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							<h1 class="p-title-value"><span class="label label--lightGreen" dir="auto">Fantasy</span><span class="label-append">&nbsp;</span>The Dark Travelers
	
	

	

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<br>
<b><u>The World of Nion, Year 735 of the Third Histories Calendar</u></b><br>​</div><b>"Silence, you dogs!" </b>cried out Makar, the sniveling goblin steward of the Emperor Briggun's palace. "The emperor- he comes, he comes!"<br>
<br>
In through the grand oak doors strode <a href="https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/024/294/860/large/sm-chun-10.jpg" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fcdna.artstation.com%2Fp%2Fassets%2Fimages%2Fimages%2F024%2F294%2F860%2Flarge%2Fsm-chun-10.jpg&amp;hash=174646fa2fc40560d1bc6f94a459622e" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Briggun,</a> a man two meters high, whose broad shoulders and brutish physique were only made more daunting by the black armor he wore and the large sword across his back. A hush fell over the room; the officers of the Dark Lord's vast and terrible armies and their associates and servants instantly paying respect to their master, even if each of them would slit his throat and rule themselves, if only given the chance.<br>
<br>
Briggun knocked Makar to the floor as he passed him for no reason but to humiliate the wretched creature, and stepped up to the side of the table which once served as the centerpiece of Canaresch's great dining hall. Raising his gauntleted fist, he beat it onto the wood hard enough to leave an indentation. This was not the first time he had expressed his frustrations in such a percussive way, and the table was pockmarked with scars from his dissatisfaction. <b>"Are we truly so <i>hopeless</i> that in the <i>tenth</i> year of my reign, the land of Erevan remains beyond my grasp!?" </b>he leveled an accusatory finger on his spymaster. "<b>Veno,"</b> he snarled, slowly regaining his composure, "what manner of treachery has befallen my commanders which hinders their progress?"<br>
<br>
<i>Had it truly been ten years?</i> A servant at the rear of the room, having brought a small memento to commemorate the Dark Lord's ascent, quietly pocketed the bauble and made quick note to dispose of it.<br>
<br>
His dark, horned helmet turned slowly, eyeless visor scanning the reactions about the room. Few of his subordinates had ever seen his true face, as Briggun rarely appeared without a helmet or mask of some kind. Along with Veno, there was the Wizard of Zo, Estro, whom Briggun had defeated in another lifetime, before the events which placed him at the head of an accursed army that toppled the Kingdom of Canar and formed the foundation of his new empire: Saarus. There was also Declan, who despite his stature was not a halfling, but in fact a human afflicted with the Wither plague, who had known that earlier version of Briggun- the Warlock, the Hero, the Savior of Canar...<br>
<br>
...Perhaps it would be better to start at the beginning.<br>
<br>
In the year 708, the Kingdom of Canar was in the midst of a great crisis. Although it had stood for centuries, the great and powerful Kingdom on the same-named Bay had grown restless, as its people yearned for progress, recognition for their work, and a larger share of the bounty- things which had been callously denied to them by the landed aristocracy. The nobles cast their judgement on any and all who would make trouble for their status quo, until a conspiracy led by a powerful mage- Estro, took shape against the noble class. His cultists rebelled against the King, and nearly succeeded in overthrowing the dynasty, when Briggun, then a young phenom of sorcery thanks to a pact with the fae which he kept a closely-guarded secret, delivered Estro a surprise defeat. After the wizard was imprisoned, Briggun remained on the royal court for a decade, until the secret of his pact was exposed.<br>
<br>
Briggun was in love with a fae woman- <a href="https://imgur.com/a/VVmKy4X" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fimgur.com%2Fa%2FVVmKy4X&amp;hash=b92b8801d3398396891ad9936f5f8737" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Herasa,</a> a woman as beautiful as the night itself, and powerful enough to warp the mind of any man or woman of her choosing. It is said that the fae are the descendants of man, mer, and others who went mad in pursuit of arcane power, warping their minds and bodies in the process, and for that reason close relations with any fae was strictly forbidden of members of the royal court. Briggun was exiled, and sent to live out his days in the Malenchanted Woods where Herasa hailed from, under threat that if any of his family were to return to Canar, they would be put to death.<br>
<br>
Sadly, seven years later, a young half-fae boy ventured into Canar in search of the justiciars who governed his father's fate. Young Johas, an innocent, merely wanted to appeal to the judge's merciful senses and allow his father to travel freely. Instead, he was put to death, enraging Briggun and breaking what was left of his already-tormented mind.<br>
<br>
He gathered allies:<br>
<br>
Veno, the Black Rose - a Drow shapeshifter hellbent on uniting her people (and everyone else) into the service of her Goddess.<br>
Baba Voyka - a matriarch of the Horned, determined to avenge her people and secure them a permanent seat of honor.<br>
Kolthix the Cackler - a Shadeling, a monster of darkness which seeks to grow in strength and provide a place in the world for his kind.<br>
Lucafiel, the Redeemer Prince - a Vestati fallen angel who has determined Briggun an adequate ally to help him witness the final death of his own God.<br>
Borok, the Grand Runesmith - A sauroid who offered his expert arcane smithing services to Briggun out of hatred for Canar.<br>
<br>
From the Malenchanted Woods, they came with their followers and pillaged the land. Soon, the Kingdom took note of their approach, and discovered all too late that their willingness to destroy the very heroes whom they had previously depended upon would cost them not just once, but again and again, until nothing more could stand against Briggun, because they all stood with him instead:<br>
<br>
Vuldar Elegast, Sigurd of Ravgoth - dwarf who betrayed Canar in search of a better ally to help him reclaim his lost throne in Alemannum.<br>
Lord Declan of Sathesbury - a noble whose personal affliction rendered him unwelcome among his peers, who then aided Briggun's rise to enact his revenge.<br>
<br>
And not only did the traitors throw open the doors for the warlock's approach, but fellow schemers and villains from elsewhere threw in their lot with Briggun, knowing that he would serve as an easy path to power:<br>
<br>
Estro, the Wizard of Zo - freed from his shackles by Briggun nearly two decades after his defeat, Estro returns to his intact cult to finish what he began, all those years ago.<br>
Izaak, The Voivode of Skulls - an osseous human mage who joined Briggun simply to enjoy the thrill of conquest and destruction.<br>
<br>
Together, they overthrew the Kingdom of Canar, and then moved north on the Kingdom of Poggost, cornering their army at Solzon. With their destruction, Briggun united the crowns of both kingdoms and founded an Empire named for the plane on which most of the two Kingdoms lay- Saarus. The elves just beyond the mountainous vale closed off the pass out of terror, and so Briggun turned his attention elsewhere, for a time. A hunger gnawed at his innards, never satisfied, and so sought the Grand Duchy of Rocher, gaining further allies from sources most foul:<br>
<br>
Alexandre, Red Hand of Rocher - once a hero, Alexandre carries the curse of the Vampyr, and now she stalks the land as a pillager with an army of the undead.<br>
Captain Cordia of the Butcher's Blade - a legendary pirate captain, summoned by Briggun to enact a bloody revenge against those who caused her death.<br>
<br>
With Cordia and Alexandre, Briggun won the Bone Coast that Cordia once ruled as a Pirate Queen. His army and navy became an inescapable whirlwind of death which rocked the continent, expanding Saarus' borders to their current frontiers, swallowing up dozens of petty kingdoms and tribal lands along the way. But Briggun will never be satisfied, and as long as there are still men and mer with dark in their hearts, he will hold sway over their actions. They tend to make themselves known:<br>
<br>
Adanach, Son of the Druadach - a barbarian mercenary who was betrayed by his employers and now seeks vengeance for the massacre of his people.<br>
Yz, Identity Requiem - a sentience devoid of identity taking the form of a mask, Yz seeks to erase those who serve its cult so that something greater can be built.<br>
<br>
And finally, there is one who has been forced to serve:<br>
<br>
Lady Falwyn, The Dragonlord - a golden dragon obsessed with wealth and tribute, Briggun turned the tables upon the creature with the help of a magical artifact.<br>
<br>
Now, with everyone gathered in this grand hall, Briggun lays out the map before them...<br>
<br>

		
		
	


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<br>
...and demands to know why his empire only covers a third of the known world, and not the entirety of it. Yes, there were many practical reasons why their armies had not yet claimed final victory. To reach the rich coastline of the Gantar Sultinate, for example, one would need to cross a wide and empty desert. Similarly, the mountains between Poggost and Eravan are like a wall, shielding the elvan kingdom from their southern neighbors. But, valid as they may be, the time for excuses is fading fast...<br>
<br>
"Now, I want you each to explain to me which portion of this map you will win for my empire on your next campaign, and how. You will resolve any differences in your plans, and you will cooperate if possible," Briggun instructed them. The floor was open, perhaps the first to speak would prove themselves a bold strategist?</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">A den of vipers, that was the only way <a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/shin-san-asset-jpg.1120657/" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fattachments%2Fshin-san-asset-jpg.1120657%2F&amp;hash=6d83805f4c2a0e53951a034b07b217a1"><b>Adanach</b></a> could describe the court of Lord Briggun; a darkened hall, decorated with the remnants of dead kingdoms, and a beaten throne surrounded by sycophants craving power. He hated this place to his very core, it was an example of everything he hated about the so-called "civilized" folk. Lies, intrigue and deception echoes through these dark corridors, and the longer he stayed in this place, the more he wanted to burn it to the ground.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"You are doing it again..."</span> whispered his wife, the Orc warrioress <a href="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1164342419488264352/1166242513527513088/image.png?ex=6553017a&amp;is=65408c7a&amp;hm=d5a1fc5c8a64cf4d5553cdc5d8d59a7ae82d83ddd74fea5c70755279664b73de&amp;" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.discordapp.com%2Fattachments%2F1164342419488264352%2F1166242513527513088%2Fimage.png%3Fex%3D6553017a%26is%3D65408c7a%26hm%3Dd5a1fc5c8a64cf4d5553cdc5d8d59a7ae82d83ddd74fea5c70755279664b73de%26&amp;hash=56695409c6a6e0db1d34344f3d216398" rel="nofollow ugc noopener"><b>Bjorga</b></a>, referring to his grimace. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...Forgive me, wife... for this place poisons my mind..."</span> muttered the barbarian warrior as he looked away from his partner and focused his attention on the other lieutenants. He disliked most of them, though admittedly, he had rarely interacted with them. He did not care for their problems nor their objectives, and had little interest in forming alliances with them... but he knew that several of them disliked him, simply because he was a barbarian, a backwards tribal that thrives in chaos.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I ask you this, love... you look at this people, and what do you see?"</span> He asked, turning his attention back to his wife, who looked at the lieutenants. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"I see many things, my love... they are enemies, no doubt... but some of them could be allies..."</span> She said, her eyes studying some of the more interesting ones like Kolthix and Cordia.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"All I see are a buncha' <b>TWATS</b>!"</span><br>
<br>
Several people turns to look at <a href="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1164342419488264352/1166242513787564062/Redcap.png?ex=6553017b&amp;is=65408c7b&amp;hm=e153002b93673e1079747ad316cd3bd0147f8126ea40c1e8e2a5b569ec29285f&amp;" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.discordapp.com%2Fattachments%2F1164342419488264352%2F1166242513787564062%2FRedcap.png%3Fex%3D6553017b%26is%3D65408c7b%26hm%3De153002b93673e1079747ad316cd3bd0147f8126ea40c1e8e2a5b569ec29285f%26&amp;hash=94335af828092fab169b3199bcb80ec3" rel="nofollow ugc noopener"><b>Rukkar</b></a>, the Redcap warrior and one of the commanders of Adanach's horde of barbarians. A fearsome creature capable of using powerful blood magics, driven by violence and blood. He was loud, violent and rude, and while that might cause problems to Adanach's cause, the barbarian was amused by the little mans antics and grinned as Rukkar looked at the crowd staring at him, Bjorga on the other hand, shook her head in disapproval.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"The fuck ya' lookin' at, ya ugly minge?!"</span> He said while looking at a Veno, the spymaster of lord Briggun.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Rukkar... stand down, the last thing we want is to upset our gracious host."</span> muttered Bjorga through gritted teeth. <span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"Let him come! I'll tell the big man he needs proper fookin' leaders if he wants to conquer the land!"</span> <br>
<br>
While amused by the Redcap, Rukkar had to learn that if Bjorga gives him an order, he has to obey her. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Rukkar, <b>enough</b>." </span>The redcap gave Adanach an annoyed look, but he would never dare to disobey the warchief... and right on time, as the goblin manservant of the Dark Lord told everyone of Briggun's approach.<br>
<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 64014" data-quote="K0mori" data-source="post: 11792754" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			<b>"Silence, you dogs!</b> The Emperor- he comes, he comes!"
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</blockquote><br>
As the Dark Lord enters his hall, Adanach pays his respect by bowing before him. It was a sign of genuine respect, Briggun might lead an empire of civilized folk and might play into the intrigue of his court, but he was undoubtedly a powerful warrior, and a master sorcerer who had conquered realms, he deserved respect. However, the warlock did not seem to care for his courts sign of respect, and was not happy with the other lieutenants inability to conquer Elven realm of Erevar.<br>
<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 64014" data-quote="K0mori" data-source="post: 11792754" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			"Now, I want you each to explain to me which portion of this map you will win for my empire on your next campaign, and how. You will resolve any differences in your plans, and you will cooperate if possible,"
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<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Lord Briggun..."</span> said Adanach as he approached the table. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...the reason why I have not conquered Elven lands in your name is because I've mustered an army of warriors from several corners of the Druadach willing to die for our cause. These warriors will follow me into the Druadach with the intent to pacify it either by diplomacy or force."</span> Adanach pointed at a specific region of the Druadach on the map. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"This is <b>Mors Gobonach</b>, the land of the warring goblin tribes and the only region of Druadach bordering your realm... I plan to start my incursion here."</span> Adanach looked back at Briggun. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I promise you that I will unite the tribes of the region and they will march alongside me as we unite the Druadach in your name."<br>
<br>
"If we are successful in our quest, you'll have at your disposal the greatest horde of warriors the world has ever seen, like Heathen Armies of legend that brought the realms of men and mer to their knees."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The dark was the natural friend of a Sauroid, yet Borok Ronillson, Grand Runesmith and artificer, always kept close to the fireplace, as he hadn't felt the hot embrace of a furnace in what felt like ages. Warming his hands precariously close to the fire, his eyes rolled as <span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">Rukkar</span>, a so called Redcap, started hurling around vulgarities. Painfully slow, a deep, guttural growl rumbled from deep within the reptilians core. But he did not turn around, instead musing on how the annoying commander might taste. Slowly, his rippled tongue did grind over his teeth, as he fondly remembered the fresh taste of manflesh the Sauroids got to taste in recent times. As <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">Adanach</span>, one of the few human individuals Borok could truly respect, silenced the Redcap, the Runesmith slowly turned away from the fire, for the arrival of the Dark Lord himself was announced.<br>
<br>
His tiny eyes quickly wandered around the room to observe the fellow lieutenants, all while proping himself upright with the aid of his trusty forge hammer. Boroks hunch was more pronounced than that of most Sauroids, a testament to his early misadventures in the deep underworlds. Still, he managed to bow respectfully, as Lord Briggun entered the room and whilst he would avoid any spotlight, he dutifully approached the planning table, joining everybody else.<br>
<br>
When the iron fist came crashing down on the table, Borok did not flinch. He patiently listened and observed, already trapped in thought about the plans and strategies his latest summonations had revealed. But he also couldnt help but spare a thought for his people at home. For ten years, they had been blessed with respite now and whilst he was still unable to return to the familiar forges of his youth, he felt like his service to Lord Briggun was the right thing for them. How good it had felt to fight free from the constant threat of the Canar - and now, it was time to prove worthy of this blessing once more.<br>
<br>
Boroks gaze fell upon <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">Adanach </span>and he listened carefully to what he had to say, occasionally nodding along very faintly. Then, it felt like a good opportunity for Borok to speak up and he pointed a claw directly at the south-eastern rims of Erevan, the elven kingdom that was such a thorn in the Dark Lords side. <span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)"><b>"The Sauroid forges have sung of fire and death without interruption, Lord Briggun. All of my castings, every new laying of the runes lead me towards the elven kingdom you so rightfully desire. We have achieved a breakthrough in the southern border mountains and will continue to expand our tunnels, slowly but surely. No mountain shall be safe. We will grind our way through any magical barrier or blocked pass we find and let any other army willing to march north travel through our tunnel. With enough support, a wound in the south will open."</b></span>, he spoke with a deep grumbling, before moving his claw towards the eastern part of Erevan, drawing an imaginery line between Erevan and the Gantar Sultinate, where the borders between them threatened to encapsulate the eastern part of the elven kingdom. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Here, we shall cut off the first chunk of flesh. We will separate them. We will hold the gap with tenacity unmatched. We will hold the mountains and take the east for you. We have fought in mountains, above and below, for as long as we can remember."</span></b>, he proudly proclaimed, hoping to not only provide enough evidence for their work against Erevan, but also to put pressure on other warlords to join the campaign. With Borok promising access through the southern tunnel, there were even less excuses to be made now. The Runesmith knew that Erevan was likely too big of a task for him and his loyal warriors alone, but he would do everything to open more ways for others. Perhaps, elvish meat would taste as sweet as that of humans. Just the thought of the dreaded Canar made the reptilian eyes flash with hatred.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><i><b><span style="font-size: 15px">Some time ago, en route to the Emperor's Palace....</span></b></i><br>
<br>
Lucafiel did not like carriages. Like so many other things he had come to learn in the past decade within this realm, carriages were but another humiliation he was forced to endure. In concept they were adequate - one could not deny the usefulness of traveling under coverage with several passengers together. The carriage he rode in had once belonged to an aristocrat, and was thus well-made with ample space for himself and his entourage, including room for guardians to ride about the front board and the rear. And yet... it was a device for cattle. It was a design by creatures who knew not the freedom of wings, and were thus by nature forced to create curious devices to compensate. In the depths of his darkened memories, Lucafiel could recall the warmth of the sun and wind upon his face as he and his kin soared the skies upon their ivory pegasi, armed with spears to lift their foes from the very earth below; if the force of a lance driven through chest and heart was not enough to slay an enemy, then the fall from tremendous heights certainly was. <br>
<br>
And now they had wings no longer, nor did their steeds. With a tremendous sigh, and realizing his meditation was now crippled by his agitated thoughts, the Vestati opened his eyes. The confines of the carriage were overrun in silks, velvet, ermine, and cushions to support the comfort of the three other occupants, another two masked Vestati companions and a Yakal auxiliary, one whom served as a member of Lucafiel's harem and lifeguard. The Yakal people were one of the few that Lucafiel and the other fallen angels not only respected, but adored for their capabilities, wit, and charm. They were without a doubt completed vessels without the worst imperfections seen in... humans, for example, or many of the other lesser and more barbaric races that Lucafiel viewed with a mixture of pity and, at times, contempt. Just outside of the carriage, he could hear the measured step of an entire company of veteran auxiliaries marching along with them, armed with sword, spear, shield, and crossbow each. Much of their time was given over to construction and enforcement, or otherwise performing domestic work the Vestati were incapable performing, but warriors of a proud and supreme caliber they were nonetheless.<br>
<br>
It came as only a small surprise when the carriage came to a stop, and an auxiliary appeared at the door within the second they ceased movement. Lucafiel peered down at them from behind the curtained - and barred - window. <br>
<br>
"My prince, there is a body of peasants ahead. The chariots demanded them to vacate the road for our passage, but they refuse, even under threat. They are mourning the death of one of their own, a child thrown from a horse some short time before we arrived," the auxiliary explained. A human would have been much closer to the ground, but the Yakal was tall and lithe, blessed with firm muscules. They even stood above the Vestati in this regard, for while the fallen angels could see some manner of kinship in the elvan folk, they were not notably tall. In this, Lucafiel welcomed the power their mere presence dictated. <br>
<br>
"An insult to the Legion is an insult to Emperor Briggun. The chariots should run them down," one of the Vestati legionnaires declared, but to this Lucafiel raised his hand. "Calm, my sister. We shall not waste our precious time on such things. We are far from our conclaves, and I do not doubt these people see us as little more than more soldiers in the emperor's everlasting crusade. Instead, we shall teach them," Lucafiel said. He nodded to the door, in which the outside auxiliary opened for him. The Yakal even offered their hand, which Lucafiel took. They were kindred spirits born into different bodies. They were subservient, yet beloved as siblings - they, too, were driven from their original homeland and faced extermination, far away in the desert lands. Under the guidance of the Vestati, this was no longer a concern.  <br>
<br>
Legionnaires and auxiliaries alike took their formations in drilled precision at the appearance of their prince, forming a wall on either side of the dirt track. Crusaders of the old guard flanked Lucafiel with gleaming, serrated swords resting against their pauldrons, wrought with beatific imagery that told of their struggle against the divine. One of them alone could cleave a path through a hundred peasants, and Lucafiel could sense this was precisely what they wished to do. <br>
<br>
When they arrived at the peasant gathering upon the street, auxilaries had already circled the area, and in the distance upon the tilled fields he could see several chariots racing ahead with several Yakals onboard, ready to intercept a potential ambush force laying in wait in an unseen copse or ditch. <br>
<br>
"Please, we do not mean disrespect," an old peasant spoke aloud, his white beard trembling as he strode forwards from the small crowd. "It is our way to mourn here, in the place of death. We... we have lost a precious child to our village, esteemed one. If we are to leave here before sunset, the soul of the child will be lost." It was a quaint custom, but far from the strangest he had heard, given that culture could vary from village to village even in the same region. <br>
<br>
Lucafiel said nothing as he strode into the crowd, the sheer presence of his companions all that was needed to push humans aside like water before the bow of a ship. There, lain gently in the middle of the street upon a quilt, was the body of the deceased child covered in an assortment of flowers, coins, and candles. The visage would have been more peaceful if it were not for the dreadful angle of their broken neck, held in place by the gentle tying of a cloth about the head and shoulders. <br>
<br>
"I have deemed mercy to be given today," Lucafiel said, making no care for introductions. "And I shall bestow a miracle." He knelt upon the funerary quilt laid against the trackway. Many of the peasants were sobbing with grief, while others looked on in fear and awe. Lucafiel oft enjoyed the artistic expression one could bring to any action, but Briggun had summoned his closest officers, and time was not to be wasted on such frivolties. As such, with a single gesture, Lucafiel brought his hand down upon the forehead of the deceased child. To restore life to an unmolded soul, one of a mere waif that had dubious potential and was unmarked and unseen by their betters, was like restoring life to a small animal. Lucafiel had tried in his life - in vain - to bring back life to veteran crusaders who had seen centuries of warfare, and such was the weight of their souls that the very act was near fatal to him each time. <br>
<br>
But to peasants, this was nothing short of the most miraculous moment of their lives. The child awoke, their eyes fluttering open as their head twisted upright. This was no mere conscious movement, but the action of their bone mending in an instant beneath Lucafiel's hand of life. The surrounding crowd erupted into an ecstatic state of wonder and frenzy. Tears flowed with joy, not despair. Many fell to their knees in immediate supplication while others reached out to touch the mere fabric of Lucafiel's dress in hopes that this, too, would bless them. The auxiliaries were firm in keeping these cattle back, and Lucafiel stood without fanfare. <br>
<br>
"Vacate the road," he said, "or I will claim this child's life myself, and they will know a death far worse than a fracture of the neck. By my mercy, and the grace of the Emperor, I have spoken." <br>
<br>
And with that, he turned about and strode back the way he had come, leaving behind him a crowd of peasants who were now parting with the ease of a sudden landslide.<br>
<br>
<hr><br>
<i><b>Now, at Briggun's Palace....</b></i><br>
<br>
Lucafiel eyed the likes of Adanach, Bjorga, and Rukkar with hidden distate, for his porcelain mask hid all but his gleaming eyes; in the case of the latter, he wondered how the little redcap would look pinned to a post. Preferrably by the neck, so he would not have to hear the braying words dribble forth from the vulgar creature's mouth. Or strapped to the anvil of the master smith, Borok Ronillson, given the not-so-subtle growling emanating from the Sauroid.<br>
<br>
At the very least, his barbarian master had the wit to put the rabid animal to heel.<br>
<br>
With the arrival of Briggun, Lucafiel grasped his dress and performed a low, stately curtsy. From the moment he entered the chambar, Lucafiel could tell their lord was caught in a fit of wrath. The only surprise was he didn't do any further harm to the little goblin, Makar; it was a surprise to see the creature sill alive with every return here. Regardless, Lucafiel took a slight step back as their lord pounded upon the table, stepping into the close presence of his lifeguard, the Yakal warrior Zahari. This was not out of fear, but rather to avoid the contents of any cup upon the table falling and staining his dress. <br>
<br>
Adanach and Borok both gave their proposals, plans that, admittedly, both had good merit in concept and had little to argue with on the surface. Instead, Lucafiel wondered about the logistics of moving a barbarian horde in any meaningful capacity, as well as the safe travel of armies beneath mountains. The need for food, transportation, and other material would be great - especially in the face of Briggun's anger, as he stood here demanding answers. <br>
<br>
Lucafiel approached the table next, and in contrast to Borok's claws, he tapped a dainty white-gloved finger upon the northwestern country of the Lacans Republic.<br>
<br>
"The Hallow Legion has naturally been working hard to maintain the foundation of this great empire from within; however, by your immediate command, my Emperor, we shall direct our scope to support your forces. Wealth and supply will be needed to further advance your borders, and to avoid the possibility of famine as lands are drained of resources and manpower, the Legion shall look to collapsing the northern Republic to fund this crusade... or crusades... whereever they may strike. We know the Lacans Republic is rich, but alone. Their slaves alone could fuel our industries and sow our fields for years to come."<br>
<br>
"Tidiaus owes us, I believe, and could strike from their lands. Likewise, the Republic has no other allies to help them from the north, though I suspect our advances may see assistance from Arantino when they realize undermining their neighbors will only speed up their collapse when we reach their border."<br>
<br>
Lucafiel paused only for a moment to clear his throat, an uneeded gesture merely done to give time for the others to think. "This endeavour would require some assistance if we desire expediency, but is open to adjustment. I do, however, highly suggest it as the Republic will be the needed kindling to whichever inferno we deem fit to start."</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"It is best, then, to avoid open combat in such terrain."</b></span> a stern voice sounded across the table towards Lucafiel. It belonged to <a href="https://www.rpnation.com/threads/the-dark-travelers-characters.534711/#post-11786795" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fthreads%2Fthe-dark-travelers-characters.534711%2F%23post-11786795&amp;hash=80126fd2e2cd0c46ed5c8e6ad728bacc">a man of short stature</a>, with a sickly coloration to his skin and eyes that shone like a cat's in the night. Not by choice he was afflicted with such unenviable appearance, but by bad luck. The Wither had left its mark on Lord Declan Asquith Elron, having dictated the course of his fate thus far; outcast, laughing stock, betrayer. He hated the old order for how it had treated him so unjustly, for something he had no control over. It left him bitter and cold, where  in a normal life he would have been filled with the love his parents had given him unconditionally. When they passed, the House of Elron had changed hands to him. And yet, it left him with no more respect than he had started off with.<br>
<br>
That was why he had opened the gates so willingly to Emperor Briggun's conquest. Vengeance for all the humiliation and slights he had collected for simply having existed. And he was rewarded as such by having claimed a seat at the Dark Lord's own table, a position of respect and power. And one he used dutifully to serve Briggun in matters of politics and empire building, given his own position as nobility. He knew how to corral what remained of the old aristocracy under the thumb of the new leadership, and he also knew how the lands of the old Kingdom functioned. Invaluable advice to reorganizing the old holdings and new conquests for the Emperor.<br>
<br>
But, now, it seemed that Briggun was - understandably - frustrated by the lack of progress. But this, in turn, threatened his close standing with the Emperor should he deem Declan no longer a valuable commander. This was, simply, an unacceptable possibility. It threatened his desire to not only find a cure to the aftereffects of the Wither, but also his desire to rebuild his Great House. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Lacans must first be weakened. Politically AND socially, to make it ripe for conquest. As it stands, it would take a force beyond counting to breach the republic as is. The mountains serve it well."</b></span> Declan mused aloud, before turning to Briggun with a deferring nod of his head. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"It requires time, and patience, your Imperial Majesty. But what I propose will not only limit our own casualties, but also clear an easy path towards Arantino, Tidiaus and Lorei. We must sow dissent amongst the slaves first and foremost, bring the ruling caste to crisis from revolt from within. I can already prepare my envoys for this. From this, we can bring a truly loyal army of freedmen to our cause. Uniting with them, we can secure easier entry into Lacans until - ultimately - laying siege and tearing down their Republic."</b></span><br>
<br>
Declan then turned to Lucafiel: <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"If you are so inclined, it would limit your losses as well if you abide by my plan."</span></b><br>
<br>
But his attention was also elsewhere as he looked towards Adanach. Declan wasn't particularly fond of northern savages, but in this campaign they could prove useful. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"As for the wild man, he too can play a part in this. You are from those Northern Reaches, no? You can apply pressure to the Kingdom of Lorei as a pincered manuever with us from the South. This would not only draw attention away from Lacans, but also weaken Lorei from being able to respond to later incursions."</b></span><br>
<br>
With confidence, he then turned back to Briggun and gave another deferring bow. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Your grace, I believe this plan to be the best course of action in dealing with the nuisances to our North. If given your blessing, I will begin preparations immediately for this campaign."</span></b><br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">In their own part of the table, sat a crew and their captain. The sea hag <a href="https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/028/958/199/large/canoe-combined.jpg?1596031603" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fcdnb.artstation.com%2Fp%2Fassets%2Fimages%2Fimages%2F028%2F958%2F199%2Flarge%2Fcanoe-combined.jpg%3F1596031603&amp;hash=d81501266dc6541055d9acd24c4941bb" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Cordia</a>, now captain of the Butcher's blade and as her master ordained it, vanguard of his sea forces stood with her arms forming an arch on the table.<br>
<br>
To her right sat her first mate, <a href="https://i.imgur.com/CQRsBiD.jpg" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FCQRsBiD.jpg&amp;hash=438c449dc39541a40d4f3cd8e8646c98" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Crassu 'Sawtooth' Lonus</a>. A merfolk from the depths that didn't play nice with others as he explained it. Next to him was perhaps the <a href="https://i.imgur.com/JQswA4D.png" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FJQswA4D.png&amp;hash=e4a3a7b147c7c64ffca98c96df0caa76" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">most hideous thing</a> on the table if anyone was polite enough to ignore the redcap. When Corida was brough back from Hell, Mr. Gribbs was dragged along with her soul. An unforseen by-product, but rather than striking him down, Cordia found uses for the pathetic thing on her ship. Finally to her right was someone more unorthodox. A drow woman named <a href="https://i.imgur.com/jBwI70X.jpg" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FjBwI70X.jpg&amp;hash=11bb0bd70b17aa10470c9adb19b022e0" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Uripa</a>. A noble, or so she claims. They haven't been able to verify, but the 'lady' had proven to be useful on the ship with her affinity to merge the art of medicine and necromancy.<br>
<br>
Cordia had only known these people for a brief period and already she could feel her crew burgeoning with their opinions about those gathered. The captain herself saw things differently. None of them had claims to the sea, nor did they care to. Baba Voyka was a fellow hag, a rival school of magic maybe, but their realms were far apart. Veno was the emperor's spymaster, the trust there was non-existent, but discounting it would be foolish. She could feel something stir in Alexandre. Something dark and evil. Oh this one was not lashed at all. Lady Falwin was probably keeping apperances. Its hard to keep being as strong as a dragon hidden in a mortal shell.<br>
<br>
Then there are the lords Declan and Rosarch. Men of ambition, but cursed in their own ways. Perhaps her and Voyka would be the unlikely allies to those men. Who knows best about curses than the hags? Kolthix and Borok are curious creatures. Unlikely members of this council, but here they are. They should prove interesting to keep an eye on. Yz and Lucafiel. Two strange beings hiding behind masks. Getting anything from them would be a prize of its own. If she had still been pursuing her old passions, then maybe they would have been her end goal. One of the masked wielders of power. Perhaps in another life. Adanach. Now there was a man. Fearless, brutal and dominant. Fools would believe him a simpleton and pay with their skulls split open. Estro Dorozan was on the other end of the spectrum. A wizzard of that power you cannot underestimate unless you want to end up as some plaything. Your mind wiped clean. Your skin boiled off the bones while you still feel every moment of it. Assuming of course he would be that cruel and not just scatter your body to ashes with a flick of a wrist. Now Sigurd was an unknown to her, but the stubborness of the dwarfs was legendary. Whatever plans were rolling around behind that helm would have a high chance for success.<br>
<br>
All in all, a wide selection of potential allies and rivals. Yet they all would have to bend the knee to one man. Speaking of which. Briggan's entrance made the lords and ladies stand up for attention. He was frustrated. The campaigns had slown down and in turn, slowing his own plans. Codia bowed respectfully to her liege and waited patiently for the others to speak their reasons. Then she had her turn.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Ship builders were behind scedule on several important projects. Those responsible were found, disciplinned and now serve on their respective ships until their debt to the Empire is paid. Never the less, I apologize for the obstruction it caused.</span>" She looked to the map. "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">The fleet is ready to sail and we have our first targets sighted. Teralia would serve as the stepping stone for the sea campaign and a launch pad for further campaigns. Holding those islands allows us to choke trade and travel in the seas, assuring our dominance. Once they fall, we would be free to move across the coasts to hit our targets.</span>" She looked to the others "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Should anyone else undertake their campaigns on our southern neighbors, it would make things easier for you as well.</span>"</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">From a dark corner of the room, a woman clad in dark armor had watched the other lieutenants. <a href="https://u.cubeupload.com/Radley/alexandre2.jpg" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fu.cubeupload.com%2FRadley%2Falexandre2.jpg&amp;hash=01e607b2e0c572631132cf9525da9cb2" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Alexandre</a> bore an despicable visage, something her current compatriots had noted during their time at the palace. During her stay she had been terse, but one could wonder what thought dwelt behind her slight grin and forboding red eyes. Alexandre herself did not think much of her so called allies, but had been ordered to attend by the Patriarch himself. She found them useful, if ultimately just pawns in the game of the Dark Lord. She held herself in no high regard however, viewing Rochers service to Saarus as a beneficial arrangement. For now.<br>
<br>
But, there were two among them which made her keep her eyes. First, Sigurd, the traitorous dwarf. Across the ages when Rocher had fought with Canar, Sigurd had been there time and time again to save his cowardly and undeserving masters from having their blood spilled as would have been rightfully ordained. Yet now there was something different about him, something that tugged on Alexandres unquenchable thirst. Her eyes flickered, and she took a trembling breath. Perhaps she was in the presence of something quite precious indeed. The second person of interest was Cordia, the Banshee Captain. When Briggun brought Rocher into the fold, Alexandre had joined him on the campaign that saw the Bone Coast returned to its former queen in a splendid orgy of carnage and bloodshed. Such was Cordias wrath, and it had been a beautiful sight to behold.<br>
<br>
The rest caused her no concern, but if time would tell if they required any personal attention<br>
<br>
As Briggun entered the room, Alexandre stepped slightly into the light and gave him the traditonal Rocher gesture of respect, a deep bow with both arms extended in a half moon to the side. <br>
<br>
As some of the lieutenant began laying out their plans to satisfy ther dark master, Alexandre listened intently, but found that they were inconsequential for her. They would be on the opposite side of the world and would neither hinder nor interfere in her matters. When Cordia spoke, she was re-invigorated. Having the banshee by her side would certainly lead to a war worth taking part in.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">Oh, my dear. You shall count us among your confederates in these campaigns</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204)">" Alexandre said to Cordia, as she gave her a wide grin and put a sharp gauntlet on the captains shoulder as she took her place at the map table. "</span><span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">The Crimson wolves will march through the Bone Coast and lay waste to the north of Piantia.</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255)">" </span><span style="color: rgb(209, 213, 216)">she continued, pointing a sharp finger at the part of Piantia that was seperated from the rest of the country by water. "</span><span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">And when the banshees song can be heard on the wind and the moon is right, we will cross...</span><span style="color: rgb(209, 213, 216)">". Alexandre moved her finger to Piantia proper, and softly stabbed the map with her gauntlet. She seemed transfixed and lost in thaught, her eyes widening and her mouth opening slightly ajar as if she was about to laugh. She liked her lips and looked back up to Briggun, "</span><span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">Rest assured, your  dark eminence, you will spy our crimson mark from this very city as the gulf runs red with their blood</span><span style="color: rgb(209, 213, 216)">" she finished, her voice seemingly attempting to contain a terrible excitement. Having composed herself, she slowly straightened herself and stepped back into the outer circle of lieutenants and out of the direct light of the table.</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Lucafiel narrowed his eyes through his mask as he turned, slightly, to observe Lord Declan, a slight gesture that revealed only two piercing slivers behind his porcelain facade. The First Viceroy of Sathesbury may have been small in stature, but was towering in ambition - an ambition that had brought them and kept them here, all these years later. It was an irony, perhaps, that one of the more dependable and powerful officers of the council was a twisted little husk of a man, a gnarled tree from some dreadful swamp, Lucafiel imagined. <br>
<br>
The angel listened to Alexandre as she spoke, though her thoughts, like Cordia, lay to the watery domain in the south. Securing islands as a foothold to advance was a sound tactic, but one Lucafiel had little intention to support. After a moment passed, he glanced towards Declan to continue their point of discussion.<br>
<br>
"The terrain is an obstacle, indeed, but one that prevents the Republic from bringing their armies to the field in full as well. My legion excels at such... irregular warfare, to bring the discipline and organization of larger formations to battlefields meant for smaller forces. I believe only significant forces would be required if the approach was to be a bullish attack in a direct manner. Such tactics would be best avoided, I believe. This is of course no disrespect to our militant commanders who succeed with such stratagems," Lucafiel said. He could well see the forces of the red butcher and her vampyrs flooding over the hills to die against the bastions of the Republic. While this would tire down the defenders and make the path easier for those who came after, it would still weaken the capabilities of the empire, and that would not do. And alas, such fiends were looking to the south for a fight anyways.<br>
<br>
Lucafiel strode around the table, the fallen angel eying the map in the same manner as all the other predators in attendance, examining a wounded body for the bloodiest and most prime cut of meat to take. <br>
<br>
"I do agree with your sentiment on weakening the Republic before attacks are made, but to give freedom to slaves...." Lucafiel trailed off. He knew what it meant to serve on his knees with chains around his neck. The Vestati had long abused their own before they turned their hands against the Forbidden One. "While a slave revolt would be a significant boon in a militaristic capacity, I do worry on how this would harm our economic capabilities going forward. Freedmen will not work to the standard of the slave, and will require - desire - more in return. This itself is not a problem, the Legion is <i>wonderfully</i> adept at securing efficient workforces, but in the period of transition it could cause... delays. But if this is to be the decision, preparations can be made on my behalf to ensure a swift labor doctrine is implemented. Though, I do warn about the upheavel that will come with breaking their chains for the forseeable future. I see the Republic as a treasury to be plundered. Your methods, Lord Declan, would cut our plunder in half, though at least secure a more stable future, perhaps. But if time is... limited... then we may very well need to resort to clear cutting, so to speak. No offense to our venerable Baba with such words."</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Falwyn stood relaxed back on one of the poles in the great dining hall as the Emperor entered bursted into the room. She would not let this man fluster her, however crafty a warlock he might be. He was the one mortal that had proven himself an equal, for now, as long as he held that damned relic. Others bowed in subservience to the lord, but Falwyn was secure in her position she would be a conquerer for Briggun. And Briggun was secure in his place as Overlord of her. They had no need for such ostentations. Briggun soon began a rage pounding yet another divet into the place once illustrious feasts had been held. The dark gloom of a man engulfed by his own rage had snuffed out all of the ornmantenation from the days prior. The days that she could visit the past courts of canar, partaking in revelry and debauchery of all forms. The Canarians didn't really like her being there, but they couldn't say no either. The room now stood full of oppurtunistic vultures ready to grab a peice of the world from her own. The emperor soon demanded anwsers on how they would conquer the world for him.<br>
<br>
The first to speak was of course that who had everything to prove. The barbarian Adanach couldn't control his own men that he had taken along to the gathering. The redcap sputtering insults towards the drow spymaster. She calmly drank a bottle of red wine. One of the many aged for over a century, the tributes of the Canar hadn't run out overnight afterall.  And yes a bottle, not a glass, for while Falwyn didn't have the appetite of a dragon while in human form she still seemed to induldge excessively. The man claimed to have gathered an army of Druadach, and yet his first request was to unite his own lands. She mentally categorized the man quickly <i>A Mercenary Lord Relying on Saarus Backing<b>.</b></i><br>
<br>
Next came the sauroid Borok who began developing a plan of countinuing to develop through the mountains and build a stranglehold around Everan. To most it wouldn't have worked but the sauriods belonged to the mountains. As long as the lizard stayed out of the systems of Tholmar's Rest she wouldn't mind his control there. It reeked to her of caution espically the seeming allowance of others to use their tunnels to attack Everan. A cautious plan that didn't allow blame to fall to them should Everan put up a valiant resistance as Falwyn believed they would. She observed the man to be a <i>Cautious Planner</i> and made a note to challenge the man to be more aggresive in his strategy.<br>
<br>
The masked man in charge Lucafiel of the hallowed legion was the next to announce his plan. An attack on the Lacans republic. He presented that by conquering them he could turn the slaves their into a massive workforce of the empire. Falwyn couldn't help by giving some nods of approval to the mans reasoning. And if he was the one that eventually ran that region, well that could make a quite powerful warlord indeed. <br>
<br>
Next however came Lord Declan having another plan for the region. One that required an internal strife. Quite suiting for the lord who betrayed his own kind. He wanted to turn the slaves there into an army of freeman. The man's proposal was that of <i>a fool</i>. For Briggun had no need of extra manpower. The strongest empire in the world needed industry to continue its conquests, not a population who had turned on itself and decimated its country into a useless wasteland. His plan was on hopes and of only securing the direct objective not the future. How strong would an army of men who had been forced into submission their whole life. A little man who wanted his little partially-culled slave army. She let out a little smirk as her thoughts came to that last line however her eyes lingered on Briggun as the man pronounced his proposal, how would he react. Was he short-sited to only see the conquest or have the vision to see what could come after.<br>
<br>
 The two proposals that came next were securing the southern coast and advancing on Piantia. The two warlords seemed to have a functioning relationship. Banshee and Vampre made quite the duo. One planned to choke out the sea with the banshee's fleet while the other would feast on the lands she forces preyed upon. A duo that could prove most deadly in the coming years. Assuming they didn't turn that hunger on eachother.<br>
<br>
Falwyn strode towards the map. Tracing with her fingers across Saarus to the eastern side of Everan. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"><b>"My plan is simple but effective. My strength is unparalled. I will break through Everan in the east. It should allow an opening for Borok should you wish to procede through your tunnels into the cental regions while they are reacting."</b></span> She paused a moment, <b><span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"You could of course build a slow stranglehold as you suggested. But that merely contains Everan. Our objective is to build the empire. Through conquest. Not allow a festering thorne to be merely trimmed."</span></b> She let out a prolonged sigh<b><span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "The wisdom of my suggestion... is yours to decide" </span></b><span style="color: null">She would then continue her finger through the deserts of Gantar</span><span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"><b>, "My Conquest will be that of the Sultan. He thinks the desert sands prevent our invasion. I suppose he has forgotten the tales of dragons. I will be able to keep my armies logistics up through the sands with our establishment of terriroty in Eastern Everan. Believe it or not I can carry quite of supplies upon my wings. Once we arrive through the deserts I will begin my work in bringing the costal cities into our dominion." </b></span><b>She let out a quick smile towards Briggun as she countinued</b><span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"><b> "Their arrogance in their security will be their downfall. It shall allow me to secure a foothold, and the Sultan's unpopularity will do quite a bit of the other work for me. And assuming it doesn't... They do proclaim that the sands are scorching." </b></span><b>She'd give a small chuckle and grin towards the audience gathered.</b><br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/yz-jpg.1122483/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1059/1059612-9d89451829b7740efe1547d5931b4c7a.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="yz.jpg" title="yz.jpg" width="100" height="123" loading="lazy"></a><br>
Yz remained silent, huddled with one arm wrapped around her waist and another up to their face as if trying to chew on their nails despite not having a mouth to do so. The arrival of Lord Briggun was not one Yz found to be nervous about, but they chose to act in such a way as they held their voice. Lord Briggun had needn't finish for Yz to have began concocting ideas within their own head as the map was displayed in front of them. Immediately shifting from a shuffly and awkward stance to rubbing at their chin and concentrating thoroughly, waiting for the other lieutenants to quieten talking as Yz tried not to look at them too much.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Very much of themselves, what would it be to do that for?</span>" Yz spoke complete nonsense to themselves quietly just for the sake of making little sense. Speaking to ones self was simple, but for it to make less sense for those who chose to listen in without permission, it would prove questioning.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Map. Map, map map, map map map, hmm... place</span>" Yz hummed as their pupiless eyes scanned over the map they were staring at until they had come to an interest in both the Lacans Republic and the Kingdom of Erevan as well as an interest for those places the other lieutenents did not value as much, for it would be territory to work alone.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">The mossy elf-hole? Slave land? Could be a coulding, to could it be good... ooh~ what a good map. MIND-</span>" Yz spoke quietly before coming to an aggressive and loud abrupt stop and recoiling from the map, recomposing themselves as they held their own hands in front of their body and returned back to the map at once and addressed it normally.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Erevan and the Lacans Republic are both useful. The Erevan have a nice place, and the Lacans have such nice people with sad minds imprisoned that are useful. Obviously, there's a lot of place that might go untouched, but I just need a place and the people. My intentions are simple, nothing more. The slaves of Lacans would be perfect to get my hands on, but I would assume the same for many others. The other Kingdom that belongs to such elven kind? I just like their lands is all. I wouldn't mind receiving their numbers into my grasp, but I would enjoy that in general</span>" Yz spoke in introduction of their ideas, humming as they gestured to the map.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">My plan is unconsidered as of yet, for I not conclusively know where I will end up. I will work to accelerate the success of another, or work in rather secrecy pulling strings and whispering in ears if I find myself working alone in one land. I will figure it out once I get there. Everything can be accomplished one step at a time, or so people believe. Every little piece. If someone else here succeeds, that is more for the me, no, yes? I offer my services to anyone, I don't ask or need much. The outcome of another's success benefits me, even if I don't speak how</span>" they added as they tilted their head looking at the map. It sure was a lot of place to take, and taking territory wasn't entirely Yz's interest but one they would have to assist partaking in. Yz just needed Lord Briggun's expansion and the success of others to succeed, for they needed space to have access to people and land of which would come naturally if anyone to succeed. Whether they had to go somewhere to do it alone, or someone was willing to cooperate with that matter coming to fruition didn't matter, for if Yz could confirm the success of another's plans then it would just make anything easier to work with.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">The end is one, two. I get it</span>" Yz blankly spoke as they scratched at the edge of their mask like they were trying to take it off but not willing to put the effort to truly pull at it.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">All the people are of use, and I don't need the space but I could help people get the space, or want the space. I just need a the one space. The one a nice space, like the elves have. These 'elves', a different people they say</span>" Yz spoke, regarding the elves almost mockingly as they shook their head and began talking to themselves rather than directed at anyone else.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">No matter, they can be normal and great once reached. Anyone can be made into better once they give up their sorrows and weakness, they don't have to be themselves or as anyone else... EXCEPT THE rich for now</span>" Yz considered as they aggressively glared at the map. Slowly tilting their head, they calmly stared and twitched at the place on the map as they spoke to themselves quietly.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Yz will come soon, but not for now. You are safe, because I must manage, not teach the harsh lesson, but the good one. You are lucky and of greed, Yz will rob you of what material possessions you own, and then take your identity too. Not your life, Yz is a merciful Yz, but Yz will beat you senseless until you give up your name and learn to live correct. Lord Briggun's rule under one banner will make this all easier, for when all are under one, then Yz will reach greater and more</span>" Yz rambled to themselves quietly as they twitched, tapping their splayed fingers against eachother as they pressed their hands together.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">O-oh, what is with the sheep? There is no dog. Can you find it?</span>" Yz thought to themselves as they slowly started focusing on just blank space in front of them.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">NORMAL THAT ONE, CLEARLY. TO THE ENDS, I CAN SEE IT... no, it is me. That would be me. It is YOU that is not, now leave me to my masterpiece</span>" Yz answered in argument to the thin air, shaking their head and sighing.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">What an idiot, there are more important matters. I must tend to life itself... who, are these PARASI- Creatures of others. Yz thinks they maybe not of listen, but of use</span>" Yz pondered as they looked between the other lieutenents, considering who might be of use. If others worked out on where their own desires would lead them to go, then it would help in making the decision if a place of good use had someone striking it alone that could use the acceleration of their success story, or if there was untouched territory where Yz could work along and tug the strings of society to their own will.​</div></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Adanach listened carefully to each lieutenant as they shared their upcoming strategies, but he had little insight to offer those who would focus their attention on the southern realms. It appeared that Borok will focus his attempts in creating new subterranean paths through the mountains that surround the Kingdom of Erevan. A sound strategy, and he considered lending a hand to the runesmith, not only because he had a mutual respect for the Saurid, but also to ensure the Elven overlords of Erevan would be distracted when the horde marches over <b>Mors Denoch</b>.<br>
<br>
However, his attention shifted towards one of the most unsavory members of Briggun's court... Lord Declan, a noble man stricken with a disease Adanach never heard of. He thought little of the man, not because of his withered appearance or height, but because he was a southern noble, the same ilk who thinks lowly of people like him, and he could see it on the viceroy's eyes, to him, Adanach was nothing more than an useful, backwards barbarian.<br>
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<blockquote data-attributes="member: 64013" data-quote="joshuadim" data-source="post: 11792871" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11792871" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11792871">joshuadim said:</a>
			
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			<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"As for the wild man, he too can play a part in this. You are from those Northern Reaches, no? You can apply pressure to the Kingdom of Lorei as a pincered manuever with us from the South. This would not only draw attention away from Lacans, but also weaken Lorei from being able to respond to later incursions."</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"It is a sound strategy, lord Declan... there's a problem with it..."</span> He said, before pointing at the map. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...I believe the <b>Kingdom of Lorei</b> is here, correct? Next to it is <b>Mors Fael</b>, a fertile region inhabited by hundreds of tribes... beneath it is <b>Mors Dakar</b>, inhabited hundreds of Orcish and human tribes... I belive you know all of this, but you assume my campaign to unite the Druadach will be done just in time for the invasion of Lacans? Or do you believe I'll be faster that lord Lucafiel's attempt to weaken the region?"<br>
<br>
"I do not wish to imply I'll take my time just for the sake of it, lord Declan, but even with my keen understanding of the tribes that inhabit the Druadach, it will take time to unite each region; Mors Gobonach alone will take me months to pacify."</span> Adanach looked at the map again, studying the five regions of the Druadach, and thinking of what is ahead of him. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Believe me, Lord Declan... if I could, I would have united the Druadach while I was gathering my army."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><a href="https://www.rpnation.com/threads/the-dark-travelers-characters.534711/#post-11786763" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fthreads%2Fthe-dark-travelers-characters.534711%2F%23post-11786763&amp;hash=17b652c4fe990baa04b240f477294884">Voyka</a> observed the other lieutenants that had gathered today at Briggun's behest. The past ten years had done much to bolster their ranks, as a sizeable chunk of their collective now consisted of those who had not been present for the fall of Canar - those that she referred to as the 'old guard'. Today was, to her knowledge, one of the first times their ranks as they were had come together, an important opportunity to greet.<br>
<br>
She remembered when news of the Johas Controversy reached her ears, and soon after, news of the rageful despair Briggun faced. She had seen in him and his fellow fae wife the future, for their might would surely bring down Canar, and she, looking to ascend, would need to adapt to her soon-to-be overlord. As such, of the old guard, she was among the early five to join him. Soon, they gathered four more, and both Canar and Poggost were no more. Just as she had partaken in the fall of both kingdoms, so too did she partake in the fall of Rocher, but the allies they had gathered since had been more distant in her mind. Looking toward the waiting lieutenants, her gaze shifted upon each...<br>
<br>
---<br>
<br>
One ally whom she was more distant with was <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">Adanach</span>. She was scarcely familiar with him, knowing only that his focus lay squarely toward the north-west, where his homeland and the republics were, with vengeance in his heart. Her goals weren't as driven as his, but it would be foolish not to stick her nose into his business, as a grandma is known to do, especially when taking into account the usual politics that occur between those in the military. Though here they weren't just mere soldiers or units in an army, they were fundamentally distinct factions. And knowledge serves to aid. As she pondered knowledge, her eyes shifted towards <span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Borok</span>. He had been among the early, but had been among those she interacted less with. In her memory, the sauroid engaged little with those who made scarce use for his runes, such as herself. His enchanted weapons would trickle her way when relevant, but she never sought them out, for her war path never needed them. In a similar fashion to Adanach, he seeks return by his own means home. He never had a true interest in Canar affairs, in her eyes, but she would have to gain a further interest in him.<br>
<br>
Her gaze fell upon <i>Lucafiel</i>, another early member of Briggun's ranks, but her lack of interaction with the fallen angel stemmed from similar-yet-distinct reasons. He too was driven in a way she couldn't relate, but while she could imagine someone such as Adanach or Borok willingly engage with her beyond affairs related to Briggun, she could not say the same for Lucafiel. The vestati were infamous for their views on 'vessels' that were not perfect in their eyes. Knowledge alone would not be sufficient with him, further tolerance was necessary. Her gaze shifted to <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">Declan</span>, ever the miser, in his own corner. She remembered when the Wither had struck the lands in the youth of her career. She had lost several of her peers at the time, and had offered to aid in efforts supporting the afflicted... when those efforts existed of course. She was unsure if any of her herbal teas reached the nobility, but she liked to think they did. Regardless, she doesn't consider her relations with Declan to be at their best, mainly due to having openly referred to him as a young scion despite his age, and she hadn't had much to rectify this as a result of his focus on the old nobility. She would have to ameliorate things in her grandmotherly ways. Speaking of hags, her gaze moved to <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Cordia</span>. Cordia had joined them as part of the invasion of Rocher, but otherwise the two had not interacted much. The captain's domain was the sea, after all, far from what she herself was comfortable with, but at least like Borok there were no mutual issues. Same could be said for <span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">Alexandre</span>, having similarly joined as part of the Rocher Campaign - no issues, but little interaction.<br>
<br>
Another whom she had had little chance to speak with has been <b><span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Falwyn</span></b>, given her circumstances. Voyka was far more present in the field these days than she was in Canaresch's gilded halls, given everything going on in the Empire even when there were no active invasions to aid in, and even when both were in the field, they'd be in different sectors. Being on the receiving end of her attacks would be unfortunate. Similarly in terms of sector differentiation were things with <span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Yz</span>. A late-joiner like Adanach, Yz was very much in a world of their own, in pursuit of affairs comparable to a cult. What little she remembered of Yz speaking made her already put aside the prospect of being able to befriend them like a normal person. She could only hope for mutual peace. Speaking of mutual peace, there was the case of the Wizard of Zo, ol' Dorozan. Voyka was very much not fond of <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">Estro</span>, resentment born of the old days prior to Briggun, but they had come to a mutual agreement after he had discovered the pit she stored the bodies of people she had killed in secret. Just as she arrived to dump a freshly-murdered corpse, there stood Estro, digging in the pit for bodies to experiment on. It meant that she now had a personal reason to resent the man, for he knew now that she had committed many personal murders, but he kept quiet so that he had bodies to experiment on. On the complete opposite spectrum meanwhile, was Sigurd.<br>
<br>
Oh, Sigurd. It may be presumptuous to say, but if her grandma had aided in making her the woman she was today, so too did Sigurd hold that spot as well. It was under Sigurd that the Horned were cut to size, it was under him that she found herself subjugated, forced to see the death of her grandmother, and more. It was thanks to his actions that she eventually saw the light, the light that brought her to become the loyalist she was today, driven to slaughter. Sigurd was in many ways the ideal in her eyes, and yet she barely interacted with him. Prior to Briggun, her one and only interaction was when she was brought before him after being accused of murder. The resulting several hours she had spent struggling to fight Sigurd, as she stood bloodied, but resilient and steadfast, remains one of her fondest memories, followed by her waking up hours later in a bed and being told by him that not only did he view her as innocent, but as the kind of woman the military needed. His decision to join Briggun made her immensely glad, so much so she refers to him only as Vuldar now - or Vule [voo-leh, "Vully"]. But aside from fighting with him in the campaigns, and receiving permission to aid in purging the military's non-loyal members with Kolthix, she had not had much time to interact with him, for he concentrated on his goal to retake his rightful throne. She wasn't even sure if he even remembered that encounter so many years ago, not that it mattered in her eyes. She was fine admiring him from afar.<br>
<br>
In contrast, of the 'old guard', she had gotten closest with <b>Kolthix</b> most. Though one might initially assume they would have nothing to do with one another, the two quickly shared a bond over their past experiences. Each shared in their peoples being slaughtered, each share in an absolute joy in engaging in slaughter, each share in teaching others their trauma, and each share a great respect for the other's efforts. It was no wonder why, aside from Vuldar, Kolthix was the only other who had received a nickname - Kole [koh-leh, "Kolthy"] or Kolćić [kohl-cheech, "Lil' Kole/Kolthy"]. If any of the other lieutenants pushed against the shadeling, she'll push twice as hard back. Though he appeared to be late, likely engaging in his usual shenanigans in the borderlands. Meanwhile, there was shared elements with <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">Veno</span>, in uniting their peoples, but she was just another cultist like Yz and Estro, so her interests waned from there. What raised her interest back up was her position. She thinks they're on good terms, as she opts to refer to her as 'granny' only - so she's her 'dearie'. Otherwise though, she is useful for finding items she had lost. And then there was <span style="color: #f2d770">Izaak</span>. They hadn't had much time to talk, but he certainly benefited from her slaughter in the field, given his abilities to reanimate the bones of the dead. He seems like the kind she would get along with, though she would rather he had not found the pit as Estro had, digging for bones as she was dropping off another victim.<br>
<br>
---<br>
<br>
Soon enough, Makar, the often-beaten goblin steward made Briggun's arrival known, though as always, such a thing was not necessary, for the Dark Lord was plenty powerful and audible enough for his mere presence alone to inform those present he was here. She watched from her spot as he leveled accusations during the tenth year of his reign on their failure to expand further. With the map laid onto the table, she approached and gave the others the opportunity to speak. Erevan remained a central focus, as it remained obscenely resilient against their forces. Though she specialized in rougher terrain, the elves had fortified the passes through the mountains substantially, likely necessitating a deeper incursion. It wasn't something that she was capable of dealing with by herself, hence why her characteristic smile and nod emerged upon Borok explaining his efforts. Similarly, despite the unhinged nature of their speak, she respected Yz's assurance of aid even if it was for selfish reasons. The north-west was of less interest to her, though she remained one of the few comfortable traversing through the Malenchanted Woods... they reminded her of home, and could be the place for a new homeland, but its diversity always dissuaded such a thought. She adored slaughter, but extermination was not something she would engage in. The south across the Bay of Canar was similarly of little interest to her, as she was largely land-based. The Rocherites were free to deal with that. Similarly, the dragonmaid was free to begin efforts against Gantar, for the desert proved a grand obstacle against her style.<br>
<br>
She would have kept to herself until all spoke, but the vestati had to drag her in by invoking her preferred strategy as a seemingly undesirable last resort. It spoke leagues to her that he had chosen her as the example, rather than others like her who similarly enjoyed the slaughter, such as Kolthix... but it also meant her reputation still preceded her, which brought a smile to her face.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Oho, it looks like you haven't learned from your hubris, if you're tossing out comments like that,</span>" Voyka approached the table. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Do I need to remind all present of the effectiveness of such 'clear cutting' in dealing with our enemies? Does Kolthix have to join me in reminding you all? Especially so not just in destroying the spirit of the enemy, but ensuring compliance among the conquered populace. Compliance that has aided in pacifying Poggost, making it suitable to stage an invasion into Erevan from to begin with. Birthing a populace that seeks the embrace of a caring grandma and ever-more caring Emperor, as opposed to the posh and overly long-lived,</span>" she commented, leaving it ambiguous as to whether she was referring to Erevan or the Hallow Legion, all while addressing what she had been up to that had slowed down expansion from her end.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">As for my plans, I am flexible, like Yz. I would not want to miss the Erevan Campaign, especially if there's going to be a concentrated effort, but if need be, I would aid elsewhere where my men can fight,</span>" Voyka explained, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">whether it be offering to aid in fighting in the Malenchanted Woods, or heading southward towards the south and south-east. Just let there be forests, and endless slaughter for me and my men to enjoy.</span>"</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><a href="https://www.rpnation.com/gallery/estro-dorozan-wizard-of-zo-jpg.47315/full" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fgallery%2Festro-dorozan-wizard-of-zo-jpg.47315%2Ffull&amp;hash=aae4cc519d0d21fb4ffbcc71ec221c05">Estro</a> regarded the menagerie of pawns that Briggun had mustered to his banner in his wrath against Canar and the world. Ten years of expansion and conquest. Ten years of serving as his loyal Court Wizard, resolving matters of the arcane and occult for the only man who had ever truly defeated him. Some would be tormented by their pride and ego. Admittedly he had those in excess, but life had taught him many lessons which included patience and adaptation. Unlike the others in the Royal Court, Estro had known about dear Herasa and their scandalous relationship. He'd never told a soul, knowing that secret was too precious to even dangle as blackmail. He took it with him to his imprisonment and it was what had made him smile at Briggun as he personally shackled Estro. It was said he laughed the entire day he heard about the exile, a stunning display from a prisoner who had been so quiet and calm for so long. It unnerved the guards. Estro Dorozan was one of the most powerful wizards in the history of Canar, which made some question if the prison could truly contain him.<br>
<br>
The answer was never truly found out. Johas died and Briggun came. The once noble hero of Canar filled with hatred and wrath so intense, he released one of the most diabolical men in the history of his own homeland to help burn it down. It was said Estro met Briggun with the same smile he'd given him at the time of his imprisonment. One that was knowing and assured. Estro swore fealty without a second thought when Briggun offered him a position at his side. Ten years of putting out magical fires and resolving whatever strange bullshit the empire's expansion would trigger. All the while, Estro was experimenting, refining his methods and expanding the Cult of Zo to suit his needs.<br>
<br>
Now it would seem that time was at hand for a new campaign of conquest. Briggun was frustrated, though he could hardly blame Estro for the failings of his more militant commanders. Estro did his part to lessen the blow of failures when he wasn't assisting with some issue or 'solving problems'. It was said the worst thing to see was Veno and Estro talking or dining together over some issue. Terrible things tended to happen due to those meetings. Estro could never compete with Veno for her mastery of intrigue. He made up for it by being an utter bastard in his various endeavors. Cultists wormed their ways into places, uprisings and sabotage or preparation for full scale rebellions. The conversion of defeated soldiers into loyal servants of the cult and empire.<br>
<br>
Estro himself taking to the field could be a spectacle. The power of a true archmage unleashed was a rare sight. Briggun may have had terrible and powerful beings in his employ, including a great gold dragon but an archmage carried the same gravitas if one understood the powers they could unleash upon a battlefield. Meteor showers, elemental hordes, the very dead rising to kill their comrades and sow terror. Arcane magic at its peak was the stuff of legend and Estro could do such workings.<br>
<br>
He wondered how many here took him seriously, but didn't care if they didn't. He was old news to some, considering Briggun had firmly established himself as superior with the previous defeat. Estro seemed to come across as his smiling and manipulative henchman. Acting on things before Briggun even was aware of them at times. He had protected his position of Court Wizard with a viciousness that only showed itself when someone dared to try to challenge his standing. Beyond that, he dealt with issues that could complicate his master's life. Eliminating rivalries in the ranks of the other commanders when he felt a power struggle might weaken a position. Shoring up affairs here or there. He found some actual enjoyment doing this for Briggun, because his position was earned and established. He did not have to battle the inane and enraging politics of the nobility as had been his life as the Court Wizard of Canar. The very thing that had made him snap and become who he was now.<br>
<br>
Like all the others, he bowed at the arrival of Briggun and listened to him rage about the failure of conquering Erevan at this time. Then came the proposals of the many seeking expansion in the North. Curious plans some of which were competing. There were merit to each but flaws as well. Such was  the way of things. He long ago accepted the flaws of his own plans because they were lessons that could make his future plans better. Finally the South started to be discussed by Cordia and Alexandre. Estro saw an opening for his own plans.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"While I do appreciate the efforts of my cohorts, it would seem the North has sufficient attention to deliver your needs there, my lord,"</span> Estro said in the calm and confident tone many had come to know. The smooth voice of the Court Wizard had whispered into many of their ears about issues he had 'fixed' for them from time to time. Or simply informing them of some matter they would need to deal with he had become aware of. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"I believe the South is where I shall provide my expertise. Already I hear talks of Tarelia and Piantian. It just so happens I have an interest in the Civicerian Dominion."</span><br>
<br>
Estro snaps his fingers as the map seemingly lights up those regions and markers begin to appear for Cordia, Alexandre and now Estro's personal sigil. It shows little ships raiding, vessels sinking as vampiric marauders slaughter and terrorize. The sounds of fighting and people screaming can be heard. The illusion spins the faces of refugees pouring out of the terrorized regions to flood into the safe zones across the gulf and into Civiceria. Those flows notably bear Estro's sigil here and there as if hiding among them to plant themselves into the regions fled into.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"The Cult of Zo has always had a talent for recruiting and converting the desperate and downtrodden. War makes many like that. I offer to provide my support to Cordia and Alexandre, so that my agents might flee with survivors into the target lands. Civiceria will have to respond. They'll have no choice. Their own survival will drive the Dominus and his Senate into doing so to prevent the war from entering their country directly. Plenty of time for me to reach out to the Plebian masses and colonized peoples held down by the Patrician families that dominate the Senate,"</span> Estro gestures and the illusion shifts again to show Civicerian forces deploying to likely attempt to hinder Cordia and Alexandre.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"So as always, I will facilitate the success of my peers. Always the faithful servant as your Court Wizard, my lord," </span>Estro said with another bow. He rises to give another charming smile and snaps his fingers. The strategic markers, sounds and units suddenly vanishing as quickly as they had appeared. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"That is, of course, if Cordia and Alexandre are open to my efforts. Civiceria would be my own primary target for this endeavor."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: rgb(134, 96, 142)"><span style="font-size: 26px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><b>Veno Dilach, The Black Rose</b></span></span></span><br>
<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'">(Disguised - Imperial Spymaster)</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/veno_disguise-png.1122686/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1059/1059815-b87f385ca8beec4d3f5d0bc8833aaa4c.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="Veno_Disguise.png" title="Veno_Disguise.png" width="100" height="167" loading="lazy"></a><br>
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--- --- ---<br>​</div>



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			<div style="text-align: left">"The fuck ya' lookin' at, ya ugly minge?!"​</div>
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The blonde, red-eyed woman in a sleek purple and black dress eyed the redcap Rukkar, giving him <a href="https://static8.depositphotos.com/1449693/989/i/450/depositphotos_9896142-stock-photo-man-to-turn-around-looking.jpg" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fstatic8.depositphotos.com%2F1449693%2F989%2Fi%2F450%2Fdepositphotos_9896142-stock-photo-man-to-turn-around-looking.jpg&amp;hash=690265cb68b9c8cddc96d054e4176ada" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">a look of disdain.</a> But, she held her tongue. He wasn't worth words. He was barely worth the look she was giving him. Soon, however, her attention was drawn to the lowly goblin Makar. Briggun was coming. She shifting her gaze towards where Briggun always entered the room. He was clad in his armor, as usual. She barely ever saw him without his helmet anymore, and even less so without his armor. She wondered what his wife thought about it, honestly, but dared not ask. The wife was Fae. One dealt with Fae when one was properly prepared to do so.<br>
<div style="text-align: center">​</div>



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			<div style="text-align: left">"<b>Veno,"</b> he snarled, slowly regaining his composure, "what manner of treachery has befallen my commanders which hinders their progress?"​</div>
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The spymaster simply glanced to the table where Briggun has driven his fist. Not the first time he had done so, and it wouldn't be the last either. At least he wasn't beating that same fist into someone's skull. Bodies were easy to hide and dispose of, but hard to clean up after. A table could be mended and reused.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Difficulty with the terrain, my lord, between our two regions. The routes that would normally be used to bypass the mountains have been well secured. Imperial scouts are attempting to find weak points, but the progress is slow."</span> responded Veno, <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Though I'm sure with some proper focus from your lieutenants and generals, our problems can be dealt with. However, to them, I am but a lowly creature peering over their shoulders. Simply an unwanted observer. They listen to you, my lord, first and foremost. Your input is needed."</span><br>
<br>
Besides, Veno had other imperial matters to attend to as well. The empire had enemies without, but the empire also had enemies within. Ones that needed to be located and rooted out. Cut out like a cancer from the body. Otherwise, the empire could not focus on expanding. And if the empire could not expand...<br>
<br>
<i><span style="color: rgb(71, 85, 119)">...That meant that the followers of Akordia could not spread.</span></i><br>
<br>
They could not reach their elven brothers and sisters, or spread their word and teachings to others that would choose to listen. The Old Ways of the Elves would not return, and Akordia's will would go unfulfilled. <i><b>That simply would not do.</b></i> Veno was responsible to bring Akordia's will to its execution. The goddess she often saw in her dreams, appearing to her clad in white that matched the very moon above that she held dominion over. Ever watchful of her multitudes of children below.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/akordiaaa-jpg.1122730/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1059/1059859-516e1fd45e99637fa4b74f0e360b7dd9.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="Akordiaaa.jpg" title="Akordiaaa.jpg" width="100" height="149" loading="lazy"></a>​</div><br>
She often spoke to her in cryptic words and phrases, but Veno understood her. She understood her wishes... her will. It had to be done, and would be done. The Lady on High would be happy, in the end. And everything Veno did was a means to that end.<br>
<br>
Soon, Briggun laid out a map on the large table at the center of the grand hall. A map of the known world, one she had seen far too many times to count. And then, her lord spoke again.<br>
<br>




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			"Now, I want you each to explain to me which portion of this map you will win for my empire on your next campaign, and how. You will resolve any differences in your plans, and you will cooperate if possible," Briggun instructed them.
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For the moment, Veno remained quiet. Silently taking in each of the lieutenants' statements. Their plans and thoughts. Dissecting each and every sentence, studying their faces and mannerisms. And the barbarian heathen was the first to speak, with Veno's eyes shifting towards him as he spoke of the goblins in the land of Mors Gobonach. Ah yes, the warring tribes. An annoyance, unwilling to bend the knee to the Empire. It made sense that the Heathens would strike at the Goblins. More uncivilized cultures drawn into the horde like a new link attached to a long chain.<br>
<br>
Veno's thoughts on Adanach and his horde were they were uncultured muscle to throw at the Empire's enemies. She despised them, personally. Especially after discovering that they tended to enslave those that could not fight. Not everyone could fight, even if forced to. One of her inner circle happened to be one of those types. He bore scars around his neck and across his body, given to him by a slaver in that vast army of barbarians. Likely not under the direct command of Adanach, but still. A horrid bunch, all of them. Useful only as tools, and just like tools, could easily be disposed of when the time came.<br>
<br>
Borok, the Sauroid runesmith, spoke next. A breakthrough in the mountains south of the Elven kingdom? Interesting. How long had he kept this a secret? His plan to split the elves off from the Gantar Sultinate was sound. Divide them, and if the Gantar decided to send assistance to the Elves, the aid would not reach them without having to go through Imperial forces. But how long would it take to bore through those mountains? Could they actually break through the elven barriers? Even her own scouts had trouble breaking through them at times.<br>
<br>
Lucafiel was next, pointing out the Lacans Republic. A functioning imperial war machine required coin and manpower. As much as she herself loathed slavery, it was needed. A strike at the Republic would prove beneficial, and would allow the flow of more coin and materials into the empire to fuel additional war efforts. A sound idea, but one that would need support from the other lieutenants. Just like Borok's, really. And Declan seemed to support Lucafiel's intentions with the Republic. He added onto Lucafiel plan with one of his own, and attempted to draw Adanach into it. If everything went the way it was laid out, Arantino, Tidiaus and Lorei would be ripe for the taking as well. An excellent plan, and one she would applaud if they were in more private company.<br>
<br>
Cordia was next, choosing to focus on dominating the naval aspect. As she she should. And Alexandre would follow along the coast. Excellent. A pair focused on taking the ports and coasts would prove most effective. And it would allow for the Empire to launch future assaults into the lower nations either by sea or land. She would applaud them as well, if she didn't detest the pair. She didn't like mindless slaughter. An empire needed subjects to rule, and she needed people to convert to the ways of Akordia.<br>
<br>
It seemed Borok would find his support in the dragoness that was Falwyn, an endentured servant of Briggun thanks to the artifact that he held in his possession. But then Yz spoke. And the more they spoke, the more they confused Veno. Were they... simply babbling or attempting to string something together that was remotely coherent? She listened in, and eventually they did. They were simply waiting to see where they would be needed more. It seemed Granny Voyka was also in the same boat.<br>
<br>
Estro, the Imperial Wizard, chose to throw his lot in with Cordia and Alexandre. He was doing it purely to get to the Civicerian Dominion, however. The man always tried to be several steps ahead of others. Veno smirked. So did she, honestly. Soon enough, she took a look at the map herself. What to do, what to do...<br>
<br>
How about something a little more... entertaining?<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Weildach."</span> she said simply, pointing to the nation's position on the map. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...I wish to light the powder keg."</span><br>
<br>
She smiled, then looked to those focusing on the south. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Nothing quite as distracting as a civil war, wouldn't you agree? A bit of chaos to the south that we could certainly take advantage of. Especially those that would be focused on carving a path towards the south. And perhaps, we can enlist the aid of our... <i>friends</i>... in Sandach? Convince them that we wish to 'help them reclaim their nation', and... <i>slip in the back door</i> once we have Weildach in our hands?"</span><br>
<br>
She didn't like mindless slaughter... but a little civil war now and then never hurt. Thinned out the idiots, honestly.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"I can send my own into the Theocracy, disguised as needed, to spread and sew disorder. The people of Weildach already hate one another as it is. We'll simply be giving them a reason to act on their darkest desires. The war will commence, and we will observe and stoke the fires as needed. Giving Cordia, Alexandre, and Estro the time to do what they need to. And when the time is right... we conquer the survivors."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Far off from the middle of the dining hall, the Voivoide of Skulls, Izaak Rosach remained seated. His form, lithe and armoured, was loose in the ornate wooden chair, hands gingerly resting at the ends of the chair's arms. Despite how slack his body was, it was harrowingly still, a silent general who observed the gathered lieutenants with passing interest. The armour he wore was, perhaps amongst his peers, unique, a suit of bone molded to his stature. Sleek, slab-plates gleamed oily in the light of Canaresch's banquet hall, casting thin-veins of shadow over the strata of woven, red muscle that acted like a gambeson. A skull, white as snow and freshly-plucked, dangled from a chain around the slender-figure's waist, its sockets as dead and soulless as the black slits of the Voivoide's beetle-crested helm. The other affectation that he wore was a leather cord hung with the teeth and talons of dozens of predators, a huntsman could pick out the species if they got too close. <br>
<br>
He wondered, for a moment, the depths of insanity that his peers enjoyed. No, he had not been here when their Lord and Emperor, Briggun, first began his warpath, one of blood-boiling wrath, to revenge himself against the tormentors and murderers of his son. Izaak had been preoccupied with other matters at the time, that and the towns that he ruled over were far-enough removed that the threat of Briggun's conquering stride a distant worry. Of course, a day would come when his domain would be put to the sword, Izaak knew that. So when it came, Izaak bent his knee to the towering might before him. Even with his mastery over the rotting dead, the Oss-mage lacked sufficient resources and power to defeat the newly-minted Emperor. Resist him, surely as the shore rocks resist the waves, but rocks wither and erode in the face of endless waves. The man smiled with self-amusement at the thought. Perhaps, he would've entertained that notion in another lifetime, but now, it seemed futile to do so. <br>
<br>
The lieutenant was not alone. Excluding his peers in Briggun's court, one individual flanked his shoulder. He wore black robes with the cowl drawn down, leaving only his mouth visible, hands clasped together in the wide and looping sleeves. He was just a shy younger than Izaak, but the discoloured and sagging skin on his chin, puckered with scars, misled most people. Eyes pale and milky, but functional still. Strangely, he was not of Izaak's serf stock, but one who offered himself freely at his master's feet. A confidant and chamberlain. Izaak had done away with many of his father's people, save for those truly deserving to bask in his glory, <i>Emil</i> was one of his own choice. As <span style="color: crimson">Rukkar</span>, one of <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">Adanach</span>'s Redcaps, an ugly, vulgar thing, that spouted obscenities and goading remarks, Emil smirked, a tiny smile that parted his features, allowing himself a modicum of amusement. <br>
<br>
Then the clitter-clacking of bones is heard. The small jaws of a canid creature mimicking living mannerisms that it possessed so long, long ago. From beneath the table's edge, a skeletal creature peaked its dog skull above the edge. Its lifeless sockets stared at Rukkar, indignantly glaring at him. Its bones yellowing from age, yet the former dog still persisted. Izaak's helm shifted as he looked to his canine companion, his gauntlet danced across the ridged spine, wicked talons caressing the dorsal horns, placating the small hound. His bones rattled as he shook and laid back down on the Voivode's lap. Izaak caught sight of Lucafiel eyeing Adanach, his wife, Bjorga, and the redcap Rukkar. <br>
<br>
The fallen must be imagining such sweet cruelty to inflict on the boasting redcap, Izaak leaned to the left, supporting his head with a closed knuckle as he watched the porcelain-faced lieutenant with the near-obsidian of his helm. He was possessed of a certain respect towards the Fallen's manner of warfare, finding it novel. A degree of sympathy towards their cause, extrapolated from Izaak's own feelings and experiences. That is where it ends, however. He feels that the Vestati are not to be wholly trusted - their mania to deiciding their patron, whoever or whatever it is, can become a detriment to themselves and Briggun's court. <br>
<br>
Makar, a down-trodden goblin speaker, announced Briggun's arrival, before being swiftly belted to the side in an abrupt act of sadism by the Emperor himself. Izaak could tell, from the very sound of his booted footfalls, that Briggun was bristling beneath his armour. Izaak snatched his hound and set him down, before rising to give his Emperor the exact amount of respect required. A bowed head with his cape of muscle-fibre flowing down. And nothing more, before falling down into his chair again. The amber eyes, clear as a crystal lake, winced when Briggun brought his frustrations onto the table, leaving a dent. Was that so necessary? Yes, he supposes it was. <br>
<br>
The rest began their elaborations of their warplans, considered and like any plan, flawed. His was likely to be faulty in certain aspects as well. The soundness of plans is first tested. If it finds success, then it should be offered approval, that is Izaak's viewpoint. <br>
<br>
Baba Voyka, a maestro of abattoirs, one that Izaak believes to be a formidable and reliable ally, along with the ever confusing and madder than a full-moon lunatic, Yz are being flexible in their deployment. A wise decision, Izaak ponders as Emil leans to whisper into his ear. He nods once before, following the archmage's strategy. He dare not underestimate such a being of mystical might, where Izaak is the specialist, and could defeat <span style="color: cyan">Estro</span> in manipulating bones, it is his other avenues that make such a deadly adversary. Best to stay in the cult leader's good graces. <br>
<br>
Suddenly, Izaak felt a burning in his skin, chest sore and red beneath the armour. That accursed lattice which hounded his dreams, haunting them into waking nightmares at times. He streaked his talons across his chest in a vain attempt to soothe his injury, screeching like a blade to whetstone. <br>
<br>
It was then his turn to speak. He extended a hand then tapped with a talon on the map. "<span style="color: #f2d770">Gantar.</span>" Pieces of his gauntlet broke off onto the table. Snapping, contorting into puppetted figures of people, like they were carved by a carpenter. The figures marched unabated towards Gantar then mocked a salute before trailing back to reform Izaak's gauntlet. <br>
<br>
His voice contradicted the figure that belonged to — deep, dry, and rough. A voice that belonged more to an executioner or mortuary scribe than a nobleman such as he. "<span style="color: #f2d770">With Felwyn's forces and my hordes, the Sultinate cannot stand for long, if at all.</span>" There was a flint-edged hardness to it though, almost like ice. "<span style="color: #f2d770">My mixed forces will suffer less in the scorching desert. Fewer supplies will be needed. The lines will be well-protected regardless by skeletonized enforcers.</span>" He added. "<span style="color: #f2d770">My forces are already on a war-footing, ready to be deployed at my command. As always, however, I do your bidding, Lord.</span>" He bowed his head one more time and placed a fist over his heart.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">As his lieutenants laid out their plans and bickered over the minor details, Briggun listened quietly and kept his eyes on the map, deep in concentration.<br>
<br>
Borok had presented a simple, but captivating plan: To go, not over the mountains, nor around the mountains, but under and through the mountains to attack Erevan where the elves would be ill-prepared. If he could make good on his word, then a massive invasion force could strike at what was doubtlessly the least-defended province of the realm: Sabersval. However, there were risks involved: if the elves were to learn of the plan, then the tunnels would simply close as the pass did, years ago, negating the numerical advantage his armies possessed. Moreover, if the elves employed magic, they could cause a landslide, or simply douse the tunnels with foul gasses and choke any would attempt a crossing.<br>
<br>
Lady Falwyn, then, provided the solution. She would attack the province of Ysaval, which, while heavily-defended by the elves, would likely draw away their forces and attention, vastly increasing the chances for success up the middle. He nodded slowly as she spoke; of course the dragon would be drawn to the richness of the northern coast of Gantar; it would be wise to indulge her to the extent that the empire could allow, as her strength was something Briggun could ill-afford to lose. Beneath his armor, an amulet lay flush against his skin, the very artifact which held her in her human form while in his presence; while he felt it possible to kill the dragon should he ever lose it, it was far safer and more convenient to keep her on a leash.<br>
<br>
As the others took a break from speaking, the fate of Erevan was the first the Dark Lord spoke of.<br>
<br>
"Your attack on Ysaval has my approval, Lady Falwyn. You may depart for Ostmajora immediately to gather your forces. Be as conspicuous as you can manage; burn them in spectacle. They must believe you to be the greatest threat they have yet faced, even greater than I. Such a mistake will be their undoing, as I have orchestrated your coming as surely as I have been the architect of their final destruction. If this should open the way for your schemes in Gantar, then all the better," he added, a bloodthirsty amusement creeping into his tone.<br>
<br>
"For that matter," he said, turning to Izaak, "you have my permission to launch an attack on the southern Gantar province of Miraq. It will be lightly defended, no doubt, but is also worthless to us beyond securing a direct route to Midana and Arnone. I take it your intent, however, is to push on to Bhiran, leaving naught but the coastal lands the Sultan so dearly prizes, and Menzaar, beyond. This is also... acceptable," the Emperor spoke.<br>
<br>
He then looked to Borok, giving a similar nod of approval. "I know of your tunnels and have been watching your progress for quite some time, Runesmith. While the other commanders look for easier takings elsewhere, if none will volunteer, then I shall lead the attack on Sabersval personally and drive a stake into their nature-loving hearts. But that reminds me that there is one great forest you have forgotten, Baba," he said to the hag. "You are welcome to join me in the elvan glades in our triumphant hour, along with anyone else who isn't preoccupied."<br>
<br>
Turning his attention to Lucafiel, Declan, and Adanach as they laid out plans, his tone grew more agitated. His subordinates were clearly not in accord on what is to be done with the Lacanic slaves, once the territory is conquered. Declan's proposal to stir discord within the republic to destabilize it was a cunning plan, and the warlock understood the potential of freedmen in aiding their progress further into the country. They would know the lay of the land and the identities of rich and powerful landowners.<br>
<br>
However, Lucafiel was right to question the end goal of the emancipations. Briggun did not need untrained, ill-disciplined irregulars, no matter their loyalty. He needed farmers to till the fields and craftsmen to shoe the horses. The slaves would doubtlessly clamber to the idea that they are owed for simply betraying the masters they already hated regardless in a time of convenience, and as the fallen angel expressed it, it would cost Saarus "half of the plunder."<br>
<br>
On the other hand, Briggun felt no pity for the men and women he would place <i>back</i> in chains should they be freed, with the swiftness and brutality which he had applied equally to all of his campaigns.<br>
<br>
"Lord Declan, I approve of your plan to foster a revolt within the Lacans Republic. Let them believe that acceptance of their bondage is akin to death, and to resist is the wind in their lungs. As the masters of that land lose their illusion of control, the Hallow Legion will attack the Province of Oitvemia from allied land in Tidiaus. When we're finished, we will bring upon the slaves a cruelty so heavy that it will squeeze the breath from their body and the voice from their throats, and they will be ours, <i>forevermore."</i><br>
<br>
He then turned to Adanach. "You are a Druadach, as are your followers. You are free to travel in that country if you are not making war against your countrymen, lending credit to Lord Declan's plan to pressure the Loreians. But your longer-term goals serve me better. Crush Mors Gobonach's resistance and begin the conquest of your homeland."<br>
<br>
The Dark Lord held no response for Yz. He already knew of the puzzling manner in which they expressed ideas, and was ready to allow the strange being to simply be at large during the coming campaign. Instead, he turned his focus to the sea hag and the vampyr, a slow chuckle bellowing from the voids of his helmet. "...It <i>is</i> good to hear that the fleet is finally ready to serve its purpose, to wrest control of the waters from those blasted Piantians. While their colonial possessions are harried by the undead, their precious navy will be torn between the task of ferrying men and supplies across the channel and holding off Captain Cordia from taking Teralia, which will not hold out for long against us on its own."<br>
<br>
He gestured again at the main, southern portion of Piantia. "Those fools are the weak link among their lot, and they know it. Should Piantia fall, the Civicerians would be next. As this would be a delayed offensive, I support your efforts to infiltrate and sabotage the Dominion with the Cult of Zo," he said, lifting his gaze to meet Estro's. "That leaves you, Veno," he said turning to face his Spymaster.<br>
<br>
Her intent to fool the Sandach into believing themselves active partners in the war against their mother country was a master stroke; perhaps they would delude themselves into thinking their gods had sent Saarus to finally unify their accursed country under a single, virtuous banner. But once the mainland is taken, Sandach will be nothing but a footnote in the Empire's history. "I give you leave to meet with the Sandachians. Lead them into the fold so that they may be taken by poisonous <i>hope,</i> and then dash it against the rocks. Lead their brethren to destroy one another once more, until they have no strength to resist."<br>
<br>
The shape of the grand attack was nearly finalized, and the commanders were permitted to leave. There was much work to be done to prepare. Briggun would linger for a while over his map, still ready to discuss the finer points with any who wished for further guidance. The rest would depart to begin the task of humbling the entire world.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka bowed with her hand on her chest as Briggun offered her to join in the long-awaited Erevan Campaign, to be led under his magnanimous charge. She had very much not forgotten the forests of Erevan, but always considered anything involving elves Veno's domain. She personally felt slaughtering elves just made Veno's job of uniting them easier - there'd be less of them, after all! - but she didn't wish to ruffle feathers unnecessarily.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">No honor would be greater than joining you in the Erevan Campaign, your Rottenness,</span>" Voyka said, referring to him with one of her sillier epitaphs for him, a practice Briggun was all too used to. Just a little bit of grandmotherly fun, aimed at reminding all of what he was - the most powerful villain in the land, unchallenged in his brutality, cruelty and vileness, an idol to be worshiped in all his repulsiveness and meanness, to be imitated and replicated.<br>
<br>
As Briggun concentrated on addressing the rest of the lieutenants not involved in that campaign, Voyka shifted her focus to the two lieutenants who had been silent thus far: Kolthix and Vuldar. To the first, she just turned her head to face him, and gave him her infamous twisted grin. It had been too long since the two of them, combined unparalleled in their murderous brutality, had been on a campaign. Were he to join, there would be fun galore, and that was without including the blood. She did consciously make sure Veno noticed her doing this; if she opposed the likely slaughter of elves that would come from the two of them being in this campaign together, now was the time to speak up. To the second, she thought it likely he might join the campaign too, given the path to Alemannum required crossing through Erevan, assuming he didn't join the barbarian and circumvented Erevan altogether. She viewed that unlikely though. The thought of a campaign that featured her, Kolthix and Vuldar, all following Briggun's lead, made her quite nostalgic. With the closing of the meeting, she made sure to linger. After all, there was a campaign to plan, and coordination would be key to victory.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Falwyn stepped up with a brief smile towards the room Briggun approved of her conquering of the province of Ysaval. It would become a great staging ground for her steps into Gantar. Erevan would divert their forces to try to stop the terror of the dragon, but find themselves ripped apart by the various warlords who marched through the tunnels into the center.<br>
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<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I will begin the mustering at once. They will learn to cower before me. I will bring them a spectacle of Death! We will feast in the clearings of ash when the province is won."</span> She would look to the eyes of Briggun, Voyka, and any others who would join the campaign to the middle. She gave a glance to Borok, would the man join the others in the middle through his tunnels as she suggested? Either way she would be the one who took control of Ysaval. It was <i><b>her</b></i><b><i> conquest</i></b>. She would raise her bottle to them. A fine vintage, mostly drunk at this point. Which it was perfect for marking the occasion.<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "Prosit! To the Empire of Saarus! To Everan's downfall!" </span>She would then finish the bottle smashing it upon the ground to mark her intent to the toast and finality of the actions. She would then turn on her heels walking in confidence out of the palace to begin the rallying of her troops for invasion.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">With the plan of assault agreed upon, the only thing to do now was to rally the troops and await the coming slaughter. Alexandre felt the moon shining in through the circular windows that adorned the high roof of the once opulent dining hall. Feeling spurred, she retrieved a small vial from a small satchel at her hip. Opening it up she drank the sanguine liquid with greed, and when expended, crushed the vial in her gauntlet. With deep breaths, she emerged from the shade and walked up to Cordia. Positioning herself in fron of her, she grabbed the captain with both hands by the shoulders bringing her closer to her own visage.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">Alas, my sickly gueen of the waves, I depart for the edge of the bone coast. There we shall wait for your siren song upon the umbral wind with salivating breath.</span>" She said as she gazed deep into Cordias eyes, whom were met with two sockets in which there burned a swirling whirlwind of wrath and ruin.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">Then we go south and fall upon them</span>" she said between a chuckle, "<span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">And there we will lay them out dead</span>" she concluded with a wide grin.<br>
Straightening herself up and brushing her slick hair back, she turned to give Veno and Estro a look of sadistic excitment. "<span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">And of course, I trust the two of you will also be there...</span>", Alexandre said, looking from Estro to Veno. She eyed the spymaster intently, giving here a knowing smirk. "<span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">Skulking in the shadows</span>".<br>
Alexandre then made her exit, grabing her hideous greatsword that had been left by the main door. As she left the corridors to the courtyard echoed with a hearty laughter.<br>
Well outside, she encountered a tall knight, sitting atop a stygian steed. "<span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">My my, Guillaume the Postmaster</span>." she said, half-heartedly conceiling a mocking laughter.<br>
The knight turned his hed slowly to her, giving her a disdainful look with his crimson, shimering eyes. He drew heavy breaths as he eyed the red butcher.<br>
Alexandres demeanor switched suddenly to a bestial seriousness. "<span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">The patriarchs message has been delivered. We will march on the southern realms, with two sycophants in tow.</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255)">"</span><br>
The knight growled lowly within his feathered helmet, his war-torn armor playing a forboding melody in the falling rain. Turning his horse around while maintianing a hateful gaze on Alexandre, the dark rider set away with terrifying speed into the moonlit night. Alexandre quickly saddled her horse, a massive and brutish steed called <i>Henri le Massif</i>.<br>
Riding out into the courtyard, she bucked the horse and turned it towards the gate.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255)">"</span><span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">Henri, mon terrible destrier! Rapporte-moi leurs âmes!</span>" Alexandres cried to the heavens that poured down upon her, sending rider and beast away with speed rivaling the dark knight.<br>
<br>
The two rider were bound east to Rocher, riding so fiercly that their passing invoked the tales of the Wild Hunts of yore.</div>
				
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"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">THE SAND TREES ARE LISTENING, HIDE YOUR PET GOATS</span>" Yz stated for no reason as the frantically flicked their gaze around the room before snapping their gaze back at Lord Briggun, who was answering to the plans that had been devised by each of the leaders as she noticed Lord Briggun had not even considered a word to him. Perhaps he was afraid of them and what he was concocting in her mind. It did not matter to Yz, for simply it was only a thing Yz could comprehend at the current time.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">The. Blood. Is. Sleeping. Where? Five of them sleep, the infinite gazes into my soul. It siiings~, for meee~, because I have taken its toe</span>" Yz pondered in conclusion as they thought over their own matters, chiming in with quiet and debatably meaningless song as they had looked between the others. Lord Briggun's triumph within the Kingdom of Erevan would be useful, with that it held both people and arguably one of the nicest places to call territory. A place of verdant nature was the most bare-bones of egotistical society, where Yz could have a place of their own built from naught that would value the world and life they have. Not such pride that was gained by others. The elves there would make a fine following for those who would join. They could use a mask to hide their disgusting, prideful visages.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">YZ WILL BLESS YOUR STORY TIME, BIG MAN. LET EXISTENCE BE TAKEN AND RIGHT RIGHTED, MEN OF WAR BESTED OR RECRUITED, AND WOMEN AND CHILDREN TAKEN AND TREATED WITH RESPECT</span>" Yz stated in reaffirmation that their first deed would be to help with what Lord Briggun asked, for Erevan was a great place that would assist to have and also winning over Briggun's favour could become of extreme use. Lord Briggun already had a spymaster, but Yz was also interested in proving that himself too would also be useful for similar affairs. Yz thought about his plans as she looked over Baba Voyka whom Yz heard would also be joining to his crusade.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">HmmMmmMm, grand-mama fears not war, Yz hopes the lady brought her walking stick. Mhm, ma-maa~. Ooh~, where is the OVEN, MY DEAR? We haaave~ to take out the rock turtles. They must be thirsty, as am I</span>" Yz pronounced allowed to Voyka over their possible cooperation as he had gave a small bow, laughing maniacally before falling backwards and rolling sideways twice before sitting up.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">NO, I'M NOT A CRAB CONSUMER, only after the next three seconds... FOUR</span>" Yz continued before she stood up, putting their hands on their hips in a sassy manner and abruptly shaking their head to flick long feminine hair that wasn't existant.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">The powerfully great me will consume your greetings of you all elsewhere, for I'm</span>-" Yz spoke allowed before laughing abruptly before sobbing, covering their mask's eyeholes with their hands. Waddling over to the bottle Falwyn had smashed and falling to their knees, Yz fell to the ground and tried to scoop and cradle the glass.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Thiemerschin! My childhood friend! You were always the bravest of us all! I'm sorry Lady Babydropper hath dropped you before your secondteenth birthhour. I will give the news to your family</span>" Yz spoke softly to the shattered bottle, for the prideful dragon lady had broke it for no deserving reason. Their own thoughts and ideas of things were often clouded by ridiculous speech and actions. Yz clutched her fist angrily as he spoke quiet prayers for the lost. The Kingdom of Erevan would be taken in remembrance of the bottle who deserved a better fate than this. Yz was, <i> probably</i>, ready for conquest.​</div></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka watched as the embers of the meeting finish off its last twinkles, as lieutenants share a last set of discourses and depart for their respective fronts... though there were those still yet to speak on their plans. And one such person would be Yz. She watched as the enigmatic being proclaimed aloud that they would be joining the Erevan Campaign. Given the circumstances, more hands on deck was certainly welcome, and it provides everyone who's also taking part in the direct portion of the campaign an opportunity to further familiarize with them, given they were among the newest in their ranks, an opportunity that might prove fruitful.<br>
<br>
But then Voyka returned to reality and was instantly reminded by Yz's... nature. Immediately after affirming their plan to aid in the campaign, the oddball just went off on her... at least that's how it felt like. Before she could even finish making her familiar grin towards them, after implying she needed a walking stick, her expression shifted to confused amusement. They were genuinely unhinged, affirmed by the sassy flicking on nonexistent hair and mourning glass shards on the floor like a familiar friend (glass that she was about to swipe and turn into "pocket glass" to throw at her enemies' faces). All she hoped is that this wouldn't cause issues on the field.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><blockquote data-attributes="member: 64014" data-quote="K0mori" data-source="post: 11794720" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11794720" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11794720">K0mori said:</a>
			
