attempt looked like. He hit the floor and began moving towards the wall facing outwards as he shouted "Run!" at Julia. He dare not expose himself as a target by trying to flee, especially knowing that the manor's stone walls would protect him, but he figured Julia would be safe. He was betting that the assassin was more interested in him than anyone else.

Upon reaching the wall he stopped and grabbed a bow and a quiver of arrows that were mounted on the wall. His father always told them they weren't just for show, and now he finally understood what he meant. "Guards, get to the garden now!" He barked out the orders as he pulled himself up near a window. He looked at the bolt sticking out of the opposite wall and did his best to calculate its trajectory. He spun out and turned to face where he thought the shot came from. There was a small set of bushes nearby and he fired into them, assuming that was where the shot came from. He turned back behind cover and began moving to a new location. Leopold doubted that the assassin would stay in the same spot but maybe he'd get lucky and catch them getting cocky. Having found a new spot, Leopold notched an arrow and turned out to face the garden. He didn't see a body in the bushes so he began looking wildly for where else his target could be. After about ten seconds he pulled himself back inside. He wasn't about to give them too much time to line up a shot. Besides, guards had finally begun to pour into the garden as well as the room. As he saw the guards surround him another possibility popped into his head. Could there be a second assassin? It was possible. Whoever orchestrated this was bold and sophisticated, striking him in his own manor in broad daylight is something only someone mad or genius would attempt and he feared it was the latter. He looked at the guards' faces. He was glad that he had taken the time to learn the name and face of each guard in the main house as he was quickly able to recognize and name each guard, knowing that each one in the room had served his family for years. He eased up, unless one of them had betrayed him he was safe.

"Are you hurt?" One of the guards, an elf named Gilliam asked with a concerned look on his face.

"No, just a tad stressed out. I wasn't prepared to do so much running today." Leopold allowed himself to move away from the wall and take in his surroundings again, believing that he was finally safe. That's when he truly looked at the bolt. Around its shaft a piece of paper was tightly wrapped. He reached out with a gloved hand and took it, turning it over curiously. Before he could open it, a few guards burst through the door and shouted, "Sir Leopold! Come quickly, there is something you must see!"

Pocketing the paper, he followed the two guards out into the garden. They slowed as they approached a group of people and gestured ahead. "You should go and look sir, we'll stay back so as not to crowd her." With a confused look, Leopold walked forward. The small crowd of a few guards and a couple cousins quickly stepped aside when they saw him. Leaving him a clear path to whatever they were looking at. He froze when he saw it. There, in a pool of her own blood and with a doctor working to remove a bolt from her stomach, laid his daughter, Alyse, desperately clinging to life. He didn't dare disturb the doctor so he spun to a guard and demanded, "Report!"

"We found her here while searching for the assassin. She must have gotten in his way and well . . . " The guard's voice trailed off as he looked down at the ground.

Leopold stood and watched the doctor work. Finally the doctor placed wrappings around the wound and stood up. He turned to Leopold and said, "She is ready to be moved, sir. The wound was messy but it missed her internal organs. I've sewn the wound shut. A poultice once a day and clean bandages should be all she needs to pull through this. I will watch her closely and send for you immediately if anything changes." Satisfied, Leopold ordered a stretcher to be brought to take Alyse to her room. He lingered for a moment after she was taken away and he had a moment to collect his thoughts. It seemed he would not be going to the Lord Mayor's Palace today. He wondered who would have attempted something like this. Few houses would have the money to hire a skilled enough assassin to orchestrate something like this and few skilled assassins would be mad enough to undertake this job. Most are aware that such a job would be bad business. The Blackwalls are powerful enough that they'll eventually track the assassin who did this and when they did they would pay.

While he was pondering these things, a few guards came up the garden path. They hurried forward when they saw him. "Sir! You shouldn't be standing out here alone, we're still not completely sure that the manor is secure. And besides, we believe we found out how the assassin managed to infiltrate the estate. There's a tunnel that's been dug underneath a storehouse, we're not sure where the exit is but we're looking."

"Take me to it." With that the guards whisked Leopold away to one of the old storehouses that was rarely used nowadays. Sure enough, some of the floorboards in the back were loose and pulled away to reveal a tunnel underneath. The guards had found what they believed was the exit, but it appeared to have been sealed from the other side. The question of how long it had taken to build such a tunnel resonated in Leopold's mind. It was just one of many that today had brought up.

He ordered them to continue working and to give him a full report, then he left and pulled out the note that was wrapped around the bolt. He opened it up and read it. The words on it made the color drain from his face. He reread the paper a few times to make sure he understood what it said. He wanted to laugh it off as a poor joke. But no, too many details were right and it contained too many secrets for the letter to have just luckily guessed them. It seemed that someone wanted to blackmail him and that the knowledge they had could put the whole of House Blackwall at stake.

Brief:

Spoiler

Leopold Blackwall is attacked in what appears to be an assassination attempt. His daughter, Alyse, is wounded by the apparent assassin. The Blackwalls discover a passage through underneath an old storehouse that they believe was used to infiltrate their estate. Leopold finds a letter attached to a bolt where he discovers that the assassination attempt was actually an attempt at blackmail.

 

[Dadarian]

Among the Jouhu; 500 AC - Time of Cold

Chief Bo Tu gazed upon the tribe with great deference. To be chosen as such, head of this tiny band, is to be among the greatest honours bestowed on any. Taking up the stick of wandering, the Chief brought his eyes over the dregs that dredged at the end of the band. Three Brahns, a Shad'din from Kahifa, and Troh. The members of the outcaste within the band. Bo Tu spat into the dust, for that was what they were. Nothing but outsiders that sought to use the band as a stash in which to hide. Bo Tu had no respect for the outcaste, and neither did any other within the tribe.

As the tribe trudged through the dust, they were confident in their chances for existing in the future. Something that came to define that generation, but not the ones after this time.​

 

[BlackBishop]

((Last chance for orders - The Crypso Gods frown upon inactivity!))