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			"You are a Druadach, as are your followers. You are free to travel in that country if you are not making war against your countrymen, lending credit to Lord Declan's plan to pressure the Loreians. But your longer-term goals serve me better. Crush Mors Gobonach's resistance and begin the conquest of your homeland."
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</blockquote><br>
When dealing with Briggun, Adanach always choose to remain expressionless and stoic, as it was tradition among the Druadach tribes when talking with the chief during times of war, but when Briggun approved of his plan to conquer Mors Gobonach, Adanach could not help but to make a wolfish grin. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Aye, consider it done... the <b>Heathen Horde</b> will raise, lord Briggun, and we will fly your banner..."</span> Adanach then pounded his chest, as did his wife Bjorga, a Druadach way to salute the chieftain. <br>
<br>
As Adanach and his companions prepared to leave, he stopped to look at Lord Declan, whose strategy had also been approved of by the dark lord. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"The dark master brought a good point, if the chieftains of <b>Mors Fael</b> do not stop me and my conquest is successful, I might be able to aid you either by attacking Lorei through Mors Fael or by crossing the <b>Tidach Loch</b>... either way, only the gods will tell."</span> He then looked at both Declan and Lucafiel. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...The northern realms will fall. <b>We will make sure of it</b>."</span><br>
<br>
He saluted both the Vestati prince and the Viceroy, before walking out of the hall. Before leaving, Rukkar looked at Mr. Gribbs, who was scowling at him. <span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"The fuck ya lookin' at ya rancid cu-"</span> Bjorga grabbed the redcap by the hat and dragged him away before he got into trouble with an angry gremlin.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/war-camp-png.1123184/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1060/1060313-82f62d99b1b912ba4093df6ece9810ad.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="War Camp.png" title="War Camp.png" width="150" height="100" loading="lazy"></a>​</div><br>
Not far from the imperial capital was the Druadach war camp, a large, walled encampment that consists of hundreds of tents providing shelter to many Druadach warriors. Compared to the grand architecture of Canarite origin, it was rather unsightly, but highly practical and functional, and not completely withdrawn of artistry, as hundreds of banners decorated its wooden walls. Inside the camp where thousands of Druadach warriors, the human warriors hailed from all corners of the Druadach and were mostly equipped with bronze weapons, some carried iron and very small minority had weapons of steels. The sizeable orc minority on the other hand hailed mostly from Mors Darak, and carried exclusively iron weaponry and armor.<br>
<br>
When the guards by the gate noticed Adanach and his cohort approaching, they sounded the carnyx, announcing the arrival of the Warchief to the rest of the horde. Hundreds of Druadach warriors hastily gathered around the center campfire as Adanach rode on his hardy Senochii steed named Dunach, while his wife Bjorga rode a fearsome albino Warg named Wikkon. The Horde of human and orcish warriors looked at Adanach expectantly as he got off his horse and faced them.<br>
<br>
Adanach noticed that his horde was starting to get rowdy, he had heard that some members would sneak off at night and attack travellers heading to the capital. They craved pillaging and conquest, and were not used to idly sitting by at camps and neither was he, he craved it as well, and was dying to start raiding and pillaging alongside his horde, but he knew he wouldn't be able to unite the Druadach through violence alone, and he had to make his horde understand that as well. He took a deep breath before addressing his horde.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...we will march upon Mors Gobonach at once!"</span> The horde cheered and shouted in unison upon hearing the news, but all fell silent when he raised his arm to quiet them down. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Remember, children of the Druadach! Our quest, is to unite the tribes, by offering them alliance!"</span> The horde remained quiet, he could see a few disgruntled faces as he reminded them that diplomacy came first. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...but what if they refuse us, brothers and sisters? What if the Goblin chieftains refuse to talk about peace and understanding between the tribes? What if they only understand the language of the sword?"</span> Adanach then bared his fangs likes a wolf, even thinking about war riled him up, his eyes and face twisted in a feral manner that brings fear into his enemies and even his own soldiers. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...Then our tongues shall become bronze and iron - <b>AND OUR WORDS, A MIGHTY ROAR OF WAR!</b>"</span><br>
<br>
Once more, the horde shouted and cheered, but now in a frenzied unison. <b><span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">"BRING OUT THE TRIBUTE! CALL FORTH THE DRUIDS! WE WILL OFFER A SACRIFICE TO THE GODS SO THAT THEY BRING US STRENGTH!"</span></b> shouted Bjorga, and quickly, the warriors brought a couple of slaves, a few sheep and a mighty boar. The slaves were from an old Canarite rebellion that Adanach personally squashed. They were peasants, and they begged the barbarians to spare them. Adanach grabbed one of them by the neck, grinning like a madman. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"If you were strong, you wouldn't be here... now face the gods with bravery, so that they will accept you into the great halls above! <b>OR ROT IN THE GROUND, DEVOURED BY THE UNHOLY MAGGOTS OF THE DARK GODS!</b>"</span><br>
<br>
The slaves were brought to the druids, wizened old men with powerful magics and attunement with nature and the old gods of the Druadach. The oldest of the Druids, <a href="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/371148298066722821/1168706611943051334/roman-zawadzki-07-druid.png?ex=6552bdd9&amp;is=654048d9&amp;hm=c84709d927f58febd65d76584e5cdcb9f49eb568a6f2f904d24a32f14766b160&amp;" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.discordapp.com%2Fattachments%2F371148298066722821%2F1168706611943051334%2Froman-zawadzki-07-druid.png%3Fex%3D6552bdd9%26is%3D654048d9%26hm%3Dc84709d927f58febd65d76584e5cdcb9f49eb568a6f2f904d24a32f14766b160%26&amp;hash=457b0c304175858458c978cad12653d1" rel="nofollow ugc noopener"><b>Madanach the Wizened One</b></a>, looked down at the slaves, he attempted to bring them some comfort in vain, they did not understand they were now going to be with the gods, and then painted their faces and bodies with blue paint made from woad. He, alongside the rest of the horde, chanted the <b>Call to <span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Carnunach</span></b>, god of war of the Druadach, while the battle bards sounded hundreds of carnyxes that echoed through the valleys and even in the cities of the empire, bringing fear to the people and their foreign gods as Carnunach arrives!<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><i><span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Andedion uediIumi diIiuion risun"<br>
"Aritu </span><span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)"><b>Carnunach</b></span><span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)"> aruerriIatin"<br>
"Iopites snIeððdic sos brichtia anderon!"</span></i><br>
<br>
<span data-s9e-mediaembed="youtube"><span><span style="background:url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/YKc92JSP2rk/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% / cover" data-s9e-mediaembed-iframe="[&quot;allowfullscreen&quot;,&quot;&quot;,&quot;scrolling&quot;,&quot;no&quot;,&quot;style&quot;,&quot;background:url(https:\/\/i.ytimg.com\/vi\/YKc92JSP2rk\/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% \/ cover&quot;,&quot;src&quot;,&quot;https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/YKc92JSP2rk&quot;]"></span></span></span>​</div><br>
<br>
The frenzied horde shouted in excitement as Rukkar, acting executioner of Adanach, beheaded both the animals and the slaves with his razor sharp enchanted Falx. The Barbarians proceeded to grab the animal carcasses and brought them to the bonfire to feast on the now blessed flesh, while the heads of the slaves were tied to the branches of an old oak tree, an ancient tradition that ensures the knowledge these people once had lives on through the land. As Rukkar bathed his cap on the blood of the slaves, Adanach approached Madanach, hoping to hear good news from the Druid.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Was this tribute satisfactory, great one?"</span> he asked, bowing before the wizened one, it was important to respect the druids and the elders. The starry eyed elder looked down at Adanach, he gently stroked his white beard, staining the tips with blue woad paint. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"The gods look upon ye' favorably, Adanach son of the Druadach... but remember, the gods are fickle, they might bless ye today, and might take it all away the next day... honor them daily, and not just the gods of the Druadach."</span> said the druid with his coarse, old voice. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Are you asking me to honor the gods of the Canarites?"</span> the blind druid shook his head. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Ney, the gods of the settled peoples... they are beings of great injustice, who look unfavorably upon us for rejecting their dogmatic view... I speak of the old gods, the gods of people like ours, those who live off the land..."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"The barbarians..."</span> muttered Adanach.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Aye, those who are deemed barbarians, they are our kin, no matter how different or strange they are. Their gods, while not like ours, are just, they value strength and wisdom, nature and balance..."</span> the wizened druid looked up to the sky. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"...unite us, son of the Druadach, so that us who are strong of mind and body may rule upon the weak of spirit."</span> Adanach nodded, saluting the druid before turning his attention to Bjorga, who stood only a few meters away, looking proud of him. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...Oi, don't give me that look."</span> he said, trying to hide away infatuated look. Bjorga let out a hearty chuckle in response. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...Once done with the feast, order the men to pack everything, we will march out at once."</span> He ordered. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Aye, it shall be done, my chief."</span> She responded before walking towards the bonfire, ordering the men to prepare for the long march ahead of them.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: rgb(134, 96, 142)"><span style="font-size: 26px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><b>Veno Dilach, The Black Rose</b></span></span></span><br>
<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'">(Disguised - Imperial Spymaster)</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/veno_disguise-png.1123199/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1060/1060328-b87f385ca8beec4d3f5d0bc8833aaa4c.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="Veno_Disguise.png" title="Veno_Disguise.png" width="100" height="167" loading="lazy"></a><br>
<br>
--- --- ---<br>​</div>



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			<div style="text-align: left">"I give you leave to meet with the Sandachians. Lead them into the fold so that they may be taken by poisonous <i>hope,</i> and then dash it against the rocks. Lead their brethren to destroy one another once more, until they have no strength to resist."​</div>
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</blockquote><br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Understood, my lord. I'll gather my followers and prepare for the journey."</span> responded Veno, giving his lordship a respectful bow. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"I shall keep you posted on our progress."</span><br>
<br>
As she straightened up, she looked to the others as they spoke as well. Soon, though, she spoke up in regards to the invasion of the elvan lands. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"I humbly request that you at least <b><i>try</i></b> to take as many elvan prisoners as you can. Ruins full of corpses are worth far less than a fallen kingdom full of living, breathing people in the long run. Prisoners can be turned into slaves or loyal subjects. Slaves provide materials and manpower, loyal subjects supply commerce and trade. The steady flow of goods, materials, coin... and information... is the lifeblood of a lasting empire. Simply killing everyone doesn't help us, save to sate the voracious appetites of those in this for the mass slaughter."</span> she stated, looking to each that still remained before glancing back to Briggun. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"But as I said... 'tis but a humble request, my lord."</span><br>
<br>
She then bowed to the others. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"I wish you all the best of luck in your endeavours. Hopefully we'll all be bringing the best of news when we meet here again."</span><br>
<br>
Once she had finished, she straightened up. She turned on the point of her heel, spinning a full hundred and eighty degrees, before walking across the guild hall towards a door in the far corner. The same one she had entered from, after having trekked through the vast castle for several minutes. It felt like an eternity of a walk, but, of course, that's the price you paid when the tower you selected for your abode happened to be the one at the very rear of the structure.<br>
<br>
Originally, it had been used to house select prisoners and enemies of the crown that were waiting for execution. After Briggun's ascent to the throne and proclamation as emperor, She requested that it be used instead for the work of the Imperial Spymaster. Formerly, the Spymaster of Canar was housed elsewhere, deep in the countryside outside of the capital. She herself had sought the destruction of the old estate, however, during the invasion. It went up like a decrepit barn full of hay in the driest of summer heats, and any survivors were hunted down and executed on the spot. Canar wouldn't be able to use their spies to counter Briggun's march if they didn't have any, or a method to acquire new ones.<br>
<br>
For several minutes, she strolled through the castle. Her heels clacked as she walked across the stone and hardwood floors. Occassionally, she'd recieve a greeting or bow from staff. She ignored most of them. The Imperial Spymaster had more important things to do than fraternize with the palace servants and guards. As she neared the tower, however, she grew more relaxed. There was a good reason for this, really. Most of those at the tower were followers of Akordia. They knew her, and she knew them. There was true respect. Obedience. <i>Reverence.</i><br>
<br>
Soon, she arrived at the double doors that lead into the tower. A banner hung over the entrance, and two others flanked the doors along with a pair of guards. The banners were marked with the symbol of the Cult of Akordia, a silver crecent moon, the opening facing downward with a smaller silver circle just inside its wide maw. On the larger banner above the door, a more complete variation. A spiked sun sat below the crecent moon and circle, and two stars flanked above the moon on either side. The symbology was quite interesting, relating to the Old Gods, but that would be thoughts for another time. She had to let the others know. They had to prepare for what was to come.<br>
<br>
The guards moved, stepping over and opening the doors for her to step inside. Just on the other side of the door, she stopped and waited. Waited for the clunk of the doors, as they shut. And soon, she heard it. <i>Cluh-clunk.</i> She audibly sighed, then snapped her fingers. A moment later, <i>her entire appearance</i> began to shift and change.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/veno_dilach-png.1123219/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1060/1060348-2a99f5abac080f4b8e77689f2d12de21.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="Veno_Dilach.png" title="Veno_Dilach.png" width="100" height="167" loading="lazy"></a>​</div><br>
It usually didn't take very long. Maybe about five seconds at most. But soon, the true Veno Dilach stood there. Her red Drow eyes darting around as she looked to see whom would be arriving to speak to her first. And if nobody came, then she'd go hunting herself. Talice, her closest and oldest friend, would need to hear about the current events first. From there, it would go down the line of her inner circle.</div>
				
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			<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">The countryside did not burn, but it did run red with blood. To a shadeling, fire was a curse. A plague born of the moral species or of nature. It scorches their ghostly forms, draining them of their strength if they are simply close enough to the burning heat, so when they lay siege to a stretch of land, it is not chaos or destruction that follows in their wake but eerie silence or the occasional scream.<br>
<br>
Shadelings had learned to kill at opportune moments. They take advantage of their sheer numbers over the strength they may possess. Always be certain of victory before it is pursued, at least in smaller groups. However, all creatures were prey, and eventually they would eat and have their fill. A favored meal is that acquired after a successful raid.<br>
<br>
A lone farmer had been witness to it all, and these are his observations. Caide is a simple man. He lived quietly and tended to his lands, his livestock. He was content with living far from others, but there were times when he has to make exceptions and go into town. He had to sell his goods after all. That’s the whole point of being a farmer. He just wished that he had held off until another day. Now he was caught in the madness of a shadeling attack.<br>
<br>
He managed to be silent so far, just as quiet as the dreadful attackers. Perhaps that’s what has allowed him to survive as long as he had. There was chaos everywhere, but it was only the screams or shouts of villagers. One rarely heard a shadeling causing a commotion. Caide stalks through a side road, keeping his eyes on the roofs of buildings he passed. One thing he had noticed is that shadelings also enjoyed surprising their victims. It is as if the fear of their prey sates them just as much as their flesh.<br>
<br>
A shout stops him in his tracks. It sounds as if it came from an older man, perhaps his own age? It was difficult to tell. Out of some morbid curiosity he sneaks in the direction of the shout, peering around a corner after a bit of walking. There, in a small clearing, stood a grown man surrounded by shadelings. The creatures were far smaller than the human man, about the size of human children, but they were a lot more vicious. In the wisp-like shadows emanating from their bodies, their eyes glowed fiercely. Hungrily. Each of the shadelings carried with them a dagger or blade. Something they can use to easily kill.<br>
<br>
“Back! Away! Monsters!” the man screamed, but it was no use. He wasn’t a person to these creatures. He was their next meal, and no amount of pitiful cries would help. The moment the shadelings advanced, Caide had turned away. He was left with only the pained screams of the poor man, the gurgling as breath failed the fellow in his dying moments. Eager to get away, Caide had bitten down hard on hiss lip, drawing blood in the process.<br>
<br>
Fear was a different beast during this attack. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before, and he had once been stalked by a wolf while hunting once. He thought that was terrifying at the time, but at the moment he would have preferred the wolf.<br>
<br>
Caide begins to make his way out of the country, running through tall grasses and trees until the forest was in view. oddly enough, there were no shadelings this far out of the way of the battle. Usually they would patrol and capture any who try to escape. All creatures of flesh were a valuable resource for them after all, but there were none in sight. Though there also weren’t many survivors to see running through the fields.<br>
<br>
After a moment of thought, Caide chose survival over heroism, running into the shadows of the woods. If there were no patrols to keep him from escaping, then he might as well take advantage of the opportunity. He slips through the growing dark, keeping his eyes peeled for danger. It would take him quite a bit of traveling to get through the woods, and he also had to account for the wildlife if he wanted to stay alive.<br>
<br>
As the shadows grow longer and the surroundings turn eerie, Caide stops for a moment to look around. Something new had hit him. A tingling on the back of is neck. Instinct making his eyes flick back and forth. There was the feeling once more. That sense of danger. No, it was more than that this time around. He almost felt like he was being watched. He shivers slightly before he continues on. If he just keeps going, he’ll lose this feeling once and for all… but that was better said than done.<br>
<br>
A few hours pass and the feeling lingers. Actually, it almost seemed to grow in strength. His body was screaming at him to stay on his toes, perhaps even to go back, as if anywhere was better than here, even the threat of the shadelings was better. He almost listened to these wandering thoughts until something caught his eye. An out of place color flickering past in his peripherals. A flash of crimson red. It was too quick to get a good look. He was growing more nervous now, but some morbid curiosity made follow where the color had gone.<br>
<br>
He was far enough from the danger now to take chances. What if it was a person wandering the woods or who lived in them? Warning them about the attack would be the right thing to do. Could be anything really, but if it was trouble, he’d run for it, just like before.<br>
<br>
What he finds unsettles him to his core. There, beyond a small clearing of trees, sits a child. This child wore red and black clothes and had deep black hair. The rest of the details were difficult to discern in the darkness. Whatever the case, it was unnatural. It spelled trouble for Caide. Why would a child be all the way out here, completely alone? Perhaps they were lost? Maybe they lived around here? He would have approached to ask as much, but something felt so terribly wrong.<br>
<br>
His senses fired off the sensation of panic, as if looking at the child, he couldn’t even manage to draw in a breath. Like he was forcing himself to be silent. In the end, he took account of his bodies warnings and decided to leave the child. He turned and started walking in the complete opposite direction. This all smelled of trouble, and he swore to turn and run at the first sign of it.<br>
<br>
His walking carried him a distance, but after a few minutes he arrives in another clearing. There, at its center, was that child again, still sitting there without a care in the world. The same child adorned in red and black with black hair. What unsettled Caide the most though was that the child still wasn’t facing him. Their back was turned towards him, facing the dark forest. Not a peep came from the child. Weren’t most kids afraid of the dark?<br>
<br>
The sight brought back that feeling of panic again, so Caide turned and started walking again, this time a bit faster. He continued until he reached another clearing with that same child again. Over and over he ran into the child, he couldn’t escape the kid, and a few times he had been running as fast as his legs could carry him. He was starting to get irritable. He wanted an escape, and this child was distracting him!<br>
<br>
In his frustration, he finally marches towards the child.<br>
<br>
”Hey! You best be pissin’ off! Toying with me th’ way you have been!”<br>
<br>
He gets closer and closer, fighting the urge to let his legs from freeze up. He reaches for the child, but stops short. The child stood up. That was all. They just stood up from their spot on the ground, still facing the forests ahead, but their head began to turn, slowly shifting to face Caide, though the child’s body didn’t move.<br>
<br>
A horrible cackle filled the area, and when the child’s head turns fully to face Caide, their body still unmoving. What the farmer saw chilled him to his core. The child’s face was almost blank, a pitch black surface with no features other than a wicked, grin and two glowing eyes that stared, unblinking, into Caide’s very soul. The farmer shouts in panic, backpedaling only to trip on something and fall to the ground, but despite that, he kept his gaze locked onto the “child”.<br>
<br>
The small child-shaped shadeling turned on heel, his body realigning with its twisted head and neck, still staring at the farmer. The dreadful cackled was unceasing. It was such a malicious thing, a pleasure hidden in its depths that was fueled by Caide‘s fear. The child steps forward, closing the distance slowly. After a few steps, the small form tenses and twists, the childs form tenses and jerks, becoming misshapen. The clothes on the shadow child’s body distorts and spreads out. Eventually, the once small child elongates and twists into a horrible, familiar, tall shape.<br>
<br>
A long, pointed red hood is formed, draped over a body wreathed in shadow, covered in dark clothing and armors. All but that grin had changed. In truth, the grin might have grown even more fierce. There were no eyes to see the emotions of this creature, just that grin that promised suffering and death. However, there was recognition in the creatures tone of voice.<br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/kolthix-jpeg.1122522/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1059/1059651-0ec5719c13a97cf08b8fbca274dc2711.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="Kolthix.jpeg" title="Kolthix.jpeg" width="100" height="151" loading="lazy"></a><br>
<br>
<b>“Ahhh. How long has it been since I have seen this face. I know you, soldier. The one that escaped me so long ago. A pleasure to see you again, <i>Caide</i>.”</b><br>
<br>
The farmers face goes pale. He knew this monster. This demon. Why was he here? A lieutenant of the Emperors army. Lord of the Shadelings. Kolthix the Cackler. This must be why the shadelings have managed to get through the local defenses. They weren’t the leaderless sort, they were organized. A warband acting as brigands. This was his fate for settling so close to the Empire’s border. He was going to die here.<br>
<br>
<b>”Why so quiet, Caide? I still remember your shouts when we met on the battlefield. Animal. Scum. Monster. Have you lost your bold heart? Traded it for the will of a common man?”</b><br>
<br>
“B-Be silent, thing. If you seek to finally claim my life, then come and take it,“ Caide spits. Kolthix cackles in delight.<br>
<br>
<b>“There he is! The old soldier. That courage that burns so bright. If only flesh stayed as immaculate as the brave soul that possesses it. Tell me, my old enemy. Would you care to live?”</b><br>
<br>
Caide peered at Kolthix, his mind still abuzz with wariness. “What manner of trickery is this?”<br>
<br>
<b>”No trick. You managed to evade all of my people in the attack, a feat none of these common folk have managed thus far. Besides, it is nostalgic seeing your face again. I would reward you for your skill, your courage and for such sweet memories.”</b><br>
<br>
Caide growls slightly, pushing against the fear that has seemed to embed itself deep in his bones. Sweet memories? All he remembered was a slaughter. A nightmare that is war. What soldiers that died were feasted upon by thelse creatures. He can still remember when he first saw a shadeling gorging on the flesh of his comrades. The anger that filled him then was immense. He had sworn to take a hundred shadeling lives. His promises were false. He had been struck down by the very thing that stood before him, but he managed to be dragged from the chaos in one piece and not in a dozen stomachs.<br>
<br>
”Why would you spare me? You are a merciless beast! You killed thousands in the previous war. It makes no sense that you would not slay me as well. Just kill me and be done with it!”<br>
<br>
<b>”No. There is a purpose for allowing you to live. You have proved to be… entertaining. That is truly all the reason I have or need to let you survive our encounter. So live on, Caide. Perhaps take up arms against me again. That would be a most interesting turn of events.”</b><br>
<br>
The farmer and former soldier debated attacking. Provoking the Cackler that he might meet his end with a bit of dignity, as a man who died trying to do something good. However, he wold be no match. It would be a pitiful death. There would be no point to it. Besides, he wanted to live. It was some idea though, taking up arms again. To potentially slay this… thing. The Cackler turns and starts walking away. Seems he was done with Caide… for now.<br>
<br>
Caide just stands there, his legs eventually giving out on him. He falls to his knees, allowing himself a moment to take a calming breath. He was alive. He just hoped to stay that way until he could meet with the Cackler once again. This time he would strike a blow against that monster. He had to. Dying before then would be a curse upon him in the next life.<br>
<br>
Kolthix stepped into the dark forests, leaving his old enemy behind. It was interesting to meet an old enemy again. Fitting that it was done in the midst of a slaughter. He hoped that it could cause old Caide to take up the blade again. What he wouldn’t give for an enemy that he could cherish. A foe to meet him at every conflict and try to stop him. It would make things interesting. More interesting than raiding the countryside that is.<br>
<br>
He cackles at the thought. Things would hopefully get interesting soon. As he walked through the shadows of the woods, the numerous numbers of his kind, the shadelings, began to join him from their spots among the trees. He could feel their ravenous nature, almost asking if they could go back and eat the old farmer, but Kolthix’s will kept them from doing anything unsavory, at least in this place. Those that weren’t with him were already indulging on the meat of the weak.<br>
<br>
One of the shadelings ambles along side him, walking with a wide stance. This was one of Kolthix’s messengers. They relay simple things to him when needed. Often messages from other Lieutenants when they feel that his kind are wandering too close to their lands. This time, however, was a different, more exciting matter.<br>
<br>
”The master calls. The master calls. He calls,” the wider shadelings says. Kolthix turns his attention to the messenger. Now this was certainly news. Good news at that. If the master calls, then that can only mean one thing.<br>
<br>
The Empires bloody path of conquest was getting back on track.<br>
<br>
This was a very good thing. Now Kolthix and his people didn’t have to constantly raid the small towns on the outskirts of enemy territory. He could finally engage in some true carnage. Really feed his people as they deserve to be fed.</div>
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</div><br>
When Kolthix arrives at the war council, it is after everyone else and after the arrival of the master. He was late, to put it frankly. However, he did not worry too much about it. He had been quite active in the past dormant years. He hounded the enemy borders, keeping them wary and overly cautious to make any bold attacks. In that same thought, he had no real desires when it came to the initial strategies.<br>
<br>
He was content with any arrangement so long as it was entertaining and his people would be able to thrive off the bloodshed. That was all that mattered in the end.<br>
<br>
When he arrived, it was through the shadow of the room. His special power of translocation through the darkness. Only would he use this ability to relocate quickly, never has he used it to flee battle. He was no coward. Not anymore. Upon his appearance, his form seemed larger than life, until it shrinks and twists into its usual configuration, albeit a bit tall for his liking. He was lanky and his appendages were abnormally long. He looked more monstrous than usual in truth. He also appeared with a cackle, but not one filled with the usual malice for those of the flesh. This one was more… genuine. Hearty even.<br>
<br>
In a raised hand was a small, incredibly young specimen of his kind. It was only about the size of a rat, and almost shaped like one as well, but its face was curved and not pointed. It also lacked the tail that a rat should have. The tiny creatures eyes were locked on Kolthix as he stepped through the council room. Kolthix had, pinched between two long fingers, a piece of flesh. Where this meat comes from is anyone’s guess, but it was likely obvious.<br>
<br>
He held it above the small shadeling, almost like he was going to feed a pet. However, shadelings are willful creatures, and toying with them for so long will make them fed up. After he pulled the small bit of meat away from the young shadelings attempt to take it, the small creature turned on him, biting into the fabric covering his hand. The larger, older shadeling did not react, but his eerie grin did grow wider.<br>
<br>
<b>“You have many many years of growth before you can consume me, little one. But your spirit is strong,”</b><br>
<br>
The little shadeling released its bite on its leaders hand, scurrying back along his fingers a bit as Kolthix extended a hand, reaching for the creature. However, it wasn’t out of anger, as the shadeling soon found out. One of Kolthix’s fingers gently runs along the younglings head before the meat was placed before it. The little whelp of a shadelings scurried forward, taking the meat and ravenously tearing into it.<br>
<br>
<b>”Strength is good. Keep growing stronger for me and your people.”</b><br>
<br>
With that, Kolthix drops the shadelings back through the shadows, returning it to where he had taken it from. He finally turns his attention to the meeting. By then, his body has begun to assume a more true humanoid shape. The length of his limbs was average compared to a humans. His hood turns to acknowledge those that he passes that yet remain. He especially regards his old allies, Baba Voyka, Veno, Lucafiel and Borok with proper respect, offering them a small bow of his upper body to them in a fond greeting.<br>
<br>
Kolthix could be considered one of the more loyal sorts among the Lieutenants. Some might call him the dog of the Emperor, but he was more than that. He was a valuable compatriot that was more often than not an agreeable and helpful ally to have. However, he did, at times, have a tendency of testing his fellow Lieutenants. Pushing buttons where he can. It is all done for the sake of entertainment though, never anything personal.<br>
<br>
As he goes, he offers a respectful bow towards Adanach and his lot as well before they depart. Kolthix felt a kinship with him and his people as another who revels in the chaos of combat. He was also respectful of any who came from the north. He himself has even acquired a small number of shadeling tribes from the Druadach region. Each of them has produced a variety of very strong shadeling specimens that hold a very special place in his army as raiders and ambushers. He equipped them with the tools to become a cavalry unit and hunt down those that tried to escape a clash.<br>
<br>
He spent a few moments hearing the last bits of chatter before she speaks plainly.<br>
<br>
<b>”I shall aid whichever front requires me and my people. I have no preference for where I begin my efforts. However, once we have breached the eastern lands of the Civicerian Dominion, I wish to march upon the Duchy of Midana. That is where my interest lies.“</b></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka simply bowed as Veno made her request for elven imprisonment. She had wholeheartedly expected this to happen, and was going to respect it, even if it was going to require a lot of restraint from her part. But soon after Veno departed, was when Kolthix finally made his interests clear. She recalled how the shadeling had mentioned before his interest in heading towards the formerly-united kingdom that now stood as the respective duchies of Midana and Arnone, for reasons Kolthix himself could elaborate upon to the others when the time came. As they were occupied with efforts elsewhere, she had promised him at the time to aid him in his invasion into the region. She would, of course, keep her promise when it was time. But for now, he was as flexible as Yz and her, and she had a keen interest in having him take part in the Erevan Campaign.<br>
<br>
She merely gave him a knowing look once more, that fun was to be had where Briggun was headed. But she kept her mouth shut, to allow others to appeal to him. She knew the invocation of Civiceria and Midana would draw Estro's ears, so she was curious to see if he would try to appeal to him. The meeting was over, but the fun from it was yet to end!</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">"<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Huh...interesting.</span>" Cordia commented after Alexandre let go of her and watched the commander walk off to tend to her own forces. The banshee then turned her head and looked to the map and remaining commanders. The north is the primary target for many of them, but the south was where the machinachions would begin if the court mage and spymaster are involving themselves. Excellent. More chaos means more desperate people. "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">The elves who inhabit the islands have nothing to fear if they have the wits not to stand in my way, my dear.</span>" The banshee allowed to bare her teeth in smile. "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">But do prey to your goddess for protection. Prey for their salvation. If I smell a drop of blood of those that stole from me, I will feast on their hearts!</span>" Sawtooth looked to his captain and revealed a maw of jagged teeth at the thought of her letting loose. "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Lord Estro.</span>" Cordia next turned her attention to the wizzard "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Should your cult require assistance in spreading among the shores, do let us know. Crows and pigeons are not suitable for messages, but I have no doubt you have a scrying orb handy.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">On that note.</span>" She next turned to the old woman "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Baba, we must speak at the earliset convenience to us both. Capable hags are so few these days that I started to wonder if any of us were even left.</span>" The captain's smile never left her face. "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">I have a few ideas that I'm sure you will find delightful, but it is for private and...we are going to be so busy.</span>" She once again glanced towards the map. Specifically to the northern lands. "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">I do look forward to hearing what you're brewing in your cauldron. Good luck!</span>"  <br>
<br>
With that, her business with the others was done so she turned and left the room. She needed to prepare the fleet for their conquest. Her crew followed closely behind, not wanting to stay and gawk at the others. A few steps down and Cordia noticed the gremlin tugging on her coat and pointing to his mouth. She snapped her finger and a burst of magic around the creature's mouth formed a padlock being broken. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">You may speak. Don't make me regret it.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Wouldn't dream of it, captain.</span>" The creature spoke. "<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Bunch of stuck up fuckers in there tho. Not the emperor, tho. He gets to yell at people.</span>" The creature looked at his master and attempt to appear innocent. "<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">What was that short ugly thing anyway?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(41, 105, 176)">That is lord Declan if I know my human politics</span>" The drow spoke. "<span style="color: rgb(41, 105, 176)">But its not his fault he looks like that.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">No, not him. The other ugly short thing</span>." <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">That is a redcap.</span>" Cordia answered with a slight annoyance. "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">He's not the only one, so you'll be seeing more of them if you stay in this plane.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Euugh, I'd be angry too if I looked like that.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)">You seen a mirror, mate?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">I look good in every mirror I look at, jaws</span>." The gremlin turned his head to look at the merman, trying to decide which eye to look at "<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">You on the other hand need two to figure out how you look.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">Cap'tin, can I drown him now?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Find a better quartermaster first and then you can eat him for all I care.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">I don't know where he's been.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">You'll never find a better one anyway. Say, Uripa.</span>" He turned backwards to look at the drow "<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Felt you twitch a bit in there when the spymaster talked. You know something we don't?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(41, 105, 176)">She's not who she says she is.</span>" The necromancer gave a curt answe. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Obviously. Spymasters would be shit at their job otherwise.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(41, 105, 176)">No, there's something else to her. Beneath the skin she's something else. No human in this court would give a toss about the elves safety.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">You think she's an elf?</span>" Sawtooth turned an eye to her "<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">Half one at least. You land walkers like to mix and match and all that.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(41, 105, 176)">Maybe?</span>" Uripa shrugged "<span style="color: rgb(41, 105, 176)">If she is, she's probably from some lower house or maybe a commoner.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Not of any nobility you know or claim to.</span>" Cordia cut in. "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">We will speak more of this on board the ship, away from her eyes and ears.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Would she bother with this chit chat?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">Its her job you pimple afterbitrh.</span>" <br>
---<br>
<span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">Later on board the Butcher's blade</span></span><br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">Captain on deck you rotting shark bait!</span>" Sawtooth's voice echoed on board the ship. The first mate wasted no time to get the cursed crew to stand at attention. Zombies, ghouls, skeletons and an assortment of any other drowned dead pull themselves together to show they're still good enough to serve. Cordia walked a few steps inspecting them and grimaced. They needed fresh ones and soon. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Lift anchor and prepare to set sail.</span>" The crew shambled and ran to their posts. Cordia's opinion of them was a tad higher after she saw how dilligently they scurried to their occupations. One man was showing extra aptitude as he was nothing but chest, head and arms. Legs lost long ago in a battle somewhere. She'd better fuse him with the ship if he wants to work so hard. "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Mr. Gribbs, I want a full report of what is in our hull. Lady Uripa, you are to inspect the crew's health and see if you need to motivate them. Sawtooth, make sure the rest of the fleet is ready to move and strike at our targets.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">Aye cap'tin!</span>" The sharkman nodded and turned his attention to the crew once again. "<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">Oi! Who told you to rest? Move your dead asses or you're chum!</span>" <br>
<br>
As the ship was prepared to move out of the docks, Cordia walked to the shp's helm. The time for talking was over, now with the emperor's blessing she would sail forward. The Butcher's blade will once again be the most fearsome sight for any ship caught in its path. From the mast, the flag was let to fly in the wind and a thick mist began to envelop the ship as it left the port. Behind the cursed vessel schools of sharks began to follow, being drawn not by blood, but by the will of the banshee captain. The calm sounds of the ocean began to dicipate as they gave way to the siren song. Even among the rotting crew, the honeyed notes of Cordia's singing were motivating them to work harder. Work faster. Be better. For her. For if they didn't, those same honeyed notes would sour and quickly turn into a banshee's shrieks. <br>
<br>
As for those who were among the living and among her chose, who doesn't enjoy a good song? Even if it is one sang with <a href="https://youtu.be/sFBWY_sA2QA" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FsFBWY_sA2QA&amp;hash=f2214d1a1d3b9aa5b31b1f77364839d5" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">cruel irony in mind</a>.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Lucafiel departed from the palace with little fanfare, opting to only express farewell to those who had greeted him, or were otherwise deemed worthy compatriots - Veno, Estro, and even the wild-thing Kolthix. Declan was neither someone he would consider friend nor foe, merely one who was accepted; even with their disagreement on approaching the Lacans Republic, Lucafiel felt no ill will towards the other warlord, despite believing the aristocrat to be misguided on this matter. Indeed, overall he felt his terms were fair with most of the Emperor's inner circle, especially as he maintained a neutral font towards all. But there were a few he despised. These were no personal grudges but rather a relic embedded within his very being, feelings which were closer to instinct than conscious rational. The foremost of his ire were none other than the elder witch-woman, the Baba Voyka, and the aberration known as Yz. Both had long been an affront to his conceptions of order, and were without a doubt in his mind creatures of destruction that would consume until there was naught but madness left within the world. These were creatures he and his fellow Vestati and been created to purge, among others. And he had to suffer the indignity of an alliance.<br>
<br>
As it so happened, the meeting seemed to be themed around the concept of <i>consumption,</i> and perhaps this was a manifestation of cosmic irony. Long ago Lucafiel had warned his own kind against burning their souls too bright for victory, and in the end it had brought them ruination not seen since the times of creation. In truth, Lucafiel cared not for Briggun nor his Empire. Again, this was no personal dislike, but merely an expression of reality. The servitude of the Hallow Legion was an action of timely necessity, and serve they would to the fullest extent. And it was for this very reason that Lucafiel found his lips tainted with the taste of blood as his tongue met his own sharpened fangs. He strove for order and stability, and yet the creatures born into imperfect vessels salivated at the chance to tear apart the fabric that ensured all was as it should be. In the case of Lord Declan's plans and the Emperor's approval of such, this was none other than the decision to free the slaves of the Republic, only to see them put into chains once again.<br>
<br>
"A tragedy," Lucafiel remarked. His own companions within the carriage turned to him, quietly awaiting enlightenment. "The struggle against the forces of disorder are unending, even within our own ranks. And we are to bring order to that which does not desire it - to force water into a motionless, solid state. And I do not speak of ice."<br>
<br>
"The slaves of the Republic will rebel, time and time again, once they have tasted freedom. They will forever resent us for the hand that has given them hope and snatched it away. Declan does not realize what his plans will do to the stability of the north, and our resource management. Nor does, it seem, our Emperor." Lucafiel steepled his fingers together in consternation. "All our methods of efficiency, uprooted. We will have to resort to baser and less productive methods. The Lacan slaves will undoubtedly see a significant reduction in prosperity now that Declan's ideals are to be realized in this campaign. To enforce upon them a harsher reality than the one they will have seen and tasted but mere moments before their newfound servitude will bring many to the brink of a mental - even physical - death. We must enact a new system," Lucafiel continued, his soft voice betraying only the slightest hint of irritation, "and one that must be quarantined to the north, among the Lacan slaves, lest our labor elsewhere becomes unruly - either in fear of further repression, or anger over the few luxuries that must be granted to ensure the Lacan supply of workers remains capable and willing to live under the yoke of their new collars."<br>
<br>
"In another twist of the cosmic knife leveled at our throats, a curse of the primordial I do not doubt, Lord Declan may also be our salvation despite being the source of the problem."<br>
<br>
Astrophel, sat across from Lucafiel, was as quick-witted as the rest of them, but quicker to wag his tongue, and Lucafiel had no need to even speak what he was alluding to, for his companions here were bright minds that had burned hot since the times of the great rebellion. "My prince, I am not certain of how wise it would be to utilize our soul fountains with Lord Declan's abilities to manipulate ethereal life. Our methods remain secret and beyond the grasp of the mortals of this realm. Our methods are nearly too secretive even for <i>us,</i> my prince."<br>
<br>
"Indeed," the second and remaining Vestati spoke aloud, this one a fiery woman named Vulpala, represented by her life-mask etched with the flames of a crimson sun. "I suspect you wish to utilize a system of magical branding on the Lacan supply, and bind them to a fountain. To enact upon them an artificial afterlife that we control is as effective as it is traditional, but to mar these methods with Declan's own abilities...."<br>
<br>
"A necessity. We lost much when the Forbidden one cast us aside. Declan is more attuned with the life of this realm by the mere nature of emerging within it. Our grasp, at times, can be more tenuous, and if we are to operate a system that requires the binding and branding of tens if not potentially hundreds of thousands of slaves across the Republic and the north... we will require the assistance of a mancer such as him."<br>
<br>
Astrophel and Vulpala exchanged a look, but bowed their heads in unison. "You are right, my prince. But what if Declan refuses even this?" Astrophel asked.<br>
<br>
"Then he will be even more fool than I thought him to be in this matter," Lucafiel responded. "And we will proceed around him. The production of this empire relies greatly upon our efforts. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panopticon" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FPanopticon&amp;hash=6c0dc504de590ae16478ea1083225806" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Our organized towns</a>, our tower networks, our labor rotas are all built upon <i>our</i> systems. While the others prance about their battlefields and sup upon the wasteful spilling of blood better spent lubricating our field threshers, we will be making order of their chaos. When the time comes for them to turn upon themselves, as they always will, once the meat they so eagerly eat reaches bone, it will be <i>our</i> systems that keep this empire from collapsing; <a href="https://i.imgur.com/xprFAQ4.png" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FxprFAQ4.png&amp;hash=a6bc65d00f74ebd62dd56e758fb7a672" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">or, at the very least, in tact enough to weather the chaotic whirlwind of lesser, corrupted vessels who will in time be purged from this realm as the primordials ordained.</a>"</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The Voivode of Skulls sat there, awaiting his turn for Briggun to offer assent or dissent towards his conquering goals. Analysing his own selection, Izaak had chosen Ganthar for the diametrical opposition in regards to mysticism. Different cultures, schools of thought, opposing viewpoints to what he had been currently researching. His hope being that he will find something - <i>anything</i> that isn't in his current trove of knowledge. When Briggun began speaking to him, he inclined his head slightly, looking directly at the Emperor with restrained satisfaction. "<span style="color: #f2d770">It'll be done, my Lord.</span>" He steeples his fingers in consideration, bony talons clicking against one another. The conversing of his lieutenant-peers would dim, as Izaak's mind began to formulate the necessities for traversal and siegecraft. Until Felwyn shattered a vintage bottle on the ground, after having drank all the contents.<br>
<br>
Izaak leaned back in the form of his chair, tapping one armoured cheek as he stared at her. <i><span style="color: #f2d770">Really, another one? Is it so in vogue to abuse furniture and containers, I wonder?</span></i><br>
<br>
The lieutenant rose from his chair, grinding the wooden feet against the flagstone of the chamber. The skeletal companion that he is so fond of, hopped onto the floor first. He shifted his head to his chamberlain. "<span style="color: #f2d770">Emil, send word to Antonas and Demetra, preparations must be made for the journey. As always, you'll have the charge of my manor and the territories within my grasp. Manage them well.</span>" In a furtive, whisper-like tone. The gaunt-figure nodded before replying. "Shall you require the reports as well?" He did not reply, considering his answer for the moment. "<span style="color: #f2d770">Yes, the usual method.</span>" "Very well, my Lord, have a pleasant conquering."</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Estro watched the Emperor give his views and adjustments to the various proposed plans. Approvals and assignments came next as many were granted their desires for their own ambitions that would feed into the desired expansion for the empire as a whole. The archmage simply bowed his head slightly in hearing his master give him leave to start going to work on the Civicerian Dominion. It was a nation he could tap into well for this ambitions. The arrival of Kolthix drew his curiosity if only because of the method beyond the Shadeling tending to its own. The creatures were something he had familiarity with due to his duties previously as the Court Mage of Canar. He considered them as supernatural vermin. It wasn’t anything personal but more how he had to deal with them due to the actions of the nobles snarling about losing their precious peasants they’d no longer be able to milk for cheap or even free labor.<br>
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<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">”I suppose Kolthix could assist myself in stirring things up in the Civicerian Dominion if he’s settling his ambitions upon the Duchies. Shadelings would be a suitable concern that could drive the colonized peoples in the north into demanding more from the military governors. Pressures creates fractures and opportunities, plus I’m sure it will provide an outlet for wrath. Targeting the local legions would help destabilize things. A simple offer, I’ll understand if other venues are desired,”</span> Estro offers with a calm and reassuring smile. The serpent’s smile all knew well. He wasn’t petty and was honest that Kolthix refusing his idea wouldn’t be an issue. He just might find means to lure him into matters should it suit him.<br>
<br>
While the others were seemingly withdrawling though, it should be noted that instead Estro would creep closer to Briggun to be closer by his side. He was ever the advisor and  Imperail Mage, so he would linger to whisper to his master and provide insights until all were gone and perhaps even linger after in case there were additional matters Briggun might want seen to in the Dominion as the Cult of Zo went to work.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The shortened strategist didn't let it show, but he was annoyed by Lucafiel's obsession with the spoils of war and objections towards utilizing a perfectly reasonable source on manpower. If they were to build an empire, it couldn't be built on ashes. That was the pragmatic approach, but there too was another reason towards his disposition - in that, an army of freedmen would see him as a liberator and in turn willingly serve his own purposes. Both in other projects as well as a potential insurance card in certain... contingencies. Then there was Adanach's own concerns, which Declan listened to with a stony poker face.<br>
<br>
Declan was bound to give a curt response to his would be companions on the warpath regarding tactics, but it was then that the Dark Lord gave said his piece on the matter. His judgment on the matter of what course to take made Declan give a deferring bow towards him, before speaking once more: <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"As you commend, your grace. I will begin preparations for subterfuge and campaign posthaste."</b></span> he said, before turning to both Adanach and Lucafiel. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"I look forward to seeing both of you on the field, at one point or another."</b></span> With that said, he gave another quick bow before hopping from his seat and making his way out as quickly as his stunted legs could take him. Time was of the essence, after all.<br>
<br>
Two guards at the door made Declan's job much easier, as they opened the door from the outside for him to leave. And it was there he was greeted by an all too familiar face who was noticeably out of place in this more formal setting.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/1699805550038-png.1124159/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1061/1061288-4361bc6164c5d3bddeaad8d7836d83a5.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="1699805550038.png" title="1699805550038.png" width="100" height="133" loading="lazy"></a><br>​</div>"Ser" Dennor, a title unfit for a sellsword, couldn't help but scoff as he observed his lord's demeanour. The two were silent as they made their way out from the vicinity of prying ears and eyes before he spoke up at last: <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I suppose things didn't go as planned? Judging by the dour look on your face."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"On the contrary, I got most of what I wanted out of my campaign plans."</b></span> Declan said as the two walked towards the stables. A carriage had brought the two over from Sathesbury, and now beckoned for their return with an open door as they approached. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"However, one part was changed. The Emperor has demanded the continuation of slavery in Lacans. Contrary to what I proposed to raise a retinue from the rebellion."</b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Ah, shit."</span> Dennor spoke, letting out a chuckle. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"There goes our extra army."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Not exactly. We can still work something to our advantage."</b></span> Declan mused, as a stool was placed in front of the carriage steps for him to use. He hopped from the that wooden aid towards the carriage proper, before turning back to his confidant. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Though, it has become significantly harder to achieve. We'll need to be ahead of the curve on this one. Has Loraas prepared the envoys?"</span></b><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Aye. No sooner than you asked of her, she was busy scouting and gathering information. Clever little minx that one, how did you come by her?"</span> Dennor asked as he stepped into the carriage himself, sitting across from Declan as the door shut. The driver gave a whip  to the reins as soon as they were settled, beckoning the forces forward, and the carriage lurched as it began to move.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"She was wailing away in the archives of the old Magistrate. Her talents were better put to use with me than with dusty tomes and old boney scholars."</b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Oh? As opposed to you, your shortness?"</span><br>
<br>
From anyone else, it would have been a grave insult. But Declan had known Dennor for long enough to understand the friendly nature of the remark. He smirked as he looked out the window:<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b> "I have a <i>lovely</i> personality Dennor."</b></span> Declan spoke before turning to his companion with a smirk, <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Why else would you have stuck with me for so long?"</b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Very true. We might as well be an old married couple by now. And like an old hag, I stick around for the money."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Always the charmer, aren't you?"</b></span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Sensing his commanders pulling for Kolthix' involvement in multiple fronts, Briggun grew tired of their schemes. The shadeling had made his preference known; he would enter the duchies in the east if provided the chance, and while he had spoken of the Civicerian Dominion as the first obstacle, the Emperor knew that it would be faster and easier to use the southern deserts of Gantar to traverse the distance instead. With Izaak already planning to pierce the bloated sultanate in its distended belly, the warlock judged Miraq to be the appropriate target for Kolthix, and he was not afraid to disappoint his subordinates.<br>
<br>
"Kolthix," he said, "will follow with Izaak to Miraq. We do not need even more mouths to feed in the caverns of the Sauroid Mountains, after all, with the number we plan to send, the food stores of Poggost will need to be plundered to the last grains of barley and wheat to feet them all, and the people will go hungry. If the Shadelings go as well, they would need to feed on the local population, even before they cross into Elvan territory. Perhaps that would be for the better, as it would mean the weak would be thinned in favor of the strong in time for the harvest months, but perhaps not. No, it should be Ostminora that will bear that burden.<br>
<br>
"Further," he added, turning his attention to Estro's suggestion that Kolthix attack the Civicerians to drive panic, "should the Civicerians suffer a blight of Shadeling attacks, they will know that we have set our sights upon them, providing your agents no time to sew the seeds of rebellion within their midst before they're forced to rally around their banner. So, I will have them bypass the Dominion entirely. Moreoever, it would benefit you to receive refugees from Midana to mix with the Piantians and muddle the situation further for all involved."<br>
<br>
The Emperor's voice seemed to soften a bit as he spoke to Estro, and a younger man beneath the armor, the weathered skin, and all the years and anger resided in a hidden place there. He was ever a thinking man, ruled by ideas, and not by emotion. It was a voice which Briggun only used while speaking directly to Estro, as the latter knew him longer than anyone else, and could recognize the remnants of the man that once was. Perhaps it was a matter of respect, or maybe it was to remind Estro that the man that put him in chains still lived, sharp as ever.<br>
<br>
"The Empress, sire," spoke Makar, alerting everyone to the approach of Herasa.<br>
<br>
Briggun turned, meeting his wife's gaze as she breezed through the door, her evening gown both flowing in excess and yet woefully inadequate in its coverage. "My dear Emperor," she spoke, her voice like a silk sheet sliding over the minds of all who were present and leaving some with a chill, "is all well? Will you come to bed with me?"<br>
<br>
All at once, Briggun's sharpness eroded into the texture of river rock. "Yes, my Queen. Makar, see to it that this glass is fully cleaned," he said, instructing the goblin to pick up the remaining pieces of Lady Falwyn's bottle. The meeting was officially over. All of the commanders had either volunteered for, or were assigned, a place to begin their conquest- even Yz, who had managed to string together enough of a coherent thought that Briggun was confident they would join the Erevan offensive.<br>
<br>
Herasa closed the door as she led her husband away. All would go exactly to plan.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---<br>
<br>
<b><span style="font-size: 26px">Act I</span><br>
<br>
Turn 0 (Part 1 - The Northern Campaigns) - Year 735 - Early Spring<br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/turn-0-n-jpg.1124695/" target="_blank">View attachment Turn 0 N.jpg</a><br>
<br>
<br>
Druadach Campaign</b>​</div><br>
At once protected by the great mountains west of Erevan, as well as the dangerous territory of the Malenchanted Woods, the Druadach often dismiss the threat posed by Saarus' expansion elsewhere in the continent, are instead fear and loathe their neighbors who hold so much contempt for the barbarian culture. Adanach, at Briggun's request, marches northwest through the dark and foreboding woods where the Emperor himself once claimed a home, reaching the border with Mors Gobonach with little incident. Perhaps the Empress gave him a mysterious Fae blessing to move about so freely? It is no matter; the goblins have not sensed his coming.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Adanach, Son of the Druadach</b><br>
Meals from the Field // Symphony of War // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Malenchanted Woods<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
A Leader of the Uncivilized - Tribal Forces which have dropped below strength 3 have a 1/3 chance of joining Adanach if he attacks them. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Pagan Zeal - In battle against highly religious factions, Adanach has a passive +2 advantage. (5 Uses.)<br>
Even if there is a straight line demarking the border between Saarus and Druadach on a map, the reality is far less clear; one tract of woodlands appears much the same as the next, but Adanach senses the difference. The dreadful sense of horror which preoccupies the Malenchanted Woods gives way to the more mundane pathways leading to the north, and small signs here and there remind him that there are people living here. A whiff of campfire smoke, clinging to the bark of a tree, a broken arrow shaft jutting form the trunk of another... And then, from the edge of a clearing, Adanach spots a few isolated members of a goblin tribe. He knows the forest will soon give way to the plane, where the tribes fight one another for dominance over land that few else could want. The most powerful tribe here is Faska's lot, but he has plenty of enemies, if one were to simply ask around.<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Trinkets from Abroad - It isn't long before Adanach begins to notice an unusual amount of baubles from the west, as if Tidiaus had begun to trade with the goblins. That doesn't seem likely, and Adanach is captivated by the question of what brought these goods to Druadach (and especially, if there are any more).<br>
One is Too Few - After setting up camp at the edge of the woods, Adanach takes a walk to surveille the landscape. He notices a single goblin living alone by a narrow stream in the distance, with barely any shelter aside from a leaning shack. She seems disinterested in him, from a distance, and Adanach wonders whether he should bother investigating.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Faska, the Bloody Bastard</b><br>
Meals from the Field // The One and Only // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Mors Gobonach<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Having carved out a sizeable chunk of land where his raiders reign supreme, Faska, a deadly goblin swordsman, rules as an absolute tyrant over his tribesmen. With spears and arrows, they control the roadways and roam the open fields as hunters, but their game is plunder and the weak. Most days, Faska rides about the country on a horse, clad in his makeshift armor, chasing down his quarry with impunity. Most nights, Faska gorges himself on the best cuts of meat his followers can provide, and then sleeps in a large tent with a harem of women, under the watchful eye of his strongest and most loyal guardsmen. To him, there is no world outside of Mors Gobonach worth troubling himself with; his alliances with the other Druadach leaders are tenuous and distant, and he is loath to honor them, regardless. It is therefore an oddity that he has not sworn his allegiance to Briggun. Perhaps he has a hidden agenda...<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><b>Erevan Campaign</b><br>​</div><br>
On the northern frontier of Saarus, a destitute plane gives rise to increasingly rocky foothills, and then, quite suddenly, to massive, nearly-vertical mountains. Five of Emperor Briggun's war council plot a multi-pronged assault through the gaps, natural and otherwise, between the impenetrable natural barriers and into the fertile lands which lay beyond, in Erevan. However, from the enemy's perspective, only Lady Falwyn's forces in Ostmajora and the one they know as "Sigurd of Ravgoth," in the western mountain pass between Poggost and Wyldsylvain are visible. The threat of an invasion is therefore considered elevated, but crucially, the Kingdom has failed to grasp the imminent threat lurking behind the mountainous border between Sabersval and the Sauroid Mountains to their south. Time is counting down to the moment the Kingdom's long opposition to Briggun's claim comes to an end.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Baba Voyka, the Warsome Grandma</b><br>
Try and Take It // The One and Only // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Sauroid Mountains<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Dreamwalker - On defeat in battle, Baba has a passive 1/3 chance of costing her opponent a token to draw even. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Tough Skin - Passively immune to being poisoned. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
As Baba Voyka's forces move into the mountainous Sauroid lands, they unhappily make camp in the sparsely-wooded, largely still-frozen uplands at the edges of the cave system's entrances. Briggun's supplymen come nearly round-the-clock, toting large bundles and crates of supplies procured or otherwise plundered from the surrounding lands, in order to sustain the massed gathering of troops, but from there, it is up to the commanders to determine their best use. Old Baba finds much in common with Borok's mentality toward supply and attack strategy, even if the lizardman is a bit too keen on collaborating with his subordinates, in her wizened opinion. They have a mutual expectation of a slow and steady march into Sabersval that will seek to lodge itself in and grind the enemy's reactive attacks into a fine paste.<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Ancient Kin - Some of the horned are known for their ability to survive in the harsh cold, and as Baba goes about her planning, she occasionally glances at the high mountaintops where, at the fringe where the rocky wall meets the white-gray sky above, there appears to be a line of trees where they might have wandered, many years ago. She wonders whether one could see into Erevan from such a vantage... or vice versa.<br>
<br>
The Hungry and the Desperate - During the night, there are rumors of intruders creeping about in the darkness, threatening the influx of supplies. Sure enough, each morning there are a token few rations of food missing. Who would be so daring, or perhaps so starving, that they would steal from the Emperor's legions?<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Borok Ronillson, the Grand Runesmith</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Sauroid Mountains<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Tools for Battle - Ahead of battle, Borok crafts weapons specifically targeting his enemy's weaknesses, granting him a +2 advantage. (3 Uses)<br>
Strength through Enchantment - When facing an opponent with attack strategy C, passively neutralizes their advantage. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Heat of the Forge - Passively immune to burning. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
Playing host to two of Briggun's commanders as guests, Borok struggles to ensure that the surprise attack into Erevan's unguarded belly will occur without a hitch; the scheme requires significant supply line planning above all else, as an army force triple the size of Poggost's normal levy will need to be supplied through the very same tunnels that they will expect to progress quickly through, to safe and traversable terrain on the opposite side. Thankfully, with the spring thaw, the snow is beginning to clear ever-so-slightly, even on the north face, and so the campaign due to begin in mere weeks will encounter less natural obstacles. At last, the exits into Erevan, carefully disguised under transported foliage and snow-covered earthworks erected in the dark of night, are ready for the armies' approach.<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Soft Ground - as the Sauroid diggers have reached the shallow ground near the Elvan territory, they have found the ground softening and giving away surprisingly quickly. One day, as the operation nears, Borok pauses and considers the utility of digging even further, rather than simply surfacing and crossing overland as the others intend.<br>
The Demon's Gate - One evening, a fatal mistake in the digging results in a tunnel flooding with blindingly hot ash and smoke. While the Sauroids fare well against the heat, the choking atmosphere is a different story. Borok has worked around dangerous volcanic chimneys in the past, but he is surprised to see a lack of magma in the natural tunnel after the air is cleared. Instead, it seems as if the mountain itself is <i>breathing</i> here in a way which feels frankly disturbing.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Lady Falwyn Tholmar, the Dragonlord</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Ostmajora<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Dragon's Fury - If Falwyn defeats an opponent with attack strategy A, they lose <i>two</i> tokens. (Infinite Uses.)<br>
Dragonflight - If traveling over allied territory, Falwyn can move across two provinces in a single turn. (Infinite Uses.)<br>
Golden Majesty - Upon conquering an enemy territory for the first time, Falwyn instantly gains a free token. (3 Uses.)<br>
<br>
Ostmajora, formerly a dozen or so small kingdoms, republics, and other petty states, is now a rather quiet place; the roads, once filled with commerce, are now empty aside from the occasional Imperial patrol or shipment. The people have resigned themselves to the daily drudgery of agriculture and basic crafts, their aspirations disappearing into the malaise of Briggun's uncertain, oppressive future. Having flown over these faltering parcels of disappointment, Falwyn notes the bitter irony of the shimmering waves of gold beneath her- nothing more than wheat, blowing in the wind. Most of what was once worthwhile in these places now resided in great vaults under the castle at Caneresch or in her own hoard in Tholmar's Rest. To the north, the Elvan land of Ysaval waits, behind a deep, wooded ridge connecting her mountain home to the rocky cliffs at Gantar's edge.<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Once and Future...? - Somewhere in Ostmajora, a prince of a now (nearly) extinct royal family is rumored to be alive and living under a false identity. His existence might be a legend, as the royal jewels went missing when his kingdom fell to Briggun and the people may have invented his story in order to cope, or maybe, just maybe, there is a very crafty half-elf living in a shack somewhere with a truly impressive fortune under his floorboards.<br>
Tears of the Vale - The great mountains separating Saarus from Erevan feed several major rivers on both sides of the continent's spine. From her vantage point in the air, while plotting her coming assault, Falwyn notices that one of Erevan's largest rivers is fed by an isolated mountain spring on the Empire's side of the border. Perhaps this might be useful...<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Vuldar Elegast, Sigurd of Ravgoth</b><br>
Try and Take It // The One and Only // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Poggost<br>
Strength: 3<br>
Cards:<br>
The Fear is Enough - If a weaker foe attacks while this card is active, they lose a token due to abandonment, regardless of the battle's outcome. (5 Uses.)<br>
Unyielding Contempt - At the cost of a token for one turn, Sigurd can bypass an enemy territory without a fight. (5 Uses.)<br>
<br>
The march to Solzan, the former capital of the Kingdom of Poggost, was a long and lonesome one, as the land itself seems increasingly inhospitable to life in that direction. The nights seem longer, and darker, and the great castle there dominates the eye and the imagination as a truly menacing edifice, with high spires and windows of stained glass. Although it is Rocher which is known to suffer the curse of the Vampyr, Solzan seems to suffer a more nebulous ailment, which nonetheless chills the spirit right to the core. Sigurd and his army make camp to the north of the city, where the mountains narrow to the point that any numerical advantage is moot. Across the pass, Sigurd can see the distant elves on patrol, as they have been since Poggost's fall a decade ago. He can sense the attention they pay to his presence, and their unease. Maybe the hoard of defenders beyond the mountains in Wyldsylvain are enough to stop him, but should he choose to march on Erevan tonight, those guards in the pass would be the first to die, and they know it.<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Under the Moonlight - Sigurd finds it difficult to sleep at night, as the air of northern Poggost is filled with a sense of dark magic. He knows it can't simply be a hunch; it must be coming from somewhere nearby. One night, a raven lands at his camp and speaks a single word: "Invited."<br>
The Howling Dark - Another night, Sigurd is awoken by the sound of wolves howling, but it is not the normal, mournful call. No, something larger and more frightening stalks these frozen woodlands.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Yz, Identity Requiem</b><br>
Meals from the Field // Nothing is Safe // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Sauroid Mountains<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Yz-Arts - Yz cannot be taken prisoner. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Without Identity - If not wearing a mask, Yz is unrecognizable to any enemy that has not fought them and can travel freely in their territory. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
Yz, ever an enigma, arrives at the camps on the south side of the Sauroid Mountains with their followers, a collective of cultists and imperial irregulars who are prepared for a much more nimble and aggressive attack than either of Yz's allies in the territory. As they fail to agree with many of Borok and Baba Voyka's directives, they are somewhat cutoff from chains of communication, as trying to herd the cats would present more work and frustration than would be worthwhile. However, this is <i>exactly</i> what works best for Yz at this stage; their forces are free to approach the coming battle with full independence, greatly increasing the complexity of the task for the defenders.<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Traveling Troupe - A motley group of performers has wandered to the foothills outside the Sauroid Mountains, and are offering to perform in front of the Empire's soldiers for meager compensation- mainly food. Yz notices immediately that the actors are already quite keen on wearing masks...<br>
Erasing the Traces - While wandering about, Yz chances upon a crumbling graveyard full of headstones. There, the once-living have been relinquished of every possession, aside from their name. An identity that continues to trap them, long after the world has given them up; Yz feels a wild urge to smash the headstones and allow the dead to be forgotten.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Aelan Farandel, the Wolf of the South</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // Come What May // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Sabersval<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Far from the known danger of the western pass, as well as the open fields of Ysaval, the elf Aelan believes her role to be one of a reserve, upon which her comrades in either direction might call upon if Briggun should reignite his aspirations of expansion into elvan lands. As winter lifts, and the glades and valleys begin to bloom, she divides her time between fortification of the inner territories, managing the heavy and well-guarded stockpiles which supply her forces, and rehearsing plans for battle against a surprise attack. Tragically, however, she envisions such a thing coming in the form of a reckless, unsupplied attack which has somehow pierced through Ysaval without hope of reinforcement. The southern boundaries aren't even considered; for her opponents to attack her directly from the Saarus Plane, they would first need to conquer the mountains themselves. But such a thing can't really be possible, can it?<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Kande Abdolon, Viper of the Reach</b><br>
Liberate the Materiel // Colleagues in Arms // Never Surrender<br>
Location: Ysaval<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
A human who ventured to Erevan from Gantar's deserts as a boy, Kande worked his way through the ranks to become the highest-ranking human in the Kingdom's employ. Known for his ability to conduct a raiding, sweeping offensive that remains resilient and flexible, even when divided and cut off from other units, he was judged to be the best leader to hold the relatively-vulnerable lands of the Kingdom's eastern reaches. Being in a relatively-warmer climate, Kande has gotten the jump on training and recruitment, even gathering a few mercenaries from his childhood home in Bhiran. In the last few weeks, as rumors circulate about large movements of Imperial soldiers, Kande has had trouble sleeping, as he knows that Erevan has already chosen its western territories as the primary defensive positions. He has instructed his commanders to plan for the evacuation of civilians as they fight a guerilla campaign against the invaders.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Rotwellain Martiel, Gatekeeper of the World</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // A Reckoning for the Wicked<br>
Location: Wyldsylvain<br>
Strength: 5<br>
<br>
The Kingdom's most decorated general, Rotwellain has been positioned in the deeply-forested western territory of Wyldsylvain to guard the pass into Poggost and the Saarus Plane. He is not a man to be trifled with; along with maintaining the highest discipline for his massive force as well as on a personal level, he is a well-read man of theory, and actively plans for every possible angle of attack on his lands. He has, for example, posited the possibility of a Druadach-led attack from the north, led by some barbarian ally of the Damned Warlock... Of course, Rotwellain isn't even aware of Adanach and his goals- this is merely the fantasy of a man overloaded with the responsibility of keeping evil locked out of the civilized world, earning him his grandiose nickname. Lately, he has taken note of the approach of Sigurd and has mentally prepared himself for the monumental task of holding off the infamous Headsman of Canar.<br>
<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><b>Gantar Campaign</b>​</div><br>
In the far east of the Empire, the armies of Izaak Rosach and Kolthix the Cackler gather in the rolling, dusty hills of Ostminora. The tall and difficult mountains slope off lazily toward the far eastern side, and using these natural barriers as a wall to hide behind, the two commanders have managed to approach the border of the Gantar Sultanate without attracting much attention- not that there were many watchers to begin with. Miraq, to their northeast, is a large and flat desert, pockmarked with salty lakebeds with mushy, silty ground which are difficult to cross without significant preparation. Numerous small tribes and villages also dot the empty landscape, making use of wells and irrigation from the desert's few rivers to survive as they have done since times unrecorded. These people know little of nations and politics, and are more concerned with their own survival and questions of spirituality.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Izaak Rosach, The Voivode of Skulls</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Ostminora<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Years ago, Izaak roamed these lands as a conqueror in his own right, before Briggun's return that would set about the fall of Canar. As he passes by familiar landmarks, he wonders how things might have been different had the warlock not appeared. Would Ostminora have been a part of Izaak's own personal empire? In truth, Izaak felt it was better that things had not turned out that way. Briggun's ascent and Izaak's loyalty ensured that the osseus mage would have access to a far greater variety of magical texts and artifacts. He would take his time, and grow in power, and if he played his cards right, he may yet return to rule this place... After he's conquered Gantar, of course.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Skeletal Warriors - If Izaak wins a battle against a non-undead opponent, he will have a +1 advantage on the following turn. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Raising an Army - While occupying territory that was forcibly taken the prior turn, Izaak gains a token every other turn until strength 5. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Crystal Lake - On the long march to the edge of the empire, Izaak happens to reach a river which had flooded the prior autumn and lost the bridge which once spanned it. While working upriver in search of a shallow crossing, Izaak's army chances upon a perfectly still and clear lake in the foothills of the nearby mountain ridge and chooses to camp by it. In the morning, several of Izaak's soldiers report having had vivid, shared dreams after drinking of the lake's water. Izaak makes a mental note to return here and investigate the lake's properties.<br>
The Lonesome Tower - Near the edge of the mountain ridge separating Saarus from Gantar, a shadow juts out from the landscape in just such a way as to convince Izaak that there's a tower on the Gantar side which might be worth exploring.<br>
<br>
<b>Kolthix the Cackler</b><br>
Everywhere At Once // Nothing is Safe // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Ostminora<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Arriving quickly in Ostminora, Kolthix and his kin quickly settle into the shadows of the mountains and the forested wilderness outside of the province's northern cities. Care is taken to feed the creatures, rather than allowing them to feast on the Saarus peasants there, but nonetheless the mere presence of the Shadelings is enough to drive them into a minor panic. Even in larger cities, people throughout the territory fear for their lives and refuse to go out at night.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
From Unbound - Passively defeats any card which presents physical defensive barriers against attackers. (Infinite Uses)<br>
One with the Dark - Unless kept in perfect light, Kolthix cannot be taken prisoner. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Gods and Demons - Along the route to the edge of the Empire, the Shadelings discover a crumbling temple dedicated to the same Gods worshipped in southern Gantar by the tribal people. Kolthix can't help but wonder if there are forms depicted within which might aid in the conquest.<br>
A Stitch in Time - Rumors of a skilled weaver in the area somehow reach the approaching Saarus Imperial forces. According to the story, a craftswoman in northern Ostminora knows of a technique to weave a cloth which renders the wearer invisible during the night. Kolthix is reminded of his own abilities, and wonders, with some suspicion, of how the weaver achieved the same effect.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Zomach, the Trench Digger</b><br>
With Guile and Cunning // Come What May // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Miraq<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Zomach, an orc who has lived his entire life in the desert, has never had a hot bath, seen a rainbow, or heard music performed on anything aside from drums. He is known as the Trench Digger, as he has toiled for years to dig irrigation ditches for dozens of miles, snaking away from one of the few rivers which doesn't change its bends in the flooding seasons, to serve the vital strips of arable land in the territory. As a result, he is a mountain of muscle, standing head and shoulders above the tallest human warriors in the realm. His few spoken words command respect from his fellow tribesmen as if they're carved into stone, and he has used this authority to acquire a small warband- volunteers who might leave their farms in a time of crisis to fend off the pillagers thought to exist beyond the mountains to the west.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><b>Lacans Campaign</b>​</div><br>
After the contentious meeting, Declan and Lucafiel travel separately, each having their own approaches toward handling the well-defended territory. In the end, Lucafiel relocates to the quiet coastal border territory of Kokaria, while Declan goes further, opting to station himself all the way in deeply-wooded Tidiaus where he would have better access to the northern half of Lacans. It also has the effect of forcing the halflings' collective hand into honoring their alliance with the Empire. Mustering their own forces, they send their general to meet with the Viceroy and express their intent to defend the Principality from foreign harm. With the two lieutenants on opposite sides of the country, they each have the chance of influencing the nearest province to their own preference, outside the reach of the other's meddling, for now.<br>
<br>
<b>Declan Asquith Elron, First Viceroy of Sathesbury</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Tidiaus<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Soulstealer - If this card is in play and Declan wins a battle, he will possess the enemy commander's soul, instantly defeating their army. (3 Uses)<br>
Diplomat - If this card is in play and Declan loses a battle, he will avoid losing a token. (3 Uses)<br>
<br>
Much like Adanach, Declan finds his travel through the Malenchanted Woods to Tidiaus to be safe and uneventful, almost eerily so. Finally arriving at the isolated principality, Declan's soldiers settle into the thickly-wooded territory quite happily, as food, it seems, is plentiful here, as are fresh water and medicine. The local architecture feels like a fresh change of pace, being meant for smaller people, Declan feels a sense of insight into the lives of the naturally able-bodied. Of course, the ill-at-ease glances and whispers he encounters from the local population remind him that he is not truly welcome here. Instead, he must set his sights westward, on the rocky, mountainous and rugged terrain of Lacans.<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Fox Hunt - The commander of Tidiaus' army, Munsie Moldive, sends a letter to Declan's camp, asking to meet the Viceroy in private.<br>
Breaking the Chains? - While positioning his army close to the border, Declan accidentally discovers a small group of escaped slaves, who were on their way east in hopes of securing their freedom in Druadach. Declan can't help but feel that this is an early chance to put his plans into motion, assuming that the slaves are willing to work with him to spread the word of rebellion.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Lucafiel sa Helendal, the Redeemer Prince</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Kokaria<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Red Comet - When played, Lucafiel may redefine his three strategies. (Infinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns)<br>
Hand of Life - Lucafiel can revive a dead character, or kill one who trusts him. (Infinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns)<br>
<br>
As the Vestati arrive in the coastal province of Kokaria, a former kingdom, there is a terrible storm, dumping its spring rains upon the land by the bucketful. Lucafiel tends to his planning regardless, and seeks out weaknesses in the enemy's position. He finds himself facing Ikono Manakles, known as "the Ram of Iskulia", whose scouts keep watch over the northern border with their bows at all times. Even in the torrential downpour, they do not retreat inside. The Imperial guardsmen, by comparison, are sloppy, and often neglect their duties unless under direct supervision. Stagnation and poverty seems to be gradually befalling the land in the wake of Briggun's takeover.<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Something Rotten in Iskulia - Although the enemy appears strong, and may actually be strong, Ikono's hoplites seem listless in the rain. Simply by observing their movements, Lucafiel ascertains that they are suffering form some illness which they are trying to conceal. The Vestati takes note of the opportunity for further investigation.<br>
The Lacansic Pantheon - The people of Kokaria express a familiarity with the gods worshipped in Lacans, and openly provide direction to temples in the north of the province which were erected in dedication of the same deities. Lucafiel's curiosity is drawn to these old structures.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Munsie Moldive, Fox of the Forest</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Nothing is Safe // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Tidiaus<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Munsie, a halfling ranger, is an expert at both archery and wildlife handling. Spending half of her young life under Imperial hegemony, she has come to embrace Tidiaus' place in the new world order, and dreams of one day ascending in notoriety to the level of the Emperor's War Council with such legends as Alexandre the Thirsting and Baba Voyka. When she learned that Declan, the famed traitor of Canar and one of Briggun's inner circle was coming to Tidaus to prepare the next phase of the Emperor's great plan, she appeared before the Principality's court and declared her enthusiasm for the cause, earning the court's commission to lead the land's rangers and mages in the coming conflict. While her orders were explicit: to prevent a Lacansic incursion into halfling territory, she nonetheless dreams bigger. She envisions herself driving deep into the human slavers' territory, right alongside Declan, to inscribe her name in the history books forevermore.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Ikono Manakles, the Ram of Iskulia</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Iskulia<br>
Strength: 6<br>
<br>
The latest son of a household which has produced generations upon generations of warriors for Iskulia, Ikono is a beast of a man, standing at a full six-and-a-half feet tall. His physical prowess has been established not just in extensive battle training against his sparring opponents, whom he often leaves battered and permanently wounded, but in sporting events as well. Ikono earned the name "the Ram" when he was only a teenager, by shattering records and bones alike in events such as the pentathlon. Since then, he has eagerly awaited the opportunity to face the dreaded Saarus Empire in battle, where he is utterly confident he will dominate them. He spends most of his time working on his physique and laying with beautiful women (and men) of his fancy, courting adventure at every opportunity.<br>
<br>
<b>Petrokos Aklessia, The People's Hammer</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // Colleagues in Arms // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Oitvemia<br>
Strength: 6<br>
<br>
An older champion given overall control of the Republic's armed forces by decree of the Aristocratic government in Oitvemia, Petrokos doesn't just impose with the use of heavy armor and a large battle hammer, he also surrounds himself with experts of various trades and mystics of the ancient sort, whose magics punctuate his smash-mouth style of combat nicely. Unlike his counterpart in the south, Petrokos does not actually want hostilities to begin with the Empire, in fact, he dreads it. But if it should come, he has taken many measures to prepare himself and his country for war. As spring rids the air of the icy chill which permeated the winter months, Petrokos spends his time watching the movements of Imperial trade ships and their naval escorts, mainly, looking for signs of an impending invasion. He has no idea of his foes' intent to invade by land, nor of their intent to use subterfuge to prime the country for its downfall.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The settled peoples, from Lacans to Gantar, always feared daemons and devils and the harm they can do to a men or mer soul, but the people of the Druadach do not fear demons or angels for that matter, they only fear what they can see, and they have seen the <b>Fae</b> since the beginning of time.<br>
<br>
From every corner of the Druadach, the tribes share countless tales and myths of the Faeries wickedness, selfishness and vile sorcery, and while there's plentiful tales and myths of helpful Fae, most of the Druadach continue to fear the Fae. The forests of the Druadach are full of Fae of all types, but the <b>Malenchanted Woods</b>, also known as the <b><i>Coilltean Olc</i></b> in the language of the Red Caps, is infamous in the culture of the tribes, and it served as the graveyard for hundreds of tribesmen who wished to conquer that wicked forest and plunder the rumored riches and enchanted items guarded by the Fae...<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span data-s9e-mediaembed="youtube"><span><span style="background:url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/vQp3l0nI7NQ/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% / cover" data-s9e-mediaembed-iframe="[&quot;allowfullscreen&quot;,&quot;&quot;,&quot;scrolling&quot;,&quot;no&quot;,&quot;style&quot;,&quot;background:url(https:\/\/i.ytimg.com\/vi\/vQp3l0nI7NQ\/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% \/ cover&quot;,&quot;src&quot;,&quot;https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/vQp3l0nI7NQ&quot;]"></span></span></span>​</div><br>
<br>
And here they were, a few weeks and more into their march, the ancient pitted cobbles of the empire's roads were long gone, and now they were traversing the darkwood. The sight of Sidhe dancing in the woods was enough to put fear into the hearts of the barbarian army. But Adanach kept reminding his army that they were safe since they had <b><span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">Rukkar</span></b>, a Fae, leading them through the woods, and he did so to the best of his abilities. No warrior was lost to these wicked woods and their evil diversions, but when asked about it, Rukkar confessed that these woods were deadly even to the Fae that inhabit it, and that it would have been impossible for him to lead the warband through these lands without any loses and assumed that they had been blessed... either by the Gods of the Druadach, or by Empress Herasa, or the "wicked bitch" as Rukkar calls her.<br>
<br>
After camping one last time in these cursed woods, the pagan army neared the border with Mors Gobonach, and while they were not out of it just yet, most warriors sighed in relief upon hearing this. The <a href="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/955571676920307785/1174460528035385344/d7eafefc91d6d8dad6e10460ac072594.png?ex=6567ac9a&amp;is=6555379a&amp;hm=274fa807bd0b5f632b8b0f25ef69177a9bebb869a06baaf13eae74acbdefd1a0&amp;" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.discordapp.com%2Fattachments%2F955571676920307785%2F1174460528035385344%2Fd7eafefc91d6d8dad6e10460ac072594.png%3Fex%3D6567ac9a%26is%3D6555379a%26hm%3D274fa807bd0b5f632b8b0f25ef69177a9bebb869a06baaf13eae74acbdefd1a0%26&amp;hash=0aab4384c1e6a8f758e2d9b8ad036664" rel="nofollow ugc noopener"><b>Druadach Uirodusios</b></a>, naked fanatics of Adanach's horde, who paint themselves with blue woad and bleached their hair with lime water, served as scouts of the barbarian army as they ran ahead of the horde, they carefully trod the woods, making sure there were no enemy ambushes, or worse, deadly fae roaming about. Meanwhile, Adanach and his most entrusted warriors and companions rode ahead of the army. Next to Adanach's steed was Bjorga's albino warg, in her arms was a little half-Orc baby, Duach, the youngest of Adanach's children, behind her, sitting on the wargs hind, were two half-Orc toddlers firmly grabbing her mothers' waist, they were Cosnach and Melach, the twins, and Adanach's first children with Bjorga. All three of them were painted with several blue tattoos made out of woad, wards of protection against the evil fae roaming these woods, to prevent them from becoming Changelings.<br>
<br>




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			<i>...Even if there is a straight line demarking the border between Saarus and Druadach on a map, the reality is far less clear; one tract of woodlands appears much the same as the next, but Adanach senses the difference. The dreadful sense of horror which preoccupies the Malenchanted Woods gives way to the more mundane pathways leading to the north, and small signs here and there remind him that there are people living here. A whiff of campfire smoke, clinging to the bark of a tree, a broken arrow shaft jutting form the trunk of another... And then, from the edge of a clearing, Adanach spots a few isolated members of a goblin tribe. He knows the forest will soon give way to the plane, where the tribes fight one another for dominance over land that few else could want.</i>
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</blockquote><br>
When the horde finally abandoned those cursed woods and entered the goblin highlands, most were relieved that the most dangerous part of the march was over. Adanach looked at the jagged mountains and hills surrounding them, and smiled... He was back in his homeland, and ready to unite it once and for all. He ordered the men to build a war camp, using wood from the Malenchanted Forest, and to create defenses on all sides to protect them from the goblin tribes or from whatever monstrous creature might emerge from the woods behind them. <br>
<br>
He and his companions joined the efforts of the Uirodusios, exploring the landscape to learn more of the current situation of Mors Gobonach. It was as miserable as always, and the tribes constantly fought over resources and the herds of boars roaming the highland. While Adanach and his companions were exploring a ruined goblin village that used to belong to Ukkur's lot, he found a dead goblin with a colored shield, carrying the symbol of the god <b>Nilbog</b>... the symbol of Faska's warband.<br>
<br>
Adanach was not surprised that Faska's lot had grown even stronger since Adanach's last visit. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Great..."</span> muttered the barbarian as he tossed the broken shield aside. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Do you know those colors, my love?"</span> asked Bjorga, still riding her warg. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Aye... I know that little bitch."</span> He said, turning around to look at his wife. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Back when I was a wee lad going through my rites of passage, the strongest tribe in the land used the same colors... they were by a very old goblin named Otor."</span> Bjorga nodded. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Heard of him, only goblin to ever be recognized as Vergobet by the Druid King of Cyrmm."</span> She said, Adanach slowly nodded. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Aye... met the ol' fella, all bloated and sick... yet carrying incredible wisdom."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"He doesn't sound like <i>"a little bitch"</i>, my love."</span> said Bjorga with a grin, Adanach let out a chuckle before continuing. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Oh no, he wasn't... Faska on the other hand..."</span> Adanach looked at his horse Dunach, more specifically at a satchel tied to its side. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"What can ye say about Faska, <b>Catu</b>?"</span> He asked, as a small creature emerged from the satchel holding what appeared to be a scroll with text roughly written on it. <span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">"Clever and wicked, master."</span> said the extremely short Goblin. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"All goblins are clever, but what makes this Faska wicked, Catu?"</span> asked Bjorga as she looked at the broken shield on the ground.<br>
<br>
Catu took some time to think his answer, his ears twitching slightly to scare away the hundreds of flies feasting on the dead goblins. <span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">"Well, mistress... Ol' Otor was old and bloated, yes, but he was no coward! Even in his old age, he knew how to swing his falx, so when Faska challenged him to a duel to determine the next chieftain, he did not refuse, even if it meant his death."</span> Adanach nodded. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I met Faska a few years after his victory... when I was travelling with my two brothers and our warriors, we sought the wisdom of ol' Otor for the travels ahead of us, but instead we were greeted by Faska... and the wall of corpses surrounding the tribe, but he's known as the Bloody Bastard for what he did to Otor specifically."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">"Aye, after defeating Otor, he beheaded him and crushed his head, so that it would not be hanged on the trees! Completely disregarding the traditions of all Druadach."</span> Bjorga cringed and frowned upon hearing such barbarous action. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"What kind of animal does such a thing? To crush the head of an elder no less..."</span> Bjorga asked Adanach, who leaned against a destroyed cobbled wall. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...like Catu said, somebody who is both clever and wicked."</span> Bjorga spat on the broken shield of Faska's tribe. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Then we must crush his head when we invade his lan-"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"No."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Huh?"</span> Bjorga looked at her husband, a bit surprised by his answer. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I will try unite the Druadach through peace first... Faska, he's a bastard who fights dirty, but he is clever and despite his tactics, he is strong... I respected Otor, but he had grown weak, and I while I dislike Faska for his lack of respect for our traditions, I respect his strength..."</span> He looked at Bjorga straight into her dark eyes. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...I will try to negotiate with him first, send a good messenger, tell him that I have great plans for the Druadach and we could use his help, and that he would be rewarded with lands to spoil... but if he refuses..."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"We will destroy him."</span> Bjorga answered accordingly, Adanach could not help but to smile at that answer, a part of him hoped Faska would refuse him, the part that seeks conquest, but he cannot lead a horde of wounded goblins, he needed Faska's tribe if he wanted to quickly pacify Mors Gobonach. Rukkar, who had been quietly sipping his hat on the blood of a dead goblin slave, raised his head to look at Adanach. <span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"Oi, ya' realize that if he refuses, he might attack ye first?"</span> He asked while putting his hat back on. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Hm... let him come then, we'll be ready."</span> He said as he walked towards the main gate of the abandoned tribe... in the distance, Adanach could see a lone goblin hermit living on a meager shack, who knows what he'll find there?</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Kolthix grinned as he received his orders, however, the location he was meant to aid in conquering was less than ideal. Gantar was a hell hole of a land for his people. The harsh light of the sun made it quite difficult for any shadeling to call the territory home, and most of their kind can call nearly any sort of environment home. Whatever the case, the lord of the shadelings can make do. There would be lots of digging needing to be done to create shelters during the day, but it could, and would, be done.<br>
<br>
As he circles the table to return to the shadows to carry out his orders, he spares a moment to turn his head towards Estro. <b>“Though your consideration for the use of my people is… appreciated, know that the shadelings will not act simply as a <i>concern</i> for our foes any longer. When we march upon Gantar, it will shall be to deliver fear into the hearts of their people. To meet those of the flesh with their due suffering. To be as it was always meant to be.”</b><br>
<br>
Kolthix respected Estro as a a fellow under the command of their emperor, but he could always see the look in the wizards eye as he considered his kind. So it is with great pleasure that he announced that he would go beyond being a simple hindrance for enemy forces this time around. Besides, in the past ten years, he has gathered his kind. Assumed an army fitting for the day when the lieutenants were called once again to march to war.<br>
<br>
As he returns to the shadows, he spares one last look around the room before suddenly slipping away.<br>
<br>
Where he emerges is anyone’s guess, but he does appear within the darkened confines of a tent of sorts. He allows his body a moment to readjust after his travels. Each time he slips through the shadow, it always wants to spit him out in an odd, monsterous form, as if the mortal shape he prefers to assume is unnatural, like anything else is more suitable for the power he holds within. However, he enjoyed a smaller form. A more silent shape. It suits his desires, mostly because those of the world do not enjoy looking upon a shadeling that reflects their own appearance so. It’s like he’s taunting them.<br>
<br>
He emerges from the tent and into the dim light of where he had settled his forces. The sight was spectacular, shadelings almost as far as the eye could see. They all turned as the red of their masters hood appeared. Two figures took immediate notice, approaching from their own individual camps. These two were Kolthix’s hands when it came to leading his armies, not that he needed assistance with such matters, but it is nice to be able to delegate such responsibilities to those he could trust. They were also the two that he entrusted to consume him should he fail in battle. With his power he knew that they could grow incredibly strong.<br>
<br>
The first figure to approach was… massive, to say the least. A behemoth of strength. He could walk on two legs, but the sheer size of his upper body made it easier to use his large arms to help get around. His head was also quite large with the majority of it being all one big maw and two small glowing eyes upon the top. Kolthix believed that the shape of his head was inspired by that of sharks. He had a bit of an underbite as well, but it was honestly just an interesting little feature, nothing more.<br>
<br>
The second figure was tall and lanky, but with curves suggesting that they might be female. However, such things are simply a matter of preference when it comes to shadelings. Their kind had no need for sex or reproduction, they merely exist, so a shadeling can choose how they will develop and can take about any voice they please when they learn to use the common tongue. Love and passion do exist for shadelings despite their lack of gender, but not before hunger, so seeking their next meal often takes precedence. This shadeling chose a lighter, playful voice, apparently inspired by a human that they once encountered. She knows how to wield magic as well, which is rather uncommon for most shadelings. A rare trait that Kol decided to nurture.<br>
<br>
The two kneel as Kolthix approaches them as well.<br>
<br>
<b>“Gartoth, Rorika. Is the army ready?”</b><br>
<br>
It is Rorika that raises her head to answer him.<br>
<br>
”Of course, my lord. All of our people in the region have answered the call once word that the master had summoned you. They are eager for the conflict to come.”<br>
<br>
<b>”Good. Very good. Then we begin marching. We shall be on the Gantar front.”</b><br>
<br>
Gartoth growls deeply at this.<br>
<br>
”Gantar? Home of Miraq? That cursed desert?!“<br>
<br>
Gartoth is silenced with a raised hand from Kolthix. Though the Cackler agreed with his lackey’s displeasure, they had their orders, and it would be done. In the end it’s just a matter of getting the battle over with as quickly as possible.<br>
<br>
<b>“We are shadelings. We adapt. The masters will guides us. We will march upon Gantar. Thankfully we will not have to travel too far into that land just yet. We begin with Ostminora. There are mountain ranges and forests. We shall take that land and turn it into our home for the time being. Settle the majority of our forces in the forests and have those trained to wield ranged weaponry or magic settled along the mountains. Burrow deep into the stone for shelter from the light of day. Lay traps along the passes. I want the land impenetrable.”</b><br>
<br>
The two warlords bow their heads. Gartoth seemed pleased that they didn’t have to worry too much about the harsh sun just yet. He has had prior experiences with the large desert of Miraq. Nearly got him killed once apparently. It was a story that Kolthix would have to ask about sometime. He often minded his own business, especially because his subordinates didn’t always seem like the most talkative. That’s the one reason he enjoys <i>some</i> flesh creatures. They can actually hold conversations.<br>
<br>
Despite the short notice of Kolthix’s arrival, the army of shadelings had begun to rise, pack their things if they possessed any belongings, snuff out their camps and began to march. Shadelings are a determined people. They can walk for days if needed with very little rest, but Kolthix would never force such a need on his kind. They shall rest, eat and drink when they must. It wouldn’t do any good to arrive in Gantar with an exhausted army.<br>
<br>
The journey was rather easy. At times the shadelings would pass towns within the empires territories. Despite being members of the Empire, shadelings were given wary looks no matter where they walked. It was simply the way of things. The few towns that the army passed, there were no celebrations held for the shadow-bound soldiers. Just cautious stares from the townsfolk watching them pass.<br>
<br>
Shadelings do not mind such stares. It is natural to be feared. After all, anything can eventually be food, even their own kind. Who wouldn’t fear being found in the stomach of a shadeling?<br>
<br>
After a few days, the army approaches the Gantar region, drawing ever closer to Ostminora. One of the scouting shadelings scampers through the marching army, making his way towards Kolthix. As he approaches, he lowers down onto his knees. Kolthix stops to look at the scount, curious about what would be reported so soon.<br>
<br>
As the scout speaks, it is not done in the common tongue. It is done in the shadelings means of communication. Now shadelings do not have their own language. They’ve never had the time to develop one. However, they can read a lot from each others body language and a mix of grunts, growls and babbling. It all often seems incoherent to those that aren’t shadelings, but between their own people, it was a clear and simple method of communicating what they need to.<br>
<br>
<i>”Lord must know. Temple found. Strange markings. Shapes. Shapes for the lord,”</i> the scout reports with few hand gestures and lots of babbling.<br>
<br>
Gartoth growls softly at that.<br>
<br>
“New shapes are good for one that can take any they wish. May be useful for our lord?”<br>
<br>
Kolthix nods his head, but seems keen on moving on.<br>
<br>
<b>“We must arrive on the Ostminoran front. However, I shall perhaps pay this temple a visit when time allows.”</b><br>
<br>
The scout bows before it scurries away, getting back to work. Kolthix instructs Gortoth to reward the scouts under his command when he gets the opportunity. Information, no matter how simple it may seem, may eventually be of use. Which is why when the next scout came on Rorika’s side, he was eager to hear what they had to say. This scout speaks plainly in the common tongue, actually versed in the language, but they speak with a unique accent.<br>
<br>
“ M’lord, we’ve picked up on a little chattah durin’ our scoutin’. Picked up word ‘bout ah weavah with the skill tah make cloths imbued with magic. Think that the word was somethin’ ‘long the lines of… cloths possessin’ magic that can make who wears it invisible durin’ the night.”<br>
<br>
Now this caught Kolthix’s interest. A person with this sort of skill would be invaluable, especially if he could get them to weave together uniforms for a specialized unit that are capable of infiltrating enemy territory unseen.<br>
<br>
<b>”Wonderful work. Keep Rorika informed of any updates concerning this weaver. If we can, we must have eyes on them as soon as possible. We cannot risk them slipping from between our fingers, especially with such a useful talent. And there is always the chance that this weaver has worked for Ostminora. The city may have troops of their own armed with such garb. Keep exploring the land as we travel. Keep a keen eye out for those wearing fabrics made of unique materials.”</b><br>
<br>
The scout offers a rather courtly bow before turning and skulking off through the crowd of shadelings, a bit more light on his feet than the other. Kol reminds Rorika to do the same as Gartoth and reward her scouts as soon as possible. He believed in giving good things to those that work hard. The shadelings serve under him willingly and with the utmost loyalty, but it is important to keep their spirits high and inspire them to work harder.<br>
<br>
As they near the land they would claim as their own, the shadeling army took notice of another closing in upon the border of Gantar. Kolthix grinned.<br>
<br>
“Ah. Seems good Izaak has made haste getting here as well. Perfect. This shall be a delightful invasion.“<br>
<br>
Kolthix commands his army to approach Izaak’s own, just traveling alongside them as allies in the battle to come. However, the shadeling forces were already starting to look hungry, especially as they pass Saarus territories on their way to the border. The fear in the eyes of the populace drove some of the shadelings wild for bloodlust or something to feast upon, as was appropriate for predators circling prey, especially since they could not feed upon these people. However, tribute was given to them to keep the shadowed horde sated so that sacrifices didn’t need to be made.<br>
<br>
Kolthix would walk out into the middle of the space between the two large armies before he calls out.<br>
<br>
<b>”Lord Rosach! It is good to see that you are as eager to get to work as we are. I am certain that the conflict ahead shall be a simple, quick matter, but let us endeavor to enjoy it, yes?”</b><br>
<br>
Despite whatever distance there might have been between Izaak and Kolthix, the lord of the shadeling’s voice <i>carried</i> as if projected from a creature much larger than the humanoid shaped fellow.<br>
<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Estro listened to the Emperor's decision and didn't seem at all disappointed. The tone of voice reminding him that somewhere in there was still the young man who'd bested him so long ago. The only one worthy of his service, earned in blood, combat and skill. Perhaps it was with borrowed power, but unless you know how to wield a borrowed weapon you would still be quite useless. Briggun had wielded that power expertly to the point of besting a man who had spent his life trying to be the best simply to survive noble intrigues and scheming against him.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Of course, my lord. I will make excellent use of the increased pressures as they are poured upon the Dominion. I'm sure we'll find openings from it along with whatever might come pouring forth from the opening moves in the Gantar Campaign,"</span> Estro said with a bow of his head towards Briggun. He smiled despite his and Voyka's jockeying for Kolthix being denied. The new order served him even more in the long term while enabling Imperial expansion better.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Good hunting, Shadeling,"</span> Estro said simply as he watched Kolthix vanish. He meant it too. The more those monsters ate and terrorized, the better. The more people would flood into Civiceria or other territories to spread instability and issues. Chaos was the name of the game when conquest was on the board.<br>
<br>
As the Empress entered, Estro bowed his head again. The only other person he would bother to do so with. He had a healthy respect for the Fey and also knew deep down this woman was likely also the patron of Briggun, his true source of power. On a certain level, Estro envied that, to have so much power you could lend it out to others. Perhaps that would be his final evolution, to become a Fey Lord as other powerful arcanists had before. An amusing idea if he did not land upon some other variant of evolutionary ascension with his power. Briggun could keeps his empire of land and holdings. Estro favored power over the sheer forces of reality itself. Godhood potentially. The Empire could use a god, couldn't it?<br>
<br>
Lost in that thought, he observed the Imperial couple depart. He looked to the others with another of his smiles before turning with a sweep of his ornate robes, laced with various protective enchantments. Estro exited the chamber finally with the Emperor finished and the others mostly gone. His master had issued his orders and now he could pursue them as he desired. Waiting for him were a pair of imposing figures. <a href="https://www.rpnation.com/gallery/balthazar_-_hand_of_faith_conversion-jpg.47328/full" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fgallery%2Fbalthazar_-_hand_of_faith_conversion-jpg.47328%2Ffull&amp;hash=f3c1c0021cff888aa9d9667869d86160">Balthazar</a> and <a href="https://www.rpnation.com/gallery/valdin_-_hand_of_war_military-png.47327/full" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fgallery%2Fvaldin_-_hand_of_war_military-png.47327%2Ffull&amp;hash=69041014df18be07bb089901947f6681">Valdin</a> both stood taller than their master, each powerfully built for different reasons. Balthazar wore his ornate cult armor that glistened int the crimsons and golds of the Cult of Zo. Valdin work more practical half plate while still showing the red of the Cult.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Is it time, Master? Does the faith spread to other worthy souls?"</span> Balthazar asked in deep and melodic tone as he flashed a eager smile.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"Do we march to war? Should I gather the Cult Army?"</span> Valdin asked in a gruff and serious voice. There was a certain eagerness as well. To make war upon those beyond the empire to spread the Cult of Zo by the sword. To recruit and convert defeated warriors to serve their grand cause.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"We have been granted Civiveria to play with,"</span> Estro said with a chuckle as he starts to walk with the pair, each flanking him as much bodyguards as Hands of Zo. Estro could inspire fanatical devotion and it showed in his Hands as much as anyone else that had embraced his teachings. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"As amusing as it would be to march directly in, we have been given leave to make things more interesting. To go to serious work on the Dominion to prepare it for our style of warfare and conquest for the Empire."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Splendid! I relish the opportunity to spread the teachings again. To sow the seeds of doubt as we bring them the truth of Zero Origin,"</span> Balthazar admits and meant every word of it. He was a product of the teachings, embraced fully by the cult without doubts about his intentions simply due to his appearance. Acceptance was a powerful tool in converting others and Balthazar <i>believed</i> firmly in that as much as he had profited from it.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"Hmmm, that means rebellion. I could use the challenge of training up rabble again, teaching some new cult commanders in the Lodges we establish,"</span> Valdin admitted as he rubbed his chin. <span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"It'll be messy, but our works tends to be when it comes to uplifting others. We'll want to gather the rest of the Hands for this to begin organizing and planning more fully."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Agreed, we'll need every Hand informed and coordinating to maximize our efforts. Plus we'll need to begin our usual operations of gatherings and establishing our operation caches,"</span> Estro mused as they exited the palace and were heading to what used to be the Royal Magic Academy. It was now the House of Zo. Magic was still very much taught there and various prisoners were being brought to it to disappear into the depths of its towers and dungeon labs. Monsters in stasis or cages exited its southern gates to be shipped off to various Imperial fronts for field testing or simply to be used a fodder at the various fronts where the other Lieutenants might accept and utilize them if they weren't being stockpiled for potential use in the Cult Army.<br>
<br>
The trio arrived in uppermost chamber of the central tower of the House of Zo. The other Hands gathered and awaiting eagerly the news from their master. Estro moved to take his seat at the head of a round table, denoted by the higher chair back. The others moved to join and take their seats. All looking upon the Wizard of Zo with anticipation, knowing that Briggun had unleashed the Cult again upon some hapless nation.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"My friends, Civiceria is to be ours," </span> Estro declares as he gestures to summon forth goblets as floating bottles of wine pour into them. Estro took his own and held it up while the others joined him in toast. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Zero Origin."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(235, 107, 86)">"ZERO ORIGIN!"</span> Bellowed the Hands of Zo in response as all drained their goblets and the planning began.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">As Briggun considered what to do with Kolthix, Voyka turned to face Cordia, the fellow 'hag' among the lieutenants. She gave her a sly smile, as the suggestion they should talk more was one that appealed to her. It at least confirmed there were no issues between the two, a relief in her eyes. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I await to hear what you have to say, dear. I'll be sure to cook something up for you and your crew! Good luck on the southern front,</span>" she told her as the pirate departed.<br>
<br>
Soon enough, Briggun made his decision known - Kolthix would be heading eastward with Izaak, and in doing so, indirectly benefiting Estro's efforts. A clever tactic to be sure, to be expected from their Dark Lord. Shortly after, the Empress arrived. She gave Herasa a bow, and a knowing look with a smile. Her loyalty extended to her too, given her nature and precedent. And then the two lovers departed, leaving the remaining lieutenants to set their final plans and goodbyes. As per usual, she was going to hang around the longest, but she made sure to approach Kolthix before he departed, soon after he spoke with Estro.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Good luck in Miraq, Kole, and see you for Midana,</span>" she told him plainly, with a fond smile not often seen by the others, and a reminder she hadn't forgotten her promise. If there was anyone she could feel to be sincere with, it would be him.<br>
<br>
She turned back to the few remaining present, as it became clear who would be joining in the tunnel front of the Erevan campaign: beside the obvious inclusion of Borok, it would be her and Yz. It would be clear that Vuldar would be headed for the northern pass - the pass closest to Alemannum - so there was no one else to join them. Planning on what to do could be decided once they arrived there, so she merely approached Borok.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I will go prepare my men. When we're ready to head north, come to my encampment near the barracks, so that you may lead the way,</span>" she said simply, with her usual grin.<br>
<br>
---<br>
<br>
Setting up camp after arriving at the cave's entrance in the north, many of her men expressed frustration at the cold. Like her grandmother would've done, she whipped them into shape and reminded them of how the cold built character, and how it would soon depart them. In contrast to her forces, who consisted of non-horned races, the cold did not bother her nearly as much. It reminded her of the days in her youth when she had nothing to protect herself with, forced to brave the elements, to prove she had what it took to fight in Canar's military.<br>
<br>
Her men would supplement Briggun's supplymen when necessary, to ensure the supply line was as stable as it could be with the forces gathered here. In turn, she made sure to discipline regularly to not only keep the peace, but also keep the calm, for the last thing they needed was their surprise attack being discovered early. She found herself frustrated with Yz, however, even as she could imagine a use for them. If they wanted to ensure everything went swimmingly, they needed to at least partially be on the same page.<br>
<br>
In that regard, she organized a meeting with herself, Borok and Yz. The three of them needed to finalize what they were going to do. Once they had gathered, she gestured for permission to begin the meeting.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Thank you two for coming at such short notice. Given how much there is to prepare, we have all been fairly busy with our affairs, but I imagine you two would agree that getting our initial plans sorted would be beneficial to the campaign,</span>" she gestured at the two, as if seeking their agreement, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I imagine the both of you would agree just how sensitive this front is when compared to the eastern and northern fronts. Unlike those two, we are wholly in the shadow of surprise, the advantage is in our favor, and so, being on the same page on progress would ensure we take advantage of that as much as possible.</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">In my eyes, we have two options. We could choose to attack immediately, strike the enemy unaware with our combined forces, and hope we are able to defeat them and establish a foothold in Sabersval. However, this option has an equal chance of backfiring on us. We fail to push out the enemy, and now we're stuck rushing to defeat them before they can be reinforced from the north. The other option, meanwhile, is to sit here and wait. Continue our preparations, and wait for news from the other fronts, particularly the front in the East with Ysaval. If Falwyn makes headway, any forces positioned in Sabersval might be compelled to head east and aid against them, allowing us to come from behind and take them wholly caught off-guard. This option isn't without flaws, however, as it relies on things going well for someone else now. Regardless, those are the options as I see it: either attacking together in unison, or staying put in unison,</span>" Voyka explained her thought process. For anyone only familiar with her in terms of slaughter, this level of strategy might catch them by surprise.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">If we had to choose between the two, however, I would go with staying put. I have noted the environment and caught eye of a vantage point that might allow us to see into Erevan, or for Erevan to see us here, but I believe they are unlikely to be keeping an eye. It is unlikely they are considering the idea of attack across the mountains, so there would be no reason to keep watch. More importantly, meanwhile, I have been informed of rumors of intruders threatening the supply line, and my men managed to confirm the theft of rations. If we can't maintain the supply line, we won't be able to fight to our fullest extent, so I would very much prefer that be dealt with first. If the two of you have any urgent needs, they can be dealt with now as we prepare for the attack,</span>" she rationalized, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">but if you two disagree, I would love to hear why,</span>" commenting with her usual grin.<br>
<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><b>Turn 0 (Part 2 - The Southern Campaigns) - Year 735 - Early Spring</b><br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/corisia-2023-11-13-23-37-jpg.1125054/" target="_blank">View attachment Corisia 2023-11-13-23-37.jpg</a><br>
<br>
<b>Civiceria Campaign</b>​</div><br>
While the Civicerian Dominion is a titan of industry and trade in the southeast, and would have been a great challenger to Canar's power in this era if not for Briggun's takeover, the same cannot be said about its northern, colonial possession on Saarus' border. The land of Bolia is nothing but a colony, through and through, with slaves and settlers living uncomfortably under military rule while ruthlessly exploiting the natural resources in the area. Imperial traders who have crossed through the territory report that it is heavily defended, however, the Civicerians have carefully maneuvered their armies and rotated their commanders in such a way as to distort the actual numbers and personnel involved. One traveler even reported seeing a cohort of soldiers endlessly walking around the side of the same mountain in a single-file line, giving the impression that an entire legion was present. Moreover, the Civicerians have invested heavily in counterespionage, and have proven difficult and wily targets for Veno's spies.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Estro Dorozan, The Wizard of Zo</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Bone Coast<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Arcane Exchange - If Estro loses a battle against a foe with attack strategy C, battle is re-rolled once. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
Recruit from Rhetoric - If using a card to influence a foe's territory outside of battle, gain 1 token. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
<br>
Estro arrives in the Bone Coast in the wake of Alexandre's ride with his cultish followers and Imperial guardsmen and makes his headquarters in a town nearby the borders of Civieria and Piantia. Appropriating a large inn for the purpose of his cult's forward operating base, he begins to direct the disbursement of agents across the frontier, at positions where they might discretely cross the border and embed themselves within the Dominion and be mistaken for Piantian refugees. As there is less in the way of direct combat to prepare for, the Cult can afford to be slightly dormant at the moment until a proper opportunity unfolds. Estro, always proactive, begins examining opportunities outside of combat to influence the outcome of things.<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Reluctance of Bolia - Unlike most other territories on the border of Saarus, little is known of the defensive capabilities of the Civicerian Dominion's northern holdings, only that they are better armed and trained than Piantia's militias. However, one thing that is known, thanks to defectors and recently-escaped slaves, is that the Province of Bolia's residents are very worried about the presence of Izaak and Kolthix's armies right over the border, and would be unlikely to join in the defense of Piantia. Estro wonders what is making the Civicerians so cold to their neighbors, and what might lead to more refugees being taken in.<br>
The Fortune Teller - Along the desolate roadway leading into this remote corner of the empire, Estro passed by a fortune teller's roadside stall, a strange little attraction without much evidence of actual magic at play. But since then, Estro has seen the same woman in his dreams and wonders what his sleep may be trying to tell him.<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><br>
<b>Piantia Campaign</b>​</div><br>
Going their separate ways, Alexandre and Estro each arrive in the Bone Coast to prepare their southeastern offensives. The former plans to hack and slash her way in through the soft and ill-equipped army of the Piantian Oligarchy, while the latter wishes to take a more nuanced approach to undermine the enemy's unity and morale in the Civicerian Dominion. The weather in this area is warm and relatively dry, warning of a somewhat poor crop season. The people of both seaside powers will likely take to the water in search of good fishing instead, safely protected by the Piantian Navy at the strait. The Oligarchy does not seem to fully appreciate the dangers posed by the Imperial armies in its vicinity, and are struggling to raise more funds to pay for more soldiers, when the truth is that they should have been trained already; With who they are doomed to face, it is possibly too late to prepare, now.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Alexandre, the Thirsting</b><br>
Meals from the Field // The One and Only // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Bone Coast<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Blood Feast - If below strength 3, instantly regain 1 strength on victory. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Cloak of Night - If opponent has planning type B, 1/2 chance of dealing two tokens of damage on victory. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
Rocher, with its hellish, accursed warriors, arrived at the border in a thunderous cavalry charge to find the enemy practically sleeping. The border, being made up of numerous small rivers and creeks, slightly inconvenient land formations, and artificial barriers such as walls, was really an imagined concept; a determined attacker would easily find dozens of points of entry, and there was little that the inadequate and very outdated fortresses of the Oligarchy could do to prevent their own encirclement. The Piantians seem to have realized this long ago, and so said fortresses are considerably undermanned, and the army forces in this frontier are made up of light brigades of spearmen and archers who are well-suited to holding ground, especially cavalry, but utterly incompetent at taking it. Obviously, a blind charge into Piantia would be costly, but with the Curse of the Vampyr allowing Alexandre and the Crimson Wolves to feast on the dead, it may not matter at all.<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Firelight Megalith - An ancient structure of unknown origin is said to exist in the dry wasteland of Kaula, a collection of steles and dolmens which are built as a monument to some lost religion or truth. A few traitorous locals in Piantia have expressed the general location of this monument, and now Alexandre considers the time cost involved with seeking it out.<br>
King's Crest - One of the old and crumbling fortresses on the border between Saarus and Piantia is known as "King's Crest" as it was the most impressive structure built by an ancient king of Kaula, before the existence of the Oligarchy. There are some who say that the King haunts this place to this very day. Alexandre wonders what sort of secrets such a phantom might be keeping.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Cordia Dis, Banshee Captain of the Butcher's Blade</b><br>
Meals from the Field // Nothing is Safe // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Waters near Bone Coast<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Siren's Song - If attacking another sea-based opponent, has a 1/3 chance of stealing a token from her opponent ahead of an attack. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Banshee's Scream - Can deal one token of damage every three turns. (Infinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns)<br>
<br>
Cordia's ship departs from the Bone Coast and enters the open waters, passing by small masses of Imperial warships which begin to fall into a loose formation behind her, preparing to lend a hand should the Piantian Navy sail west to meet them. It isn't long before they spot small and nimble craft flying the red and white banners of the Oligarchy off in the distance, before they quickly dart away over the horizon. After a few trips to the southern coastlines to probe Piantian interests, it seems that the culture of the Oligarchy's navy is to be swift and avoid engagement as much as possible. Cordia begins to suspect that the Piantians won't act until their hand is forced, and in the meantime, Teralia is ripe for the taking. Circling the island at night, there is next to nothing formally guarding the trading post. With only a successful landing, Cordia reckons that she could take the city in a single attack.<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Dashed on the Rocks - While exploring the waters around Teralia, the Butcher's Blade spots the remains of a mast poking out of the water near the large rocks off the uninhabited islands only a few miles from the trade port. Cordia is tempted to get a closer look.<br>
Marooned - A column of smoke rises from a small island in the sea, far from all civilization and barely more than a sandbar. Cordia considers diverting to investigate, but has little time to waste.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Ashryn, the Dark Heart of the Southern Sea</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Nothing is Safe // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Teralia<br>
Strength: 1<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
The Dark Heart's Hand - On any victory, Ashryn gains a token, in addition to her opponent losing one. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
<br>
Ashryn, a drow necromancer, has been a patron of Teralia for years, slowly honing her craft and building a fortune by extracting a "tax" of sorts from traders who stop by the island. Local authorities, if there are such a thing in Teralia, are terrified of her and treat her as above reproach. There has long been a suspicion that Ashryn would soon join Briggun's ranks due to her reputation, but surprisingly, she seems utterly opposed to the idea and refuses to elaborate to anyone who asks. With all else who might have stood their ground having fled the island years ago, Ashryn remains the only obstacle that a landing party would need to face, but she and her undead army may prove to be a more difficult one to clear than anyone anticipates... <br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Jakabo Gratini, The White Eagle</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // Never Surrender<br>
Location: Kaula<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Jakabo, a former mercenary and albino, came to Kaula in the years before Briggun's ascent in order to retire somewhere more peaceful than Petrata, where he had spent most of his life guarding against a Weildach incursion. Over his long career, he overcame others' reservations about his appearance to climb the ranks, becoming an accomplished commander and achieving more for the Oligarchy's defense than many of their full-time generals had done. Now in his 70s, he suddenly finds himself the territory's most trusted and experienced leader on the land, and has been asked by local leaders to whip the militias into shape to hold off an attack by Saarus. Despite the long odds, Jakabo believes he is up to the task. He knows that the enemy will probably be overly-aggressive and will suffer losses against his soldiers if he can goad them into fighting the fights he wants them to fight. As Briggun sends riders from Rocher, Jakobo smiles; the gods may have cursed him with an unwinnable war, but also rewarded him with the very opponent he hoped to face, giving him his best chance of going out gloriously.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Sirius "Cutlass" Bandolo, Torpedo of the Piantian Strait</b><br>
Liberate the Materiel // A Master of the Art // Never Surrrender<br>
Location: Waters near Kaula<br>
Strength: 4<br>
<br>
Cutlass Bandolo, a wily young privateer working in service to the Oligarchy, has been a major headache for Briggun the entirety of this past decade. Beginning when he was merely the captain of a single vessel, Cutlass managed to board and appropriate eight merchant vessels in a single month of frantic activity when it seemed as if Saarus was going to push beyond the Bone Coast and into Kaula. He did this while evading the famed and terrifying Captain Cordia, helping to build a mythos of his impossibility to catch. Since then, he became the commander of a group of vessels, and then eventually, the leader of Piantia's famed navy, one of the strongest in the world. While Briggun has made several attempts to force his Imperial Vessels through the strait, each time, Cutlass has inflicted an embarrassing loss, and has escaped before retribution could arrive. The people love him, and treat him as an unkillable folk hero. Under it all, however, is a man who feels as if karma has been winding up a sledgehammer of a punch, and it will meet him square on the jaw and repay him for all the undue kindness he has received so far. With rumbles of all-out-war in the near future, he silently worries that the moment has finally come.<br>
<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><b>Sandach Campaign</b>​</div><br>
Sandach: a nation of heretics. That is the summary the patriarchs of Weildach would give for their lost colony, whom were welcomed to join the peace agreement which gave rise to the Theocracy, but rejected it for the sake of vengeance. Sandach is, or at the very least once was, one of the most beautiful pieces of land on the continent when the colony was formed. After numerous conflicts with old Canar, the Kingdom of Oberngenia had fortified it to an extreme degree, giving it high walls, numerous canals and locks, and castles for the land's defense, but that was then, and this is now. Sandach cannot possibly hope to keep Briggun at bay with their eroding and rusted fortifications, and while they have a respectable army of their own, to meet their end against the forces of Canar would be an ignoble end which defeats the purpose of rebelling against the rest of Weildach in the first place: their everlasting mission to return home, across the Southern Sea, and unite their people under the True Gods of the Sandach Pantheon.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Veno Dilach, The Black Rose</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Canar<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Shapeshifter - Veno can attempt negotiation multiple times against targets who already distrust her. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Mindbreaker - Without wards, targets can suffer possession, amnesia, or disability if they trust or negotiate with Veno. (Infiinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns)<br>
<br>
One benefit of selecting Sandach as a target is that Veno did not need to relocate, as all of the other commanders had done. From her tower in Caneresch Castle, she is able to coordinate the movement of her spies and her Imperial army to strategic positions near the border with Sandach. Slowly, her agents will leech in, finding their places among the unwitting, and then, Veno will have the opportunity to carry out the Dark Lord's will, offering Sandach the chance to join the great offensive against Weildach, their reward for which being the reclamation of their ancestral lands.<br>
<br>
Leads: <br>
Reading the Lore - While delving into the scriptures of false religions is not a task that Veno enjoys, it nonetheless gives valuable insight into the mentality of foreign nations and makes her a better spy. Now, a large case of books has arrived at Veno's door, and she wonders whether spending a few weeks reading might be the best use of her time, for now.<br>
Making a Withdrawal - Veno is informed that her spies have caught the trail of Sandach's treasurers, presenting an opportunity to get acquainted with the republic's finances.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Swybeck Argnault, the Titan of the Temple</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Sandach<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
After the small, seaside republic announced its alliance with Lord Briggun, much of the old guard of the local military resigned in protest. After a few made the perilous journey to the Strait of Oberngenia and attempted to cross, wild accusations of betrayal and subterfuge were afoot, and Swybeck, then a young man at arms for the country's leadership, was sent to claim the heads of former generals and their lieutenants. After the grizzly business was done, he returned home to find the Republic in sore need of new military leadership, and with his recent victories, legends began to spread of his supposed military prowess. The rundowns he had overseen against isolated, fleeing targets suddenly became pitched battles between loyalists and traitors in the public's imagination, and Swybeck was thrust into the spotlight. With little strategic knowledge, he has surrounded himself with those he could find to help him, and now seeks to defend, or perhaps expand, Sandach's territory using the usual, brutal methods.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Falwyn flew through the air free cutting through the wind free. Others built monuments reaching to the sky, but this was her domain. She looked below and saw her banners proudly bearing golden banners of the Dragonlord. It made her proud how her men kept up their moral, reveling in life with their own traditions. They were her treasures, and she encouraged them to indulge in life's pleasures. it was  was to her dismay how this land had been crushed. What once had been flowing with commerce and the varying kingdoms, their lineages, their ideals, all had been lost under the boot of Saarus. She often wondered if things would have differed if she had played a more active roll instead of being content in her luxury. Still she had made her choices then and now was forced into the role of conquerer. Falwyn hoped that when she ruled these lands that they adapted to her new rule, but kept their own traditions. Another unique addtion to her treasured collection.<br>
<br>
From her vantage she saw the flowing tears of the vale which seemed to lead from one spring into one of the greatest rivers of Everan beyond. Could it be possible to stop the flow? Or widen it causing a flood. Her curiosity on the matter ignited ideas, however both methods seemed cruel to the people of Ysaval. They would be her people, a diaster would not be productive to a land under her domain.<br>
<br>
As night approached she landed as her men set up camp. It was an air of confidence. Some of her men even had family among the local Ostmajorian populations and had come to visit. A site of revelries were had with music echoed throughout the camp. Lutes played the tales of the various histories of the men. Falwyn relaxed in her human form partaking in a local vintage of wine with her spymaster Linota Zinres approached <span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"We hear tales of a prince who has survived the fall. I figured the man may be of intrest to you. A half-elf whose kingdoms crown never fell to the wrath of Briggun."</span> Falwyn would smile as she wrapped her arm around the back of Linota <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Intriguing indeed, assign some of your men to it. The advance among Ysaval must come first, but after we may prehaps find this prince."</span>  She would then move to place a peck upon the lips of her most treasured prize. She would protect these people, her collection.<br>
<br>
After a night of excess with tales of the prince who had escaped Saarus's grasp on being sung in an almost heretrical fashion she would move to her chambers carrying the drunken Linota with her in stupor. As she reached the inside of her chamber and tossed Linota onto the bed ready to coutninue her indulgence she was disturbed by Mia Levoran. She had recruited the canarian woman to manage her collection and she had a talent for divination. Presently the woman who she normally found to have cute blush was instead flustered for another reason. <span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">"Falwyn.."</span> She stuttered,<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)"> "I can't see them... my divinations, whenever I look, I see only darting movements. I can't pinpoint the enemy"</span> Falwyn considered the matter with her smile changing to a frown as she began to worry. They were going to conduct a war of tircks it seemed. Then remembered that she shouldn't seem weak, weakness would make her treasures begin to doubt her. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Don't worry dear Mia. I will route out these cowards who hide amongst the thickets with fires who will make it seem as if they have been banished to the hells."</span> She would go over giving the almost sobbing Mia a hug, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Do not trouble yourself with these worries."</span><br>
<br>
The next day the advance would begin upon the province of Ysaval. And the hubris of Falwyn was shown most prominently. Her men initally advacned almost untouched the banner of the dragon flying proudly. Once they had reached to deeply into the vipers den <b><span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Kande</span> </b>sprung his trap. Arrowfire launched down upon them through the right flank. Falwyn responded in kind with launching into action with claws tearing apart the flesh of the men and scorching them with firery breath anihalating the pocket of men as they fled in diffrent directions. But the echoes of her men behind her cried out in pain. She tore threw tp another pocket , but every time it seemed the damage she did was found to be only a diversion.<br>
<br>
When she flew up to gain vantage the brushes of the forests clouded her vision. And most importantly the enemy didn't focus on her. It avoided her and took her treasures, one-by-one. Her Marshal Titus Dawnguard would sound the horns for retreat and Falwyn began to use herself as a sheild. Throwing her body inbetween volleys of arrows as the forest seemed to have sorounded her banners of gold and drowned them. Then she saw him...<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)"><b> The Viper</b></span>. His eyes focused, full of passion, intense in his operations. The defender of Ysaval. A hero, she yearned for him even as he tore apart her own men, and just as quickly as he appeared he vanished. As her forces finally broke free from the woods she finally snapped back to the reality of what had happened. A third of her forces, wiped out in the forest just like that. The viper had taken many she held dearly, all in a noble defense, fearless against a dragon. She would not underestimate him again. She swore that as she her eyes darted among her remaining forces. Their spirits broken as they retreated having to leave behind many of those who they had been in reverly with the night before. She would need to reconsider, and the creeping thought in her mind of the wrath of Briggun began to trouble her.</div>
				
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<br>
<br>
Cpmpared to many other races, Sauroids were effected by the bitter cold in strange ways. Physically they were just fine, but sticking around for too long mellowed their minds, grinding every thought down to a much slower pace. It was part of the reason why Boroks delegation arrived carrying heavy torches and pots filled with flaming concoctions smelling of tar. Their somber procession lighting the darkened sky in orange as Borok stepped from between his armored anvil guard to meet with his fellow invaders.<br>
<br>
It had not gone unnoticed that Voyka liked to hold the reins and dictate the proceedings. She had set up the meeting, chosen time and place and was now the first to speak, guiding everything into paths she must have carefully prepared. Under different circumstances, Borok would have played the diplomatic game differently, but with the eyes of their Dark Lord Briggun undoubtetly watching the Erevan campaign with great interest, he would cooperate more with surface-dwellers.<br>
<br>
As the great hag spoke, Borok listened, quietly shifting around a small pile of glowing coals in his hands, keeping him warmer. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"I agree with your deliberations. It would be wise to hold our hands for now."</span></b>, he got straight to the point, taking a pause to look between Voyka and Yz. He still couldnt read the latter at all, which bothered him slightly. Their tactics didnt seem to align and Yz could be a total wildcard, which would certainly be helpful once their forces could unleash upon the Elves, but right now it seemed like they had to make sure to have Yz on board with the plan. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"We can use the time for further preparations. The tunnels will be made safer, as we bide our time, not one claw will be idle."</span></b>, he kept it short and simple, but there was much more behind his words.<br>
<br>
The others werent to know, but through their eager diggings, the Sauroids had stumbled upon something quite remarkable. It was always a good idea to keep the tunnels free from surprises, but this time, Borok would have to deal with something his people didnt usually prepare for. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Thieves, you say? You better make an example of them. Our tunnels can provide safe passage for supplies and armies, as we control the entry points, but anything that is lost before entering... well, we cannot control that."</span></b>, his focus quickly shifted back to the conversation at hand, lest anyone notice that he wasnt being entirely honest. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Who would even dare such a thing?"</span></b>, he growled with contempt. The peasants must have gotten truly desperate or perhaps Voyka didnt command enough fear among them? Professional saboteurs were another option and the only one he decided to mention. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"You must deal with this issue quickly, perhaps our foes arent as blind to our presence as we presume..."</span></b>, was once again a very short answer, before the Runesmith turned his attention to Yz, looking them up and down. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"I agree with staying put and waiting for message of Falwyns approach before we strike. But what do you say?"</span></b></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The warrior-mage left the Emperor's court that day with his orders in tow, it took half a day for him to return to his dwellings, but even so made haste to return to work. A great structure of grey stone sat upon the head of the valley, framing the Voivode's village below it. Twin spires with black-tipped roofs jutted, stabbing at the sky. The portcullis, clean and gleaming against the afternoon's sun, were raised open. The inside of courtyard was bustling with activity. Serfs, a hundred or so, from the chief-coordinators to manacled slaves, were undertaking the necessary preparation of Izaak's soldiers; from sharpening spears to inspecting armor, inspected by dignified artisans — those privileged few, elevated by value, to not be shackled like dogs.  Along with all the armoury-necessities, stable hands and horse-trainers tending to the needs of the horses and cavalry riders in Izaak's employ.<br>
<br>
Then all fell silent upon the thunderous tread of a skeletal feet, and rolling wheels racing down the flagstone street. The cabin was gloomy. A solid box of dark wood and darker iron, its sloping ends curved up, body laced an ornate floral-pattern of gleaming gold. Its wheels ground to a halt, dirtied by mud and chipped at certain points, the carriage was well-used. The interior, however, was rugged with hard seats with contours that made it uncomfortable for most occupants, making it well removed from the haughty world of soft leather and highly-coveted wood that nobles were familiar. It was to Izaak's preference.<br>
<br>
He had emerged from the cabin, pausing to observe his hard-work before him. The sun picked out the wicked edges of his bone-plate armour, a few of the serfs visibly blanched, still uneasy at the sight. He came down the wooden steps and onto the beaten flagstone path. He passed through them, occasionally shifting his head to observe them. The loud chatter from moments ago, the counting, the orders, the reprimands were hushed to meek whispers, like the mourning wind which moaned through a graveyard. The footmen amongst them stood at attention, the younger ones had eyes that gleamed of purpose and prideful loyalty, while the older looked weary and hardened, skin pockmarked with scars from previous battles. <br>
<br>
Two figures awaited Izaak's approach on the far end, upon raised steps to the castle's great set of thick wooden doors emblazoned with Izaak's signature — a black iron gauntlet ontop crossbones. The right figure was a particularly broad knight, clad in soft trousers and a deep-red gambeson. At his waist, a simple longsword dangled in a brown scabbard. His smooth skin was pale as alabaster, easily burnt by the sun, even whiter than that of Izaak. Eyes were as green as the grass around the castle, while his ginger, long hair tied up in a rough ponytail that reached to his collar. His face was lean, angular, and cruel. To his left hand stood a woman, shorter than either men and slender too, with jet hair let down to her shoulders. Where the knight's skin was fair, the woman's was puckered with scars and a shade or two darker from exposure. She wore a loose-fitting dress, adorned with runic and arcane symbols, a thick collar of white fur from a predator's hide, her hand gripping a stave with an emerald eye. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: #f2d770">Antonas. Demetra.</span>" The Voivode of Skulls greeted his lieutenants. The woman bowed with her finger tips pinching the waist of her dress, while the man sketched a greeting sign upon his chest. <br>
"Preparations are nearly complete, m'lord. Emil's message arrived swiftly." Demetra spoke softly in his presence. "Yet I do not see the chamberlain with you."<br>
"<span style="color: #f2d770">He requested a detour. I granted it.</span>" The mage nodded her head, before Antonas voice filled the air. <br>
"Yes, yes, understandable. But what is not, is this selection of yours." Antonas spoke brusquely. "It is terrible enough that we, your troops, must weather the harsh-scorching temperatures, and we'll be assaulted by the Sultanate's warriors. I, for one, do not wish to be belted by the full weight of commerce and coin." Antonas trailed off. Neither Izaak nor Demetra spoke. Both looked at him. The silence and stares made the knight wince, he'd been making a fool of himself, putting the needs of himself through the guise of others above the orders of his lord. Bowing his head shamefully, he went down on one knee. "Apologies, master, as you wish, master." <br>
<br>
Izaak nodded once and turned his back, diverting his attention to the preparations before him. "At my estimates, we should be ready to depart soon." "<span style="color: #f2d770">Good. Your duties have been satisfactorily.</span>" The mage woman smiled, while Izaak held both hands behind his back.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">-------------​</div><br>
The journey was simple, long, and ultimately, uneventful. The train of caravans and carriages marched unstoppably towards their goal, an ivory and obsidian wave. The ghastly and ghoulish shock troopers in Izaak's ranks drew frightened glances whenever they passed through the Empire's cities. Strangely, during the travel, Izaak had found himself pondering on the fate of his own would-be empire, had Briggun not existed to bind Izaak's ambitions and forces in servitude. An odd thought, of all things, perhaps the Iron lattice which bites into his chest and arms seeks to destabilize him or these were truly his own thoughts. Regardless of the perfidy of his mind, the Voivode admitted that it could still be possible to rule these lands again. <br>
<br>
Several nights into their travels, Rosach and his men rested by a serene lake, crystal and clear as a summer's morning. Initially, he thought nothing of it until the men, flesh and blood as they were, drank from the font and their dreams were melded together, a unified vision of sorts. He counted blessings that the lake did not curse them with waking nightmares. He would return, or plans on it, to investigate the phenomenon of this lake. It could prove useful. <br>
<br>
Izaak had also found himself intrigued by a jutting shadow over the mountains. It was too structured to be the sun casting down a mountain's peak, there was something, a tower most likely, on Gantar's side that must be scouted out. He circled where the tower could be on the map, narrowing the area down using the shadow's length. <br>
<br>
The troops were not expecting immediate hostilities at Gantar's border, but were prepared for it nonetheless. What Izaak's army found, however, was Kolthix' shadeling army approaching to greet them. Excellent, Izaak allowed a dry smile to part his features. The army of men and skeletons diverted slightly from their course to be closer to them. A few of the men were unsettled by the hunger of the living shades though far apart they were, but discipline and doctrine masked their unease. While the skeletal shock troopers, with their sockets dead and soulless, could not be bothered nor were they capable of such emotions. <br>
<br>
Izaak dismounted his steed and began walking over to meet with Kolthix in the middle of the space between the armies, all the way ordering for his army to slow down with a hand gesture. Behind him, trailed that hound of his, petite but in life, it hunted badgers as it's vocation, engaging in vicious tunnel combat.  <br>
<br>
He stopped a few feet away from Kolthix, as the Cackler spoke to him in a voice befitting a creature twice or triple his size. He did not know whether the creature does that intentionally or a byproduct of his immense power being stuffed in the diminutive package, regardless he extended a greeting. He slammed a clenched fist against his chest, gauntlet ringing against plate as if both were metal. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: #f2d770">Indeed, Cackler. Even here, I see the ferocity in your army. Their mood appears to be a bloody one.</span>" Izaak commented, the cape of muscle fibre flapping against the groaning wind. "<span style="color: #f2d770">There shall be sport here. For both of us.</span>" He continued, his icy words hanging in the air. Todor, his hound, clapped its jaw in joy. <br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">As the scouting parties returned to the war camp, Adanach rode by a narrow stream towards the lone shack he had seen in the distance. The goblin woman living there must have noticed him several miles away, but did nothing about it. He stopped his horse halfway there, looking at his surroundings to make sure there were no enemies nearby, but the only thing surrounding him was the Goblin highlands. When Adanach approached her, she didn't acknowledge his presence, instead to focusing on the fresh boar she just hunted, this allowed him to look at the shack and her meager possessions.<br>
<br>
The shack itself was properly built despite, made entirely out of scavenged wood, most likely gathered from small incursions into the Malenchanted Woods. The roof was made out thatch, now covered in green moss and grass, indicating she has been here for a while now. Adanach then looked at the goblin woman, who was now gutting the boar... She wore simple clothes made out of flax with goblin patterns, she also possessed a lot of jewelry, too much for a lone goblin woman living in the middle of nowhere, her woad tattoos implied a much nobler origin as well. She wasn't some random goblin, she used to be someone at some point.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Hmm... Yer gonna keep ignoring me, lass?"</span> Asked Adanach, but the goblin remain uninterested in him, that's when Adanach noticed she made a bad cut on the pig, damaging the valuable hide. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...If yer gonna keep ignoring me, at least cut the pig properly... from the neck to... there."</span> Adanach pointed at a section of the animals belly. The goblin stopped gutting the pig, letting out a frustrated sigh before turning her gaze to Adanach, finally acknowledging him. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"...Are ye Fianna, stranger? The only humans that come to Mors Gobonach are Fianna... or the Luchthonn... are ye a Wolfling? Here to rob me or worse... take advantage of me?"</span> She asked with distinctive bitterness in her voice. The <b><span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Fianna</span></b> are the closest thing to a holy order the Druadach have, they are zealot warriors who fight in protection of the Old Gods of the Druadach, but are also known to fight in other realms, mostly to protect small temples and communities considered "pagan" by bigger religious organizations. The <b><span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">Luchthonn</span></b> on the other hand, were bandits who donned the hides of wolves or werewolves, going around the Druadach and beyond, raiding and killing with complete disregard of traditions, for wolves have no traditions.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I'm a devout follower of the Old Gods, but I am no Fianna... nor am I a wolfing, I raid and pillage, aye, but for my tribe as a whole, yer safe with me, as long as ye respect me."</span> The goblin let out a chuckle and smiled upon hearing that. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"Neither Fianna nor Wolfing, why should I respect ye then? Dead man walkin' in goblinland!"</span> She said with a rather cocky grin, Adanach laughed as well, amused by the little womans confidence. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Woman, I lead three thousand warriors from all corners of the Druadach! Do I look like a mere man to ye?"</span> The woman stops gutting the boar to look at Adanach from head to toe, and then shrugs. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"Aye, ye look like every other human I've known, tall and ugly!"</span> Adanach cocked his head to the side. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Hmph, ya got a sharp tongue for a lone woman livin' in the middle of nowhere."</span> He muttered. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"It takes great strength to live in these lands alone, stranger! The Gods, who I thought once had abandoned me, are blessing me with good health, good hunting, and good fortune!"</span><br>
<br>
Adanach crossed his arms, looking at his surroundings again, noticing various fetishes hanging from the thatched roof of her shack... Nilbog, Leprech, Marathi, Nuna, etc. symbols of the Goblin and Druadach gods. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...Who are ye, woman? Are ye a wise druid? a witch? Is this yer temple?"</span> The goblin woman let out a cackle upon hearing that, she stabbed her boars head then crossed her arms, her toothy grin growing wider, <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"Me? a witch?! HAH! Nay, I'm neither of those, I'm just a lonely woman."</span><br>
<br>
Adanach couldn't help but to feel disappointed upon hearing that. He was hoping to find a mystic or wise druid that could grant him strength, not some hermit or outcast. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"...but who are ye, stranger?"</span> She asked, her eyes looking straight into Adanach's, who pondered whether he should answer or not, after all, was she even worth his time anymore? But he decided to humor her, as he liked her attitude. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...Adanach, son of the Druadach."</span> She scoffed, and grinned upon hearing his moniker. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"Bit pretentious innit? We are all children of the Druadach!"</span> Adanach chuckled in response. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I have great plans, goblin. As I've said, I lead three thousand warriors from all corners of the Druadach, and I plan to unite our lan-"</span> His answer was cut short as the goblin woman started to smugly laugh at his. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"Oh ho ho ho! A visionary are ye? Ye want to unite the lands, like the Druadach kings of ancient times like Vergotix, Asterix and Rorix? Ya think yerself a King, Adanach <i><b>son</b></i> of the Druadach? In a land that hates kings?! Oh ho ho ho ho!"</span> Adanach did not know how to react to this mockery or the comparison to the ancient kings of a once unified Druadach, all he could think of is why wasn't she intimidated by him? He was bigger, certainly stronger and better armed than she was, the only weapons she seemed to have are the dagger she's using to butcher the boar, and a bow that rested on the ground next to her, he could easily kill her or make a slave out of her, but she was not intimidated at all. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Hmph... I told ya who I am, and who I will be... but what are ye? Who are ye who so brazenly mocks a man that can destroy everything ye owns?"</span> The goblin kept smiling, but her tone was serious. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"...I am someone who already lost everything to the machinations of a petty warlord, I mock ya because ya don't scare me, Adanach <b><i>son</i></b> of the Druadach."</span> Adanach clenched his fists and bared his fangs for a moment. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Answer my damn question, woman!"</span> He shouted, the woman's smile grew wider, but realized Adanach was close to snapping.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"I am Leena, daughter of Grom... who once led five hundred warriors, warriors that now follow the man I was married to, the man who now litters the highland with corpses... I once was the favorite wife of Faska."</span> She spat on the ground upon mentioning his name, but the revelation calmed Adanach almost entirely. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Hmph, guess that explains all the jewelry and tattoos, ye were once someone... but why cast ye aside?"</span> Adanach looked at the goblin woman for a moment before making a wolfish grin. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Ya certainly a looker still."</span> Leena grunted. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"Keep yer eyes to yerself, twat!"</span> Adanach chuckled before squatting down, looking only to at Leena's eyes. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"As ye wish... but why are ye here... and not in that twats tent?"</span> Leena looked away for a moment, Adanach noticed she was caressing her belly.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"There's something wrong with me... I can't b-b..."</span> She muttered, Adanach stopped her. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...I understand."</span> He muttered, offering her the closest thing to a sympathetic look. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"I thought that Marathi had cursed me, Adanach, I thought the gods had forsaken me because I was weak!"</span> She looked down at the bow next to her. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"I tried everything to... be normal, and I got nothing... when Faska butchered Otor, he had gained the power to do anything he wants without any regard of our traditions... he... he expelled me from the tribe, he humiliated me, the daughter of a great warrior! And nobody did anything! He did not even enslave me, he thought I was so weak, that I was beneath the slaves."</span> Leena was on the verge of tears. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"...what hurts more is that... I actually loved that stupid bastard, I thought he was destined to be great! For Nilbog's sake, I told him to duel Otor! But instead of thanking me, he casted me aside and now sleeps with hundreds of women who are not cursed like me!"</span> Leena clenched her fists, Adanach could see the hate on her eyes.<br>
<br>
Adanach sighed, before getting back up. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...Ye said it takes great strength to live on this land on yer own, yer right about that, but why not take that strength against Faska? Why are ye here living like a hermit instead of taking the fight to him?"</span> Leena scoffed. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"I am a devout follower of Nilbog!"</span> She pointed at the fetish of Nilbog hanging from her roof. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"His songs granted me the will to keep on living, to keep on fighting and growing stronger!"</span> She shouted proudly. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"But he looks down on recklessness! If I were to charge Faska while he's surrounded by his warriors, I'll die for nothing, and the god of bards will not even sing a sad song about my life! I will get my revenge, I will fight him no matter what, but I will be more clever and cunning than he ever was!"</span> She grinned again. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"I've been tracking him... <b>and his sons</b>, for quite a while now... I just need the right moment to strike."</span><br>
<br>
Adanach smiled with her, she was strong alright, perhaps not like him, but her trails have made her stronger mentally and physically, she had been wronged, and planned to get back at Faska for leaving her with nothing. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Hmm... ye impress me, Leena... say, why don't ye come with me... me and my wife could use another concubine."</span> Leena stopped smiling with Adanach and grunted. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"Tsk, yer a twat, Adanach <b><i>son</i></b> of the Druadach."</span> She said while grabbing the dagger off the boars head and focused on the beasts carcass again. Adanach grinned. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Fair enough, but you know what else I could use? A strong woman who has hunting and tracking skills... someone who has knowledge of my enemy."</span> Leena stopped looking at the carcass, but did not look at Adanach. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...I plan to first have a talk with Faska, I want to unite the Druadach without spilling much blood, but if he refuses me... rest assured, I'll allow you to have your vengeance."</span> Leena grinned, but kept looking away. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"...yer foolish if you think ye can trust Faska."</span> Adanach nodded. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I agree, so I could use an extra set of eyes looking over him, should he agree to join me."</span> Leena lets out a frustrated sigh, before looking at Adanach. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Ye will get yer revenge, I promise you that, but ye will have better chances in my army, then here on yer own."</span><br>
<br>
The goblin remained silent for a minute, her eyes gazing at the highlands surrounding them. She then looked at her humble hut, at her meager weapons... <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"Fine, I'll join ye, but under two conditions! First, I'll have my revenge, even if he actually helps ye!"</span> Adanach nodded. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"As soon as I deem him useless, and I can ensure the stability of Mors Gobonach, yer free to gut him like that boar."</span> Leena squinted her eyes for a moment. <span style="color: rgb(124, 112, 107)">"...Fine, and secondly... help me pack my things... <b>Warchief</b>..."</span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><b><span style="font-size: 18px">A few days later...</span></b>​</div><br>
The guards posted at the entrance of the war camp sounded the Carnyx when they saw the messenger they had sent to Faska's tribe arrive. The warrior was covered in blood and had a few minor wounds but did not ask for healing, instead, he asked for the warchief, and when told he was in the tent for the concubines, he rushed towards the tent.<br>
<br>
It was tradition for great Druadach warriors to have concubines and Adanach was not the exception to this, but what does differentiate him from other chieftains is that he and his wife share these concubines, some tribes have the chief and chieftess have individual tents for their concubines, in some tribes women are not allowed to have concubines at all, but Adanach and Bjorga seemed to enjoy lascivious activities together as husband and wife. Inside the concubine tent, were several men and women who the couple had taken a fancy to, they were quite diverse in looks but they were all beautiful in a savage, tribal way.<br>
<br>
As Adanach relaxed in <a href="https://i.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/original/000/031/962/Kaer_Morhen__Lobster_to_Your_Balls!_Geralt__Yennefer_and_Ciri_(Witcher_3___Quest)_0-37_screenshot.png" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.kym-cdn.com%2Fentries%2Ficons%2Foriginal%2F000%2F031%2F962%2FKaer_Morhen__Lobster_to_Your_Balls%21_Geralt__Yennefer_and_Ciri_%28Witcher_3___Quest%29_0-37_screenshot.png&amp;hash=0087e9e588821e9bf3f784d197886463" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">bathtub</a>, Bjorga laid on a couple of hides and talked with a rather petite Elf-Cyrmm woman. When the messenger entered unannounced, she was the first one to get up and grab her weapon, but upon noticing it was messenger and not some assassin, Bjorga threw the weapon away and slapped at her husbands feet, awakening him from his relaxing shower. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"What's the matter love?"</span> He asked before he saw the messenger, upon noticing the warrior's wounds, the chieftain got off the bathtub and walked towards him. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Did Faska harm ye, brother?"</span> The messenger shaked his head. <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204)">"Ney, my chief, I was attacked by a Barghest on my way to our camp."</span> said the messenger. <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204)">"Killed the beast and skinned it, it's black fur sits on my steed, I wish to give it to ya once I tend to my wounds."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Good man,"</span> Adanach said as he patted the warriors shoulder. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"But did ye meet with Faska? and... did ya look at his tribe?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204)">"Aye, I did chief - the Bloody Bastard rules from a walled tower, he has thousands of goblins living under his rule... I did not see the full extend of his warband, but I believe he has about two thousand warriors, mostly skirmishers armed equipped with simple weapons, but undoubtedly, they are clever warriors."</span> Bjorga approached the messenger and her husband to better listen to this information. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Did he agree to a meeting, messenger?"</span> She asked, and the messenger nodded. <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204)">"Aye, he wishes to meet the chief and chieftess in the <b>Cloch na Ríthe</b>, in a day or two."</span> Adanach smirked upon hearing the location they would meet. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...the Stone of Kings."</span> Adanach knew how clever Faska is, and had to be cautious in this meeting, but based on the location, and it's historical importance in Mors Gobonach, he thought of two possibilities; either Faska wants Adanach to admit he is King of the Goblins, or is more than willing to accept Adanach's rule as Warchief as long as he gets profits... or perhaps he has other intentions, only time will tell.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><b><span style="font-size: 18px">Two days later...</span></b><br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/untitled-png.1125566/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1062/1062695-00b72ea5cd8a5f4122cd90cd0a6cb747.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="Untitled.png" title="Untitled.png" width="209" height="100" loading="lazy"></a>​</div><br>
Adanach and Bjorga both looked at the lone rock standing in the middle of the highlands, covered in runes and paintings depicting various members of the Goblin and Druadach pantheon, but on top was the bardic god Nilbog, only the cunning goblin god can sing the song of Kings. There was a strong, almost magical essence surrounding this natural monolith, and the coupled admired with pride, for even the squalid lands of Mors Gobonach had a proud history. As the couple wait by the rock, they noticed a lone horseman approach them in the distance. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"It's him."</span> muttered Adanach. Indeed, riding on top of a fearsome war horse, approached the tall, lean but muscular Faska the Bloody Bastard, a grin adorning his face as he approached the Stone of Kings.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">As the Butcher's blade sailed the sea, Cordia did not sit idle and ocassionally replace Sawtooth on the captain's wheel. There were reports to look over, strength to amass and pick the right people to captain her ships. The Coven of the deep was her own project that aided her during her time as one of the living, so her return would mark its return as well. But such an undertaking needed talent. Upira was the first in this new Coven. Her talents in necromancy would prove instrumental, but she was not enough. This Ashryn presented an opportunity. A drow with the talents of necromancy? Uripa might have competition to push her harder. <br>
<br>
Then there was the other upstart. Sirius. Dear little Sirius now calls himself The Cutlass. Cordia remembered the fresh faced little runt with his small vessel. How he evaded her grasp at every turn along with his loyal crew of misfits. He was fighting under a different banner now and made a name for himself by fighting back Briggun's forces. A folk tail had spun around him and was giving people hope. Something Cordia planned to snuff out when the time comes. <br>
<br>
There were other promising leads they could follow. They were tempting diversions to take, but Cordia had to remind herself that she needed to secure their sea dominance first and foremost. Other adventures would have to wait for now. <br>
<br>
"LAND HO, CAPTAIN!" The ghoul nailed to the crow's nest bellowed and pointed towards the direction of the landmasses he spotted. The captain of the Butcher's blade let go of the wheel so she could take a look through her spyglass. The mysts parted only for a short while so she could see. The islands of Teralia had enjoyed relative independence from imperial incursion and her own wrath. A fate they should consider fortunate that lasted so long considering how close they stood to every other port and how many trade routes passed through them.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Looks like you were right, Uripa.</span>" Cordia spoke as she scouted the shores. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Skeletons, zombies, ghouls and the odd mishapen creature here and there.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">Ashryn is talented.</span>" The 'noblewoman' spoke "<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">Her hourse is a lower one, but she has held a firm grip of these islands for a number of years. Gathering tribute in many forms. Either coin or flesh. You can see the results.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">That I do.</span>" Cordia collapsed the spyglass in her hands and put it back in the pocket of her coat. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Now then. We need to make this victory quick and not give her a chance to use her magic against us.</span>" She turned her head to Sawtooth. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Give the order to the rest of the fleet.</span>" Cordia made a circular motion with her hand. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I want us to circle the island a few times. Fire off a few shots if you have to. Draw as big of a crowd as you can. Once we sturred enough trouble, prepare for landfall.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">You want to prepare the boyz for a big fight, captin?</span>" Sawtooth cracked his large neck. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Don't expect too big of a fight Crassus.</span>" The banshee looked towards Teralia again. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I don't want to get their hopes up for nothing. Wouldn't be fun crushing them this time.</span>" <br>
<br>
The plan went into motion as the Butcher's blade started to circle the main island followed by the imperial ships. The black sails and Cordia's flag was enough to raise an alarm and soon every bell was ringing. The trade vessels at the docks raised anchor and in desperation tried to escape. It proved to be a mistake as Cordia's ships saw an opportunity to increase their crews. The banshee captain could spare a few ships to break off to have their fun. <br>
<br>
As the boarding parties descented on their prey, the main force aimed their cannons and fired on anything that looked important. Villas, barracks, the governor's mansion. The shots were not going to destroy and obliterate those targets, but they would inflict insulting wounds. An audacity that should not go unanswered. Something Cordia knew a noble no matter of their standing, could not resist. A sinister smile formed on her face as she could see the defenders scramble to put up a fight. <br>
<br>
After another circle was complete and another round of shots blasted their way through, Ashryn finally showed herself. A vanguard of death knights had surrounded the necromancer, likely ancient corpses of glory seekers that tried to cleanse these islands of piracy in the past. Along with them a force of assorted undead both old and new had joined to form the bulwark of defense of this island had to offer. It was obvious that whatever living town guard existed, were merely there to keep the civilians in check. Yet they also marched with her. <br>
<br>
Sawtooth jumped in the water and soon was followed by the rest of the raiders. As he made it to the sandy shores, a group of undead were there ready to greet him. He laughed as he broke every bone he could and crushed every skull in his palm. Ripping and tearing through the zombies and ghouls. If they were meant to soften the pirates up, then they failed spectacurally. But the main force was still marching against them. <br>
<br>
Ashryn's forces were ready to charge the pirates. She gave the orders and the cacaphony of screams and roars was heard across the shores of the island. Too late they would notice the pirate raiders were grouped up in a particular way. One would assume for them not to be hit by the Butcher's blade cannons, but Cordia had prepared a surprise. There needs to be a show of force against those who would dare stand against Briggun. The banshee parted her lips and let out a screech not heard for centuries. The sonic waves cut through flesh and bone, scattering the main force to pieces. Not even the heavy knights could stand up to the force as the insides of the armor now held the torn flesh like cans of meat. Those not caught in the main blast were now dissoriented and confused. The undead were falling appart as the magic keeping them up was wanning. Cordia had struck their master. <br>
<br>
As for the living, they were beset upon by the raiders. The captain said they wouldn't have much of a fight. She never said anything about them not enjoying themselves. <br>
<br>
Some time later after the battle, Cordia was in her cabin when she heard the knock. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Come in.</span>" She said with an hoarse voice. She poured herself some tea as Crassus and Uripa led a few of her pirates inside. The crewmen were carrying someone on a stretcher. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I see you found her.</span>" Cordia commented after drinking from her cup "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Did she survive?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">Barely</span>." Uripa motioned for the crew to put the body of Ashryn down, then dismissed them. "<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">The scream did a number on her. She wasn't dead center, but the blast took off her arm clean off the shoulder. Ruptured ear drums and internal bleeding if I have to guess where all the other blood is coming from. Still contious somehow.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">Could cut 'er open to be sure.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">No need Crassus.</span>" Cordia waved him off as he prepared a knife. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">She's more useful alive.</span>" Cordia walked over to the drow woman's body, examening the damage she had inflicted. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Oh you poor soul. Fate had conspired to put you in this position</span>." Cordia took another sip from her tea. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I suffer too you know. That scream wreacks havoc on my throat.</span>" She could feel the drow's eyes weekly follow her. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">But yet I am here victorious while you lay at my feet. Dying and afraid. And what did you do to deserve such a cruel end? Be at the wrong place at the wrong time.</span>" Cordia knelled down in order to get a better look. <span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">"By all accounts you shouldn't even be able to hear me, yet my words pierce your mind don't they? You understand what I'm telling you.</span>" To Uripa's surprise, the other drow weakly nodded. The sea witch was invoking some kind of magic. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Then you understand that in your state you can't do much. So how about we make a deal you and I.</span>" The captain motioned with her finger between them. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I am in need of capable people in this armada I'm building. Triggun's men are competent, but they're not blessed with the affinity us three share.</span>" Another motion with her finger "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">You held an entire independant sea nation together before we smashed it and you're not on my list. So how's about it? You pledge your servituted to me and I not only get you back on your feet, but put you in an arguably better position?</span>" <br>
<br>
Uripa was shocked at the proposal Cordia had just given this dying woman. She was ready to argue, but Ashryn had nodded weakly again. Cordia stood up, finished her tea and ignored the ship phisician's attempts to say anything. The captain had made her decision. She walked behind her desk and retrieved a talisman from indise. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Welcome to the Sisterhood of the deep my dear.</span>" Cordia placed the talisman in the woman's remaining hand. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">The blood you're covered in will suffice. No need to draw anymore from you.</span>" Cordia grinned and spoke a few words in an language foreign to Uripa. Sawtooth on the other hand looked sick. He recognized those words and didn't like what he was hearing. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I'd tell you to rise, but you're incapable of that it seems. So lay down and rest sister Ashryn.</span>" The captain looked to Uripa "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">You're promoted sister! She's your neophite so she's your responsibility. Go nurse her back to health while I plan our next move.</span>" <br>
<br>
Uripa was stunned. Neophite? Promoted? The surgeon looked at the other drow, who desperately needed medical attention even with her newfound sisterhood. She cursed under her breath and called for the pirates to come back in and take her bellow deck so she can be healed. Cordia however simply poured herself another cup of tea.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Faska crossed the grassy field from where he dismounted to where Adanach stood, his armor jangling with each step. For such a crude culture, the goblins were surprisingly effective metalworkers, and they had reserved their best work for their strongest warlord in the north, even if it was more than a little ramshackle by Imperial standards. As he strode through the tall grass, he hefted his greatsword onto his shoulder and flashed Adanach a devilish grin. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Oi! If it ain't the Emperor's dog, Adanach. How tha hell are ya?"</span><br>
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			<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Oi! If it ain't the Emperor's dog, Adanach. How tha hell are ya?"</span>
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Adanach grinned, genuinely amused by Faska's insult, because from a young age people compared him to a hound of some kind, it still amused him when people compared him to a wolf, or a dog. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I'm doing fi-"</span> he tried to answer, before being rudely interrupted by Faska, who explained how well they were doing by picking off the refugees from Briggun's many campaigns. Easy pickings indeed, and weak ones too, they deserve the shackles that now fall on their necks.<br>
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11805019" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11805019">K0mori said:</a>
			
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			<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"This is the life, Adanach. Why go lookin' for ladders ta climb in Saarus, eh?"</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Ya finished? Don't know how longer I would have keep listening to ya with yer breath that stinks like a devils arsehole, ye should try washin' them fangs with charcoal, does wonders."</span> He with a bright grin on his face. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"As for yer question... Why settle for anything less, Faska?"</span> He answered before looking at the stone of kings. "I don't care for Briggun or the twats he surrounds himself with, only a few are worth a damn in that court." He said before looking back at Faska. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"But ya know what I care about? Our people... Think about it, Faska, throughout history, when our people united, we were unstoppable, we brought down kingdoms and empires, and Briggun knows that, that we can destroy any realm he sends us against."</span><br>
<br>
He then points at their surroundings, the desolate goblin highlands. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"You are enjoying good fortune, but don't you crave more? More wealth and slaves from all corners of the empire?"</span> He said before looking back at Faska. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"That's why I wanted to have this meeting, we should unite our forces, create a great heathen horde like that of our ancestors, remind everyone that when united, the Druadach are unstoppable... and everyone will remember the goblin kings of old when you lead the goblin hordes into battle."</span></div>
				
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			"Ya finished? Don't know how longer I would have keep listening to ya with yer breath that stinks like a devils arsehole, ye should try washin' them fangs with charcoal, does wonders."
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Faska simply laughed at the banter. He was glad that Adanach had a sense of humor, but the sales pitch that followed made him straighten up and lose his flippant attitude. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"...Yeah, ya talk a big game, don't ya? But whossat 'heathen horde' gonna answer to, eh? The warlock ain't one of us, doggo, and ain't no king holdin' up the Saarus colors got hands free to be carryin' the standard of ol' Druadach, least not in spirit." </span>There was a silence for a moment as he walked past Adanach, and put his gauntleted hand against the monument. He smiled, looking out over the landscape as if he could see for miles.<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)"> "...Out here, I'm <i>free,"</i> </span>he said, breathing in the clear air of the grasslands. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"I gots what I want. And I ain't no man's servant, no loyal huntin' dog bringin' in game for his master's table. You though? Listen to yerself... 'We were unstoppable,' ya say. 'we can destroy any realm he sends us against.' Why's he got ta be the one to send us? We can send ourselves, ya know."</span><br>
<br>
He looked back to Adanach. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Long as you keep beggin' at yer master's table for scraps, Adanach, I'm more a king o' the Druadach than you'll ever be."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><a href="https://youtu.be/YxAiZolzGbM?si=_E2z2oH7R5JRjpTm" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FYxAiZolzGbM%3Fsi%3D_E2z2oH7R5JRjpTm&amp;hash=923d1e67cc240811f982fc570605b06c" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Sweet Dreams of Fortunes Unseen</a>​</div>The tent was purple with faded gold patterns depicting occult markings. It was the same as when Estro had seen it before, seen the woman who was posing as a Fortune Teller. There hadn't been anything particularly impressive about her. It was his dreams that had drawn him back here. That and the hint of a potential mental impression which made him check his own mind with his magics. The touch was there, nothing sinister but it was enough for him to feel drawn back before he used his arts to destroy said impression.<br>
<br>
He approached with his mind guarded this time, leaving his escort back while he entered the tent. He could easily kill this woman, annihilate this tent in arcane fury. That was not his preferred method of doing things. Words were always attempted first and this curious telepathic touch had drawn him in. He would give her the opportunity to impress him. As he enters, he sees the woman in her faded purple robes with vibrant blue eyes like sapphires.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"You've come, I thought you might,"</span> sad the Fortune Teller as she toyed with her Soul Cards on her table. She regards Estro warily as if something was off about his entrance.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"It must be rare, not being able to peek into a mind," </span>Estro mused as he moves to the table and took his seat with a calm smile. He had he air of a man completely in control of the situation. He rests his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers together as he looks over them at the Fortune Teller. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"What's your name?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Jastia. Are you going to kill me?"</span> She looks on at Estro with a somber expression as if she'd been waiting for this moment for many years.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"No. You're far too interesting to kill. But let me guess. You've a little too much of the Other World in you, hmmm? I can sense a hint of Fae in you, that spark of something beyond human lurking in your blood. Making that mind of yours so very.... special."</span> Estro seems to smile more and makes a gesture. A bottle of wine and two glasses appear. He pours and pointedly helps himself to it first. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Please, drink with me."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"I've seen you, Estro Dorozan. Not much but enough to know the Imperial Wizard doesn't just come this far south for nothing. So I know too much."</span> Her hand trembles a little as she drinks her wine as if still expecting poison. Why not? An archmage of his skill could probably negate anything he'd slip into a wine offered.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"You know things. That is a problem, but then I pondered. Why do you hide?"</span> Estro looked thoughtful at that question and sips his wine. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"The answer is simple. Fae. Your blood is touched by that terrifying power. The power that drove the nobles of Canar to drive away one of their greatest heroes. And then they killed his child. For fear. Fear of power. Fear of the different. You're afraid of what that fear will do to you if people knew."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Fortune telling has worked until now. People tolerate you at the border of their lives. The wandering mystic seeing things, offering insights. You move around, never a bother but always there for someone to approach as seek advice. You help them, you take payment and move on before someone gets jealous or scared. And now its over."</span> Another drink of wine, less shaky now as she continues to seem to embrace her fate at thinking her life was over.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"You scraped by and survived. I admire that,"</span> Estro admit as those inhuman green eyes settle upon her. He studies her again in thoughtful silence. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Do you know what Zero Origin is?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Your cult."</span> She snaps a little defiantly but the sighs. <span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Your followers. That weird movement that tried to burn Canar down before the coming of the empire. I can see it. Your struggles against the nobles,  cleaning up their shit. Clawing your way over the bodies of those who tried to destroy the commoner mage."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Curious, so you can see back. Few people would know that after so long. What else can you do?"</span> The fascination in his voice disarming as he seemed to be utterly lacking the urge to harm her at the moment. There was just the fascination of a wizard that clearly loved discovering new things.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"I can nudge people, plant thoughts. Its how I usually stay left alone. I keep reminding people I'm harmless, just a seer making her circuit," </span>Jastia admits as she set sets her glass down and looks a little defiant.<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)"> "Look. Just kill me and get this over with. Quit toying with me!"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"There you are, the woman whose tired of hiding. Ground down to the bone. You're lucky it was me who found you. Who knows what one of the others might have done to you. Or a Witch Finder from one of the nations beyond the empire. How would you like to have purpose? To know you would be surrounded by people who wouldn't fear you?"</span> Estro asked as he gestured again. The wine bottle and glasses evaporating as he leans in again and drops his mental barrier to show he wasn't lying. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Join me, Jastia. Become my disciple and see what Zo can do for you."</span><br>
<br>
Outside the tent, Darius and Valdin had been chatting on in seeming debate about what would happen here. Both turned as the Wizard of Zo exited the tent and offered a gloved hand to lead out the Fortune Teller known as Jastia. She looks wary but seemingly relieved to be alive. They approach as her tent seemingly packs itself up at the mystic command of Estro and a carriage is conjured forth from the aether. Estro helps her up into the carriage, all the while talking with her. The pair vanish into it and a rapping sends the spectral horses trotting off as Darius and Valdin ride after on their sturdy mounts. Both smiled as they realized Estro had gained yet another follower to his flock. One that would likely make things very interesting in their plans for the Dominion.</div>
				
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			<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Long as you keep beggin' at yer master's table for scraps, Adanach, I'm more a king o' the Druadach than you'll ever be."</span>
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</blockquote><br>
Upon hearing that sentence, Adanach clenched his fist in anger, he wanted to grab Faska by the neck and break it -- because he was absolutely right, and that infuriated him. Bjorga looked at her husbands reaction and worried what he was going to do now, but despite his anger, Adanach knew that if he were to hurt Faska here, he wouldn't be able to control the goblins, the most loyal warriors would be crying out for blood... So he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and admitted it; <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"You are right."<br>
<br>
"You are absolutely right. But I am not doing this because I wish to serve some twat that copulates with Fae and proclaims himself emperor. I serve him because I know one thing, Faska."</span> He pointed back to the Malenchanted Woods, that were barely visible in the distance. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Imagine, hundreds of imperial legions marching through those woods, thousands upon thousands of warriors and sorcerers out for Druadach blood."</span><br>
<br>
Faska opened his mouth to speak, but Adanach quickly stopped him. <span style="color: #f37934">"These are not the soldiers of Canaar, Poggost or Erevan, Faska! These legion's are not the weakling southern knights we were used to slaughter, I am talking of an army far greater than anything you can imagine."</span> Adanach looked back at the woods, once a natural barrier against the southern realms, now a perfect entry point for Brigguns' legions. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I've been serving Briggun's army for a couple of years now Faska, and I've seen what he's capable of! I have seen great heroes fall by his wicked blade. He has murdered dissidents and rebels with impunity and starved the masses into submission."<br>
<br>
"The Druadach... Faska, our people will be trod and bled and starved and beaten and murdered and enslaved! No matter how epic our fight will be, how many of us will enter the great halls above bathed in glory, he will eat us, Faska! He will make pigs of all of us, and he will bury his snout into ours ribs, and will eat our hearts!"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #f37934">"That's why I serve him Faska, to prevent his forces to march into our lands and destroy us, because I know I can unite the Druadach, and once I do, we would be unstoppable and he would not be able to destroy us... yes! We would march down upon his misbegotten realm and destroy every damned castle he owns! But if we keep fighting amongst each other, he <b>will</b> destroy us."</span><br>
<br>
Adanach took another deep breath before speaking again. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I ask you again, join me, let us make the Druadach stronger... or else, I'll be forced to fight you and your army, and believe me, I will do anything in my power to unite the Druadach no matter who stands before me."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">There upon a crested ridge sat a crown, bejeweled by stones of distant ages that had long succumbed to moss and the ardors of time. There was little that remained of Akatoria Castle. Once a proud fortress of ancient times, nearly a dozen towers once stood, connected by a low curtain wall upon the highest crest of the ridgeway, bracketed with innumerable stones jutting from the earth at odd angles that made the battlements all the more intimidating. There was little doubt that the barren, rocky ground was chosen for such a formidable construction, for the nearest land served no purpose. Cattle could not graze, not even goat or sheep, nor could the hillside be easily terraced for whatever meager crops could be grown here - grapes, perhaps, given the remains of an old villa that had once attempted to cultivate a vineyard here. Perhaps a town once existed at the base of the hill - the land was flat enough with many bare foundations almost overgrown with verdant grass - but this, too, had been lost to time. Other villages and towns had grown elsewhere, some further from the border and others directly on it. Whatever great threat Akatoria had once protected against was utterly forgotten long before the elders of the nearest localities could even recall. Beneath the remaining towers that hadn't crumbled away, bits of iron and bronze littered the dirt like the ice-pellets which heralded terrible storms. Arrow heads, some still sharp, remained to bite the soles of weary bare-footed travelers come to explore or children come to play upon the rocks. All that truly remained of any use was the thrice or more repaired manor, a squat and square battlement that rose high above the grandest of the remaining towers. The misfortune which had befallen it was not so ancient. Rather, the arrival of Saarusian control had been the final deathblow to the impoverished aristocratic family which had lived there for generations. Unable to pay upkeep or sell the needless castle, it had sat empty for some few years until the arrival of the Hallow Legion.<br>
<br>
Lucafiel did not need a fortress, but what he did need was elevation, and it was the highest point in the vicinity of the border. It granted a view of the entire region as far as the eye could see, from the quiet farming villages unable to till all their soil, to the bustling towns grown stagnant as stability came but oppurtunities did not; and just over the border, marked by more unwanted terrain and streams that slipped between chalky outcroppings, Lucafiel could survey the immediate surrounding territory of Iskulia. More villages, more ridges, and the horrid mountainous land that encaptured the minds of all who imagined Lacans. Precious little could be seen in detail, even with a seeing-glass, but it was enough. The border was well guarded by the troops of the fabled Ram, who no doubt had great experience in manning these rocky hills.<br>
<br>
From atop the flat rooftop of the tall Akatorian manorhouse, Lucafiel and numerous officers stood beneath a series of parasols held aloft by auxiliaries and servants. These grand coverings had been procured to keep the hot and bright sun away, but proved more than useful as the weather turned dreary. So long as the winds did not threaten to rise to greater gusts, there was no risk of the parasols - and the servants holding them - to go flying away like petals on the breeze. Indeed, such was the size of these parasols that Lucafiel sat at a small table, hands upon his lap, mask afixed in the direction of Iskulia as he watched and pondered.<br>
<br>
"I concur with the scouts. Should we face a prolonged campaign of battle, we will need to conduct ourselves like the water below," Lucafiel said, raising a dainty hand and indicating the myriad rocky streams of the countryside. "We must flow about the stones, the ridges, the mountains - not crash against them. Even where a company may stand abreast and fight, they have no room to manouver. The valleys would become cauldrons of blood."<br>
<br>
Thunder, low and distant, rumbled across the border. The gathered Vestati all peered expresionlessly at the sky, their masks shaded by the length of the parasols they hid beneath. Some clutched at their throats in a self-consious manner as if they were struggling to draw breathe, or had otherwise witnessed something that induced great distress. "It is not here," Lucafiel reminded them all. "No face has been seen, nor will it. The lightening is not for us."<br>
<br>
<a href="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/62/5a/5b/625a5b108af73fe55d7f64790611352e.jpg" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2F62%2F5a%2F5b%2F625a5b108af73fe55d7f64790611352e.jpg&amp;hash=4c1271fa9054b477f9fc9ed9df28a1eb" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">One of the Yakal auxiliaries, a commander of a several sections</a>, knelt down low so that they could be face-to-face with their seated lord. "My prince, the legion continues to erect pallisades and ditches in the lowlands below. If our envoy does not return with good news - or does not return at all - we may be able to entice the Iskulians across the border to die upon our own battlements. They are eager for blood. If they thought us as ill-prepared as the local Imperial forces...."<br>
<br>
"We could sacrifice a great deal of land at little cost," another high officer observed, dressed in a light tunic and half-armor. "Only the port upon the border, Hekkalos, is of any value here."<br>
<br>
Hekkalos was the largest settlement here and under direct Imperial control. The other side of the town boasted fair battlements, but they would be the first to fall against a powerful counter-attack by the Iskulians if war came, and Lucafiel had opted to obtain and control the better land further back. From Akatoria Castle, the town was in excellent view and one could spend a great deal of time counting lanterns in visible windows. But whereas the town had size, it had little life. Many ships tottered about near the piers, the sails dull and rolled up. A pressery for olives was being constructed on the outskirts - the keyword being <i>was</i> as it sat barren and skeletal like the remains of Akatoria, but fresh and new as stonework lay quietly without the direction of laborers and engineers. Perhaps before the Saarusian power came here, Hekkalos could have been something of note. But not any longer.<br>
<br>
"It would be a shame to lose the existing infrastructure," Lucafiel mused, "but if the Iskulians smell blood... and the chance for looting... it is not impossible that some may be drawn into the town. We could burn it all down with them inside. The locals can rebuild at a later time."<br>
<br>
 "But what of the culture and history, your grace?" <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/e8/e5/b1/e8e5b1adb7673fe646e48895d6b83fcc.jpg" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2Fe8%2Fe5%2Fb1%2Fe8e5b1adb7673fe646e48895d6b83fcc.jpg&amp;hash=77fad4c240f20854d9e00b6b94a05ed0" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">This question was posed by a Vestati in slender robes and a polite mask that was, for some reason, disconcerting to many who looked upon them</a>. "Some of our scribes have already taken note of the pantheon here, of the churches. There is research that could be done and much to be learned. To invite war into the streets there would surly make this task an impossible one."<br>
<br>
There was truth in that, Lucafiel knew, and he was indeed intrigued by the religion of this place. The thought of the divine warmed his blood and elicited a sneer all the same. "It may very well be the cost for victory. Regardless, I do not anticipate the war to be <i>here,</i> right upon our laps, if it is to come to that. Perhaps the opening act of the play may occur here, but our stages are distant and many. Across theose starried hilltops."<br>
<br>
All viewed the surrounding border with their own quiet interest.<br>
<br>
"Until then, however, we await the reports of our envoy and scouts. There seems to be illness in this land, and I do not speak of the lethargy of our Imperial compartriots in Hekkalos," Lucafiel said. They had already begun imposing some legionnaires with the local watchmen and guardsmen to ensure their laggardly behavior would not continue for the forseeable future. Indeed, one of their captains had been strug up nude to a pole outside the town on the main road, his hands bound behind his back and body held in place by rope about the neck, securing him tight to the post as he stood upon his tiptoes on a small slat just big enough for him to stand. Not a crucifixion, but a display - a warning. <br>
<br>
"The fabled Ram of Iskulia may very well be open to dialogue. His lust is as great as his arrogance and strength. A sure weakness without good temperment. Whether we entice or goad matters not. This land will be ours in due time."<br>
<br>
In the distance, more thunder rolled, low and ominous with the promise of not a torrential downpor of rain, but of bloodshed and arrows and screams.</div>
				
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	<div class="message-userContent lbContainer js-lbContainer " data-lb-id="post-11805385" data-lb-caption-desc="Infab · Nov 21, 2023 at 1:38 PM">

		

		
	


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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)"><span style="font-size: 26px"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">Caneresch Castle</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(134, 96, 142)"><span style="font-size: 26px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><b>Veno Dilach, The Black Rose</b></span></span></span><br>
<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'">(Imperial Spymaster, De facto Leader of the Cult of Akordia)</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/veno_dilach-png.1125866/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1062/1062995-2a99f5abac080f4b8e77689f2d12de21.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="Veno_Dilach.png" title="Veno_Dilach.png" width="100" height="167" loading="lazy"></a>​</div><br>
The myriad religious beliefs of Weildach (and by extension, Sandach) were ancient and vast, stretching back several centuries and through the occasional reformation here and there before eventually combining into one streamlined religion that both Weildach and Sandach devoutly followed. Dozens of tomes and scrolls recounted myths, legends, and sometimes the ramblings of actual factual history. Those very same tomes and scrolls now sat crammed into a black case, bearing Imperial Spymaster markings and situated on a table in the corner of Veno Dilach's private chamber. She had already gone through several of the books and documents already over the course of weeks, combing through the pages with scrutiny. A false religion, one she detested. To conquer an enemy, however, you must understand them. How they think and feel. What they believe in.<br>
<br>
She prayed Akordia would forgive her for tainting her eyes and mind with the words of these heathens.<br>
<br>
On a violet colored sofa, featuring several cream colored pillows and a swooping backboard that rose to the back of the neck on one side, Veno lounged in the corner. One of the many tomes in one hand, and a glass of a deep red wine in the other. A special blend, meant primarily for enjoying with company, but she chose to drink alone for the moment. It helped ease her conscious for having to deal with this filth in literary form. But she did, at least, find several things of use from the pages.<br>
<br>
The pantheon of gods that the people of Weildach and Sandach believe in supposedly created the world and intended for its people to live in harmony. However, the harmony could only exist if the messengers of the gods (the Church of Weildach) remained in the hands of the Prophets (whom first brought fourth the myths and legends) and their descendants. Of course, this sort of thing always brings up its own problems. Should the Church be the government, or separate from the government? What happens if one descendant disagrees or feuds with another? Sandach felt that the Church should be separate from the government, leading to how things are in the present.<br>
<br>
A particularly interesting thing, she noted, was the artistic rendition of several of the prophets in the various tomes and documents. She smirked as she gazed upon one such picture in the book she was currently reading. With her shapeshifting abilities, such a piece was <b><i>very</i></b> useful indeed. She would have to test things out at some point in the future. For now, however, she needed to continue her work.<br>
<br>
But she would have to put things on hold for the moment, however, as she heard a rapid knock at her chamber door.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Who is it?"</span> she asked, glancing up from the book. Her red eyes locked onto the door where one's head would normally be on the opposite side.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Who else would it be?"</span> was the response. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"I'm the only one you singled out as able to interrupt your studies."</span><br>
<br>
Veno sighed. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Yes, you're quite right. Come in, but shut the door behind you."</span><br>
<br>
The large wooden door swung open, and in stepped a lighter skinned drow clad in a long, flowing purple robe. The door, as requested, was promptly shut behind her.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: rgb(134, 96, 142)"><span style="font-size: 26px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><b>Talice Omrath</b></span></span></span><br>
<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'">(Imperial Master Torturer, Confessor of the Cult of Akordia, Right Hand of Veno Dilach)</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/talice-the-confessor-jpg.1125874/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1063/1063003-3c9896ba114768234b677d5654bcab73.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="Talice the Confessor.jpg" title="Talice the Confessor.jpg" width="100" height="167" loading="lazy"></a><br>​</div>As the drow turned about, she spoke. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"I bring word that our imperial messengers have made contact with members of Sandach's leadership. We should know if they intend to converse with us within the coming days, or if they simply choose to refuse us."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Let us hope it is the former. We need allies if we intend to sew chaos in Weildach, and what better allies than those in Sandach? They know Weildach and its people. They know just where to put the right amount of pressure. When the civil war starts, they can swoop in and save the day."</span> responded Veno.<br>
<br>
Talice cocked an eyebrow as she crossed the room. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Right. Then the might of the Empire will be brought down on their heads. Much like a sledgehammer."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Both Sandach and Weildach will be ours in the end. We'll spread our faith ever further into distant lands."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"True. Though there will be those that resist."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"That's where you and the others come in, yes?"</span> asked Veno, motioning her wine glass towards Talice as she arrived next to the sofa. Talice simply nodded, slowly seating herself on the other end.<br>
<br>
Veno smiled, before closing her book and setting it aside. She sipped from her wine once more, before speaking again. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...Speaking of the others, what exactly are they up to? I heard a commotion downstairs earlier."</span> she said, looking to Talice once more.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"I believe you heard your... pet... attempting to eat one of the guards."</span> responded Talice, glancing towards the door. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"It seems they forgot to feed him today, and he decided to go looking for food himself. Cazna stopped it, and sent for an inmate from the imperial dungeons to feed to it."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Good. I do hope she didn't harm my sweet Mickie."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"She didn't. A few firm shouts and a poke with her spear made him spit the guard out."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Wonderful... How's Cazna doing, anyway? She having any trouble with young Naldor?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Things seem to be going quite well between the two. Naldor's using what she's taught him alongside what he picked up from Adanach's lot to help with his scouting. He's quite talented at this. You were right to put him in her care."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"You suggested it, remember? She could protect him in the event one of that vile horde attempted to come and reclaim him."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Yes, she could easily defend him. It won't be long, however, before he could defend himself just as easily. She still shadows him, though."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Almost like a mother defending her cub."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Indeed. We need to keep him away from Viclara, however."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Why is that? What did our resident plague bringer do now?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"She's fed him poison three times now. Intentionally."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"What? Why?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Tests. She gave him the cure once the effect settled in."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"I swear... I pray daily to Akordia, asking just what we should do with that woman."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"As do I. But we do need her, in the end. A woman with the knowledge to craft poisons and cures is always useful. Especially in your line of work in Lord Briggun's service."</span><br>
<br>
Veno sighed. She was right. Assassinations attempts were common threats. Poisons and diseases were effective means of killing leaders, and to have a woman talented in the use and countering of such things was invaluable. She could easily overlook the woman's eccentricism because of that alone. Veno gulped down the last of her wine, before setting the glass on the endtable next to her. She soon stood, allowing her own purple robe to correct itself and drape down to the floor.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...What about Pellaran? What's she up to?"</span> she soon asked, glancing to Talice once more.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Tarot cards. At the moment, we don't have anyone in need of psychic intrusion, so she's keen on reading people's fortunes and futures."</span> responded Talice. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Its better than her scaring everyone to death during the harvest festivals."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...Indeed."</span> responded Veno after a moment. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...Have her come up here, when you get the chance. I'm in the mood for a good fortune reading. Hopefully Akordia blesses me with good luck."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Hopefully she blesses us all with good luck."</span> was Talice's response, <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"The gears and cogs of the Empire are moving. Blood is being spilt in Lord Briggun's name. Who know what's to come for us?"</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><b><span style="font-family: 'georgia'">7 Days after the meeting with the war council</span></b><br>
<br>
Alexandre came riding hard over the arid hills towards the encampment the Crimson Wolves had set up on the border of the Bone Coast and Kaula, Piantias northern and regrettably isolated region. It had not been difficult to locate the staging area on her way there. Firstly, because she knew that she had given Constin de Sevre clear instructions where they would take their first bite. Secondly the trail that some three thousand knights, thralls and skeletons had left while marching east was still fresh, owing to Guillaumes swiftness of delivering the order in advance.<br>
<br>
The camps perimeter was manned by groups of thralls and bone soldiers, evenly placed apart to alert the army of any movements, which could be considered a simple task, given the landscape of the region.<br>
<br>
A horn sounded over the hills, followed by a bellowing shout from a Thrall Bannerman. “<b>The Red Hand approaches!</b>” With this call, both the Rocherite thralls and skeletons alike stopped in their tracks and followed Alexandres entry in eerie silence. The knights of the Crimson Wolves, happening across the path of their commander, gave her deep bows. Eventually, Alexandre and her steed came to a grinding halt in front of a tent at the center of the encampment. From said tent, <a href="https://u.cubeupload.com/Radley/constin.jpg" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fu.cubeupload.com%2FRadley%2Fconstin.jpg&amp;hash=7f7e86734312222c740aee788bce341b" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Constin de Sevre, the Count of Sarzeau</a>, emerged and greeted his superior with an equally stooped bow as his knightly counterparts.<br>
<br>
“<span style="color: rgb(71, 85, 119)">All the preparations have been made for the coming campaign, my liege. We have some reports from our scouts that should intere…</span>” He began, slowly rising from his bow and meeting Alexandres haughty gaze. She gave him a smirk in reply, after which she dismounted and approached him leisurely. “<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">Well, it certainly seems that not <i>all </i>preparations have been made, my dearest Constin</span>” she said as she stroked his chin while standing uncomfortably close “<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">It’s been a hard journey from Canaresch</span>”. Constin remained unfazed. “<span style="color: rgb(71, 85, 119)">My apologies.</span>” he said without averting his gaze, giving one of the nearby knights a quick hand signal. The knight promptly entered the tent, and shortly emerged with a copper goblet that was filled with blood. The knight then approached Alexandre, and knelt while presenting the goblet to her. Brushing Constin aside, Alexandre took the goblet and drank voraciously. Interspersed with detestable gulping were joyous moans, while a portion the sanguine drink flowed over the edges of the chalice, running down the sides of her face and onto her armor. After drinking her fill she slowly returned the beaker to the knight. She breathed slowly between clenched teeth, her visage one of delighted ecstasy. Constin observed his commander, and counted her breathes. “<span style="color: rgb(71, 85, 119)">The scouts have made observations you might find interesting</span>”, he finally said, feeling enough time had passed for his superior to not reprimand him for interrupting such a moment of bliss. Alexandres eyes shot open, lit anew by the loathsome refreshment. “<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">Well then, my dear Constin.</span>” She began, eyeing the count intensely “<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">I see you are quite eager to tell me all about it</span>”. Alexandre and Constin, along with their entourage of knights entered the tent to go over what would lay ahead of them once they rode onto Kaula.<br>
<br>
The majority of the meeting was spent overviewing the general defenses and their current commander, Jakabo Gianti. Although now an old man, his reputation and accolades made him a formidable opponent. By all accounts, the militia now under his command had grown complacent before he was given the noble task of mounting the Oligarchies opposition to Brigguns terrible armies. Nevertheless, it seemed to be a task he had seen to with great diligence. All the better, Alexandre thought whilst licking her fangs in anticipation, imagining what sweet vintage the albino would make once they laid him out.<br>
<br>
The secondary observations were the old fortress of King’s Crest. Legends say that the spirit of Giaches, the old King of Kaula, still roams the crumbling citadel. One might wonder what kept the monarch in those long forgotten halls. Perhaps it would be worth looking into, but if Giaches had remained for so long, he could surely wait a little longer, as Alexandre more interested in finally feasting on Piantia. On another note, rumors of a Firelight Megalith captured her attention. Her knights had divulged it from cowardly Piantians, whom had been spared the blade in exchange for the information. They scantly knew of its general location, and did not know to whom or what such an altar would be dedicated to. Alexandre remembered a passage from a book in the Patriarchs collection:<br>
<br>
<i><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">O friend and companion of night, thou who rejoicest in the baying of dogs and spilt blood, who wanderest in the midst of shades among the tombs, who longest for blood and bringest terror to mortals, thousand-faced moon, look favorably on our sacrifices!</span></span></i><br>
<br>
Of course, the megaliths true nature could not be ascertained from such paltry knowledge. But this did not trouble Alexandre, whose mind had long since been enticed by powers that dwelt in the shades of mortal memory.<br>
<br>
Then, they waited. The ever-present hunger gnawing at the wolves bones, making both masters and servants alike squirm for the inevitable hunt and the slaughter that would follow. Eventually, on an unseasonably cold eve, as the sun cast its last rays over the horizon, a chilling wind swept over the hills and through the camp. And on that wind, however faint, the wolves could hear the cry of the banshee.<br>
<br>
As darkness fell, Alexandre and her cohorts set upon Kaula like starving beasts, their horrid army following their wake like cursed carrion.<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><b><span style="font-size: 15px">1 month later</span></b></span><br>
<br>
In the dead of night, the clouds parted to allow the pale moonlight to reveal the foul extent of Rochers damnable hunger. Outside of the small fortress of Paestrum, the fields were littered with the slain and mutilated Piantian militiamen that had valiantly, or perhaps foolishly regrouped to mount a gathered defense against the thirsting horde that had bit them in the backs all the way from the frontier. The fortress had been shut to save those who could not fight, which the Crimson wolves, in a caricature of benevolence, had allowed to escape once the bloodshed was over. Those who later encountered these refugees would find them hiding unspeakable horrors behind their frightened eyes, or laughing from madness.<br>
<br>
Constin de Sevre had lead a detachment that had hunted down a routed company, of whom only the fortunate would live to tell their countrymen of Brigguns rabid dogs after the wolves sated their thirst. Returning to Paestrum, he witnessed a Rocher knight, standing in a field of corpses and singing an old lullaby to a captive audience of sitting skeleton soldiers. What was more sinister than the cantarist was the unnerving silence. Battles such as this would generally be accompanied by the odious calls of carrions and scavengers. But when the Crimson wolves had feasted on men, their ravenous army devoured whatever else strayed into their wicked path.<br>
<br>
Entering the fortress, Constin found it to be empty. To their credits, the militia had indeed held their stand outside of the fortress, and the common folk had taken what they could carry and left in such a hurry it seemed they may as well have been swallowed by the shadows of the night.<br>
<br>
Upon the slight rise inside the fortress, a small chapel could be seen with its doors wide open. Having been told of Alexandres presence there, Constin made his way over and entered the previously hallowed sanctum.<br>
<br>
There in the light of the moon shining through stained glassed window, he could see the bishop of Paestrum laying utterly decimated upon the altar. Below this hateful image, he could see Alexandre on all fours, drinking the spilt blood that had pooled in the cracks of the floor after the bishop had been expended.<br>
<br>
Constin stood silently as Alexandre, befitting her terrible moniker, lapped up every last drop with carnal delight. Once satisfied, she lifted herself to kneel, stretching her arms outwards as she looked to the great circular window at the far end of the small chapel.<br>
<br>
“<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">Jakabo…</span>” she uttered with bated breathes, her visage dripping with sanguine streaks. “<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">How I long to taste you…</span>”<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><b>Meanwhile, in the waters of Teralia</b></span><br>
<br>
While the Cordias fleet remained docked at the now subdued port of Teralia, a brigantine silently made its approach. Viewed from afar, it seemed a fearsome vessel. It's hull painted a deep red, with slightly tattered black sails. One might have thought the ship would have tried to ambush the Butchers blade as it laid anchored, were it not for the bright red lanterns that could be spotted at a great distance. The lights were also accompanied by a the tolling of a low bell, which signified that it wanted its approach to be known.<br>
<br>
As the brigantine closed into the shallower waters near the port, a skeleton crew could be seen rigorously folding the sails, as well as deploying oars to close the the distance with greater maneuverability. In rythm of the bells tolling, the skeletal crew rowed the ship closer, before eventually letting it glide the rest of the way. As the ship came to a halt, Cordia could see a figure climb onto the bowsprit and steady itself on the rigging. With closer inspection, the figure was a <a href="https://u.cubeupload.com/Radley/Gertraud.jpg" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fu.cubeupload.com%2FRadley%2FGertraud.jpg&amp;hash=30f01ee457e6c9134a56618b2b31dbee" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">short woman dressed in a naval uniform</a>, by the looks of it assembled from many different attires. Most of them probably stolen.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Greetings, Queen of the Bone Coast and rightful ruler of all the seas of the world!</span>" She proclaimed loudly as she lifted her fathered hat of her head, revealing her vampyr features. "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">I am Gertraud de Landrezac, famed explorer and antiquarian of... unorthodox scriptures! In my possession is a letter of marque, signed and sealed by the Patriarch of Rocher himself!</span>" she continued, handing her hat to a skeleton whilst presenting a piece of paper with a wax seal on it. After a long pause, just to make sure everyone had time to see her letter of marque, she put it away and motioned frantically to her bone crewman to return her headwear. She then hastily continued, leaving no room for interruptions, "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">By his permission, I would like sail with your armada and offer my services to you, if you'll grant me such honors.</span>" Gertraud then made a deep artistocratic bow, with surprising agility for someone holding onto a rope and balancing on a taperd pole. She then straightened herself, placed the hat back onto her head and gave Cordia a wink with her one good eye.<br>
<br>
Her skeleton crew clapped their hands and clattered their mandibles, seemingly in awe and support of their colorful captain.</div>
				
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			"That's why I serve him Faska, to prevent his forces to march into our lands and destroy us, because I know I can unite the Druadach, and once I do, we would be unstoppable and he would not be able to destroy us... yes! We would march down upon his misbegotten realm and destroy every damned castle he owns! But if we keep fighting amongst each other, he <b>will</b> destroy us."
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Faska lifted his chin, reached up calmly and tipped down his visor so that it would guard his face. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"He won't 'ave to lift a fingah if ya destroy us first, Adanach. And when you and yer band run us lot down fer good, what use'll we be in your grand ol' uprising?" </span>he hissed, gripping his sword's hilt but not brandishing it- not yet. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"I ain't gonna bend the knee, call ya <b>king,</b> or <i>aaaanything</i> else yah say unless you prove to me yer not jus' another Imperial-lovin', Briggun-kissin' knob-polisher!"<br>
<br>
 </span>Smoothly lifting his sword into position, Faska seemed ready to kill, but he waited instead for Adanach to be ready. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Fight me- jus me! If the gods think yah boot belongs on <i>my</i> neck then they'll put it there!"</span></div>
				
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			"Fight me- jus me! If the gods think yah boot belongs on <i>my</i> neck then they'll put it there!"
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</blockquote><br>
Adanach's grimace was replaced with confusion for a moment, was he really asking for a duel? The barbarian chieftain knew that if he was defeated, it would stain his reputation with his horde and would lose valuable followers, but dueling is one of the most honored traditions amongst the many warrior cultures of the Druadach, and if he won, he would prove to Faska that he's not an imperial lapdog.<br>
<br>
After a moment of consideration, Adanach looked down, laughing. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Ya' know Faska... I really hate yer guts, I hate the way ye treat some of our traditions..."</span> but then, Adanach pulled his <a href="https://i00.eu/img/602/1024x1024w/33bgfk6x/23746.jpg" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi00.eu%2Fimg%2F602%2F1024x1024w%2F33bgfk6x%2F23746.jpg&amp;hash=76da849e03314fc1058ff2bbabddeb79" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">steel long sword</a>, and aimed it at his goblin opponent.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span data-s9e-mediaembed="youtube"><span><span style="background:url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/OmB-FT7dffs/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% / cover" data-s9e-mediaembed-iframe="[&quot;allowfullscreen&quot;,&quot;&quot;,&quot;scrolling&quot;,&quot;no&quot;,&quot;style&quot;,&quot;background:url(https:\/\/i.ytimg.com\/vi\/OmB-FT7dffs\/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% \/ cover&quot;,&quot;src&quot;,&quot;https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/OmB-FT7dffs&quot;]"></span></span></span>​</div><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"But it is undeniable yer amongst the strongest warriors of the Druadach! No man, mer or beast can ever say yer not brave!"</span> Bjorga made a few steps backwards, while there were some concerns in her mind, she knew her husband would emerge victorious somehow. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I'll show ya what I'm made of..."</span> He said with a grin. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Now show me if yer worthy of becoming the King of Mors Gobonach!"</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><b><span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 22px">Declan's War Camp, Tidiaus</span></span></span></b>​</div><br>
It was very fortunate that the campaign had begun in Spring, for the winter had melted away and gave rise to an abundance of growth in the halfling realm. The lands were primed for a great harvest later in the year, which would be essential in feeding the armies of Saarus that would camp in this region. For someone as meticulous as Declan, he was taking direct charge in ensuring the supply lines were established and maintained for his forces. His was a standard army of men, both retinues and professional, with footmen, knights and archers making the bulk of his forces. But there were also sellswords among his ranks, useful for their scouting abilities and capability to work without wearing the banners of their liege. <br>
<br>
A large war camp had taken root in a clearing, with tents lining the area in large clusters as the army relaxed and enjoyed hot meals and ample entertainment with one another. Spirits were high, as they knew later in the year they would begin their march into the territory of Lacans. As Declan walked with Dennor, he couldn't help but let out an approving nod. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Things seem to be going well. Bellies are full. Minds are at ease."</b></span> Declan commented.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"The quatermasters assured me we have ample supplies for the long haul."</span> Dennor spoke, his thumbs curling into his belt as he walked next to his employer. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"The men aren't restless yet either. Most are content to relax after the march through those damn woods. Place gave me the damnable jitters."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"I thought nothing fazed the mighty Dennor?"</b></span> Declan quipped, <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Except for your mother's ire."</span></b><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Hah! As if..."</span> Dennor said, before shaking his shoulders. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"But something about that place rubbed me the wrong way."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Next time we return to Saarus, it won't be through that region hopefully. But that's not my major concern."</b></span> Declan then spoke, passing by a few men who were playing cards and gambling some coins from their own purses. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"The point of a campaign is to win. And we can't win if we're simply sitting on our asses here. Lacans is too well defended to take it head on, and so we'll need time. Time that, perhaps, the Emperor is less than inclined to give graciously."</span></b><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"And if he isn't?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Well, I suppose our heads would look good together on spikes."</b></span> Declan joked dryly, bringing out a chuckle from his companion. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"You know, it WOULD help if you participated more in the war council."</span></b><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"The fuck am I going to provide to a group of rich bastards who read books on these matters?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Books don't win wars. Experience does. You have a brain, might as well use it."</b></span><br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"><br>
"I'm not paid enough to think, your shortness."</span><br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"You do think more with your groin than anything else."</span></b> Declan quipped again, before seeing a messenger dash towards them. The young lad looked out of breadth, having practically sprinted with news towards his liege-commander as he skidded to a halt in front of the two. He planted his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breadth, bringing out a head tilt from Declan. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Catch your breath, boy. What news?"</b></span><br>
<br>
A few deep breaths taken helped him to secure his voice as he looked up towards Declan and pointed to the distance behind him. <span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">"Escaped slaves! Our scouts came across them and brough them back here."</span><br>
<br>
Declan looked up towards Dennor with a satisfied smirk, knowing his luck had provided him with yet another gift.<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)"> "And... Commander Moldive asked to see you."</span><br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"She can always see me another time. I'm going to speak to these newcomers."</span></b> Declan stated bluntly, walking past the messenger and making his way towards his latest finding. Dennor followed closely by, but was a bit concerned about blowing off their allied army's commander so quickly. Regardless, he kept his mouth shut as the two paced themselves towards the edge of the camp. There they were greeted by the sight of a group of haggardly clothed people, all of whom held the remnants of their chains around their necks and arms. Some even held brands on their faces, marking them as property in a gruesome manner, signified by poorly healed melted flesh.<br>
<br>
There were quite a few of them that had arrived, a large company's worth at least. They were currently looked over by some of the camp guard, so as to stop them from causing trouble possibly. The largest among them, their leader, noticed the arrival of Declan and Dennor and gave a wave. His copper skin glistened in the sunlight as he let out a sigh of relief.<br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"And who might you be?"</span></b> Declan asked.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Leos, son of Petros."</span> the slave leader spoke with some hesitation. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"We fled from our master's whip in Lacans, but some were caught before we could cross the mountains. Others perished on the journey."</span><br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Where were you planning on going?"</span></b><br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)"><br>
"If the people here would have us, we would stay... but I'm not sure if they would tolerate our presence. Perhaps to the free-lands."</span> Declan cocked an eyebrow, signalling that he didn't know what Leos meant by this term. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Sorry... I think the name is... Druadach?"</span><br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b><br>
"You're better off staying away from there. They hold slaves there too."</b></span> Declan commented.<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)"><br>
"Well... where else are we supposed to go?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"With me."</b></span> Declan said, prompting a surprised look from Leos. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"You said your people are still in chains, no? Many others are too. All of whom hate the masters who took your freedoms away. Fight for me, and I will create an army of freedmen that will topple the masters' order. Your freedoms will be fought for, not languished in suffering."</b></span><br>
He then offered a hand to Leos with a straight face: <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Do you accept?"</b></span><br>
<br>
A worried look crossed Leos' visage as he turned to the people he had led to relative safety, before agonizing in thought. However, it didn't take long before he shook Declan's hand.</div>
				
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11805654" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11805654">EdwardDewey98 said:</a>
			
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			<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I'll show ya what I'm made of..."</span> He said with a grin. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Now show me if yer worthy of becoming the King of Mors Gobonach!"</span>
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</blockquote><br>
There was a brief pause, and then Faska snickered, stepping in with a heavy lunge that brought his greatsword down on Adanach, who knocked it aside with his sword rested against his palm before attempting to bash the goblin on the crown of his head with the pommel. Instead, Faska ducked his head and turned away, driving the momentum of his sword around as his feet traced a circle underneath him. By the time the blade swung back around, Adanach had already stepped back, deftly avoiding the swipe before thrusting his blade in and catching it against the chest plate of Faska's armor.<br>
<br>
Undaunted, the Bloody Bastard rolled with the blow, halted his rotation and pushed a forehand strike toward Adanach's ribs. This time, Bjorga tensed up as she recognized a swipe like that would leave Adanach without his entrails if the blade found its mark, but still, her feet remained planted; the Son of the Druadach was not a novice, and he parried the maneuver by using his offhand again to brace his blade and deflect the strike. However, Faska never intended to kill the man; as soon as Adanach turned his sword to defend himself, he exposed his side, and Faska drilled him in the abdomen with a front kick which knocked him clean off his feet.<br>
<br>
As Adanach's back hit the ground, he barely had enough time to defend again as his foe leapt off the ground, bringing his blade around like a hammer with such a momentous rotation that it may have prolonged his airtime. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)"><b>"Reaaagh!"</b> </span>Faska grunted as the two blades clashed, driving the broad side of Adanach's sword into his chest at the point of impact as he defended himself once again. The heavy greatsword sliced into his chin, drawing a stream of blood, but the barbarian grit his teeth and summoned all his physical strength to push it backwards, lifting the goblin's arms up slightly, before Adanach twisted his wrists and turned both blades aside in order to strike Faska in the face with the edge of his sword. Although Faska's helmet took the punishment, he was still dazed by the blow and stumbled backwards, his visor clattering open and closed as he regained his balance.<br>
<br>
But now Adanach was pushing off the ground like a wolf pouncing on wounded prey, utilizing his relative agility to slash at Faska several more times in quick succession. There was a loud clang as the blade met the helmet's chin, causing it to rip loose and fall off the Bastard's head. The next hit slammed into his back, driving him downward until he caught himself with his dominant hand, but Adanach quickly kicked him at the elbow, causing him to drop the weapon and roll over. Before he could regain his grip on the blade, it was already over- Adanach had placed the tip of his longsword at Faska's throat.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)"><b>"Shit!</b> Yah made yer point; I- I yield!"</span> he stammered. The Son of the Druadach hesitated as the Bloody Bastard's life was in his hands. Faska closed his eyes, as if expecting an execution.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---<br>​</div>When word finally reached the Imperial Spymaster that the Sandachians were able and, if the envoys were to be believed, eager to speak with an Imperial representative, Veno set off for the republic on the southern sea. She was ushered across the barrier, an aged but nonetheless imposing wall along two riverfronts which diverge from Canar to form the eastern and western half of Sandach's borders. Inside, the landscape was verdant and full of life, as if the eeriness and malaise from Canaresch's abandonment, which still hung heavy over the countryside surrounding it, had been halted by the wall itself. The way of life was vibrant in the republic, and business was booming, as despite Sandach's "alliance" with Briggun's empire, they still traded often with states which considered themselves enemies of Saarus.<br>
<br>
In the capital city of Sansey, Marshal Swybeck nervously paced in a room lit by twilight. "If they come any later, we'll be meeting in the dark of night," he complained. "Do we have enough oil for a prolonged meeting, if it comes to that?" he asked.<br>
<br>
"Yes sir," a young aide replied. "A shipment arrived this morning. We can keep the lamps on all night if need-be," she said.<br>
<br>
"Oh," Swybeck replied. He sounded almost dejected to hear that all was well.<br>
<br>
Nearby, the Grand Chaplain of the Army laid down his fork and knife after finishing his meal, dabbing the grease from his lips with a cloth napkin. "I'm certain that the meeting won't be a long one," he said calmly to Swybeck. "The Empire is renewing its hostilities with Erevan, undoubtedly, and they'll expect us to contribute what soldiers we can spare. We will tell them that we cannot afford to send more than a hundred or so men, like we did last time. Until they're ready to honor <i>their</i> side of the alliance and help us with our foes, then we cannot be expected to lay down our lives so one-sidedly."<br>
<br>
"Are you absolutely certain this is all they would of us, this time?" Swybeck questioned. "What if they demand something else?"<br>
<br>
The Grand Chaplain shrugged. "Then we will make promises, as per usual, and then delay and obfuscate until they grow weary. But they will not come for us."<br>
<br>
Swybeck grunted, looking down at a map of his tiny country next to the goliath that was Saarus. "Maybe you're right. If they wanted to crush us, they would have done it by now. Maybe they actually think we're on their side."<br>
<br>
"Sir," the young aide said, having just been speaking to the porter. "The envoy has arrived."<br>
<br>
The marshal nodded. "Let them in."</div>
				
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11806997" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11806997">K0mori said:</a>
			
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			<b><span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Shit!</span></b><span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)"> Yah made yer point; I- I yield!"</span>
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</blockquote><br>
Adanach breathed heavily, saliva dripped from his mouth like a rabid and starving beast looking at its prey. He wanted to drive his blade right through Faska's neck, perhaps as retribution for the death and desecration of chief Otor or to help Leena achieve some sort of peace knowing the man that had taken everything away from her was dead, but Bjorga's voice snapped him from that murderous trance, Adanach's widened eyes looked at his wife.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Remember what you've told me, all of us. You wish to unite the tribes... and this miserable cur, who disregards our traditions, is the strongest warrior of this land."</span> She is right, he can't kill him just because he disliked him, Adanach thought of the repercussions of killing Faska for a moment, his oldest children and most loyal warriors would most likely fight amongst each other to become the next chieftain, while also fighting with the other independent tribes of the regions who might seize the opportunity to seek freedom from Faska's tribe iron grip on the region. Even if Adanach conquered the whole region and squashed these tribes, he would not be getting an army of hardened goblin skirmishers, but an army of tired and starving thralls.<br>
<br>
Adanach looked down at the wound he gained from the fight, and thought how close he was to death. He then looked at Faska, who had opened his eyes now, probably questioning why he wasn't killing him. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"You know... I almost did it, I almost drove my blade through your neck, I know a lot of people who'd be celebrating your death, Faska."</span> muttered Adanach as he offered his hand at the goblin chieftain to help him get up. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"But then I realized that if I killed you, then you'd be right, I'd be making Mors Gobonach weak, it would make the empire roll through these lands untouched and unspoiled."</span> He grinned. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"We can't let that happened now, do we? Join me, Faska, and we will take our tribes across the Druadach and unite this land and make the southern realms quake in fear."</span></div>
				
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 (if anymistakes my mind is gone so blame fhat or say irs in character for yz)<br>
Yz had chose to join the little meeting within Baba Voyka's camp along with Borok in order to supposedly discuss plans and strategy, albeit they weren't fairly interested in the concept of logical conversation as they had heard out the point of staying put as a unit. Deciding to humour them, they chose to offer their agreement only somewhat and in a questionable manner as they stood slightly leaning back and pondering on it.<br>
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"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">This is possible for a twenty-seven, only that we only have three-fourths of an orange. I don't suggest that anyone should go and tickle the toes of whoever is in charge of the land of Tambourines. Although, Yz would like and demand a tambourine. Yz likes tambourines, they make nice noise and are fun</span>" Yz spoke as they became more interested in something else rather than the suggested strategy, before returning to the initial point as they gestured to Baba Voyka.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">My grandfather here is correct, we should not go to the underwater tea party today, but perhaps when the consumer of little baby-babies in the other land has begun doing whatever it is that they do mediocre when nobody's looking. I was not paying any attention to what my potential next pair of shoes was saying right here, but I will assume he was in agreement. That way, he can remain a mouthwatering skeleton in a crocodile dress for a few moments longer</span>" Yz continued as they hummed gleefully to themself for a short moment, visibly eyeing Borok as they had thought about his delicious untouched skeleton. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">But anyway, Yz will not steal a tambourine yet. Yz has other plans...</span> " Yz spoke as they rubbed their hands together mischievously. <br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Yz will be a very peaceful toasted fishing hook in the lands of the gummy-fishies and will make sultry hand-holders with the named-namers that do big-names. Yz believes that Yz will not explode in the next 3 seconds and be an extreme danger to those in close proximity, because that's what the Yz of 6 seconds would do</span>" Yz finished as they had nodded and gave a small bow.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Issues are no issue. They ask me: Yz, how do you do? But they never ask Yz, WHERE IS THE MONEY? PUT IT IN THE BAG. And it's very saddening</span>" Yz said to excuse themself as they simply gleefully giggled and gave a small wave.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Don't ask what I do with the ones that know too much, goodbye little darlings~! I must CONSIDER MY HONEYMOON WITH THE LIGHT-BEARS NOW, FOR I HOPE THEY DON'T PANIC, HAHAHA</span>" Yz calmly answered as they over-dramatically spun on the spot before dictating which way they will leave the encampment. Yz did not require discussing their plan further, it made clear sense.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">In the following days after their conquest, the pirates made the main island of Teralia into their new home. Slowly but surely it would form their fortress, but for now there was a need to rebuild and prepare for their next move. In her captain's cabin, Cordia was performing a few rituals of her own. Curses for some, boons for others. A hag needs to be prepared. Much to her annoyance however, one of the crew would walk into the cabin as she worked. <br>
<br>
"Captain!" The ghoul panted...somehow. "We spotted a ship approaching." <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Really now? A ship in these waters?</span>" Cordia put down the talisman she was etching. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Describe it.</span>" <br>
<br>
"Ehh, red. Almost black. Sails absolutely black.  Has a bell and bright red lanterns." <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I see.</span>" Cordia answered and pinched the bridge of her nose. Not the brightest and absolutely not the most helpful "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Call for Mr. Gribbs and Sawtooth as quick as you can before I scoop out the rest of your brain.</span>"<br>
<br>
The banshee captain stood up from her desk and walked with a brisk pace outside the cabin onto the deck. She stood with crossed arms and and a curious look as to who exactly was coming all this way. The colors and lanterns made it clear it was one of Alexandre's vessels. What exactly they wanted was unclear. Considering their forces were on land terrorizing their enemies, ship vessels were unexpected. A few moments later her first mate and toolbox imp would join her side as they awaited their guests. <br>
<br>
Cordia allowed herself an amused smile as Gertraud introduced herself. She politely joined her skeletal crew with the applause. Finally someone else who understood showmanship. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">I don't know captain.</span>" Gribbs spoke. "<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">She has one eye. Maybe if you pair her up with Sawtooth she can stand in front of him and warn him in case anyone comes at him from the front.</span>" Crassus bared his teeth as he growled towards the imp. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Quiet you.</span>" Cordia cut him off before turning her attention to their guest "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">This is a surprise. We didn't expect naval assistance from Rocher. Tell me-to what do we owe the honor of such services and what exactly are they?</span>" Gretraud smiled widely, her fang prominently showing. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Oh, your highness, my allegiance to Rocher has been a mutually beneficial affair. Our dear Patriarch has long held interest in knowledge and artifacts that some would consider... contemptible. I, on the other hand have never held any such notions and he has paid me handsomely to acquire said items for him</span>" she said, fishing a gold coin out of the inner pocket before tossing back onto the deck of he ship. Her skeleton crew dashed to where the coin landed and promptly began brawling for it, while Gertraud gave Cordia a smirk.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">But riches brings comforts only for so long. During my inqueries for my patrons wants I have sailed around the world and seen a great many things.</span>" She said, "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">And during those travels I found something far more interesting</span>". She once again reached into her coat and took out a small booklet that she held up between her thumb and indexfinger. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">And if you will grace me with a private audience, I'm sure you'll find my services worthwhile, Just as my previous employer did</span>" Gertraud concluded with her head tilted back, adorned with a knowing smile.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">You have my interest, Gertraud.</span>" Cordia smirked "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">While I have been wreacking havoc on the waves for the past little while, there is much that has transpired between my demise and inevitable return. If you have intimate knowledge of the events and their consequence, then you are welcome to accompany us.</span>" She turned her head to face Sawtooth "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Tell the other captains that their ship is one of ours now.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">Aye, cap'tn. Will she be needin the same accommodations as  Ashryn then?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">No need, Crassus. They have their own ship and its crew is already assembled.</span>" The banshee turned her attention to Gertraud once again "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Would you care to join me in the cabin for some tea? As a note to seal the deal and maybe speak in private.</span>" Gertraud put her booklet away and gave another curt bow.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">The honor would be entirely mine</span>" she replied, then nimbly swinging herself around the rigging and onto the deck of the ship. As her boots hit the floor, the skeletons halted their melee over the coin to look up at their captain with slight hesitation. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Well?</span>" She yelled, arms resting firmly on her hips "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Hop to it you sorry sacks of bones!</span>" <br>
<br>
With rattling bones they scurried away across the deck and set to work throwing hooks over to the Butcher Blade. When they pulled the ships closer, another group of them lifted a ladder for their captain to use to embark onto the vessel. Gertraud climbed the ladder like a cat, positioning herself at the top as her crew pushed it towards the railing. As they made contact, she jumped off and corrected her outfit after landing.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Thats the spirit, mon amis</span>" she shouted back towards her crew below "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">You'll have time for wagering until I return</span>" With their Captains approval, the skeletons could be seen making a clearing on the deck and bringning out a table, which they promptly gathered around for Liers Dice. Having seen to their occupation, Gertraud turned to see Cordia descending down onto the main deck. Flashing her another toothy smile, accompanied by a moderate bow, she motioned towards the doors to the Captains quarters, "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">After you</span>"<br>
<br>
Cordia opened the door to her cabin and let Gertraud in, but as the other captain came inside, the sea witch would swing her leg and kick the imp that was following them. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Private meeting, Mr. Gribbs! You daft toolbag!</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">Hey, you can trust me!</span>" The creature protested from the barrel he slammed in. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">About as far as I can kick you.</span>" She shut the door behind them and turned to more pleasant matters. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Good help is hard to find.</span>" Cordia fixed her coat as she walked forward. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Sit down, dear. Make yourself comfortable.</span>" She motioned with her hand to one of the chairs. The cabin itself was by no means modest. The walls were decorated with paintings, tapestries and stuffed heads of the ocean denizens. The furniture was made of expensive material and decorated with trimmings made of noble metals. The common idea that a hag would live a humble hovel were rather offensive to her. Why bother with trivial modesty when you can enjoy your surroundings? <br>
<br>
But there were of course those details that pointed to her other occupation. On Cordia's desk one would find talismans, trinkets and a row or potions each marked with labels describing a concept. Sea legs, Ill winds, In irons etc. To the right of her desk, was a globe with the known lands scratched on, along with specific spots marked on them-Covens, sacred sites and lay-line convergence points. Next to it was a small table with a kettle and a small fire burning under it. To the right one would find a bookcase stacked with books. Some mundane, others full of knowledge privy only to specific people, but all of them stolen from their original owners. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Kettle should be boiling any second now.</span>" As if on que, the rather humble kettle started letting out the whistle as the steam began to escape its mouth. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I hope you weren't expecting something like a cauldron. Baba Vojka can afford to have hers, but one just wouldn't fit here.</span>" Cordia poured two cups for her and her guest. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">A kettle is much smaller, but can brew just as well.</span>" She snapped with her fingers and the fire went out. The banshee smelled the concoction she had poured and felt it was satisfactory. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I love the special chai blend Pianti grows.</span>" She said as she put the cups on a tray along the sugar and honey. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Its not as strong as what Labrovo use for their blends, but has that same kick you'd expect from Weildach and their spices.</span>" Cordia set the tray down on the small table near the chairs and comfortable sat next to Gertraud. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Now then, what did you find while you were adventuring?</span>"<br>
<br>
Gertraud removed her hat as they entered the captain quarters, and looked over it's various content with deep fascination. Even the decorations were suitable to her taste, her own cabin on board the <i>Morbihan</i> being of a similar lavish style. Taking her seat in the chair that was offered, she placed her hat gently onto one of her legs as Cordia finished up the tea. As Cordia explained about her love for tea, Gertraud took a que from her host and smelled the brew before taking a sip. Personally, she preferred the coffee the was made in Arnone, but being so far away she would not refuse the tea she had been offered. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Well, our dear Patriarch has taken quite the interest in the occult over the years.</span>" she began, "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">And anything related to such knowledge has been of great interest to him.</span>" She paused to take another sip of tea before continueing, "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Particularly manuscripts, artifacts and hearsay regarding an entinty known as Charnel. I have personally only acquainted myself a little regarding this, but from what I can surmise he seems to be an old deity of Death.</span>" Gertraud took out a long ivory pipe, and a pouch of tobacco with a red hue. "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Perhaps I should say the most impressive of all the various talismans and trinkets I brought back was something known as the Iron Crown</span>", she continued, packing the pipe and lighting it with a match. "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">I wont bore you with the details of how I came across it, other than the fact that it had once belonged to a Gantar scholar named Khalid al Amin, before the artifacts terrible powers made itself known and brought ruin to his library at Khanaqin on the Northwestern coast, near to Druadach.</span>" she mused as she puffed on the pipe. "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">There I found it almost swallowed up by the shifting sands, shunned by the Gantar explorers and Druadach raiders</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">But enough about my past exploits and allow me to divulge to you why I've come to you on this day.</span>" Finishing her tea, Gretraud took out the small booklet she had shown Cordia earlier, flipping through the pages while puffing away at her pipe. Once she found what she was looking for she rose from her chair and showed it to the Banshee. On the page of the book was a transcript of one of the Queens lost shanties.<br>
<br>
Cordia listened to Gertraud talk while she sipped from her cup. A renown adventurer with much to tell, but was polite enough to get to the point quickly at this time. As soon as she showed the pirate queen the transcript however, the room got just a little bit colder. Her eyes traced along the text and she recounted the words. Letter by letter. Everything was where it should be. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">If I were to sing this song, bad things are to follow.</span>" The banshee spoke with a serious tone as she read the text with "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Where did you find the original? Who had it?</span>" Gertraud turned the booklet to herself and read through the song in silence. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">A Lacans portmaster told me of it some 20 odd years ago, but he did not have the original. However, he had seen it in the possession of a some Weildach merchant.</span>" Gertraud took a long drag from her pipe. "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">I always wondered if it was genuine</span>" she continued,  "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">As I've not been graced with your gilded tones.</span>"<br>
<br>
Getraud then told Cordoa briefly of the meeting with the portmaster, whom since then had regretably been tied to an anchor and bid adieu to a watery grave over some unpaind debts. She offered Cordia to try to pick up a trace of the shanty once more, which would no doubt be challenging, gonsidering the circumstance. Which was exactly what Gertraud wanted, having sailed idly within the Gulf for some time when the Patriarchs acquisition of the occult had slowed. She did not how long it would take, but she would promise Cordia to return once she had come up with any promising leads.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">It could take years</span>" Gertraud said with a slighty sigh as she emptied the remaining embers of tobacco into a small can. "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">But don't worry, I'll send you some letter now and then</span>" she concluded with a wink.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">If you seek my blessing to seek out the original, then you have it.</span>" Cordia picked up the cup she had placed down while reading. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">But I assume that none of this comes free.</span>" She glanced towards one of the paintings. A memento from when she returned to the Bone coast and took the first step of her revenge. The blood stains still splattered on the canvas. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">You would know that this would be of great value to me. What would your price be, I wonder?</span>"<br>
<br>
Gertraud eyed the painting, a motiff of a stormy beating the steep cliffs of Primosten, a famous landmark in the Bone Coast.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">My liege, what kind scoundrel would I be to deprive you of such a sentimental item?</span>" She said while flashing Cordia a wry smile, "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">No, I can take my payment in gold and precious stones, which I'm sure you will acquire while sowing terror in this sea.</span>"Getraud took picked up her hat from the chair she had been sitting in and twirled it onto her head. "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">When I return, I'm sure we can agree on a price for the information I may have for you.</span>" She continued with her arm extended for a handshake."<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Do we have a deal, your highness?</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">That we do.</span>" Cordia extended her arm in turn and firmly grasped Gertraud's hand. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">You have this sea hag's guarantee.</span>" Getrauds smile seemed to become even bigger as the two shock hands. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Rest assured, I will return as soon as the trail reveals itself again. And with your conquest underway and occupying the Piantian Navy, I shall come and go like a shade in the night"</span>.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Then</span> <span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I'll put on a show from shore to shore.</span>" Cordia's wicked smile returned. She finished off the tea in her cup, <span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">"Feel free to stay for a while, my dear. I can always brew something else.</span>" She spoke as she got up. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I have a few tasks that I have to perform.</span>" A look to the desk as the talismans remain unfinished. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">A coven to grow, a fleet to organize and I do wish to write a letter to here and there.</span>" She looked back to Gerthaud. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Rather mundane business, but work that needs to be done.</span>"<br>
<br>
Getraud positioned herself by the door as Cordia looked over the items on her desk and mused over her current tasks.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">That won't be required, my liege.</span>" She said, offering the captain a deep and sophisticated bow, "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">I shall set sail and see to our new arrangement post haste.</span>" Exiting the Cabins quarters, she found Gribbs evesdropping outside the door. She tossed the gremlin a gold coin. "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">There's more where that came from, should you refrain from such poor manners in the future. And if monetary instentives are not your fancy, I'll ask your gracious Captain to just keelhaul you instead.</span>" Passing Sawtooth she gave him a tip of the hat, before jumping onto ladder onto her own ship. The ladder tumbled back onto the ship, crashing down onto the skeletons as they were still in the middle of a game of dice. Gertraud landed squarely on the deck, a further testament to her agility.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">The time for leisure is over, you soaked curs!</span>" She shouted "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">We make sail towards Lacans!</span>"The skeletal crew picked themselves up, and a few even had to re-assamble some limbs following their captains dramatic entry. Once organized, they set to work pushing the brigantine away and rowing with great speed out of the harbour. Once the vessel reached deeper waters and was turned to their new course, it's black sails unfurled to catch the wind and sent the ship on its way with great speed.<br>
<br>
As the <i>Morbihans</i> red lanterns moved away, a jaunty fiddle tune could be heard echoing across the waters.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka listened as she watched Borok and Yz make their statements. She nodded with respect to Borok, as it was clear to her that the two were in agreement. She had no reason to interject what she would want him to do, he is trustable. But as the floor was given to Yz, the same confusion from the previous time they spoke arose, though this time, given how much more sensitive the situation is, she tried to decipher their meaning.<br>
<br>
Parsing it together, the tambourine in this context referred to Elevan, or perhaps more specifically Sabersval. She could only assume that the underwater tea party was the tunnels, and the baby consumer was Falwyn. She had no idea what it was they were referring to in the remainder of their speech, but what mattered was that they agreed to stay put. She just watched Yz departed with a muted expression. Once it was clear they were out of earshot, she approached Borok and spoke silently to him.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...it seems they're in agreement,</span>" she remarked plainly, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">let's hope for good news from Falwyn. Good luck with your work on the tunnels, I'm going to deal with the thieves,</span>" she finished, before departing from the meeting herself. There was hell to pay for messing with <i>her</i> supply line.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Borok remained remarkably silent throughout the bizarre rant. Yz sure knew how to raise new questions with every answer they provided, but the Sauroid forced himself to remain stoic, so as to listen very carefully for some hidden meaning behind the words. It was still a mysterium to him how Yz functioned, but as soon as they were on the other side of the mountains, it would have been worth enduring the crypctic answers.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)"><b>"I agree... they are on board, which is all we could have hoped for...", </b></span>he finally grumbled, no longer hiding some disdain for the way they were kept guessing. Perhaps Yz was playing a game with them or perhaps they really had no other way of communication, it was tedious to him either way. In contrast, he did appreciate Voykas plain approach and he slightly lowered his head to pay respect. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"A good hunt to you. May those thieves make for a fine stew to replace your losses..."</span></b>, he concluded, before also departing. The meeting had been short, which was very welcome to him, as it meant more time to work in the tunnels.<br>
<br>
As soon as he was able to, Borok returned to stare down a fiery abyss. Even the most experienced miners and anvil guards were hesitant to continue their surveying work near the strange opening nicknamed "The Demon Gate". The grand runesmith, however, had carefully prepared himself to lead a small expedition into the north side, where the mountain itself appeared to be steadily breathing. Before they would enter into the fiery depths, another message delayed them and Boroks eyes boiled in a rage that matched the fire of the hell in front of them. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Foolish dragon...",</span></b> he snarled, as a young Sauroid runner delivered news of heavy casualties sustained by Falwyn in her initial campaign. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Our plans need adjusting! Carve up all nearby softskin villages for slaves and expand our efforts! If we can't rely on Falwyn, may the Depths be more generous!"</span></b>, he fumed and as soon as the runner departed, their descend began. The hot air would have boiled other being alive, as they made their way past sulfur vents towards a golden and red shimmer, unsteadily flickering from all sides of the vent. Soon, Borok couldnt believe his own eyes. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Withdraw our engineers from the regular tunnels... we need pipes and smoke powder here... Erevan will burn..."</span></b></div>
				
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11807024" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11807024">EdwardDewey98 said:</a>
			
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			<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"But then I realized that if I killed you, then you'd be right, I'd be making Mors Gobonach weak, it would make the empire roll through these lands untouched and unspoiled."</span> He grinned. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"We can't let that happened now, do we? Join me, Faska, and we will take our tribes across the Druadach and unite this land and make the southern realms quake in fear."</span>
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</blockquote><br>
Faska, breathing hard through clenched teeth, glanced back and forth between Adanach and Bjorga with a mixture of hope for his survival and resentment for the insults dealt to him in his defeat. He briefly considered the long and unhappy road ahead, serving a human master who in turn would serve the warlock, and knew all at once that the freedom he treasured had already escaped his grasp. He held little hope that he would ever have it again, but he still wasn't ready to die. If he joined this ludicrous attempt at uniting the Druadach, then there would at least be meals, and women, and the excitement of combat to lift his spirits while they walked the long road to destruction.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)"><i>"Fine,"</i></span> he mustered. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"If yer a dog, you're no pup, Adanach. I'll tell my band that we'll be takin' our marchin' orders from you, now on." </span>He calmly lifted himself off the earth as Adanach pulled his blade away from his throat, and after gathering his own weapon, he looked back at his lone horse and wondered about how his camp would react to the news. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Yah know, there're gonna be some who won't come easy-like. It'd be a surprise if we wake on 'morrow an find 'em all still ready tah serve ya,"</span> he warned plainly.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---<br>​</div>After a long period of waiting, a reply from Iskulia arrives at Akatoria Castle in the form of a letter addressed to Lucafiel.<br>
<br>
<i>"To the Imperial scum on my border," </i>the letter began. Lucafiel lifts his eyes from the page and gives a quiet, exasperated sigh.<br>
<br>
<i>"There is no welcome for your envoys in our land,<br>
no welcome for your foreign customs,<br>
and no welcome for your evil designs.<br>
<br>
We welcome only your death in Iskulia.<br>
<br>
Signed,</i><br>
<img class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" alt="♈" title="Aries    :aries:" src="/styles/twemoji/2648.png" data-shortname=":aries:">︎<i>"</i><br>
<br>
Immediately, Lucafiel knew that one of two things would need to be true. Either Ikono Manakles was truly so confident in his army's superiority that he felt it unbecoming of a man in his position to even humor the Hallow Legion, or, alternatively, he was lacking in that confidence or even fearful, and did not wish to display it by meeting in any physical capacity. The handwriting was smooth and looping, clearly the work of a court scribe, aside from the symbol of the ram at the bottom, which was given with a different slope and, based on the edges of each ink stroke, a different quill.<br>
<br>
The Imperial courier who had delivered the message to Lucafiel gave a slight bow. "I came as soon as I could, my lord. The horseman who brought it informed me that he will stay only for one hour, and it is nearly half that; I assume he expects a reply."<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---<br>​</div>The night air was crisp and dry over Valwake, the city serving as Sabersval's military capital. Aelan Farandel stood at a large map table, reading reports about the enemy's movements as wooden markers were moved about on the map. There was an attack to her east, she understood, but the Imperials were driven back in a brilliant display by the the Viper. Sigurd of Ravgoth stood at the ready in the western pass, but Rotwellain's forces outnumbered the headsman's, and so Aelan felt that it was the east that deserved her attention.<br>
<br>
She wiped her brow and shook her head. The fire nearby made the inside of the cabin almost sweltering. There were rumors of other movements; if reports were to be believed, the city state of Teralia had been felled by a sea witch, and Imperials were massing on the borders of Lacans and Piantia. It was as if Briggun had awakened from a long rest, and was as hungry for new territory as he was when Aelan was in her adolescence. She had been waiting for this moment to come, and now that it was here, she felt... overwhelmed. It seemed clear that the best option would be to move east, and support Kande's defense of Ysaval, but the stories of the warlock's subversion were legendary. Any false move could be the straw that breaks the camel's back in Erevan.<br>
<br>
She decided to get some fresh air, and so she took only her bodyguard as she stepped out into the brisk night with a lantern for a short walk. Valwake was quiet, after dark, but there were still a few locals and travelers about finishing their final tasks before sleeping. Out in the field at the edge of town, a number of tents poked through the shallow snowfall, with about half of them still lit by campfire. She stood there for a moment and admired her soldiers and all the preparations they had done, and wondered how they would take the news, should she tell them that they were to abandon their home territory and fight a dragon in the open fields of the east. She felt a bit sickened, it seemed like a betrayal.<br>
<br>
Unseen in the shadows, a lone traveler approached, one which had slipped through the tunnels and out into the elven land alone, whose face was unknown to any who laid eyes on them. Now, the mask returns to their face, and Yz steps out of the darkness and into the light of Aelan's lantern.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"Who are,"</span> she began to ask before gasping sharply. The bodyguard drew his weapon and stepped up, but Aelan called him back. <span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"No, wait, stop," </span>she instructed, even as her own hand fell to the pommel of her short sword, as if to assist him. To attack their foe without knowing how they had reached Valwake unseen was a foolish decision, and even in her shocked state, she knew she needed to act carefully. <span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"What do you want?"</span> she demanded fiercely, although Yz could sense her fearfulness. <span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"You came here alone to speak to me, right? Well, here I am. Be quick with it!"</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Lucafiel pondered the letter he had received for a moment before, with a slight hand gesture, one of his own scribes brought him a length of paper and a quill. In a clear, flowing script, Lucafiel penned a reply himself, knowing that there was little time for expansive thought or planning. Indeed, in the time it had taken them to receive the letter, their deliberations upon the rooftop of the ancient castle had produced some results - there was plague here in these lands, it seemed, according to locals. Matched to their own observations, it was very likely to be true; and, ultimately, very likely to be dangerous. Lucafiel disdained sickness as a curse of mortals, but even one he could not abide to be inflicted upon them, to some extent. Disease could serve as a useful tool, but one that required finesse, for even among the ranks of the legion were plentiful mortal and lesser races that were liable to be infected themselves. The Yakals may be less prone - or fearfully, more prone - to a human illness, but only time would tell. Only the stringent hygiene practices and discipline of the legion were to be counted on at times like this. And, Lucafiel thought as he dipped his quill in ink and began to write, the possibility of merely burning everything in his path, scouring earth of trees, villages, and people alike, lest any plague survive to haunt those who come after. <br>
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-<br>
<br>
<i>To Ikono Manakles,<br>
<br>
We come not for war, though we are prepared as such. There is much we should discuss in person. We know these lands are sick, and we bring cures. We know the might of the entire Empire is to be brought upon Lacans, and we bring options. Should war come and we find defeat here, there will be more of us, for every month and every year after our passing. Even should you win every battle, every loss of your men and women is a victory for us, for the Emperor does not tolerate such things. In time, you may win every battle and have not a soul left standing. I would, with utmost sincerity, hope to avoid that for the good people of Iskulia. <br>
<br>
You do not know me, and I do not know you, fabled Ram. I am the one known as Lucafiel. We should come to know each other on intimate terms. I can assure you it would be far more appealing than the alternative. <br>
<br>
But know this, Ram. If we cannot help you save your people, all life will be squeezed from this land. You have your senses and your mind. What have you seen of those who have defied our Emperor? It is true the name your people call you is fearsome, but those who once admired the ram will laugh with derision when it goes mad and bashes its skull upon the mountainside.<br>
<br>
-</i><br>
<br>
Lucafiel finished the letter by signing a curious yet elegant symbol upon the bottom. He allowed the ink to dry after a moment before allowing the letter to be rolled into a tube, tied off with a ribbon, and passed back to the messenger to be delivered. At the same time, he glanced in the other direction and spoke to a nearby auxiliary. "Ensure that preparations continue at a measured pace. We may be fighting both man and illness, and only one has known more triumphs than the other."</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The shift in environs caught Veno's attention quite quickly, her eyes darting about as she peered through the tiny diamond shaped holes in her enclosed carriage's square windows. Growing up in underneath it all, she was accustomed to dreary and bleak surroundings. All she knew from an early age was rocks, fungus, and creatures that dwelled in the darkness beneath. Canar's state was... similar now to what she had grown up with. Dull. Depressing. As if Briggun's rule was draining the very life from the land beneath his empire.<br>
<br>
Veno didn't mind. Its what she was familar with.<br>
<br>
Veno already knew what the Sandachians were probably expecting. The Empire often asked its 'allies' in Sandach for assistance in fighting wars and other endeavours. Sandach would make agreements and promises, and neither of which they ever kept. Often excuses were given, which could have easily been proven as boldfaced lies. She was the Imperial spymaster, she already knew what was going on. A nation doesn't stay this vibrant and booming without trade with other nations. Some of which were likely hostile to the Empire. Though Veno did wish that she had sent a detail to check in on Sandach's treasury. She wondered just how large of a fortune that the tiny nation had acquired by doing such under the table dealings.<br>
<br>
She had chosen for only a single member of her circle to accompany her on this little expedition. Cazna, her second oldest friend in the Cult of Akordia. The muscular drow woman sat across from Veno in the carriage, arms folded and staring down at the floor through the bangs of her off-white hair. Her red eyes gleamed in the brief flashes of fading sunlight that pierced the windows, as she waited. Simply waited.<br>
<br>
Cazna was a master at waiting. Minutes, hours, days, weeks... it didn't matter. When the time was right, she would move.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)"><span style="font-size: 26px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><b>Cazna Barrityl</b></span></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">(Enforcer of the Cult of Akordia, Master Huntress, Left Hand of Veno Dilach)</span></span><br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/cazna-the-huntress-png.1127310/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1064/1064439-7bb8143edfb8cdf4986dfae7b4dc28fc.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="Cazna the Huntress.png" title="Cazna the Huntress.png" width="100" height="167" loading="lazy"></a></span>​</div><br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"I'm glad you made the journey with me, Cazna. It's been far too long since we spent any quality time together."</span> said Veno, flashing Cazna a brief smile before looking back out the window.<br>
<br>
Cazna response came in the form of a simple shrug. It was true. The last time the pair had been alone together at any long length of time was during Briggun's opening pushes into Canar. Veno, leading warriors across battlefields with Cazna at her side. Polearm in hand, blood spattered across most of her body. A rather intimidating sight for most of their foes, especially considering Cazna was as large and strong as most of the men on the field as well.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Though, this will be a diplomatic sort of journey, really. We're here to give Sandach what they really want... instead of seeking out their aid..."</span> commented Veno, her voice trailing off as she watched a couple walk by on the sidewalk outside.<br>
<br>
This time, Cazna actually spoke, her voice oddly quite soft compared to her rugged appearance. <span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">"We're giving them a war of their own."</span> she said simply, her red eyes slowly rising to look at Veno.<br>
<br>
Veno nodded. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Yes. Though, in their terms, it'd be a holy war... to reclaim their homeland from heathens and heretics."</span> she responded, <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...Religion, and faith in general, are powerful tools. Especially false religions and blind faith, the kinds Sandach and Weildach both share."</span><br>
<br>
Eventually, the carriage came to a stop. Veno smiled, looking to Cazna before speaking softly. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"You know the drill. I am Lady Sarthyra, Imperial envoy sent by Lord Briggun himself. You, of course, are my loyal endentured servant and guard."</span><br>
<br>
And right before Cazna's eyes, Veno shapeshifted into the form of a young human woman with pale skin and firey red hair. Her flowing dress was colorful, but not <i><b>too</b></i> flashy. She meant to make herself look like she was of the upper Imperial eschelons. Overdo it and no one would believe it. A balance needed to be struck.<br>
<br>
Cazna simply rolled her eyes. Shapeshifting was for those more of the political type, or for those in the magical fields. Cazna was first, and foremost, a warrior. She killed things, and did it well. Shapeshifting wasn't needed in order to drive a sword, spear, or axe through someone.<br>
<br>
Soon, the carriage door opened, and the pair climbed out. Cazna, of course, was the one that got more looks from the guards as they were lead to the room where they would be meeting Sandach's Marshal and Grand Chaplain of the Army. Soon enough, the doors to the meeting room opened. Allowing Veno to enter, while Cazna remained by the door.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Good evening."</span> said Veno as she strolled through the doorway. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"I am Lady Sarthyra, Head of House Sarthyra of Saarus. I am here as an envoy sent by Lord Briggun himself."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka made her preparations to head out and see what was causing the theft of rations, though as she did, some of her men approached her, ready to follow her to the suspected location on the supply line where the thefts were being made. However, as they spoke their loyalty, she raised her hand to silence them, and insisted to go out alone. As they protested their beloved granny heading out alone, she concerned herself with her hair and headwear. She pushed her long hair down her collar, and wrapped her head in the traditional headscarf kerchief worn by the Horned - partially because it hid her forehead, and in turn, her horn. Once she prepared herself, she grabbed her hunter's knife, sheathed it, and finally turned to her men. She approached the one protesting hardest, gently brushed his hair with her hand, and then slammed his head into her knee.<br>
<br>
As she raised his head to look into her eyes, she explained to him why she was going at it alone: "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...I'm more than competent to protect myself, boy. Don't worry your precious head over whether granny can take care of herself. Think more about how our suspected thieves might react to a regiment approaching them.</span>"<br>
<br>
From there, to the rest present, it was clear what she was aiming to do - induce underestimation. She waved them off to return to the others, as she headed to the supply line.<br>
<br>
The uplands remained frigid even as the spring thaw began to slowly clear the snow in the area, which made her suspect initially that their potential thieves were animals. Of course, there were some Poggostian villages nearby that could be the source of their thieves, but given that she had recently engaged in the burning down of at least one of those villages, she assumed no one sane would attempt to even approach anything resembling Briggun's forces, at least for the time being, lest they receive immense punishment. However, as she approached the general area that had been narrowed down as the location of the thefts, she began to wonder otherwise.<br>
<br>
Investigating the snow proved slightly problematic with the thaw, but it became very clear that no quadruped was walking around in this area. What was harder to tell though was scale - given the state of the snow, she couldn't figure out whether the being(s) involved were long-legged or not. Being careful as she stepped through the area, looking at carvings in the wood, she began to lean towards them being short-legged. As she identified the lack of any imprints suggesting the presence of long tails however, she sensed something in the air headed her way. She turned quickly and caught whatever it was.<br>
<br>
She stood straight up and looked at it. It was a rock. She could hear the shrubbery shift. She was no longer alone.<br>
<br>
Waiting for the next attack, she passively walked towards the direction the rock had come from, taking slow, deliberate steps, to make whoever it was impatient. Her strategy pays off almost immediately, as she could hear a yell from above her, something jumping off of the trees. She took a step forward, and wound herself up for a turnaround counter-attack. Voyka would kick whatever had jumped to strike her straight in the stomach. Her would-be attacker coughed intensely out of pure shock from the kick, as she kept her leg up to observe who attacked her.<br>
<br>
To her surprise, it was a child. The kid let go of the stone in his hand, likely intending to strike her across the head with it. With a smirk, she grabbed the child by his collar, and casually tossed him against the tree. Before she could stare down the kid and question him, she overheard more shushed movement around her - there's more than one of them.<br>
<br>
Another rock was tossed her way, which she caught as she had the previous one. Listening to the movement around her, she tossed the rock back. A loud 'ow' was heard shortly after, followed by someone falling over. As she observed more movement around her, she approached a tree branch, and broke it off. Attempting to surprise her, another kid attempted to rush her from behind. As swiftly as they emerged out of cover, Voyka uppercut the kid with the branch, leaving them splayed over the snow.<br>
<br>
With her arm up following the attack, another kid attempted to restrict her by tossing a rock wrapped with thin rope and wrapping it around her arm. Chuckling in response, using the hand on the same arm, she grabbed the rope and wanked the kid out of cover, and began twirling the rope around them from a distance. Yet another kid jumped from the trees once more to attack Voyka and save their friend, but she just punches them into the ground with her free arm. Turning her attention back to the kid with the rope, she began spinning the end with the rock before tossing it up onto the tree and pulling it back down, lifting the kid into the air upside down.<br>
<br>
As she cracked her shoulders, a sixth child emerged out and twirled a thin rope with a hook at its end as a weapon, aiming it at Voyka's head. The hook catches itself onto her headscarf, and as the kid attempts to pull her down, only the kerchief is removed, revealing her horn. At which point, the children screamed in terror. None of them had realized that they were fighting Baba Voyka until now.<br>
<br>
The child with the hook tried to retreat, but they ended up tripping over over some old wood. They turned around to see Voyka approaching them with a menacing cackle, rendering them a blubbering crying mess. It was at that point someone yelled: "STOP, PLEASE...!"<br>
<br>
The granny did as was yelled, recognizing from what direction the yell came from. It was from the first kid that she had kicked in the gut, trying to speak as they continued to cough.<br>
<br>
"P-please, stop..." the kid seemed to take the initiative, "we, we thought that only Briggun's forces were here... not any of his lieutenants..."<br>
<br>
Voyka turned to face the kid, as she noted the other children did the same - it seemed this was their leader.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...you think just because the Dark Lord's forces were unaccompanied that you all could just steal from him?</span>" Voyka responded plainly.<br>
<br>
"We... we thought it'd be noticed less..." the kid responded with further intermittent coughs.<br>
<br>
Voyka chuckled. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...where are you kids from, especially those of you still hiding?</span>" she asked, turning towards the shrubs where she could tell there were at least two or more of them hiding, who would peek their heads out in response, fearing what would happen if they didn't.<br>
<br>
Another kid would answer her question. "B-Brus, ma'am..."<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Ah, Brus! That's right near Senta!</span>" Voyka commented, to which the kids responded with an awkward groan.<br>
<br>
"Y-you were at Senta...?" one of the children asked, remembering that it had been burned down a few weeks ago.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Senta seemed quite nice. Well-kept place of worship, houses worth living in, a proper village if I ever saw one. But you all want to know what was the best thing about Senta?</span>" Voyka spoke in a twisted tone, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">The screams of those doomed to burn for harboring enemies of Briggun were so, so sweet.</span>"<br>
<br>
The children went quiet in shock as they realize that not only were the stories told about Voyka were true, but that she had burned down their neighbors. All watched in abject terror - all but one.<br>
<br>
"Y-you...!" one of the kids in the bushes got up, with a vengeful look in their eyes. Voyka turned to face them, seeing equal parts rage and tears. "Y-you...!"<br>
<br>
Voyka chuckled once more, realizing that this kid was likely now an orphan from the village. Suddenly, the kid rushed towards her, as if to try and attack her, to which she responded with a boot to the head. The kid tried to crawl away, realizing how much of a mistake they had made, but Voyka pressed her foot on their head to keep them in place, causing them to scream. After a few moments, she released the pressure, but kept her foot where it was, before turning to face the children.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Looking at you all, all I can think of is how much of a waste it is that you're all wasting away here. Forced to steal from your protectors,</span>" she said with an ironic tone, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">when you could have simply come to us.</span>"<br>
<br>
"...but we tried..." the leader answered after a pause.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Briggun himself is too busy to take your requests, but us lieutenants, we're far more... <i>approachable</i>,</span>" Voyka said with a twisted smile, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">In fact, earlier today, I had made a big pot of soup for my men. I would be <i>more</i> than happy to share it with you all.</span>"<br>
<br>
Upon the offer of soup, the rest of the kids hiding in the bushes popped out.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">So, let's make a deal. You all seem immensely competent for your ages. Reminds me of when I was your age, fighting my way up the ranks from slavery into the Canarian military. You all join me at my camp and fight for me, and you will all eat as if your own granny were cooking for you.</span>"<br>
<br>
The kids looked at one another with concern and curiosity. Times had gotten desperate at Brus, forcing them into this position in the first place. Many of them even lacked parents, whether one or both, for various reasons, relying on communal aid... which some of them rarely got. To have a place to stay at where they could eat at least once a day sounded like heaven in comparison, and they might even have an opportunity to become as strong as granny. Slowly but surely, one by one, the kids began professing their interest in joining her, with some doing so with additional hopes that she might not burn down Brus.<br>
<br>
Lifting her foot off of the Senta kid, Voyka looked down upon them, waiting for their answer. After a considerable pause after even their leader said yes, they conceded.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Let's return to camp then, and get you all fed, my little falcons~</span>" Voyka switched to a grandmaternal tone, as she turned away and began walking back to camp. She didn't concern herself with the thought that these kids might betray her, she had induced enough fear in them that they wouldn't be able to fathom it.<br>
<br>
Frankly, she really did want to just slaughter these kids and go burn Brus down, but the 'peace' had ended. She couldn't engage in her usual behavior now that war was once more on the rise. These kids were to her, and to Briggun, more useful alive than dead. If nothing else, the situation proved nostalgic for her - plenty of her men were war orphans whom she raised herself, and one thing many of them shared in common was that they had a rebellious friend who "martyr'd themselves for the sake of the cause".<br>
<br>
She looked at the Senta kid with a wide smile.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">It is a glorious day when two armies meet, especially when they are allied. A mass of troops ready to bring destruction, or at the very least to bring low enemy territory. He was somewhat curious about how the land would be shared between the two once it was dominated. Not that Kolthix wanted for much from what was to be conquered. His eyes were mostly on the people, but only enough to fill the gaps in supplies for what might have been missed from the attempts at keeping his army well stocked with food on the way here.<br>
<br>
Thankfully, though shadelings have an enormous appetite, they could go for days without a meal if needed, though such misfortunes were scorned.<br>
<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 66635" data-quote="Worthlessplebian" data-source="post: 11804222" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			"<span style="color: #f2d770">Indeed, Cackler. Even here, I see the ferocity in your army. Their mood appears to be a bloody one.</span>" Izaak commented, the cape of muscle fibre flapping against the groaning wind. "<span style="color: #f2d770">There shall be sport here. For both of us.</span>" He continued, his icy words hanging in the air. Todor, his hound, clapped its jaw in joy.
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</blockquote><br>
Kolthix could appreciate Izaak for the use of undead in his armies. His unique appearance. The lack of passion in his tone. For one, Kolthix enjoyed the lack of waste that came with utilizing the dead in battle. Even he did not leave even a bone to litter the grasses of this world if he could help it. Although he must admit that beyond such thoughts, there was little else the two had in common from what the shadeling lord could tell. Perhaps that would change during the battle to come.<br>
<br>
Kolthix turned and started walking, keeping up with his forces and simply assuming that Izaak would do the same.<br>
<br>
<b>"Though I am certain this will be a battle worth enjoying, I am afraid that I have so few plans for the conflict ahead. I simply wish to spearhead our way into enemy territory. Perhaps find a town, fort or city to siege, and claim it as a hub from which to operate from. Patience and strategy will have to wait for now. My people grow restless."</b><br>
<br>
Though the presence of flesh and bone wrile the shadeling army up a bit, they show incredible restraint, held back by sheer loyalty to their leader, and eager anticipation for the slaughter ahead.<br>
<br>
<b>"My spell caster, Rorika, can receive any spell communications that you have for me going forward. Feel free to use her to forward any pertinent information you may feel inclined to relay to me. I hope that I will be able to do the same through a caster of your own as well. A simple message spell would do, unless you have more pressing matters to discuss, then I can appear before you directly."</b><br>
<br>
Kolthix would continue on, but soon enough his army was marching quicker, running even, across the open lands. The Cackler had been prepared to initiate an attack the moment he arrived. Though he would have announced their arrival far sooner, tending to have a flair for showmanship, perhaps by assuming the shape of a Hell-Bellower and roaring across Gantar land, Kolthix decided to have a bit more restraint for the sake of his ally in this fight. Allow the element of surprise to be utilized in full.<br>
<br>
At least, whatever surprise there would be. He was certain that there was a chance that word of the two armies converging on the enemies borders might have already reached them. Whatever the case, this was not his moment for any big moves. His people would spread across the country, like a plague against the people of that cursed land.<br>
<br>
<b>"We march <i>now</i>, Lord Rosach. I wish you good fortune in the coming days. If you will excuse me, I prefer to fight alongside my people."</b><br>
<br>
With that, Kolthix began to change a bit. His body warping to assume a shape that can run at quicker speeds. He takes off, leaving the fellow lord for the time being. By the time he nears the front of his forces, a contingent had already begun arranging camp at the base of the mountains and the pass through. Others were continuing to march, having stopped only for a moment to eat and refuel, taking their weapons and arming themselves with equipment.<br>
<br>
He had his variety of specialists. One that he was especially fond of were the Daybreakers. They shadelings had already geared up, doning full suits of armor. They were far more disciplined than quite a few of the armies number. They were almost as well trained as fully fledged knights. They each grow their bodies into a similar configuration as well. One that allowed for easier movement despite the weight of their gear, and stronger legs for pushing forward behind their shields, even against the most stubborn of enemies.<br>
<br>
It is what Kolthix knew of his people that many forgo when they look at a shadeling. Their potential. What others forget about shadelings was that a shadeling could become <i>anything</i>. They can assume a form that fits their personality or the needs of their comrades. It meant that whatever the enemy might have, shadelings almost certainly had it as well. Because Kolthix and his people learn. They always learn from what the enemy employs, and they are not afraid to send it right on back.<br>
<br>
As the hours passed and Kolthix approached enemy land, he searched the horizon for any strong point to hold, and then he continued on. For glory. For bloodshed. For <i>vengeance</i>.<br>
<br>
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			<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Good evening."</span> said Veno as she strolled through the doorway. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"I am Lady Sarthyra, Head of House Sarthyra of Saarus. I am here as an envoy sent by Lord Briggun himself."</span>
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</blockquote><br>
Swybeck stood up straight as she entered, doing his best to appear stern without aggression, especially since Cazna's shadow darkened the door behind the envoy. The marshal spared her a weary glance before putting his attention squarely on "Lady Sarthyra."<br>
<br>
He cleared his throat. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam. I'm Marshal Swybeck, and this is Grand Chaplain Danthyn. Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm certain there's much to discuss given the happenings up north."<br>
<br>
After giving a stately bow, he sat himself in a wooden chair next to a small, square table, across from which the envoy would be expected to sit in her own chair. The chaplain, meanwhile, continued to sit at his own dining table, even as an aide removed the remains of his meal and offered a fresh round of drinks for those present. It seemed as if he were present to monitor the situation, rather than taking direct part in it.<br>
<br>
"So," Swybeck began, "how might we conduct ourselves to best suit this alliance?" His tone harbored an unease, as if any request would be met with yet-unmentioned but also inescapable conditions.</div>
				
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Yz calmly donned the mask they always wore as they came into an encounter with Aelan Farandel and giving a small curtsey with their non-existent skirt. Meeting their eyes, Yz overlooked their mix reaction of opposition as well as a hint of fearfulness. Perhaps this encounter would prove more interesting than they initially thought, for they were just planning to walk out here for no reason as they had agreed with some of their more egocentric colleagues in arms that they would not engage in conflict. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Hello! I am- NOT</span>," Yz began, abruptly cutting themselves off as soon as they began talking. "-<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">in need of an introduction. Ohh, pretty little lady, you shouldn't be worrying yourself. I'm not here to do anything at all~! I was just waltzing through the neighbourhood and thought I'd check in on my dear friend, you!</span>" Yz gleefully spoke as they gave small, rapid claps in delight. Revelling at the experience and giggling like a little schoolgirl, Yz eventually calmed and stared straight at Aelan.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Do you fear, little lady? I don't have need to do anything to you, after all I don't even have a weapon to my name. We can be best friends, you and I, do you really need to put you and all those you want to help in danger because that's what other people expect you to? What people will think of your namesake? Don't you want everyone to just so peacefully get along?</span>" Yz asked as they hummed in thought, tilting their head slightly.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">COME, we can have a nice tea party, a nice tour of the neighbourhood. Do I truly feel like an enemy to you? I'm just a funny person in a mask. Your friends seem to think so, nobody else has cared that I'm here. Not even my cohorts or superiors know I am here, they just say whatever to look the other way, for they think I'm a little coo-coo. They'd be riiiiight~</span>" Yz laughed as they shrugged.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">But then again, I have forged the stars, and I might salt the earth too. When you put on the mask, naught can tell whether you're smiling or plotting. You can enjoy this with me too, come on my sweet little cupcake. Have a nice evening with me?</span>" Yz offered, making more cohesive sense than they did with Briggun and the other lieutenants for a change, although behind the faceless mask and staring eyes there was not a single thought in Yz's empty mind. This would be evidently clear when they would suddenly twitch violently and proclaim:<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">I COULDN'T TELL YOU, DEAR NECROMANCER. Haha, the glimmering roots tickle. Don't let them!</span>" Yz spoke randomly, looking to Aelan for confirmation on... something.</div>
				
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			"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam. I'm Marshal Swybeck, and this is Grand Chaplain Danthyn. Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm certain there's much to discuss given the happenings up north."
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Lady Sarthyra bowed as well, to both the Marshal and the Grand Chaplain, before taking her seat across from the Marshal. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Yes, a certain number of things are happening to the north. None of them unexpected, given the relations between Saarus and its northern neighbors over the past decade."</span> she commented as she sat, glancing towards the drink that had been poured and set aside for her.<br>
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			"So," Swybeck began, "how might we conduct ourselves to best suit this alliance?"
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<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Ah, straight to the point."</span> she responded, taking the cup in hand and lifting it to her lips. She smelled it first, inhaling the aroma coming from the cup's contents, before taking a sip. A habit she had acquired over the years. Once she had finished, she lowered the cup back to the table and glanced up to the Marshal.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Well, my lord sent me to ask you the very same question!"</span> she said, with a smile. She glanced over to the Grand Chaplain, before speaking again. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"We, over the years, have often made demands and requests from you with little to show for it. I understand the hesitation to hold up your ends of the alliance when we don't hold up our own."</span><br>
<br>
She paused for a moment letting what she said sink in, before continuing. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Lord Briggun wishes to know just what the Empire can do to strengthen the alliance between our two nations. After all, our nations were both born of from rather terrible circumstances... We've both suffered the worst of injustices. We share a common bond."<br>
<br>
"And so, my Lord asked me to bring you an interesting proposition."</span> she then said, returning her gaze to the Marshal. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...Do you wish for your people to be reunited in harmony? For past transgressions to be answered for and corrected? To put an end to a wrong that has been forced upon you and the people of Sandach?"</span></div>
				
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			"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">I COULDN'T TELL YOU, DEAR NECROMANCER. Haha, the glimmering roots tickle. Don't let them!</span>" Yz spoke randomly, looking to Aelan for confirmation on... something.
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Having heard the creature's strange appeal for peaceful dialogue, Aelan was nonetheless certain that she couldn't trust them at all- not for a walk, not for a "tea party," and certainly not to "enjoy" whatever madness was inspiring Yz's actions and speech. The elf glared at her. <span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"...That's enough. I don't care if you're unarmed; I'll only have your company if you intend to surrender. Otherwise, if you got through the border, then there's a breach somewhere, and we need to close it off! Rouse the camp!" </span>she directed her bodyguard before drawing her sword. <span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"Tell them to fan out in case this lunatic has backup!"</span><br>
<br>
While the bodyguard dutifully hurried to alert the elvan army, Aelan carefully kept Yz at the tip of her sword, slowly sidestepping to get closer to her own soldiers. Yz stood unbothered by all this, as despite what Aelan might have believed at the moment, the entity wasn't the least bit phased by her actions. It would be a fairly simple matter for Yz to disappear into the night as easily as they appeared. <span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"...What would you even do?" </span>she asked, her voice dripping with loathing. <span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"You and Briggun's other <i>freaks... </i>what would you do to Erevan if I let you through?"</span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---<br>​</div>



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			<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"And so, my Lord asked me to bring you an interesting proposition."</span> she then said, returning her gaze to the Marshal. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...Do you wish for your people to be reunited in harmony? For past transgressions to be answered for and corrected? To put an end to a wrong that has been forced upon you and the people of Sandach?"</span>
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The Grand Chaplain seemed to choke on his drink, momentarily, while Swybeck did a double-take between him and the Imperial Envoy. "A- are you...? Are you suggesting that Saarus is prepared to assist us... That you'll help Weildach see the light at long last?" Swybeck stammered.<br>
<br>
The Chaplain, having cleared his throat, now interjected. "Now, let's be <i>realistic," </i>he cautioned the Marshal before turning his attention back to Lady Sarthyra. "We all know that Emperor Briggun holds no interest in our spiritual lives, and so we must conclude that a suddenly increased commitment on Sandach's behalf is a front for some other, practical motivation," he declared. "So, what is truly guiding the Emperor's hand this time? Is there some great prize in the mainland that he seeks?"<br>
<br>
Swybeck seemed to grow a bit pale as the Chaplain berated the Envoy. Only a member of the church, second only to the government in its political authority and matched by none in matters of morals, could brazenly question the Emperor's motives like this. "Or maybe," he quickly interrupted in order to soothe the tension, "Saarus recognizes that a people reunited under an allied banner will turn Sandach from a minor ally into a major one."</div>
				
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<br>
Yz just watched Aelan with slight amusement as they took such serious reaction to their presence. Raising an eyebrow at the intention to awaken her troops, Yz scoffed as they didn't even understand why they were visibly so panicked about one of Briggun's lieutenants crossing the border yet not actually caring about dealing with said lieutenant first.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Ahah, she thinks I came with backup. Good one</span>" Yz chuckled softly before bending their legs as to imitate that they were sitting on an invisible chair, twirling the contents of a non-existent wine glass in their hand.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">You know, it's often rude to ignore guests and call them a freak, we're all alive and thinking just the same</span>" Yz answered as they took a sip of the air space that was their wine glass before gesturing to Aelan's troops.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">For all you know, I'm just here to get you paranoid into thinking that there's an actual danger. Maybe the danger has already happened. Oh, wouldn't it be so nice if there was someone who had all the answers who was completely unarmed and not a threat at all just ripe for the capturing?</span>" Yz teased as they gently placed down the fake wine glass and stood up, stretching their arms.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Imagine how impressed your superiors would be if you captured one of Briggun's 'freaks' just like that?</span>" Yz taunted as they held their wrists out like waiting to be handcuffed. Sighing that their jokes and gestures might not get anywhere, they crossed their arms and began acting and talking seriously. <br>
<br>
To answer her question, Yz thought for a moment. "<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Well, probably nothing at all. If you just decided not to fight, then Briggun would just consider the land as 'his' and move on. Those who oppose might find things less unfortunate, but that's not in my control. If he understood how well I did helping 'take' this land, he may offer it unto my jurisdiction, and it's not like I truly care about having a whole kingdom. I'm not even wholly a fan of all of Briggun's business too, I'm the nicest freak you could be graced with. I even came out here through all the difficulty just to say hello to this sweet little piece of something-something that I'm talking to. Although it's a nice bit of land you have, I'd only want a small piece for a little cute homestead, haha</span>".<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">But answer me this, little princess. What do your people and kind mean to you if you WANT to put them in war? What to you makes me the villain? A different name, a different mask? All we both do is work underneath someone who wants land for themselves for their own namesake, and people just fight over this for what? Pride? Leaders will have others fight for them because they regard themselves highly, but are too scared to stand by themselves and do it?</span>" Yz asked as they shook their head, beginning to propose an offer.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">None of Briggun or his Lieutenants even know that I'm here right now, I do not care for such conflict or disputes, I'm just here for my own fun and games. I can assure you nobody is with me or is even planning to attack. And, I'm completely alone and unarmed. So, I ask you once more little cupcake</span>" Yz spoke as they offered their open hand forward in gratitude and friendship.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Would you like to have a little tea-party with me? Indulge a little, darling~</span>".</div>
				
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			"So, what is truly guiding the Emperor's hand this time? Is there some great prize in the mainland that he seeks?... Or maybe Saarus recognizes that a people reunited under an allied banner will turn Sandach from a minor ally into a major one."
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<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Its a combination of the latter and the idea of being wronged. Lord Briggun himself knows that all too well."</span> responded Lady Sarthyra, <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"You don't have to share spirituality and religious inclinations in order to feel for another person or people on an emotional level."<br>
<br>
"Besides, there are those inside Saarus that have been studying the history and relations between your nation and Weildach, like myself. I've always been fascinated by the various religions of the world, and have been reading through various tomes about your beliefs and the history behind them. You could say I'm quite the spiritual type myself. We do have the Emperor's ear at times, like presently."</span><br>
<br>
She then took another drink from the cup, before offering a smile to the Chaplain. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Yes, a united ally is a strong ally. Yes, Lord Briggun believes you've been wronged and wrongs must be put right. But there's even more to it, for those of the spiritual mind in the Empire. Your ancestors believed that the people of the world should live in beautiful harmony. The prophets and their descendants passed these beliefs down through a multitude of generations. You yourselves believe the same. And now, in the present, Weildach strays from the path laid before them and trods the path of heretics. They continue to sew discord and hatred inside the hearts of all its citizens. They cast you and your brothers and sisters out. There will be no peaceful, perfect harmony or true unity among your people unless we act... together."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The twin armies marched forward with the force of an unstoppable tide, footfalls of man and steed alike crunching sand underfoot, Izaak shifted his head to look at his own. A rush of pride came at him from the depths of his cold heart as his eyes picked out the craggy armours of his knights, the padded gambeson of his footmen, and the dead, soulless sockets of his skeletal horde. He arrested such a feeling. It is good that, after all these years, he still feels the fire in his heart. The boons of emotion were not unknown to him, however, the detriments are well-known and he finds them far more disastrous with each passing day. <br>
<br>
Sometimes, he wonders if or when these sentimentalities would be the death of him? Perhaps today, or it could be in the distant tomorrow. <br>
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<blockquote data-attributes="member: 90552" data-quote="Vexumin" data-source="post: 11809970" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			<b>"Though I am certain this will be a battle worth enjoying, I am afraid that I have so few plans for the conflict ahead. I simply wish to spearhead our way into enemy territory. Perhaps find a town, fort or city to siege, and claim it as a hub from which to operate from. Patience and strategy will have to wait for now. My people grow restless. My spell caster, Rorika, can receive any spell communications that you have for me going forward. Feel free to use her to forward any pertinent information you may feel inclined to relay to me. I hope that I will be able to do the same through a caster of your own as well. A simple message spell would do, unless you have more pressing matters to discuss, then I can appear before you directly."</b><br>
<br>
<b>"We march <i>now</i>, Lord Rosach. I wish you good fortune in the coming days. If you will excuse me, I prefer to fight alongside my people."</b>
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The bone-plated Voivode turned back to Kolthix. Izaak pondered the shadeling Lord for a moment. Perhaps, they had a semblance of commonality beyond the ruthless efficiency. He recalls when a young boy skulked in the shadows of Castle Rosach, snug in the pale shadows of the cold, flagstone halls. When he watched as his father brought in men of high-standing, both far stronger than he and also far weaker. He remembers how his father threw the weight of his power around towards the less powerful ones, then heeled like a mangy dog before the ones who could actually threaten him.  He found it pathetic. Young Izaak learnt from his father's dealings. But where Izaak embraced the shadows unnecessarily, for the sport of it, he imagines Kolthix did it out of necessity and survival. <br>
<br>
A bitter wind was groaning towards them, snatching at his tough, sinewy cape of muscle behind him, as Kolthix began speaking. He walked in pace with the shadeling, clenching his hands behind his back. Revealing a plain blade sheathed in his leather scabbard. The quickening of his army did not escape the Master of Bones, if he had been a lesser man, he would've felt a tang of fear in his heart. Instead, the man nodded to Kolthix' biting words. He shared the relish. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: #f2d770">I am no stranger to mobile hubs, the cities or towns are yours to do with as you please. Should you find it, my men — the skeletals will join in the direct assault, while the others will flank. I have ample time for strategy, in fact, I'll share once my findings are conclusive. As for communiques, Demetra and her coterie of mages is ready to reply to any message you have in store.</span>" Izaak's voice rasped on the wind. Izaak stopped abruptly, looking forward as Kolthix sprinted with his army. He raised his voice a hair higher. "<span style="color: #f2d770">May good fortune find you.</span>" Saluting off with his gauntlet. <br>
<br>
At his beck and call, a ghastly steed rushed towards him. Each charging step reverberated as though it was summoning a thunderclap, its footfalls echoing through the dry, sun-scorched air. He leaped, grabbed hold of its reins, and slipped a bony sabaton in the bare-iron stirrup. The Voivode soon rejoined his army and retinue, marching at their own pace while seeing off the horde of writhing darkness. A few of the men shamefully breathed, feeling a sense of relief. <br>
<br>
It had taken almost two hours for Izaak's army to reach a suitable location to establish a temporary base of operations. The men had begun sharpening their blades with whetstones or inspecting their armours a final time. Demetra and her mages reciting canticles or arcane texts. The dead stood eerily still, becoming like statues over a graveyard's sullen grounds. Standing. Staring at the horizon. Izaak himself had secluded himself in the main tent, investigating the occurrence of the strange omens his men had witnessed a few nights prior. A brief analysis of the bottled water brought to Izaak's attention an unidentifiable impurity within the lake, bestowing hallucinogenic dreams upon the victims. He unscrolled a vellum roll, dabbing a swan quill pen in soot-bound ink. He pressed the nib gently, writing down his discoveries. <br>
<br>
He stepped out from the taut flaps of his tent, to convene with his lieutenants about how to best assault their next target. Once their scouts return. <br>
<br>
<a href="/members/vexumin.90552/" class="avatar avatar--xxs" data-user-id="90552" data-xf-init="member-tooltip">
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><blockquote data-attributes="member: 81471" data-quote="Sona Radar" data-source="post: 11811514" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11811514" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11811514">Sona Radar said:</a>
			
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			"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">But answer me this, little princess. What do your people and kind mean to you if you WANT to put them in war? What to you makes me the villain? A different name, a different mask? All we both do is work underneath someone who wants land for themselves for their own namesake, and people just fight over this for what? Pride? Leaders will have others fight for them because they regard themselves highly, but are too scared to stand by themselves and do it?</span>" Yz asked as they shook their head, beginning to propose an offer.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">None of Briggun or his Lieutenants even know that I'm here right now, I do not care for such conflict or disputes, I'm just here for my own fun and games. I can assure you nobody is with me or is even planning to attack. And, I'm completely alone and unarmed. So, I ask you once more little cupcake</span>" Yz spoke as they offered their open hand forward in gratitude and friendship.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Would you like to have a little tea-party with me? Indulge a little, darling~</span>".
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<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"You're too late to be asking <i>any</i> of these questions,"</span> Aelan snapped. <span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"Briggun has already attacked my people with that damned wyrm of his, and now you're asking if we want to fight back? Yes, I serve my King and my Queen, because they treat their subjects with kindness; your Emperor and his pawns are known throughout the realms for their greed and unbridled cruelty. I would have to be daft to think it a mere trifle!"</span><br>
<br>
Aelan's rage flared as she spoke, and it was clear that Yz's misogynistic and infantilizing approach was doing absolutely no good. Aelan was nobody's princess and had never been one to collect dolls or hold tea parties. She had spent her youth honing her swordplay and studying tactics, hardening her mind and sharpening her wit for the moment it would be needed. How <i>dare</i> this stranger trivialize it so? <span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"You... You think this is a game? Why don't you play something else then!? Or better yet, keel over and bleed to death!"</span><br>
<br>
Suddenly, Aelan lunged forward, deftly swiping with her sword at Yz's neck, but the creature effortlessly evaded her without so much as a flinch. Another slash met nothing but air, and soon, several of Aelan's soldiers, led by her bodyguard, all joined the fray. Try as they might, Yz seemed to blink back and forth as they they turn and spun, eventually slipping between two of the guards. A chase began, with Aelan screaming from the rear of the back, <span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)"><b>"KILL IT!"</b></span><br>
<br>
Then, quite suddenly, they lost Yz. As they turned a corner into the city market, the forms and shadows of their surroundings became difficult to discern, as if they had entered a wooded area. A shadowy figure in the distance attracted their attention, but as she turned, the soldiers failed to recognize her. They began to spread out, hopelessly searching the city a while longer, while Yz, without a mask, quietly exited the scene.<br>
<br>
---<br>
<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 64078" data-quote="Infab" data-source="post: 11811613" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11811613" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11811613">Infab said:</a>
			
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			She then took another drink from the cup, before offering a smile to the Chaplain. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Yes, a united ally is a strong ally. Yes, Lord Briggun believes you've been wronged and wrongs must be put right. But there's even more to it, for those of the spiritual mind in the Empire. Your ancestors believed that the people of the world should live in beautiful harmony. The prophets and their descendants passed these beliefs down through a multitude of generations. You yourselves believe the same. And now, in the present, Weildach strays from the path laid before them and trods the path of heretics. They continue to sew discord and hatred inside the hearts of all its citizens. They cast you and your brothers and sisters out. There will be no peaceful, perfect harmony or true unity among your people unless we act... together."</span>
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"Then let's act!" Swybeck replied, enthusiastically. Grand Chaplain Danthyn's reservations however were unabated. As far as he was concerned, Briggun's concern for the spiritual world ought to be limited to his own damned soul and figuring out what variation of Hell he would suffer for possessing it. His Envoy was doing a good job of convincing the Marshal, he knew, as the boy was enthusiastic for bloodshed above all else aside from the Gods. Danthyn knew, if he were to press this "Lady Sarthyra" on religious matters enough, he would expose her as a charlatan, and temper Swybeck's spirits a bit.<br>
<br>
"We will," Danthyn cautioned him, "when we are certain that the Empire fully understands the righteousness of our cause. We cannot commit to a holy war with anything less than absolute faith, nor should Saarus need involve themselves with an ally whose motives are... let's say... alien."<br>
<br>
The Grand Chaplain began with the basics, studying the envoy's responses carefully to see if she knew the myths as a farmer would know his field, or if it was merely an act. But as the conversation wore on, and the candles began to sag under the weight of their melted wax, Danthyn found himself <i>impressed.</i> "She knows our faith better than you do, Swybeck," Danthyn commented. The Marshal seemed shocked, maybe even insulted, but quickly he realized that this was exactly the response he had been hoping for.<br>
<br>
The two men shared a toast with Veno, to the alliance - and victory in Weildach.<br>
<br>
---<br>
<br>
Following his duel with Adanach, Faska led the former to his war camp. Their approach was noticed by the watchmen from afar, and quite rapidly a force was assembled to meet them at the perimeter. Faska's second in command, Urfan, accused his superior of having turned coat, but Faska denied it, telling his raiders that he had tested Adanach's mettle, and that the latter was a superior chief. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"None of ya dared put yerselves in my way 'less ya were ready to swallow a heap a yer own teef, an that's why ya took my orders- if I couldn't stop 'im, you can't neither."</span> There was a discordant sound of rejection from the camp, but Faska drew his sword and leveled its tip at the camp as if to warn them.<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)"> "Adanach rules in Mors Gobonach, now! Maybe one day, all o' Druadach... and Saarus too! You wanna get in <i>his</i> way, then either one of us'll put yah in the ground without a secon' thought, an' that's jus' the way it is. Tough shit!"</span><br>
<br>
Again, another wave of disapproval swept the camp as a few of Faska's best warriors gathered around Urfan, as if waiting for him to meet the former's challenge. Urfan stared his superior in the eye for a moment, his lip snarling at the thought of surrender until, reluctantly, he silenced the others, took out his spear, and threw it to the ground between the two sides in a fit of disgust before kneeling. A few of the others also threw down their weapons, but then proceeded to panic, running to their steeds or away on foot, scattering into the twilight of the day.<br>
<br>
Adanach's army would march to meet the dwindling goblin war camp and stay in its vicinity overnight. The following day, a headcount revealed that the majority of Faska's raiders had abandoned the encampment, leaving their weapons and much of their loot behind, as if to signal to their new Imperial masters that they had no intention of fighting the forces of Saarus. Faska and those loyal to him reorganized what remained into a new unit under Adanach's command, and new plans were drawn to tackle the surrounding territories.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---<br>​</div>Although Lucafiel's letter was carried dutifully to the border and taken by the courier, the Redeemer Prince received no reply from Iskulia's commander.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---<br>
<br>
<b>Turn 1 (Part 1 - The Northern Campaigns) - Year 735 - Late Spring<br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/corisia-2023-11-13-23-37-1-jpg.1131981/" target="_blank">View attachment Corisia 2023-11-13-23-37 1.jpg</a></b>​</div><br>
"S-sire," Makar stammered, bowing deeply as he entered the Emperor's throne room.<br>
<br>
The dark slit in Briggun's horned helm remained fixed on his goblin servant from afar. "Speak."<br>
<br>
Makar cleared his throat and stood as straight as he could, although for someone whose bones had been broken and mended many times, this failed to make him appear any less like a gnarled tree. "Your War Council has made their reports. Adanach has won you the land of Mors Gobonach and the loyalty of-"<br>
<br>
"Worthless land, squatted on by mongrels," Briggun interrupted. Makar's eyes went wide at the sharpness of the dismissal. He skipped the rest of the report, having realized that the Emperor wouldn't care about the fresh influx of soldiers Adanach had inspired to defect, as they were merely goblins. "...He has suffered no losses, sir, and seeks more valuable possessions in the barbarian lands."<br>
<br>
"Good."<br>
<br>
Makar pivoted to the south, wishing to keep the good news coming for as long as he could. Eventually, he would need to tell the Dark Lord of their losses, and likely suffer his wrath. "Captain Cordia has taken Teralia; her banshee's screech destroying the enemy without a fight. West of the Strait of Piantia, no vessels may pass through the Southern Sea without Imperial approval. The northern Weildach ports are stagnant, with ships laid up as if winter freeze is in effect."<br>
<br>
"And Sandach?" Briggun quickly demanded, his voice booming.<br>
<br>
"They are mobilizing!" Makar answered, cowering a bit at his lord's intensity. "The Black Rose has convinced them that we value their alliance, and will honor our word."<br>
<br>
There was a bit of a pause, and the a solitary, blackhearted chuckle escaped from Briggun's helmet. Makar knew better than to laugh with him, and instead focused on recalling the details of the more contested struggles. "Our armies clashed with Erevan in Wyldsylvain and Ysaval. The Headsman was successful in the pass, but Lady Falwyn... was... driven back, s-sire."<br>
<br>
Briggun leaned forward a bit on his throne, his gauntleted hand gripping the armrest. <b>"...How?"</b><br>
<br>
"Her army was met with ambush and trickery, and was forced to regroup," Makar explained, averting his eyes. "The others in the Sauroid Mountains have made preparations for their great surprise attack, in hopes that one of these two battles would call the Kingdom's attention away. B-but the Wolf of the South, Aelan Farendal- she stands her ground, sire."<br>
<br>
<b>"Cowards,"</b> he bellowed, "There are three Imperial soldiers for every blade in Sabersval at their command, and they fear the elf!? Send them a decree with my stamp, Makar: 'I will be visiting Sabersval in Summer. Whoever brings me the head of Aelan Farendal shall have a unit of my personal guard at their disposal for the remainder of this campaign."<br>
<br>
"Yes, sire," Makar replied, taking a moment to memorize the message.<br>
<br>
"What else?"<br>
<br>
Makar turned to the only other victory he could speak of. "Our forces skirmished with Piantians in Kaula. Alexandre was victorious."<br>
<br>
"Are refugees seeking asylum in Civiceria, then?"<br>
<br>
Makar shook his head. "Not yet, sire. More death will need to convince them. And... Weildach's lack of sea trade has made them increasingly reliant on the roads in Petrata. Most of the Piantians are fleeing <i>south,</i> towards their own mainland. Estro will likely need to take a more direct approach if his cult is to infiltrate the Dominion."<br>
<br>
Briggun grunted in annoyance, and with the gesture, beckoned a servant to bring him a drink. "Either that, or Cordia will need to sweep the Piantian Navy from the seas, to cut off that southern escape route. What of Lacans and Gantar?"<br>
<br>
"The enemy is dug-in, as you know," Makar quickly excused, "and so Lord Declan has begun his work to foster a slave rebellion. The Hallow Legion is in position in Kokaria, and has discovered the enemy is hiding a plague outbreak behind their closed borders."<br>
<br>
"Anything <i>else?"</i> Briggun demanded.<br>
<br>
Makar jumped a bit. He knew his Lord would be unsatisfied with stalling and excuses. He had little else to say about the campaign, and so he resorted to information bordering on totally irrelevant. "S-Sire, Tidiaus' halfling commander has sent you a private communication!" he blurted. Fishing around in his bag, the goblin eventually produced a letter sent from Munsie Moldive to Emperor Briggun.<br>
<br>
The latter held out his hand, and frantically, Makar hobbled across the ostentatious throne room on his crooked legs for an awkwardly long amount of time before finally placing the envelope in the Emperor's hand. As soon as it was handed off, Makar took several steps away, hoping to escape his Lord's fury should the letter upset him.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><i>To the Most Excellent and Triumphant Emperor Briggun,<br>
How should I describe my admiration? What words could capture the deep and stirring feelings which swell in my bosom? I must sing you my praises, oh Dark Lord, you are the only man I dream of-</i><br>​</div>Briggun crumpled the note into a ball and threw it down on the tiled floor without explanation. "Enough about Lacans. Tell me of Gantar!" he roared.<br>
<br>
Makar, having flown backwards an additional ten steps, stammered his reply. "Sire, the Voivode of Skulls has made his preparations and is in position to attack. Kolthix, however, went first, but his shadelings were driven back from Miraq by Zomach, the Trench Digger. Our forces out-number his nearly three-to-one, another attack must soon follow... It... must..."<br>
<br>
Briggun had risen from his chair and now loomed over the wretched goblin. He raised a gauntleted hand as if he were about to throttle his servant, but instead he placed it upon his lumpy head. "Better news, next time," he warned with a shake of his free finger. He released Makar, who nodded and thanked him, before quickly hobbling out of the room.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---​</div><br>
<b>Druadach Campaign</b><br>
<br>
With his ranks bolstered by the addition of Faska's former forces, Adanach marched onward, moving his camp to the northeast. Further north, the mountainous terrain of Mors Darak loomed, where humans and orcs made their homes. To the east lay Cyrmm, the sacred land of the wild elves and their enchanted waters. Along the way, the Son of the Druadach was unsurprised by the relative poverty of his newly-acquired territory. The land provided little in the way of resources, and much of the wealth gathered in Faska's war camp had been stolen from passing travelers. He knew that the Emperor would care little about this acquisition, and that he would need to keep moving.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Adanach, Son of the Druadach</b><br>
Meals from the Field // Symphony of War // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Mors Gobonach<br>
Strength: 4<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Adanach followed the lead "One is Too Few." He met Leena, an ex-lover of Faska, who provided him the location of Faska's sons in hopes that Adanach would help her enact revenge against the Bloody Bastard. Adanach gained the card "Bargaining Chips." He then met with Faska, and after a dialogue, the two decided to fight a duel to determine whether Adanach was worthy of ruling over the Druadach lands. After his victory, Faska swore his allegiance, bringing with him one token of goblin warriors to bolster Adanach's ranks.<br>
<br>
Followers:<br>
Faska, the Bloody Bastard --- Meals from the Field // The One and Only // Drenched in Death<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
A Leader of the Uncivilized - Tribal Forces which have dropped below strength 3 have a 1/3 chance of joining Adanach if he attacks them. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Pagan Zeal - In battle against highly religious factions, Adanach has a passive +2 advantage. (5 Uses.)<br>
Bargaining Chips - Gain +1 advantage against Faska after each victory against him. (3 Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Trinkets from Abroad - It isn't long before Adanach begins to notice an unusual amount of baubles from the west, as if Tidiaus had begun to trade with the goblins. That doesn't seem likely, and Adanach is captivated by the question of what brought these goods to Druadach (and especially, if there are any more).<br>
What The Rocks Are Cooking - The new goblin recruits have a strange dish that they're accustomed to cooking on stones placed directly over a campfire, which they claim is far superior for feeding an army than what the Empire is supplying. They offer to teach the recipe if Adanach helps gather the ingredients.<br>
<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Gwrtheyrn, Druid King of the Cyrmm</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // Never Surrender<br>
Location: Cyrmm<br>
Strength: 5<br>
<br>
An elder wild elf and a keeper of traditions, the Druid King is a spiritual guide to both the people of Cyrmm and the many pilgrims who come to the waters of Cyrmm Da Loch to experience its purported magic. He does not seek to fight with others, but after the fall of Mors Gobonach to Imperial Banners, he must now confront the idea that an army of foreigners, even one led by a barbarian like Adanach, could soon march on and defile the sacred lands of Cyrmm if he does not fiercely guard it. He has his doubts that Adanach would be so bold; the lands of Mors Darak would be more valuable to the dreaded Saarus plunderers, and perhaps even easier to take. But Gwrtheyrn suspects that Adanach might not attack for another reason- that the man is deluded, and truly believes himself to be the savior of Druadach. Such a man would never raise his blade against the Druid King, but would rather seek his alliance. Gwrtheyrn is in an unenviable position, if that is the case, because he must oppose Adanach, even if he cannot hate him.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Torrin, The Ironheart</b><br>
With Guile and Cunning // Come What May // A Reckoning for the Wicked<br>
Location: Mors Darak<br>
Strength: 4<br>
<br>
Torrin, a fanatical half-orc warrior, has established herself in Mors Darak as not only an enforcer of tribal law, but a shrewd strategist. It is said that the bronze helm she wears grants her a certain sight in battle that others lack, and that she attacks as if she had already foreseen her victory in a dream. Outside of battle, she is a mother of two, and ardently enjoys hunting and pottery. She dreams of one day raising a son or a daughter who will become the ruler of all of Druadach. When rumor reached her that a man marching under the orders of Emperor Briggun held the same dream, she flew into a rage, raising the largest army she could in hopes of killing the bastard before he could spoil her hopes and dreams.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
The Helm of Eimhir - In battle, if opponent has advantage and superior strength, 1/3 chance Torrin wins automatically. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
<b>Erevan Campaign</b><br>
<br>
Yz' adventure into Sabersval was not reported to their colleagues, who continued their preparations for the coming invasion while waiting for a prime opportunity. Unbeknownst to them, the masked stranger had whipped up a frenzy of paranoia in Aelan Farandel, who immediately sought approval to stay in her current location, rather than relocating to the east as she was advised. In the end, approval was granted. Aelan thus dug in, but did not find the route Yz used to enter the territory. Meanwhile, Kande has raised an increasing voice of alarm at the lack of reinforcements coming to his aid. With his experience, he knew that his early victory against Lady Falwyn was a fluke, and that further confrontations would be unlikely to go his way. However, the Kingdom's leaders were far more concerned with Rotwellain's minor defeat at the hands of Sigurd of Ravgoth. They have begun the mobilization of their reserves in the capital province, but political divisions have begun to form over who is to lead this force.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Baba Voyka, the Warsome Grandma</b><br>
Try and Take It // The One and Only // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Sauroid Mountains<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Baba followed the lead "The Hungry and the Desperate" and discovered that local children were stealing supplies from Imperial camps by night. She gained the card "Young Scouts" which will allow her to employ these children in future battles, to locate and raid enemy supply caches.<br>
<br>
With temperatures rising, frost becomes rarer and conditions become more comfortable in foothills. The Imperial soldiers are restless, but fear and respect the old hag enough not to question her leadership, for now. Her new recruits, the young scavengers from Brus, learn from the regulars how to travel long distances while wasting little time or supplies, and how to efficiently send messages.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Dreamwalker - On defeat in battle, Baba has a passive 1/3 chance of costing her opponent a token to draw even. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Tough Skin - Passively immune to being poisoned. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Young Scouts - Grants supply strategy A in addition to the user's selected strategy. (3 Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Ancient Kin - Some of the horned are known for their ability to survive in the harsh cold, and as Baba goes about her planning, she occasionally glances at the high mountaintops where, at the fringe where the rocky wall meets the white-gray sky above, there appears to be a line of trees where they might have wandered, many years ago. She wonders whether one could see into Erevan from such a vantage... or vice versa.<br>
Ghosts of the Past - A few of the new scouts have been chattering about the orphan in their midst from Senta. Before their recruitment, he had spoken to them about a relic buried somewhere in the ruins of the village that might help them survive a crossing over the mountains into Erevan, should their famine continue to worsen. Baba wonders if there's any truth to it, or if it's merely the forlorn hope of the destitute which drives him to make up stories.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Borok Ronillson, the Grand Runesmith</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Sauroid Mountains<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Borok investigated the lead "The Demon's Gate" and discovered that the mountain's "breathing" was caused by volcanic activity below the surface. By manipulating the magma chamber and the secondary vent the Sauroids tapped into, Borok has discovered a way to cause an eruption that would devastate Sabersval, and has gained the card "Volcanic Plume."<br>
<br>
As the weeks pass by, Borok grows tired of sharing space with the other lieutenants and their bloated armies. His own diggers have done the lion's share of the work, and he feels a growing sense of entitlement for some kind of reward, once the operation finally kicks off. And it will, now that he has discovered a method to greatly wound the natural landscape on the north side of the range, and its occupants.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Tools for Battle - Ahead of battle, Borok crafts weapons specifically targeting his enemy's weaknesses, granting him a +2 advantage. (3 Uses)<br>
Strength through Enchantment - When facing an opponent with attack strategy C, passively neutralizes their advantage. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Heat of the Forge - Passively immune to burning. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Volcanic Plume - Occupant of Sabersval loses one token. (1 Use)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Soft Ground - As the Sauroid diggers have reached the shallow ground near the Elvan territory, they have found the ground softening and giving away surprisingly quickly. One day, as the operation nears, Borok pauses and considers the utility of digging even further, rather than simply surfacing and crossing overland as the others intend.<br>
Pests in the Tunnels - Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Sauroids aren't the only ones digging tunnels under the mountains. While digging for extra storage space in preparation for the invasion, Borok's men discover a separate, shoddily-built tunnel system under the rock- a sign that kobolds might be in the area. Borok considers the opportunity to gain some cheap labor.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Lady Falwyn Tholmar, the Dragonlord</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Ostmajora<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Lady Falwyn attacked Kande Abdolon in Ysaval, but was driven back, losing one token.<br>
<br>
Retreating away from the deep woods of Ysaval into the rural countryside of Ostmajora, the army of the Dragonlord licks its wounds. Little has changed in the last few weeks, as the mild weather continues.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Dragon's Fury - If Falwyn defeats an opponent with attack strategy A, they lose <i>two</i> tokens. (Infinite Uses.)<br>
Dragonflight - If traveling over allied territory, Falwyn can move across two provinces in a single turn. (Infinite Uses.)<br>
Golden Majesty - Upon conquering an enemy territory for the first time, Falwyn instantly gains a free token. (3 Uses.)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Once and Future...? - Somewhere in Ostmajora, a prince of a now (nearly) extinct royal family is rumored to be alive and living under a false identity. His existence might be a legend, as the royal jewels went missing when his kingdom fell to Briggun and the people may have invented his story in order to cope, or maybe, just maybe, there is a very crafty half-elf living in a shack somewhere with a truly impressive fortune under his floorboards.<br>
Tears of the Vale - The great mountains separating Saarus from Erevan feed several major rivers on both sides of the continent's spine. From her vantage point in the air, while plotting her coming assault, Falwyn notices that one of Erevan's largest rivers is fed by an isolated mountain spring on the Empire's side of the border. Perhaps this might be useful...<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Vuldar Elegast, Sigurd of Ravgoth</b><br>
Try and Take It // The One and Only // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Poggost<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Sigurd launched an attack on Rotwellain's forces in the pass and emerged victorious, costing the enemy one token.<br>
<br>
Just as they feared, the elvan border guards were the first to die when Sigurd launched his attack in early spring. The narrow pass meant that Rotwellain's numerical advantage was moot, and so the headsman's elite personal guard made mincemeat of the elvan vanguard. Having beaten them back roughly two hundred meters, the Imperial Forces now face a heavily-fortified wall which will require the use of siege equipment to overcome. The snow is thawing, and the dead bodies from the first attack lay rotting in the pass, stinking the area to high heaven. Sigurd considers his options, to continue pressing the attack, or to seek other advantages.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
The Fear is Enough - If a weaker foe attacks while this card is active, they lose a token due to abandonment, regardless of the battle's outcome. (5 Uses.)<br>
Unyielding Contempt - At the cost of a token for one turn, Sigurd can bypass an enemy territory without a fight. (5 Uses.)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Howling Dark - Some nights, Sigurd is awoken by the sound of wolves howling, but it is not the normal, mournful call. No, something larger and more frightening stalks these frozen woodlands.<br>
Oracle Bones - While looting the bodies of the fallen, Sigurd's soldiers uncover something unsettling: the body of an elf whose ribs are broken open and exposed to the air. Tiny runes and phrases are etched into the bones themselves.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Yz, Identity Requiem</b><br>
Meals from the Field // Nothing is Safe // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Sauroid Mountains<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Yz followed the lead "The Travelling Troupe" and discovered that the actors are quite good at ad-libbing and mimicking Yz's behavior. For a small fee, they agreed to stand in as body doubles, granting Yz the card of the same name. Yz then attempted to parlay with Aelen Farandel in secret, but found her to be too short-tempered and paranoid to agree to a proper meeting.<br>
<br>
Although Yz's attempt to have a civilized conversation with the Wolf of the South goes poorly, they return to the south side of the mountain feeling that not all was a waste; Yz has encountered her sort of hot-headed, trust-no-one response before, and knows that it can be worn down. Pig-headed people are driven by confidence in a cause. Take that away, and they quickly lose sight of their supposed purpose in life.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Yz-Arts - Yz cannot be taken prisoner. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Without Identity - If not wearing a mask, Yz is unrecognizable to any enemy that has not fought them and can travel freely in their territory. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Body Doubles - If a foe targets Yz with a card, the effect is negated. (3 Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Erasing the Traces - While wandering about, Yz chances upon a crumbling graveyard full of headstones. There, the once-living have been relinquished of every possession, aside from their name. An identity that continues to trap them, long after the world has given them up; Yz feels a wild urge to smash the headstones and allow the dead to be forgotten.<br>
Tears of the Moon - Some of Yz' followers have discovered small, sapphire-like gemstones embedded in the stone cliff faces of the mountain range. All agree that there seems to be something special about these gems, but as to what that might be, no one is sure.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Aelan Farandel, the Wolf of the South</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // Come What May // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Sabersval<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Encountering Yz unexpectedly has badly shaken Aelan. She misses sleep most nights, afraid of being caught unaware, and has increased her personal guard. Her paranoia begins to weigh on her army, but they are nonetheless well-situated in the verdant valleys of southern Erevan as they wait for additional action to come their way. Thankfully, her patrols continue to miss the entrance to the Sauroid tunnels, and so she concludes that Yz must have snuck into the country during Lady Falwyn's attack to her east.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Kande Abdolon, Viper of the Reach</b><br>
Liberate the Materiel // Colleagues in Arms // Never Surrender<br>
Location: Ysaval<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Ysaval remains free of Imperials for the moment, but Kande is nonetheless furious. For all his life, he has strived to demonstrate excellence as a warrior and a leader, and for all that effort, the elves still regard him as an inferior voice in the room. Reinforcements are being mobilized in the north of the country, but in all likelihood they will be sent to Rotwellain, who already commands the lion's share of the Kingdom's forces in a position where sheer numbers are irrelevant, and everyone knows it. It's enough to boil his blood, and only at the advice of his best lieutenants does he avoid sending one-too-many strongly worded letters to his superiors about the situation. He is reminded that the Royal Family is not exactly handling the news of Briggun's renewed attack with a healthy mindset, and until the nobles get their house in order, he's unlikely to receive the support he deserves. Quietly, he considers the unthinkable. If his betters cannot do what's necessary to bolster his vulnerable flank, then perhaps Kande will need to seek an audience with his enemy instead.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Rotwellain Martiel, Gatekeeper of the World</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // A Reckoning for the Wicked<br>
Location: Wyldsylvain<br>
Strength: 4<br>
<br>
The attack has come, and from the most obvious and defensible angle! Despite this, Rotwellain's forces suffer staggering losses in the opening maneuvers as Sigurd lives up to his reputation. Rotwellain knows that he cannot suffer another defeat on the heels of his first, and has asked for immediate reinforcements to replace the men and women he lost. While his confidence hasn't waned, the general's ire for the Empire has risen by several notches, and he sorely wants to remind Sigurd, Briggun, and the rest of their accursed loss of whom they're dealing with.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Gantar Campaign</b><br>
<br>
Far away, on the continent's northern coast, the Sultan received word that Miraq was attacked by monsters. He disregarded the news; it wasn't uncommon for creatures of the night to make a sudden appearance now and then at the realm's edge, and nevertheless, the local tribesmen drove them back. It was as if the event never really happened. Instead, the Sultan spent the early spring focused on news from Erevan and Piantia- the former being a bellwether to tell if Briggun's latest offensive would truly, finally threaten the Sultanate with a violent takeover, and the latter threatening to cut Gantar off with its trade partners in Weildach.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Izaak Rosach, The Voivode of Skulls</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Ostminora<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Izaak investigated the lead "Crystal Lake" which revealed that the waters of said remote lake are tainted with an impurity which causes delusional behavior. Knowing this, Izaak bottles as much as he can, knowing that it can be used against his foes in the future. He gains the card "Bottled Omens."<br>
<br>
Having found cleaner water sources, Izaak's army made camp in early spring in order to better plan his attacks. The weather was clear, and was getting warmer with each passing day until the sandy expanse in the distance began to shimmer with the bending light of mirages. His scouts, probing Miraq's defenses every day, sometimes returned so dehydrated that they openly begged for more water, even threatening to break into the tainted supply that Izaak has saved for his enemies. The Voivode of Skulls gazed out over the landscape and felt a sense of urgency; his skeletal warriors would have no problem in an environment like this, but the Imperial soldiers sent by Briggun were ill-equipped to survive unless the campaign was short and easy.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Skeletal Warriors - If Izaak wins a battle against a non-undead opponent, he will have a +1 advantage on the following turn. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Raising an Army - While occupying territory that was forcibly taken the prior turn, Izaak gains a token every other turn until strength 5. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Bottled Omens - Gain +3 advantage against a mortal target for one turn. (1 Use)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Lonesome Tower - Near the edge of the mountain ridge separating Saarus from Gantar, a shadow juts out from the landscape in just such a way as to convince Izaak that there's a tower on the Gantar side which might be worth exploring.<br>
An Unguarded Caravan - From a distance, the scouts spot a long wagon train struggling to cross the desert. From their dress and heading, Izaak can assume that they're Civicerians, returning from a trade mission to Gantar itself. Why the caravan isn't escorted by soldiers is anyone's guess.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Kolthix the Cackler</b><br>
Everywhere At Once // Nothing is Safe // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Ostminora<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Kolthix attempted to attack the territory of Miraq, but was defeated and lost one token.<br>
<br>
Although they fought well, the inhospitable terrain and quick response of the tribesmen under Zomach's command were enough to chase the shadelings back into the night. The attack made little difference in the grand scheme of things; Zomach for one wasn't even aware that he was under attack from the Saarus Empire due to his political illiteracy. Having recovered in Ostminora, Kolthix would now have the opportunity to reconsider his leads before the next gamble.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
From Unbound - Passively defeats any card which presents physical defensive barriers against attackers. (Infinite Uses)<br>
One with the Dark - Unless kept in perfect light, Kolthix cannot be taken prisoner. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Gods and Demons - Along the route to the edge of the Empire, the Shadelings discover a crumbling temple dedicated to the same Gods worshipped in southern Gantar by the tribal people. Kolthix can't help but wonder if there are forms depicted within which might aid in the conquest.<br>
A Stitch in Time - Rumors of a skilled weaver in the area somehow reach the approaching Saarus Imperial forces. According to the story, a craftswoman in northern Ostminora knows of a technique to weave a cloth which renders the wearer invisible during the night. Kolthix is reminded of his own abilities, and wonders, with some suspicion, of how the weaver achieved the same effect.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Zomach, the Trench Digger</b><br>
With Guile and Cunning // Come What May // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Miraq<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
The day following Kolthix's attack, Zomach simply returned to digging ditches as if nothing was wrong. His followers, however, began to investigate what evidence remained on the battlefield and soon came to understand that their enemy wasn't simply a mob of monsters, but had acted in unison- an organized front. At their insistence, Zomach began to make preparations for further attacks, sending out word to the most far-flung villages to the east to bring up more men to protect Gantar. However, few answer the call.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Lacans Campaign</b><br>
<br>
As the weather continued to warm, it stabilized and the heavy storms gave way to more occasional, gentle rains. Activity along the Kokarian sea coast increased as the fishing villages lurched reluctantly into action, while the farmers further inland began to plant the new season's crop. In Tidiaus, trade increased with the northern realms of the Arantino Republic and Kingdom of Lorei, while Munsie Moldive led recruitment drives for the defense of her realm.<br>
<br>
<b>Declan Asquith Elron, First Viceroy of Sathesbury</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Tidiaus<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Declan followed the lead "Breaking the Chains?" and was joined by a number of escaped slaves. These men and women have been promised a better life if they assist him in causing a slave revolt. He has gained the card "Blinded Liberators."<br>
<br>
Setting up camp, Declan's army relaxed after the long march to Tidiaus. While they strengthened their morale for the coming battle, news arrived from elsewhere in the world about their comrades' victories and failures, which the Viceroy studied carefully. The defenses of Lacans were daunting, but if attacked carefully, it would have been possible to wear the defenders down, or perhaps collapse their efforts entirely. Declan would not be goaded into attacking too soon.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Soulstealer - If this card is in play and Declan wins a battle, he will possess the enemy commander's soul, instantly defeating their army. (3 Uses)<br>
Diplomat - If this card is in play and Declan loses a battle, he will avoid losing a token. (3 Uses)<br>
Blinded Liberators - If Declan attacks in the same turn as a slave revolt, both armies gain +2 Advantage. (2 Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Through the Grapevine - One night, a courier arrives on horseback from Oitvemia carrying a note from Petrokos Aklessia, intended for Munsie Moldive. He hands the letter off to an officer of Declan's camp, however, providing the Viceroy a chance to eavesdrop.<br>
Where None Dare Tread - The melting snow has revealed the entrance to some sort of shrine on the side of a mountain that overlooks Oitvemia. Declan asks around and learns that the locals know and fear the shrine as a place of ancient evil. He ponders for a moment whether it would be prudent to send a party in to explore.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Lucafiel sa Helendal, the Redeemer Prince</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Kokaria<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Lucafiel investigated the lead "Something Rotten in Iskulia" and discovered that the enemy is suffering from a plague. Should the borders be opened, said plague would undoubtedly cross into Imperial lands, but luckily the Lacans are quite insular aside from their trade ships, which carry (among other things) medicine to the territory. Knowing this, he gained the card "Snake Oil." Lucafiel also exchanged letters with Ikono Manakles, who refused to entertain any dialogue which would see the two in the same room, insisting that they only meet on the battlefield.<br>
<br>
As the days passed by, Lucafiel was increasingly convinced that his foes would only respond to force. His army would welcome such a decree, as they had become more and more restless as time has gone on, trying to push the local population into becoming more productive for the good of the Empire and for the army's purposes of supply.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Red Comet - When played, Lucafiel may redefine his three strategies. (Infinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns)<br>
Hand of Life - Lucafiel can revive a dead character, or kill one who trusts him. (Infinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns)<br>
Snake Oil - False cures for the plague are sent to Iskulia, giving them a disadvantage of 2. (2 Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Lacansic Pantheon - The people of Kokaria express a familiarity with the gods worshipped in Lacans, and openly provide direction to temples in the north of the province which were erected in dedication of the same deities. Lucafiel's curiosity is drawn to these old structures.<br>
Cult of Personality - It comes to the attention of Lucafiel that a small number of Kokarians (and presumably, people in other territories) worship the Emperor as a sort of avatar of destruction. His War Council is likewise to be honored with cultish devotion. Such a thing could prove very useful...<br>
<br>
<b>Munsie Moldive, Fox of the Forest</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Nothing is Safe // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Tidiaus<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Having failed to get a private audience with Declan, and having not received a response to her letter for the Emperor, Munsie feels an increasingly dire need to prove herself. For one, she seeks a power which might separate her from the common rabble, as most of the War Council are more than mere mortals. For example, while there are plenty of mages under her command, her specific request for "wizened witchcrafters of world renowned" has prompted more than a few eye-rolls. In a fit of anger, she declared to one lieutenant that if she doesn't receive a chance to make her mark, and soon, then she will take it upon herself to lead the invasion into Lacans.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Ikono Manakles, the Ram of Iskulia</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Iskulia<br>
Strength: 6<br>
<br>
After his exchange of letters with Lucafiel, Ikono is convinced that the Imperial threat is nothing to be concerned about. He openly brags in the forum that Briggun has sent a "weakling" to beg for dialogue, and that he has only replied with a promise of death. His remarks are met with general enthusiasm from the public, but some begin to wonder whether the young man's hubris will be the downfall of their country's independence.<br>
<br>
<b>Petrokos Aklessia, The People's Hammer</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // Colleagues in Arms // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Oitvemia<br>
Strength: 6<br>
<br>
Petrokos is relieved to have not battled Imperial or allied forces so far. Carefully, he plots his next move, quietly penning a letter to the halfling commander in Tidiaus in hopes of gaining some insight into the enemy's designs. Lacans is still officially at peace, the people feel secure, and Petrokos is still very popular, but he still dines alone and ruminates on his every weakness, afraid that some unseen vulnerability will destroy him if he does not catch it first.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Come the passage of several weeks into the later days of a rainy spring, the Imperial forces encamped in and around the remains of Akatoria Castle conducted their time with stoicism. There was much that needed to be prepared for when engaging in a military campaign and the lower territories of Lacans were nothing if not formidable. For the most part, these preparations were little more than mundane labor: their encampment had been fortified upon their arrival, with palisades erected around entrenched tents and cabins within the perimeter while outside extensive pits had been dug to hinder any attack upon their position be it from infantry or cavalry; among the logistical officers, planners, and tradesmen within the Legion, efforts were taken to keep the assembled force well-fed and maintained, though given to their usual tactics, scouts were probing enemy territory to establish watchpoints to supply their eventual advance without the necessity of an immense and burdensome supply line; and lastly, matters concerning the plague were brought to the foremost attention of the soldiers.<br>
<br>
This latter point had become a particular focus. Lucafiel knew and understood sickness. In the depths of his mind, in histories nearly forgotten to him and even his surviving people as a whole, there had been those who created illness - crafted it like wicked gods of cosmic apocalypse who bestowed curses upon mortal health with whimsy, sometimes as a demented blessing to their divine inclinations or as a supreme punishment. He didn't think the Forbidden One had been one such creature, for none of what remained of his memories were particularly knowledgeable with bestowing sickness upon other peoples of other existences. The lives of the Vestati had been that of warriors, enforcers, and servants. Eternal servitude to creatures of a higher order, now expunged from their very minds. But still those dark whispers remained, of workshops lost within the space between realms, growing and twisting malign matter to ensure pestilence reigned upon the mortal body.<br>
<br>
It was a disgusting and dreadful thing, and while Lucafiel had some level of general distaste for many of the lesser races, he could not abide by the anarchial display of <i>disease</i>. It was as unpredictable as it was uncouth. The Vestati were blessed with sound bodies even as their minds shattered and spun like the crystalline splinters of a dropped chalice, and so when he looked upon those taken with illness, he felt both contempt for the sick as well as wishing to pity them. As such, the Vestati had deigned to implement rigorous policies going forwards while dealing with the Lacans campaign.<br>
<br>
Writ upon numerous signs within public areas and repeatedly told to footman and officer alike, the Hallow Legion was engaging in their first proper battle - with disease. Plague had yet to touch them as they had not yet advanced over the border, which had already seen little traffic before their arrival and even less now that they were encamped, but Lucafiel desired the legion to be well-drilled and already accustomed to the rigorous actions needed to stop the spread of the plague, unpopular as some steps would be.<br>
<br>
Displayed prominently before the entrance to the main keep of Akatoria Castle was one such familiar sign to those of the legion, in which it read in no uncertain words:<br>
<br>




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			<div style="text-align: left"><i><span style="font-size: 15px">To all who reside beneath the beatific gaze of the Redeemer Prince, such actions as listed below are now to be taken with utmost fervor under strict penalty of rationing, whipping, and forfeit of pay and luxuries. </span></i><br>
<span style="font-size: 15px"><br>
<i>Primus - Muzzles and mouths are to be contained within wrapped cloth during waking hours. Full body bathing is to be enforced at a minimum of twice weekly at section commander's discretion. Rations of soap are to be free for all legionnaires for the duration of this time. Excess filth will be met with excess punishment. <br>
<br>
Secundus - Fraternization between sections is to hereby remain limited to selected officers and delegates only. All sections are permitted increased leisure time and alcohol rationing. <br>
<br>
Tertius</i> - <i>Battlefield and subsidiary looting is prohibited to prevent the spread of animalcules for the duration of seven days upon capture; following a period of seven days departure from a corpse or home, looting of the field or subsidiary will be permitted under direction of section commanders. <br>
<br>
Quartus - All foreign bodies are to be burned without delay. </i><br>
</span><br>
<i><span style="font-size: 15px">Quintus - Persons are to be quarantined upon affliction for a duration of the illness in addition to three days time upon recovery. As necessary, temporary sections of the ill will be raised to labor in unison without risk to unafflicted compatriots.  </span></i>​</div>
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These regulations were not entirely new, for the Vestati had long been concerned with the control and mitigation of disease, among other things. From the labor camps, work rotas, and other military detachments, an orderly assembly was a successful assembly. Vestati overseers and their auxiliary companions valued finesse when applicable, but dereliction of higher directives that could compromise the health and efficiency of any operation was perhaps one of the greatest sins that could be committed under their purview. <br>
<br>
From a small shaded balcony of the large keep, enveloped with moss and the odd patch or so of plaster to shore up crumbling brickwork, Lucafiel observed the Legion's military encampment with the measured eye of an experienced commander. The rains had subdued to some extent, even granting a few clear days with most being gray and overcast, and he could see hundreds of little plumes of smoke emerging across the perimeter, from cook fires roasting meats and stews to simple braziers keeping sentries and soldiers warm. Sections - comparable to platoons or companies of men - kept to their own spaces as directed, training, resting, and relaxing within their own isolated islands within the camp. At the moment there was more leeway in these interactions - particularly labor teams such as cooks or engineers - but this would become stricter once they entered the plague-ridden lands of their enemy. <br>
<br>
Much activity was around the baths, both an item of hygiene and recreation. Shallow pits had been dug and bricked in to serve as bathing spots for the legion, with water constantly being heated and poured in; once one group had conducted their time, the water would be drained to a secondary waste pool where the water was strained, boiled, and recycled. It was a far cry from the iconic marbled baths of their established fortresses in the heart of the empire, where spring waters from the very earth bubbled up in pure clarity, clean enough to even drink. Here while on campaign it was a much more mechanical process, and one that took the heart out of some of the enjoyment of what should have been a good social activity for the Vestati. Lucafiel could see long lines of nude soldiers meandering through the cold air to the baths and reluctantly emerging once the water-masters dictated their time was done. <br>
<br>
After a little time of watching, Lucafiel returned to the heated confines of his chamber. His desk was not too far from the fireplace and he returned to penning some letters which had come to mind as needing to be addressed:<br>
<br>




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			<i><span style="font-size: 15px">Salutations, Viceroy Declan sa Elron,</span></i><br>
<span style="font-size: 15px"><br>
<i>I hope this missive finds you well. While I am sure your officers and scouts keep you well appraised of the conduct outside your jurisdiction, I am writing to inform you that there is a plague outbreak within the southern lands of Lacans, namely Iskulia. This is a warning. I urge you to take all precaution against the spread of these animalcules infecting the Lacans people regardless of their station. Your hopes to amass an army of slaves is noble, certainly, and with merit, but I caution their hygiene even in the north. Needless to say, plague will spread if left unwatched and it does not differentiate between slave and master, defeated and victorious. Once the business with Lacans is concluded, I would be most dismayed to learn your forces unwittingly carried plague back to the Empire. It would be disheartening to send my legion into villages to burn all once again, as we had done some seasons prior, for the peasants had labored hard that year. <br>
<br>
Namely, I caution refugees once the Hallow Legion advances. Appraise all without mercy. </i></span><br>
<br>
<i><span style="font-size: 15px">- Lucafiel sa Helendal, Commander of the Southern Front </span></i>
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Over several days of deliberation, and consulting a map of known Imperial positions, Lucafiel decided to write to Adanach's barbarian horde in hopes of bolstering his position with hardened warriors who were capable of wilderness warfare, for there were many spots within Lacans that would not be conducive to the Legion's typical formation fighting. While legionnaire skirmishers would serve well, they were also needed to screen for the main legion itself, and could not be allowed to stray too far unlike those who were of a more... chaotic inclination.<br>
<br>
Lucafiel pursed his lips in thought. How did one even address a barbarian woodsman? <i>Ugh....</i><br>
<br>




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			<i><span style="font-size: 15px">To the great warrior Adanach and clan,</span></i><span style="font-size: 15px"><br>
<br>
<i>The campaign to integrate Lacans will likely begin within the year and preparations go well. I, too, hope your activities in the east go well. However, I write with a request. The territory my legion faces is rather mountainous and wooded - ill land for easy maneuvering. If it is so possible, I am petitioning for a small forced of your soldiers to accompany my legion as scouts and skirmishers, especially those who have experience within the realm of Lacans previously. While this is neither a personal nor official request but merely an exchange of military purpose in service to our Emperor, I would of course be delighted to offer later assistance to yourself and your... clan people as you see fit. Do feel free to assemble as many centaurs, orcs, goblins, and the such as you wish. Perhaps you would like to see the value in a Vestati crusader in return. </i><br>
</span><br>
<i><span style="font-size: 15px">- with thanks, Lucafiel sa Helendal</span></i>
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Another piece of parchment crossed his attention, and he dipped his quill:<br>
<br>




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			<i><span style="font-size: 15px">To my most esteemed friend Veno Dilach,</span></i><br>
<span style="font-size: 15px"><br>
<i>I have exchanged some few letters with the fabled Ram of Iskulia, Ikono Manakles, and have found him... rather unpersonable within the page. If it is at all possible, I would like to see if you have an assembled dossier on his person and those close to him. He seems prideful, arrogant, boastful, and rash. A very ripe personality for exploitation. I suspect by the time this letter finds you, we will have already gone to the battlefield, though I suspect the campaign will be a slow and steady one. I do hope all is well within your life and labors. <br>
<br>
I must also bring to your attention that there is plague in Iskulia and I have concerns on the maritime shipping here spreading the disease elsewhere. As I am certain you have a contact in every shadow that stretches on this continent, perhaps raise caution on Iskulian ships and goods. I intend to burn all, naturally. Plague is such a distasteful thing, no? And perhaps you can convince Declan of the foolishness of freeing all slaves of Lacans. The north may suffer less than the south, but plague cares little about boundaries. I will be most cross should he continue ahead heedless of the danger of disease. </i><br>
</span><br>
<i><span style="font-size: 15px">- your dear friend, Lucafiel </span></i>
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At last, with the bulk of his missives written, sealed, and distributed for transit, Lucafiel considered a number of reports he had received concerning the existence of those in Kokaria and potentially elsewhere that looked upon the Emperor as a sort of... avatar of destruction. It was amusing to him, but a concept that was not without some merit. Briggun had brought war and conquest to a great many corners of the expanding realm, and those inclined to see him as any divine aspect would certainly see him as one of destruction. Cults and what not were more so the territory of the spiders like Veno and Estro, though neither of them were here, even if they had ears within the wind. Lucafiel saw little reason to cultivate such worshipers here beyond the immediacy of their usefulness, unless they so happened to demonstrate particular competency or usefulness. <br>
<br>
He summoned one of his aides and tapped away at a local map. "We shall continue to conduct additional cross border raids - continue to maximize destruction. Burn all fields, homes, and villages encountered. Nothing is to be untouched by flame. Keep the wells untouched, though I suspect the Iskulians will poison them all the same. Regardless, if they are found safe while we advance, one can hardly deny good water," he explained. "As for these Kokarians who see our Emperor as an avatar of destruction, let us bring them out. All of them that we can, and elsewhere, too. Let us see how they wish to serve the divine."</div>
				
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In the depth below Erevan, a restless horde kept clawing away at the insides of the world. A constant clattering of pickaxes and shovels was rarely interrupted by ghastly hisses from steam vents or the cracking of a whip. Borok Ronillson had made it clear to his subordinates that work on the tunnels was not to be paused and thus new slaves were dragged from the surrounding villages south of the mountains to feed the ever-growing endeavour of allowing three armies to pass into Elven lands. The Grand Runesmith himself would usually oversee the work or consult with the foremen and engineers, but a rare exception was made as he had ordered for messages to be delivered to Baba Voyka and Yz, as the time seemed right to strike. To honour the guests, Borok would meet them at a newly created forge next to a stream of magma running through the underground, combining the fire of the forge and the warmth of the earth in one place and thus making it a place of hospitality in the eyes of the Sauroids. But Borok wasn't keen on pleasant chatting and friendly welcomes, as he kept pacing up and down like a caged animal whilst he waited.<br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"There you are!"</span></b>, he bellowed, as the fellow lieutenants were ushered in by the anvil guard, the most scarred veterans he had to offer, clad in heavy plate. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Welcome once more to Erevan. It may not look like it, but we are already below the foes borders. And our time to strike has come."</span></b>, he could restrain himself to some sort of corteous behaviour, but as he glanced towards Yz, he couldn't help but grind his teeth. He hadn't learned much about her endeavours, but they needed to really pull together now, so as not to anger Lord Briggun any further. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"I am sure you are aware that the dragon has got herself stuck and our Lord is growing impatient. We are ready to attack and surprise the Elves with fire und fury. That is why I have gathered you here."</span></b>, he explained, before waddling towards a large stone plate, smeared with a crude map of Sabersval and the tunnel networks. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"I propose to attack our immediate enemy, the softskin they call Aelan Farandel. And it wont just be the weight of our armor crushing them, I intend to destroy the foe entirely in one sweep by unleashign the fires from within the mountain."</span></b>, the Runesmith kept it very blunt, as usual. To emphasize his point, he held his claw towards the centre of Sabersval, blowing a hole clean through the stone plate by activating the rune inscribed on the backside of it. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"That should clear the way for either of you to save the dragons scales. Or head up north immediately, if thats more to your liking. Any objections?"</span></b></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">With the weeks passing, Voyka concentrated her efforts in maintaining the supply line and making sure her forces were ready for combat, along with training the young recruits she had nearly beaten to a pulp, her little "Falcons" as she called them. But as the weeks passed and the weather improved, it was clear that what she had said in the previous meeting would prove correct. Though they could stay put for a time, sooner or later, they would have to strike, if not because of the restlessness of their own forces, then because of Briggun. The combination of Falwyn's failure in the East along with scout reports that Aelan Farandel had yet to abandon Sabersval, topped with Briggun's message, indicated to all present that they needed to strike now. She would find herself surprised, however, when she received word from Borok to meet, as she wondered why he would be the one to pursue such a meeting.<br>
<br>
As she followed Borok's men to the destination of the meeting, it quickly became clear why. Borok had managed to source magma in the past few weeks. Ushering both her and Yz by the forge, showing both sauroid ingenuity and forcing the two of them to bare the nearby heat, it was very much a show of force. She had no care for the chauvinism present here, instead merely smiling as she entered and witnessed the forge, immensely impressed by the effort beyond that fact. She waved her hand as he bellowed.<br>
<br>
As Borok began presenting, she just found herself nodding. Everything was effectively as had been planned. All three of them, now in anticipation of Briggun's arrival, were to strike Farandel, and from there stretch where they can. None of what was discussed was, in her eyes, problematic.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">No objections on my part. A decisive strike would be required more than ever, especially with our Lord's impending arrival. I do request one honor, in exchange for another,</span>" Voyka began. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">As we all know from the message we received from his Rottenness, he wishes for the head of Aelan Farendal, and for such, he will grant one of us a unit of his personal guard. I have no need to prove myself to him by bringing him her head, but nothing would bring me more joy than to be her executioner. Her death and her body, to be used as an example towards Erevan. Given whom we are to thank for having this opportunity in the first place, I believe that you, Borok, should receive the honor of delivering Farendal's head to our Lord,</span>" she explained, showing in this matter her respect for the sauroid for all he and his men had done for this campaign.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">And we cannot risk allowing Farendal to escape. I doubt our Dark Lord would accept the notion that we could not provide her head due to her being buried under brimstone. For all he could ascertain, that could provide a cover for her having escaped, to bolster Erevan's armies with experience against any three of us. Either she dies and we have proof of it, or else,</span>" Voyka's tone turned serious for a moment, as if wanting to make sure that the others realize what she's getting at. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">If we succeed against Farendal and establish ourselves in Sabersval, I offer myself to head eastward and aid Falwyn in Ysaval, to cut the viper there from both the front and the back. However, for such a maneuver to be successful, I will require someone to follow me up and head northward towards the core of Erevan, whether it be you, Borok, or Yz, or perhaps our Dark Lord himself. The last thing we would need is any of our Lord's forces being encircled, and such an attack would distract long enough to aid Falwyn. And in turn, someone will need to stay and watch Sabersval, whether to watch for attacks from the West if any come, or to ensure no one rises up.</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">All this, however, assumes we succeed. Let us, then, discuss attack order,</span>" Voyka remarked, her tone softening somewhat, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">To ensure victory, we have to consider who strikes first and when. Looking at our forces, I believe that Yz should strike first, followed by you, Borok, and then myself. Yz's unorthodox style striking first should provide ample opportunity for you, Borok, to strike the Elves with fire and brimstone, and then for myself and my men to come in and sweep the remainder of the field. You two may receive the glory's share of battle, as long as the Wolf of the South is gutted by yours truly,</span>" she suggested. She recognized that in the next battle, she held the weakest chance against their opponent, so she would rather use the opportunity to raise the esteem of her compatriots, so long as she can enjoy the bloodshed to come.</div>
				
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<br>
Yz nonchalantly ignored the mere scenery that the big ol' lizardpeople had made of the underground place as they joined along to the meeting in order to discuss battle strategy. They were absentmindedly fidgeting and playing around with a random long piece of string in their hands as Borok and Voyka talked what were probably majorly important matters unsure how mad they would be once they told them about their surprise meeting with Air-Freshener Fahrenheit or whatever that silly little funny lady's name was. Hearing Voyka speak that it would be most effective if Yz was to go ahead first, they didn't even look up from their entertaining piece of string as they responded. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Is okay, I already went, your turn to ride the pretty pony</span>" Yz mumbled as they weren't paying much attention to what was happening before looking up a short moment after, since their answer might raise some eyebrows.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Yz went to ask for tambourine lessons, there were no tambourines. Sad. This Aelan lady, was not good at tea-parties. I brought flowers but I got hungry on the way there, maybe that was the mistake... </span>" Yz pondered illogically as they shrugged and went back to their funny little string.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">I think they're having a big festival, and we are invited! They're waiting for us right now with the blue carpet- of destiny! Mama, papa, can we go? Yz wants to get first in line on all the rides, imagine the snacks they must have. It is time for FAMILY OUTING in Tambourineland! And EVERYONE is excited. Yippee~!</span>" Yz proclaimed cheerfully as they fiddled with the string, looking at Voyka and Borok with wide eyes in admiration hoping they would permit it.<br>
<br>
Knowing they'd probably be mad that Yz went ahead to the cool festival already without them and got early access to Tambourineland's star actor Aelan, Yz explained themself only a little.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Yz wasn't said Yz couldn't get their picture taken with the funny clowns, gecko and gran-mami said not to bully the neighbour's kids, and Yz didn't! Anyway, they think Yz is only-child anyway. Yz can run circles around the silly clowns, and they need all their parade troupe for cute little meee~! I can just go on ahead and say hello so they'll give me their big, friendly welcome song, and then you can join the party when you feel a little less shy!</span>".</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka turned to face Yz as they began speaking, as what Yz was talking about began to process in her head. She wasn't sure if she had heard Yz correctly, and yet her expression turned to one of neutral shock, one that would appear on any grandparent's face if they had heard that their grandchild had not only broken their curfew, but committed several crimes whilst doing so. As Yz finished speaking, both Borok and Yz could tell that, in her eyes, granny wanted to gut the jester.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...you did what?</span>" Voyka simply asked, as she slowly approached Yz and looked them in the eye.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...are you telling us right now that you had, without consulting the rest of us, gone ahead and confronted Farendal?</span>" she maintained her tone and appearance, the dark circles under her eyes emphasizing her piercing stare.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...you had gone ahead and nearly <i>compromised</i> this entire invasion effort, all for a little bit of inane <i>whimsy</i></span>?" she continued, slowly emphasizing more of her words, as emotion eerily returned to her face, as her boiling rage was unlidded. Her arms trembled, as she tried to resist raising them to choke the life out of the waste of life that stood in front of her.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...don't you realize what the <i>consequences</i> of your actions might be?</span>" she asked genuinely, as she titled her head and her face began looking a mix of despairing and raging, wondering herself too what Yz's actions might've caused... <i>could what they had done caused Farendal to stay in the first place...?!</i> No, no, Erevan cares only for its elves, and the east is guarded by a human, so they might care little to assign her east. <i>But if Yz had encountered Farendal, that might've caused her to want to stay in Sabersval, if the Dark Lord's forces could reach that far from the East...</i><br>
<br>
Her blood boiled with impotent rage, knowing that action against a fellow lieutenant could be cause for punishment from their Lord himself, yet in her eyes Yz needed to be disciplined like any of her men - beaten bloody and taught what they did wrong, taught to learn uniformity and respect, until they are loyal to whom they have to listen to. But while he could cause no direct harm, she would make her rage known with one final act. Before Yz could react, she swung straight for Yz's head, stopping short from nailing them directly into the ground, with Yz only able to avoid it because she had stopped. She paused to let her stance do all the talking, as she breathed calmly.<br>
<br>
A moment later, she straightened herself out, and turned her eyes to Borok.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...Borok, if Yz and you are successful in the incoming battle, credit for the battle's victory is to be handed to you squarely. As witness to this meeting, the two of us will speak to our Dark Lord when he arrives, and tell him of Yz's failures as part of this leg of the campaign. <b><i>Do you understand me?</i></b></span>"</div>
				
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				Last edited: <time class="u-dt" dir="auto" datetime="2023-12-28T22:08:54-0500" data-time="1703819334" data-date-string="Dec 28, 2023" data-time-string="10:08 PM" title="Dec 28, 2023 at 10:08 PM" itemprop="dateModified">Dec 28, 2023</time>
			
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<br>
Yz comically collapsed and fell over despite not even being struck, grumbling and sitting up as they looked up at Voyka and Borok. Hearing Voyka's response to the whole thing, Yz immediately flailed their arms in frustration as they sat on the floor. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">This isn't fair! You're not even doing anything and you want to tell bad things about me to Mr. Big Man! I can walk into Tambourineland all I want all by my little self and you're too scared to go in with all your uggy-friends and me and lizardman and all of us'eseses' friends! Is just about who gets the gold stars by Big Man is all you care about, nothing else! Why should I help at all now if you're going to lie about me, I've already been all on my own and seen all the stuffs they have and know what they do and they couldn't do anything abouts it, AND they don't know either of yous are here or where the tunnelsies are, and you call me a FAILURE when you sit here doing nothing but get older, you big baby!</span>" Yz argued back, raising their voice believing they had no reason to be criticised. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">And then other fellow leader-antennae friends have things harder because you're scared of a single circus clown! The tunnels thing might only work once and you're all 'boohoo, I cannot believe this great masked one survived such a totally dangerous encounter and the dragons and super-turtle monsters all on their own, but they didn't go to BED ON TIME so we must tell Mr. Biggies'. I'm older than you, grandmami! You're being a big baby</span>" Yz retorted in frustration as they crossed their arms in pout and spun in their seated floor position so they were grouchily facing the other way.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Yz didn't need either of you, but if you're just doing it for gold stars to betray all the leader-antennae friends, Yz does not want to help. Is the kind of disgusting non-mask wearers that the world should be rid of.. </span>" they huffed in a muttered voice as they turned their head a little to look at Borok.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Is mean that you would be mean and selfish like this, I only got much information, know important stuff about the foe, and know my way around, and the whole plan is still secret, and I didn't need anyone!</span>" they continued to vent as they returned back to not looking, poking at the ground in annoyance as they continued to mumble and pout.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Stupid, big baby dumb-face, being a big, stupid. Thinking they're so wise because their old, but Yz is way older and smarterer. Stupid dumbface doesn't even like Mr. Bigman, just wants power and stuff and gold stars, making Yz and lizardman go to Tambourineland because she's scared, and making things harder for another Antennae-Leadieser to boost ego, when stupidface didn't do anything...</span> ".</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><b>Turn 1 (Part 2 - The Southern Campaigns) - Year 735 - Late Spring</b>​</div><br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/turn-1-s-jpg.1134394/" target="_blank">View attachment Turn 1 S.jpg</a><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><b>Civiceria Campaign</b>​</div><br>
In the weeks since arriving in the region, Estro watched as his allies' movements produced a growing sense of unease, although nothing had generated the sense of panic the wizard had hoped to take advantage of. The Piantians, although frightened by Alexandre's advance, seemed less keen to travel east toward Civiceria instead of moving south across the water, and the Civicerians likewise seemed unwilling to provide shelter to more than a handful of refugees here and there. With the help of a few of Veno's spies in the area, some of Estro's cultists have slipped across the border and reported back their findings. From what they can gather, Bolia is being commanded by a mysterious General known as Lucius Segius.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Estro Dorozan, The Wizard of Zo</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Bone Coast<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Estro followed the lead "The Fortune Teller" and discovered the part-fey, Jastia, who became his follower.<br>
<br>
Followers:<br>
Jastia, the Wandering Mystic --- Meals from the Field // The One and Only // Chessmaster<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Arcane Exchange - If Estro loses a battle against a foe with attack strategy C, battle is re-rolled once. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
Recruit from Rhetoric - If using a card to influence a foe's territory outside of battle, gain 1 token. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Reluctance of Bolia - Unlike most other territories on the border of Saarus, little is known of the defensive capabilities of the Civicerian Dominion's northern holdings, only that they are better armed and trained than Piantia's militias. However, one thing that is known, thanks to defectors and recently-escaped slaves, is that the Province of Bolia's residents are very worried about the presence of Izaak and Kolthix's armies right over the border, and would be unlikely to join in the defense of Piantia. Estro wonders what is making the Civicerians so cold to their neighbors, and what might lead to more refugees being taken in.<br>
Gladiatorial Games - Estro's agents report that Bolia is even more enthusiastic for blood sport than mainland Civiceria, which is already known for its fondness for gladiator combat. Estro recognizes many potential pathways to influence the country from such a literal arena- from the celebrity of the combatants, the presence of the influential in the stands, and the great amounts of money wagered at such contests.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Lucius Sergius, The Man on the Mountain</b><br>
With Guile and Cunning // Colleagues in Arms // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Bolia<br>
Strength: 5<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
As Much a Doctrine - If captured, Segius' army will appoint an equally-capable commander and continue fighting. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
<br>
The enigmatic Sergius first came to Bolia ten years ago in response to the rapidly-changing political situation in the Saarus Plane, and has since preferred to operate from the shadows, avoiding direct involvement with diplomacy or even leading his troops in the field. Instead, he often rotates and reassigns his lieutenants to ensure that the legions of Civiceria are well-trained and deeply familiar with each other's capabilities and needs. Off and on, he has traveled home, to the mainland south, and left his underlings in control while he has been gone. Spies have sometimes misreported his absence as a permanent reassignment, only for Sergius to suddenly reappear and assert himself as the top of the chain of command. His headquarters, located atop a large plateau in the territory, is simply known as "the mountain" and is respected by the military and civilians alike as both a physical and metaphorical symbol of imperial strength.<br>
<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><b>Piantia Campaign</b>​</div><br>
The capture of neutral Teralia has shocked the Piantians nearly as badly as the incursion from Alexandre the Thirsting. In the span of a few frightful weeks, their militia captain Jakabo was caught in a taxing raid which saw him retreat haphazardly from the border and losing one in every three men to his army. The farmers on the dry soil which hadn't already sought greener pastures were overrun and captured by Alexandre, while those lucky enough to get away were turned away from the Bolian border and sent reeling southward, where the fishing boats of their countrymen began carrying them southward to Petrata. Thankfully, Cutlass Bandolo was there to reassure them that the seas would not be so easily challenged, as his white sails fluttered on the golden seas unchallenged.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Alexandre, the Thirsting</b><br>
Meals from the Field // The One and Only // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Bone Coast<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Alexandre attacked Jakabo and won, costing the enemy a token.<br>
<br>
Alexandre's surprising victory in the opening weeks of Briggun's new conquests was exactly the sort of spark the vampyr was hoping for to inspire her forces. Rocher's accursed riders could now afford to take their time and play with their wounded foe, and maybe follow leads in this desolate land to gather further strength. The locals are already taking note of the new "visitors" in their midst, and most are fleeing in terror, although not in the directions that the War Council had hoped. Perhaps Alexandre needs to turn up the heat another notch.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Blood Feast - If below strength 3, instantly regain 1 strength on victory. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Cloak of Night - If opponent has planning type B, 1/2 chance of dealing two tokens of damage on victory. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Firelight Megalith - An ancient structure of unknown origin is said to exist in the dry wasteland of Kaula, a collection of steles and dolmens which are built as a monument to some lost religion or truth. A few traitorous locals in Piantia have expressed the general location of this monument, and now Alexandre considers the time cost involved with seeking it out.<br>
King's Crest - One of the old and crumbling fortresses on the border between Saarus and Piantia is known as "King's Crest" as it was the most impressive structure built by an ancient king of Kaula, before the existence of the Oligarchy. There are some who say that the King haunts this place to this very day. Alexandre wonders what sort of secrets such a phantom might be keeping.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Cordia Dis, Banshee Captain of the Butcher's Blade</b><br>
Meals from the Field // Nothing is Safe // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Waters near Bone Coast<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Cordia attacked Ashryn using her Banshee's Scream, defeating her instantly and taking Teralia. Cordia then chose to recruit Ashryn as a follower.<br>
<br>
With Teralia safely in hand, Cordia could look in any direction for her next fight. If she wanted to move east, she could raid the coastline of Petrata or Kaula and terrorize either of her known foes at this moment, or, with Veno opening another front to the south, the hag could turn her attention to the holy coastlines of the Weildach Theocracy. Briggun wouldn't like it, but she could even leave the Southern Sea entirely and head for the Bay of Canar. She wouldn't quite make it to Kobakeli, but she could get a glimpse of that distant shore and measure the worth of the goblin lands there firsthand. She just needed to make sure she didn't leave herself open to a surprise attack from an enemy navy.<br>
<br>
Followers:<br>
Ashryn, the Dark Heart of the Southern Sea --- Everywhere at Once // Nothing is Safe // Break Their Spirits<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Siren's Song - If attacking another sea-based opponent, has a 1/3 chance of stealing a token from her opponent ahead of an attack. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Banshee's Scream - Can deal one token of damage every three turns. (Infinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns - Two Turns Remaining)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Dashed on the Rocks - While exploring the waters around Teralia, the Butcher's Blade spots the remains of a mast poking out of the water near the large rocks off the uninhabited islands only a few miles from the trade port. Cordia is tempted to get a closer look.<br>
The Nameless Cove - While probing the territorial waters of Karlsbach, the Butcher's Blade locates a secluded cove between jagged ocean cliffs. There appears to be a cave at the far side of the calm waters...<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Jakabo Gratini, The White Eagle</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // Never Surrender<br>
Location: Kaula<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Jakabo, despite all his bluster about the fight he wanted out of the Empire, could not have anticipated that Alexandre would run roughshod over his army despite his advantages. Now, the old man is licking his wounds, retreating away from the frontier, and searching for an opportunity to turn things around before he has his back at the ocean and the mainland cuts its losses. Perhaps Serius could make the difference?<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Sirius "Cutlass" Bandolo, Torpedo of the Piantian Strait</b><br>
Liberate the Materiel // A Master of the Art // Never Surrrender<br>
Location: Waters near Kaula<br>
Strength: 4<br>
<br>
On the other hand, Cutlass Bandolo isn't confident either. He had heard the news that Captain Cordia had swept all opposition off of Teralia with only a shout, a tale he was tempted to believe, no matter how far-fetched. Times were growing more desperate by the moment; there was no denying it, and Cutlass held a numerical advantage at this very moment that he could ill-afford to waste. The strait had to remain in Piantian hands!<br>
<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><b>Weildach Campaign</b>​</div><br>
Having masterfully goaded Sandach into mobilizing the full strength of its army in service of the "noble goal" of recovering its lost holdings in Weildach, Veno now prepares to deploy across the Southern Sea to attack Weildach. The true objective, it is known, is not to conquer the theocracy outright, but to wear down both sides of the generational struggle until both can be folded under the Empire's traitorous machinations. The weather is getting warmer, and amidst the strong fishing season, the ports are more vacant to allow for a large volume of transportation ships. The enemy has not failed to notice this, either, as their dutiful scouts record the increasing likelihood of an attack from Sandach any day.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Swybeck Argnault, the Titan of the Temple</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Sandach<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Following his meeting with an Imperial Diplomat, Swybeck mobilized his entire army and relocated to the southern ports of Sandach, from which he could soon launch an attack on Weildach alongside his allies from abroad. His spirits are extraordinarily high as he speaks of "Lady Sarthyra" and the learned folks of Saarus, bringing the country's enthusiasm for the great reunion to an almost fever pitch. Recruitment is easy and training proceeds swimmingly. In more private settings, Swybeck focuses hard on planning the offensive ahead. His intent is to land on the long peninsula of Oberngenia and march his way inland, liberating the mother country which gave rise to Sandach in a prior era. He not only studies the tactics and strategies needed to overcome the lost sheep and bring them back to the flock, but the religious teachings which will be needed to guide them once they're there. Danthyn's jab about his lack of divine scholarship still hasn't fully left the back of his mind.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Veno Dilach, The Black Rose</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Sandach<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 0 Recap:<br>
Veno followed the lead "Reading the Lore" in order to learn the ways of Sandach's pantheon, and then employed this knowledge while conducting diplomacy. She also gained the card "Face of the Profit.<br>
<br>
With all having gone well with her meeting, Veno oversees the movement of her army into the countryside of Sandach. The locals give the Imperials a surprisingly warm welcome- warmer than they would receive on their marches anywhere within Saarus itself, much to the soldiers' delight. This is somewhat annoying, as Veno begins to wonder whether her army will begin to mistake the Sandachians as true allies, rather than the pawns that they are. She also senses the great pressure now to carry out an attack, not just for the sake of satisfying Briggun's insatiable appetite for conquest, but also for the sake of maintaining the illusion of Imperial support for the war. Should Sandach open the conflict and not find her support, Veno might find it more difficult to extract the sort of blood she was hoping for out of a longer campaign.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Shapeshifter - Veno can attempt negotiation multiple times against targets who already distrust her. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Mindbreaker - Without wards, targets can suffer possession, amnesia, or disability if they trust or negotiate with Veno. (Infiinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns)<br>
Face of the Profit - Veno can disguise herself as a profit of the Weidach Pantheon. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Making a Withdrawal - Veno is informed that her spies have caught the trail of Sandach's treasurers, presenting an opportunity to get acquainted with the republic's finances.<br>
The Heretical Sciences - While planning the upcoming invasion, Veno stumbles onto rumors of a potentially useful institution in faraway Oberngenia. There, the Clerics of Endane are said to study matters of the occult to better understand the threat posed by evil spirits, such as those in Briggun's employ. Veno considers a clandestine mission to take a peek at the forbidden knowledge.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Bloquenyan Falkent, The Blade at Land's Edge</b><br>
Liberate the Materiel // Colleagues in Arms // A Reckoning for the Wicked<br>
Location: Oberngenia<br>
Strength: 4<br>
<br>
Cards: To Punish the Wicked - On any consecutive victory, deals two tokens of damage. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
<br>
Bloquenyan, a half-elf, has a mouthful of a name, leading most to simply call him the Blade. Something of a rogue, the Blade never quite earned the spiritual respect of the church's officers in the land of his birth, but one can do little but argue with the results of his work. Few could say that they have done a quarter of the things the Blade has done to unite the lands of Oberngenia the face of the political and religious strife threatening to tear it apart from the inside, and he has done so with grace and finesse in equal measure to brutal discipline. His black-vested knights ride the mountainous peninsula as shadowy, looming figures of humorless authority, but they never raise their fist in the name of wanton cruelty. The man himself is as quiet and foreboding as the calm before the storm, and as rumors of Sandach's coming invasion mount, he can only stare at the horizon and welcome them to fall upon his sword.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Maldaryn Maltryss, The Witness on the Waves</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // A Reckoning for the Wicked<br>
Location: Waters Near Karlsbach<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Ocean's Daughter - Can relocate from one sea to the next and attack at her destination within the same turn. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
<br>
A mermaid in service of the Church is a strange sight indeed, but Maldaryn has always been a harbinger of the miraculous and unexpected. Captured as an infant decades ago by pirates in Teralia, she was sold as a curiosity to the owner of a circus in Karlsbach. This showman had intended to show his prize, but went soft in the heart for her, and instead sought the help of priests in a seaside village to care for the girl while he made his sleazy living elsewhere. After ten years or so, the showman returned for good and sought to teach his adoptive daughter a business trade, only to find her devoutly inspired by the good work of the church to uphold their pantheon, and to resist the growing tide of evil from beyond the sea. Maldaryn soon applied herself to the service of the navy, where her speed, grace, and knowledge of the ocean has served her quite well.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka turned her head quickly as Yz pantomimed getting struck, before the creature went on a tirade against her. Her neutrally-enraged expression cracked into a flabbergasted half-smile, before erupting into an immensely loud mad laugh, one so mad it rendered the nearby working Sauroids uncomfortable. As she approached the end of her laugh, she took a deep breath and looked down upon the frustrated Yz.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">The only 'big baby' I see is the one who sits here refusing to confront the consequences of their actions, so let me break down your complaints simply,</span>" Voyka spoke, as she honed in on the main points of issue.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">The absence of truth is not by itself a lie. Whatever report is to be written on the battle's aftermath, if we are successful, will list you as a principle player, regardless of whether you also receive credit for the battle. Credit that you have shown <i>not to deserve</i>. All you would do by not engaging the enemy in battle now with the rest of us is ensuring that what is currently 'absence of truth' becomes 'truth', so you have no choice but to help lest your incoming punishment were to become worse. As a result, the only 'bad thing' we would be telling our Dark Lord is that which you just admitted to, nearly compromising the campaign by engaging the enemy, and from what I can tell, in a non-combative manner,</span>" she explained, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">It does not matter that nothing had seemingly occurred that undermined the campaign as a result of your actions, the fact you refuse to recognize the potential consequences in of themselves is enough. Our Dark Lord will tell you this himself.</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">In contrast to you, all we have done is to ensure victory above all else. Our supply lines are more stable than ever thanks to my actions, and thanks to Borok, the battle will go smoother due to the brimstone he is armed with now. There is no sign of 'fear' in our eyes induced by our enemy, because what we care about is minimizing our losses and maximizing the enemy's. An important goal as we finally step into Sabersval and head to the core of Erevan, which is likely to be heavily armed just in case of breakthrough. Though we might be looked upon as 'cowardly', hindsight will justify us - hindsight which will look down upon you horribly. Even now as you speak of confronting the enemy, would she not rally her forces more swiftly if she were to encounter you? Something she would only do as a result of <i>you encountering her in the first place?!</i> Yet you claim this excursion enabled you to gain information, but as Borok here can further confirm, the only information you have shared is that you met her, you likely infuriated her as you do us, and escaped; information we could not only guess to have already been true, but information useless to a battle such as this.</span>"<br>
<br>
For her final point, Voyka squatted down and directly looked at Yz, in case they turned around to face her. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Finally, do not question my loyalty to our Dark Lord. I have served Him proudly for the last decade of my life, earning my keep under him and ensuring victory in his name. I have no need for further power, nor for 'gold stars' - lest we forget Borok is to receive the glory. I have done my damndest for this Empire, and I will not sit here and let someone such as you act as if they can manipulate this world as if it were a game. Because you cannot, Yz. <b>Your actions will lead you to your death.</b></span>"<br>
<br>
As she got up, she finished up. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">This is as much a punishment as it is a lesson, Yz. As you are amongst the newest of the lieutenants, I have enabled you to receive a lesson on how punishment works within this military system, inherited from before Briggun's rule. Bureaucratic backsliding at its lowest level, before corporal punishment. Because believe you me, if you had worked with any other lieutenant, they would give you this exact same punishment for what you had done, undermining your progress within this system. The only difference is that unlike me, <i>they would not make you aware of it until it was too late</i>.</span>"</div>
				
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<br>
<br>
The Golden Horde was shaken upon being driven back. Perhaps those years of slumber indulging in the tribute she exacted had let her grow stagnant. Seeing the men she had lost, many without having their bodies retrieved Falwyn reconsidered her plans. She was of the Tholmar Bloodline. An ancient line of dragons who had thrived on more than just their strength alone. That vantage had given her sight of a possible advantage it was time she began investigating it. First it was time to regroup with her command structure.<br>
<br>
She would meet with her most treasured prizes in her command tent. She laid upon a ostentious chair with thick wool padding. It had been made by a fine craftsmen from one of the petty kingdoms which had once ruled over Ostmajora. She would look over the campaign map reports from the field giving no indication of the Saroid mountains having any movement so far.<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"The Viper possesses his own set of tricks, and I've allowed myself to succumb to arrogance. That won't happen again,"</span> she declared, fixing an intense gaze on Linota, her esteemed spymaster. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Send one of your agents with a message of parlay. I wish to gauge the mettle of this Viper, perhaps he can be cowed into submission. Despite his success, I'm certain his dreams are haunted by fiery visions."</span><br>
<br>
Linota, the Drow spymaster, silently nodded, ready to find a way to deliver the message later. Turning her attention to Titus, her marshal, Falwyn praised the orchestrated retreat. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Ensure our forces regain their composure. Meanwhile, I will investigate the mountains and what caught my eye earlier."</span> A silent understanding passed between Falwyn and Leon, the unspoken assurance that dissidents would not unravel the golden horde after a defeat.<br>
<br>
As Falwyn rose from her seat, she playfully ruffled Mia's hair, earning a small smile. Exiting the tent, she left only herself and Linota. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"One overconfident misstep cost me those precious treasures,"</span> she mused, voicing her self-reflection.<br>
<br>
Attempting to console Falwyn, Linota moved closer, offering comfort through caresses, <span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"It wasn't your fault."</span> The warmth was one Falwyn wished to just melt into, but she managed to pull back with resolve. "<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">No, all of this could be strangled from us by Briggun if I don't act."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: null">She would get out her ink and quill and begin the writing of her message to the Viper.</span><br>
<i>To Kande Abdolon,<br>
<br>
It appears your reputation as the Viper is well-earned. Skillfully maneuvering your men to strike the heels of the dragon rather then its head. Your forces executed your strategy with near perfection. Such prowess deserves recognition.<br>
<br>
However, let us not deceive ourselves about each other's strengths. Your triumph in eluding me crumbles if I manage to catch the subtle trace of your presence. It is time we meet and discuss whether we truly desire to see Ysaval bathed in blood or if there exists an alternative path forward. I am willing to convene on neutral ground of your choosing.<br>
<br>
Make no mistake – my proposal is not a display of weakness but rather an acknowledgment of the potential devastation that could befall the people of Ysaval. These are the people whom, I dare say, I am destined to rule. While I am a tyrant, my history reflects fairness. Consult one of your elven scholars if I have broken my agreeements once in the past century I received tribrute from the Cannarians.<br>
<br>
By My Blood,<br>
Lady Falwyn Tholmar</i><br>
<br>
A messanger would find its way to the Vipers camp upon a horse with the banner of parlay they would attempt to deliver the message to the Kande. And the Dragon would await his response.<br>
<br>
In the mean time Falwyn looked into the the mountains seperating Saarus from Everan and the isolated stream feeding one of the grand rivers of Everan. As she landed right by the stream she began investigation. Yes, it seemed as if the rocks here could be chipped apart here by her widening the stream and causing a major overflow. This would cause a cascading effect leading to a flooding of the lands below. Such a disruption would cause panic among the armies in Ysaval as they looked to avoid the flood, but also be potentially diverted to help in civilian evacuations. A tough "act of god" some religous folk might say. But there was a potential to possibly be a demi-god by Falwyn. She'd smile as she discovered this opportunity. A point of potential leverage in diplomacy against this Kande.</div>
				
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The meeting started out as smoothly as Borok could have hoped. He wasn't proposing anything entirely outlandish and Baba Voyka even made an enticing offer. The Sauroid slowly tilted his head with curiosity, crossing his arms as the listened. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"So you assume I have yet to prove myself and are graciously allowing me to do so?"</span></b>, he deduced the most hostile way her offer could be interpreted by him on the spot. In truth, he wasn't against the idea of endearing himself to the Dark Lord, but a personal bodyguard seemed like more of a liability considering the unique way the Sauroids conducted their warfare. It also seemed like a convenient way to spy on the lucky recipient, but he wouldn't dwell on it for too long. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"I don't care for the pleasure of killing her. One softskin or the other... their names mean nothing to me, take her or any other as you please. As for the head... I propose it either gets delivered by who actually gets to her in the first place or with entire anonymity. None of us have to prove anything other than our capacity to wage war on his behalf."</span></b>, Borok offered a different cause of action, not hiding his disdain for the Elves or any other "softskin" on the surface above them. The occasional pained screams and cruel ripping sounds proved, that his fellow Sauroids in the tunnels had similar attitudes, pouncing on any worker collapsing from exhaustion to devour them alive.<br>
<br>
It was under this atmosphere of misery and oppressive heat, that Yz managed to squash all semblance of a productive meeting. Borok wanted to hear her out first before responding to Voykas careful deliberations about the order of attack, when the enigmatic Yz surprised them totally. The runesmith growled in frustration as soon as he understood what her cryptic words meant and he slowly moved his heavy body to stand next to Baba Voyka, so as to support her standpoint quite pictorally. But the Sauroid remained silent and he would do so for quite a while. The spectacle which soon unfolded was one to behold, for all the wrong reasons. But the reptilian soon found himself able to observe it all, not needing to get involved. He slowly returned to his previous position, standing on nobodies side and giving disgruntled frowns for both of them. He found Yzs tantrum pathetic and yet it also seemed like a strange power move, as it drew Voyka into a longer - and somewhat revealing - speech. Meanwhile, Borok knew that silence was a strategic choice in itself and he listened carefully until Voyka finished. When she did, he simply changed his posture once more, standing slightly higher and as if coiled to snap at either one of them.<br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"The logic of the warmbloods is still quite mysterious to me."</span></b>, he simply stated, enjoying a little more silence before looking towards Yz and then staying his eyes on Voyka. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"I understand you. Yet, I will not speak of any failure, unless there is failure to wipe away Sabersval within the next assault. I will merely tell all things as they occured, should Lord Briggun ask for my testimony."</span></b>, he made a point out of appearing cold to her demands. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"You are both arguing over who the bigger... baby... is, certainly not the act Lord Briggun would approve of."</span></b>, he even dared to fan the flames a little. He was entirely agreeing with Voykas points on the inside, but he couldn't just let her pull rank she didn't possess. Whilst he certainly appreciated her careful preparations and adherence to the plan, Borok couldn't allow her get the impression that she was above other lieutenants, no matter how right she was - and her speech could very much be conceived in that way. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"What important information <i>did </i>you find out? When and where would <i>you</i> aim your next attack to ensure victory?"</span></b>, he very bluntly and directly asked Yz now, putting her on the spot to back up her claims of having gathered much information. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"This shift needs to keep going... victory above all else, isn't that right?"</span></b>, he then turned back to Baba Voyka, using her own words to underline that he wouldn't pile on to either side. It was part of the little side game going on, since the Sauroids cold-blooded logic dictated that he needed to only listen to the strongest superior - which was Briggun, not any other lieutenant. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"I can unleash hellfire and brimstone to initiate the attack and then immediately strike at Sabersval with weaponry carefully crafted and chosen for the task, for the fire does not hinder us. Then you two are free to strike wherever you see fit, be it east, west or north. I am contend with holding Sabersval and defending it until the Lords forces have sufficiently advanced."</span></b>, he simply returned to the order of business, as if no bickering had even occured and ignoring much of the previous points, washing his paws clean of any tantrums in an attempt to show strength once more - as if all the previous spectacle was beneath him.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka looked at Borok as he spoke, and could merely nod in response, albeit with a smile. It was clear to her that he seemed to consider himself above all this squabbling, a fair attitude to be had for sure, as she was never fond of it herself. But what was even more clear was the intent behind it. Not just earlier with his refusal to receive the honor of delivering Farandel's head and framing her graciousness in a negative manner, but even daring to fan the flames between her and Yz. Borok might respect her in terms of military affairs, but beyond that not much more. She did not mind that all that much, especially if things were just between him and her, but it stung deeply here, as she could see the sauroid thinking he rendered himself the 'adult' among 'babies', even as she was sure he implicitly agreed with her.<br>
<br>
It harmed her image of him, for sure, but she still viewed him as more respectful than Yz. She had known men such as Borok in the military, she was used to them, she could work with them just fine. And as such, continued.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...then you'll lead the charge,</span>" Voyka responded simply, choosing to do as Borok has, and continue the discussion that was being had prior to Yz's inaneness, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Given my suggestion to head eastward to aid Falwyn after, striking from the east may be most ideal in my circumstances, utilizing the position to fire upon her forces and charge with my men and cavalry. That is, unless the information Yz has would benefit them from that direction instead,</span>" she finished, building upon Borok's earlier statement to force Yz to back up their claims.</div>
				
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11830212" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11830212">turtwigwins said:</a>
			
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			To Kande Abdolon,<br>
<br>
It appears your reputation as the Viper is well-earned. Skillfully maneuvering your men to strike the heels of the dragon rather then its head. Your forces executed your strategy with near perfection. Such prowess deserves recognition.<br>
<br>
However, let us not deceive ourselves about each other's strengths. Your triumph in eluding me crumbles if I manage to catch the subtle trace of your presence. It is time we meet and discuss whether we truly desire to see Ysaval bathed in blood or if there exists an alternative path forward. I am willing to convene on neutral ground of your choosing.<br>
<br>
Make no mistake – my proposal is not a display of weakness but rather an acknowledgment of the potential devastation that could befall the people of Ysaval. These are the people whom, I dare say, I am destined to rule. While I am a tyrant, my history reflects fairness. Consult one of your elven scholars if I have broken my agreeements once in the past century I received tribrute from the Cannarians.<br>
<br>
By My Blood,<br>
Lady Falwyn Tholmar
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</blockquote><br>
"So, what do you make of this?" asked Tarasyn, Kande's aide de camp. She was seated on the opposite side of a small camp fire, her features largely obscured by the silver shawl she wore about her plate armor.<br>
<br>
Kande held the letter between his knees, using the fire's light to reread the dragon's words and try to discern their tone. "I think she sees the situation rather clearly," he spoke, his voice smooth yet bitter like black coffee. "She knows that if we continue to clash, without reinforcements from the north, she'll eventually run us down. But she's impatient, and she's weary of counterattack."<br>
<br>
Tarasyn nodded. "She expects surrender. Will you entertain it?"<br>
<br>
The question was met with a chuckle, but Tarasyn's expression remained utterly serious. Kande replied, "no, of course not- not while we have so much left to give in the name of Erevan. However, now might be the time to consider contingencies. Should we lose the numerical advantage, should we be denied reinforcement, should I be killed while the army still stands... These are all eventualities that we might need to prepare for. She will doubtlessly continue her aggression, even if we win the second confrontation."<br>
<br>
"Doubtlessly...?"<br>
<br>
"Yes," Kande said. "The Emperor demands conquest. From what I know of Briggun, his warlock magic is a blade to her back, spurring on her every movement. If she should forgo another attack this spring so that she might negotiate, then it might be an instance of her acting in defiance of her master. The same could also be said of us."<br>
<br>
"Then you should accept her invitation to parlay," Tarasyn said. "Make her prove that she is not a mere puppet."<br>
<br>
"Yes," Kande confirmed, "but I will not speak to her as a prelude to surrender. I'll speak with her about those contingencies I spoke of, and only on the condition that she suspend her aggression until the summer. It would give us more time to entreat the royal family into supporting us more adequately."<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---​</div><br>
<i>To Lady Falwyn,<br>
<br>
I will accept your offer to meet, and suggest the village of Sylvanica. This being on Imperial Territory, I should expect minimal ceremony around the event. In fact, I would venture to believe that our meeting would displease both of our masters. As much as it would further enrage Lord Briggun, I must also require a show of good faith; your forces must remain off of Erevan's soil for the remainder of spring, allowing for the planting cycle to continue uninterrupted. If you accept, then I should seek to discuss with you the possible outcomes of this campaign you're waging.<br>
<br>
Respectfully,<br>
Kande Abdolon</i></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><a href="https://youtu.be/Ygz7xNGPmjI?si=8nNAYe095z7KdNLA" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FYgz7xNGPmjI%3Fsi%3D8nNAYe095z7KdNLA&amp;hash=ce15416f28d7427d1ce2862c377511c5" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Black Mass</a>​</div>The Bone Coast had various villages along the border with Bolia, but only several truly matter when it came to trade between the Empire and Dominion. More so it also allowed the flow of trade with Piantian merchants, at least before Rocher and her bloodthirsty horde had surge across the border to spread death and terror as they drank deeply of their victims. The Cult of Zo had been very busy even if one could not fully see it. The Cult Army was mustering even now as they quietly built up for the eventual thrust into the Dominion. Many of their number were try to find ways in, but had been suffering setbacks with the Dominion's closed stance as of late. The flow of some merchant goods had continued obviously and Estro had elected to increase demand for Bolian goods.<br>
<br>
The decision set a variety of actions in motion, utilizing what few infiltration points the Imperial Spies had managed to create for the cult to slip agents in with. Baskerville, Hand of Coin, was working his fiduciary magic to begin a major draw on Bolian goods which were admittedly being used for stockpiling or being openly shipped off to the other campaigns north or west of here. It was to create the illusion of Imperial need for those goods, to appear as if Saarus could not afford war with the Dominion when it relied far more upon its need for trade to sate its wartime appetite in attacking various other nations. It was from these leads and dangling bait of trade that they finally began to find much of what the sought.<br>
<br>
In the depths of a manor on the shard borders, the Hands of Zo gathered in secret council. A round table set with chairs all of equal size and build save one which was grander in its stature. The Throne of Zo as some in the council would call it. The seat of the Wizard of Zo from which he held court and directed the various parts of his vast and secretive group. Even in the Empire, few could penetrate its depths save the Imperial Spymaster and her agents. They were tolerated if found, better to let Briggun see what the Imperial Wizard was up to, to let Veno have her peak as a professional courtesy. Around the table, various figures now gathered as the full leadership of the Cult of Zo had assembled to speak about the matter of Civiceria and its seeming reluctance.<br>
<br>
"All this time and the bastards were planning a war of conquest and expansion of their own. What an utter failure of our spies until now," snarled <a href="https://www.rpnation.com/gallery/valdin_-_hand_of_war_military-png.47327/" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fgallery%2Fvaldin_-_hand_of_war_military-png.47327%2F&amp;hash=c94f628ea269eac231edb7161c7a2c64">Valdin</a>, Hand of War as he slammed a fist angrily on the table. The once noble royal guard now a hardened battle commander for the Cult and Empire. Estro entrusted him with military details and planning, usually in conjunction with the others.<br>
<br>
"Now Valdin, you know we can't see in every direction. And the Dominion has been actively obfuscating their plans. We're lucky my dear friends in the Noble Order of Merchants within the Dominion were even able to talk about this," countered <a href="https://www.rpnation.com/gallery/baskerville-hand-of-coin-trade-jpg.47465/" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fgallery%2Fbaskerville-hand-of-coin-trade-jpg.47465%2F&amp;hash=34c58422d7e544609211f96610e1212e">Baskerville</a>, Hand of Coin. He rubbed his jowls with ringed fingers in thought as he presented the reports from his contacts. The other Hands nodded thoughtfully, none ever to question the bloated merchant's skill in his fields. There was no contempt for him, for Baskerville was a self-made man whose efforts kept the Cult functional and self-sufficient.<br>
<br>
"We are fortunate some of my people are now in the Dominion because of Veno," <a href="https://www.rpnation.com/gallery/rasa-hand-of-faces-espionage-jpg.47467/" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fgallery%2Frasa-hand-of-faces-espionage-jpg.47467%2F&amp;hash=ec160c99fed115c1b7c192f6d1347ea6">Rasa</a> uttered in an husky voice from behind their mask. At the moment their frame was very slender, almost to the point of being unnerving from how empty the clothes hung upon the shapeshifter's body. A favorite form in meetings to remind all that the Hand of Faces had no true set form any longer. A gift of the experiments of the cult like others on the council had if in different forms.<br>
<br>
"We should rejoice, my comrades! The way is opening even as we speak. Others already can hear the whispers of Zo even if not many. We are the river that wears down the mountain. The trickle has begun until it will be carved into a roaring torrent! Let us simply savor the joy that we finally know the paths set before us!" <a href="https://www.rpnation.com/gallery/balthazar_-_hand_of_faith_conversion-jpg.47328/" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fgallery%2Fbalthazar_-_hand_of_faith_conversion-jpg.47328%2F&amp;hash=4f84d6a261840609d417b750e554e1b2">Balthazar</a>, Hand of Faith declared as he spread his powerful arms wide with obvious delight. Some looked skeptical but others seemed thoughtful at the words of the Cult's master recruiter and voice in matters of its expansion and doctrine.<br>
<br>
"Current projections dictate that direct engagement of the Dominion is unwise at this time. The Master's plan so far has proven the optimal outcome. We should pursue seeming partnership with the Dominion. Piantia represents the perfect means of bleeding Dominion assets while allowing more of our own to flow into their holdings. The Dominus has been planning expansion, while we cannot grant it so blatantly, our forces are positioned to tap that appetite for new resources and people to flow into the Dominion through treaty," stated <a href="https://www.rpnation.com/gallery/zothian-hand-of-creation-experiments-png.47469/" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fgallery%2Fzothian-hand-of-creation-experiments-png.47469%2F&amp;hash=7c66b532eae21cc852f5aeb34d17c332">Zothian</a>, Hand of Creation. Estro's pet golem had grown greatly in ability since its initial making and now served well in compiling data considering its primary role as master of the Cult's various labs and experiments.<br>
<br>
"I have to agree, it would seem we need to shift gears and dig into the weak underbelly of our neighbors. The Dominion forces are too numerous, gathers and ready for war. Let us tap our new mercantile connections to help keep them occupied while we muster more manpower and influence within. Piantia sadly seems the best means to do this without enraging Briggun," <a href="https://www.rpnation.com/gallery/torovein-hand-of-blood-magic-png.47468/" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fgallery%2Ftorovein-hand-of-blood-magic-png.47468%2F&amp;hash=8c5da488c71bdf8dde8e31457242e372">Torovein</a>, Hand of Blood, replied before the others had time to assert their own points with the developing information. The master of the Cult's mages generally favored subtle action but at times was open to conflict like this for a bigger prize.<br>
<br>
This triggered more arguing and debate as the Wizard of Zo sat silently and listened to his devoted followers expressing themselves. His expression thoughtful but every now and then he would lean over and speak with his new apprentice, Jastia. The mystic had become a personal project for Estro Dorozan, keeping her close and teaching her much of the cult's ways to show her she had a place there. None of the Hands looked jealous or concerned, for many of them had been in the position when Estro recruited them into the Cult. There was potential here for a new Hand and section of the Cult of Zo to develop in. Her mental powers were a boon and already she had helped ferret out these very secrets from the Dominion merchants for Baskerville. She seemed oddly happier here because no one cared about her nature, welcoming her as one of their own, seeking to show she belonged with them. A classic tactic of he cult to bring in new recruits, but suitable when their intentions were true such as here.<br>
<br>
"I have heard enough," Estro Dorozan finally declared, his voice loud and resonant from a spell to not bother having to raise his voice. The debate stopped and the Hands all looked towards their Master. The Wizard of Zo had come to a decision on this matter. "We will prepare to stab our forces into Piantia. Much as I know this will anger Rocher and her ilk of leeches, we cannot pass up the openings it will create if we seize the territory first, doubly so with Dominion assistance."<br>
<br>
With a gesture, a map fills the center of the table as markers spawn including the now visible Dominion armies sitting in Bolia under the command of their mysterious general. Pieces shift to show the Cult Army moving into position to march into the reeling Piantian forces in Kaula. A spearhead of cult troops eager to fulfill their purpose and feed into the greater dreams of their faith.<br>
<br>
"We will seize our moment and strike. Waiting for the right time to snatch victory from the jaws of any in our path. The vampires have glutted themselves. We will find a greater use for Kaula, making it the lever through which the Dominion will fall in the end. I trust each of you to do your part. Let us begin!"<br>
<hr>A dispatch sent to the embassy of the Civicerian Dominion, hand delivered by Darius, Hand of Peace:<br>
<br>
<i><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">To the Honored and Esteemed Civicerian Dominion,</span></i><br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
<i>I, Estro Dorozan, bid you greetings on behalf of the Saarus Empire and its master, Briggun. As of recent events, I am sure that the Dominus, Senate and your commanders are aware of the current status of war the Empire is engaging in at this time. I have become aware of the Dominion's intentions in certain matters and would seek to present myself to interested parties to better discuss matters in person.<br>
<br>
Do let me know of a time and place if this is acceptable. I would sooner ease concerns when the Empire has great need of Dominion goods and materials at this time than to see such a flow become hindered due to unnecessary paranoia or concern. All may profit from what I have to propose and so I implore you to grant me this audience.<br>
<br>
With Deepest Respect,<br>
Estro Dorozan</i></span><br>
<i><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">Imperial Wizard</span></i></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 26px"><b>Declan's War Camp, Tidiaus</b></span></span></span>​</div><br>
The campaign remained uneventful as the planning continued for both slave insurrection and a ground invasion into Lacans. For Declan's troops, this was a welcome change of pace from previous campaigns - from Saarus' original conquests - as they continued to keep their spirits high in more ways than one. Their gracious hosts within Tidiaus made their time all the more pleasant to spend as the seasons were milder compared to back home. But for Declan, this was no time to rest as he sat in his tent and poured over numerous maps of the Lacans-Tidiaus border and Lacans itself. Each parchment held their own bits of information that the Viceroy attempted to parse and merge together into his mind, formulating a stratagem of land movement into the mountainous country. He wanted to get every possible detail down so as to ensure success on the initial front. He wanted to move, and move soon, as the spring was coming to an end. That would mean the melts would have dissipated and the terrain gone from mud to dirt again.<br>
<br>
Across from him at the same table, Dennor was far more relaxed in his demeanor as he sipped lazily on a goblet of wine. His boots were kicked up onto the only part of the table that weren't covered by maps and documents. This annoyed Declan, but he kept it to himself as his "trusted" companion kept quiet. That was, until, he had an inquiry: <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"So I take it you have a plan by now?"</span> Dennor asked.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Mhm."</b></span> Declan replied disinterestedly as he retained his focus on the cartography in front of him, using a calliper to determine the distance of two points.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"What if it goes to shit?"</span><br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"It won't."</span></b><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"My, such confidence. Surely you can see the future?"</span> Dennor said with sarcasm, prompting Declan to look up. He set down his tools and leaned back into his seat before rolling his eyes.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Of course I have a contingency."</b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"And if that goes to shit too?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Then you'll be joining me on a mantlepiece on the Emperor's fireplace. So it won't happen. Don't you have work to do?"</b></span> Declan then asked, narrowing his eyes.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I *did*. Two weeks ago. I set up everything with the quartermasters - just as you asked. We're just sitting on our arses now."</span> Dennor said before taking a sip of his wine. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"No offense, of course. I don't mind the lounging. Besides, some of the halfling women I've taken a liking to. They-"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"I do *not* need to hear any details."</b></span> Declan said bringing a hand up to put a stop to that line of conversation in its tracks. It was then that a courier entered through the tent flaps and delivered two letters before leaving just as quickly with a quick salute. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Haven't had mail in a while."</span></b> the Viceroy commented as he picked up the first, with Dennor shifting in his seat to plant his boots on the ground. He was eager to hear any sort of news - and so Declan started with Lucafiel's message. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Hrm, that's an interesting development."</b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"What?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Our friend, the Redeemer Prince, is reporting that a plague ravages the south of Lacans as we speak."</b></span> Declan said, turning his gaze to Dennor. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Seems that the republic is not as mighty as we thought."</b></span> Dennor gave an approving nod as Declan finished reading the rest of the letter. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Seems he's planning on making a move, and soon. Right in tandem with us, much to our fortunes."</b></span><br>
<br>
The Viceroy quickly took some parchment and dipped a quill into some ink to write a response: (<a href="/members/emperor-sagan.63760/" class="avatar avatar--xxs" data-user-id="63760" data-xf-init="member-tooltip">
			<img src="/data/avatars/s/63/63760.jpg?1569125095" alt="Emperor Sagan" class="avatar-u63760-s" width="48" height="48" loading="lazy"> 
		</a> <a href="/members/emperor-sagan.63760/" class="username " dir="auto" data-user-id="63760" data-xf-init="member-tooltip">Emperor Sagan</a>
 )<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="" data-quote="" data-source="" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			<i>Salutation Lucafiel,<br>
<br>
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. Your news is of great interest, and an indicator to get the stone rolling on this campaign on Lacans. I have already conducted hefty preparations for an incursion by midsummer, when the melts have ceased and the mud return to dirt again. I believe the best course of action is to march within this same time frame, together, to put maximum pressure upon the republic. Regarding the plague, I have yet to meet any indications from the refugees I found prior of such ailments. Regardless, I will remain on the lookout for any developments. In the meantime, we both ought to remain in contact - though I propose we use ravens rather than couriers for speed. Things can change very quickly in a short period.<br>
<br>
- Viceroy Declan Asquith Elron</i>
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With that business finished, Declan quickly placed it within a canvas envelope before sealing it with wax and stamping with his ring's sigil. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"When I'm finished with this next letter, take this to our ravens and have it sent to Lucafiel."</b></span> Declan ordered to Dennor, who only replied with a raising of his goblet. The next letter, however, was much more interesting given the circumstances. Declan's eyes first narrowed, before widening - a smile adorning his visage.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"You're smiling? That doesn't happen often with a grouch like you."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Good news can make anyone smile. Find Munsie, tell her she is invited for dinner."</b></span><br>
<br>
<hr><br>
<i>Later that evening...</i><br>
<br>
The officer's tent for Declan's war camp was empty, save for the Viceroy himself as he sat at its head. In front of him, and in the seat to his left, were porcelain plates, wine glasses, and silver utensils laid out properly. In his pocket sat the letter that was originally meant for Munsie, which he would bring up after he had gotten her comfortable with the setting. He had an idea of how to use this development to the advantage of the campaign. When she did enter the tent at last, Declan greeted her as he hopped out of his seat. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Ah, Munsie! Welcome. I've been meaning to finally speak to you."</b></span> he said with the courtesy of a host. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"My apologies for having delayed our much needed conversation - but I hope this dinner makes up for it in some manner."</span></b><br>
<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">A day had passed since Faska announced to his tribe that they would be joining Adanach's horde. This meant Faska's reputation was tarnished, and half his army had abandoned both him and their tribe. Adanach knew this would not sit well with the goblin, and if he allowed the chieftain to be further besmirched then conflict could soon brew between the two of them. He could not allow that. He returned back to the horde's encampment soon thereafter and carefully prepared a celebration to appease the Gods, the Goblins, and most importantly Faska himself.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span data-s9e-mediaembed="youtube"><span><span style="background:url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/89U2HyunDDk/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% / cover" data-s9e-mediaembed-iframe="[&quot;allowfullscreen&quot;,&quot;&quot;,&quot;scrolling&quot;,&quot;no&quot;,&quot;style&quot;,&quot;background:url(https:\/\/i.ytimg.com\/vi\/89U2HyunDDk\/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% \/ cover&quot;,&quot;src&quot;,&quot;https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/89U2HyunDDk&quot;]"></span></span></span>​</div><br>
<br>
The following evening, at the great stone that depicted the goblin god Nilbog - where the two had fought prior - was now surrounded by tribal decorations depicting various Druadach deities. Women danced around tall poles depicting the mother goddess, while goblin bards played music to their patron so as to obtain his blessing for the horde with his muse. Men, orc, goblins, and beastfolk all feasted on roast boar and venison alongside endless streams of mead and beer. Sitting in front Nilbog's stone were Adanach, Bjoarga and Faska; the three of them enjoyed the good food and drink before them. But when Adanach raised his golden chalice - stolen from Briggun's keep when no one was looking - he asked for everyone's attention. All eyes turned towards him as the commotion of the festivities stilled.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Hear me! The Gods have blessed us with plenty of food and drink tonight. And we must offer them tribute - by being here together, we are pleasing father Cinioch; who wants us to be together in the face of adversity! By drinking, and fucking, and celebrating we are pleasing Eoganan, who smiles down upon merry revelry of all kinds! By offering tribute, not just to the gods but to nature itself, mother Darlugdach will bless us with healthier animals, better hunts, and greater crops!" </span><br>
<br>
Adanach then turned his gaze towards the Goblin bards and druids: <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"And by singing to Nilbog, we will be blessed with his songs in our coming victories!"</span> The warriors of the horde nodded in agreement, letting loose disorganized hollers and cheers as they raised their cups and chalices. And Adanach continued his speech, raising his chalice again. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"But let's not forget why we are here! Me and Faska fought here as real chieftains of old, just yesterday."</span> the warlord spoke, turning to the other goblin warriors that sat across from the great pyre. The "loyal" swordsman of Faska, Urfan, glared towards Adanach with hatred that simmered under the surface.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"He fought with courage, bravery, and tenacity! Like a true chieftain! I know some of ye who doubt him for joining me..."</span> Adanach then spoke, turning back to Faska and raised a toast to the goblin chieftain. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"But he will prove ye wrong. That he's no weakling... Faska, the Bloody Bastard, I dedicate this celebration to ye! May the gods grand you strength!"</span> <br>
<br>
The non-goblins of the horde, upon seeing Bjorga's signal, lifted their mugs and changed the name of their rival turned ally; carried across the warband, his name sailed through the air. And they stopped as quickly as Adanach lifted his free arm to silence them. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I know many of ye distrust me for servin' the dark lord and aye... I do serve him. For now, that is."</span> He looked at the horde with a big grin on his face, bringing about looks of confusion from some of the goblin warriors. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"As I told Faska, I do not believe Briggun's words. Nor in his misbegotten realm! My intention is to save the Druadach! Unite us under one banner so we come as a united tide under the pretense of conquest. And we shall strike when the time is right! Tear down his cursed empire!"</span><br>
<br>
This brought out roars of approval from the horde, and Adanach fanned the flames further. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"We will break their warriors in steel! We will pull down the stones from their keeps! We will enslave their peasants and raze their cities! We will take their wealth from their vaults and rip it off their nobles! <b>WE WILL TAKE WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY OURS! CRUSH THEM! AND TEAR BRIGGUN LIMB FROM LIMB!</b>"</span><br>
<br>
The horde's fervor was contagious as they shouted and cheered, and Adanach poured the contents of his drink down his gullet. Some of it spilled onto his chest and beard, before looking back to his warriors with a grin. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Now drink and eat ya bloody animals!"</span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 18px"><b>Three days later...</b></span>​</div><br>
Previously near the Malenchanted Woods, now at the border between Mors Darak and the realm of Cyrmm, the encampment had grown larger now that the goblins of Faska were joining them. While the celebrations had soothed any tensions between the horde and the goblins, there was another issue at hand; the warriors were growing weary, as it had been months since some of them had seen combat. They were itching for action, which sometimes spilled over into infighting over food and drink. Adanach knew that he had to deal with root of this as soon as possible, but there were other pressing matters at the moment - such as the pint-sized woman pointing a dagger at him.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Ye told me yer gonna bring me revenge!"</span> shouted Leena, baring her fangs as two of Adanach's warriors stopped her from getting too close. Adanach sat on a tribal throne of birch, bronze and gold - in its pagan magnificence - looming above the interloper of the current peace. <span style="color: #a38f84">"And ya didn't even have tha' decency of tellin' me ye were gonna host a feast fer that miserable cur!"</span> Leena then shouted like a banshee, her glowing yellow eyes piercing straight at Adanach with righteous anger.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Calm yer tits woman."</span> Adanach muttered, slouching over his throne. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I needed time. I did not want ye to lunge after him. Don't ya understand what's at stake here, Leena?"</span> He signalled his warriors to let her pass. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I told ye when I met ya, I was going to talk to him first. Try to make him see my point. And he did."</span><br>
<br>
Leena scoffed at the answer, rolling her eyes. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Yer the biggest idiot I've ever known if yer so inclined to believe Faska the Bloody Fookin' Bastard!"</span><br>
<br>
Rukar, who was sitting on the ground nearby, got up and brandished his falx. <span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"Allow me to cut this daft cows' tongue, Adanach!"</span> he said with a malicious grin. The goblin women took a step back from the fear this roused, nervous around a Fae even so mundane as him.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Settle down."</span> Adanach ordered as he looked down to his ally, causing the fae to groan before holstering his falx. He was disappointed from not being able to spill blood, and resigned himself to sit and drink again. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Listen carefully Leena, I am a man of my word. I told ya I was gonna help ya... but I am not going to fight yer own wars. If ya gotta kill that lanky son of a whore, yer gonna do it yerself!"</span> the warlord shouted, <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"But NOT now! As I have told ye, if he saw reason, I wanted ye to spy on him. Use yer trackin' skills to make sure he ain't going behind my back."</span><br>
<br>
Leena was visibly torn over this, but was continually surprised by how much leniency Adanach was giving Faska in the first place. And she above all abhorred spying on that brutish monster in the first place. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Ye want me to watch over the bastard that took everythin' from me!? And casted me aside for somethin' I have no control of!?"</span> she shouted, clenching her fists. But by now, Adanach was losing his patience. He gritted his teeth as he took strides towards the wench, and was prepared to shout her down with the fury of a mountain for being so hard-headed. But the soothing touch of his wife upon his shoulder quelled that anger just as quickly for the moment.<br>
<br>
Bjorga looked down to the goblin woman, whose height she dwarfed considerably. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Listen, Leena, I can't imagine the pain you've gone through. I never experienced such a curse. And I imagine some of the women who have had it must have lost their minds with grief... to be casted aside for something like that."</span> The orc warrioress then thought for a moment, trying to put herself in Leena's skin. She squatted in front of the goblin lady to get closer to her: <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"But that's why my husband wants you in this army. Because after all you've been through, you didn't break. We need a woman of your skills here. We need someone with your keen mind to look over Faska and his unpredictability."</span><br>
<br>
Bjorga then placed a hand on Leena's shoulder, which was the size of her head almost. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"It... it doesn't feel right. I just... don't want to be used again."</span> the goblin huntress then muttered.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"You won't be. You have my word as chieftess of this horde."</span> With those words, Leena looked up into Bjorga's eyes and gave off an awkward smile. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Believe me, I dislike Faska from what I've heard about him. His disregard for our traditions is despicable. But as of now, he has kept his word. And that makes him an asset to our case." </span><br>
<br>
Leena placed a small hand over Bjorga's and sighed. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"F-fine... I'll do as ye say, chieftess... but ya promise I'll get me revenge?"</span> she then asked meekly. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: #61bd6d">"Men like Faska are bound to do something stupid. And when he does, jeopardizing what we've worked for... I promise that I'll hold him still as you gut him. And you'll take his place."</span><br>
<br>
Leena took a deep breath and sighed before giving her chieftess a nod. She then looked at Adanach, without saying a word, she left the chieftains tent. Adanach grinned as his wife got back up and turned to face him.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Heh, ya always knew what to say to the ladies."</span> Bjorga chuckled, but then gave a Adanach a stern look. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"You really got yourself into a conundrum, because if Faska remains loyal, you'll have an angry goblin woman aiming an arrow at your throat for lying to her."</span><br>
<br>
Adanach grinned in amusement as he slouched back into his throne, his wolfish eyes looking at his wife's body. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I expect my beautiful bodyguard to protect me if that's the case!"</span> Bjorga crossed her arms, grinning as well before looking down at Rukkar, who was tearing a spider's legs off. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"...Rukkar ain't that pretty."</span> Adanach laughed for a good minute while the unnamused Redcap ate the legless spider. <span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"Har har yer so funny, ya Orcish cow."<br>
<br>
"So, what we doin' now? We've got two possible fronts to deal with now."</span> asked the Redcap as he looked at Adanach, the question made him frown, for there was plenty for them to do still here in Mors Gobonach. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Torrin the Ironheart... I knew from the moment I met her that she'd be the one to call herself <b>Vergobret</b> of Mors Darak."</span> A vergobret is the closest thing the Druadach region has to a local noble or non-tribal ruler. Usually the Druid King of the Cyrmm grants chieftains said title, but a some chieftains, specially those who disregard the power of the Druid King, declare themselves Vergobret to show off their power to other chieftains. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"She's too ambitious and greedy, she would never agree to bend the knee, and those among her tribe would follow her to the bitter end."</span> Upon hearing that, Adanach clenched his fist and cursed under his breath at his situation. Two powerful realms were bordering him now, and while he wasn't worried about the Cyrmm, Torrin and the Orcish tribes of Mors Darak concerned him greatly. He would prefer to get Mors Darak through diplomacy rather than bloodshed, but that wasn't an option.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"However, the other tribes will follow you if you prove your mettle in combat... and of course, my father and the rest of my tribe will follow you, but to get to them, we must fight through Torrin's armies to get to them."</span> Rukkar looked at them. <span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"What about the Druid King?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Do not concern yerself with that, Rukkar... Our focus shall be Mors Darak, but first, I will talk with Faska about something I've noticed while traversing through his tribe. The amount of trinkets from Tidiaus intrigues me, I need to know if he struck a deal or something with the halflings."</span> Bjorga raised an eyebrow, but she trusted her husbands judgement. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"In the meantime, we shall prepare for the upcoming war, tell my Solduros t-"</span><br>
<br>
Adanach stopped mid sentence when he noticed a pair of warriors entering the tent, behind them was a young man wearing a tunic, a red phrygian cap and sandals. He had several cuts and bruises but otherwise appeared to be healthy, albeit, scared of the barbarians surrounding him. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"My chief, this boy arrived at the gates saying he's carrying a message for you."</span> the warrior pushes the foreign messenger towards Adanach's throne, the poor messenger stumbles and falls to his knees. <span style="color: rgb(150, 75, 0)">"I... I... m-my apologies, master Adanach, I b-bring you a message from the Redeemer Prince!"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"Who the fuck is that?"</span> asked Rukkar as he pulled out his falx, intimidating the poor boy while Adanach raised an eyebrow. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...Redeemer prince? Lucafiel? What would that strange Fae want with us?"</span><br>
<br>
Back in imperial lands, the two lieutenants barely interacted with each other, for a long while Adanach thought very lowly of Lucafiel, thinking he was just like Briggun and he always assumed the Vestati thought low of him as well, but he was always curious about the <i>"faceless white fae"</i> and his people. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"It must be important."</span> Bjorga figured, she doubted the Redeemer Prince would send a letter just to be social.<br>
<br>
Since Adanach did not know how to read, he depended heavily on his scribe Catu, to read and write letters for him. Catu, being a goblin of extremely short height, usually rested in a chest or bag near Adanach's throne, often sleeping next to books or with writing equipment on top of him, he was a strange creature, but a fantastic scribe.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Catu, ya up? I need ye to read me a letter, lad!"</span> shouted Adanach towards a chest to his right, almost immediately Catu emerged from the chest and ran in all fours towards his patron, he held the letter, sniffing the paper several times before breaking the wax seal. <span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">"Smells pretty, sah!"</span> said the Goblin before reading the letter. <span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">"Oooh! Fantastic calligraphy, sah!"</span> Catu kept reading until finished, then proceeded to narrate the contents of the letter;<br>
<br>




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			<i>To the great warrior Adanach and clan,<br>
<br>
The campaign to integrate Lacans will likely begin within the year and preparations go well. I, too, hope your activities in the east go well. However, I write with a request. The territory my legion faces is rather mountainous and wooded - ill land for easy maneuvering. If it is so possible, I am petitioning for a small forced of your soldiers to accompany my legion as scouts and skirmishers, especially those who have experience within the realm of Lacans previously. While this is neither a personal nor official request but merely an exchange of military purpose in service to our Emperor, I would of course be delighted to offer later assistance to yourself and your... clan people as you see fit. Do feel free to assemble as many centaurs, orcs, goblins, and the such as you wish. Perhaps you would like to see the value in a Vestati crusader in return.</i>
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<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"Why is he askin' fer Orcs, Goblins and beastmen?"</span> asked a puzzled Rukkar, since most of the barbarian horde consisted of humans. Adanach was also a bit confused by the request until he looked at his wife and then at a tall Orcish warrior standing guard by the entrance to his tent. Adanach grinned and shook his head before speaking. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Don't think too much about it ol' lad, what matters now is that the redeemer prince needs some scouts."</span> Adanach got off his throne, but Bjorga was a bit surprised by her husbands willingness to help a sissy southern noble. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Are you seriously going to send him some men?"</span> Adanach nodded. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Aye, might not look like it, but I kinda like that twerp, he left me alone and I, in turn, left him alone, besides... ye never know when ya might need a favor from a fancy fae... Catu, do ya have a feather to write a message?"</span> The diminutive goblin ran towards his chest and ran back to Adanach holding a pen and an ink pot that he stole from Estro back in the capital.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">"I got it, sah!"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Good lad, now listen carefully..."</span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><b><span style="font-size: 18px">A week later...</span></b>​</div><br>
The once decrepit Akatoria Castle was now surrounded by a series of formidable defenses and watchtowers with guards taking turns every so often, while they were always on high alert in case of an enemy raiding party, the Yakal auxiliaries had grown accustomed to the depressing quiet of Kokaria and were not expecting anything to happen today, but that was not the case; two Yakal guards posted by the eastern watch towers noticed a large cloud of smoke approaching the castle, they signaled the other watchtowers of an incoming, unknown party. The two beastmen warriors prepared themselves to hold the tower as best they could if they turned out to be a hostile party, but as they continued to approach the Yakals noticed they were not raiders from Lacans nor a local bandit group, they were Druadach barbarians.<br>
<br>
When the barbarians approached their tower, they were given the signal to stop by a Solduros and the leader of this party. One of the yakals descended down the tower to see what they wanted. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0)">"State your business, warrior."</span> asked the Yakal warrior at the Solduros; he was a tall, imposing Orc wearing bronze and iron armor, he rode on top of a fearsome black warg. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"I am a sworn sword of Adanach, I bring a letter for yer master, and I was instructed to join yer army."</span> The Yakal looked at the seal of the letter, it was a wax seal with a pagan symbol on it. The Yakal then looked at the party behind the Orc; it consisted of Orcs mounted on horses and wargs, there were many Goblin skirmishers riding wolves and hounds and in the back there were a few Minotaurs charioteers, riding on top of highly decorated chariots.<br>
<br>
The Yakal warrior looked at the party for a while, trying to determine if they truly were part of Adanach's horde, he then looked at the letter and its seal, before handing it back to the Orc solduros and signaling his partner on top of the tower to warn the other towers of an upcoming allied force. The Orc and his party continued down the road towards Akatoria without saying a thing, but one thing is for certain, they were not happy to be here.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The arrival of Adanach's warriors prompted some modest activity within the fortified legion camp. Once they were allowed past the ditches, stakes, and palisade, the barbarians would see that the inner confines of the camp was very well organized. The half dug-in cabins were well insulated from the rain and cold despite being constructed of gathered stones and wood with a canvas rooftop stretched tight overhead. Of these cabins, all were in orderly rows segregated by sections and companies, with each group indicated by small banners, fluttering proud in the now warmer spring air. Sanitation trenches had been dug extensively to deal with water drainage and trash accumulation, and in many cases acted to flush water towards the latrines, which in turn flushed accumulated waste outside and away from the camp. Given that the Hallow Legion was dug in and preparing for their eventual advance, the camp was currently highly populated - foraging and scouting teams were often only small parties, and the occasional cross-border raid usually only consisted of a section or two. <br>
<br>
Despite the general activity of such a fortification, where numerous sections were training in formations and sparring with each other, many who were not currently occupied with work turned their attention to the arrival of Adanach's warriors. The main bulk of the legion consisted of the Yakals, though there were also numerous other races mixed in as well. All of the regular soldiers wore fairly varied uniforms, <a href="https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/017/100/402/large/sanjani-zakia-muslimah-soldier2.jpg?1554651550" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fcdna.artstation.com%2Fp%2Fassets%2Fimages%2Fimages%2F017%2F100%2F402%2Flarge%2Fsanjani-zakia-muslimah-soldier2.jpg%3F1554651550&amp;hash=a84a02179b2cb70e13e6ed8bd5813f67" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">but most wore the usual colorful tunics and armored skirts expected of many legionnaires</a>, and even many non-Vestati wore veils in imitation of their masters. <br>
<br>
Of the Vestati themselves... many appeared in an elusive manner, almost without warning, their forms shrouded in much finer plate armors as these knightly figures emerged from odd angles. There was an ethereal sense to them, these Vestati soldiers and ancient crusaders. Despite their attire meant for a bloodied battlefield, they walked with a measured grace that bespoke great experience - a lifetime of war and training, honed into a fine art. The embellishments upon their armor were wholly unique, and no two Vestati knights looked the same as for all of them their armor and clothing was as much an outward expression as it was their outer skin. Nothing signified this more than their masks, some painted into nightmarish grotesques and others simple, modest plates of metal with slits for eyes. This headgear was not merely protective, for it shielded their souls against the unholy ire of their ancient, dying god. <br>
<br>
The warriors were brought up to the main castle itself, past several more defensive lines built mainly to keep the legion busy during the slower weeks to keep active; naturally, should the defenses ever be needed, it was better to have them than not. <br>
<br>
Sentries allowed entry for the main leaders and officers of the warriors, whoever they may be and of those who wished to enter the castle. Within this interior would they step into the true domain of the Vestati, shielded from the certain death of an open sky. <br>
<br>
While the outside looked every bit an orderly military fortress, the inside looked more like the wonders of an unknown - possibly surrealist - market bizarre, filled with a dizzying array of foreign arts and materials. Embroidered tapestries had been put up, of which colored lace told intricate stories of the distant, near forgotten past, showing even more alien forms engaging in apocalyptic warfare. Soldiers with feathered wings of black and white fighting within a void black sky split by lightning, while upon the ground of tumbled stone and marble could thousands be seen locked in a titanic struggle in an ocean of blood. Of this particular imagery, the faces of each of the thousands of figures was depicted, etched in agony and ecstasy in equal measure. There was no way to tell who was friend or foe, merely that every being seemed cursed to struggle for their lives in an endless sea of death. Somewhere, haunting music was being played on instruments that seemed unfamiliar - were they string or perhaps brass?  <br>
<br>
Candles in bronze cases, etched with decorative lines and holes for the light to escape, lit all corners and walls of the castle, surrounded by their own entourage of lit candles and incense burners. Many Vestati knights, in an odd scene, merely lounged about the confines, their armored bodies relaxed upon cushions as they smoked long, thin pipes. Very few faces were revealed, for those who opted to remove their armored masks, they instead wore finely embroidered veils, revealing only watchful, narrow eyes. Of the Vestati who were not soldiers, either dressed in the fine attire of functionaries, acolytes, or master craftsmen, no matter how little - if any - clothing they wore, practically all concealed their faces, even of the tantalizing forms of dancers and servants clad only in loincloths and jewelry.<br>
<br>
Those of Adanach's warriors who entered were brought to an old central chamber where the liege must have once given court. Here, even more Vestati were gathered, all sat upon the walls in their little worlds of cushions and low-tables. Many occupied themselves with peculiar table-games or card-like items with pictures. Fine foods and drinks were seen as well, though the Vestati ate less than the mortal races, preferring only the finest and not the bulk of a meal needed to get through the day. As such, many dined upon breads and olive oil, or fruits dipped in warmed chocolate. Perhaps the most egregious of this scene were some figures encompassed in fine blankets moving against each other, nestled within the assembly of seated and lounging forms at random. For the foreign barbarians, many silent eyes watched them closely, both of Vestati figures and of those clearly Yakal.<br>
<br>
Without so much as a need to wait, a small entourage of figures arrived only a moment later, with one of them clearly the fabled Redeemer Prince. While he looked much like his kin, there was a demeanor and air to his form that was unique among an already tantalizing atmosphere of oddities. There was no doubt that he was a warrior as much as he was a ruler, or an artist, or a diplomat, or any other profession that one so long-lived might have been graced to perform. His gaze, when seen from behind his mask, was inquisitive and energetic, if not with a sense of mischievousness born from longevity - a casual nonchalance that took all in stride. <br>
<br>
"Warriors of the great Adanach," a herald spoke, turning to the barbarians. "You have the honor to stand in the midst of Lucafiel sa Helendal, the Redeemer Prince himself. As you are neither kin nor auxiliary but instead guests, you may stand or prostrate yourselves as you wish."<br>
<br>
Lucafiel himself looked over those who opted to enter the castle, posing one hand beneath his chin in contemplation. A scribe brought the letter Adanach had sent along with his soldiers to him and he read it - measured but quickly - before handing it aside. <br>
<br>
"I am most pleased to see the skirmishers have arrived safely," he said, voice soft and melodic, but with the firmness of eternity. "I do hope your travels have been well. And, I must admit, I have been curious to see such... creatures as yourselves at work more closely. You have been brought here to assist as scouts for the harsh terrain we face, but I see no reason that it cannot serve to build more mutual and profitable relations between our clans, so to speak." It was likely there were political reasons behind his call for arms, though he did not elaborate if there were. Instead, he raised one hand, attached to his silken gold cape, and gestured at their surroundings. "If your commanders - do you call them that? - wish to partake with the officers, they may join the auxiliaries in their designated rooms of leisure. For the rest of your warriors outside, they may naturally camp with the rest of the legion. We have cleared and assembled space for your troops. If they wish to erect tents for themselves, they may, or we shall assemble them cabins. All amenities open to the legion are open to you - the baths, the training field, the armories, the forum."<br>
<br>
Lucafiel strode slowly about those who entered into the castle, eying each of them, before at last approaching closer to the rather tall and splendidly muscular orc in bronze armor. "The... Solduros, yes?  I welcome you, personally. You may partake with the high officers under my care and the luxuries afforded to them. I ask that your warriors keep the peace and respect our customs and actions. We are, for example, currently enacting a procedure of quarantine to ward off the disease in the Lacans territory. As such, your men will need to keep among themselves and not wander the camp, but officers may meet with officers, and soldiers may train with each other during their allotted times." It was evident, if not already noted upon arrival, that the Hallow Legion greatly valued their organizational and logistical skills. "You may note the Vestati do not follow much of these restrictions not out of disregard, but because we do not contract your mortal illnesses."</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Come in.</span>" Cordia called out after she heard the knock on her cabin's door. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Oh Uripa, how's the training going?</span>" She didn't even turn around to see her phisician. She didn't need to, she could smell the drow's blood. A fact that always unnerved Uripa. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">Ashryn is settling into the role rather well.</span>" She fought the feeling off and spoke confidently enough. "<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">Her necromancy proficiency was already above the average grave robber you'd see inland, so attuning herself to more focused spells has been easier. She even made suggestions on who we could recruit into the coven.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I like the initiative, but I need to see them for myself.</span>" Cordia finally turned around. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Can't have just any fluzie with aspirations for a vampire husband in.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">Excuse me, captain?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Ah before your time I think. Back in the day some bards spread the word that vampire lords prefer their brides with a talent to corall skeletons and zombies to their side. The result was a surprising number of sorcerrer's aprentices forgoing their sworn duties and pledging themeselves to the dark powers to set themselves up for life. It didn't end well.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">There is absolutely no chance that is true.</span>" Uripa blinked in disbelief, slightly shaking her head.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Oh?</span>" Cordia smiled "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">You told me your great grandmother was the original owner of that grimoure you use. Should we hold a seanse to ask her why she picked it up and damned her bloodline?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">I...I rather we switch the subject.</span>" A beat of sweat ran down the drow's brow. "<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">The expedition you send after that shipwreck came back. They found a chest, but haven't been able to break the lock.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Lets go see it then.</span>" Cordia was already halfway through the door when she heard that they had found a chest, the rest was just a bit of motivation. Once outside on the deck, she spotted Gribbs and Sawtooth directing trafic. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">Come on you wastes! Put that chest down! Forget being careful, the damn thing is locked up tighter than a nun's arse.</span>" The group of undead sailors that carried the chest took it as a que to just drop it unceremoniously. The loud thud made the ship 'growl' as if it was hit by it. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Elfwood.</span>" Cordia muttered. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Enchanted. Lock is made of mythril. Rather strange looking lock.</span>" She continiued to comment as she examined it. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Sawtooth, for the future. Don't just slam random objects on our ship. Elfwood has rather unpleasant properties if weaponized against it.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">Eh, sorry cap'tin.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I see why you've had trouble opening it. Its not locked with any key.</span>" She got closer and put her fingers on the lock. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">The 'key' would be a cypher. You insert it and then you 'talk' to the lock to let you in." She tapped the magic lock "Must have been some wizard's stache or some wealthy merchant's goods.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">So how do we open it boss?</span>" Gribbs asked, looking up to her quizically. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">You'll do nothing.</span>" Cordia shoed him away. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I'll have a chat with it.</span>" The gremlin was about to say something when his captain inserted a finger in the lock. The mechanism inside moved as clicking and claking began to eminate. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">There you are.</span>" Something started scraping. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Oh you're not going to be a problem for me, are you</span>?" The noise got louder. Now smoke started to pour from the lock. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Didn't think so. All that time down in the water. The salt eroded you. Made you weak.</span>" It 'screamed'. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Got you!</span>" One final click and the lock opened. Cordia pulled her finger from the lock and shook off a tar-like substance from it. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Had to lobotomize it. Not much left in there for that given the water damage, but it was enough to keep you lot from getting a peek. Now.</span>" The banshee captain kicked the chest open revealing its content. <br>
<br>
Scales. Worthless to the uneducated, but Cordia smiled as she noticed what type they were. Emerald dragon scales. Worth a fortune to any alchemist, ehchanter and mage worth their salt. A rich booty indeed. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Gribbs, hold one for me.</span>" The gremlin picked up the prized regent. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Now, duplicate.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Sure.</span>" He pulled another scale from his pocket. Identical to the one he was holding in his palm. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">More, Gribbs!</span>" His captain scowled. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Ehh, thats going to be a problem.</span>" Cordia looked at him with anger "<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Its a very hard to come by item and well...it takes a lot of time to duplicate it with the energy I have so...</span>" Cordia kicked the gremlin across the deck. Sawtooth burst out in laughter. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Useless little...</span>" She regained her composure. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Fine...I'm fine...Guess we'll amass riches in another way.</span>"</div>
				
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			<i>To my most esteemed friend Veno Dilach,<br>
<br>
I have exchanged some few letters with the fabled Ram of Iskulia, Ikono Manakles, and have found him... rather unpersonable within the page. If it is at all possible, I would like to see if you have an assembled dossier on his person and those close to him. He seems prideful, arrogant, boastful, and rash. A very ripe personality for exploitation. I suspect by the time this letter finds you, we will have already gone to the battlefield, though I suspect the campaign will be a slow and steady one. I do hope all is well within your life and labors. <br>
<br>
I must also bring to your attention that there is plague in Iskulia and I have concerns on the maritime shipping here spreading the disease elsewhere. As I am certain you have a contact in every shadow that stretches on this continent, perhaps raise caution on Iskulian ships and goods. I intend to burn all, naturally. Plague is such a distasteful thing, no? And perhaps you can convince Declan of the foolishness of freeing all slaves of Lacans. The north may suffer less than the south, but plague cares little about boundaries. I will be most cross should he continue ahead heedless of the danger of disease. <br>
<br>
- your dear friend, Lucafiel</i>
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</blockquote><br>
Veno's eyes darted across the letter, half admiring the calligraphy and half actually taking in the information requested of her. Indeed, she did have contacts across most of the continent. She wouldn't be as good of an Imperial Spymaster if she didn't. If a flea bit the neck of a noble in far off Arnone, she'd know about it within a few days. Digging up a dossier on Ikono Manakles and those he primarily associated with wouldn't be difficult at all. She did wonder how Lucafiel would repay her, however. She didn't often do these things out of the goodness of her heart, unless it was directly for Briggun.<br>
<br>
The plague Lucafiel mentioned next in his letter was of particular note. Plagues spread quite easily, and there was a risk of the plague not just spreading to the north. It could be unknowingly brought back into the Empire, or spread elsewhere. Killing carriers and burning their corpses was a sure method of containment, as was burning the locations of where plague outbreaks were centered.<br>
<br>
Veno, however, had a master chemist at her disposal. Perhaps, with a sample of the plague, a cure could be developed and distributed amongst the armies for the time being?<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Guard."</span> she said loudly, setting the letter down on the table before her.<br>
<br>
The cloth cover to her large tent opened, and an armored head poked in. A drow knight, of course, bearing the markings of the cult of Akordia. They were camped out just outside of Sansey, Veno's army preparing for the coming weeks of war with Weidach. Though not everyone was here, of course. Talice remained back in the Imperial capital, overseeing Veno's duties while she was away.<br>
<br>
Veno straightened up from the long wooden table, covered in maps of Weidach and the surrounding areas as well as documents from spies and scouts. She fixed her silky purple robe, before speaking again. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"I need to speak with both the Huntress and the Chemist. Bring them to me, please."</span> she stated, her red eyes travelling up to the guard from the table.<br>
<br>
The guard nodded and gave her a proper salute before disappearing from the cloth curtain. While she waited, she returned to gazing down at the table. In particular, she stared at a note from one of her spies keeping an eye on her allies in the nearby Piantia Campaign. Word had made it back that Cordia, the Banshee, had captured and recruited a drow by the name of Ashryn. The woman, apparently, was a necromancer.<br>
<br>
The name Ashryn sounded really familiar, but she couldn't quite place from where. She'd have to mull over it a bit more before she could place exactly where she knew it from. That, or she would have to meet this Ashryn in person. Doubtful that would happen unless she had a meeting with Cordia, however.<br>
<br>
Minutes passed, before the two individuals she had requested made their appearances. Cazna entered first, as stoic as ever. However, instead of the typical garments she normally wore, she was now clad in bits of armor and chain-mail. She had likely been training the soldiers for the coming weeks. Veno flashed her a smile, before glancing behind her to another figure. One which was entering the tent rather noisily.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)"><span style="font-size: 26px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><b>Viclara Tortlar</b></span></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">(Master Chemist, Self-Proclaimed 'Doctor')</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/plague-doc-png.1136498/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1073/1073627-9524d93f32f285b8165c0e20162fe8bd.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="Plague Doc.png" title="Plague Doc.png" width="100" height="167" loading="lazy"></a><br>​</div><span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"I genuinely hope this is of the utmost importance!" </span>said the oddly dressed high elf as she marched the curtains. There was an odd smell that lingered the air following her.<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)"> "I was developing a particularly potent compound! One I hope can be used in your future campaigns, perhaps?"</span><br>
<br>
Veno shrugged. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Perhaps... why do you smell like garlic?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"It's the concoction itself, madame. It gives off the aroma of garlic and horseradish from what I can tell, after the proper mixture of ingredients! The liquid is also particularly viscous, and has a yellowish hue."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...I hope I don't have to tell you that you shouldn't be testing it on anyone while we're here."</span> stated Veno.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"By Akordia, no! I tested it on some idiot the guards brought in before we left the capital!"</span> stated Viclara, waving both her hands in front of her rapidly. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"So far, it seems to have a sort of irritating effect on the skin. I'll know more later!"</span><br>
<br>
Veno sighed. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"You could at least tell me you're going to do these things <b><i>BEFORE</i></b> you do them, Viclara."</span> she muttered, before looking back down at the table. She glanced towards the letter Lucafiel sent, before speaking again. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Cazna, do we happen to have a dossier on the Ram of Iskulia, Ikono Manakles? Our friends up north have need of information on him and his associates."</span><br>
<br>
Cazna nodded. <span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">"We do, back at the capital. Talice knows where to look."</span> responded the armored drow folding her arms.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Good. Send word to her. Tell her to send a copy of the documents to Lucafiel."</span> Veno then looked to Viclara. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"As for you, I have need of your 'doctor' services in regards to the north as well."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Ohoho!"</span> said the plague doctor, opening her arms wide. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Pray tell, what have our allies encountered?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"A true plague, according to Lucafiel. One at risk of spreading due to the war."</span> responded Veno, <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"At the moment, they're going to proceed with the typical methods. Kill and burn. But, I intend to send you back to the capital if they can provide you with a sample of the plague."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"And you want me to...?"</span> asked Viclara,<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)"> "...Cure it? <i>Weaponize it?</i> I <i><b>can</b></i> do both, you know."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...For now, focus on the curing half."</span> said Veno, eyeing the doctor for a moment. A glance back in Cazna's direction allowed Veno to notice that Cazna had something to say. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Yes, Cazna?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">"Those Clerics in Oberngenia. What do you intend to do?"</span> asked Cazna, raising an eyebrow.<br>
<br>
Veno had recently been informed of a group of group of clerics referred to as the Clerics of Endane. Supposedly these clerics were working on magics to counter her own dark magics and the magics of her allies. She sent spies shortly afterwards to investigate the matter... and found out something rather humorous. They were simple amateurs. Their wards would be worthless against her own force and likely the forces of her allies.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...Nothing."</span> said Veno, with a grin. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"I shall leave them be. Let them practice their magics. We'll see who's is better when the time comes."</span><br>
<br>
Cazna raised an eyebrow, but nodded at the response.<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)"> "And the soldiers?"</span><br>
<br>
Veno shrugged. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"We can't exactly stop them from getting chummy with our allies in Sandach. However... you <i>can </i>instill a sense of focus. We're here to <i>'assist'</i> with this war. When the <i>'assisting'</i> is done, <b><i>other</i></b> things will need to be done."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">"...Understood."</span> responded Cazna.<br>
<br>
Veno then smiled. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"...Send a messenger to Swybeck. Tell him that I need to have a bit of conversation with him regarding our future assault on Weildach, especially with our opponents bracing for the coming storm."</span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">--- --- --- --- --- ---​</div><br>




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			<i>To the honorable Redeemer Prince,<br>
<br>
I hope this letter finds you well. I have received your requests, and have tasked my subordinate with sending you all we know of the Ram of Iskulia, Ikono Manakles. Thankfully, I've had my spies do extensive research into Ikono prior to these opening campaigns, and I do hope you find the included information useful in your endeavors. As for the plague, I'll see what I can do in regards to halting its spread into Imperial territories. Security will be heightened at our ports and borders, and I'll have my men and women keep a look out for potential carriers in neighboring nations as well. I do have a request, however, in regards to this plague. If at all possible, could you send a sample of it back to the capital for my master chemist to study? Perhaps we can develop a cure for the sickness, and distribute it amongst the standing armies as a means of protection and prevention.<br>
<br>
As for the Lord Viceroy, I should make it a point that I personally do not approve of slavery. One is far more useful when they give themselves willingly into servitude instead of being forced unwillingly into it. I can not convince the Lord Viceroy to change his mind on the matter if I myself agree with him and his methods. However, it is more likely that he could be convinced if you were to go through, say, our Lord Emperor? Perhaps a commanding word is needed.<br>
<br>
Kindest regards,</i><br>
<br>
<b>[An image of a ink black rose is drawn here.]</b>
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			<i>To the esteemed Lord Viceroy,<br>
<br>
Salutations, Lord Viceroy. I believe that a letter is due after receiving one from our associate, the Redeemer Prince. In which, he made me aware of a plague spreading through the southern lands of Lacans. In particular, Iskulia. I advised him that I shall be making the effort to heighten security at Imperial ports and borders, and keep an eye out for possible carriers in neighboring lands. I advise you and your men and women to keep an eye out as well. If you should encounter the plague, you know the traditional methods of eradication. Kill, burn, bury. I have requested that the Prince send a sample of the plague to the Imperial capital, so my chemist can get to work on a potential cure. That way, we can prevent the spread through other means. If you should encounter anyone infected with the plague, I would request a sample be sent to my chemist as well. If at all possible.<br>
<br>
The Prince also requested that I speak to you and try to convince you to change your mind on freeing the slaves. I advised that I can not convince you to do that if I already agree with you on the subject. Be aware that he may attempt to seek Lord Briggun's approval on the issue, however.<br>
<br>
Humble Regards,</i><br>
<br>
<b>[An image of an ink black rose is drawn here.]</b>
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			<i>To the dreaded Banshee Queen of the Seas,<br>
<br>
I do hope this letter makes it to you without too much salt-water damage. I see that your endeavors in the Piantia Campaign have proceeded with immense success. Things here on the Weildach side of things are proceeding accordingly, but my spies have brought to my attention that the enemy has a mermaid in their naval services. Now I, of course, can figure out a proper method in dealing with her as well as her half-elf ally on the mainland, but I couldn't help but offer you a chance at a little more bloodshed on the high seas. If you decline, however, I will understand.<br>
<br>
If you would, offer the same chance to our rather blood-thirsty associate. If you don't want to take the chance, she may jump at it. I'm more than willing to share if it advances our collective plans for the Emperor.<br>
<br>
Kindest Regards,</i><br>
<br>
<b>[An image of an ink black rose is drawn here.]</b>
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			<i>To Lady Falwyn,<br>
<br>
I will accept your offer to meet, and suggest the village of Sylvanica. This being on Imperial Territory, I should expect minimal ceremony around the event. In fact, I would venture to believe that our meeting would displease both of our masters. As much as it would further enrage Lord Briggun, I must also require a show of good faith; your forces must remain off of Erevan's soil for the remainder of spring, allowing for the planting cycle to continue uninterrupted. If you accept, then I should seek to discuss with you the possible outcomes of this campaign you're waging.<br>
<br>
Respectfully,<br>
Kande Abdolon</i>
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</blockquote>Falwyn looked over the message considering the proposal. It wasn't an unreasonable request by the man, however the offer to meet in imperial territory surprised her. Against other lieutenants of Briggun such a concession could have led to a potential capture and disruption of the entire command structure. Falwyn considered the thought briefly before audiably snorting to that low level of treachery. <br>
<br>
So his tactic was to buy time, undertake risks neccesary to delay invasion. She had the advantage of the skies, fire, and come summer the rivers. And she would make him bend the knee, or at least put the thought in his head. One that would become increasingly appealing when the vast company under Briggun's command in the Sauriod mountains finally decided to undertake movement. She picked up her quill unrolling another roll of parchment beginning to pen out a message.<br>
<i><br>
To Kande Abdolon,<br>
<br>
I accept your proposal. My forces will stay in Ostmajora until the start of summer. I do hope for a good harvest. I will set camp in Sylvanica. If you do not come to parlay within two weeks time I will consider this promise forgone.<br>
<br>
By My Blood,<br>
Falwyn Tholmar</i><br>
<br>
Falwyn stretched her arms out looking over the message she had written. Her delay would cause an anger to Briggun, but that could be sated by the blood which would be poured out come summer. She walked upon through the roughly beated out dirt paths in the outskirts of a town which they had taken camp outside of. The banners erected around the camp still shown her golden image, and the men had slowly began to regain their composure. Her marshal Titus Dawnguard overlooked the training grounds calling out critiques, <span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"Joseph your dropping your guard."</span> He'd pace forward looking as a broad muscalar man elbowed his sparing partner to the ground then resting his sword to his side looking at a smile to Titus. The man who had fallen on the ground had in the time managed to roll up and place a dagger to the mans chest. Titus shook his head<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">, "Finish your battles. A cornered foe is the one that is most dangerous."</span> Falwyn would finally call off to Titus, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Bring a contignent of our men to Sylvanica, I have a meeting to attend to."</span> She would then walk off slowly transforming to her dragon form to the small cheer of a few men around her. <br>
<br>
She took to the skies free the wind blowing against her true form. To coast across the skies was a delight viewing the world below as hers to explore. Going across valleys and hills of a land slowly broken in spirit she would spot the town of Slyvancia landing down near the outskirts. A local farmer boy screamed out in panic as she came falling down. The initial fear always did satisfy her, how they naturally fell to their knees before her. She'd slowly transform back into her human form as the boy looked on her puzzled,<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "Don't fear boy, I'm just here for a drink. where's the nearest tavern."</span><br>
<br>
As time passed the contigent would move in directed by Dawnguard, golden banners dotting across the village. Falwyn would find her place of parlay upon the town square.  A fine oak table was set out draped with a nice white wool tablecloth.  Brought in from her collection it contrasted against the rusted fountain nearby that had long since stopped its flow. Nearby the people progressed upon their daily lives trugging through the daily tasks. They had quickly grown quite calm to the presence giving her due respect and providing her with the proper meat and alcholol to sate her appetietes. <br>
<br>
As Kande Abdolon finally approached the village he would be led to the place of parlay a silver plate of cooked pork with cut potatos on the side. Falwyn was dressed in a fine white cloak, pauldrons and an intricate weave lacing the top near her neck. Her hair braided into two lusciously long pigtails that draped down her shoulders to the sides. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I am glad that you have come Kande. Wine? Aged fifty years from the Abracion vineyards. Its a shame what happened to their family. The heir was quite an innovator."</span> She'd smile offering to pour as the man sat across from her.<br>
<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><i>Days later</i><br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Captain! Mail for you!</span>" Gribbs stormed into the cabin waving the cylinder in hand. The gremlin stumbled forward but managed not to drop the precious cargo. He stood up grinning holding it and beaming with pride. A bold of magic hit him square in the jaw and send him sailing outside. The container falling right into the captain's grasp.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">I didn't tell you to come in!</span>" She scolded the creature. She motioned with a hand and the door closed itself. A muffled 'I'm fine' could be heard from Gribbs. Cordia rolled her eyes and oppened the cylinder. She had expected letters by now. Boastful captains and lawmen claming they will put an end to her. That sort of thing, but not this. Not so soon. It appears that Veno had some issues. A mermaid. The banshee captain wanted to go after Sirius and challenge his topedo moniker, but now an new threat on the waves had shown itself. This was always going to be a multi-front war. But perhaps pincering this little siren before she became a threat would put the fear of the banshee into the coasts.<br>
<br>
But this was hardly a choice for only she could make. After all Veno had proposed Alexandre to join the fray. The wisdom of her splitting her attention from harvesting Kaula to pursue a foe by sea was dubious at best, and the spymaster had to know this. What game was she playing?<br>
<br>
But letters had to be written.<br>
<br>




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			To Spymaster Veno<br>
<br>
I send you this letter to confirm your message has arrived safely to my ship and that your generous offer for mayham is considered. I will send you a folloup on what should be done to to the annoying little mermaid. Fear not, even if I am there to keelhaul her or not, I can still advise on how to treat a daughter of the deep.<br>
<br>
Speak to you soon.<br>
Captain Cordia
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			To the ripper of flesh and harvester of souls, Alexandre<br>
<br>
I hope this letter finds you well, covered in blood and entrails. How goes the campaing? Rumors are starting to swirl of the Bone coast becoming a deathtrap once again. I cannot possible take the credit for such a development all for myself.<br>
<br>
There is another reason I'm writing you this letter. The emperor's spymaster has apparently hit a new development on her end. Some mermaid has appeared and allied herself with Sandach. She asks if we are interested in joining in for some slaughter and while I believe you might delight in some additional killing, I do not want to commit on your behald especially when you might have other things that need more immediate attention.<br>
<br>
I also suspect our spymaster may have some other machinachions in the works on account of her profession, but what they may be, I cannot say. I'll await your answer before I make any decision to Veno's proposal.<br>
<br>
Best wishes<br>
Captain Cordia
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			To Baba Vojka<br>
<br>
How goes the war effort, Baba? My coven has recruited its first new member in a long while, so it got me thinking how my sister in haxes is fairing. Have you had a chance to expand your circle? Have you taken hold of the Erevanians fears? Do you throt through their nightmares? Teralia is fun, but I'm curious about the rest of the world.<br>
<br>
Best wishes<br>
Captain Cordia
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</blockquote>Cordia placed the letters in their envelopes, but before she send them, she penned one last paper for the evening.<br>
<br>




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			To the Torpedo<br>
<br>
Oh captain, my captain. How I fear that dreadful pirate that has arisen from the waves. Her ship of whailing souls filling the sails with their screams. The hull decorated with the bodies of the slain. Their flesh melding to the wood as an affront to nature. How I wish you would act to save us.<br>
<br>
Am I close, dear? Are these the types of letters you get? I do believe I'd make a great damsel in distress if I was given the chance. But the gods have instead decided to make me the villain of their tales. Shame really. It looks so fun to be a hapless dimwit waiting for the big strong man to come save me.<br>
<br>
But go tell your king, queen and whoever that you beat me this time. That you intimidated me with that fleet. Piantia currently has no interest to me, for there are more interesting shores to plunder. You however, my dear Sirius. I'll keep an eye on your career.<br>
<br>
With love and hate<br>
Captain Cordia
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</blockquote>Would he believe the lie? Probably not, but who knows what a man driven by fear would do. Cordia stood up from her chair and carried the letters to the reanimated crow skeletons and gave each one their repsective letter and whispered their destinations.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">Fly my preties!</span>" She said as she oppened the window for their flight.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">As the encampment's palisade gates opened Adanach's warriors stepped through, unbothered by the curious looks given to them from both Auxilia and the Vestati. Many of them reveled in the attention they were receiving, and took every opportunity they could to make crude gestures and hurl inappropriate remarks at those that would soon be their superiors. While not as diverse as the Horde itself, this small group of warriors showed some of said diversity; the Orcish solduros leading them was a red-haired beast of a man wearing only the best armor and wielding the finest weapons that the blacksmiths of the Druadach could make. Behind him were other tall, powerful Orcs followed by Goblins - whose faces and bodies features great variety, some being unsettling while others almost humanoid. Some were even considered attractive by human standards. Finally were the minotaurs, who towered over the Orcs and whose physical strength were on display to see. Their shaggy red fur were covered in blue painted markings made out of woad, and they carried massive swords, axes and spears that could easily pin a grown man to a wall or cleave one in twain.<br>
<br>
At the entrance of the castle, the Solduros chose his best warriors to accompany him inside; three Orcs, a lithe and handsome Goblin, and a one-eyed, monstrous Minotaur. While fewer in number than when they arrived, they continued to brazenly walk through their way into Akatoria Castle. But they were curious as to the opulent wealth surrounding them on display, wondering of their worth. And some couldn't help themselves but to admire the structures and art surrounding them. Unknown to many outside the region, but the people of the Druadach did value cultural arts, and seeing a small statuette depicting a beautiful VVestati was enough to trigger a barrage of questions from the warriors - wondering of the craftsmanship and the materials used to make it.<br>
<br>
But fine art was not the only thing that had caught their eyes as they advanced further through the castle. Once inside the central chamber, the small entourage of warriors looked at the opulent court with shock. First, by the sheer amount of delicacies. But more importantly, they were surrounded by the courtiers and dancers of the Redeemer Prince. While these warriors knew that the Vestati were not man or mer, they never actually had seen what was under their exquisite armours. And while faces were hidden by veils still, they were charmed by the elegant beauty of their new patrons. And this was followed with lascivious looks and comment, with the goblin skirmisher going as far as to try and charm one of the dancers. But this attempt at courting was cut short when another entourage of people entered the central chamber.<br>
<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 63760" data-quote="Emperor Sagan" data-source="post: 11834650" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			"Warriors of the great Adanach, you have the honor to stand in the midst of Lucafiel sa Helendal, the Redeemer Prince himself. As you are neither kin nor auxiliary but instead guests, you may stand or prostrate yourselves as you wish."
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Before them stood the famed Redeemer Prince - whom the warriors deferred actual respect to. Lucafiel was a powerful being, and they knew this. And power was respected in the eyes of the Druadach. The Solduros then handed Adanach and Catu's missive given first to a Vestati scribe, which was then given to Lucafiel himself.<br>
<br>




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			<i>To the magnanimous Lucafiel sa Helendal.<br>
<br>
I hope this letter finds you well, your highness. If the language used in this letter appears to be sophisticated, despite the rather limited lexicon I must have used during our meetings in the past, it is because I am allowing my goblin scribe to write it for me. As I am illiterate, I cannot pen the letter myself - still, my trust in him is absolute and he will deliver my words and intentions across.<br>
<br>
I personally selected some of the best warriors and scouts I can provide, ensuring that they were to your liking. I wish I could deliver more to aid you in these trying times, but currently I am facing a rather dangerous foe. An Orcish woman who has declared herself Vergobret, a magistrate, of Mors Darak. As such, I must focus on my conquest of the region before I can provide any more assistance to the Hallow Legion. But rest arssured that when the time comes, the Horde will be there to aid you during your conquest.<br>
<br>
I am honored by your offer to send one of your famed crusaders to my lands. However, you must make sure to send a man or woman capable of understanding and tolerating our way of life. If you are capable of finding such a warrior among your ranks, I will be honored to have them in mine.<br>
<br>
Best Regards,<br>
Adanach - Chieftain of the Druadach Horde.<br>
<br>
PD; I sincerely admire your calligraphy Master Lucafiel - Signed Catu, Goblin Scribe Extraordinaire.</i>
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<blockquote data-attributes="member: 63760" data-quote="Emperor Sagan" data-source="post: 11834650" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			"I am most pleased to see the skirmishers have arrived safely, I do hope your travels have been well. And, I must admit, I have been curious to see such... creatures as yourselves at work more closely. You have been brought here to assist as scouts for the harsh terrain we face, but I see no reason that it cannot serve to build more mutual and profitable relations between our clans, so to speak."
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Once finished with the letter, the Redeemer Prince approached the small party before him. They did not think ill of him when he referred to them as creatures, for they would have done the same towards him under differing circumstances. To them, he was a Fae - a creature of magic, unaware of the true nature of the Vestati and their divine origins. When he mentioned the possibility of forging more profitable relations between their "clans", one of the Orcish warriors laughed. The rest laughed in unison, save for the Solduros. "Me thinks of a few ways to strengthen relations..." said one of the warriors, looking towards a male dancer in the court.<br>
<br>
The Solduros looked over his shoulder towards the disrespectful warriors, his sharp disapproval getting them to quiet down. With that issue silenced, the Solduros looked back to the Vestati prince. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"We are here to aid ye, Master Lucafiel. If we strengthen our alliance during our stay, we will."</span> said the leader while looking down at the Prince with his intense red eyes.<br>
<br>




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			"The... Solduros, yes? I welcome you, personally. You may partake with the high officers under my care and the luxuries afforded to them. I ask that your warriors keep the peace and respect our customs and actions. We are, for example, currently enacting a procedure of quarantine to ward off the disease in the Lacans territory. As such, your men will need to keep among themselves and not wander the camp, but officers may meet with officers, and soldiers may train with each other during their allotted times."
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Having the Prince be this close to him made the Solduris curious of Lucafiel's true nature. The strange, alien aura he emanated was unlike any other Fae he had previously encountered. The closest he could think of was the aura of one of the spiked Fae the settled cowards referred to as "demons". But, before him, was clearly not such. He was something else entirely.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Ye might call me Wealdmær, Master Lucafiel... I guess I am the closest thing to an "officer". But we have no such ranks in the Horde. I lead men because I am a faithful warrior of the Gods, and of my Warchief."</span> He then looked to those under his command behind him: <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"As fer yer disease ye worry about... us Orcs are more resistant to such things. But I will tell everyone to respect yer customs, ye have me word..."</span> Turning his attention back to Lucafiel, baring a toothy grin to reveal a tusk replaced by a golden denture. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"But I must warn ye, keep me lads entertained. Else they grow a bit rowdy."</span><br>
<br>
Just as he finished speaking, Lucafiel would notice the same goblin from before making a crude gesture at one of the dancers.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Having read through Adanach's letter, the prince smiled slightly beneath his mask, though this gesture was naturally unseen by all; instead, Lucafiel bowed his head in a slight way that demonstrated to the other Vestati that he was content. To the awaiting Solduros, Lucafiel said, <span style="color: rgb(179, 182, 183)">"Your chieftain speaks highly of you, so my expectations will be as such. The war ahead of us will be one that relies greatly on the terrain, I believe, so the skills of your scouts and trackers will be just as valuable, if not more, than the strength of your sword arm."</span> His graceful tone was as one would expect of such an ethereal-like figure, both alien and sublime, but grounded by the realities of their mere existence. Yet even still, within his words lingered another all too expected aspect - a sense of command, a sense that expected obedience where obedience was required, as well as an expectation to not be disappointed. The Vestati may have seemed strange, but not particularly cruel, though the truth of their ire was a rare firestorm that went unseen by more mundane failures.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(179, 182, 183)">"Given the particulars of the theater that your, ah... <i>horde</i> faces, and given over to previous words I have had with your master, I will also be sending some of my soldiers to his aid,"</span> Lucafiel explained. He canted his head aside to speak to a secretarial figure, though in such a way that allowed for the Solduros to be included in the information.<span style="color: rgb(179, 182, 183)"> "We shall assemble three crusader bannerets. Approximately speaking, Adanach should expect three Vestati crusaders and their assembly of auxiliaries and footmen. Thirty or so souls. While they may not be accustomed to the organization of your horde, even a single banneret has been known to put an entire town to heel. On the battlefield, they serve most excellently as shock troops. I feel this may be advantageous as they do not act in strict formation similar to your kind. Some of the bloodiest vestiges I have ever seen were the result of several bannerets competing to take the enemy banner, or the commander's head,"</span> the prince said in an almost whimsical voice. There was evidently a deeper history to his few words. <span style="color: rgb(179, 182, 183)">"We will also send some gifts, perhaps a few choice items from our library."<br>
<br>
"As for your band personally, that statuette which captured your interest so completely can enter into your care. A gift and token of gratitude from our people to yours," </span>Lucafiel added, gesturing for a servant to bring the evocative little statue forward for the barbarians to take ownership over.<br>
<br>
The somewhat unruly - and in some ways lascivious - manner of the assembled heathens earned a slight head cant from Lucafiel. Even among his retinue assembled around him like the orbit of celestial spheres, brilliant as the stars and shimmering atmospheres unseen, there was a slight commotion of activity. Words spoken in soft languages the Solduros had certainly never heard before. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[They are beasts],"</span> one Vestati declared to another in their ancient tongue. <span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[I doubt they recognize the divine artistry before them... their lust renders them servile, not enlightened as we]."</span><br>
<br>
Another Vestati nodded, their eyes narrowed behind the slits of their intricate mask, watching the assembled barbarians with what amounted to disdain, though to an outward observer little could be read from their featureless face. <span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[They could never understand the sacred honor it is to serve within the harems]." </span>However, others seemed indifferent or intrigued at this, and after a moment of hushed discussion Lucafiel glanced over his shoulder at his party.<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)"> "[Some of you have been neglecting your studies. We slew many of our pontificies, but had you still been juniors, I suspect a punishment would have followed. Alas, I cannot fault this lapse. Survival has been our foremost concern. Regardless, rest assured that the instincts of the creatures before us are vessels which contain the utmost heat. Curiously, I do suspect that many of them have not yet met their kiln - the clay of their soul remains unfired. Vessels cast from the heat within... what a fascinating concept.]"</span><br>
<br>
At last, Lucafiel turned back to the Solduros, gazing up at the large orc and meeting - and holding - his gaze with his own eyes, so white that they were almost empty orbs. <span style="color: rgb(179, 182, 183)">"Then we shall establish you as an honorary captain, Wealdmær."</span> He paused, as if tasting the unfamiliar name despite the perfection he rendered in pronouncing it. <span style="color: rgb(179, 182, 183)">"It is equivalent to a senior officer here. Some will bristle at your inclusion to planning. Ignore them. We do not allow spontaneous dueling, for all such actions are accounted for on the last solstice of the year."<br>
<br>
"And as for your entertainment...."</span> Lucafiel snapped his fingers and spoke once again in his ancient language. From the busy sidelines of the court, a lithe figure in barely concealing silk, gauze, and jewelry approached. This figure moved with what could be described as the impossible fluidity afforded only to water. Indeed, the sturdiest aspect to their loose attire were their shoes, cupped over the toes, giving them the quaint ability to walk upon their very toes if need be. They were veiled with two sharp ears jutting out from their coiled hair - a Vestati, to be sure, and not an elf given the location of this inner sanctum. When they bowed, they did so in a low curtsy with the strength of a single leg, the other outstretched in a bare manner that was as tantalizing as it was a testament to their superb strength and flexibility. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(179, 182, 183)">"I offer your company, Captain Wealdmær, the esteemed honor of being treated by a courtesan troupe. This will be six souls in number, and this one here that you have the honor of addressing is Yvettine, the commander of their troupe. They offer much in the form of companionship and the arts, be it singing, dance, music, or other more intimate activities. To be in the presence of such artisans is an honor given to very few outside of this sanctum. They are to be treated with the utmost reverence, and should a single scratch or bruise land upon them without invitation, then they who rendered such upon their forms will suffer the forfeit of the hand which harmed the body."</span><br>
<br>
Yvettine turned to the barbarians in a flawless pivot and looked each over quickly through their veil, their eyes shimmering with interest and some degree of trepidation. When they spoke, their voice was a mere whisper, arriving with the cold certainty of a breeze on a moonlit night. <span style="color: rgb(179, 182, 183)">"This one is unaccustomed to foreign palate, but shall serve with grace."</span><br>
<br>
As the courtesan gathered their troupe of slender bodied acrobats in a variety of slim shapes and colors, they rejoined with the barbarians, looking them over without a hint of bashfulness. It seemed every movement was a genuine dance as if they moved with - not through - the air. The monstrous minotaur was an item of much interest as the Vestati fluttered about them, and even one of the dancers inspected the goblin, though the latter could sense the eyes of a hunter behind the golden laced veil that concealed much of the Vestati's face. <span style="color: rgb(179, 182, 183)">"You are very small,"</span> one such dancer remarked plainly to the goblin; to the large minotaur, two inquisitive troupe members inspected them with the veracity of a butcher eying a prime cut of meat upon their table and likewise remarked, <span style="color: rgb(179, 182, 183)">"Your size could lift many of us in but a single palm. We would like to stand upon thy shoulders at some point."</span><br>
<br>
A messenger arrived shortly thereafter and offered Lucafiel two parcels which he opened and inspected, the letters being from Declan and Veno, having arrived at a postal tower for consolidation before being sent here. He read them swiftly and squinted at Veno's letter for a second longer before looking back upon the barbarians. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(179, 182, 183)">"I trust this will be all. Captain Wealdmær, you are invited into this chamber at your leisure and within mine upon request. My officers will handle all other aspects that you may require for your band - provisions and blacksmiths and the such,"</span> he said, and with a few more parting words, departed with his entourage back into the unknown of the upper levels of the old castle.<br>
<br>
---<br>
<br>
In his room once again, Lucafiel reread Veno's letter and penned a short response back to her. He cared not for Briggun nor dealing with the ireful Emperor's decisions in the operations of the land. Useful as he was, the heat within his veins boiled too hot. Concerning the man with anything outside of an emergency would be a waste of good ink.<br>
<br>




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			<i>Lady Veno,<br>
<br>
We shall take afflicted prisoners for your studies. Expect, in time, approximately three wagons of them. Many are liable to perish during travel. A true, proper cure would be most welcome, and may be needed foremost for the returning troops who will be a prime vector for spreading plague. That or the slaves that our comrade the Lord Viceroy intends to free. Be it as it may, I care not for their status, merely that they provide one way or another. A healthy slave is more desirable than a plague spreading freedman crossing our borders, and for the land of Lacans to be depopulated by both plague and an escape of their chief labor force, I suspect the Emperor will not be pleased with the economic outlook of Lacans in the near future. <br>
<br>
However - it is of no matter. The Emperor will have the land. <br>
<br>
With regards,<br>
<br>
Lucafiel sa Helendal</i>
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<br>
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Yz just gently tilted around and continued to groan like a fed up child until Borok had asked how their information could prove useful, eventually stopping and sitting in a short moment of silence before looking up at the two.<br>
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"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Well you keep saying FIUR AND BWIMSTONE EVVYWHERE, and it's the only time all the peoples are in the one most single place to be Fiur and Bwimstoned Evvy-right there. And they don't know where I come from or anyone comes from anyway, and they have a bunch of silly people sleeping in their little tents that they're slow. If I woke them up already and they are PARANOID AT MY GREATNESS then they will not have had sufficient sleepy beddy-times and are sleepy and confused, and they will be even morest-the-MOST confuseded when they get a SURPRISE PARTY, and then Yz will continue to help Bigman-Friend because Mamama is NOT YZ'S FRIEND SHE IS MEAN AND DOES NOT SMELL LIKE STRAWBERRIES, YZ DOES NOT HAVE A NOSE AND YZ CAN TELL</span>" Yz proclaimed as they held their hands up in the air, looking to them for confirmation that their plan was indeed fine and perfect.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">So you can spray for bwimmystone and go PSHHH everywhere all over the silly-guys and they will all dieded because they have no escapey-plan, and they only have STICKS and SLEEPINESS, and those are not good for hitting fires with</span>" Yz answered as they briefly added on afterwards.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Yz has tried. Multiple times. With different size sticks and different size sleepies</span>".</div>
				
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			When she did enter the tent at last, Declan greeted her as he hopped out of his seat. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Ah, Munsie! Welcome. I've been meaning to finally speak to you."</b></span> he said with the courtesy of a host. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"My apologies for having delayed our much needed conversation - but I hope this dinner makes up for it in some manner."</span></b>
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Munsie's amber-colored eyes widened as she met Declan's gaze, and she laughed nervously. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Oh, sir, you shan't apologize to me,"</span> she said with a curtsey, or a rough approximation thereof in her padded armor, augmented with plates. Unlike many of her fellow rangers, who preferred earth tones, Munsie had chosen a black and red ensemble that matched her long, braided red hair- it was immediately clear why they called her the fox. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"I'm honored to meet you at last." </span><br>
<span style="color: null">Once both had been seated, Munsie took the initiative to explain her eagerness to meet earlier in the spring.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"I understand that your time is very valuable, and Tidiaus is but a small part of the Dark Lord's design, but I am ever so hungry to change that. The royal family speaks merely of 'satisfying' Briggun's lust for conquest, but I am different, you see. I do not wish to be a mere bystander in all this great upheaval. I want to be at the forefront- to be the knife that thrusts! But... But I am merely one woman born of a cowardly nation, ruled by weak and rudderless royals," </span>she opined, her mousey voice straining to communicate the force of the anger behind her words. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"There was a festival, just weeks after you came - First Bloom's Night - I'm sure you recall. Had you accompanied me to the festival, then perhaps the court would not deny my enthusiasm for the cause, for fear of upsetting you..."</span><br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: null">---</span>​</div>



<blockquote data-attributes="member: 92403" data-quote="turtwigwins" data-source="post: 11835471" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I am glad that you have come Kande. Wine? Aged fifty years from the Abracion vineyards. Its a shame what happened to their family. The heir was quite an innovator."</span> She'd smile offering to pour as the man sat across from her.
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Kande sat himself down without a reply, but not in a grumpy manner. Instead, his brow was furrowed and his eyes distant, as he was ruminating on problems far greater than the current place and time. He had entered wearing a simple traveling cloak and scarf, as you might see on a merchant from the western deserts of Gantar. The smooth, greyish fabric contrasted handsomely with his dark skin and rugged features.<br>
<br>
"Greetings, Lady Falwyn," he said. "All I would ask for is water. In my youth, clean and clear water was a true luxury, one which the people of Erevan value, but fail to appreciate in the same way as someone who's done without it. I imagine you miss your freedom in much the same way that I miss water. Might I ask- as you bring your might against us, what do you have to gain that balances what Ysaval and Erevan at large stand to lose?"</div>
				
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Lady Falwyn would sit down ushering over with her hand a local townswoman nearby to bring a glass of water for Kande who moved obediently to her will. The man proposed himself as one who accounted for everything in life and asked her for an account of the war. Freedom, it was a precarious thing to her these days since her submission to Briggun.<br>
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She'd take a sip of her wine as she considered her response to Kande,<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "My gain is a new set of people, one whose tradition and ancestry would be preserved and admired under my reign. All that I need is there be obedience. With that I can bring peace and order to a Ysaval, as a fair tyrant."</span> She'd give a small smile to the thought of it, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Everan is set to become the first step in Briggun's conquests. You may be able to last for a while, One, maybe two years?.." </span>She mused taking a breath,<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "But every victory you gain will spur on Briggun to punish Everan further."</span><br>
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She began to dig into her pork with knife taking a slice and chewing before going on,  <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"The family of Alsare was a small house once upon a time, but they had developed a rich fortune with their vineyards. Still they maintained their distance from court, content in their passion to improve their product."</span> She lifted her chalice of wine taking a sip her lips curling to a smile to the taste before stating flatly, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"They were all executed by the headsmen of the Saarus Empire. They had no idea of Briggun's son's death, or any relation to that injustice. In fact I am quite sure they were willing to submit. That did not matter."</span> She said giving off a small sigh, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Take the reasonable option while you have the choice, Submit."   </span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Declan listened intently to Munsie as she went over prior events, as well as her feelings towards the current nominal rulers of Tidiaus, and gave a nod of approval. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"I admire your desire for the initiative."</b></span> the Viceroy commented, <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"And, believe me, were I not preoccupied with the planning of the campaign I would have joined you earlier. Regardless, the spring melts will fade and the summer season will begin. That is when I have chosen to begin the advance inwards."</span></b> He took a sip of wine from his goblet before continuing: <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"And I suspect Lacans' commander within its northern provinces believes the same. There won't be much to catch them off surprise, save for the revolts I have been working to foment within the Republic."</span></b><br>
<br>
Two servants entered swiftly, as if on cue, to deliver a delicious duck confit served with roasted and spiced potatoes with a red-wine reduction sauce glazing the protein. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"How do you feel about joining me in this advance, Munsie?"</b></span> Declan then asked, taking a potato with the silver fork available to him and savouring its taste as he chewed on it's crispy skin. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Prove your royals wrong in every measure in the process, and prove your mettle in battle in the Emperor's eyes?"</span></b><br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Kande took a drink of his water, listening carefully to the dragon's words. She promised to preserve the tradition and ancestry of Ysaval, but how could she guarantee such a thing while standing in a land whose very name was regarded as so inconsequential that the Empire could merely call it "Ostmajora?" <i>The Greater East.</i> That was all Briggun cared for the cultures of his subjects. Then came the predictable deception of aggression-disguised-as-mercy. He had prepared for this.<br>
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11838698" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11838698">turtwigwins said:</a>
			
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			<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"They were all executed by the headsmen of the Saarus Empire. They had no idea of Briggun's son's death, or any relation to that injustice. In fact I am quite sure they were willing to submit. That did not matter."</span> She said giving off a small sigh, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Take the reasonable option while you have the choice, Submit."</span>
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"If you expect me to bow to avoid Briggun's wrath now, then there will be no end to my people's capitulation. He will take the land and the people, yes, but then it will be our voices and our beliefs which he will rob us of, and then our wealth and our livelihoods, all to avoid his <i>punishment.</i> Beyond that lay only our posterity. Should the children of Ysaval serve as conscripts on his endless warpath, or should they grow hale and hearty in the tradition of their forefathers?" Kande's eyes sharpened as his tongue probed at the heart of the matter.<br>
<br>
"They are counting on me to win their future, Lady Falwyn. I cannot abandon them unless I have done all I can, and if I were to even try, they would rebel against my treachery, and rightfully so. But... should I fail, should you <b>defeat</b> me, what then? Will the 'fair tyrant' stand aside and let Briggun's headsmen reap their harvest? Or would you <b>oppose</b> him to protect the gains you rightfully won?"<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---<br>​</div>



<blockquote data-attributes="member: 64013" data-quote="joshuadim" data-source="post: 11838704" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"How do you feel about joining me in this advance, Munsie?"</b></span> Declan then asked, taking a potato with the silver fork available to him and savouring its taste as he chewed on it's crispy skin. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Prove your royals wrong in every measure in the process, and prove your mettle in battle in the Emperor's eyes?"</span></b>
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Munsie perked up at the proposal instantly. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"You need only demand their cooperation," </span>she quickly answered, <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"the royals would not refuse the Emperor's War Council, and I..." </span>She clenched her silverware tightly as a daydream seemed to settle over her, a bloodthirsty look in her eyes. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"I would stack the Lacansic corpses so high the Emperor would see me from his garden. ...You say there are revolts coming?" </span>she asked, excitedly. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Do tell!"</span></div>
				
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			A dispatch sent to the embassy of the Civicerian Dominion, hand delivered by Darius, Hand of Peace:<br>
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<i>I, Estro Dorozan, bid you greetings on behalf of the Saarus Empire and its master, Briggun. As of recent events, I am sure that the Dominus, Senate and your commanders are aware of the current status of war the Empire is engaging in at this time. I have become aware of the Dominion's intentions in certain matters and would seek to present myself to interested parties to better discuss matters in person.<br>
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Do let me know of a time and place if this is acceptable. I would sooner ease concerns when the Empire has great need of Dominion goods and materials at this time than to see such a flow become hindered due to unnecessary paranoia or concern. All may profit from what I have to propose and so I implore you to grant me this audience.<br>
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With Deepest Respect,<br>
Estro Dorozan<br>
Imperial Wizard</i>
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</blockquote><br>
After roughly a week, a response arrives with the seal of General Sergius of Civiceria:<br>
<br>
<i>To the esteemed wizard, Estro,<br>
<br>
There is little which needs to be explained about the Empire's actions in Kaula, as you must see matters similarly to us. The Piantian colony was little more than a fat, lost lamb, and thanks to the swiftness of Briggun's forces, it is the people of Saarus who will partake in the veal. Regardless, we welcome dialogue for the sake of our future coexistence. I must invite you to the temple of Juva in Venusa. Although I will not be physically present, you will find the space perfectly adequate to facilitate a dialogue. As a sorcerer, I am certain you understand the implication.<br>
<br>
With earnest appreciation,<br>
General Lucius Sergius</i></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Munsie's enthusiasm was almost infectious, were it not for the appetite for seeing corpses piled upon a stake in a charnel tower, as Declan let off a knowing smile from the corners of his lips. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"Indeed. Slaves that are discontent with their place in life will rise against their masters. That, and the plague ravaging the country's south, will pave the way to victory."</b></span> Declan mused to his dinner companion, before adding to his words. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"And I believe you will play a pivotal role within all this."</b></span><br>
<br>
He pulled out the small envelope, giving it to Munsie: <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"A missive sent for you from Lacans, by "The People's Hammer" himself. He was hoping for a meeting with you. Instead, what he will get is a surprise attack. If you would respond to his request for a meeting, he will not see our combined steel coming. What say you, to this course of action?"</span></b><br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Estro receive the response with delight as he read it, penning a response for immediate dispatch before making travel arrangements.<br>
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<i>Most Esteemed General,<br>
<br>
I am delighted to learn that the Dominus and Senate have elected to entrust these matters to you. A sensible decision considering your clear position and purpose in neighboring Bolia. I would be insulted to not think you would take precautions in our meeting. You would not be the figure I have come to hear about recently in my investigation of affairs in this area. I will spare you or whatever subordinate you’ve entrusted to read this the details since you’ve provided a location. I will make effort to be there in a timely manner.<br>
<br>
Deepest Respect,<br>
Estro Dorozan<br>
Imperial Wizard</i><br>
<br>
Estro would make sure to learn about this location including if there might be some divine form of magical jamming. He was paranoid as well, not about to be lured into a spot where his expertise could be countered too heavily. He assumed he would be speaking with one of the General’s well-trained subordinates, this sort he had prepared to take control in case of his own demise. That also made them expendable proxies should the Man of the Mountain choose to engage with someone as dangerous as the Imperial Wizard.  The only Hand to come with him as Darius, being his most experience agent in diplomatic matters.<br>
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<br>
Borok slowly slid his tongue across his teeth, as he listened to yet another semi-coherent assembly of words. He felt like he was making some progress when it came to understanding Yz, though her mannerisms still threw him off. Smacking his long tongue, he glanced towards Baba Voyka for a moment, before turning back to Yz. <span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)"><b>"Well, in that case... the surprise party will launch rather shortly..."</b></span>, he decided to go along with some of the odd phrasings, remaining as stoic as before. He knew that Voyka had been proven right in many of her points, but he couldnt give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it due to his previous moves. At least Yz had indeed provided some useful information, albeit in an unorthodox way. Catching their enemies unaware was still on the table, which was good enough for him.<br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"I thank both of you for meeting here on such short notice..."</span></b>, he started to conclude the talks. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"... and for your patience..."</span></b>, Borok continued, this time looking more towards Baba Voyka again. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"I have no doubt that you will make good progress in the East. Keep us informed about your movements and we will try our best to secure the supply lines as soon as the surface is cleared."</span></b>, some more amicable words were chosen now. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"The same goes for you."</span></b>, he also adressed Yz, though he had his doubts if she'd actually care about these matters. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Now, if you'll excuse me... I have some weaponry to ensorcell and some magma to unleash..."</span></b></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 22px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><b><span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">Kaula, Northern Piantia</span></b></span></span>​</div><br>
Guillaume rode swiftly across the Kaula frontier towards Paestrum, tracing the path the bloody wolves had left to deliver a message which had arrived at the staging area. Through empty villages and across barren and untended fields, he lamented at the wicked wrath the Red Butcher had heaped upon the peoples of the land. Eventually closing in on Paestrum at nightfall, he finally began to see movements other than wild animals, but it was not a welcoming sight for him. For this was no longer a land of the living.<br>
<br>
Riding into Paestrum, he could witness the wolves newest additions as he passed Piantian militiamen guarding the town gates. He gave them a solemn look, sorrowful of the horrible fate of these men and women. But he knew he could not lament them, for in return they simply gazed up at the rider with sunken faces and hollow eyes.<br>
<br>
Guillaume then rode to the chapel, which Alexandre had turned into a sort of war-room for the coming advance. Opening the door, he could see it was considerably darkened and sparsely lit with candles. Most sickeningly, the once beautiful stained glass windows had been painted with blood, making the moonlight bathe the desecrated halls in a crimson hue.<br>
<br>
Immediately inside, he encountered Constin. The baron gave him a curt nod, and pointed towards the altar at the far side of the hall. There, illuminated by the sanguine light, he could see Alexandre laying on top of the bloodstained altar as if laid to rest with her arms crossed over her chest. The decimated body of the bishop had simply been tossed aside, and now lay at the foot of the altar. Standing next to this scene was a young drow, dressed in an astrologer’s attire and speaking to Alexandre.<br>
<br>
“<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">…and that is why I must urge you to seek this so called circle of stars out, my liege. Untold wisdom of the ancients could be yours if I can…</span>” the young man spoke, but hastily cut himself off as he heard Guillaume approach him from behind. He viewed the knight with fear from behind his dark, wavy hair.<br>
<br>
As Alexandre noticed the footsteps of a knight, she began softly sniffing the air without moving or opening her eyes. A smile crept across her face.<br>
<br>
“<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">Oh my dearest Alsin. You’ll have nothing to fear from a mere messenger</span>” she said with a slight chuckle. Alsin, apparently not convinced by Alexandres words, gripped his tome with nervous hands as Guillaume glared at the later with clenched fists.<br>
<br>
Alexandres eyes then opened and she took a deep breath, “<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">Our foes lick their wounds and cower at the mere mention of their new </span><i><span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">visitors</span></i>” she continued as she rose slowly and stepped down from the altar, trampling the bishops corpse under her heavy frame, filling the quiet hall with the nauseating sound of snapping bones and crushed flesh.<br>
<br>
“<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">We shall investigate this circle of stars you seem so adamant about</span>” Alexandre said, looking at Alsin and gripping him by the shoulder. “<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">After all, we’ve got time on our hands and I’m sure the Piantians will taste even better with an appetite</span>”. Alexandre licked her fangs, which unnerved the drow who seemed to shrink in the shadow of her massive form.<br>
<br>
“<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">Constin will make the arrangements, you’ll ride at dawn</span>” she concluded, turning Alsin around and gesturing towards the door. In reply she got only a nervous nod as the astrologer hurried away.<br>
<br>
Alexandre then turned her attention to Guillaume, whom still stood unmoved. Stretching out her hand, she mockingly requested the missive from him, which he delivered in a motion of shackled rage.<br>
<br>




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			<i>To the ripper of flesh and harvester of souls, Alexandre<br>
<br>
I hope this letter finds you well, covered in blood and entrails. How goes the campaing? Rumors are starting to swirl of the Bone coast becoming a deathtrap once again. I cannot possible take the credit for such a development all for myself.<br>
<br>
There is another reason I'm writing you this letter. The emperor's spymaster has apparently hit a new development on her end. Some mermaid has appeared and allied herself with Sandach. She asks if we are interested in joining in for some slaughter and while I believe you might delight in some additional killing, I do not want to commit on your behald especially when you might have other things that need more immediate attention.<br>
<br>
I also suspect our spymaster may have some other machinachions in the works on account of her profession, but what they may be, I cannot say. I'll await your answer before I make any decision to Veno's proposal.<br>
<br>
Best wishes<br>
<br>
Captain Cordia</i>
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Alexandre was elated to receive a message from Cordia, but was mostly perturbed by Venos request to divert their efforts to Weildach. She penned a reply, which she gave to Guillaume to deliver immediately.<br>
<br>




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			<i>My friend and companion of night.<br>
<br>
In lieu of rainfall for their meager harvest, the Piantians will pray that their blood will bring nourishment to their soil. <br>
<br>
As for our dear spymaster, should she wish to come into my favour, you can inform that delectable creature that she can come and see me for herself.<br>
<br>
Yours in hunger and bloodshed<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)"><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><b>A</b></span></span></span></i>
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<br>
<b><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">Some time later</span></span></b><br>
<br>
The search for the firelight megalith had passed uneventfully. With the Piantian militia withdrawn to the south while harried by the wolves and their horrid minions, Constin, Alsin and their scouts had moved through the lands with ease. Fortune found them when some unsavory brigands had been encountered, who by chance knew of the mysterious monuments location.<br>
<br>
Standing prominently upon a small hill in the midst of a field, what Alsin had referred to as <i>The Circle of Stars</i> consisted of an outer ring of twelve steles bearing inscriptions of various stars and an inner ring of dolmens, which were bare of any markings. The astrologer immediately began taking notes as the rest of the party set up their camp in the center of the inner circle.<br>
<br>
As night fell and a bonfire was lit, the party had unwittingly stumbled upon the ancient design of the megalith. As the flames illuminated the inner dolmens, the shades it cast could be seen obscuring 9 of the outer steles, leaving only three stars bathed in light.<br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 22px"><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-size: 22px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 22px"><span style="font-size: 22px">✦     </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><i><span style="font-size: 18px"><b>A R C T O R O S</b></span></i></span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 18px"><i>In the constellation of the Great Bear</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 22px"><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 22px"><span style="font-size: 22px">✸    </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><i><span style="font-size: 18px"><b>B E N T O S</b></span></i></span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 18px"><i>In the constellation of the Chariot</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 22px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-size: 22px">✶    </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 18px"><b>C A L L I G R O S</b></span></i></span></span><br>
<i><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 18px">In the constellation of the Eagle</span></span></i><br>
<div style="text-align: center"><br>​</div>With this new discovery, the Astrologer was ecstatic beyond measure and immediately requested to be escorted back to Rocher, where he could make use of the Patriarchs extensive library to decipher the mystery of the night sky.<br>
<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka looked at Borok with an immensely smug expression, as Yz explained in their way what they had learned in their excursion. All that Yz had explained, aside from potentially tiring out the enemy through paranoia, was information that they already knew. They had functionally only gotten confirmation that things were proceeding as planned, and the last thing they needed was confirmation through nearly revealing their efforts. She could sense that Borok knew this, but continued to avoid acknowledging her.<br>
<br>
She bowed towards Borok after wishing her well on her plans after the attack. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I'll be sure to remain in contact,</span>" she replied simply. With Borok facing away from them to concentrate on the beginning attack, Voyka looked at Yz. Though it had been decided he would go first, nothing had been discussed on who would follow after his attack. She still believed, given the circumstances, that going last would be best for her forces, but as much as she would want to, she couldn't force her will on Yz to make that the course of action. Everyone being in agreement mattered for battles such as this.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Yz,</span>" she addressed the being, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">given that our Dark Lord will arrive in the summer, it is likely he expects all of us to be reported as partaking in the incoming battle, so no matter whether you've already interacted with the enemy, as I've told you already, you have no choice but to fight. Especially more so with everything you've shared about your previous interaction, as you would likely be able to distract the enemy with your presence in the battlefield, enraging them. So I believe it would make most sense for you to follow Borok after his attack, and for me to support you thereafter. But do you intend to do so, or not?</span>" she posed her final question to Yz. She doesn't know what she'll do if she doesn't get a direct answer now, no matter how obfuscated, even trying to throw them a bone by indirectly acknowledging a potential positive in their excursion. The last thing she needs now is having to double-guess herself in terms of battle order, whether she goes 3rd or 2nd, even more so with Yz expressing disinterest in battle since the start of the meeting.<br>
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<br>
She considered the mans words as he defiantly stood against her. And there was truth in the words he spoke. Briggun broke down people as he conquered them. He changed them into other things. Servants to the empire that would eventually rule the entire world. She observed calmly as he spoke occasionally taking another bite of her pork.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Upon my conquering of Ysaval I will take some under my banner. For individuals that can see glory and fortune in the golden horde I will not forsake. But I will make sure that the fields are plowed, water flows, and the people are free to partake in their traditions and songs. Perhaps there are some worthy of partaking in myself.</span>" She'd say raising her voice to a higher tone hopeful at the thought.<br>
<br>
She would take a deep drink of her wine before proceeding to her next statement, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I respect your courage. And should I be the one to claim the victory of Ysaval it will be my right in how its people are ruled. But as the seasons go I may not be the only threat you face. And while I can invite you to parlay and you can trust to discuss and drink with... others would have had you slain and the command structure of the army thrown into disarray." </span>She gave a brief snort to that comment seeing if it would disettle him. She would never actually do that but it was a sin of Falwyn's to enjoy watching people squirm.  <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I know from hearing you speak the reason you came here was time. A time you will receive."</span> She paused slowly rising from the table glass in hand, and the bottle in the other, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"But in summer I will bring my fury down upon you. Countless of your men, your friends will perish by my breath and claws. As the caranage occurs I only want you to consider one thing. When have you sacrificed enough for Everan? If you decide you have had enough I will be waiting."</span> She'd take another gulp of the wine finishing her glass and beginning to pour more in, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"That is all. Please do enjoy the meal before you leave."</span><br>
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Falwyn would slowly stroll away from the table after her statement. A reflexive eye peering back to see if he had any final words or would try any tricks.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">As the morning sun rose over Teralia, one of the crows returned to Cordia's ship, bearing a letter stamped with the seal of Rocher. The paper seemed a bit...crumpled. The sea witch eyed the crow if it damaged the letter somehow. The letter was short, but to the point.<br>
<br>




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			<i>My friend and companion of night.<br>
<br>
In lieu of rainfall for their meager harvest, the Piantians will pray that their blood will bring nourishment to their soil.<br>
<br>
As for our dear spymaster, should she wish to come into my favour, you can inform that delectable creature that she can come and see me for herself.<br>
<br>
Yours in hunger and bloodshed<br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">A</span></b></i>
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</blockquote>The Banshee captain was delighted to hear that Alexandre was taking good care of her new lands and that her own reservations towards the spymaster. Now she could make a decision, or perhaps there was an opportunity here. She penned another letter for Veno in order to inform her.<br>
<br>




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			<i>To Spymaster Veno<br>
<br>
Lady Alexandre is preocupied by business in Kaula, but you would be able to gain favor with her if you meet. Perhaps that would be a wise decision, no? I have not held lenghty conversation with our colleagues to the North, but I suspect that they too are coordinating with each other. Maybe the southern commanders should do the same? I can offer a place for our first meeting as well. Despite everything, Teralia has a fine castle still, so it could play host for a meeting between us three and Esto, the enigmatic court mage, if his duties do not hold him rooted in place that is. <br>
<br>
Best wishes<br>
Captain Cordia</i>
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	<div class="message-userContent lbContainer js-lbContainer " data-lb-id="post-11840535" data-lb-caption-desc="K0mori · Jan 14, 2024 at 1:30 PM">

		

		
	


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					<div class="bbWrapper"><blockquote data-attributes="member: 64013" data-quote="joshuadim" data-source="post: 11838925" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11838925" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11838925">joshuadim said:</a>
			
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			He pulled out the small envelope, giving it to Munsie: <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"A missive sent for you from Lacans, by "The People's Hammer" himself. He was hoping for a meeting with you. Instead, what he will get is a surprise attack. If you would respond to his request for a meeting, he will not see our combined steel coming. What say you, to this course of action?"</span></b>
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</blockquote><br>
Munsie gave a cat-like grin. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Oh yes, sir," </span>was all she said for a moment, taking a sip from her glass which she could barely swallow due to her urge to smile. Even her legs kicked a bit, suspended as they were an inch or so above the ground where she sat. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"I will accept his invitation and inquire as to the meeting place. If it's far inside the border, I'll send an imposter so that they will see her traveling, and then, on your word, we attack."</span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---<br>​</div>



<blockquote data-attributes="member: 8551" data-quote="Crocodile" data-source="post: 11838957" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11838957" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11838957">Crocodile said:</a>
			
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			Estro would make sure to learn about this location including if there might be some divine form of magical jamming. He was paranoid as well, not about to be lured into a spot where his expertise could be countered too heavily. He assumed he would be speaking with one of the General’s well-trained subordinates, this sort he had prepared to take control in case of his own demise. That also made them expendable proxies should the Man of the Mountain choose to engage with someone as dangerous as the Imperial Wizard. The only Hand to come with him as Darius, being his most experience agent in diplomatic matters.
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As he would come to find, the town of Venusa was a rural settlement in a picturesque valley, whose largest structures were the temple and the market. His spies would determine that the Civicerians had not taken heavy precautions against his power; instead, they used the isolation of the town itself as a defensive measure. Much of the defending legion was positioned at strategic points in a semicircular arc around said city, largely as a formality. It seemed, then, that the offer to meet was in good faith, but with whom would Estro be meeting? The temple was attended to by devotees to the Civicerian God of the Sky and Cosmos, Juva, and among the robed attendants of His house, there was no disguising the presence of outsiders. Although they dressed in the same manner as the monks, their mannerisms were subtly out of step, as if they were new arrivals.<br>
<br>
Estro's approach, while noticed by the farmers and laborers along the road, was paid little mind. The people in these parts lived separate lives from those of the wealthy and powerful, and there was little acceptance for intermingling. It was also not uncommon for passing aristocrats to pay their respects at Juva's temple, and at first glance of Estro and Darius, one might assume that this was all that was happening. But Estro, being an experienced mage, began to sense something magical in the air- not malicious, but nonetheless present. The outsiders he had been notified about were mages, then, and some preparation had been made for him.<br>
<br>
Finally, at the steps of the temple, one of the robed temple servants approached and gave a polite bow. "Welcome, sir. We have been preparing this space for an ethereal audience with the Man on the Mountain. Please, come in."<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---<br>​</div>



<blockquote data-attributes="member: 92403" data-quote="turtwigwins" data-source="post: 11839491" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			Falwyn would slowly stroll away from the table after her statement. A reflexive eye peering back to see if he had any final words or would try any tricks.
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In this parting glance, Kande was sitting straight and appeared strong in all but spirit. The words were echoing in his ears: <i>When have you sacrificed enough?</i> He knew that he could give his life a thousand times for the people and country he loved, but to throw a thousand others' lives away for a bonfire slowly dying in a summer squall... He calmly took up his fork and knife, and ate in silence.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Estro regarded the temple with a certain degree of fascination, but his mind was already working as he took in information and the feeling of magic in the air. When the temple servant approached and informed him of the actions in motion, he understood more fully. He imagined Juva's domain would strengthen the ethereal magics to make it a far more secure and stable projection. This gave him ideas for later and perhaps a few more things he could test out or experiment with.<br>
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<span style="color: rgb(0, 168, 133)">"Ah, compliments to the arrangements. I assume the temple perhaps will help with the projection?"</span> He opts to voice his theory, always enjoying finding new little tricks for the application of magic.<br>
<br>
Darius simply let his master take the lead, the imposing man simply observing the interactions and surroundings. He was quite good a details due to his own work so this was his chance to get a better feel for the Dominion in its faiths along with curious applications of magic. It was clear Estro was already quite amused and pleased by the application of such workings for a meeting he was eager to have with the Man of the Mountain. They were ready to proceed to said meeting though once the preparation was fully completed.<br>
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Yz fiddled with their hands as they chose not to remove themselves from the floor, instead hearing Baba Voyka's question but choosing to not look in their direction when doing so. Instead of answering them immediately, they turned their attention to and waved at Borok who was leaving to attend to matters relating to the attack.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Goo-bye Gooby the Goldfishy!... I still do not understand how he's breathing above water...</span> " Yz waved as they pondered on other questions rather than the important one they were asked about the conflict. About to visibly attempt to leave without answering, Yz spun themselves without getting up using their legs and inched themselves away only a small distance before stopping and choosing to respond to Voyka so that she could have <i>an</i> answer.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Yz is going to the surprise party to help the Mr. Mermaid and a half, because Grandmama is too spookied scared to go at the same time and wants to wait for everyone to show up so nobody sees them walk through the door and says their name</span>" Yz claimed as they leaned their face out towards Voyka all of a sudden, making a blowing raspberry sound as if sticking their tongue out but wearing a mask so they physically could not.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Intro-per-vert, being shy and then watching everybody like a creepy-creep, where does Mr. Biggums get these silly sausages? Yz is clearly the youngest and freshest and most beautifulest little person to grace Mr. Biggumses' eyeballholes that he understands everything Yz does is for the bestest cause and concern. Biggums will be so concerned that Yz is okay and not concerned for anyone else because he knows Yz is a valuable little Yz and we are all so proud of you</span>" Yz rambled as they eyed for wherever the direction of the exit was, about to move before looking back at and pointing at Voyka once more, trying to give her the most serious stare and response while still having not got up off the floor at all.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">If I was being serious, I would have executed you with naught but removing your eyes with my bare hands and cracking your neck with my thighs the moment we first came to plan in your camp. It would have been VERY easy</span>" Yz answered, pausing for an awkward silence afterwards as they continued to respond like nothing happened.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Mama-Mumsie should come-come to the surprise party and NOT be late, and should bring a GIFT for the BIRTHDAY GIRL. Yz is hoping they have TWO pinatas, and a choccy-cake. Yz likes cake... ooh, and tamborines. They best bring all their bestest tamborines, and Yz will make the FINEST musical piece this realm has ever seen</span>" Yz claimed as they gave a little wave and proceeded to 'royally' leave by dragging themselves across the floor like a dog on a carpet, clearly having no intent of stopping their chosen method of transportation anytime soon. Yz was clearly off to plan like a serious person who was completely ready for war for a powerful overlord, and super serious comrades who were also clearly taking things very seriously.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka watched as Yz deliberately held the conversation in their hands, as if to further their own way of things even as she ultimately got her answer in the form of them opting to go second.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">It is Canarian military tradition, emphasizing each leader's strengths in battle individually-</span>" Voyka attempted to speak after Yz's confirmation, only to be interrupted by them leaning in and doing a covered raspberry, as they continue on their rambling and suggesting their importance to the Dark Lord in being chosen as the newest of the lieutenants. Her serious expression remained, nearly turning into a bitter expression at annoyance at this newcomer trying to upend systems that Briggun had maintained during his reign.<br>
<br>
It was only with the brief moment of pause, as if taking the mask off metaphorically, that Voyka once more had an expression of surprise. Eyes widened and lips dropped, before steadily growing into one of her infamous twisted grin. In that brief moment, she immediately recognized what was going on. Yz was just as much of a bastard as she was, with the only difference between the two being that while she embraced her bastard nature and embedded it into her ancestral traditions, her behavior, her mystique, while Yz opts to hide it behind a façade of whimsy. While she had nothing to prove, nothing to hide, about herself unless it involved the law or state, Yz catches their enemies off-guard and psychologically undermines them, as they had not the brute strength in either themself or in numbers to deal with them. Yz is a little shit who talks haughty and forces their own way despite having nothing to back their claims up.<br>
<br>
Yz reminds her of when she was young and rising in the military, yet to have been kicked into the dirt by reality. Yz has regained some favor in her eyes.<br>
<br>
Once Yz finished speaking and began leaving like a dog, Voyka began laughing aloud once more, to the repeated discomfort of the nearby Sauroids. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I'll make sure we have enough of everything we need for the birthday girl, don't you worry, dear!</span>" Voyka responded, her laugh carrying into her response, as she made way back to her camp as well. Preparations were in order to make sure she would be able to support the two after they begin their attacks.<br>
<br>
She made sure to note that Yz was her favorite to get Farandel's head now.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Had Borok known what unfolded between Voyka and Yz, he would have regretted already leaving the two behind. He had expected them to continue bickering, but there were more urgent matters to attend to now. While some uncomfortable guards remained to usher out the other lieutenants once they were finished, the Grand Runesmith delved back into the depths to personally oversee the last preparations for the surprise party. The deeper he went, the stronger the heat became. Only few wooden bars propped up the cave walls now, as it was utterly impossible to work the slaves here and even the Sauroid workers were struggling close to the magma. But for Borok, the hellish pit seemed like a small little paradise. His eyes gleamed brightly as the magma reflected from them and with a satisfied growl he began to swing his hammer, invigorated by the intense heat. A final piece was needed to complete the delicate process of drilling into the Demons Gate and unleashing it upon Sabresval.<br>
<br>
Further up, the other Sauroids were also busy. Numerous caverns held eager engineers, filling pouches with blackpowder and fixing them with crude fuses. The air was thick with biting chemicals and eager anticipation as the forges worked without pause until finally the Grand Runesmith was satisfied. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"As soon as the pressure reaches critical status, we make for the surface!"</span></b>, he announced to his anvil guard, only few words were needed to rile them up. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"The Softskins will not be allowed to catch their breath! Strike them as soon as magma and brimstone have done their work! The surface is not our home, but it will be our feasting ground! Rip them apart, but leave the heads!"</span></b>, he shouted over the sound of hissing valves and the clatter of pickaxes. Borok took a deep breath in, seeping in the moment and the thick, used cave air.<br>
<br>
-----<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)"><b>"As I expected..."</b></span>, Borok hissed with delight, as he pressed his hammer down onto an Elf desperately trying to crawl away from him. The wounded warriors screams grew louder as Borok heard a sharp cracking noise, but he took a moment to look around before slamming the hammer down again, mercifully hard this time. The battlefield was still steaming with noxious fumes and divided by streams of magma. The eruption had taken the Elves by surprise and so did the emerging Sauroids, hurling blackpowder satchels with lit fuses into their reforming ranks before smashing into them with armored scale and ripping claws. A mixture of hatches, hammers, pickaxes and sabres was used to cut through the remaining defenders, the thick smoke and torching heat providing ample cover to close the distance to each group separated by magma streams or freshly formed cracks in the earth. Borok overlooked the carnage with satisfaction, the Sauroids were already beginning to recover their wounded and round up any captives. <b>"Some Softskins have entrenched themselves and are..."</b>, one black-scaled warrior tried to dutifully report, but Borok cut him off with a knowing nod and teethy smile. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"The Baba Voyka wished to delight in killing those ones... let her have the pleasure, we have already done our part."</span></b>, he let him know, before quickly extinguishing a faulty and still gleaming fuse. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Need to improve on that..."</span></b>, he muttered to himself, before forcing himself as upright as possible and raising his hammer high. <b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">"Victory is ours! Sabersval is ours! Let the feast begin!"</span></b>, he shouted and soon the lamentation of the wounded was drowned out by a cacophany of ripping, tearing, screaming and scrunching. Borok himself licked across his teeth before taking the arm of the elf underneath him and sinking his teeth deep into the flesh. Despite the feast, the Sauroids could still be overheard talking. <b>"The Softskins all taste the same." - "We should sip the bone marrow first." - "These ones are so skinny, but tender..." - "Leave some for the mines, you fools!" - "I'll trade you a liver for those feet."</b></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><i>Approaching the encampment of Adanach's Great Horde <br>
The Vestati delegation....</i><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"I still do not see how this is <i>not</i> an insult. Look around us - it is naught but one inferiority after another. Every field in this rustic landscape should be tilled, every tree felled, every pit quarried. Maybe then there would be some value here. As for the locals...." </span><br>
<br>
The haughty voice that trailed off craned their head aside, glancing disdainfully at the wildlands around them. For several weeks they had been traveling northward under order of the great Redeemer Prince himself as per some ridiculous bargain he had struck with the barbarians. Three bannerets - less than a dozen souls total accompanying three Vestati crusaders - were to join with the horde and assist them as needed in their military efforts. Even worse, there had been a request to learn about the chaotic nature of the vessels they were to join with. It was, surely, an insult. Perhaps not from the prince himself, but from one of his advisors, some coward who was afraid of the rising star named Zavastria sa Behrouz. Clad in a brilliant, shining display of silver armor and painted white-and-blue pauldrons, Zavastria rarely allowed his hand to stray from the hilt of his bejeweled longsword which sparkled no matter the angle of the sun.<br>
<br>
Beside him upon another mount, a sturdy black unicorn with braided mane and tail, was a second knight. Unlike the brilliantly stunning array of metal plate, this one hid most of their attire beneath a voluminous black cloak. When the wind stirred the cloak aside, the armor beneath was well-maintained and intricate like most Vestati armors, but did not shine. It was a muted grey that seemed to devour light rather than reflect it, as if the cloak worn by this figure was meant to protect the world around it. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"I must admit, Zavastria, that I thought your complaints would have been finished by the second week of travel. But I can see I underestimated the depths of your whining,"</span> the knight said, yawning despite it being shortly past noon. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"We are blood-bound to the prince. What more can I say? We get to live as our elders, embarking alone to visit the lesser beings to awe them with our might. I find it exciting. How often do we featherless get to perform such actions?"<br>
<br>
"I hate that you use that insolent tone, sister. Must we use so crude a term as featherless? We are the youngbloods, not <i>featherless.</i> We were born with glory in our veins despite having never had wings like our elders. Bless them, for I can not imagine the pain of losing such a piece of myself,"</span> Zavastria said. Unlike many of the older crusaders, the featherless - or youngbloods - were those born in the period after the Great Rebellion. Through the immense might of divine cosmic magicks, none were born with wings, for their forebearers had had theirs ripped not just from their bodies but from their souls themselves for their failed efforts.<br>
<br>
Ystria sa Vael only laughed in response. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"I can well imagine, actually. I'm sure you would have cried and whined more than ever."</span><br>
<br>
Both knights rode their mounts at the head of the tiny column they were leading, in which their acolytes made up the body on lesser horses - not even unicorns . Their gear consisted almost solely of equipment to support the efforts of their sworn knight - weapons, smithing tools, tailoring supplies, icons of culture, as well as hefty campaign tents. Zavastria, owing to his prideful lineage to the house of sa Behrouz, had six acolytes beneath his wing compared to the meager two of Ystria sa Vael, a child to a house of no note. <br>
<br>
There was only one other figure in attendance with this party, a lone rider some several feet behind the main convoy. They rode upon a white bicorne steed that seemed as whitered and aged as they themselves were despite their body being hidden beneath the intricate contours and inscriptions of the bronze-and-black armor that served as their skin. From the back of this figure emerged two skeletal wings, jutting out over the shoulders to either side, each faux-feather the tip of a broken sword claimed by a fallen foe; to any observer to have been blessed to witness such a magnificent sight, they would have noted the fullness of these metal wings and then judged it true that this knight had clearly slain far more than their trophies could ever suggest.<br>
<br>
The Voiceless. They had abandoned their name in the wake of the rebellion along with the very essence of their voice, though it is whispered that, under some circumstances, the Voiceless did indeed speak on rare occasion, their voice little more than a horrid, bone-dry rasp that held within it the weight of ages long dead. They were one of the eldest Crusaders of the entire legion and had long served the Forbidden One before the rebellion had even been planned let alone thought about. In all those years they had taken few apprentices, and each of them were prominent warriors and personalities within the legion. Reserved as they seemed in movement, none disputed the sheer mastery of the Voiceless' fighting prowess with any weapon presented to them.<br>
<br>
Occasionally, Zavastria would turn back to the Voiceless and proclaim whatever shallow thought entered their mind in the vain attempt to provoke the ancient figure to speak. So far, this has been an abject failure, much to Ystria's taunting delight. Likewise, when they were followed by distant eyes and echoing horns, the young knights readied themselves for a potential fight. But not the Voiceless. Still as death itself, the old crusader remained motionless - nearly uninterested - in the world surrounding them, the endless depths of their black eye slits only scanning their surroundings on a rare whimsy.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"We must be near,"</span> Zavastria announced as they heard more horns. They had spotted several goblin tribes some days ago, but now the parties were getting smaller - scouts and hunters, no doubt, moving about around the main horde itself. The night prior they had even seen the glow of distant campfires, and now they could smell them and trace the plumes of smoke. As they finally edged closer towards the growing bulk of the main encampment, they ensured their banners - only two flags, for the Voiceless rose none himself save for his faux-wings - were held aloft with the utmost pride, displaying the colorful glory of their house and the myriad battle pennants earned fluttering beneath. <span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[The smell induces sickness within me,]"</span> Zavastria announced as they rode closer to the entrance of the encampment. He watched with ire as all manner of strange and wretched creatures watched and flanked them, either in interest, awe, or to ensure they were no threat. <i>Try me</i>, Zavastria thought, wanting to dearly demonstrate his superiority with his blade. Lady knight Ystria ignored the arrogant display of her sword-sibling and instead raised a quiet hand in greeting to the strange goblins and orcs that surrounded them.<br>
<br>
Behind them, at the rear of their little convoy, the Voiceless merely tilted his head imperceptibly to examine the arriving bustle. At some point a small red-feathered bird drifted down from the sky and landed upon his metallic wings, perched there, watching in equal silence.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[I feel as if I will be ill. Why do these vessels live in such squalor?]"</span> Zavastria remarked once again. <span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[Have they no pride? No wit?]" <br>
<br>
"[About as much as you, I suppose,]</span>" Ystria responded.<br>
<br>
They carried on further into the encampment until they came to a stop outside a series of larger tents, surrounded by more warriors that seemed even more grand than those lurking about the entrance. In an extravagant show, Zavastria dismounted from his unicorn and planted his banner into the ground, holding it aloft so that the wind allowed the banner to whip back and forth. Then, in the Vestati tongue for he dared no speak in the language of the common vessels, declared, "<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">[You have the honor of addressing Zavastria sa Behrouz, Crusader of the Hallow Legion and knight of infamy. You may kneel.]"</span><br>
<br>
Ystria, on the other hand, merely bowed her head to those surrounding them. She produced a small letter and fluttered it about. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"We are sent by His Majesty the Redeemer Prince to support your forces as per an agreement between our masters. I am Lady Vael, honored by the Whispering Void. The knight which stands before you is Zavastria of House Behrouz. And...."</span> Her voice hesitated as she turned back to look upon the Voiceless, still as a statue as he watched her with a slight tilt of the head. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"That one there is without name. He is a Witness. He has Seen, but he does not Speak. I ask not that you draw his ire,"</span> she said with reverence, bowing her head to the elder crusader before turning back to the other barbarians.<br>
<br>
However, before she could speak, Zavastria did so again. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"I will utter this but once in this language. Where is Adanach?"</span><br>
<br>
---<br>
<br>
In the sky above Declan's position, a raven with a miniature and finely crafted bronze crown - and crimson string-ribbons attached - descended to the messenger's post to deposit the letter attached upon their leg. Within was a letter from Lucafiel.<br>
<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="" data-quote="" data-source="" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			I hope this raven finds you well in all capacities - we tend to prefer the hand of travelers upon steed. Your assessment on a time to advance is sound, and we shall likely be in natural lockstep when the time comes. To further assist in relying messages, I suggest utilizing our lantern network. Attached beside this letter is a parchment with some code to decipher how to utilize lanterns to convey letters back and forth over vast distances. It should prove swift and secure, as it has for us.<br>
<br>
(At the end of the letter is a small ink mark from a signet ring belonging to Lucafiel)
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka readied her forces, coordinating mainly with Borok to organize attack positioning. Her forces would be positioned east of the tunnel exit into Sabersval, enabling her to conduct a traditional Canarian-style attack, all while avoiding the magma and fumes that were about to take the enemy by surprise. Per Canarian conduct, her forces consisted of a mixture of cavalry equipped with a mix of bows, lances and swords, and infantry with swords, axes, javelins, spears and bows. While her cavalry largely consists of horses, her own stead is a now-rare Rogovac breed of horned goat that had been tamed and bred to have the carrying capacity of a horse and a far less capricious temperament. Upon her own back and the back of some of her men, is a banner pole which bares Voyka's banner, with a spear tip on top for use as a weapon if necessary. Along with her banner pole, she carried with her the traditional baba staff, her trusty greatsword, and her personal set of knives, along with armor underneath her attire.<br>
<br>
From a distance, she watched as Borok engaged the enemy, taking them by complete surprise. She had no reason to doubt the Sauroid's combat prowess - after all, he had been working with Briggun for so long - though it seemed he was about to rout the enemy entirely. Her view in him receiving Farandel's head was related far more to assuring he earned further respect beyond their Dark Lord, for she could imagine she isn't the only one to hardly see his face in Canar. Someone as proficient as he deserved his due respect. Though now the receiver of the head would receive it for far more malicious reasons. Speaking of, she watched Yz's forces rush in after, so in preparation she turned to her men. She had already given her speech as they were readying up earlier, so this was more to assure they were ready to rush in after Yz.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Round up the sharp ears, slaughter the rest!</span>" she exclaimed to her forces, reminding them of the spymaster's demands.<br>
<br>
Soon, it was time, and Voyka followed suit, as it became clear that Borok hardly needed her or Yz. His men had already begun to act as if they had won, gorging themselves on the flesh of the enemies. Voyka laughed aloud, reminded of when she would feed the enemies slain on the battlefield to Kolthix's shadelings. Soon, she and her forces arrived to where Borok was, surrounding the remaining forces, entrenched. One of Borok's men approached her as she got off her stead, informing her the honor of dealing with this entrenchment had been left to her. After double-checking how many remained by their estimates, she chuckled and had her men ready in formation to rush in and capture the remaining elves.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Before you inform Ronillson of my arrival, be sure to remind him of the Spymaster's request that we try to capture as many elven slaves as possible, both for the sake of Saarus and for the sake of her ambitions,</span>" she told the Sauroid and dismissed him.<br>
<br>
She observed to see where Yz and their forces were located, before turning to one of her men aiding in cleaning up.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Head back and inform those left behind to begin moving forward, assure continuity within the supply line and set camp in Sabersval,</span>" to which she received a salute in response. To another, she told him to call on Yz to join them in this final assault, with the suggestion it would look favorable to them in the after action report.<br>
<br>
Once everything was ready, she approached her men in formation, and gave the signal: "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Ⱓⱃⰻⱎ<b>·</b></span>"<br>
<br>
---<br>
<br>
A few days have passed since the successful victory at the Battle for Sabersval. The past days have been spent setting up camp where appropriate and ensuring that Sabersval was assuredly in Saarus control. More Elvans, who attempted to resist the arrival of the Empire, were captured and enslaved. The supply line through the mountain was secured and everything seemed at the ready for their Dark Lord's arrival, and thereafter her planned departure toward the border with Ysaval.<br>
<br>
As she strode across her camp, she made way towards the section currently guarded the most. What laid there was the imprisoned Aelan Farandel, the Muzzled Wolf. She had treated her well, in spite of her knowledge that she was going to execute her. Though restrained, she was treated properly, and fed well. But on each day since the battle, three times she would head to her, sit in front of her, and sharpen her greatsword. Silently, Farandel would watch as the weapon that is to execute her was sharpened in front of her. And today, was the day.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...ah, finally. As sharp as a sword intended for execution should be,</span>" Voyka spoke to herself, admiring her handywork, before turning her eyes toward Farandel.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)"><i>Tomorrow, your death awaits.</i></span>"<br>
<br>
---<br>
<br>
Gathered in the town square of the most populace town in Sabersval, where the frightened populace could watch, Farandel's public execution was underway. She would be made a public example to all who might consider resisting Saarus and what the end result for them might be. Farandel had been placed in the very center, her head and hands placed within an outstretched pillory, leaving ample room to decapitate her head without harming the hands. Choosing slightly more formal Rogovac attire for the occasion, Voyka stood by Farandel, the only other person next to her, with her greatsword standing by.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Today,</span>" Voyka began, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">we are here to witness the final judgment of Aelan Farandel, otherwise known as the Wolf of the South. Farandel has been charged with treason to the Saarus Empire, abetting the conspiracy maintaining Erevan's resistance to the rule of Emperor Briggun of Saarus, resisting capture and committing sedition by way of leading an armed force with the intent of subverting rightful Saarus rule,</span>" she pontificated, knowing she had no real judicial power or knowledge like someone such as Vuldar had, and certainly no executional authority like he does, but it was all a matter of instilling fear and putting on a specific narrative.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Were it not for the magnanimous action of the grand Borok Ronillson, in defeating her forces, or for the inspirational courage of Yz, capturing the Wolf and muzzling her,</span>" Voyka pressed on, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Sabersval would remain in treasonous hands, of the Erevan aristocracy, draining the people dry and deluding them with notions of resistance towards a forest-dweller such as you all,</span>" Voyka gestured to the domestic crowd, whether watching from the paths or from their windows.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">For the crimes committed, Aelan Farandel is to be executed. The blood to spill will not only represent her own, but the blood that will spill with the liberation of Erevan from its bastard leadership. Long live the Saarus Empire!</span>" Voyka finished, with her forces guarding the perimeter joining in.<br>
<br>
As chants in the name of the Saarus Empire and the Dark Lord continued, Voyka got in position, raising her greatsword high up. With one swift swing, Farandel was decapitated, her head hitting the ground and staining it red. Several turned their eyes away from the sight. After a brief pause, Voyka began to laugh menacingly, as she swung the sword to break open the pillory's lock, releasing the body.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)"><b>MEN, RENDER HER INSIDE OUT!</b></span>" she bellowed, as some of her men rushed in towards the body, whilst she picked up the head and displayed it for all to see, the sight causing even more to turn their eyes away in horror.<br>
<br>
Behind her, several of her men began to deconstruct Farandel's entire body, using sharpened blades and stone to rip tissue and bone apart. Flesh and cartilage from elsewhere was repurposed to form a new horrified expression to sit where her head was, as her body was reconstructed and turned into a flesh scarecrow, a representation of what the Saarus Empire had come to destroy. An utter bastardization of the human form, unrecognizable in what being it used to be and from which parts it is made out of. It was to stand in the center of the town for three days, before it is to be moved towards the core of Erevan, to menace any scouts from there that might wish to see what had happened.<br>
<br>
---<br>
<br>
Washing her greatsword and clothes, Voyka received a visitor at her part of the camp. Rather than it being one of her men whom she had sent out to deliver Farandel's head to Yz with a message attached informing Yz not to lose it lest they incur their Lord's wrath, it was another carrying a letter that had been sent from the south, not from Canar but from Teralia. She received the letter and saw that it came from the banshee Cordia Dis.<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 64028" data-quote="Breadman" data-source="post: 11835676" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11835676" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11835676">Breadman said:</a>
			
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			To Baba Vojka<br>
<br>
How goes the war effort, Baba? My coven has recruited its first new member in a long while, so it got me thinking how my sister in haxes is fairing. Have you had a chance to expand your circle? Have you taken hold of the Erevanians fears? Do you throt through their nightmares? Teralia is fun, but I'm curious about the rest of the world.<br>
<br>
Best wishes<br>
Captain Cordia
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</blockquote>Voyka chuckled. At least <i>someone</i> thought of her fondly at the moment. She grabbed her paper and feather, and began to write in a response:<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 64028" data-quote="Breadman" data-source="post: 11835676" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11835676" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11835676">Breadman said:</a>
			
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			To my Banshee Sister Terrorizing the Seas,<br>
<br>
The war effort goes well, Cordia. We spent the early spring assuring the battle to come would succeed, and thanks to the efforts of Ronillson, we demolished the enemy. We are currently consolidating our position in Sabersval, and I write to you after having just publicly executed the enemy general. If I did not haunt their dreams before, now it is assured. I plan to head east towards Ysaval by mid-summer, to aid Falwyn in her efforts, so any letters you send may see delay.<br>
<br>
I have also had a chance to expand my circle, recruiting orphaned children rummaging through our supply line. Their trust in me is tenuous currently, but I have my ways in making them adore me like a grandchild does their grandmother.<br>
<br>
I sincerely hope your efforts in Teralia and beyond succeed beyond your wildest imagination.<br>
<br>
Your Hag Sister Truly,<br>
Voyka
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</blockquote>Knowing Veno was likely curious to hear what progress had been made in the Erevan Campaign, she penned a letter for her.<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 64078" data-quote="Infab" data-source="post: 11835470" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			To my Dear Grandchild in the Shadows,<br>
<br>
I'm writing to inform you we had successfully emerged victorious in Sabersval. Ronillson had successfully routed the enemy near-singlehandledly, with Yz capturing the general. I had attempted to ensure the capture of as many elves as possible, to head your way, but for once my bloodlust was not at fault; many defeated in battle were devoured by Borok's forces. Per our agreements in finding recluse Horned settlements, please send someone to Sabersval to look for my kin. If no one is free, have the one in Vismajora come here, as I continuously doubt any Horned are in hiding there, despite your assessments to the contrary.<br>
<br>
I plan to head east towards Ysaval by mid-summer, to aid Falwyn in her efforts, so any letters you send may see delay. I hope you have progressed well in Weildach, and that your efforts succeed beyond your wildest imagination.<br>
<br>
Your Granny Truly,<br>
Voyka
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</blockquote>Voyka frowned slightly as the thought of Veno's efforts aiding her in finding Horned holdouts - despite decent success a few years ago, whether it be secluded farming residents or hidden villages, they have found nary a thing, especially not the one who inspired her to conduct this search to 'unite' her kind. With her letters finished, she called the one that had brought her the letter and asked him to hand these letters off to be delivered southward. With that finished, she went back to cleaning.</div>
				
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	<div class="message-userContent lbContainer js-lbContainer " data-lb-id="post-11842784" data-lb-caption-desc="Femboy · Jan 18, 2024 at 12:00 PM">

		

		
	


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			<img src="/data/avatars/s/64/64549.jpg?1541964849" alt="Damian0358" class="avatar-u64549-s" width="48" height="48" loading="lazy"> 
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 <br>
<br>
Yz was sat cramped in a very tight and enclosed space with their legs held tightly close to their body, for they had crammed themselves within the containment for no reason other than curiosity and boredom. Initially, they were to be trapped in said tight prison and thrown off a very large flight of stairs just for fun but it seemed like plans changed now that there were other things to attend to. Baba Voyka had, for some reason, entrusted them with the head of the poor maiden whom was just so fun to chat with the time prior. What a shame that Aelan didn't just choose the simple option of being Yz's friend, which would have turned out much better. In the end, Yz didn't even lift a finger at the battle since there was nothing to do. Borok had won before either them or Voyka joined in, which wasn't surprising to Yz after their little scouting adventure but was still disappointing. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Welp, might as well get going, I've been here long enough</span>" Yz sighed and groaned as they felt how restrained they were within their space, yet with all their might had they managed to turn themselves upside down even with the impossibly limited space. After a brief moment, the masked individual delighted in delivering a kick with both legs to the top of the containment and, finding that it was more durable than it appeared as Baba Voyka would probably hear an audible bang from a nearby barrel followed by an even louder and audible familiar voice blatantly shouting:<br>
<br>
"<b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">FUCK</span></b>-"<br>
<br>
At the top of their lungs as the barrel they were in even jumped a little from the force. After a brief moment, Yz had kicked again and managed to burst off the lid of the barrel on the next attempt as their legs stuck out from the opening before aggressively kicking around in attempts to escape. After grumbly noises of discontent as Yz tried to upright themselves and get out, they casually sat in their barrel looking to Voyka who probably wasn't expecting them to be present at all as the masked one leaned on the rim, head leaning on a propped up hand.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Hello ma'am, barrel inspection. I would give this an 8.5 out of 10, I don't think it makes for a very comfortable ride but nobody has thrown me down the stairs in a barrel yet. What a shame</span>" Yz introduced as they realised that Voyka probably was expecting her to be doing something especially important, rolling their eyes as they reached into their barrel and pulled out the disembodied head of Aelan Farendal which they had received almost immediately considering they had shown up to Voyka's camp without announcement. Getting Aelan early was just a coincidental bonus.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Don't worry, I was just letting her enjoy her last piece of cake</span>" Yz answered as it was maybe or maybe not obvious they had been sitting on the decapitated head the entire time they were in the barrel, visibly making themselves giggle a little at their own joke.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">It's okay, mama, you can count on Yz to make sure that Yz gives Briggun head so that everyone's happy- wait, wait a minute, not in that way but- giving him, y'know, this head, the unattached one</span>" Yz proudly proclaimed before slowing to a verbal halt at their own chaotically generated wording, realising that the sexual-referencial jokes had gone where Yz wasn't intending as they chose to change topic.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Speaking of cake, Yz is hungy. What's for dinner, mama? What're you doing there?</span>" Yz asked, continually trying to tease her as emphasis was placed into every reference of calling Voyka a mother. Curious a little about the stuff for writing that was visible, Yz questioned it. <br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">What that? You're doing messages, you have a penpal? Yz doesn't get to write, not since I tried to break my record of how many writing quills I could fit up my nose</span>" Yz pondered as they slapped the rim of the barrel with one hand before adding on what made it truly impressive. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Without seasoning</span>" Yz claimed as they appeared to remember something.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Oh! I do have this one letter, but it wasn't specifically for you, I was just saving it for a funny day, you can read it though</span>" Yz said as they proceeded to grab their own mask and pull it forward, the most parts of where the mask touched the skin unnaturally stretched to stay connected like the mask and flesh were painfully fused albeit the bottom remained unconnected where for a brief moment a visible mouth was apparent. Letting a neat enveloped letter fall from out of the inside of the mask as Yz let go of it and let the mask comedically and loudly slap back onto their face, Yz caught and handed Voyka the 'letter not intended for her'.<br>
<br>
Of course, if she read it, the only thing that would be included in it was a crude hieroglyphic-esque drawing depicting what Yz would be doing or acting as well as the briefest of words to describe what was being conveyed. The message was:<br>
<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="" data-quote="" data-source="" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			<span style="font-size: 26px"> <img class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" alt="🫵" title="Index pointing at the viewer    :index_pointing_at_the_viewer:" src="/styles/twemoji/1faf5.png" data-shortname=":index_pointing_at_the_viewer:"><img class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" alt="😂" title="Face with tears of joy    :joy:" src="/styles/twemoji/1f602.png" data-shortname=":joy:"> <b>OLD</b></span>
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</blockquote><br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">So what are you doing, are you busy, can I have food? You wanna see what else I found in the fabled lands?</span>" Yz asked in curiosity out of boredom as, apparently alongside the head they had with them inside the barrel, they slowly pulled out the fabled tambourine they knew waw being kept from them all this time. The pure expressive joy on an individual with no face over the tambourine was stagnating.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka had barely handed off the letters and gone back to cleaning when Yz made an impromptu appearance from one of the nearby barrels that they had emptied out in the past few days. She squinted her eyes in confusion and annoyance at Yz's presence, sort of ready to just ignore the being and go back to cleaning when they pulled out Farandel's head, prompting her eyes to open wide.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Be careful with that!</span>" she exclaimed since she assumed Yz was sitting on it the entire time, based on how the hair was looking. Yz could tell she was genuinely concerned, given their Dark Lord's request, leading into them telling her it's okay and accidentally engaging in innuendos.<br>
<br>
Voyka could hardly begin to explain she had written letters to other lieutenants and answer the question of food when she received a letter from Yz that they were saving for a 'funny day'. With a degree of hesitation, she took and opened the letter.<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 81471" data-quote="Sona Radar" data-source="post: 11842784" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11842784" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11842784">Sona Radar said:</a>
			
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			<span style="font-size: 26px"><b><img class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" alt="🫵" title="Index pointing at the viewer    :index_pointing_at_the_viewer:" src="/styles/twemoji/1faf5.png" data-shortname=":index_pointing_at_the_viewer:"><img class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" alt="😂" title="Face with tears of joy    :joy:" src="/styles/twemoji/1f602.png" data-shortname=":joy:"> OLD</b></span>
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</blockquote>The grimace and twitch in her right eye was visible to all in the area, as if a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vBVGjFdwk4" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D_vBVGjFdwk4&amp;hash=2d2d1fb210f34688cf79565eb7f0e188" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">loud boom</a> played in the area. Was Yz fucking with her again? Was this a threat or were they just mocking them for being old? Eugh, and they waited for her answers to their previous questions, and more... including a tambourine. She needed to answer fast.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">If you insist on knowing,</span>" Voyka began, closing the letter and handing it back to Yz, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I had received a letter from Cordia Dis in the south, and I responded to her. I had also written a letter to Veno Dilach, informing her of developments here. Otherwise, I am just cleaning my things at the moment, to get the blood out of it from the execution earlier today. The food stall here at camp should still have some open fire lamb, bread, vegetables, and soup, though it has been a bit since lunch. You are free to grab what you like from there, however,</span>" she answered the initial questions.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">In regards to what you've 'found', if you want to share, feel free... though be sure to share it with Borok too,</span>" Voyka explained, genuinely hoping they weren't referring to the tambourine.</div>
				
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	<div class="message-userContent lbContainer js-lbContainer " data-lb-id="post-11842822" data-lb-caption-desc="Femboy · Jan 18, 2024 at 1:17 PM">

		

		
	


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<br>
<br>
Yz casually waited for Voyka to finish reading the letter as they took it back nonchalantly after she was finished with it.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">I'll save that for later, just incase you forget and need a reminder... </span>" Yz hummed quietly as they pulled their mask off a little in order to put it back. Hearing about the different people that Voyka had been sending letters to, it make Yz think that they should find a fun and colourful new way to send messages in which they can send all their funnest and nicest drawings to the friends and lieutenants they could think of. Delighted by the sound of free food to mooch off of Voyka, Yz was just about prepared to go and get some before they were told about sharing their discoveries. Hesitating for a moment as they clutched and eyed the tambourine briefly, Yz just tried to divert attention by joyfully whaking it and patting it against their hip.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">It can wait for later, but it starts with Deeee~!</span>" Yz chimed cheerfully as they confirmed the first letter, rattling the tambourine faster for a moment in delight. Getting a feeling that Voyka wasn't the biggest fan of their antics, the masked one leaned on the side of the barrel.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">You should really lighten up Mama Voyka, limited time and infinite others who could replace you either with time or if Biggums demands it, and you spend it here being dull and mopey and cleaning, all you loo-tenants are so mopey and dark and <i>edgy, </i>like come on, do something else other than blood and slaughter, get a hobby or something. I might start a travelling band, I think I would make a pretty killer lead singer especially with this</span>" Yz spoke as they brought attention back to their tambourine, giving it a joyful shake as they placed the head down so that they could get out of the barrel.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Maybe you're stronger and smarter and better than me, but atleast I enjoyed every moment of it, I mean you basically threatened to cut my head off and I'm still here like nothing happened, I just wanted to return the favour, considering it seems like we'll be spending a <i> lot</i> of time together. I can take good care of this silly little head and meeting with Mr. Biggums, so you should throw me a bone, and have some fu- </span><b><span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">MAMA VOYKA HELP, THE BARREL IS TRYING TO CONSUME ME, I GAVE IT A TASTE AND NOW IT'S TRYING TO TAKE ME WHOLE</span></b>" Yz went from a logical and seemingly serious constructed sentence to panicked and aggressive flailing. Amidst trying to get out of the barrel, they had somehow fallen back in butt-first and were stuck sinking into an incredibly trapped and uncomfortable position, unable to tilt over the barrel and basically flailing around begging for Voyka to save them from the scariest foe thus far.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka chuckled as Yz actually began speaking seriously to her once more, and suggested she get a hobby.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">This <i>is</i> my hobby,</span>" she responded with a smile after Yz gave a shake of their tambourine. It's not like she's ever had a chance to have any other life, and she has no issues going down this path further, so why bother? Regardless, cleaning is important, otherwise disease spreads.<br>
<br>
She was ready to give Yz another thoughtful response when Yz got cut off by a voracious barrel. She shook her head with a chuckle, and got up from her cleaning station. Walking over to the barrel taking Yz captive, she grabbed it from the bottom, placed it on her right shoulder and then in one fell swoop, tossed Yz out of it. As Yz turned around on the ground, Farandel's head fell into their lap. She placed the barrel down and then offered her hand to Yz to help them back up - though whether they accept is up to them.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Look, I appreciate the advice, but I have my fun when I'm out able to destroy my enemies, making sure everything is in order to enable that,</span>" Voyka said simply, before deciding to elaborate, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">The lesson I tried to give you before the battle was as much me taking out my rage against you as it was in making sure you're aware of how things operate. No matter how much you might relish the opportunity you've been given, anyone can easily swoop in and ruin your fun, our Dark Lord included. That's why you need to play the game to ensure you can maximize that fun as much as possible. Mass slaughter's my kind of fun, which is why I make sure to go on campaigns with folks who enable me that, and in turn I can enable what they desire. I stay in my lane, and am able to do what I desire.</span><br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">The thing you pulled would've almost prevented me from having <i>my fun</i> along with endangering the campaign, simple as that. And the last thing you'd want to do is sacrifice another's fun for your own, right?</span>" Voyka gave a sly grin to Yz.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Anyway, go eat something already, the fact you couldn't tilt over that barrel's embarrassing,</span>" Voyka said in a grandmotherly fashion, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">And ask one of my men to help you get washed, you stink too. The last thing you need is disease ruining your fun.</span>"<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The sense of urgency bit into Izaak's shoulder like a blood-crazed shark to an injured animal. The central tent was brimmed, not simply with Demetra and Antonas - the Voivode's loyal hands, but the Imperial soldiers seconded to the oss mage's necrotic hordes. The serried row of soldiers stood in a half-circle before the exit flap of the tent, watching Izaak beyond the stratagem table, maps and manuscripts strew over its surface. None spoke, the howl of the Desert outside the only conversation between them. His helm shifted, its beetle-crest gleamed lifelessly in the thin strips of light that pierced into the tent. He gazed upon their faces, finding them almost uniform in their features. Taut, dry, gaunt, haggard and sore of various degrees. The infernal heat of the Gantar's pitiless plains made Izaak sweat in his bone-plated armour, grating on his skin, the salty droplets even agitated the borders of the iron lattice on his chest, plaguing Izaak with more discomfort. He inclined his head, features inscrutable behind his black helm. The assembly straightened up, their grips tighten, and eyes forward. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: #f2d770">Endure until nightfall, then launch the assault.</span>" Izaak began, voice harried, but leveled and cut through the air like a blade against whetstone. "<span style="color: #f2d770">Have the undead hordes in the front, soldiers will be interspersed between them, but most trail close behind. Antonas,</span>" He looked at the knight. "<span style="color: #f2d770">Prepare your swiftest and stealthiest men with the tainted water, they shall attempt to distribute and poison as much as possible. Without detection, no witnesses.</span>" Antonas leaned off the thick, support pole. He saluted, rapping twice on his breastplate, metal striking metal. "Your will be done, my Lord."<br>
<br>
Izaak balled his gauntlets, the wicked talons scraping the gnarled table's rough surface, a few of the soldiers winced from the sound. "<span style="color: #f2d770">Rest for now, recuperate as much as possible before the attack. Rotate sentries, if my observations are to be believed, Kolthix's first offensive has been repelled, they may be more vigilant and could even send out scouting parties.</span>" The Voivode gestured to a rough landmark of where the attack had occurred, before rounding the table and moving to the tent's flap. The imperial soldiers parted to either side, while Demetra followed closely behind. "<span style="color: #f2d770">I shall assist in preparations,</span>" Izaak said aloud, before gesturing to his mage-lieutenant. "<span style="color: #f2d770">have one of your novitiates inform Kolthix that we will be launching a night raid on the city.</span>" Demetra bowed her cowled head, her black hair hung down. "Would you wish to coordinate with the shade-lord?" "<span style="color: #f2d770">If he so wishes, but we will attack regardless.</span>"<br>
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 (Attack during the night, attempt to spread the tainted water).</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The Horde surrounding the Vestati delegation grew quiet as Zavastria made his demand known to all: Adanach's location. Their eyes studied each member of the delegation with intentions hidden to the newcomers; confident smirks, lascivious grins, and hateful glares pervaded among the visages of the Horde, but there lacked a unified front overall. They all looked upon them in silence until a distant voice called for them, laced with wisdom and authority.<br>
<br>
The delegation watched as the barbarians in front of them made way for an old, wizened man whose blind eyes gazed straight towards the Voiceless Knight. Madanach, the Great Druid in Adanach's army, walked towards the Vestati without any need to feel for his surroundings with his staff. He knew who were in front of him, and he knew who among them was the strongest and the only one worth talking to in that moment.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"A divine being, of great power, graces our lands with thy presence. Yet, ye does not inspire wisdom from those beneath them... despite possessing a divine soul."</span> muttered the druid as he looked at the Voiceless, paying no heed to Zavastria or Ystria. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Unless, it's yer own choice to not guide these misbegotten souls ye've been travelin' with."</span> For the first time, Madanach looked at Zavastria, but his eyes seemed to pierce beyond the physical. It felt as though that the Druid's eyes were gazing into the Vestati's soul itself. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Ye arrive with pleasant winds, for yer about to witness a ritual of kind. However, I must ask of ye to remain here, guarded... as the rest of the tribe prepares for the ritual."</span><br>
<br>
Before the Vestati crusader could protest this, the Druid raised his hand and moved the wispy, clouded orbs towards Zavastria. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"I shall not hear otherwise, ye will take this opportunity to set up yer camp near the chiefs. I shall come and get ye when the ritual is ready."</span> Madanach turned without any chance of a rebuttal, as he and the rest of the delegation watched the tribe finish their current activities to then depart out of the camp. As instructed by the ancient druid, the delegation took the opportunity to set up near Adanach's tent - which was twice as large as any of the tents in the encampment. When they finished, there were only a few souls wandering about, those being the ones guarding it and the delegation itself.<br>
<br>
As the sun set and a full moon rose to paint the sky, the Vestati could hear wolves howling in the distance... or was it something else? A pack of wild beasts, singing to the moon, asking for a blessing from a deity so unrelated to them. Madanach approached from the darkness, now wearing a wooden mask depicting some tribal deity, to hide his wizened face. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Come."</span> he muttered, <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Yer about to witness the birth of wolflings..."</span> A magical light engulfed his staff as he walked from the delegation, guiding them through the darkness towards the ritual being conducted.<br>
<br>
Whatever outspoken thoughts the delegation had of their treatment thus far would have to wait longer, as they were forced to once again remain silent and obey the commanding voice of the wizened, imperfect vessel that had been their host thus far. There was great power within his frail body, creating a stark contrast that only raised questions. Who was this druid? A sorcerer of some sort? Or a cleric of ancient, tribal deities of these lands? Whatever the case, they were to obey him for the time being until they met Adanach.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span data-s9e-mediaembed="youtube"><span><span style="background:url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Rs0qU0RpZ4I/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% / cover" data-s9e-mediaembed-iframe="[&quot;allowfullscreen&quot;,&quot;&quot;,&quot;scrolling&quot;,&quot;no&quot;,&quot;style&quot;,&quot;background:url(https:\/\/i.ytimg.com\/vi\/Rs0qU0RpZ4I\/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% \/ cover&quot;,&quot;src&quot;,&quot;https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/Rs0qU0RpZ4I&quot;]"></span></span></span>​</div><br>
<br>
Following the druid, the delegation made their way towards the source of the cacophonous hollering that had pierced the air. Seeing it in person, the Vestati could witness members of the Horde surrounding a tall, mighty tree; the bark was painted over with blue that glowed in the dark, illuminating the scenery that was an orgy of music and body. Orcs, goblins, beastment, and men fought, revelled, and howled like wolves - donning skins on their heads - and painted their bodies with woad and the same paint that plastered the tree. In one moment, they made love before quickly delving back into chaotic fighting and revelry; all the while, women dressed in white danced to the moon goddess as the goblin bards played their instruments to their own deity. It was chaos in every respect, and they were loving every moment of it.<br>
<br>
As they reacted to the ritual surrounding them, they watched a towering woman whose naked body was glowing with the same paint as the tree approach them. Her stature was the same in height as the Voiceless, and her glowing yellow eyes looked down upon the Vestati beneath her with curiosity. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"We knew that you would arrive soon. Perhaps, you arriving this very day is a blessing from the Gods."</span> she said, her booming voice not drowned by the maddening chaos surrounding her. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"This is a ritual of war, for we will become wolves in the night. some of us will be blessed by the god Blaidd, and be given the powers of a wolf. But most of us will only be granted his strength in the coming battles."</span> She then looked over her shoulder as another towering figure approached the delegation.<br>
<br>
His features were completely masked beneath the massive pale skull of a dire wolf, his nude body covered in the same glowing paint. Were it not for human complexion, the Vestati would have mistaken him for one of the many beastmen of the Horde. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...I always wondered."</span> muttered Adanach, as his green eyes glowed through eyes sockets of the skull - likely a byproduct of the ritual itself. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"When I watched your master and your people back in the capital, I wondered... what is inside these decorated armors."</span> He said as he gently tapped Ystrias' breastplate. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I've always heard conflicting stories."</span> he then muttered as his wolfish eyes looked down at both Zavastria and Ystria. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"The peasants said that beanath all that metal, ye were nothing but monstrous beings. Sharp fangs and clawed hands, with horns sticking out yer sickly pale hair..."</span> <br>
<br>
He took a moment to look at the Voiceless, as if thinking the old crusader looked like that beneath his armor.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...but then I heard tales of immense beauty and grace. So divine and magical, where it has driven men insane."</span> Adanach began to prey on the two Vestati, walking around them in a circle. His intense green eyes looked into the dark slits of their helmets, confident and unintimidated by whatever divine powers they might possess. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"So tell me, little Vestati... what lay beneath that armor?"</span> he said with a grin, before laughing as the music and hollering grew even louder.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The three Vestati crusaders followed the wizened form of the masked druid, Madanach, through the shadows of the darkened camp, moving with the grace of phantoms. Unlike the warmth of the natural splendor around them, of horns and antlers and furs amid all manner of pelts and rustic lodgings adorned with bone, the crusaders looked as out of place as they felt. Zavastria and Ystria concealed themselves within the shawls that adorned their bodies, concealing their runic plate; yet whereas Ystria melted into the shadows from the ebon void of her black cloth, Zavastria utilized all manner of colored cloth that symbolized the honor of his house - golds and blues, whites and crimson. Silver tassels swung from the embroidered hems, strung up with gilt cords that shimmered beneath every angle of light, be it from the druid's staff, the glow of the moon, or the flickering of torches.<br>
<br>
Only the Voiceless seemed... accustomed to the surroundings. While his armor was clearly ancient and sparsely decorated, the bladed wings upon his back conjured the image of a hellish creature that had crawled out from the void, or perhaps descended from the sky, and was now stalking prey in the dead of night. While his younger kin looked more like a lost nobleman and a novice assassin, the Voiceless possessed the sheer gravitas of a creature of immense power, born through a confidence of quietude that required no flare or announcement.<br>
<br>
They simply were, primordial as the earth beneath them or the moon above. Their existence within the world was like the ink of a painting having bled into reality.<br>
<br>
Ahead of them, the growing uproar of whatever was happening captured the minds of Zavastria and Ystria. Whereas the former cursed beneath his breath the crude nature of these barbarians, Ystria could feel a heated rush in her veins, the flicker of an ancestral instinct that reminded her of crusades and visitations she had never witnessed but had only heard about. The Vestati had been created as enforcers to be sent to realms beyond, to all manner of worlds to observe and, when demanded, act with the authority of their deity as directed. When they had wings, they would fly from the very sky itself, descending with the beauty of doves or the fury of hawks. The innate scars on her back - a feature all post-rebellion Vestati were born with despite never once knowing the sublime freedom of wings - began to ache in the most wretched manner, her body crying out for a past that had been eradicated from their very being. Only the momentary presence of the Voiceless, striding behind her, seemed to sooth this ache.<br>
<br>
And once they arrived at the grounds of the bizarre ritual centering around a tremendous tree, glowing with the essence of the woad painted upon it, the three Vestati watched in motionless silence.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[Anarchy... chaos... the work of imperfection....]"</span> Zavastria spoke allowed, his voice weak. His fists were clenched together and he swayed, ever so slightly, upon his gilded sabatons. His head spun in ever direction as he took on one wonder after the other, uncertain of where to focus as so much was occurring all at once. The endless blending of bodies in fighting and ecstasy, surrendered in abject worship to spirits and deities he neither knew nor understood. The music made him dizzy, as if each instrument had been wrought to tear apart his refinement. It was like he was a candelabra forged in gold now sat before the rage of a great inferno. Pretty as he stood now, time would assuredly tear him down.<br>
<br>
The appearance of the large woman clad in nothing but the majestic glowing paint stole their attention. The younger pair watched her wearily, and when she spoke of a god named Blaidd, all three looked upon the sky as if in reflex. Zavastria and Ystria made esoteric gestures over their chests as if in supplication... or protection from the unseen. Only the Voiceless raised his head to the sky with little movement other than the slightest tilt of his head, his gaze locked upon the stars in a manner of stoic defiance.<br>
<br>
It seemed a relief, then, that another figure appeared to them from the twirling darkness where it was impossible to tell where one body began and the other stopped. Adanach could immediately sense the slightest attachment to his mask - the eerie yet beautiful skull of a dire wolf - the Vestati showed, looking upon him more as equal than as oddity. The brilliant glow of his emerald eyes through the sockets were at odds to the fathomless empty depths behind the Vestati facemasks. It felt, in that moment, as if two aspects of the natural world were perched upon the edge of a coin.<br>
<br>
Ystria did not react as Adanach gently tapped one hand upon her armor, a gesture that was reserved only by kin or friend lest it be taken as an insult, for she was too enraptured in the anarchy that had devolved the world around them. But the words Adanach spoke seemed to strike a mixture of fear, anger, and indignation in the two youngest Vestati who were uncertain of the insinuations woven into the chieftain's words. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"You speak of decorated armor... these are our soulmasks!"</span> Zavastria cried out, his voice nearly lost in the noise. Even Ystria, as she spoke, sounded weary. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"It is... too dangerous... to say such things beneath an open sky, warrior,"</span> she said, not knowing who it was she spoke to. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"You will invite... <i>its</i> eyes...."<br>
<br>
<b>"No."</b></span> This word seemed to emerge from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and indeed could have been mistaken for the groan of a great oak or the roar of stone upon stone. Both Zavastria and Ystria snapped their heads towards the Voiceless, who stood with their face still canted upwards, empty eyes locked upon the moon. In the myriad tangle of woad, torches, bonfires, magical lights, and the very lunar glow itself, the Voiceless' bladed wings sparkled like a thousand stars. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)"><b>"A blessed moon looks upon us this night. Speak without fear."</b></span><br>
<br>
It seemed ages before either of the younger Vestati could speak, both drawn in my the chaotic world around them and the near-miracle it was to hear the ancient crusader speak. At last, Ystria was the first to regain her tongue to speak, looking between Adanach and Bjorga. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"You have already spoken as if you have seen us,"</span> she said tentatively. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"It is said many have fallen before us in equal measure to our blade and beauty. I know not those with horns... but we are fanged so that we may tear out the throats of those who slight us, in the times before the Rebellion."<br>
<br>
"Our beauty is not fit for mortal eyes,"</span> Zavastria said, a sneer hidden in his words.<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)"> "We are immaculate. We are the marble of infinity. No barbarian could be blessed to see our bare flesh, nor could they withstand it if they did."</span></div>
				
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			<span style="color: rgb(0, 168, 133)">"Ah, compliments to the arrangements. I assume the temple perhaps will help with the projection?"</span> He opts to voice his theory, always enjoying finding new little tricks for the application of magic.
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</blockquote><br>
"Yes, this temple is quite suitable for ritual by design, but we have also sought to strengthen its connection with the great temple in Vacium, where General Sergius has taken station this day."<br>
<br>
The robed figure led Estro into the temple through two heavy oak doors, bringing him into a darkened and surprisingly cool passage which led to the central chamber, a round room with a large, vaulted dome. In the center, a shaft of light fell on a painted marble statue of the god, Juva, which had apparently been constructed here decades ago if the wear to the paint and body from the elements was any indication. Numerous small offerings, written prayers, and burning candles and incense pots were placed around the statue's sandaled feet. The mixtures of smells here was exceptionally pleasant, as the temple workers ensured that the sacrificial offerings would be to the god's liking.<br>
<br>
To Estro, however, there was another sensation which grew stronger as he approached; as the robed man had explained before, the architecture of the room seemed to stabilize the natural forces present in all things into a sort of equilibrium. It followed the same principles that court wizards of Canar would employ while creating a sanctum for magical practice. As Estro stood and appreciated the thoughtfulness of his surroundings, a few of the temple workers placed a chair in the shadows just outside the statue's illuminated radius, and then at roughly arm's length on either side, placed an arcane device- they consisted of a shaft with a small brass plate at the top. The disc was embedded with runes and gemstones, and, amusingly, Estro noted that the craftsmanship wasn't just fine, it was probably excessive for what the Civicerians were trying to achieve here.<br>
<br>
Soon, brilliantly, but not unexpectedly, a ghostly projection began to form in the chair, visible thanks to the low light of the temple. A man of about 40 sat with his fingers intertwined, elbows resting on the armrests. He seemed more frail than one would expect of a general. Although his entire form was bathed in blue light and was thus monochrome, it was hard not to imagine that his hair had already gone fully gray. His eyes seemed quite wise, and he smiled as he doubtlessly began to notice his counterpart's form from his position in Vacium, or wherever he really was that day.<br>
<br>
"...The Wizard of Zo," he said, his voice a ghostly echo, "I'm pleased that you have arrived safely. I cannot see you yet, but I can hear your approach."<br>
<br>
As he spoke, the temple workers arrived with a chair for Estro to sit in, once again positioning the ornate arcane instruments on either side so that he might match the general's preparations.</div>
				
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			"...The Wizard of Zo," he said, his voice a ghostly echo, "I'm pleased that you have arrived safely. I cannot see you yet, but I can hear your approach."<br>
<br>
As he spoke, the temple workers arrived with a chair for Estro to sit in, once again positioning the ornate arcane instruments on either side so that he might match the general's preparations.
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<span style="color: rgb(0, 168, 133)">"And the Man of the Mountain, what a delight to meet someone of such skill and capability,"</span> Estro said with a chuckle as he moves to take his seat. He takes a moment to adjust his robes and then flashes a smile to the man before him. <span style="color: rgb(0, 168, 133)">"At least I assume so, but your reputation precedes you. I'll assume whoever I am addressing, real or subordinate, that it will get the same results. I must applaud your care in matters again."</span><br>
<br>
Estro looks upon the man with thoughtful expression more as he started to mentally pick apart the image before him. Nothing could be trusted, but the man was established and experienced. He likely held a seat in the Senate and probably had some line to the Dominus back in the capital. In either case, he was entrusted with Bolia which was important for two reasons now. Control of the resource production which likely meant he was quite wealthy from his slice of the income he likely took and that he was also to be the commander of the now cancelled invasion that the Dominion had been preparing to further expand its colonial interests.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(0, 168, 133)">"Compliments aside though, I would hate to see resentment boil between the Empire and Dominion. I'm sure the Dominus and Senators were... put off by the Empire's recent efforts and displays of its own military interests. I am aware though, that perhaps we could reach some sort of arrangements that would still suit the Dominion's needs even if the Empire is acquiring territories. Trade and flow of resources is obviously such a thing. War demands materials and the Dominion and its merchants are now positioned to profit from our appetite for supplies and items to sustain campaigns abroad,"</span> Estro said as he drums his gloved fingers thoughtfully.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(0, 168, 133)">"I'm sure that's not optimal, nor what you were originally positioned in Bolia for considering the impressive buildup and your reputation. Yet as Imperial Wizard, I hope to make this offer at least something to consider. Along with perhaps letting those pitiable refugees pass. We don't need them clogging our lines and I'm sure the Dominion can find some use for additional bodies when there is to be increased demand for trade between our lands?"</span> Estro arches a brow but finally holds his piece. He'd laid out his concerns and interests to seem ever more the man intending to keep the Empire running like any good Imperial Wizard would as compared to his far deeper and more insidious plans for the Dominion. He wondered if this man before him could be turned, but he might be a true patriot. Civicerians could be rather determined when they chose to be and he knew this man would bloody the legions of the Empire greatly if he didn't set about undermining, corrupting and dismantling his forces.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Zavastria's words visibly amused the barbarian chieftain, whose booming laughter surmounted the cacophony of noises of hedonism surrounding them all. But the longer the chieftain laughed, the less human it began to sound; shifting from a maddened laughter to a rabid, feral cackling. The unnatural glow of emerald from his eyes stared straight into Zavastria's eyes gaps, into the Vestati's very core. Adanach began to circle around Zavastria and Ystria once more, sometimes sparing a glance at the Voiceless as he passed in front of the ancient warrior.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Oh, yer funny little Vestati..."</span> he muttered with an animalistic growl, before grabbing the angel by the neck from behind much to his initial ire. But not matter how hard he struggled, the superhuman strength of Adanach dwarfed his own considerably - and was now at the mercy of the heathen. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Take a look, little Vestati..."</span> said the barbarian as he forced Zavastria to look at the ritual surrounding them. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"<b>LOOK</b>!"</span> he shouted with a maddened grin plastered upon his face. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"To me, this is true beauty! One people, a strong people, celebrating the gods and good health, preparing for death and glory..."</span><br>
<br>
Adanach then turned Zavastria around to look into his face, still obscured beneath the direwolf skull, but his eyes growing wider and ever more piercing into the Vestati itself. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"We are truly immaculate, we are natural! Like you, little angel."</span> Adanach's face grew ever closer until the skull pocked the nose of Zavastria's helmet. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Don't forget yer place, because yer not amongst yer kin no more. Yer in the land of a thousand gods, of a thousand peoples, who are free and one with nature. Ye will abide to me, because only the strong rule here."</span> As if to mock him, Zavastria could feel Adanach lifting him slightly. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...and yer clearly not."</span><br>
<br>
The Vestati was placed back onto the ground, before being gently pushed towards Ystria. But Adanach did not care for what either of them had to say in the moment, as his focus then shifted to the Voiceless - who seemed not only strong, but also aware of the mystical nature of the Druadach and the power of its people. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"You... you on the other hand... I like ya."</span> he said as he looked into the Voiceless' eyes. The incredible power of the ancient crusader need not be displayed, as Adanach could practically feel it in the air itself. And, perhaps, the Voiceless was even stronger than the warlord himself... and that was worthy of respect.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Stay... join our ritual, allow Blaidd to grant ye his blessing. Feel the fury of the wolf flow through yer veins."</span> Adanach then said, before looking down at Ystria and Zavastria. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Perhaps ya two should join us as well... there might be something yer good at..."</span> Adanach gave off a lascivious grin as he made the implication clear, before walking away cackling like a mad beast.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span data-s9e-mediaembed="youtube"><span><span style="background:url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/TNVhJUuGrfQ/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% / cover" data-s9e-mediaembed-iframe="[&quot;allowfullscreen&quot;,&quot;&quot;,&quot;scrolling&quot;,&quot;no&quot;,&quot;style&quot;,&quot;background:url(https:\/\/i.ytimg.com\/vi\/TNVhJUuGrfQ\/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% \/ cover&quot;,&quot;src&quot;,&quot;https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/TNVhJUuGrfQ&quot;]"></span></span></span>​</div><br>
<br>
The three Vestati watched as the chieftain and his wife walked away towards the great tree where Madanach was now preparing various herbal and fungal mixtures. The music that the Goblin bards played with such devotion seemed to grow even louder now, and the moon priestesses who danced with unnatural fervor before in honor of the goddess now began to sing. Their voices were so hauntingly beautiful that they made some of the people participating in the ritual crawl on all fours - roaring and howling to the moon like the beasts they emulated - their glowing eyes looking directly into the body of the goddess above in the sky. Their howls a desperate plead for her son Blaidd to bless them with the true form of a wolf or beast.<br>
<br>
The ritual continued despite the fact nobody but Adaanach looked at the chief druid as he gutted a dead wolf and looked into the entrails of the beast. Madanach then shouted an incantation, which made the tree glow even brighter than it did before, and caused the people nearby to grow even wilder in their acts. He then proceeded to remove the liver of the dead beast, cutting it into several pieces for select warriors to swallow. The first recipient was Adanach, who chewed on the raw liver happily as blood streamed from his mouth. Other followed suit, the same ones who chanted to the moon like crazed beasts.<br>
<br>
That's when the demeanor of the participants changed; no longer were they lost in their own body or craving the blood of others. They looked to Madanach as he chanted the call of Blaidd and asked for the blessing of the Moon Goddess. The Vestati witnessed as Adanach and the others who ate the beast's liver were twitching in place, their eyes glowing brighter than ever before. Their bodies shifted and contorted in unnatural ways, some like Adanach laughed and chanted alongside the druids, but when two of the participants fell to their knees their voices turned into excruciating pain. The other participants surrounded them, chanting even louder, with twisted smiles spreading on their faces as the two barbarians - a man and a woman - started to howl. Not as humans, but as real beasts.<br>
<br>
Upon hearing that monstrous roar, the crowd became wild again and chanted in almost perfect unison. Calling for Blaidd, the Father of Wolves, calling for the Moon Goddess - Queen of the Night - and for the Horned God, the King Amongst all Beasts. They were thanking the gods, in their own savage way, for granting the participants with such blessings.<br>
<br>
Adanach's glowing eyes looked at the two barbarians with utter admiration as they began to change in front of him. Their faces elongated into snouts, their hands grew claws and their legs broke and twisted in unnatural ways. They shed away their hides to reveal furry dark manes, and eyes glowing as bright as Adanachs, for they shared the blessing of the Gods. The only difference being that Blaidd picked these two to be part of his moonlit pack. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"We will make the Father of Wolves proud!"</span> shouted Adanach as he pet one of the werewolves as he would a dog. When the now transformed werewolves rose from the ground, they let out a monstrous roar together that was joined shortly thereafter by the other participants. Their shouts almost matched the same feral ferocity of their now transformed brethren.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Zavastria's rage and indignation was lost to the howling of the night. Stoic as his mask remained, his true face beneath was flushed hot, burning with the same intensity of the bonfires. Never had he been treated in such a way, nor had he ever expected to be. For a foreign barbarian to lay hands upon him - to lift him! - as if he was nothing more than a mere sack of vegetables to be carried, it was an affront not only to the greatness of the Vestati but a violation of the natural order itself. His gauntlets creaked with the pressure of his trembling fists. But before he could even contemplate striking that wretched barbarian, a firm hand latched onto his arm like a vice. Ystria leaned in, her head close to the side of his. <span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[I know you were about to do something very stupid,]"</span> she said, straining to be heard over the roar of the tribal ritual.<br>
<br>
The Vestati knight growled, managing at last to wrest his arm free from his sword-sister's grip. He spun about and stood before the Voiceless, the venerable ancient crusader standing motionless, every mote of light dancing over his wings and across his soulmask like a wicked circus of illumination, each shadow dancing and twirling and twisting with the energy of the unknown madness driving the barbarians ever onwards. <span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[Are you not our elder? Why do you not act? That fiend touched me! Where is your honor, the pride?"]</span> Zavastria yelled. <br>
<br>
With an almost inquisitive inclination of his head, the Voiceless at last seemed to recognize that a figure was now stood before him. When that endless gaze was fixed upon Zavastria, the younger Vestati had the credit not to remain petulant. He bowed his head in supplication, but looked back up quickly, the ferocity evident in his motion. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">["Wolves like to test boundaries,]"</span> the Voiceless said, a statement with the certainty and weight of a rushing waterfall, eternal even as it carved away the stone beneath its turbulent surface. Then, as if judging another thought, the Voiceless nodded downwards to his side. His longsword, one of merely several weapons on his person, had been drawn and was resting with the tip upon the top of his sabaton in a common gesture of armed neutrality - neither threatening nor intending to be caught unaware. No one had seen him draw the blade, neither the Vestati nor Adanach.<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)"> ["... the only wound to be suffered is your pride. If it is fear in your heart, capture it. Form the cast and fill it with hot iron. The chieftain declared us to be in a land of a thousand gods and a thousand people,"]</span> the Voiceless said, demonstrating the most amount of movement he had performed all night by leaning forwards a mere inch towards Zavastria. <span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">["Our people have seen a thousand gods and brought ruin to a thousand peoples. We nearly killed one. You are Vestati. Show your superiority with something more than tears."] </span><br>
<br>
The Voiceless knelt upon the ground and gestured for Zavastria to do the same. He then spoke briefly with Ystria, who left the tribal ritual only to return a moment later, carrying a small wooden box and canvas-wrapped sack; within the latter, a three-stringed instrument with a triangular body, the wood of which was rich with lacquered darkness and pitted with the passage of many years. Wordlessly, he passed the instrument to Zavastria, who merely stared at it as if having never seen it before. Moments passed before he, after taking a deep breath, began plucking away a Vestati tune. <br>
<br>
On the other side of the Voiceless, without the need for supervision, Ystria had sat out the wooden box and the items within - small porcelain cups and utensils for the purpose of creating a beverage, warm or cold. Yet there was no water, no spice, no ingredients to be mixed and served to be drunk with relief. The Voiceless with Ystria as his assistant merely went through the slow, methodical gestures of the process as if they were indeed preparing tea or coffee. The entire display was... haunting, for it became apparent to any viewer that the Vestati did so not out of demonstration, but that this <i>itself</i> was the ritual, an expression of a lost art for they could not remove their soulmasks beneath the sky. To perform this slow and quiet ritual in such stark contrast of the barbarians obtaining such a divine blessing from their own gods who were clearly watching was a cruel remainder that the Vestati, more than anyone else, knew what they had lost and resented it - but did not allow it to defeat them. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[You play a duelist's song,"]</span> the Voiceless noted, not looking at Zavastria as he cradled an empty porcelain cup in two hands, a fragile item cradled gracefully between chainmail, leather, and plate made for the brutality of war. Zavastria continued to pluck the strings of the instrument with much passion, though his tone remained grave. <span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">["You said to demonstrate our superiority. I am."]</span><br>
<br>
Now having established themselves, the Vestati watched and observed from within their own little island of calm. Ystria produced a scribe's set and began to sketch, with great skill, the scene before them despite not a single body remaining motionless; except, perhaps, for the magnificent tree and the moon above. Zavastria continued to channel his rage into the music, a single musciain fighting back against the symphony of drums and howling, never able to pierce through the madness but dancing in tandem nonetheless, a duelist on the backfoot yet on their feet regardless. <br>
<br>
The Voiceless watched, as he always did. Through the haze of smoke and movement he saw it all without the need to crane his head about to take in every detail. He felt, heard, saw, and experienced the world before him as if he had always been apart of it, the moss of an ancient stone standing witness to a thousand years of nature living and dying before it. <br>
<br>
His silent gaze watched Adanach most of all. For the chieftain, howling away with the fury and energy bestowed upon him by the rapturous intensity of Blaidd, would also realize, with the instincts of the wolf he embodied, that he was being watched by a predator from afar, one that was so accustomed and immutable that it did not hide itself nor stalk but merely sat where it was, flanked by two youths overcome with new experiences. It was a gaze that was without threat yet entirely embodied by the implicitness of violence. It was the look of a judge, an executioner of the divine's will and, had history been kind, an executioner <i>of</i> the divine. There was never a possibility of peace within its soul, but with two hands clasped to an empty, gentle porcelain cup decorated in the crystal-blue script of a miniature garden, it was as peaceable as it could ever be.</div>
				
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11844491" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11844491">Crocodile said:</a>
			
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			<span style="color: rgb(0, 168, 133)">"Compliments aside though, I would hate to see resentment boil between the Empire and Dominion. I'm sure the Dominus and Senators were... put off by the Empire's recent efforts and displays of its own military interests. I am aware though, that perhaps we could reach some sort of arrangements that would still suit the Dominion's needs even if the Empire is acquiring territories. Trade and flow of resources is obviously such a thing. War demands materials and the Dominion and its merchants are now positioned to profit from our appetite for supplies and items to sustain campaigns abroad,"</span> Estro said as he drums his gloved fingers thoughtfully.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(0, 168, 133)">"I'm sure that's not optimal, nor what you were originally positioned in Bolia for considering the impressive buildup and your reputation. Yet as Imperial Wizard, I hope to make this offer at least something to consider. Along with perhaps letting those pitiable refugees pass. We don't need them clogging our lines and I'm sure the Dominion can find some use for additional bodies when there is to be increased demand for trade between our lands?"</span>
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</blockquote><br>
The General sat quietly and merely gave a knowing smile as Estro expressed some doubt that he was speaking to the real Man on the Mountain. As he laid his case out, however, the General's expression grew more attentive, as if he were searching for the hidden motives behind each new idea fielded by the wizard. Estro painted a picture of an Empire consuming far more than it could produce, hungry for the resources of its neighbors. If Sergius was a well-read man, he would know that production and crop yields had fallen considerably over the past decade under the oppressive yoke of the Emperor's leadership. Perhaps he would conclude that the Empire's sudden aggression was a desperate attempt to seize what it could no longer produce itself, and the trade profits would be quite good.<br>
<br>
Or perhaps, Estro worried, the General would instead have taken note of the Empire's habit of stockpiling resources away from the people, to ensure its armies would be fed and supplied through many seasons, even in the case of drought and disorder. If that were the case, then Estro's attempts to secure connections to the Dominion's markets might be taken as a ploy to create dependency, and to begin the presumably long process of turning it into a satellite of Saarus.<br>
<br>
His eyes subtly twitched at the mention of the refugees.<br>
<br>
"There are many things that interest me about your premise and your proposal," he replied, politely. "For instance, I have heard of many cases in which the Empire has subjugated, enslaved, or killed its new subjects upon expansion, but to allow refugees to flee en masse... <i>That</i> is an interesting turn." For a moment, the General's eyes narrowed as he smiled again, as if he had already reached a certain conclusion, but for now, it wasn't clear what that was. "Maybe after all these years, Saarus finally has a culture worth displacing others over, rather than absorbing them. Civiceria is quite the same."<br>
<br>
"Had we taken Bolia, we would have been tasked with the great effort of enslaving and relocating the local population, in order to ensure that they wouldn't rise up against us. Perhaps we would have offered a great number of laborers to our neighbors in the Empire in exchange for peace and trade," he mused, his smirk fading in favor of a more neutral, contemplative expression. "Given our... <i>reversed </i>roles, I believe the wise thing to do would be to accept your overture. We'll allow these refugees to cross the border, but in an orderly fashion, administered by my forces. I will also ensure a favorable status for Saarus in trade, and I will expect the same for Civicerian merchants in your ports."<br>
<br>
Now seeming relaxed and confident, the General added, "One last thing- I would not be concerned with the preparedness of my legions. What opportunities we lost in Bolia, we may rediscover them on our eastern borders. One doesn't learn language to read a single book, nor study the blade to prepare for a single foe. We are, as always, prepared for all frontiers," he said, his tone resembling that of a man far beyond his years.</div>
				
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			"Had we taken Bolia, we would have been tasked with the great effort of enslaving and relocating the local population, in order to ensure that they wouldn't rise up against us. Perhaps we would have offered a great number of laborers to our neighbors in the Empire in exchange for peace and trade," he mused, his smirk fading in favor of a more neutral, contemplative expression. "Given our... <i>reversed </i>roles, I believe the wise thing to do would be to accept your overture. We'll allow these refugees to cross the border, but in an orderly fashion, administered by my forces. I will also ensure a favorable status for Saarus in trade, and I will expect the same for Civicerian merchants in your ports."<br>
<br>
Now seeming relaxed and confident, the General added, "One last thing- I would not be concerned with the preparedness of my legions. What opportunities we lost in Bolia, we may rediscover them on our eastern borders. One doesn't learn language to read a single book, nor study the blade to prepare for a single foe. We are, as always, prepared for all frontiers," he said, his tone resembling that of a man far beyond his years.
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</blockquote><br>
Estro looks on with a thoughtful expression again as the man relays his thoughts on the matter. He felt a certain degree of dark delight as they accepted he influx of refugees, but then again he knew they would like be looking at those coming in. It would be hard to infiltrate like that but the influx of them would suit the needs of the Dominion with this expression of acceptance on his trade offers. The Man of the Mountain or his stand-in was as shrewd as had been expected, which was fine. A clever man might pull apart his schemes or draw them out, but that just made the game more fun. He missed having someone like Briggun to match wits with, to battle and challenge. That battle had become quite direct and open. This one would be a wonderful dance in the shadows until it was time for the knives to come out, for the throats to be slit in another glorious culling of his foes.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(0, 168, 133)">"It is most gracious of you to accept my proposals, General. This will certainly simplify a number of matters I had obvious concerns about. Your aid in increasing trade flow between our lands is most appreciated. I will reciprocate quite happily and send word to Briggun himself to ensure a more fruitful status is afforded Civicerian merchants. We want them to feel welcome if they are to be provided much needed goods."</span> Estro spread his gloved hands with an acknowledgement of the trade adjustments both sides would make.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(0, 168, 133)">"I understand your need to control the refugee situation. I'm sure you'll find wonderful use for them. Doubly so as it sounds like you already have formulated a few new adjustments to the Dominion's positions. I'm so happy to know we could make something mutually beneficial come of this. I'm sure you will make use of your wit and sword just as well as you claim, a pity for those who will find the points of both in the days to come." </span>Estro rubs his chin with a gloved hand as he ponders the situation, feeling quite pleased with developments. The goods would actually be useful but also feed into the image he is trying to weave. Sergius might realize a deeper plan is at work, but let him do so since it sounds like his army has plans for the unfortunate Duchy of Midana.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(0, 168, 133)">"Do let me know if I can facilitate anything else for this arrangement, General. Otherwise, I bid you a good day."</span> Estro rose and bowed politely, both for simple etiquette and a slight display of respect to a man that was proving to be a lovely challenge. The quiet game would continue, and he looked forward to how deeply he could dig his claws into Bolia while Civiceria seemingly prepared for its expansion elsewhere. He departs with haste to make his dispatches, ready to weave the needed protective spells around them.<br>
<hr>A dispatch is sent by bound imp to Briggun himself:<br>
<br>
<i><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">My Lord,</span></i><br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><i><br>
I am pleased to inform you that matters are proceeding accordingly in regards to the Civicerian Dominion. Please enact favored trade status with Civiceria. You will find they will be granting the same to Saarus merchants at this time. Reciprocation will facilitate the greater works needed that you have commanded of me. I believe we can make use of this influx of goods as well for the various other campaigns in action, if only to further give credence to my discussion with their General Sergius in Bolia.<br>
<br>
Please do not be surprised if matters in Kaula become complicated in coming months. Let us hope Rocher can continue to prove useful for greater matters in play. My efforts will continue in either case and our grasp in this region will only continue to grow stronger.<br>
<br>
Do give my respect to the Empress.<br>
<br>
Your servant,</i></span><br>
<i><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">Estro Dorozan</span></i><br>
<hr>A second dispatch is sent to Veno also by bound imp courier:<br>
<br>
<i><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">Dear Veno,</span></i><br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><i><br>
I hope your efforts further West are proceeding as well as I hear whispers about. Please be aware that I anticipate increased Civicerian interest in our affairs beyond what already is likely in motion due to the open conflicts in the South so far and along the regions boarding their colony of Bolia. I know you probably already were taking these matters into consideration, but I am never not one to do my duty and still bring attention to it after the influx of information brought before me from your agents and my own cultists.<br>
<br>
The Man of  the Mountain is clever and dangerous. So I intend to be sure we take him seriously despite his seeming openness to my current diplomatic overtures. The board is set and the pieces are finally revealing themselves. I hope you enjoy the game I am set to play. I look forward to your own games in motion. Let the shadows dance with intrigue and blood flow where it needs to.<br>
<br>
With regards,</i></span><br>
<i><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">Estro<br>
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			Munsie gave a cat-like grin. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Oh yes, sir," </span>was all she said for a moment, taking a sip from her glass which she could barely swallow due to her urge to smile. Even her legs kicked a bit, suspended as they were an inch or so above the ground where she sat. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"I will accept his invitation and inquire as to the meeting place. If it's far inside the border, I'll send an imposter so that they will see her traveling, and then, on your word, we attack."</span>
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<b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Most excellent!"</span></b> Declan said with a joyous mood, lifting his chalice for a toast with Munsie. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"To our partnership, and to our coming victories."</span></b> Their glasses clinked to seal the deal, a fortuitous sign of things to come in the near future. A unified front of three armies now prepared to march onto Lacans, but deep in his mind as he ate his meal - beyond his own confidence - there was a kernel of doubt that remained to plague his mind. Something that remained when the meeting concluded and the two went their separate ways. Declan returned to his tent, while overall pleased, remained fixed on the possibility of failure.<br>
<br>
Dennor, who had been sorting through other missives and reports, noticed this as the Viceroy entered to take a seat at his desk. He didn't comment at first as his eyes trailed Declan's path, until it was asked for: <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"You look like you have something to say."</span></b><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"You don't look all too pleased, all things considered."</span><br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"On the contrary, I am. Munsie will march, bringing a third army into the fold as a result."</span></b><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"But...?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"...but, I still can't help but harbour my doubts. Even with all this preparation, we are still at a disadvantage. Lacans' natural geography is an imposing shield, and provides its defenders with ample opportunities to repel us."</b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"If I might speak, we all know the risks."</span> Dennor then said with a smirk, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Hells, I take a risk every day working with you. But of course, the reward is what makes it worth it. We all have to gamble at some point."</span><br>
<br>
Declan remained quiet as he leaned back into his seat, before looking up at the roof of his tent, eyeing the artisinal fabrics used in the embroidery. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Then the die is cast."</span></b><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Oh, and the pretty boy responded." </span>Dennor then chimed in, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"He says to use lanterns, and has given a cipher for missives between you and him."</span><br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Hrm. I prefer ravens, they're quicker. But, if this maintains a working line of communication then I suppose I'll play along."</span></b><br>
<br>
Declan leaned forward and dipped his quill in ink before bringing forth fresh parchment. Now he had to inform the Emperor of developing matters here.<br>
<br>
<hr><br>
A letter, bearing Declan's seal in wax, made its way to Briggun's court soon after attached to a raven:<br>
<br>




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			Your Imperial Majesty,<br>
<br>
Preliminary preparations for the assault into Lacans are complete, just in time for the spring thaws to end. Without having to worry about mud, there will be not two but three armies marching into Lacans at the start of the campaign. The forces of Tidiaus, led by Munsie Moldive, will be joining mine as we push through the country's eastern border. Lucafiel is in coordination to march in roughly the same time period from the south.<br>
<br>
I suspect once we start to make gains, the slaves of Lacans will grow emboldened and begin their uprisings to further destabilize the Republic. Should our fortunes favor us, we can expect a spearhead to be made into Lacans by the end of summer.<br>
<br>
Your faithful servant,<br>
Declan Asquith Elron
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			"Do let me know if I can facilitate anything else for this arrangement, General. Otherwise, I bid you a good day."
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</blockquote><br>
General Sergius bowed his head respectfully while remaining seated, and shortly after Estro rose from his seat, the temple workers removed the implements sustaining the connection to the General's location. As his image flickered away into the shadows, his voice could be heard trailing off: "As do I..."<br>
<br>
Far away, the Man on the Mountain stood from his chair and exited the room through a passage which led to his map room. A table lay poised with markers denoting the positions of Civicerian and rival armies, commanders, and other known threats. The General reaches to one such marker and picks it up, examining it in the dim candle light, before setting it down again upon Bolia, a smirk crossing the corner of his lip.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">---<br>​</div>Following her auspicious dinner with Declan, Munsie practically skipped her way back to her headquarters to deliver the news to her subordinates. They were... less than enthusiastic to learn of the coming march on Lacans, but Munsie warned them: <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"The Viceroy will make clear the present need of our direct involvement to both the Royal and Imperial Courts; if you mistrust me now and oppose the coming offensive, then I'll make sure to pass along your objections. I'm certain that there are others like me - ready to serve the alliance faithfully - who would gladly occupy your station..."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><span data-s9e-mediaembed="youtube"><span><span style="background:url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/mWWEq7hmEQ0/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% / cover" data-s9e-mediaembed-iframe="[&quot;allowfullscreen&quot;,&quot;&quot;,&quot;scrolling&quot;,&quot;no&quot;,&quot;style&quot;,&quot;background:url(https:\/\/i.ytimg.com\/vi\/mWWEq7hmEQ0\/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% \/ cover&quot;,&quot;src&quot;,&quot;https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/mWWEq7hmEQ0&quot;]"></span></span></span>​</div><br>
<br>
Twelve warriors of Lacans, alongside six slave warriors from a minor eastern tribe, marched down a narrow path of a cliffside unaware of being watched from afar. A goblin scout observed from the cover of his vantage, before rushing back to where the others were - hiding behind jagged rock formations - awaiting for the perfect opportunity. <span style="color: rgb(255, 165, 44)">"Wealdmær,"</span> the goblin spoke, the same one that had accompanied him into Lucafiel's court, <span style="color: rgb(255, 165, 44)">"Twelve warriors alongside six battle thralls. Eleven o'em wearing 'em fancy cloth armor. But the one leadin' em has one of 'em fancy muscle chestplate."</span> Wealdmær, the Orcish solduros of Adanach and "commander" of the Druadacha Auxilia, grinned upon hearing the news.<br>
<br>
Of the small scout force that had accompanied Wealdmær to Lacans, only half of them were here now as the others were working alongside the Vestati to scout for secret routes used by Lacanite forces to supply their southern outposts. He only had four orc warriors, six goblin skirmishers, and one minotaur warriors at his disposal. By all means, the Lacanite patrol had superior numbers and perhaps even better training than his warriors. And yet, he and his warriors craved combat; and a lone patrol was the perfect opportunity to test his men's mettle while also not attracting attention.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(255, 165, 44)">"What we gonna do?"</span> asked Arco, the attractive goblin whose toothy grin grew wider as he could see the fire in Wealdmær's eyes. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"What do ya think? The gods have granted us an opportunity to test ourselves. We cannot fail them, just like the Lacanites can't fail their gods. We must please them as well, give their warriors an honorable death!"</span> said the Orc zealot, brandishing his steel sword and his large hexagonal shield. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Arco, you know what to do."</span> he then said as he looked down at the goblin, who nodded as he tested the sharpness of his throwing spears.<br>
<br>
The Lacanite Hoplites and their enslaves slingers marched through the cliffsides, their weary eyes looking at their surroundings. Leading them was a veteran warrior whose bronze muscle cuirass had several notches and scars from past encounters. While he did not look at his surroundings like his soldiers, he raised his fist to stop them. Something felt wrong, he could feel it in his gut. Those under his command grew more wary as well, feeling a sense of unease grow over them. And when the first spear was hurled, the veteran - with almost unnatural reflexes - grabbed it and tossed it back at the goblins hiding on the cliff above them. While his aim was true, he failed to kill and instead gave a facial gash to one of the goblins as it flew past it.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"RAISE YOUR SPEARS, SONS OF LACANS!"</span> he shouted, his warriors lifting their enormous shields to cover themselves from additional throwing spears. Their slingers were left unprotected however, as all of them fell to the ground with spears sticking out of their bodies. That was when Wealdmær and his warriors charged at the patrol from down the road. Upon seeing this, the veteran forced half his men to raise their shields and aim their dory spears at the charging orcs and minotaur. The other half continued to provide cover from the skirmishers, forming a cohesive unit of both offense and defense. <br>
<br>
This tactic, however, was shattered when the minotaur barbarian broke the spears with a single swing of his massive falx at their wooden shafts. With the range advantage gone, the Orcs were free to throw themselves against the shields of the Lacanite soldiers.<br>
<br>
As expected of trained warriors with a strong martial culture, the Lacanites did not panic even as they came head to head with the sheer weight of the Orcs. Unsheathing their xiphoses, they engaged the orcs in melee to match steel with steel. Fighting with courage and zeal, two of the orc warriors fell and many wounds were delivered. But ultimately, the brutish strength of the barbarians proved to be too overwhelming in the end as some were still weakened from the disease that had ravaged southern Iskulia. The last man standing was their commander, who fought bitterly against Wealdmær, making several deep cuts to the orcs hide as they traded blows. But, at last, the orcish barbarian thrusted his blade through the bronze cuirass and pierced the man's lung.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"You fought bravely, old warrior. The gods are pleased."</span> said the Orcish zealot as he pulled his blade out. The old hoplite spat blood from his mouth as he collapsed a knee. <span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">"Go... fuck... yourself, beast!"</span> he managed to spit out, before choking on his own blood and falling to his side to bleed out.<br>
<br>
Wealdmær grinned in response, looking down upon the body of his enemy. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Aye... a true warrior to the end. May his gods receive him with honor."</span> he said before looking at the dead orcs. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"May the mother bless you, brothers. The Otherworld awaits ye."</span> He then looked to Arco and the rest of his men. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Kill the wounded. Cut off their heads, we must bring them."</span> he said as he knelt to the old hoplite's body. <span style="color: rgb(255, 165, 44)">"Yer aware our 'friends' aren't gonna be happy ye acted on yer own again, right? And I'm sure 'em pansies think that bringin' noggins to their camp is "unhealthy" and a "risk"... bah!"</span> the goblin said with a mocking tone representing Lucafiel. It was rather accurate, despite his attempts to make it more effeminate.<br>
<br>
Wealdmær knew that attacking this patrol would not sit well with his new masters, and he could already sense the visage of the Vestati in the distance watching from afar - atop the Iskulian Hills. But they would never understand the importance of their rituals, to some of them, they are superstition, or just savagery. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Aye, they will not appreciate it. But we must honor our gods. If they want to stop us, we will leave and return to our kin."</span> said the Orc as he pulled away the warrior's helmet before raising his blade...<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span data-s9e-mediaembed="youtube"><span><span style="background:url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/JA5cEzFfWy0/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% / cover" data-s9e-mediaembed-iframe="[&quot;allowfullscreen&quot;,&quot;&quot;,&quot;scrolling&quot;,&quot;no&quot;,&quot;style&quot;,&quot;background:url(https:\/\/i.ytimg.com\/vi\/JA5cEzFfWy0\/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% \/ cover&quot;,&quot;src&quot;,&quot;https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/JA5cEzFfWy0&quot;]"></span></span></span>​</div><br>
<br>
...Almost a day had passed when the Druadach scouts arrived to the gates of the encampment alongside the regular Vestati scouts. They did not pay heed to the entrance guards, who demanded to know about the severed heads the barbarians had tied crudely to their belts using the hair of beards. Almost immediately, one of the guards rushed towards the castle to warn a superior about this breach of the strict quarantine laws set in place. Meanwhile, the regular legionnaires and the Yakal Auxilia steered away from the barbarians as they heeded their master's instructions. This only amused the barbarians, with Arco grabbing the head of a rather youthful looking Lacanite and waving it around with a grin.<br>
<br>
When the barbarians arrived at their section of the camp, Wealdmær turned around and looked at those who were not Druadach. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"We are about to conduct a ritual. Stay away from our camp, do not interfere. Our gods protect us, the same cannot be said of you."</span> he said before grabbing the heads of the dead Lacanites and the two dead Orc warriors. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Arco, tell your warriors to prepare their instruments..."</span> he then muttered before walking towards the Tree.<br>
<br>
The sole reason they had picked this section of the camp to pitch their primitive tents was because it was close to the trees that were growing by the ruined section of the castle. These ancient trees were now painted with blood; normally they would be painted with woad, but none grew in Kokalia. As a result, they had to use another sacred paint. Wealdmær looked upon the tree with reverence, and bowed before it before putting the severed heads at a large rock altar in front of it. As a solduros, Wealdmær knew a variety of important rituals to strengthen both his men and the land. He was going to do both, as he started to clean the heads with spring water. He painted various pagan symbols using boar's blood, before grabbing the old warriors head and thanking him with a symbol of strength painted upon his forehead.<br>
<br>
The head was revered as a part of great importance throughout most of the Druadach, as they were seen as the source of all wisdom as well as the source of one's essence. When a Druadach grows too old and useless, they ask to be sacrificed and their head removed. It would then be tied to the tallest, healthiest trees, where the blood and essence would feed the roots and their wisdom would spread throughout the land. This granted strength to the soil, and knowledge to the people who nurtured the lands. Wealdmær looked at the camp around him; while the Vestati did not seek to ruin natural life, and in fact understood its importance, they put more value on the beauty of nature and how useful it can be. And while they most likely understood the balance of nature, they did not entirely respect it. Wealdmær found that despicable.<br>
<br>
Before the Vestati and their legions had settled here, there were many trees forming small copses around the ruined castle. They had cut down the wood to build defenses and deprive enemy forces of hiding spots. This in turn hurt the land and spirits living in the trees. By tying the heads of the brave warriors to this remaining tree, and his fallen orcish brethren, Wealdmær ensured that their essence would feed the land and in turn help heal it. By the time he was done tying the heads to the tree, his tribesmen had finished preparing the ritual. He knew that the Vestati would sooner or later interfere, so he began the chant of the Mother, while goblins played with their instruments to catch the attention of those curious in the Druadach.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"I was wondering when you would make it up here,"</span> Lucafiel said, glancing only slightly over his shoulder at the arriving footman. He was on the small balcony to his quarters which once belonged to the monarch of this ancient keep. Ages ago the lord of this place might have stood here to review the countryside from afar, surveying his lands and the splendor of this place, and now Lucafiel looked out over palisades, ditches, campfires, and ruins. The master bedroom itself had persisted as a venerable chamber of stone, though it had been much transformed as a suitable living space for a Vestati who once lived in a realm of pure marble, where endless miles of monolithic structures had stretched seemingly forever against a horizon that never obeyed the physical limitations of a globe for it had been the Old Ream, the carefully crafted extraplanar realm of the Forbidden One. Lucafiel missed that place, but he could not think of it without remembering the outpouring of blood staining every surface until the soldiers of the lower steps had been wading through a literal sea of crimson ichor. <br>
<br>
The footman behind him bowed. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Forgive my slowness, Your Grace. I came as quickly as I could." </span><br>
<br>
Lucafiel waved a hand aside, a thin smile beneath his mask. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Your time was adequate. I rather a delay of a few seconds than an able soldier losing their teeth on the steps of this castle. Regardless, I have seen much of it already. Wealdmær's party has arrived. They seemed rather proud of their... trophies,"</span> he said, turning back to look out over the camp. He could see the barbarian scouts gathering in their little section of the camp, already cordoned off at a distance by auxiliaries. The sound of some drums and instruments began to play sporadically. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"They are surrounded and can be evicted at once, Your Grace,"</span> the Yakal footman stated matter-of-factly. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"The gatemen also beg your forgiveness, for they intended to delay the scouts at the wall but were overruled by a decision not to cause issue with our... ahem, allies at large. They submit themselves to punishment."<br>
<br>
"There will be no need - of either. I will go down and see what Wealdmær is doing and inquire as to why they behave this way personally. The gatemen are at no fault, so you may inform them of this. You are dismissed."</span> The Yakal bowed and exited in polite courtly manner. A moment later, Lucafiel gestured at a pair of figures lurking in the corners of the room to step forward and join him as he departed. Only a few souls remained, a pair of members from the Redeemer Prince's harem lounging in a languid manner upon the pillows of the bed, their bodies draped in thin silks. With their lord gone, they giggled to themselves and hurried to the balcony so that they, too, could watch whatever was about to occur. <br>
<br>
...<br>
<br>
Lucafiel's arrival to the barbarian section of the camp was a quiet affair, as he strode forwards as if a fellow on a walk through his garden. Several figures followed him in tow like the wake of a gentle wave, though none looked as innocent as such. Two of the companions were crusaders of the old guard in armor and cloth older than any tree and stone around the hilltop encampment. Both hefted lucernes - the hammer version of halberds. Behind them was a towering lone Yakal dressed in only an armored skirt, their bare upper body the very definition of muscular perfection, wrought with immense discipline, strength, and scars. A barbed whip hung from their belt. And just behind this auxiliary were several more, with one hefting a small chair. <br>
<br>
They made their way towards the decorated tree and source of the chanting. Some of the auxiliaries made quiet quips in their language, a series of hushed barks that seemed displeased as they stared back at the barbarians. One glance from their tallest comrade silenced them, and as the party came to a stop, one of the Yakals stepped forwards to place the chair they were carrying down with utter reverence. A brush was then swept over the upholstered seat and Lucafiel sat down upon it, crossing his legs. As he did so, the golden trim of his robes shimmered with fiery life. <br>
<br>
When the chanting of Wealdmær concluded, Lucafiel at last spoke, his voice rising above all in the same manner of a knife cutting through air. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"An interesting display, solduros. One that has, it seems, brought some dismay to my troops."</span> Lucafiel sat with his chin propped up on his hand, as he often did. He canted his head to the side as he eyed the gently swaying heads tied to the bloodied tree. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"I can think of numerous methods to give thanks to the spirits and world, though I must inquire as to why you have selected this method. Many have already said that this is in violation of our pact - those heads are not purified in any manner sufficient to be within this encampment."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Once the ritual drums and crwth ceased playing, the barbarians turned their heads to look at Lucafiel and his entourage that followed. The barbarians were silent as Wealdmær gazed at Lucafiel with defiance, the silence only being broken when Arco started to speak. <span style="color: rgb(255, 165, 44)">"well, well, well... our fae benefactor is here lads. Good afternoon our most magma-mi-moose lord. Would ya like some roasted boar meat? How about some fermented drinks made by our Troc over there."</span> said the goblin, pointing to the enormous one eyes minotaur who huffed as the visitors stared at him. <span style="color: rgb(255, 165, 44)">"Or, perhaps, ya wish to hear me songs? I tell ya, best bard in Mors Gobonach!"</span> But before Arco could play with his crwth, Wealdmær shouted his name: <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Arco, cease!"</span> And the goblin did as told, but kept his toothy grin towards Lucafiel.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Numerous other methods, huh?"</span> said the solduros as he walked towards Lucafiel. This allowed the Redeemer Prince a better look at the orc, who was not wearing his traditional armor at the moment. He was shirtless, with a boar skull resting atop his head, and his fiery red hair hanging loose - some covering his face. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Ah, you must want me to adhere to other rites? Call the Pontifex Maximus and have vestal virgins play the lyre and sing beautiful songs about nature... or perhaps, you wanted me to silently worship alongside my brethren as scented candles burned 'round us while having an easterling monk blow incense into our faces?"</span> Wealdmær grinned for a moment as he looked down at Lucafiel's face. But then he focused on the tall Yakal behind him. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"OR, perhaps, ye wanted me to take off my clothes and offer myself to my brethren on our altar; chanting songs of incestuous gods like our furry friends here?"</span> Wealdmær's mocking grin did not sit well with the Yakals.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"...why are ye here, Lucafiel? Are ye going to tell me how to worship my gods? How to commune with nature? How to strengthen the bond between my people and OUR gods?"</span> Suddenly, the grin disappeared as a more serious face took hold. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"I agreed to obey to yer rules. There were plenty o' wounded, but they were sick. So we killed 'em instead of putting 'em in chains. I told yer folk to stay away from mine, because I know how afraid you lot are of this disease. Yet, here you are, bringing yer susceptible warriors to my bloodied, unwashed hands..."</span> the solduros spoke, showing his bloodied digits to Lucafiel. He then smeared blood onto his face, leaving a bloody hand mark on upon it. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Or, perhaps, yer here because ye want to meet our gods? I heard the stories... perhaps ye might like ours better."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The momentary tirade, the divergences in worship and pantheons, earned a few modest reactions from the assembled party. Some of the Yakals shifted on their feet and exchanged glances, a few surprised at the audacity and at least a couple displeased at the nature of the insults directed at them. Neither Lucafiel nor his crusaders seemed phased, either in word or countenance. The Redeemer Prince merely sat as he was before, watching. The label of <i>fae</i> was perhaps not an entirely unkind comparison, for one could easily imagine the lithe prince perched upon a thin tree branch, watching and taunting the mortals below as they strode into a realm of his creation. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"... on the contrary, I was going to suggest finding a tree outside the perimeter, or perhaps roasting the heads over fire before boiling the remnants away. You can achieve a rather clean skull in such a fashion,"</span> Lucafiel said, his voice soft yet as cutting as it always seemed, rising up from behind his mask like a dagger in the dark. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"I would not suggest you worship in our methods, in the few instances they apply. We worship naught but ourselves."</span><br>
<br>
Lucafiel raised one gloved hand. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"And do not think we fear disease. It is less for our benefit than it is for yours, and the others cursed with inherited mortal traits. You may speak bravely of the gods, but when your organs melt within your body and your only god is agony, you will perhaps begin to wish that you took the time to practice restraint,"</span> he explained.<br>
<br>
 <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"But it is not even <i>you</i> we restrain ourselves for. You have your tribe, yes? Warriors and families all. Disease will make a mockery of them all, from the strongest warrior to the brightest child. Our methods reduce that possibility. Further still, like the Lacans we face, their own soldiers are weakened with the taint in their veins. Imagine, then, what could become of your homeland when an enterprising foe arrives to take advantage of this cruelness if you carried your sickness home. A soldier wears a helmet, girds their loins, and wields a blade. These are tools to help them. They practice war in the safety of their camps, dueling with their comrades. These are practices to help them. Thus I speak - our methods to render disease are to the same purpose. Illness, plague, sickness. These are merely alternative names for wildfire, a fire which burns through the body and soul."<br>
<br>
"As for meeting your gods... hmm."</span> Lucafiel craned his head aside, taking in the sight of one of his crusaders beside him. The motionless knight seemed more statue than living creature, even as the prince removed his gloves, reached out, and ran a finger down sharpened blade of their greatsword. When he drew it back, there was the slightest bead of crimson lost within the ivory sea of his flawless skin<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">. "For <i>their</i> sake, I hope not. Your hands may be bloodied by the stain of mortalkind, as ours are too, but there was once a time when they touched more than that. More than a single life, more than civilizations grown ancient and prosperous." <br>
<br>
"For a time our very hands were once wrapped about the <b>neck</b> of the divine. And we laughed. Do not presume, then, in whatever tales you have heard, that your gods or my kin would wish to parlay. Two wolves in a cage may well attempt to devour each other. As for the stray rabbit who wanders by...."</span> His voice trailed off, the blood upon his finger disappearing within the folds of a handkerchief. What remained was that perfect skin once more, flawless in its eternal beauty, a mere hint of what was hidden beneath their robes and soulmasks.<br>
<br>
Lucafiel fixed his gaze firmly back upon the soldurous. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"You will not be punished for worshiping your gods in your methods, nor will you be stopped. You will instead be punished for disobedience. One that, perhaps, emerges from a fundamental misunderstanding of our mutual existence. As such, I will offer you the mercy of a choice, son of the horde."</span><br>
<br>
The tall, muscular Yakal warrior stepped up, holding out the barbed whip for Lucafiel to take. The Vestati took it and held it gently, his hands tracing every twisted spine as if he were caressing a mere rose. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"You may submit to the whip that I shall wield myself to flay your back, or you may return to your chieftain in disgrace. Some scars heal in time. Others do not. Be assured, we Vestati know this better than anyone else. Yet for you... it is your decision which you desire to take." </span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Yz promptly plodded on the ground as Voyka had helped them out of the barrel, hesitating for a moment as they took hold of the head and accepted Voyka's helping up. Listening to the lady talk, Yz held back any little snide comments about the things they could say until Voyka had finished as Yz chose to answer in response. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">I'm not sure if you've noticed, but we are fighting for an emperor, in order to conquer the lands of and slay those who oppose. What part of 'sacrificing other people's fun for your own' have you not partaken in yet? For all them years people live, you can all be quite silly billies with your silly ideas</span>" Yz pointed out as they nonchalantly clutched Farendal's head and their newfound tambourine in order to take it to go for Yz had heard about the free food that could be mooched off of Voyka's camp.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">Hey, I'm not weak, I was letting you feel strong. Gosh, no respect for the selfless here, and here I was withholding all senseless drivel just so you'd feel smart enough to understand, but I guess if that's how things are</span>-" Yz answered about the inability to escape the barrel, before visibly twitching harshly and changing to a dramatic pose as they pointed at Voyka.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">The TELLINGSTONES are not of all mud yet ever, goo gazelle of GRANITE WEAVE! Never I ever be a lemon, for the lemon is terror itself and will destroy the 8th realm in which the Kala-Mamuu Fractus resides!</span>" Yz announced hyperactively as if performing on a stage, something about it bringing tears to them although there was obviously no real crying as they held their face in their hands and gently trembled.<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">The SPIDERS and their DIAMOND RAZORS are within us, I have touched the blank cosmos and it asked me back to DEVASTATE THE BINDED HANDS- THE BINDED HANDS OF THE INCORRECT, AND I LAUGHED AND AGREED</span>" Yz spoke  before laughing abruptly and divulging into giggling like a giddy schoolgirl as they spun on their heel to take their leave.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(147, 101, 184)">TOODLES, MAMA BABA-BOOEY. WE WILL MEET AGAIN SOON ENOUGH, TO YOUR ABSOLUTE DELIGHT. I AM THE PERFORMANCE, YOU ARE BUT ONE OF MY AUDIENCE. AND THE AUDIENCE? THEY REQUEST: DRAMA, TWISTS, ME. I'M OFF TO TAKE YOUR FOOD AND PLAY WITH YOUR BATTLE-APES</span>" Yz loudly claimed as they waved with their tambourine, walking away in pride with the head in tow.<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka continued to chuckle as Yz pointed out the hypocrisy in her statement, to which she could simply reply with a "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">The Empire's fun - <i>our</i> fun - takes priority,</span>" before continuing to listen to Yz's statement. She hadn't even thought that Yz was weak - hell, some of her own men get stuck in barrels, it's completely normal to her - but she was soon once more caught off-guard by the senseless drivel of Yz's usual rhetoric.<br>
<br>
As Yz yelled about the spiders and their diamond razors, she briefly thought on how this was actually proving to be a valid strategy for Yz, just as embracing cold-blooded murder was for her. She really wasn't smart enough to comprehend whatever this bastard was yelling, and to some extent, she realized she was fine with it now. She can latch onto the relevant bits and just barely communicate through the sillyness - entertaining it to relevant extents would be good to do at times. She just give a smug grin upon Yz proclaiming they would meet again to her delight, instead concentrating on responding to the last bit.<br>
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"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Make sure to clean up after yourself, a performance wouldn't be complete without its conclusion,</span>" she said cheekily.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><blockquote data-attributes="member: 63760" data-quote="Emperor Sagan" data-source="post: 11848270" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11848270" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11848270">Emperor Sagan said:</a>
			
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			<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"... on the contrary, I was going to suggest finding a tree outside the perimeter, or perhaps roasting the heads over fire before boiling the remnants away. You can achieve a rather clean skull in such a fashion,"</span>
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</blockquote><br>
Wealdmær tilted his head as he heard Lucafiel's suggestion. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Yer an enigmatic man, Chief of the Vestati, for ye have great knowledge, having understood the nature of our ritual. And yet ye do not fully understand it."</span> Wealdmær pointed to one of the heads hanging from the tree. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"To remove the flesh and blood would rob the tree of the essence of the head."</span> Then he tapped the dress of the boar's head. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"This is symbolic, a decoration... that..."</span> He pointed to the heads on the tree. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"That is our offering to the gods."</span><br>
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<blockquote data-attributes="member: 63760" data-quote="Emperor Sagan" data-source="post: 11848270" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11848270" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11848270">Emperor Sagan said:</a>
			
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			<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"And do not think we fear disease. It is less for our benefit than it is for yours, and the others cursed with inherited mortal traits. You may speak bravely of the gods, but when your organs melt within your body and your only god is agony, you will perhaps begin to wish that you took the time to practice restraint,"</span>
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<span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Then worry about yer soldiers,"</span> Wealdmær said plainly. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"When the ancestors of the Hrotharians came to our lands, they spread a vile disease that killed thousands of tribes, and only the strong survived,"</span> the orc said, and his warriors nodded in agreement. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"When the Kushare crossed the deserts and invaded our lands, they brought with them a disease that weakened our men, but only the strong survived."<br>
<br>
"When we sailed across the western sea alongside the Hrotharians, we came to a foreign land, raided and pillaged the native tribes, taking many as slaves, and we brought a disease back to our homeland, but..."</span> the orc knelt down a little to look Lucafiel straight in the eye. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"...the strong survived, that's what Druadach is all about, we are the strong who survived the hardship, your disease? It does not scare us, few things scare us."</span><br>
<br>
Wealdmær was not interested in Lucafiel's views on the gods, to him it was absurd to believe that a fae could kill a deity; Lucafiel was undoubtedly powerful, of that he had no doubt, but powerful enough to kill a god? Vanity and pride, a common affliction that afflicts the minds of weak southerners.<br>
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<blockquote data-attributes="member: 63760" data-quote="Emperor Sagan" data-source="post: 11848270" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11848270" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11848270">Emperor Sagan said:</a>
			
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			<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"You will not be punished for worshiping your gods in your methods, nor will you be stopped. You will instead be punished for disobedience. One that, perhaps, emerges from a fundamental misunderstanding of our mutual existence. As such, I will offer you the mercy of a choice, son of the horde. You may submit to the whip that I shall wield myself to flay your back, or you may return to your chieftain in disgrace. Some scars heal in time. Others do not. Be assured, we Vestati know this better than anyone else. Yet for you... it is your decision which you desire to take."</span>
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But when Lucafiel then explained that Wealdmær would not be punished for worshipping his gods in his own way, but for his disobedience, he could not help but smile at the outrageous suggestion. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Is that one of yer fetishes, Vestati? You want to whip a free man into submission?"</span> Lucafiel and the Yakal soldiers could see that some of the Druadach scouts were visibly offended. Arco, who was closest, let out a savage grunt of anger and disbelief. <span style="color: rgb(255, 165, 44)">"We are Druadach, we are free and strong! Not yer slaves! Only weak southerners whip their slaves!"</span><br>
<br>
Wealdmær raised his hand to calm his men. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Calm down. We were sent here by our chieftain, we are here to provide a service and serve the gods."</span> Arco looked back at Wealdmær in shock. <span style="color: rgb(255, 165, 44)">"Yer not be serious, ya can not possibly agree to the impertinent request of this evil fae,"</span> he said in offence. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"Are ye trying to upset the gods?"</span> asked Wealdmær, to which Arco spat. <span style="color: rgb(255, 165, 44)">"Adanach is not a god! He is a great chieftain, but not a god!"</span> Wealdmær smiled when he heard that answer.<span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)"> "But Madanach says that Adanach leads our people to a better future because the gods look upon him favourably. Whoever dishonours Adanach also dishonours the gods."</span> Arco was not satisfied with this answer and looked away angrily. <span style="color: rgb(89, 127, 185)">"I will submit to yer punishment, but if ye expect to break a child of the Druadach, ye will be disappointed, Vestati,"</span> the orc said, not in a hostile tone, but with clear defiance.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Lucafiel remained seated as Wealdmær spoke amid the growing animation of the barbarian warriors. Auxiliaries and crusaders alike remained stoic in the mounting anger of those like Arco and his kind, but Lucafiel maintained a demeanor that was calm like the surface of a frozen pond; perfect and without flaw, yet every subtle movement, each spoken word the implicit threat of a sudden and unpredictable crack, one which was certain to swallow whole anyone foolish enough to tread over that innocent terrain, so very well blended into the snowy landscape around it. Whereas a viper or wolf saw and watched prey as they awaited the moment to strike, the pond of ice was something altogether mystical in its seasonal whimsy. None would know the depths of the water below nor the width of the ice until, in one unstoppable moment, their world was lost to a rush of freezing water and the shadows which reached up from below. <br>
<br>
The Redeemer Prince's eyes seemed taunting, almost, behind the holes of his soulmask. Those white eyes bore two cat-like pupils, waned thin to the point of a well-hewn razor. Some Vestati utilized thin cloth to conceal even this, but not Lucafiel. His gaze was always known even when it was unreadable, and perhaps it was through this that many feared to be the attention of his notice. For Wealdmær coming near, it was no different than staring into an immaculate mirror - only to find the reflection on the other side was alive and not obedient to the observer.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"I have no intention of breaking a child of the Druadach,"</span> Lucafiel said, at last rising from his delicate chair. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Had I wished to do so, your mind and body would have already been shattered to a point that this moment would not be known to you. Such action is better reserved for more... pressing matters."</span> The Vestati made a slight gesture and turned about, departing the barbarian encampment within his own fortress, and a pair of crusaders approached Wealdmær and likewise silently gestured for him to follow the prince. There was no grabbing, no chains, no rope nor barked commands, merely the casual expectation of obedience, simple and automatic as breathing. Even should one hold their breath, it would not be long before nature demanded a cessation to such foolishness. And all of this without the need for a raised hand or shout.<br>
<br>
The large orc was brought towards a central position of the fort with little fanfare, though once again unseen and automatic actions occurred in the distance as auxiliaries stopped their labors and watched in growing crowds from afar. Those not already performing duties gathered around, always interested in whatever spectacle would draw the prince himself outside. No banners were raised and no instruments sounded, unlike the celebrations of the barbarians in their previous worship. Such horns and drums were saved for moments of glory. This was a task akin to that of a necessity, a chore. The spanking of a petulant child. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Let us see some of that strength,"</span> Lucafiel said, stopping beside a singular wooden post driven into the ground. A knob at the top was meant for rope to be tied about, raising the arms of the punished upwards to be held firmly in place; yet as Wealdmær neared, he could see the indentation of fingernails and scratches midway up the post below this, where some instead gripped the post like sailors holding onto a mast in a tempest. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Those who fear they would collapse, or perhaps strike the bearer of the whip, take this punishment with their hands bound. Those who lack strength in spirit or body."</span> Lucafiel tapped his hand against the post, drawing attention to these scratch marks. Stains upon the wood here suggested bloody fingertips. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Needless to say, it is shameful for one to take this punishment unbound and demonstrate behavior that requires them to be tied up like cattle. So, then, child of the Druadach. Let us see if you are cattle or warrior as you say."</span><br>
<br>
A leather strap was given to Wealdmær by another Vestati in a ludicrously leering and smiling soulmask, overtly mocking by design. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"You are to bite down upon this,"</span> the Vestati said. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"This is not to be refused. Otherwise, your tongue may be bitten off, or your teeth could crack under the strain. This much is not allowed."</span> As Wealdmær took the leather to bite down upon as he positioned himself by the pole, he could see the crowd growing larger, his warrior kin watching on with a mixture of curiosity and displeasure, the former already rippling over the foreign Yakals and enigmatic Vestati who seemed to materialize from thin air at every turn.<br>
 <br>
Opposite him stood Lucafiel. The Redeemer Prince waited for an attendant to approach him, and then he began to unbutton and unlace his cape, followed by his coat and a fine silken shirt beneath until his upper body was bare to the cool evening air. From the front he appeared every bit the lithe yet muscular statue, his body seemingly cast from white marble without an inch of impurity. But there were signs. A small black crescent moon was inked into the flesh of one breast beneath the curves of his collarbone. The angles of his abdomen, firm as a washboard, bore the slightest telltale whispers of scars healed by supernatural means. At his neck, one such scar peaked out from the edges of the cloth acting as a veil beneath his soulmask, showing that whatever hidden skin upon the front of his neck bore a more prominent scar - a throat that had been slit, yet did not end in death. <br>
<br>
Then, with an almost deliberate turn, the Redeemer Prince handed his attire aside to his attendant, thus revealing his back to Wealdmær and all that were in attendance. Those who held no reaction were either already accustomed to this visage or were silent in shock, even as some murmurs broke through the crowd. <br>
<br>
Upon Lucafiel's upper back were the scars of damnation. If his body were indeed the aforementioned marble, then these two scars were the results of a madman having taken an iron pick to the stone, gouging out two distinct ravines into his flesh without an utter care to the method of extraction or healing. The pale, nearly glowing flesh gave way to pallid black veins surrounding these wounds, not the sign of rot but instead divine blood seared into his body for eternity like the dripping of frozen tears. The wounds had healed, yet they looked fresh, stil baring a hint of crimson flesh of muscle and sinew broken. This was the mark of an elder Vestati who had been born with wings and lived to have them torn away. No, not simply torn, but <i>sundered</i> in totality so that what was lost could never - ever - be forgotten. <br>
<br>
Lucafiel turned back to Wealdmær, whip in hand. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"You must forgive us of our traditions in my appearing as thus. Blood spilt in punishment is unbecoming to be worn upon our garments, and so it shall easily be washed from my flesh instead,"</span> he explained. <br>
<br>
Once the orc had grasped the post, the first strike of the whip came without warning nor prompt. The air cracked with lightning as the barbed weapon lashed out with the ferocity of a frenzied snake eager for vengeance. Each barbed knot upon the whip bit deep, and in the instant of striking the flesh, gouged out streaks of lacerations that burned with the intensity of hot iron upon being pulled away in the very next second. It became obvious then as the pain reached a flare of impossibility that this punishment was more than a simple flogging, but something devised by the Vestati to inflict a fraction of the pain they themselves had suffered upon their own backs. It was punishment and reminder bound together, a method to demonstrate superiority by saying to the accused that the Vestati had not only born worse upon their bodies, <i>but could do worse if they so deigned to raise their hands to do so. </i><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Disobediance is a punishment worthy of ten lashes,"</span> Lucafiel remarked plainly, as if he were sitting at a dinner table. The whip coiled around him with ecstatic glee, a trail of blood already dripping between him and Wealdmær. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"But I am told the warriors of Adanach, the very sons and daughters of the Druadach, do not break beneath the whips of foreigners."</span> A second strike was then wrought, the air splitting. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"I am told that a free man of the north will not fall in submission."</span> There was only the slightest pause. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"I believe this. The punishment shall instead be thirty lashes."</span><br>
<br>
Then the whip fell again. It continued to fall, at an even interval of a painstaking few seconds, the time between each lash reigniting the pain of the previous strike. It burned like wildfire, like the molten claws of a demon. It continued until thirty exact lashes had been rendered, to strip the flesh raw and bloody.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><b>Turn 2 - Year 735 - Early Summer</b>​</div><br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/early-summer-jpg.1143371/" target="_blank">View attachment early summer.jpg</a><br>
<br>
Having finished awarding Yz a unit of his personal guard, a ceremony which was as ludicrous as it was entertaining, Briggun sat in a recently-devastated forest clearing, laboriously drinking a stein of ale through the thin slot on his horned helmet.<br>
<br>
Makar quietly said a prayer before beginning his summary of events. "Sire, the enemy has attacked us in Poggost, the Bone Coast, Kokaria, the Southern Sea, and Mors Gobonach. We inflicted humiliating defeats on the Lacanite and Druadach foes, but we have suffered losses on all other fronts." He paused a moment, expecting Briggun to lash out at him, but to his surprise, he merely took another drink in silence before speaking a single word:<br>
<br>
"Continue."<br>
<br>
Makar nodded. "Along with our successful offensive in Sabersval, the Voivode of Skulls dealt a defeat on Zomach in Miraq, and we are now on the verge of taking that desert land. However-" he paused, mid sentence, knowing that the next news would not be received well.<br>
<br>
<b>"Yes!?"</b><br>
<br>
"Calamity, sire!" Makar exclaimed, falling to his knees and planting his forehead against the ground. "Kolthix and his shadeling army have been annihilated! A wizard from Midana summoned a sandstorm which scattered his forces to the wind. He is gone, sire!"<br>
<br>
Briggun threw his stein to the ground, grabbed Makar by the shoulders and lifted him two meters off the ground so that the two would be at eye-level. "Are you saying," he asked darkly, "that we have lost an <i>entire army?"</i><br>
<br>
Makar nodded weakly. Briggun dropped him to the ground and with a single, windmilling arm, clocked him on the top of his head with a gauntleted fist so hard that the goblin was instantly knocked unconscious. Briggun remained standing there for a moment, staring off into the burned husks of trees and thinking of his long-term ally, Kolthix, and how he was presumably dead. He didn't care enough to hear the rest of the updates, not now. He kicked Makar in frustration, for good measure.<br>
<br>
---<br>
<br>
<b>Civiceria Campaign</b><br>
<br>
Having met with General Sergius (or perhaps someone speaking on his behalf), Estro has achieved one of his most critical goals- the opening of Civicerian borders to refugees from Piantia. This concession seemingly provides the perfect avenue for the Cult of Zo to infiltrate the country and seek new opportunities. For now, the Dominion appears to be under the impression that the Empire will not attack, but is it really? Estro suspects that his counterpart across the border might not be so easily fooled. He teases the Dominion's interest in Midanate lands to the east, but it remains to be seen whether he will truly retool the Dominion's war machine to fight such a foe.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Estro Dorozan, The Wizard of Zo</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Bone Coast<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Estro followed the lead "The Reluctance of Bolia" and discovered that the Civicerians had been planning to invade Piantia themselves, and were shocked when the Empire swept in and stole the prize before their offensive could begin. Civic leaders within the territory of Bolia were not told of this turnabout, and so they had naturally assumed that the military buildup under General Sergius was merely a response to the presence of Izaak and Kolthix in Ostminora. The general fear of Saarus then led to a total reluctance to aid the Piantian refugees, for fear of angering Briggun and igniting the powderkeg assumed to exist across the border. The merchants were among the most opposed, and were even willing to collaborate with Saarus if it meant preserving the peace. Estro gained the card "Whispers in the Arcade" as a result, and used this knowledge to better conduct negotiations with General Sergius.<br>
<br>
Now, Estro is torn; while he continues to dig his talons into the civil society of the Dominion, his army is well-equipped to attack <i>somewhere,</i> and launching an attack on Piantia or Gantar would certainly help sell his explanations to Sergius. However, Miraq is likely too far away for Estro to reach before Izaak claims it for himself, and taking Kaula might anger Alexandre and Captain Cordia, who are working together to capture the territory themselves already.<br>
<br>
Followers:<br>
Jastia, the Wandering Mystic --- Meals from the Field // The One and Only // Chessmaster<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Arcane Exchange - If Estro loses a battle against a foe with attack strategy C, battle is re-rolled once. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
Recruit from Rhetoric - If using a card to influence a foe's territory outside of battle, gain 1 token. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
Whispers in the Arcade - Attacks against Piantia or Gantar carry +2 advantage. If used completely without attacking Civiceria, gain a token. (3 Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Gladiatorial Games - Estro's agents report that Bolia is even more enthusiastic for blood sport than mainland Civiceria, which is already known for its fondness for gladiator combat. Estro recognizes many potential pathways to influence the country from such a literal arena- from the celebrity of the combatants, the presence of the influential in the stands, and the great amounts of money wagered at such contests.<br>
Bohemian Rhapsody - While the older generation in Bolia is quite well established in their traditions, hierarchies, and economics, there appears to be a divisive notion of rebellion within the youth, who are tired of the Dominion's exploitation of Bolia's lands. While all seem to appreciate the expertise of the Man on the Mountain, most also express a sense of hopelessness toward their future, stating that there are no opportunities in Bolia which equal those found throughout the rest of the Dominion. Estro considers what it would take to get the youth involved in a bit of subterfuge.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Lucius Sergius, The Man on the Mountain</b><br>
With Guile and Cunning // Colleagues in Arms // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Bolia<br>
Strength: 5<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
As Much a Doctrine - If captured, Segius' army will appoint an equally-capable commander and continue fighting. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
<br>
The deal struck with Saarus, granting the latter preferred trade status, was welcomed by the merchant class as a sensible move to placate the massive Empire and temporarily avert war. However, the common people are confused and upset at the influx of refugees, as there has been no clear definition as to what rights would belong to these newcomers. Many in the upper class are calling for the destitute to be enslaved, granting a higher station to Civicerian citizens, while the lower classes have already noted that the eagerness to reduce skilled and educated laborers to mere slaves was a chilling reminder of their rulers' contempt for the common man. Lucius, however, has sent his officers from town to town, assuring all who will listen that they should remain calm, and that any servitude will be a temporary measure to ensure that all are fed until a more permanent resolution can be found. As the refugees enter, they are catalogued by the military, with their names, jobs, and family members recorded.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Druadach Campaign</b><br>
<br>
Sensing the need to investigate his new surroundings further and strengthen the unity of his horde before pressing on into enemy territory, Adanach sought the blessing of Blaidd. With the help of a ritual conducted by Madanach, several of the barbarians were gifted the powers of the wolf- that is, they became werewolves, adding a new element of strength and terror to the Son of the Druadach's forces. This was witnessed by associates of the Redeemer Prince, as Lucafiel and Adanach exchanged letters and personnel ahead of their summer campaigns.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Adanach, Son of the Druadach</b><br>
Meals from the Field // Symphony of War // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Mors Gobonach<br>
Strength: 4<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Adanach followed the lead "Trinkets from Abroad" and discovered that his conquest of Mors Gobonach had inadvertently caused the collapse of a sophisticated criminal scheme: halfling traders from Tidiaus, lured into the goblin lands with false promises of new markets in the barbarian north, had been taken prisoner by Faska's underlings in the prior months. These prisoners would then be sold to ransom-seeking scoundrels (also from Tidiaus), who would either return their brethren home or sell them as slaves to Lacans, depending on who had the best offer. Now in possession of a number of starving, groveling halfling prisoners, Adanach realized that he had the chance to secure a favor from Tidiaus in exchange for their release, and gained the card "Quid Pro Quo." He was then attacked by surprise by Torrin the Ironheart, but successfully repelled her attack. It seems that Blaidd's blessing helped secure a decisive victory, costing Torrin a token.<br>
<br>
Followers:<br>
Faska, the Bloody Bastard --- Meals from the Field // The One and Only // Drenched in Death<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
A Leader of the Uncivilized - Tribal Forces which have dropped below strength 3 have a 1/3 chance of joining Adanach if he attacks them. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Pagan Zeal - In battle against highly religious factions, Adanach has a passive +2 advantage. (5 Uses.)<br>
Bargaining Chips - Gain +1 advantage against Faska after each victory against him. (3 Uses)<br>
Quid Pro Quo - Can exchange captives for one political favor from Tidiaus with GM approval. (1 Use)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
What The Rocks Are Cooking - The new goblin recruits have a strange dish that they're accustomed to cooking on stones placed directly over a campfire, which they claim is far superior for feeding an army than what the Empire is supplying. They offer to teach the recipe if Adanach helps gather the ingredients.<br>
Idle Hands, Devil's Workshop - A courier from Arantino arrives, apparently blown off course from his intended destination in the Malenchanted Woods. He has already burned the letter he was meant to carry, leaving Adanach a dilemma: allow him to pass, or torture him for his secrets.<br>
<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Gwrtheyrn, Druid King of the Cyrmm</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // Never Surrender<br>
Location: Cyrmm<br>
Strength: 5<br>
<br>
Gwytheyrn isn't surprised that Adanach hasn't approached him. He knows that the young man and the horde he leads lacks both the physical might and the spiritual providence to take the sacred lands of Cyrmm, but that these disadvantages won't last forever. He has begun to call to the faithful to defend their lands against Briggun's puppet, and a steady trickle of warriors from the east are answering the call. He feels confident that even when Adanach is confident enough to launch his next attack, he will attempt to subdue Torrin, to his north, in order to reinforce both of his deficiencies. He has even made appeals to Blaidd, if the rumors are to be believed, suggesting that Adanach is seeking a decisive battle against the Ironheart.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Torrin, The Ironheart</b><br>
With Guile and Cunning // Come What May // A Reckoning for the Wicked<br>
Location: Mors Darak<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Sensing Adanach's hesitation and interpreting it as a sign of weakness, Torrin calls up her warriors and goes on the attack. Arriving at the frontier of Mors Gobonach for a nighttime raid, she is instead beset by a well-prepared and equally-fanatical war camp. The battle rages for hours before the Ironheart's horde breaks into a disorderly retreat. While the result of the battle has infuriated her, she remains confident, as do her inner circle. She's been in this position many times before. It will take repeated disasters to rob them of their zeal.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
The Helm of Eimhir - In battle, if opponent has advantage and superior strength, 1/3 chance Torrin wins automatically. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
<b>Erevan Campaign</b><br>
<br>
The entire continent is now on notice. Harnessing the power of a volcanic eruption, Borok led the charge into Sabersval and took the first true bite out of Erevan after ten years of tense deadlock. In the ash-caked ruins of Valwake, the War Council members plot their next moves. Now that Aelan Farandel is dead by Baba Voyka's hand, and Briggun has arrived at the front to receive her head as a prize, the enemy will doubtlessly respond with severe aggression. However, they will meet a massive and united front of Imperial soldiers with high morale. A panic has befallen the rest of the country, resulting in surge of volunteers seeking to defend the remaining territory to the last. Prince Cameran has been chosen to lead this desperate force.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Baba Voyka, the Warsome Grandma</b><br>
Try and Take It // The One and Only // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Sauroid Mountains<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
With the way cleared by Borok's advance, Baba relocated her forces to Sabersval.<br>
<br>
Now, her soldiers are on their best behavior as their Emperor tours the new frontier. The environment is tragically damaged due to volcanic activity, but in time, the forests will recover and the vale will bloom. Spirits are high, and the only question remaining is: which of the three remaining provinces will fall next?<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Dreamwalker - On defeat in battle, Baba has a passive 1/3 chance of costing her opponent a token to draw even. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Tough Skin - Passively immune to being poisoned. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Young Scouts - Grants supply strategy A in addition to the user's selected strategy. (3 Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Buried in Ash - Baba's scouts have been scouring the desolate remains of Valwake since their arrival for any usable supplies, and have brought back plenty of useful goods. However, the location of Aelan Farandel's headquarters and map room have been seemingly lost due to the mass destruction. Baba considers the prudence of locating the structure and any valuable items and documents that might have survived.<br>
The Windsplitter - Soldiers are reporting sightings of a shadowy figure in the night, one which plays a solemn song on a pan flute before flying away. The proximity of these sightings to the Imperial camps gives Baba pause and tempts her to investigate.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Borok Ronillson, the Grand Runesmith</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Sauroid Mountains<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Borok played the card "Volcanic Plume," which unleashed a volcanic eruption upon Sabersval and damaged Aelan Farandel's army. He then attacked through the tunnels from the Sauroid Mountains into Sabersval and took Aelan's remaining token. Sabersval is now Imperial territory under Borok's domain.<br>
 <br>
After such careful planning, it's only natural that Borok's execution would be perfect, seizing the southernmost province of Erevan while avoiding almost all casualties. Despite his triumph, he is content to spread the glory; Baba Voyka conducted the execution of the enemy commander, and Yz presented the disembodied head to their shared master. But Borok is already looking to the future. They are surrounded by enemies on all sides, and with Briggun momentarily satisfied, it might be keen to spend a few weeks searching for new opportunities in the elvan lands before attacking again.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Tools for Battle - Ahead of battle, Borok crafts weapons specifically targeting his enemy's weaknesses, granting him a +2 advantage. (3 Uses)<br>
Strength through Enchantment - When facing an opponent with attack strategy C, passively neutralizes their advantage. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Heat of the Forge - Passively immune to burning. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Better than Steel - The elves are known for mining and refining an especially strong metal in their lands known as mithril, veins of which are thought to exist on the northern slopes of the great mountain ridge between Saarus and Erevan on the western side of Sabersval. Borok is tempted to gather as much as he can from the likely-intact mining villages in that direction, before other plunderers can do the same.<br>
Rivers of Glass - the cooling volcanic rock left behind by lava flows has resulted in quite a bit of obsidian forming throughout the province. To Borok's mild surprise and amusement, a number of industrious elves have been sighted recovering this obsidian in order to create extremely crude tools and weapons. He considers the advantages of helping the locals rebuild, rather than let them struggle like this.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Lady Falwyn Tholmar, the Dragonlord</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Ostmajora<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Lady Falwyn followed the lead "Tears of the Vale" and discovered that by creating some earthworks on the Empire's side of the border, the summer snow melt would cause a great flood of water to enter into a stream which feeds a river in Ysval, which in turn would flood the province. She gained the card "Flood of Tears." She also met with Kande Abdolon and promised not to attack in early summer- a course of action she was already committed to.<br>
<br>
Her meeting with Kande having been a bitter and unproductive affair, Falwyn nonetheless believes that she has planted the seeds for lingering doubt and reluctance in the Viper's mind. Perhaps, once he has tasted defeats of his own that place him in a hopeless situation, he will return to her and offer his surrender. But for now, he is in a precarious position, having lost an ally to his west, and unaware of the flood which might soon come his way...<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Dragon's Fury - If Falwyn defeats an opponent with attack strategy A, they lose <i>two</i> tokens. (Infinite Uses.)<br>
Dragonflight - If traveling over allied territory, Falwyn can move across two provinces in a single turn. (Infinite Uses.)<br>
Golden Majesty - Upon conquering an enemy territory for the first time, Falwyn instantly gains a free token. (3 Uses)<br>
Flood of Tears - May trigger flooding in Ysval, granting 2 points of advantage on attacking said territory in summer. (2 Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Once and Future...? - Somewhere in Ostmajora, a prince of a now (nearly) extinct royal family is rumored to be alive and living under a false identity. His existence might be a legend, as the royal jewels went missing when his kingdom fell to Briggun and the people may have invented his story in order to cope, or maybe, just maybe, there is a very crafty half-elf living in a shack somewhere with a truly impressive fortune under his floorboards.<br>
Ride the Lightning - From seemingly nowhere, a wizard approaches Lady Falwyn's camp and proclaims that he can summon lightning to strike upon his command, but he will need help from the Dragonlord herself to prove it. Falwyn considers whether this man is worth her time.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Vuldar Elegast, Sigurd of Ravgoth</b><br>
Try and Take It // The One and Only // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Poggost<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Sigurd followed the lead "The Howling Dark" and discovered that dire werewolves were occupying the wilderness near his camps. With some crafty trapping skills, Sigurd captured a werewolf named Valda, who agreed to join the war effort as his follower in exchange for a constant supply of fresh meat. However, the time taken to gather this new ally would come at a cost. Rotwellain mounted a major assault on Sigurd's position, driving him backwards to the original border and costing him a token.<br>
<br>
Now that the weather has warmed and the sun remains in the sky much longer, the pass is a wet and marshy quagmire. Sigurd is now outnumbered nearly two-to-one, and will likely require assistance from his allies in Sabersval to occupy Rotwellain's attention while reinforcements arrive from Saarus.<br>
<br>
Followers:<br>
Valda, the Prowling Reaper --- Meals from the Field // Nothing is Safe // Drenched in Death<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
The Fear is Enough - If a weaker foe attacks while this card is active, they lose a token due to abandonment, regardless of the battle's outcome. (5 Uses.)<br>
Unyielding Contempt - At the cost of a token for one turn, Sigurd can bypass an enemy territory without a fight. (5 Uses.)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Oracle Bones - While looting the bodies of the fallen, Sigurd's soldiers uncover something unsettling: the body of an elf whose ribs are broken open and exposed to the air. Tiny runes and phrases are etched into the bones themselves.<br>
Promise from the North - One morning, a hawk arrives in the middle of Sigurd's war camp with a note tied around its leg. The bird gnaws at the twine, releasing it, before flapping its wings and taking to the sky once more. The note within offers assistance to the Imperial forces from a band of orcish mercenaries from Mors Denoch. To hire them would take payment, and payment would require approval from Briggun. Sigurd begins to calculate the time and effort involved in enlisting this potentially valuable force.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Yz, Identity Requiem</b><br>
Meals from the Field // Nothing is Safe // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Sauroid Mountains<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Yz followed in the wake of Borok's assault on Sabersval, arriving in elvan territory with their army without any significant losses. Having been allowed to present the Emperor with the head of their shared enemy, Yz was honored with Briggun's promised gift, a unit of his personal guard, and gained the card "Emperor's Guard." These battle-hardened veterans may have been few in number, but their presence promised to changed the outcome of battles, and maybe even wars.<br>
<br>
The path is open now for Yz to explore the rest of the elvan territories, and even with Briggun's recent visit, no additional demands have been placed on Yz's next action. Although the enemy is great in number, most of them are paralyzed in fear and are not cooperating well. Perhaps, in the midst of all this chaos, Yz will finally find a partner for their next tea party.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Yz-Arts - Yz cannot be taken prisoner. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Without Identity - If not wearing a mask, Yz is unrecognizable to any enemy that has not fought them and can travel freely in their territory. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Body Doubles - If a foe targets Yz with a card, the effect is negated. (3 Uses)<br>
Emperor's Guard - If played upon a battle victory, costs opponent one additional token. If played upon defeat, lose no token. (1 Use)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Bread and Circuses - There are many civilian survivors of the eruption and the subsequent invasion, but they are struggling to survive. While many hold out hope that the elves will reclaim Sabersval, others are ready to accept help anywhere it can come from. Yz sees an opportunity to spread some new ideas along with the food rations.<br>
The Witness - Prior to Aelan Farandel's death, she provided a masked sketch of Yz to Marewyn, the captain of the city watch in Valwake, and told her of their meeting. Since the events of early summer, Marewyn is distraught, openly wondering if the destruction could have been prevented if Aelan had simply parlayed with Yz. A letter arrives from Marewyn, asking if there is anything she can do to assist the provisional Imperial leadership. Yz considers hosting a meeting.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Kande Abdolon, Viper of the Reach</b><br>
Liberate the Materiel // Colleagues in Arms // Never Surrender<br>
Location: Ysaval<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
After meeting with Lady Falwyn, Kande returned to Ysval grimly committed to the continued defense of his region, even if his fear of Imperial tyranny had softened thanks to the Dragonlord's nuanced dialogue. Having secured an armistice for the early summer, Kande worked to locate new soldiers and mercenaries from Gantar which could expand his ranks by early autumn, but he fears that Falwyn will attack before they're ready. His fears were multiplied by the disaster which befell Sabersval, as the presence of Briggun and three of his War Council in the neighboring territory meant that he could be assaulted on multiple sides before the end of summer. Thankfully, the capital territory has finally mobilized a true army and placed Prince Cameran in charge- a man Kande trusts not to leave him high and dry should the enemy gain a decisive advantage in the east.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Prince Cameran Erevyss, The Mighty Oak</b><br>
With Guile and Cunning // Colleagues in Arms // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Erevan<br>
Strength: 6<br>
<br>
When the Kingdom of Erevan needed to confront the building threat of Saarus with a full-mobilization, a surprise dispute erupted almost as violently as the volcano on the southern border: all along, the plan had been to place Rotwellain in control of the vast reserves and allow him to appoint an officer of his choice to watch the pass, but as the enlistment surged after the war's opening maneuvers, several of Rotwellain's rivals as well as glory-seekers and ladder climbers made their self-serving opinions known. Prince Cameran was an odd choice, as he was known as a poet and philosopher, as well as a competent administrator, but not much of a strategist. However, he won the job after publicly delivering a stunning indictment of his peers that earned him the appreciation of the generals. Among Cameran's chief criticisms were the failure to properly support Kande's defense of Ysval, the refusal of Aelan to move east when ordered, and the failure of her superiors to overrule her. Had she done so, her army would have avoided destruction in Sabersval and would have allowed them to assist in the coming counterattack. Stepping into the role of a field marshal has given Cameran many sleepless nights, and he appears sullen and wracked with anxiety over his next move. However, he is sternly refusing to give way to the chaos that came before his appointment.<br>
<br>
<b>Rotwellain Martiel, Gatekeeper of the World</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // A Reckoning for the Wicked<br>
Location: Wyldsylvain<br>
Strength: 4<br>
<br>
Blessed victory! It is only a minor one, but an important one nonetheless. By driving Sigurd's army backwards, Rotwellain has given himself a serious advantage for the moment against his foe. The large number of Imperial soldiers in Sabersval is a bleak thought, but with the army of Prince Cameran behind him, Rotwellain is convinced that he can keep his focus on winning the battle in the pass while the capital forces try to retake Sabersval or back up Kande in the event of another disaster. Wyldsylvain stands determined to slam shut the gate once and for all!<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Gantar Campaign</b><br>
<br>
Having watched from afar the fall of Sabersval and the Empire's growing offensive into Erevan, the Sultan of Gantar is doubly alarmed to hear that the Voivode of Skulls has attacked the tribesmen of Miraq and left them bloodied and nearly broken. Calling on his generals, the Sultan initially proposes an immediate alliance with Erevan and a swift intervention into its territories, but, after some extended discussion, his nerves were calmed and a more pragmatic thought took hold at the planning table: Gantar would wait while Briggun's thugs bash their blades against elvan shields, and build its forces up stronger. When the time was right, they would then attack the Empire in Erevan, liberating the territory while installing a new regime that would defer to the Sultan's wise leadership. For now, he would focus on repelling the attack in the south.<br>
<br>
Meanwhile, an unthinkable disaster has befallen Kolthix the Cackler and his soldiers. While preparing for the next attack against Zomach, the shadelings encountered a wizard from Midana who was carrying a mighty staff. Unaware of the strength of his magic, Kolthix attempted to have the man apprehended. However, the wizard stood his ground and called upon the wind, summoning a powerful storm which quickly escaped his control. The wall of sand, ripping and tearing at the flesh of all who were present, utterly overwhelmed everyone at the scene, and even carried on for several days. Survivors reported these details to Izaak's scouts, days after the fact, and informed him that Kolthix's whereabouts are unknown, along with the mysterious wizard who summoned the storm.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Izaak Rosach, The Voivode of Skulls</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Ostminora<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Izaak attacked Zomach with the help of his card "Bottled Omens" and dealt one token of damage. Due to his card "Skeletal Warriors," Izaak also gained one point of advantage this turn.<br>
<br>
Under the scorching winds of a sandstorm, Izaak's soldiers have been raiding the remote villages of Miraq for weeks- terrifying the residents of desert as they watch their friends and loved ones be killed, only to rise from the sandy earth and continue fighting under Izaak's foul sorcery. Izaak knows that victory here is close at hand, and with a few more weeks of pressure, he believes he can crush the remaining defenders before Gantar can have the chance to send aid. He is also aware of the terrible disaster which has befallen Kolthix and his shadeling horde, and wonders just how long it will before he can confront the wizard which dealt such a stunning blow to the Empire's armies. He has a dark suspicion that the man didn't simply die in his own storm.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Skeletal Warriors - If Izaak wins a battle against a non-undead opponent, he will have a +1 advantage on the following turn. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Raising an Army - While occupying territory that was forcibly taken the prior turn, Izaak gains a token every other turn until strength 5. (Infinite Uses)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Lonesome Tower - Near the edge of the mountain ridge separating Saarus from Gantar, a shadow juts out from the landscape in just such a way as to convince Izaak that there's a tower on the Gantar side which might be worth exploring.<br>
Picking up the Pieces - Many shadeling survivors of the great sandstorm which struck the deserts this turn are still waiting to be reunited with their Imperial masters. Gathering them all up, however, will take valuable time that Izaak could be using to finish the enemy off.<br>
<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Zomach, the Trench Digger</b><br>
With Guile and Cunning // Come What May // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Miraq<br>
Strength: 1<br>
<br>
Zomach and the remainder of his forces gather in Makon, the largest village in Miraq that has not been overrun by the evil forces of Briggun's army. His calls for help having gone unanswered thus far, he has finally received word that the Sultan is sending help. But will they make it to Miraq in time to prevent the territory from being overrun? Unlikely, but the Trench Digger spends time each day praying for salvation nonetheless. With the arrival of the sandstorm and the sudden annihilation of Kolthix's army, Zomach's troops rally- they will fight heroically for their homes, in hopes that the gods will smile upon them once more.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Lacans Campaign</b><br>
<br>
Although the Imperial Armies continue to menace Lacans from afar, the generals and statesmen within that land are quite proud that their defenses have daunted Briggun's soldiers so, and that they have not yet made a serious push into the territory. Petrokos, the People's Hammer, even felt inclined to reach out to Munsie Moldive and ask for an audience, as he felt that if he could drive a wedge between the Fox and the Viceroy, Declan, that he could delay open warfare with the Empire for at least another season, or perhaps even into the next year. Ikono, however, has been facing raids, not just from the fae-like warriors of Lucafiel's army, but from barbarians sent all the way from the Druadach territories, and he has lost his patience for waiting. After a heated argument with the oligarchs of Iskulia, Ikono launched an ill-fated attack across the border which ignored his own defensive advantage in favor of a reckless assault. His warriors faltered, of course, leaving him even more vexed than before.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Declan Asquith Elron, First Viceroy of Sathesbury</b><br>
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Tidiaus<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Declan followed the lead "Through the Grapevine" and learned of Petrokos' attempt to negotiate with Munsie. Instead, Declan laid a trap for his foe, having her promise to meet with the People's Hammer, only to launch a surprise attack instead. He gained the card "The Hand that Feeds."<br>
<br>
During the summer, the soldiers of the Viceroy's army, as well as those under the command of Munsie Moldive, relocate to the border in an aggressive stance, ready to begin their assault at a moment's notice. Declan has been waiting for signs of instability within Oitvemia, but as of yet there are none. It would seem that he will need to <i>create</i> the conditions ripe for internal strife so that he can light the spark of a slave rebellion.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Soulstealer - If this card is in play and Declan wins a battle, he will possess the enemy commander's soul, instantly defeating their army. (3 Uses)<br>
Diplomat - If this card is in play and Declan loses a battle, he will avoid losing a token. (3 Uses)<br>
Blinded Liberators - If Declan attacks in the same turn as a slave revolt, both armies gain +2 Advantage. (2 Uses)<br>
The Hand That Feeds - Can force Munsie to either meet with Petrokos as a spy, or attack Lacans. (1 Use)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Where None Dare Tread - The melting snow revealed the entrance to some sort of shrine on the side of a mountain that overlooks Oitvemia. Declan asks around and learns that the locals know and fear the shrine as a place of ancient evil. He ponders for a moment whether it would be prudent to send a party in to explore.<br>
The Pathway West - Declan considers the operation ahead, and worries that attacking blindly without knowing the lay of the land might be a recipe for disaster, even with the army of Tidiaus at his side. A scout mission might increase the odds of success, but it would delay the general offensive...<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Lucafiel sa Helendal, the Redeemer Prince</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Chessmaster<br>
Location: Kokaria<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Lucafiel investigated the lead "Cult of Personality," and learned that Briggun holds a certain grip on the people's minds in these parts; a Kokarian cult surrounding his destructive power seems to believe that they are apocalyptically destined to lay down their lives for his "great project." With a simple instruction, Lucafiel could harness this zealots' energy to strengthen his numbers, or he could use them for a act more fitting of their wild imaginations. However, while making these discoveries, Lucafiel's impatient opponent across the border, Ikono, launched an ill-fated attack on Kokoria that simply cost him and his Lacanite forces a token of strength.<br>
<br>
With the end of summer looming, Lucafiel senses the urgency of the war increasing. His enemy may have wasted the lives of many men trying to deal a blow to no avail, but he cannot expect Ikono to make such a mistake again, even if the man is known for his rather cavalier attitude toward war, life, love, and generally anything else that it's possible to ham-fist his way through. Perhaps the time has come to stop holding back?<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Red Comet - When played, Lucafiel may redefine his three strategies. (Infinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns)<br>
Hand of Life - Lucafiel can revive a dead character, or kill one who trusts him. (Infinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns)<br>
Snake Oil - False cures for the plague are sent to Iskulia, giving them a disadvantage of 2. (2 Uses)<br>
The White Horse - Gain a token. If played alongside the Red, Black, and and Pale Horse cards, inflict a terrible event- 5 tokens of damage against a target. (1 Use)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Lacanite Pantheon - The people of Kokaria express a familiarity with the gods worshipped in Lacans, and openly provide direction to temples in the north of the province which were erected in dedication of the same deities. Lucafiel's curiosity is drawn to these old structures.<br>
Under Black Sails - One would not normally associate kobolds with the ocean, but Forktung, a cutthroat who has been making the rounds in Kokaria's ports, is seemingly on a mission to change this. Recently, a note was found pinned to the door of a portside tavern declaring that Forktung would soon be the master of the Lacanite sea coast. Lucafiel wonders whether such a boast is worth addressing... <br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Munsie Moldive, Fox of the Forest</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Nothing is Safe // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Tidiaus<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Having met with a member of Emperor Brigun's War Council at last, Munsie has calmed down in the last few weeks. She has calmly relocated her forces closer to the border and instructed them to await orders to cross the border. While she had been previously ordered not to take the war onto Laconite territory, she is confident that Declan will convince the royal court that an offensive war is necessary to preserve Tidiaus' future. Her officers are uneasy, sensing the depth to which she reveling in the key part she'll play in the coming bloodshed. None, however, dare to question her- exactly how she's always wanted.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Ikono Manakles, the Ram of Iskulia</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Iskulia<br>
Strength: 5<br>
<br>
In the city of Pelospar, the capital of Iskulia, the oligarchs responsible for supplying men and materiel for Ikono's army are growing restless. Although the braggart pounds his chest, speaking loudly of the enemy's weaknesses and the inevitability of their defeat, news from afar of Briggun's advances in Erevan have caused serious pause within the minds of those responsible for lonely Lacans. In order to silence their concerns, Ikono ordered an attack on Lucafiel's army, only to be embarrassed when his troops, already laggardly from illness, crossed the border and were immediately bogged down in the Empire's defenses. Having wasted lives without progress, Ikono has finally stopped his boasting and is now meeting more actively with strategic advisors, even if, in the end, he is wont to ignore them.<br>
<br>
<b>Petrokos Aklessia, The People's Hammer</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // Colleagues in Arms // A Truth Unassailable<br>
Location: Oitvemia<br>
Strength: 6<br>
<br>
Petrokos paces the hall of his villa, cursing Ikono's name to the heavens for his idiotic behavior. Lacans is, and always has been, a defensive powerhouse. To waste lives on an abortive offensive onto Imperial land was a disaster without justification, and it would surely be answered with a terrible vengeance. After hearing of the capture of Sabersval, Petrokos is now convinced that his only chance to avert an equally devastating defeat on his own land is to drive a wedge into the Tidiaus/Saarus alliance. Little does he know that the appointed "defender" of the halfling country was, in fact, one of the most cartoonishly bloodthirsty individuals on the continent, and that he was slowly luring his own country into a terrible trap.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Piantia Campaign</b><br>
<br>
Disaster strikes! In the span of a few weeks, Saarus suffered a defeat on land and then at sea at the hands of the Piantians. It is fortunate that Briggun had already departed Canar for Sabersval before the action began, as he would have chosen a different course had the bad news reached him earlier. Instead, he sends a missive to Alexandre and Cordia warning them that he will reassign them to far less desirable duties if they cannot gain decisive control over the war in the south. The Piantian mainland, meanwhile, cheers on the actions of their defenders, sensing that their neighbors in the Civicerian Dominion have been hoping for their demise. Defiantly, they face the world with a grim smile. Piantians are free people, and will die a free people if need be.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Alexandre, the Thirsting</b><br>
Meals from the Field // The One and Only // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Bone Coast<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Alexandre investigated the lead "Firelight Megalith" and found that the ancient monument promised a significant event in early autumn. She gained the card "The Meteor Caller." Afterwards, Alexandre was attacked by Jakabo, who found the exact opportunity he had been searching for to draw even with the vampyr and regain some of the lost territory in Kaula. Alexandre loses one token.<br>
<br>
Unlike Cordia, Alexandre is not in a particularly dangerous position. Even after suffering a loss at the hands of Jakabo, she is occupying the same territory as an ally and has nothing but friendly territory behind her. Reinforcements are on the way already, and her primary opponent is merely even with her, and not outnumbering her two-to-one. The promise of the Firelight Megalith continues to entice her, but with Estro possibly redirecting his attention southward, questions remain of whether Alexandre will be in control of the territory in time to discover what the monument was meant to herald.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Blood Feast - If below strength 3, instantly regain 1 strength on victory. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Cloak of Night - If opponent has planning type B, 1/2 chance of dealing two tokens of damage on victory. (Infinite Uses)<br>
The Meteor Caller - If Alexandre possesses Kaula and is present in early Autumn, gain a powerful card. (1 Use)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
King's Crest - One of the old and crumbling fortresses on the border between Saarus and Piantia is known as "King's Crest" as it was the most impressive structure built by an ancient king of Kaula, before the existence of the Oligarchy. There are some who say that the King haunts this place to this very day. Alexandre wonders what sort of secrets such a phantom might be keeping.<br>
Blight and Magic - On her travels, Alexandre learns of a hermit living in a secluded glen, surrounded by blighted food crops which kill anything that dares to eat them. As to why this hermit lives in this manner, no one is quite sure, nor do they know what is causing the blight. Alexandre is curious to learn the truth, of course.<br>
<br>
<b>Cordia Dis, Banshee Captain of the Butcher's Blade</b><br>
Meals from the Field // Nothing is Safe // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Waters near Bone Coast<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Cordia investigated the lead "Dashed on the Rocks" and discovered a chest hidden within the sunken ship's cargo which was filled with valuable emerald dragon scales. Not long afterwards, in the midst of a heavy fog, the Butcher's Blade and its Imperial escorts were ambushed by Cutlass Bandolo, who conducted a textbook raid before disappearing once more into the gathering storm. Cordia lost one token as a result.<br>
<br>
The path forward has become as murky as the waters of the bone coast themselves. Cordia finds herself in the southern sea with an obvious opponent, but no obvious target for her conquest. Kaula will likely belong to Alexandre or Estro within the year, Petrata is inaccessible until Cutlass Bandolo is defeated, and the coastal territories of Weildach are well-defended to prepare for the Sandachian invasion Veno spent the prior spring organizing. Cordia will need to act quickly to regain control, but how?<br>
<br>
Followers:<br>
Ashryn, the Dark Heart of the Southern Sea --- Everywhere at Once // Nothing is Safe // Break Their Spirits<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Siren's Song - If attacking another sea-based opponent, has a 1/3 chance of stealing a token from her opponent ahead of an attack. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Banshee's Scream - Can deal one token of damage every three turns. (Infinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns - One Turn Remaining)<br>
Dragon Scales - Can bribe an enemy commander to meet with you if they are otherwise unwilling. (One Use)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
The Nameless Cove - While probing the territorial waters of Karlsbach, the Butcher's Blade locates a secluded cove between jagged ocean cliffs. There appears to be a cave at the far side of the calm waters...<br>
Prodigal Sons - Word has reached Cordia that a small pirate fleet belonging to Longshanks Vargas has just lost their leader in a failed raid on Kobakeli, and that they are now on their way to Teralia to lick their wounds. If they're willing to join the Banshee Captain's fleet, then it could prove to be just the windfall Cordia needs. If not however, it could be a costly waste of time at a critical moment.<br>
<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Jakabo Gratini, The White Eagle</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // Never Surrender<br>
Location: Kaula<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
An old dog proves he's not out of tricks just yet! Jakobo launched an attack on Alexandre's undead and accursed army in a well-planned attack which harried them, and then exploited their reliance on cavalry by utilizing classic formations and earthworks to his advantage as he tactically retreated. Kaula has not been rid of the Imperial menace yet, but thanks to the valiant effort of his soldiers, Jakobo has made the land battle an even contest. Sadly, he is not aware of Estro's presence in the Bone Coast thanks to the latter's comparatively low profile, nor does he know of the increasing incentives tempting Estro to attack Kaula.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Sirius "Cutlass" Bandolo, Torpedo of the Piantian Strait</b><br>
Liberate the Materiel // A Master of the Art // Never Surrrender<br>
Location: Waters near Kaula<br>
Strength: 4<br>
<br>
Not just one, but two victories for Piantia, back-to-back! Not wanting to be outdone by his land-based counterpart, Sirius decided grit his teeth and do what he had been too frightened to do before: he attacked the infamous Captain Cordia. Utilizing the ugly weather of late spring to his advantage, he stung the Imperial Fleet while suffering minimal losses. With a significant ship tonnage advantage now, he feels confident that he can continue to hold the strait, so long as Jakobo can keep his luck coming as well.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Weildach Campaign</b><br>
<br>
The war has begun with a lukewarm start, adding to the overall malaise of the southern campaigns as of late. Veno declined to attempt a sea crossing in spring, and instead left it to Swybeck, but this went poorly and immediately placed the Empire on the back foot. Briggun, already distraught over the losses suffered by Alexandre and Cordia, hardly noticed the misfortune on this front, but Veno knows that his inattention will last only as long as the war council continued to disappoint him.<br>
<br>
===Allied Forces===<br>
<br>
<b>Swybeck Argnault, the Titan of the Temple</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Drenched in Death<br>
Location: Sandach<br>
Strength: 2<br>
<br>
Swybeck spent late spring attempting a first crossing of the southern sea, but his preliminary landings failed to establish a proper beachhead. Before more forces could make landfall, the first Sandachians to arrive were met with fierce resistance from the Blade at Land's End, which killed or captured nearly all of Swybeck's forces. This early defeat was frustrating, as Swybeck had been talking so much of the Empire's support for the war and the likelihood of a great success, only for Veno's Imperial forces to not attack in concert with him. However, he knows that Sandach, like Saarus, is preparing to reinforce his army further, and that this earlier failure will not define the war ahead.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Veno Dilach, The Black Rose</b><br>
Everywhere at Once // Symphony of War // Break Their Spirits<br>
Location: Sandach<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Turn 1 Recap:<br>
Veno followed the lead "The Heretical Sciences" and learned that the Clerics of Endane were rather amateurish with their approach to the dark arts and the wards they proposed for them. Surmising that their involvement would only hamper the enemy's defenses, Veno gained a card, "Endane Heretics."<br>
<br>
As Veno feared, without bringing her army to Oberngenia in spring, the Sandachian forces faltered in their first attempt to cross the southern sea, and now questions are arising as to the Empire's true intentions with the war. It's clear that she will need to mount her own attack on Weildach, and soon, or else it will become clear that she is merely trying to lead others to war while keeping her Imperial soldiers safe- a revelation which could have dire consequences.<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Shapeshifter - Veno can attempt negotiation multiple times against targets who already distrust her. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Mindbreaker - Without wards, targets can suffer possession, amnesia, or disability if they trust or negotiate with Veno. (Infiinite Uses - Once Per Three Turns)<br>
Face of the Profit - Veno can disguise herself as a profit of the Weidach Pantheon. (Infinite Uses)<br>
Endane Heretics - If holder is in Oberngenia and card is played outside battle, gain a follower. If played in battle, enemy suffers 3 points of disadvantage. (1 Use)<br>
<br>
Leads:<br>
Making a Withdrawal - Veno is informed that her spies have caught the trail of Sandach's treasurers, presenting an opportunity to get acquainted with the republic's finances.<br>
Long Lost - While researching her opponent in Oberngenia, Veno learns an interesting tidbit about Bloquenyan: he has a sister that he has not seen since he was a child. Veno considers the possible benefits of locating this lost sibling, or at least of learning all there is to learn about her.<br>
<br>
===The Enemy===<br>
<br>
<b>Bloquenyan Falkent, The Blade at Land's Edge</b><br>
Liberate the Materiel // Colleagues in Arms // A Reckoning for the Wicked<br>
Location: Oberngenia<br>
Strength: 4<br>
<br>
Cards: To Punish the Wicked - On any consecutive victory, deals two tokens of damage. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
<br>
And so, the first of Sandach's attempts to cross the sea was crushed. The Blade was neither surprised nor impressed by his opponent's daring, and within weeks of the Sandachian landing, Oberngenia was clear of invaders. While he has received word that Imperial spies may have entered the country, he seems unconcerned; he knows that no matter how many secrets the Imperials dig up, they will eventually have to face him on the field of battle, and he knows that the strongest of Briggun's War Council are busy elsewhere.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Maldaryn Maltryss, The Witness on the Waves</b><br>
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // A Reckoning for the Wicked<br>
Location: Waters Near Karlsbach<br>
Strength: 3<br>
<br>
Cards:<br>
Ocean's Daughter - Can relocate from one sea to the next and attack at her destination within the same turn. (Unlimited Uses)<br>
<br>
Hearing that Captain Cordia had suffered a defeat at the hands of the Piantian Navy, Maldaryn was tempted to attack the sea hag as well in an act of solidarity, since both Weildach and Piantia were at war with the Empire. However, she did not wish to risk putting herself at a disadvantage against an enemy who was not currently engaged with attacking her adoptive homeland at this time, and so she decided to save her strength, for the moment, and keep her eyes on the western mouth of the southern sea.</div>
				
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<br>
<br>
Falwyn sat comfortably in the ostentatiously created wooden chair with its comfy woolen padding. Nearby stood her most trusted lady concubine, the drow Linota, leaned against one of the poles of her command tent. A tent that had been growing increasingly extravagant over her time in armistice with Kande. Various trinkets of varying worth adorned the room, while the pelts of great animals lent the appearance of a carpeted floor. Fine silk sheets adorned a bed that was nearly the size of two king beds, an indulgence she had lustfully made use of many of times in spring as her nerves had calmed and she had regained resolve. <br>
<br>
Still the most opportune moment had come in the conquering of the Sabersval. A chance to take Ysaval in one fell swoop before Kande's gamble for time starting paying its dividends. The question was who to approach. The answer came the in the one most loyal to the empire. The great witch Baba Vodkya. The one who would be willing to let Falwyn have her dominion if only for the strategic benefit. Falwyn picked up her quill and began to write.<br>
<br>
<i>To Baba Vodkya,<br>
<br>
I have heard of the ashes that covered the land of Sabersval. It must have been a wondrous sight to see. Your conquest is to be commended as is the righteous hand that executed Aelan Farandel. I have heard of a poet prince being the one to come to power to lead the defense of the capital. I propose that he weep songs of sorrow as Ysaval falls. The viper is from the deserts and I believe he will soon have mercenaries reinforcing his ranks if we delay. <br>
<br>
The time to strike is now. In the spring I have built earthworks that will lead to the summer snow melt causing a great flood from the vale. This combined with my might will be a catalyst for taking Ysaval. But the final dagger can come from you. Join me with a flanking attack from the west and we can claim Ysaval as we take another step towards Everan being under its rightful Saarus rule. I ask that you do not contest my rule of Ysaval as I will be able to sway the new subjects to join under my golden banner.<br>
<br>
By My Blood,<br>
Falwyn Tholmar</i></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka aided in efforts to ensure that the arrival of their Dark Lord would be seen as a momentous occasion, preparing festivities meant to venerate Him as he stepped through the mountains and came to Sabersval. Her plans in imprinting Yz with the role of capturing Farandel had worked out magnificently, as they were rewarded a unit of his personal guard, and completely incapable of refusing them. The ceremony would be as one expected of Yz.<br>
<br>
With Briggun's arrival, the hag began her final preparations toward ensuring that her forces were ready to move eastward and aid Falwyn in Ysaval, as she had planned this entire time. However, as word came of developments elsewhere, her mind began to waver. Vuldar being pushed back in the west might necessitate aid to weaken, or at least distract, Rotwellain enough for him to recover. There's also interest to be had in investigating Sabersval further, especially with the sightings of that damned pan flute player near their camps. But the news of developments beyond their front put her at pause, especially the news of one in particular, which would in fact be the first of the news delivered to her.<br>
<br>
Voyka sat at her camp, preparing, before she could feel the distinct presence of a shadeling. She turned around to face Ziman, a messenger that had periodically joins her party as a result of the many years of cooperation between her and Kolthix, often acting as the quickest means of communication between the two, and the stealthiest. She greeted him with the shadelings' means of communication, and Ziman responded in kind, before continuing in common speech.<br>
<br>
"I bring urgent news," Ziman began.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Urgent? Has something gone south in Ostminora?</span>" she asked in a concerned tone.<br>
<br>
"Yes, in fact, what happened was troubling," he replied, prompting her to lean in forward in the seat she had just sat down upon.<br>
<br>
"Kolthix had been swept away by a wizard-enchanted sandstorm," he revealed, prompting her to stand.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">And?!</span>" she wanted to know.<br>
<br>
"We don't know where he is. His forces, myself included, were swept to the winds. I had barely managed to reconvene with Rosach's forces, where others had managed to arrive at. Knowing the seriousness of the situation, I have arrived here to inform you," Ziman explained.<br>
<br>
Voyka stood there, her expression paused in time, unsure how to take this news. Slowly, she slumped back into her chair.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...so, he's gone then...</span>" Voyka commented plainly, with Ziman nodding with a visible frown.<br>
<br>
Ziman could notice Voyka's hands instinctively grabbing at something, as if she was ready to tear apart someone, especially someone who had just taken away one of her oldest friends in the Saarus era. Her expression maintained a mix of rage and despair, as if finding herself suddenly lost now that one less person that truly understood her was in this world. After a long pause, steeping in her own emotions, she finally spoke.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">...Ziman, know that you are family, and if you seek a camp to be with, mine will always be open to you and other shadelings,</span>" she finally said, Ziman bowing in thanks.<br>
<br>
"...thank you, baba. I'll aid you with my services for as long as I can," Ziman said.<br>
<br>
Voyka nodded her head to herself, before dismissing Ziman, wanting to be left to her own.<br>
<br>
With a formal report on affairs on the other fronts arriving days later, further confirming the seeming demise of Kolthix the Cackler, the thought of Kolthix made her waver on her plans. She grew increasingly tempted to head west, not wanting to risk yet another person she cared about among the lieutenants getting rocked. She sat at the map, conflicted. It would be at that moment, Ziman arrived once more.<br>
<br>
"A letter from Lady Tholmar has arrived for you," he revealed, presenting the letter to her.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Thank you,</span>" she responded simply, before dismissing him so that she could concentrate on the letter.<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 92403" data-quote="turtwigwins" data-source="post: 11855913" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11855913" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11855913">turtwigwins said:</a>
			
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			<i>To Baba Vodkya,<br>
<br>
I have heard of the ashes that covered the land of Sabersval. It must have been a wondrous sight to see. Your conquest is to be commended as is the righteous hand that executed Aelan Farandel. I have heard of a poet prince being the one to come to power to lead the defense of the capital. I propose that he weep songs of sorrow as Ysaval falls. The viper is from the deserts and I believe he will soon have mercenaries reinforcing his ranks if we delay. <br>
<br>
The time to strike is now. In the spring I have built earthworks that will lead to the summer snow melt causing a great flood from the vale. This combined with my might will be a catalyst for taking Ysaval. But the final dagger can come from you. Join me with a flanking attack from the west and we can claim Ysaval as we take another step towards Everan being under its rightful Saarus rule. I ask that you do not contest my rule of Ysaval as I will be able to sway the new subjects to join under my golden banner.<br>
<br>
By My Blood,<br>
Falwyn Tholmar</i>
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</blockquote>The prose made it apparent that it had come from Falwyn, and the fact that her name had been misspelled an indication of their lack of familiarity with one another. But this letter was very much what she needed at this moment. Just as she had considered turning away from aiding Falwyn in her struggles east, she came to her for aid, revealing to her important information about the battle-to-be against Abdolon. The strategy was immensely sound, and there is a grand chance that she would be able to catch him off-guard and strike him down with her, if Falwyn's info on the enemy's status can be trusted.<br>
<br>
The point on permitting Ysaval to fall under Falwyn's command did not bother her. As she intended to head north towards Gantar, and she was intent on aiding the Erevan campaign to its finish, it made all the sense to allow her Ysaval and in turn free her forces to either aid at Wyldsylvain or the core of Erevan. <br>
<br>
Her mind was set. She would set forth east as planned. She penned a reply to Falwyn:<br>
<br>
<fieldset class="bbcode-fieldset">
<legend>To Falwyn Tholmar</legend>
<span>I had already made plans to head east to aid you in your efforts in Ysaval, so I shall make my trek eastward as soon as possible. I will send my messenger Ziman to ensure we can communicate swiftly when it comes to the release of the earthworks' flood so that my men are not swept under its waves too. He will carry my banner with him as proof. Given your intents northward into Gantar, leaving Ysaval to you makes all the sense, and enables me to further aid in the campaign in Erevan. May the upcoming battle prove fruitful.<br>
<br>
Yours Truly,<br>
Baba Voyka</span>
</fieldset><br>
<br>
She called Ziman back and informed him that he is to deliver the letter to Falwyn's camp and remain with her until battle was ready, to ensure her plan with the earthworks went without casualties for either side. After his departure, she began her final preparations and had one of her men head to inform the others of her intent to head east for Ysaval soon as planned, and therefore, if any meetings were planned, they were to be had soon.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 22px">The Oitvemia Front, Lacans</span></span></span>​</div>As summer came and the terrain dried from mud to dirt, the time to march had finally come upon Declan's forces. The general call for mobilization had been sounded and the Viceroy's warcamp had quickly been packed up. Marching with Munsie's own forces as additional support, it was not one but two armies that crossed the border into Lacans' mountains and pushed forward. A false rendezvous had been set by Munsie, and for their ruse to work they had to arrive earlier to set up and prepare. As such, both armies were pushed to advance at a rapid pace - almost to the point of exhaustion - before establishing themselves in one of the many valleys of the region. Using the cover of the forests that grew there, both forces waited for the opportune time.<br>
<br>
And it came, as the People's Hammer approached with his own army in tow. Though it was noticeable that they weren't expecting a fight, given their pace and their overall demeanor. Petrokos himself looked stressed, especially after the developments down south had soured the political mood within the republic. Yet he could not imagine what would come next as the horns of battle took him and his forces by complete surprise. The approach of pikemen and infantry from the center, flanked by a charging cavalry from the nearby mountain steppes and supported by fire of halfling archers and slingers, turned the event into a rout.<br>
<br>
As Declan marched through the aftermath of the battle, the land strewn with corpses of Lacans' northern force, he observed the celebrations from this combined force with satisfaction. Nearly a third of Petrokos' army had been wiped out from this attack, savaging the defenses of this region greatly for future conflict. News of this would spread quickly, and in turn start the fires of rebellion that the Viceroy had worked to foment. Although a small part of him cursed his caution in not pressing the inherent advantage further, he was not a risk taker when it came to the most crucial point of this campaign thus far: establishing a foothold. A victory of this magnitude was nothing to scoff at, and the soldiery recognized this as they went about not only cheering and celebrating atop the dead but also rounding up the few that had surrendered.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Lacans will be bloodied after that."</span> Dennor said with a smirk, observing the work his own boys had done. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Sent them with their tails between their legs."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"For now. They will regroup. But they have more than us to worry about now."</b></span> Declan then said, placing his hands on his hips. <span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"We've shown only but a part of our hand, and Petrokos will be more wary from now on."</b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Still, a third of his army is scattered. I'd call that a fine day."</span><br>
<br>
Declan looked up to the red sun rising above the horizon, painting the skies with orange, reds, and purples as a brilliant natural canvas. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"A red day."</span></b><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"How did you get Tidiaus on board with this?"</span> Dennor then asked with a scoff, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"They aren't ones for war."</span><br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Well, my mere presence in their court made them reconsider their existing objections. And so Munsie was given free reign to follow me. Being a part of the Emperor's inner circle carries weight beyond words."</span></b><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I see. Now what's the plan?"</span> Dennor then asked, eager to hear more. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Keep on pushing?"</span><br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Perhaps. We'll see once the scouts get more bearings of the land. But I'll need you for something else."</span></b> Declan spoke, turning to his mercenary companion. <b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"I'll need you to travel to the Druadach, speak with Adanach. I've heard the reports of their troops effectiveness as raiders, and I believe having some of those at our disposal would be a boon for us. But also to see the possibility of him turning northwards."</span></b><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Well, sending me off to the savages eh?"</span> Dennor commented with a laugh, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Don't get me wrong, I like to drink and fuck like they do but I'm not a diplomat."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)"><b>"What are you, then?"</b></span> Declan asked, entertaining the implied question.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"A whoreson, a braggart, a killer, and a motherfucker."</span> Dennor quipped, which brought a chuckle from Declan.<br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: rgb(85, 57, 130)">"Then you'll fit right in with them."</span></b></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The night was calm, and a great many of the horde's warriors were resting in their huts and tents. Some were with the concubines, seeking companionship on this warm summer night, while others witnessed a calm nature ritual performed by Madanach; the blind druid chanted a song to the mother goddess while the faithful meditated in his midst.<br>
<br>
Adanach and Bjorga rested on their bed, their babes Cosnach and Melach resting between them, while Duach slept upon his father's chest. Unbeknownst to them, their camp was being stalked -- Orcish and Human Harii warriors painted in black stalked the fort from the forests leading to Mors Darak. Leading this covert attack was none other than Torrin the Ironheart, donning her powerful enchanted helm. Behind her were several dead sentries, who were caught unaware of the shadowed horde on approach.<br>
<br>
After studying Adanach's warcamp with preying eyes, looking over its defenses, Torrin ordered the attack to commence with a wave of her hand. Silently, her warriors crept towards the outer perimeter.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span data-s9e-mediaembed="youtube"><span><span style="background:url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/7SuRgcQ0pM0/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% / cover" data-s9e-mediaembed-iframe="[&quot;allowfullscreen&quot;,&quot;&quot;,&quot;scrolling&quot;,&quot;no&quot;,&quot;style&quot;,&quot;background:url(https:\/\/i.ytimg.com\/vi\/7SuRgcQ0pM0\/hqdefault.jpg) 50% 50% \/ cover&quot;,&quot;src&quot;,&quot;https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/7SuRgcQ0pM0&quot;]"></span></span></span>​</div><br>
<br>
Nearing the well lit walls of the warcamp, it became impossible to hide as one of the sentries spotted them with a surprised yelp. Torrin sounded the attack with a yell, bringing her warriors forth; the sentry managed to blow a horn to sound the alarm before a spear punched through his chest. The Harii warriors shouted, and charged with zealous fervor against the walls. Using axes, they clawed into the wood in order to scale its height while the sentries on duty frantically fought a desperate defence.<br>
<br>
Using their spears, they tried to keep the attack at bay but to no avail and soon Torrin's forces scaled the defenses. The sentries were felled with ease, before heading for the main gate and opening the way for the rest of the attack to commence. Elsewhere in the camp, Adanach shot up quickly as he heard the alarm in the distance along with the sounds of battle. Putting Duach down onto the bed, he rushed over to collect his sword and shield, with Bjorga following suit after handing the younglings over to a concubine.<br>
<br>
Torrin and her Harii warriors would then fight through waves of disorganized Druadach warriors, boosting their confidence with every kill wetting their blades. It was then that Madanach approached with several solduros accompanying him, saying nothing as he ordered the armored fanatics to charge against the black shields of the Harii.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/harii-png.1143790/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1080/1080919-a77ae97f84bca12fe82efe1e673df429.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="Harii.png" title="Harii.png" width="100" height="100" loading="lazy"></a>​</div><br>
Torrin and her men changed their focus on the biggest threat now, as their thick armor made them difficult targets to fell unlike the sentries and dazed warriors from earlier. But she was unaware that this was a distraction, as goblin skirmishers emerged from the shadows nearby; using their slings, bows and throwing spears, they killed several Harii warriors and sparked confusion amidst their ranks from this new area of attack. And before she could respond to this development, she heard the terrifying sound of Blaidd's chosen alongside heavy footbeats upon the ground.<br>
<br>
Turning around, she saw the enemy solduros breaking rank to make way for two charging werewolves - alongside wolflings and several minotaurs. With widened eyes, she realized that the defenses of Adanach's warband had kicked in full force now. The werewolves slammed through the Harii shield wall, their claws and teeth tearing apart their chosen victims in that moment. Much to their shock, any wounds dealt to them seemed to only annoy them - shrugging off the pain - as they continued to ravage unlucky stragglers.<br>
<br>
The minotaurs came and scattered the Harii shield wall with their falxs, their enormous strength bearing the terrible truth of this attack's outcome upon the invaders. This left them wide open for the zealous wolfling warriors to bite into the necks of their enemies, pouncing on their exposed forms and tearing into their flesh. Blood flowed across the dirt and grasses below from this sudden slaughter.<br>
<br>
Torrin, unwilling to cede ground, ordered her men to regroup and form a new defense behind her. Using her own martial skills, she killed several druadach warriors and even a minotaur with expert precision, before retreating to the safety of shields and bodies. Her skirmishers regrouped and forced the goblins back with their own ranged attacks, allowing them to then focus on other targets. Taking hold of the initiative again, Torrin roared to attack with renewed vigor; her example had restored order and morale, allowing the Harii to devastate the next few waves of warriors and beasts that came upon them.<br>
<br>
Hundreds of wolflings and other druadach warriors fell to precise spear strikes, forcing Adanach's forces back against a wave of shields to their front. The tide had seemingly turned in Torrin's favor after all, but they never expected to be attacked by a more unusual foe. The Redcap Rukkar squatted atop a tribal hut nearby, observing Torrin and her army with ravenous hunger. Leaping over, he landed atop a Harii warrior and used his seax to cut his throat before charging other warriors nearby. Using the blood of enemies and allies, the fae cast blood magic to summon walls of crimson red to protect him from blows. His strikes cut through the Harii with unnatural ease, now adding a new layer of chaos to the unfolding battle. And the more he felled, the stronger his magic grew - his body becoming covered with blood.<br>
<br>
The Voiceless was among the first to emerge, roused by the first frantic horn of a now dead sentry. Unlike the preparations required of those who could sleep without fear of their face being seen by the sky, most Vestati crusaders - especially of the old breed - lived within their armor like ancient shelled beasts. In a mere moment, rising from his seated sleeping position, the Voiceless removed the shroud to his war blade and stepped forth into the growing frenzy of the night, even as many others stumbled awake and clutched whatever they could to repel the sudden attack.<br>
<br>
Only a minute later, the equally frenzied figures of Zavastria and Ystria appeared, their youth lacking the experience of responding to so swift a surprise attack; armored as they were, many matters of adornment were missing, leaving them more creatures of barren metal and scrawling script than enshrouded within regal, ceremonial cloth.<br>
<br>
A thrown spear was the first to meet the Voiceless amid the throng of a growing battle tearing throughout the camp. He angled his shoulder in and took the approaching javelin against the heavy plate, a flash of sparks appearing as metal broke against metal. Yet without so much as a step backwards or hesitation, he pressed onward into a group of wild, black-painted figures, capitalizing on their speed and ferocity to emerge within them like a fiend of the night. His war blade, a massive two-handed ensemble without flair, was a silvered flamberge meant for breaking formations as well as enemy duelists. The mechanical precision of his usage was enough to stun even Zavastria and Ystria, too young to have seen this ancient warrior in his element. Every gesture was little more than an extension of his limbs, for such was the familiarity to him. It was natural because this was his life. Flawlessly, he could disembowel a howling orc berserker while pivoting to crush the skull of an approaching human attempting to strike from behind with his gauntleted fist, using his very body and form as a weapon against whatever he faced.<br>
<br>
Unwilling to be outdone, the younger pair of Vestati pressed in to attack in tandem. Zavastria, a bold and brash soul whose personality bled into his fighting style, utilized a sword and shield in a decidedly aggressive manner. Every step was forwards, every swing was with killing intent. He used his shield more as a weapon than defense, and was often pressing himself into even typically disadvantageous positions by taking on as many foes as he dared, both arms acting as if independent of the other to mete out devastation. Ystria, on the other hand, in accordance to the dancer-like methods of her warrior cult, utilized a slender sword-glaive that performed like an elegant, yet deadly, dance companion to her fighting efforts. She was not afraid to utilize the backstep to draw in over-eager foes, to present the image of an uncertain wielder, before springing forwards like a spider emerging from their trapdoor.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[Filth! Unkempt vessels of the mortal curse! Perish!]"</span> Zavastria roared, unleashing a torrent of insults and oathes in the Vestati language, roaring and cursing like a chimney in the dead of winter. His sword-sister, Ystria, sang to herself, utilizing her lyrical notes as a measurement of her lung capacity and to measure her breathing habits to extend her endurance for battle. The Voiceless merely afixed his gaze upon a foe, and killed them when he deemed their time forfeit.<br>
<br>
Torrin never expected these armored creatures and the wild fae to appear, realizing that she had to adapt to the situation on the spot lest she be overwhelmed. She ordered her skirmishers to focus entirely on the Vestati as her other warriors fought Adanach's with the intention to slow them down. The intent was to buy time for her more experienced warriors to flank them and to use superior positioning to destroy her foes. As the Vestati were pelted by many projectiles, the more zealous and experienced of the Harii moved into position for a flanking manuever from both sides. Zavastria managed to kill several of these warriors but overextended himself in the process, leading him to be surrounded. The spears and blades of the Harii lashed out, notching and bending the Vestati's armor, with pure hatred.<br>
<br>
Upon seeing her brother in arms in peril, Ystria charged to his aid but was also surrounded quickly by the Harii. She managed to hold them off, a thrown spear denting her helmet and blades cracking at her holy armor. Cut off from both the Voiceless and their barbarian allies, the two Vestati were starting to feel the immense pressure being put on them by the Harii. But from behind these warriors emerged a towering figure, his blade cutting through seven warriors in a single strike and scattering the mob that had surrounded the two. It was none other than Adanach, now donning a solduros armor and his direwolf helmet, his eyes still glowing as if once more blessed by Blaidd himself. He looked down upon the Vestati and - while not visible - they knew that the barbarian leader grinned, chuckling to himself at the fact that he had saved them. He then turned his attention to the rest of the Harii and charged without fear.<br>
<br>
Adanach's martial skill was unmatched, cutting down more warriors with ease before reaching the Voiceless and Rukkar, who were both butchering their way through the enemy horde. This allowed Bjorga to take control of the defenders with her leadership and ferocity; she managed to break through the Harii shield way and fell several attackers with her spear alone. But this did not stop Torrin from focusing on what mattered, for when she saw Adanach her heart filled with unbridled rage towards the man who was destroying everything she had ever worked for. Taking hold of a throwing spear, she hurled it at Adanach with deadly precision as it soared straight for his heart. Yet, to her shock, she saw Adanach grab the spear mid-air and her eyes widened as she met his haunting, glowing gaze. Adanach raised his blade at her and shouted at the top of his lungs in his native tongue: <b><span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)"><i>"BEIDH TU FINNE MO GHLOIR!"</i></span></b><br>
<br>
Torrin's shock then turned to rage again, the hatred fueling her as she desired to clash blades with him. But she wasn't stupid, and recognized now that this battle was no longer in her favor. She shouted the order to retreat, and her Harii warriors ran out of the warcamp by the hundreds back into the dark woods surrounding it. Only the most zealous remained, working as a rear guard to buy time for their comrades to escape but also as a means to die in glorious battle. Once the last of the attackers fell to Faska's blade, the defenders shouted in a pure, blood-fueled frenzy. They finally got what they wanted most: combat. <b><span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"BLAIDD!"</span></b> shouted Adanach, lifting the head of a dead half-orc warrior. <b><span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"YOU BROUGHT US GLORY!"</span></b> He howled and shouted with the rest of his army.<br>
<br>
Rukkar howled alongside the rest of the warriors, his body and hat caked with blood. He could feel his body grow stronger with the amount of blood he had taken in from combat. Bjorga watched with pride as her husband inspired his warriors. Faska left immediately, however, to return to his harem of concubines that he had been so rudely interrupted from tending to because of the attack. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"You did well, my love."</span> Bjorga said, patting her husband's shoulder. A still frenzied Adanach looked back with a manic grin.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"H-heh... heheh... hah... yeah, I did."</span> he muttered between tired breaths as the rush from adrenaline began to recede, bringing him back to reality. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"But this is only the beginning... the Gods are on our side. And we will not disappoint them."</span> Adanach looked around, surrounded by death and glory on this night.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span class="horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule-thick thick"></span>​</div><br>
When Dennor arrived at Adanach's last known location with his army, he found the barbarian war camp almost deserted. A scant few people remained within its borders, some of the defenses having been dismantled already, and those few that were still there were mainly some solduros protecting a few shrines and their slave warriors. Some wounded barbarians and a couple of druids tending to them also remained as they worked tirelessly to get them back in shape to both travel and fight. When asking for Adanach, Dennor was offered by a solduros to guide him to the site of their new camp.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><a href="https://www.rpnation.com/attachments/shrine-png.1143883/" target="_blank"><img src="https://www.rpnation.com/data/attachments/1081/1081012-52a89a03cebd10cfda394162c2a16b87.jpg" class="bbImage " style="" alt="shrine.png" title="shrine.png" width="268" height="100" loading="lazy"></a>​</div><br>
After several hours, Dennor would see the new encammpment in the distance right on the border of Mors Darak and Mors Gobonach. To enter, he had to walk through some sort of shrine, severed right arms hanging from twine upon racks of wood. The solduros explained that this was an offering to the Orcish god <b><span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Taighaz</span></b>, a blacksmithing and war deity that - according to druidic lore - was the main enemy of <b><span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Blaidd</span></b>, who bit off his right arm. The offerings on display are meant to calm the Orcish god and ask for his blessing even if Adanach and his chosen worship his sworn enemy. This warcamp was much more organized than the previous, as the defenses were more robust; the sentry towers were taller, and the men manning them were mroe numerous on all corners of the camp.<br>
<br>
From what Dennor had heard in recent reports, they had been attacked recently. And from what he could see, Adanach had learned from his previous mistake of allowing Torrin to attempt a sneak attack on such a scale. He was intent on not allowing his sentries to be butchered by the Harii like before. Inside the fort itself, Dennor would also see thousands of warriors preparing for war; archers were making new arrows, naked fanatics were sharpening their spears of painting deities on their shields, and the solduros were checking their armor and asked the druids for their blessings upon them. He could also see many wolves and hounds pace around teh camp, with blue woad painted on their furs.<br>
<br>
On finally arriving to Adanach's hut, he saw the barbarians sacrificing a man in front of a large tree; an Arantino man, who pleaded with the barbarians to spare him in exchange for secret knowledge. But whatever secrets the man held were forever lost as a female druid pulled his entrails out of his belly and lifted them in the air to read what signs she could discern from them. Were he a civilized knight, Dennor would have been disgusted by such a display; but as a mercenary, he was used to all the worst aspects of mortality, and looked even impressed at how brutal the act was. After witnessing the act of brutal augury, he was then led into the hut by a guard to signal that his audience had come.<br>
<br>
Inside, he was welcomed by a peculiar sight; all of Adanach's commanders and great warriors were inside. A few Solduros were being blessed by the druid Madanach, while Faska was sitting on a stool without a shirt on - having a female goblin druid paint holy symbols upon his green body while two members of his harem caressed him. Rukkar was also now donning solduros armor while sinking his redcap in a bucket of blood, and Adanach sat upon a pagan throne with two werewolves resting by his side like faithful hounds. Bjorga was in front of her husband, and Dennor was surprised to see three Vestati standing behind her. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"This fortress and tribe belongs to the orc chieftain Aidocugh, one of Torrin's more staunch followers. He has thousands of warriors and is known to subjugate the nearby goblin tribes."</span><br>
<br>
Catu emerged from the chest with writing supplies for Adanach. <span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">"Aye, sah! Even before Torrin named herself vergobet, Aidocugh was troublin' me kin sah!"</span><br>
<br>
Bjorga smiled as the small goblin talked. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Aye, I'm sure the nearby Orc and goblin tribes will thank us if we get rid of this filth."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"And we will..."</span> muttered Adanach, who was slouching on his throne with only a kilt adorning his body. His body was painted with holy symbols from woad, and when he saw Dennor stand by the doorway he grinned. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Well, well, well... the robber knight of our majesty the Viceroy! Got to hand it to ya, lad... most knights that enter the Druadach die fairly quickly. I doubt the fae treated you well in the Malenchanted Woods... guess that shows you are made of sterner stuff, eh?"</span> Adanach got up from his throne before pointing at his fwife. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"This is my wife, Bjorga... my love, this is... Bruennor? No... Dennor!"</span> Adanach looked happy with himself that he actually remembered the man's name.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"These three are Vestati, from our friend the Redeemer Prince... the cute one is Zavastria. The interesting one is Ystria. And this fella..."</span> he looked at the Voiceless for a moment. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...is gonna lead our holy Solduros in the upcoming battle."</span> He then turned his attention back to Dennor. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"So, what brings ya here friend? I distinctly remember ye being more fun than our shortness. Here to try to local drinks? The local men and woman?"</span> he then asked with a grin.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><blockquote data-attributes="member: 65408" data-quote="EdwardDewey98" data-source="post: 11857419" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11857419" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11857419">EdwardDewey98 said:</a>
			
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			I distinctly remember ye being more fun than our shortness.
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</blockquote>The journey to the Druadach had taken the better part of two weeks to get to where he wanted to be. Despite the obvious discomforts of travel, Dennor seemed more than pleased to be here at last in the way he carried himself.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Aw come now, he's not <i>that</i> bad. He's only half as boring as you think he is."</span> Dennor said with a smirk, looking around quickly for a moment before continuing. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Still, he gets the job done and gets me paid just - just the way I like things."</span> He turned his gaze over to the Vestati, moreso looking at the Voiceless before scoffing: <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Fuck me, you're a big bastard. What do they feed you?" </span>It was more a rhetorical question before turning his gaze back to Adanach: <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Officially, I'm here on diplomatic reasons. I believe we have a few matters to discuss regarding troop exchange and Arantino."</span> Dennor started, laying down his agenda first and foremost and being honest.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"And on <i>unofficial </i>capacity, I'm here to drink and whoremonger amongst the lads and lasses here and just have a bloody good time."</span> Dennor then said with a grin. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I've had my fill with halfling women for the time being. I'm more interested in being <i>adventerous</i>."</span> He wandered his gaze over to a nearby goblin lass, his interest piqued, before bringing it back to Adanach where he sat. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"All things considered, I think celebrations are in order. We <i>did </i>just wipe out a third of Lacans' northern army."</span><br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Adanach was curious about the diplomatic proposition of the Viceroy, but upon hearing the name of the Arantino Republic his face darkened for a moment. Deep wounds visibly surfaced as his mind trailed towards the hatred he felt for the realm that murdered his brothers. However, once Dennor started to talk about a having a bloody good time, Adanach's face softened and he smiled in response. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"I can see why you like him, love."</span> Bjorga grinned as she commented to her husband. <span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"But I'd watch out if I were you, Ser Knight. No matter the race, our Druadach women are fiery lovers."</span> Adanach nodded in agreement: <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Aye, southern men would fold like paper if they tried Druadach woman... I think I heard one of our Orc warriors say she crushed a Canarite soldier's pelvis once."</span> Bjorga's grin grew wider as she recalled the same story as well, almost laughing aloud.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"But at any rate, today ya won't be able to celebrate, brother."</span> Adanach pointed at his solduros. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"We are going to attack an enemy fortress today, before the sun sets. If we are victorious though, I'll make sure to reward ye with strong brews and the prettiest women of my tribe... for now, tell me, what does the Viceroy want from me? And I'll tell ye if I can help or not."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Dennor cocked an eyebrow when Adanach made mention of an enemy fortress, making it sound like he was along for the ride on that front. Not that he didn't mind the action, but was rather surprised to be included on the front lines already in that manner. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"The Viceroy is seeking two things. First, to have a raiding party join his own forces in the north of Lacans. He's heard the reports of how well they've performed already with the Redeemer Prince's oversight, and would see a raiding party in his own camp as a great boon to the campaign. He's willing to trade you bodies for it, as we've got quite a few prisoners rounded up after our most recent battle. We don't have the time to feed them, so they're better put to use with you in your own forces... if you'll have them."</span><br>
<br>
Seeking to get a better edge on the negotiation, he decided to flourish the details a bit more: <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Brave Lacanite soldiers and hoplites, having been ambushed and completely fucked with their pants down before they knew what was happening then. Worthy to make up for those you would send over to him."</span> With a smirk he then changed the subject to the second order of business. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Now the second order of business has to do with Arantino. Our Lacans campaign is already going quite well, and eventually we'll be turning north once they're dealt with. Now... the Viceroy knows that you have quite the bone to pick with Arantino."</span><br>
<br>
Putting his hands on his belt, he then prepared to give the proposition over to Adanach: <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Seeing as it is the target of your blood feud, the Viceroy would prefer if you were available to attack there too. Both as a tactical advantage, and as a gesture of goodwill so as to not deprive you of your revenge."</span><br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><a href="https://youtu.be/xI0EzTrfc4I?si=ADvTSQqOKRUzA8j2" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FxI0EzTrfc4I%3Fsi%3DADvTSQqOKRUzA8j2&amp;hash=0900b1545cb464b9162b1a30f2fdcd7f" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Considerations in Motion</a><br>​</div>Estro sat silently within his lair in the Bone Coast, his forces continuing to muster and prepare for their own moves. The Cult of Zo had been very busy but also very quiet. Stockpiles of supplies continue to be discreetly built up, including caches being built within Bolia itself now that trade was flowing between Saarus and Civiceria as favored nations. The Man of the Mountain was scheming as well, Estro knew that quite well enough at this point. He had allowed the flow of refugees in, but Estro had been very careful not to flood cult agents in that way. There would still be a trickle of them, likely some to be identified and followed. It was a game. The greatest game. The battle of wits.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">"My lord, our forces are ready. Kaula stands at our mercy,"</span> stated Valdin as he looks at the map that was currently resting upon the table. Markers showing the positions of force in Bolia, Kaula and the Bone Coast from what scouts and spies could report on top of Estro's own scrying.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"That bastard, Jakabo, has given us a gift even as he bloodies the nose of Briggun's armies," </span>Estro said grimly as he regards Kaula and its insufferable defender. It was bad enough that Cordia had also been struck by that privateer scum. Piantia had punched back impressively.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">"A gift?"</span> Valdin frowns and looks to his master in curiosity.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"They've unwittingly made my claims look more legitimate. That the Empire has need of those goods we're buying up. Supplies to feed our war as victory in the North extends our supply lines and these Southern setbacks mean we will need material from the Dominion to more rapidly recover losses. As Imperial Wizard, the success of those attacks enrage me, knowing that Briggun will be displeased if we falter here in the South. I had hoped to snatch Kaula for myself but I may have to reinforce Alexandre, make her success my own while I continue to work the Dominion,"</span> Estro explains as he drinks a cup of wine thoughtfully before setting it down.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Yet, we could woo the Dominion more, my lord,"</span> Balthazar says with a wide smile as he regards the pair he had been summoned to consult with. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Already we can hear the grumblings of the plebians. The Patricians are tempted by our suggestion to enslave all those hapless Piantian's already flowing in. Jastia is perfect for our needs to nudge those various elites into the right outlook to begin the tumble of social order. The rocks that start the avalanche."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"I admit I would prefer to increase the social pressures beyond Sergius' control. He's waiting and I'm starting to think he's playing me. His forces show no movement towards the  East. So he's waiting to be a vulture and snatch victory from us when we're weaker. He believes he can take us. He does have superior numbers. More reason to increase our influence over Bolia, it will seep into his ranks,"</span> Estro mused and sighed as he takes another drink of wine.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"We will have to see what Alexandre has planned to recover from this assault. Our forces are primed and ready, but we are patient. And our finest warriors could easily be sent to show the prowess of the cult to the masses in those gladiator games. A more subtle means of spreading Zero Origin. Let us see what comes. That will guide our next move."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">["Cute?"]</span> Zavastria said, his fists tightening. He glanced around at the room of barbarians before at last turning to Ystria. <span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[They continue to insult me, sister, and yet you call for patience. And all of this before some ill-bred mercenary of the Viceroy's horde. I am <i>not</i> cute! A knight of the prince's great legion is not cute!]"</span><br>
<br>
Ystria sighed, keeping her voice from rising in the presence of others. <span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">"[They mean it as a term of endearment... or something. You remember how those orcs handled you the night of our victory against that rival clan? They thought you a woman under there and-]"<br>
<br>
"["Oh, silence your filth. I dispatched them after reminding them to keep their hands away from divine blood.]"</span><br>
<br>
Ystria leaned her head in beside Zavastria, whispering.<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)"> ["Not the story I heard."]</span> The young Vestati swordmaster began to shake, but silence at had at last claimed him as he looked away and kept his remarks confined, fortunately, to his head. Ystria instead turned her attention back to the meeting so that she could hear the news from this Dennor fellow, and of their upcoming mission.<br>
<br>
<hr><br>
The aftermath of Ikono Manakles' ill-fated assault across the border was displayed well across the Kokarian countryside. Much of the fighting had, predictably, been centered near and around the main position of the Hallow Legion - a series of daunting fortifications occupying numerous rocky ridges overlooking more tame land that, in better times, had seen a calm pastoral lifestyle. Now, much of creek-ridden border was littered with the remains of Iskulian hoplites. After skirmishes breaking out across the wider territory, Lucafiel was pleased - and somewhat surprised - to discover the largest contingent of attackers were indeed planning to assault the primary defenses at the Akatorian castle which had served as his headquarters over the seasons. It was not a paltry objective, having been reinforced repeatedly with palisades, stone barriers, trench-pits, and spikes. It seemed that, rather than settle in for a lengthy campaign as the legion had intended, Manakles had ordered, and clearly expected, a decisive strike to drive them away. <br>
<br>
This was a miscalculation which had lost him a fair amount of troops and pride, and Lucafiel suspected the latter to be the most bitter outcome for his foe to swallow. Rather than a more orthodox attempt at utilizing siege equipment from afar to pummel their position, Lucafiel had watched with a mixture of interest and curiosity as the brave, albeit undoubtedly weakened, hoplites attacked the palisades with ladders and rams. After several failed attempts, the Redeemer Prince desired to see how the enemy would respond to a sally. This had proved the decapitating strike as several auxiliary cohorts ventured forth, girded by the Vestati knights who served in and among them as heavy infantry, and took the field by storm. What should have been an eager pitched battle degraded into a route for the Iskulians, who held only for some few hours over the course of a single fateful day. By sundown, a few hundred lay dead and wounded, the majority of which were the Iskulians who had been drawn out of their hills by the hubris of their commander. A grim mistake, but not one Lucafiel expected his foe to make again. <br>
<br>
Of the enemy dead, they were rolled down hill with poles and buried in mass pits there, their weapons and armor stripped and sent to reinforce the local settlements. Clothing was buried with the bodies under concern of the plague, and trophies were likewise isolated until they were deemed safe for handling. The remains of a burned, half-torn Iskulian banner surrounded a pile of bloodied helmets near the front gate of the Akatorian battlements, placed so that those across the border would see this permanent reminder of their defeat. As for the survivors, they were herded into cages that could be seen from across the border and taken care of, given meager rations under guard so that any illness would remain isolated; more importantly, this care was genuine in the sense that it showed the Iskulians what awaited those who surrendered. Not death, but a blanket, a warm fire, and a meal. Submission was the rational choice compared to fighting the determined legion of the Empire.<br>
<br>
Regardless, the time had at last come. Lucafiel had anticipated this sequence of events and planned accordingly, waiting for the right moment to press his attack against a foe who had bruised themselves against his position. Defeat was always bitter, the enemy would be momentarily exhausted, and fear would be at the height in the hearts of the people and soldiers alike. <br>
<br>
In a mere day after the conclusive battle had taken place, the bulk of the Hallow Legion was already on the march. <br>
<br>
<hr><br>
The general strategy of attack had been outlined to all commanders and sections over the previous season. Terrain was considered the foremost enemy in this campaign, and much care was given to deciding on which settlements to assault, overpass, or avoid altogether in tandem to the geographic reality of their surroundings. Certain hilltops, ridges, and bridges were considered priority based on the reports of their scouts. This was to secure freedom of movement as well as to deny it to the enemy. Likewise, of the settlements selected for attack, all but the most strategic were to be razed. Once again, this was a factor as a result of the plague, for the Vestati had no tolerance for any structure or people ill with it. <br>
<br>
With the usage of released prisoners, with their terms being to carry messages and letters into Iskulia, the Hallow Legion put forth simple terms to the people of Lacans. <br>
<br>
<i>The Empire has come to release these lands from the mismanagement of those who rule here. Those who do not take up arms will be spared. Those who give allegiance to Emperor Briggun will be rewarded. Those who raise hand and voice against Imperial forces will be destroyed. </i><br>
<br>
As an addendum, sent by more trusted prisoners or outright by Imperial messengers under a flag of parlay, some were directed towards wealthier estates and trading posts. The message to them included more pertinent information directed to the ruling class of Lacans.<br>
<br>
<i>All slaves are to be freed by decree of the Imperial polity within the whole of Lacans. However, those who give immediate loyalty to the Empire and provide all service and assistance to Imperial forces will be considered friends of the Empire and granted this opportunity to keep their slaves. Those who remain on the sidelines will have their labor halved and taxed. Those who resist will have their labor emancipated.</i><br>
<br>
This was, in effect, a ploy to stall the aristrocracy of the region into limiting their assistance to their leaders. Lucafiel knew very well few if any would become immediate turncoats. But by offering them a punishment, but a livable alternative, it was his hope that they would delay enough in a sense of self-preservation to keep as many of their slaves as possible; further, he would still be following Briggun's orders by freeing slaves, simply by his own numerical choice, while securing the loyalty of those most motivated by their own profit and punishing those too loyal to Lacans.<br>
<br>
<hr><br>
With the Hallow Legion already crossing the border, Lucafiel rode his armored unicorn alongside his staff officers as they approached a small village on their first route of advance. He could hear the horns of his legion communicating - or exchanging battlefield orders - in the difficult hilly terrain surrounding them for miles. Already, scouts had surveyed this position and the skirmishers, many of whom were the barbarian auxiliairies, had initiated the attack on this Iskulian village of Kalospiti.<br>
<br>
A Yakal officer approached him, his section already tearing through the village and dispatching the few defenders who mustered a heroic, but tragic, last stand in the town square. The soldier bowed, then looked up at the soulmask of his prince. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Your Grace, the village has been taken. The markets are thin and some homes already empty, and of the people who were ordered to remain in their homes, we suspect numerous families to be harboring at least one person afflicted with plague."</span> How much of this was natural, or the result of the legion's deliberate efforts to raid the countryside to disrupt their health and economy over the seasons, was uncertain.  <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Your approximation of the remaining citizens of this settlement, lieutenant? How many?"</span> Lucafiel asked. This was still the first day. The territory was poor here, the people not yet having the chance to hastily flee. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"About two hundred souls, Your Grace. Much of them elderly, women, and children. The more able-bodied are liable to have already gone to war or fled. We have found the town armory to already be empty, save for some spears for the watchmen we have slain,"</span> the Yakal explained. <br>
<br>
Lucafiel nodded. His gaze swept across the area, taking in the delightful white-plaster homes and their orange or ochre tile-rooftops. Most of the homes were thatched, but the central village itself had seen some pride, and he could see banisters hosting small boxes of flowers. These few dots of color, of blues and yellows, reminded Lucafiel of a previous time in his life long, long ago when he had seen a similar display in another world and time. Flowers. They seemed to appear every where, perhaps following him in his life. They were delightful things, yet cursed to be taken from their fields and given over to containment in vases before their inevitable demise in the dark. <br>
<br>
His eyes at last settled on some more distant structures on the outskirts on the village of Kalospiti. Two large barns. Large enough to keep the local cattle for cold winters. <br>
<br>
He considered this for a moment before glancing back down at the officer, the light of the sun glinting off his mask with the movement. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Empty the barns. Slaughter the livestock for increased rations, add the rest to the train,"</span> he said. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Afterwards, assemble as many townsfolk as you can within them. Bar the doors. Burn them down. Spare only the households which show no sign of illness and pledge eternal allegiance to the Empire. For the next week, none are to leave the village to mitigate the spread of any remaining animalcules within tainted blood. All survivors will then adhere to the standard occupation doctrine as they are integrated."</span><br>
<br>
The officer saluted and disappeared to carry off his order. Lucafiel and his staff waited while a full cohort advanced down the road, bypassing the village and carrying on ahead, while the few sections here combed the countryside, burning scattered homesteads. When time at last came for them to advance, Lucafiel paused at one of the village houses on the road with flowers on the window sill. The window itself had been broken in, and he could see the remains of an overturned table with pottery dashed upon the ground inside. <br>
<br>
The Reedemer Prince reached out and plucked one small blue flower from the banister. He held the flower aloft between two fingers, twirling it about somewhat. He glanced back at his nearest staff and guardians. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"I'm rather reminded of the pacification of the Dekkanofen, some three or four centuries ago. The High Council was in recess those years, I believe, and Veradine was the presiding Warmaster. Blue and gold. Oh, how those colors struck awe in those mortals. I recall being in awe myself, admittedly. Her guardians were among our best," </span>Lucafiel said, his voice wistful. He tucked the flower into a corner of his breastplate. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"A shame she remained a loyalist. A whore to the Forbidden One to the end, but she could organize an effective genocide."</span><br>
<br>
Several others nodded along, caught about in the reminiscing. Those were good years at the time. Still, some of the junior Vestati who had made it into the ranks of the staff who were born after the Fall had no way to relate, but the elder Vestati were not intending to leave them isolated. Lucafiel and some associates picked a few more flowers and bestowed them upon their youngest until several knights were adorned in roses of blue and yellow. <span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">"Ah, how delightful. If only we had won you your wings. One day, we shall have them back,"</span> Lucafiel remarked, cupping the soulmask of a young knight. After a moment, they continued down the road, joining the army on the march. <br>
<br>
On the horizon behind them, two barns began to burn.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">A shadeling emerged from the shadows near Falwyn's tent. Falwyn turned with a quick glare, she was used to such creatures easily being able to be burnt away by the light of her breath. Such creatures were little more then beasts, but a nightmares were the associates Falwyn worked with these days. What suprised her was the Shadeling bearing the banner of Baba Voyka. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Yes?"</span> Falwyn asked.<br>
<br>
The messanger Ziman unfurled a letter, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I bring a letter from Baba Voyka."</span><br>
<br>
Falwyn snatched the letter in a quick greedy motion.<br>
<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 64549" data-quote="Damian0358" data-source="post: 11855945" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11855945" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11855945">Damian0358 said:</a>
			
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			To Falwyn Tholmar I had already made plans to head east to aid you in your efforts in Ysaval, so I shall make my trek eastward as soon as possible. I will send my messenger Ziman to ensure we can communicate swiftly when it comes to the release of the earthworks' flood so that my men are not swept under its waves too. He will carry my banner with him as proof. Given your intents northward into Gantar, leaving Ysaval to you makes all the sense, and enables me to further aid in the campaign in Erevan. May the upcoming battle prove fruitful.<br>
<br>
Yours Truly,<br>
Baba Voyka
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		<div class="bbCodeBlock-expandLink js-expandLink"><a role="button" tabindex="0">Click to expand...</a></div>
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</blockquote><br>
Falwyn grew a thin smile as she read. First of the aid that would be received, then of the assurance of no contesting of her rule. She had reached out to the right person. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Thank you Ziman. We will unleash the flood of the vale in a weeks time.. assuming that can be fed along precisely by you in a timely manner?" </span>Falwyn asked inquistively. The shadeling messanger gave a nod. <br>
<br>
Falwyn quickly began preparations after receiving the confirming letter from Baba. Orders went out to her various commanders and her lord and lady concubines soon had the units forming up into disciplined sections. A wooden platform was erected allowing for Falwyn to have a step above the rest as various wooden logs that had been accumalated from the lumber camps of the companies began pilling high. As the companies marched up she looked towards her long standing trusted advisors. Linota standing amongst one of the companies closest gave her a nod, that meant as far as her intel went no spys from the enemy had infiltrated. She gave a quick peck to the lips then ruffled the hair of her beloved Mia who stood nearby the stage as Falwyn began to stride upwards, the girl still had some anxiety from the past defeat. Who could blame her in the way that Cannar had fell. If Falwyn did too her sweet treasure would be shattered beyong repair, all of them would. Falwyn waited atop the platform waiting until her Marshal, Dawnguard came striding forward. He gave a nod to Falwyn who now stood on the erected platform before turning on his heels announcing with a booming voice trained for years,<span style="color: rgb(226, 80, 65)"> "Behold, the word of the Dragonlord!"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"We are about to partake in our first great conquest together! Initially I underestimated our opponent. The viper sunk his teeth in our advances into Yasval as his disorganized skirmishing slowly picked us apart. This will no longer be as so. For that dispersed force will meet four things. First, the righetous fire of the Tholmar bloodline! Second, the flood of the vale who will wash away their sin in refusing our guidance! Third, the flanking dagger of the great witch of the empire! And the most important, the might of your hearts and Steel! We come to take our first step in glorious conquest." </span><br>
<br>
Falwyn spoke with passion as she announced their grand conquest. She thought with a postive hope that any minstrels in the crowd would take notes on her words and find ways to encorporate them into their ballads. Falwyn's passion ignited her men's hearts and that was something she could see brightly. The cheers slowly growing after every point announced filled into her visions of dominion.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"The might of the Tholmar name and legacy is carried by your actions. This is my destiny. To establish order and peace to a disunified realm. To whipe away chaos from a disorganized realm. And you all slowly earn a place in the righteous conquest that will be told for the ages. But let us not delay on the importance of tonight. The feast for heroes!"</span><br>
<br>
Falwyn's voice boomed as she transformed into her golden dragon form, her skin turning into its mettalic scales as she grew. Her legs digged into the wooden platform of the stage as she rose flying up and unleashed her breath igniting the bonfire in one motion. The true merriment began after this with music being played from various areas of her explorations in years prior, and rations that had been gathered from the countryside in the past months being distrupted in abundance. They needed to remember indulgence, as was the way of golden horde. Glory was to be rembered and cherished.<br>
<br>
Falwyn kept her eyes peeled throughout that night, even in her moments of lustful indulgence with one of her concubines. A raid before the grand plan was set into motion could have caused a disruption that would be hard to repair. Luckily it seemed the viper was set on being entrenched.<br>
<br>
When the day of battle finally came as the earthworks released the flood her men advanced in an organized fashion as they had before. Unlike before the familiarity of the terrain by the skirmishers fell apart as their scattered units slowly became separateed by the flood. Falwyn flew with glee her breath slowly evaporizing pocket after pocket as she occasionally snatched a man with her own bare teeth munching on the organs and blood with a feast of indulgence. Her men organized with strong formations pushed. Everything red and orange, and her forces surged. Last time they had been the ones caught unaware. This time they were the predators fighting a cornered prey. Some of those prey put up decent fights, but as they came to the end of their paths they were consumed by the raging fire of Falwyn and her forces. She heard the men as they threw away their arms and pleaded for mercy. It mattered little in this state. They had taken arms against her. <i>THEY</i> had chose this. This was Falwyn's domain, her subjects, her treasures, and today her carnage. <br>
<br>
As the lust for battle began to fade away Falwyn began to reorganize forces. From reports from her Marshal Titus Dawnguard, Kande had managed to lead a crossing with some of his forces. A small contigent of civilians had escaped with them as well hoping to make their way towards the capital as Kande drew a fallback line. They had little notice to the impending battle that lay ahead with Baba. Falwyn hoped the witch was as proficent as was claimed. Without a total defeat of Kande he would be able to recieve support to push her back, and the contacts that had been made with the east would soon be paying their worth. <br>
<br>
All she could now do was begin instructing the her new people of their rightful leadership, and begin entrenching herself into her new domain as she awaited for words from the witch.<br>
<br>
Across villages and towns conquered she would begin giving speech after speech echoing a calming message, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I come as tyrant, but be not afraid..."<br>
<br>
"I come bringing a new age of order and peace..."<br>
<br>
"The glory of the Tholmar bloodline brings forth a new age..."<br>
<br>
"You only need pay the correct tribute and show due respect to your rightful ruler..."<br>
<br>
"You can forge your own legacy under the banner of the dragon..."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: null">What the people made of these messages only time would tell. </span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Adanach sat on his throne again as Dennor explained the Viceroy's proposal. He wasn't surprised that he was asking for a raiding party, as everything seemed to be seeking just the same. Druadach mettle seemed to be in high demand these days! But the mention of Arantino afterwards soured Adanach's expression again and continued to give Dennor an annoyed look as he explained the Viceroy's perspective on the republic and its eventual conquest. His grip on the throne tightened once Dennor was done explaining and he gave the mercenary a hateful look. But before he could do something stupid, his wife's soothing voice forced him to snap out of it.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">"Adanach, my dear, please relax... save the anger for the coming battle."</span><br>
<br>
Adanach sighed, realizing the folly of getting angry at Dennor for he was only the Viceroy's arm in these matters. Such flares would not serve anyone or accomplish anything at this time. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Listen here..."</span> Adanach muttered, before signalling the Vestati and his other commanders to get closer. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Nothing would bring me more pleasure than destroying the capital of Arantino and butchering the Doge. But ultimately... what matters more? Revenge? Or to protect my people? Our way of life?"</span> He looked at his commanders, knowing full well that his faithful Solduros would agree with this sentiment, with the exception of Rukkar who bore no flag and only cared for death.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"If I go north and enact my vengeance... what will happen with Mors Denoch? Mors Senoch? That Dalatians and the Kushare?"</span> he then mused aloud, starting his response to Dennor officially. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I'll tell you what happens... I would leave them at the mercy of madmen! If the wicked Dwarf finally gets his hold of the Alemanni kingdom, he would descend upon the nomadic tribes of Mors Denoch and butcher them like he did in the past! And my birthplace, Mors Senoch, would be at the mercy of three wicked banshees. Baba Voyka would butcher our people, that weird clown woman would spread her madness among the tribes, and that golden dragon bitch would simply add them to her collection like the greedy monster she is."</span><br>
<br>
Adanach slouched over his throne again, letting out an exhausted sigh. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"...Borok is fine though. But I cannot just put my hopes that a fellow heathen, a lizardman, can control the wild tribes of Mors Senoch. I heard he and his kin 'ate elves... and while some tribes and myself are not strangers to eating fellow man and mer... to do it just to satisfy one's hunger is madness. It is embracing the worst aspects of the wild deities."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">After her final preparations, Voyka made her last check-ins with her Dark Lord, Borok and Yz, in case they had any matters to speak with her prior to her heading east, but all she received were good wishes to her success, practically speaking. Affairs in order, and her camp packed, she and her men trekked to the border of Sabersval to Ysaval, and into Ysaval itself.<br>
<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 92403" data-quote="turtwigwins" data-source="post: 11857911" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Thank you Ziman. We will unleash the flood of the vale in a weeks time.. assuming that can be fed along precisely by you in a timely manner?" </span>Falwyn asked inquistively. The shadeling messanger gave a nod.
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During her trek, Ziman would appear to her once more, only to assure where the location of battle would be, before returning to Falwyn to be able to communicate when the earthworks would be released. While overconfidence could kill, Voyka felt assured that this upcoming battle would be swift. Falwyn had hopefully learned her mistake from her last encounter with Abdolon, and in the heat of battle, facing dragon and flood, the last thing he would think of is the enemy having reinforcements. As they approached the location of battle, Voyka already began explaining what route they would take to her men. <br>
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			When the day of battle finally came as the earthworks released the flood her men advanced in an organized fashion as they had before. Unlike before the familiarity of the terrain by the skirmishers fell apart as their scattered units slowly became separateed by the flood. Falwyn flew with glee her breath slowly evaporizing pocket after pocket as she occasionally snatched a man with her own bare teeth munching on the organs and blood with a feast of indulgence. Her men organized with strong formations pushed. Everything red and orange, and her forces surged. Last time they had been the ones caught unaware. This time they were the predators fighting a cornered prey. Some of those prey put up decent fights, but as they came to the end of their paths they were consumed by the raging fire of Falwyn and her forces. She heard the men as they threw away their arms and pleaded for mercy. It mattered little in this state. They had taken arms against her. <i>THEY</i> had chose this. This was Falwyn's domain, her subjects, her treasures, and today her carnage. <br>
<br>
As the lust for battle began to fade away Falwyn began to reorganize forces. From reports from her Marshal Titus Dawnguard, Kande had managed to lead a crossing with some of his forces. A small contigent of civilians had escaped with them as well hoping to make their way towards the capital as Kande drew a fallback line. They had little notice to the impending battle that lay ahead with Baba. Falwyn hoped the witch was as proficent as was claimed. Without a total defeat of Kande he would be able to recieve support to push her back, and the contacts that had been made with the east would soon be paying their worth. <br>
<br>
All she could now do was begin instructing the her new people of their rightful leadership, and begin entrenching herself into her new domain as she awaited for words from the witch.
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Soon, it was time for battle. Ziman, noting how long it would take to stealthily travel from Falwyn to Voyka on the day of battle, managed to correctly guess when to depart from the former to arrive at the latter just as the earthworks were released, with a scout confirming it shortly after. Her men got into position, preparing an ambush on the retreating enemy force, repeating her mantra to her men: "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Round up the sharp ears, slaughter the rest!</span>"<br>
<br>
The battle that followed thereafter was just as bloody as Falwyn's initial attack. The enemy had been caught completely offguard, and the civilians were not spared by the attack either. It had been a complete and utter blowout.<br>
<br>
As her men enslaved the elves that had survived and hunted down the remaining bits of Abdolon's forces, she approached the surrounded and defeated Kande Abdolon. Given he was a human, and doubly so the enemy commander, she could swiftly him executed right then and there, but she recognized she would be robbing the glory of a particular colleague by doing so. Kande had been Falwyn's 'rival' in this early section of the campaign, so it only made sense to discuss with her what his fate would be. She told her men to tie him up and make him captive.<br>
<br>
Once everything was in order on her end, she and her men began their trek to Falwyn's camp, to inform her of the good news.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">A bitter wind settled over the Voivode's encampment like a pall of corpses lit ablaze. It groaned through the camp, tents wrinkling, piling sand at the foot of rocks, breathing heat on the backs of the men under Izaak's stewardship. The general sat in the centre, tattered tarp underneath, next to the faded embers of a brazier from the night before. The Night brought no comfort in its cold darkness, no respite from the desert's wrathful heat during the Day. Izaak knew, having felt the chill down his spine once long ago. A few of his men, the fresh faced ones, were less prepared for the icy caress that would've felt like their blood was freezing. <br>
<br>
Izaak had been meditating. His sword the focal point, where his concentration gathered. The wicked edged blade bore no name — it, like many of Izaak's armaments, were forged of bone. Fashioned from the skeleton of a fabled predator through mystical means, the carnage it unleashes when drawn had to be seen. A dark blade, It was the length of a long-sword, though that can be altered by its master, with an azure stone set in its cross-guard. Thousands of sand grains landed on the blade's face only to be shivered off as Izaak's weapon drummed against the ground. Suddenly, it shot up. It stood there in the air, holding no considerations for the laws of reality, its blue eye bore down on Izaak as if judging the warrior. He closed his fist and dismissed the blade within the leather scabbard, sheathing itself in a ghost-like manner. <br>
<br>
His mind had swam in the lakes of peace, the solace found in the cool waters. He enjoys the silence from within, more so than the raucous chaos from the without, only ever goaded out of his trance by ambition or incessant interruption. This time was a mix of both. He sensed the shuffle of feet through the sand towards him, their shadows drawing them on. He rose, seeing his advisors before him, hoods drawn over their heads.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: #f2d770">Have you begun?</span>" Izaak rasped, throat dry and hard. "Y-yes, milord" One hooded man replied, prompting only a nod from his master. "I just don't see the value in gathering the shadelings. Surely, if we atta—" Antonas began. "<span style="color: #f2d770">We could be done with Miraq and Zomach, the land ours, I know.</span>" Izaak said before he could continue. "<span style="color: #f2d770">These dark beings who gave of themselves to Kolthix were lowly creatures otherwise, but he had forged them into a people of strength, determination, and cunning. He may be gone, though I know not where he is or if he is truly alive, but his people must be tended. I've seen their fire and deemed it worthy. As for the Miraqi, let them stew in the fear, let their minds dream up atrocities yet to be, that is more macabre than any flailed skull or meat-shield. That, rather than urgency, is why I've chosen to assimilate them.</span>" Izaak finished, letting the words hang in the air. "<span style="color: #f2d770">Also, once folded, they will be treated as equals to our men. They are not mindless puppets to be taunted and played with, I've seen how some of our soldiers treat the undead. Make no mistake, they will eat you if you do.</span>"<br>
<br>
Another hooded figure spoke up. "All well and fine, milord. But what if the Sultan sends an alay, a regiment to reinforce Zomach?"<br>
<br>
Izaak paused before replying, whether if he was considering his answer or debating if it deserved one at all was unclear. Then he spoke. "<span style="color: #f2d770">The Sultan is an opportunistic man. He'd have no doubt heard the reports of attacks across the regions. He will send reinforcements, of that I've no doubt, but they will not be overwhelmingly. I take it his greed already has him salivating at assaulting Erevan once Voyka and Borok are through with it, a deal with the victors affair. Mobilising armies takes time and organisation.</span>" Izaak concluded, recalling the meeting with Briggun about their duties. "<span style="color: #f2d770">With haste, we will have bolstered our own by the time they arrive or conquer Miraq anyway.</span>"<br>
<br>
"What of the wizard?" Demetra's soft voice raised an important question. "<span style="color: #f2d770">I have suspicions, but should he appear again, there will be no parley. Swiftly done.</span>" Izaak issued, with no falter in his voice. For the mage, that was all she needed. <br>
<br>
The advisors and his lieutenants bowed their heads and began dispersing to issue their own orders. But, before Antonas or Demetra peeled away entirely, Izaak spoke. "<span style="color: #f2d770">Antonas, be well and vigilant. Zomach may grow mad at the twilight.</span>" The knight caught a stone in his throat then saluted, rapping his gauntlet fist against his chest.<br>
<br>
Further away, Antonas spoke furtively to Demetra. "I still have my doubts about this whole... Decision." He breathed, letting his displeasure known. Demetra half-turned, features obscured by the cowl, a single eye visible, gleaming thinly with power. "If you were in the envoy of another general, they may have had your head for your words." "No, they wouldn't, would they?" "Confident." The silence grew between them, until Demetra spoke again. "I was here before you came under his service. I saw the man he was then. When he first became the Voivode, all too often he worried and second-guessed his decisions. Now, he seldom does so, letting each one live or die as it was meant. He has said that the right to judge him was always ours, you know." Antonas stopped walking, taking in Demetra's words. "Well, I have some thinking to do then..." "Don't let all that thinking distract you too much now." A faint chuckle was heard on the wind as they split off and the bristle of a wounded knight's ego.<br>
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 (Action Taken: Investigating Lead: <b>Picking up the Pieces</b>)</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">The response had been expected as a potential roadblock, given what Declan had confided to Dennor; as he listened to the barbarian warlord speak, he remained in place and unmoving as he kept his full attention to Adanach's reasonings. Dennor didn't particularly care about things such as 'traditions' and 'ways of life', given his own proclivities and nature. Yet, he would have to continue to negotiate around that as though he <i>did</i>, lest he not only fail at the job given to him by Declan but also likely be relieved of his head in this warcamp. Preferring to remain in the mortal world, he cleared his throat as he spoke.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Understandable. I wouldn't want my puckered cheeks anywhere close to that hag."</span> he remarked with regards to Baba Voyka. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"And the jester? Well, I consider myself an adventurous type but from what I've heard that is a one-way ticket to getting my throat slit under the covers."</span> He has only met, or rather seen, Yz once and a feeling of unease drowned him when he laid eyes upon that... thing. Yet, that didn't spare it from his tongue's own colourful recounts and insults of their character. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I'm probably too ugly for the drake-lord, so she'd incinerate me."</span><br>
<br>
He let out a chuckle at the minor self-deprecation before continuing on. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Which is why I'm also authorized to deliver an additional proposal, given your concerns. The Viceroy would honour a pact where, in the case you do turn north, then he will help you conquer the lands of your people should they fall into the hands of said unsavoury bastards after the Northern realms fall."</span> Dennor then presented as an additional choice. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Don't worry about disappointing his shortness if you decide to refuse. He knows when to not press certain matters. You won't hear of this again if you also turn this down."</span><br>
<br>
He then raised his hands up, half-jokingly: <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"And don't shoot the messenger. I've got plenty of drinking and fucking to live for."</span><br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"And of course, Swybeck rushes head long into the fray against the Blade... Idiocy.</span>" muttered Veno, as she read over the parchment in her hand.<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)"> "He would have been further humiliated had our more aquatic foe decided to get involved as well."</span><br>
<br>
Eventually, the drow sighed. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"I understand him. I know he wants to return his people home, as quickly as possible. However, careful steps must be taken. Advantages need to be sought out. Neither of us, from what I've seen, are equipped for open warfare except against ill prepared foes. These are well prepared."</span> she soon stated aloud, to really just herself.<br>
<br>
However, she would soon find herself in conversation with an actual person. A guard poked their head in, before speaking themself. "My lady, we've received word that our allies to the east aren't fairing well."<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Of course."</span> she responded, lifting her head from the document and gazing at the guard. <span style="color: rgb(61, 142, 185)">"Have word sent to Swybeck. We need to have a meeting, and get on the same page."</span><br>
<br>
The guard nodded, before disappearing through the curtain. Veno frowned, before looking back to the letters nearby on the map table. At least Cordia needed to be convinced to join her, if they were to eliminate Maldaryn and remove that particular pawn from play. A combined attack from Veno, Swybeck, and Cordia would likely obliterate her fleet, and allow for control of the waters around Weildach. From the waters, they could later launch attacks on Weildach's shores and inland. Stair step their invasion, and <i><b>use every advantage possible.</b></i><br>
<br>
Soon, while waiting on word from Swybeck, Veno began to pen another letter to Cordia. Inviting her to cause some carnage at Weildach's shores as a more unified force. If the northerners could do it, why couldn't they?</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">"<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">YOU ABSOLUTE CRETINS!</span>" The Banshee captain shrieked from her cabin. The news of her ships sinking while the enemy got away with minor damages was an embarassment. "<span style="color: rgb(65, 168, 95)">WHEN I DRAGGED YOU UP FROM THE DEPTHS I IMBUED YOU WITH THE ABILITY TO INFLICT PAIN AND SUFERING TO THOSE WHO STRIKE AT YOU! WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU SCARED THEM SLIGHTLY INTO A HIT AND RUN!</span>" A bold of dark magic flew from her hand and slammed into one of the crew that was dragged there. His body collided with the wall behind him and shattered. The captain turned her back to them with hands on her waist. She couldn't look at them in disgusts. "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">I should have all your heads for this. But I don't have the luxuty of that.</span>" She looked at the men briefly again "<span style="color: rgb(97, 189, 109)">Go to the lower decks and await my decision on what to do with you.</span>" <br>
<br>
The reports started to come in and now Cordia was in an uneasy situation. Any move could be salvation or offer short-term gain with long term disaster. As much as she would want to commit to the obvious targets, she paused. One was on land where her men would be hard-pressed to do anything. The other was gaining strength and had a severe advantage on her. She needed allies. Dependable ones. As she thought, one of her crows returned. It carried the seal from the spymaster. Reading the letter, Cordia found that Veno was once again requesting aid. The banshee looked to her map and looked to the piece that represented the Maldaryn fleet. A force that stood between them in the waves. It would present itself a severe issue in her back if she faced the Torpedo again. The reverse is also true, but this presented itself an opportunity she would be ill-advised to pass up. <br>
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Cordia picked up her pen and wrote her response. <br>
<br>




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			To the Imperial Spymaster, Veno <br>
<br>
I accept your offer. My flank needs to be secure and your waters need to be calm to aid your invasions. You will have ships at your disposal.<br>
<br>
See you soon on the waves.<br>
Captain Cordia
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Adanach looked Dennor in the eyes as the man spoke, a chuckle escaping from the warlord when he talked about Yz. Managing to amuse the warlord was no small feat to achieve, no small thanks to Dennor's roguish charm. But as he explained the Viceroy's proposal, Adanach visibly grew more serious once more. The truth was that he couldn't find it in him to trust Southerners and those who call themselves "civilized", as he and his people were once already betrayed by a seemingly benevolent benefactor. Such misplaced trust ended with the deaths of his brothers and clansmen. In the years since leaving the woods, his clan had been eradicated by the crusaders of Erevan and Poggost with only Briggun's darkness spreading having forced them to stop their war against the Druadach.<br>
<br>
How could he trust the Viceroy, who was a part of Canar's nobility and he who was already known as a betrayer and one who looked down upon the barbarians? But, perhaps Dennor was right and the Viceroy was willing to help Adanach should the other commanders set foot in the Druadach perhaps in exchange for keeping the Republic of Arantino under his control. Adanach signed before looking at Dennor: <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Tell the Viceroy he'll have his raiders. Wolflings, the most brutal of my army... I'll take the slaves, and make the most of them as battle thralls. As for the proposition... tell the Viceroy I'll need time to consider this. But should I conquer Mors Darak and the Uthgaardians in time, I shall cross the Druadach da Loch to invade Arantino's eastern coast. After that, he and the Redeemer Prince can debate what to do with Lorei."</span></div>
				
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<br>
Falwyn reclined upon the expansive bed, swiftly transported as the camp commenced its entrenchment. Her head found a comfortable resting place upon Leon Thomme's lap, while he leaned back in silent repose against the bed's platform. Falwyn had taken an aerial view earlier and seen part of the carnage that had occured as Kande's retreating forces had been forced into a slaughter against the witch. This was further confirmed by the words that were spoken as Mia Levoran walked into the tent confirming with her divination.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"The witch has slaughtered the remaining forces of Kande who were able to retreat from our initial adavance."</span> Mia said with a confident tone her hands on her hips. <span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">"They were ruthless in their slaughter, but seemed keen on taking elven slaves." </span>She said it her voice raised in question at the end of her report.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Thank you, Mia,"</span> Falwyn acknowledged calmly. She slowly rose from her reclined position to return to her duties. Falwyn then efficiently transitioned from her relaxed attire of silk to her white-armored garb, adorned with pauldrons and subtle ornamentation. She gave a small grin to Mia who was blushing as she finished her transformation. Despite having been in bed with her for countless nights she still got flustered over the little things like Falwyn changing in front of her. <br>
<br>
Her new attire bespoke both strength and purity, the pristine white cloth unstained by the blood spilled in battle moments before. Meanwhile, Falwyn's cooks busied themselves with preparations for Baba's arrival, arranging tables with an array of food and drink, each detail meticulously attended to, for presentation held its own importance even in the midst of war.<br>
<br>
Falwyn summoned a contingent of knights that had sworn under her banner. They came from a variety of ancestries, but were proud of their service to the Dragonlord. What was important was they conformed their unit to a standard set of practices, and they mainly practiced under Cannarian tradition. Falwyn wanted discipline, but one of the best things to have in your collection was diversity. Individual cohesive units that togther led to a force that led to unpredictibality for the opponent. They bore the banner of the golden dragon on the tips of banners as they rode out breifly away from camp to welcome the witch.<br>
<br>
Falwyn would approach on her white stallion at the head of her column giving a shout as she approached the upcoming force. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Hail, Great Witch Voyka!"</span><br>
<br>
Falwyn would give the witch a nod of the head as she approached closer her voice down to a normal tone, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"It seems all went well in your advance from the east. I took a view from the sky and it was a grand slaughter."</span> She'd give a small laugh flashing a smile towards Voyka.<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "Come on, lets talk and ride."</span> She'd slowly turn her horse around walking in pace with Baba,<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "I hope you and your men worked up an appetite, my chefs have been preparing for a good feast. The righetous deserve a good sating in their belly for their service to the Saarus empire.</span>" A few moments would pass as she awaited responses before changing to a more discussive matter, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Don't suppose that you happened to catch the viper? I was hoping to see if I could use him a guide as a guide for the deserts, The man is quite resourceful. Could also be a good figurehead in getting the people back into productive work. Thats all if he's alive... and cooperative."  </span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Voyka's force arrived uniformly toward Falwyn's camp, seemingly ready to set up their own camp nearby, with Voyka herself riding upon her goat stead at the front. Upon hearing the hail from a distance, she raised her hand and her signature smile appeared. Today was a good day.<br>
<br>




<blockquote data-attributes="member: 92403" data-quote="turtwigwins" data-source="post: 11859858" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch">
	
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			Falwyn would give the witch a nod of the head as she approached closer her voice down to a normal tone, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"It seems all went well in your advance from the east. I took a view from the sky and it was a grand slaughter."</span> She'd give a small laugh flashing a smile towards Voyka.
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"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">It had gone beyond well, all thanks to your efforts,</span>" Voyka returned the smile with her own, with praise added on top.<br>
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			<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "Come on, lets talk and ride."</span> She'd slowly turn her horse around walking in pace with Baba,<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "I hope you and your men worked up an appetite, my chefs have been preparing for a good feast. The righetous deserve a good sating in their belly for their service to the Saarus empire.</span>"
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Voyka nodded in response to the proposed walk-and-talk, the two dames on their steads talking. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">My men are famished, so the night would've been long had we prepared our own feast,</span>" Voyka explained, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">so thank you for shouldering the burden of the feast.</span>"<br>
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			...changing to a more discussive matter, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Don't suppose that you happened to catch the viper? I was hoping to see if I could use him a guide as a guide for the deserts, The man is quite resourceful. Could also be a good figurehead in getting the people back into productive work. Thats all if he's alive... and cooperative."  </span>
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"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Ah, the very matter I wanted to discuss,</span>" Voyka gave her infamous grin, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">we had taken him captive. He's tied up in the back as we speak,</span>" she explained plainly.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Were circumstances different, I would have beaten and choked him to death in the field myself. We have no need to send any more messages to Erevan as we had with Farandel, especially not so with our Dark Lord present, and there's nothing that should've spared him death in battle like the elves do with Veno's requests... but there was,</span>" Voyka elaborated before looking directly into Falwyn's eyes, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">that being the fact he was <i>your</i> rival in this early part of the campaign.</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">It didn't seem right to me to rob you of the opportunity to decide his fate,</span>" she stated, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">so tonight you get to decide whether he joins your captivity or remains in mine. Though I can imagine you know what'll happen if he remains with me,</span>" Voyka finished with a twisted grin.</div>
				
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			<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Tell the Viceroy he'll have his raiders. Wolflings, the most brutal of my army... I'll take the slaves, and make the most of them as battle thralls. As for the proposition... tell the Viceroy I'll need time to consider this. But should I conquer Mors Darak and the Uthgaardians in time, I shall cross the Druadach da Loch to invade Arantino's eastern coast. After that, he and the Redeemer Prince can debate what to do with Lorei."</span>
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</blockquote>Dennor gave a nod to Adanach, wordlessly giving his response to the matter; if anything, he was more than relieved with the response he had gotten as he wouldn't have to listen to Declan voice his disappointment or complain over rejection. The drama of politics was lost on a man as unambitious and material as he was to the world in his immediate. Plus, it also meant that their two factions would be growing closer together which - in turn - meant that he would get to spent more time enjoying the luxuries of the savages. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I'll send a raven out. The Lacanites will be shipped over soon after. In the meantime..."</span> Dennor then said, before scratching his chin. He was definitely curious regarding what this upcoming battle was going to entail.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I suppose you wouldn't mind me tagging along for some action?"</span> the rogue knight then asked with a grin, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Been itching for a good fight."</span><br>
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			"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Ah, the very matter I wanted to discuss,</span>" Voyka gave her infamous grin, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">we had taken him captive. He's tied up in the back as we speak,</span>" she explained plainly.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Were circumstances different, I would have beaten and choked him to death in the field myself. We have no need to send any more messages to Erevan as we had with Farandel, especially not so with our Dark Lord present, and there's nothing that should've spared him death in battle like the elves do with Veno's requests... but there was,</span>" Voyka elaborated before looking directly into Falwyn's eyes, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">that being the fact he was <i>your</i> rival in this early part of the campaign.</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">It didn't seem right to me to rob you of the opportunity to decide his fate,</span>" she stated, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">so tonight you get to decide whether he joins your captivity or remains in mine. Though I can imagine you know what'll happen if he remains with me,</span>" Voyka finished with a twisted grin.
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</blockquote>Falwyn gave a smile as they continued upon their path, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"You honor me greatly. I would be glad to take him into my captivity. If he can serve the empire in our campaign to gain dominion over the sultanate I will make use of him. If he refuses to be cooperative... I will gladly give you the honors of the execution."</span><br>
<br>
She hoped that the man was more willing to see the future of his people then die out of defiance. Falwyn hadn't forgotten the passion that she had seen in the man, as well as his resourcefulness. The fall of Sabersval was something that could not have been anticipated.<br>
<br>
Falwyn would muse later along the trek, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"What is your plan for dealing with Prince Cameran? I imagine if Everan counters it will be into Sabersval where they can encroach from two sides. They know little of my ambition for Gantar and will see us heavily entrenched here until I make a move and open a front into Bhiran. Something I intend to make careful preparations for."</span><br>
<br>
After the walk had finished they would arrive to Falwyn's camp. A guard on top of an etected wooden watchtower sounded a horn and various companies of men who had been working nearby assembled. As they came forward many of her men extended greetings to their allies. Stiff at first, but Falwyn was sure that the companies would build a slight comradire as they got some spirits into them. Still, some companies were keenly keeping seprate from the intermingling. They had duties to be on watch, nearby patroling, or other laborious duties. It was always a care to have caution in dealing with dangerous individuals, and Baba was certainly dangerous. <br>
<br>
Falwyn would dismount calling in a loud voice to the men surrounding as a stableboy took the reigns of her horse to lead it off. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Let us entertain hospitality as we meet those who have served alongside us. Feast upon your righteous victory that you have earned! A glorious step to one unified realm!" </span>Falwyn trailed off looking to Baba to see if any comments were to be had. She wasn't sure how Baba traditionally led her forces, but was keen to see an insight from the witch's words. Assuming that no drastic words were said the traviling minstrels of camp would begin playing various songs of folk and lore as the forces began their feast.</div>
				
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			Falwyn gave a smile as they continued upon their path, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"You honor me greatly. I would be glad to take him into my captivity. If he can serve the empire in our campaign to gain dominion over the sultanate I will make use of him. If he refuses to be cooperative... I will gladly give you the honors of the execution."</span><br>
<br>
Falwyn would muse later along the trek, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"What is your plan for dealing with Prince Cameran? I imagine if Everan counters it will be into Sabersval where they can encroach from two sides. They know little of my ambition for Gantar and will see us heavily entrenched here until I make a move and open a front into Bhiran. Something I intend to make careful preparations for."</span>
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Voyka shone her infamous grin as she chuckled, clearly appreciating the returning gesture, but she returned to her general smile as discussion on the campaign proper continued.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I don't have a plan per say, other than to see if Erevyss blood really is <i>blue</i>,</span>" Voyka joked with implicit intentions, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">but if you were to ask me what our priorities are, we would have three: ensuring the Prince is unable to retake any lost land, ensuring the Prince is not successful in reinforcing Martiel, and maintaining pressure on the Prince. The first assures their people continue to lose hope against our forces, the second guarantees it, and the third would seal Erevan's fate. Until then, however, we will be concentrated in Sabersval, unless we take Wyldsylvain, or you succeed in taking Bhiran, necessitating someone watch Sabersval in our absence, lest the Prince merely walk in,</span>" she elaborated, her tone making it clear she was serious.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Tomorrow, my men and I will make our way back to Sabersval to assure that we maintain our grip there. Whether I go straight for the core, aid Vuldar in the west, or maintain the defense, will depend on how things go,</span>" she looked toward Falwyn as she neared the end, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">if you succeed in breaking into Bhiran, inform us as soon as possible to ensure we fill in the gap. Yz, Borok, our Dark Lord or I could bolster whatever force you leave behind to watch Ysaval.</span>"<br>
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			After the walk had finished they would arrive to Falwyn's camp. A guard on top of an etected wooden watchtower sounded a horn and various companies of men who had been working nearby assembled. As they came forward many of her men extended greetings to their allies. Stiff at first, but Falwyn was sure that the companies would build a slight comradire as they got some spirits into them. Still, some companies were keenly keeping seprate from the intermingling. They had duties to be on watch, nearby patroling, or other laborious duties. It was always a care to have caution in dealing with dangerous individuals, and Baba was certainly dangerous. <br>
<br>
Falwyn would dismount calling in a loud voice to the men surrounding as a stableboy took the reigns of her horse to lead it off. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Let us entertain hospitality as we meet those who have served alongside us. Feast upon your righteous victory that you have earned! A glorious step to one unified realm!" </span>Falwyn trailed off looking to Baba to see if any comments were to be had. She wasn't sure how Baba traditionally led her forces, but was keen to see an insight from the witch's words. Assuming that no drastic words were said the traviling minstrels of camp would begin playing various songs of folk and lore as the forces began their feast.
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Voyka watched as her men mingled with Falwyn's men. She had beaten it into them to be generally friendly to those considered allies, so those that had been keenly embraced by their counterparts in the Dragonlord's forces returned their embrace in kind. Of course, some of her own men were focused on serious matters as well, namely those in the back bringing with them the imprisoned Abdolon, but her men were cheery enough to partake in some fun. They won't be joining in any drinking though, because the last thing they need is a self-induced civilian killing spree because a few lads got tipsy.<br>
<br>
Voyka remained on her steed as Falwyn proclaimed properly. Voyka noted the look, and followed up with her own comments. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">May this feast be the first of many, a glorious celebration of the success of our Dark Lord!</span>" she exclaimed in a similarly loud tone, before dismounting from her steed. A stableboy approached her, but she waved him off, handing her goat to one of her men instead - a stable wasn't where her steed belonged in. To another of her men, she told him to inform those with Abdolon to hand him over to Falwyn's forces - he was in the dragon's hands now.<br>
<br>
Voyka followed Falwyn thereafter, as various folk songs began to play in the background - she was sure to take seat near her, since she was sure there would be more things to discuss.</div>
				
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			<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I suppose you wouldn't mind me tagging along for some action? Been itching for a good fight."</span>
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Adanach grinned when the roguish knight voices his desire to join the coming battle. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"If ye think ye got what it takes, then I don't see why not! Join our merry band of killers and murderers!"</span> he said cheerfully as he got up from his throne and looked at his commanders. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Alright everyone, listen up!"</span> he then shouted, catching everyone's attention. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Aidocugh's fortress is vast, housing half his tribe inside. The rest lay on the northern side, unprotected by the fort's stone walls."</span> He looked to Faska, grinning. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"As the main force sieges the fort, Faska... ye and yer goblins will raid the village. Its an orcish settlement, but most of the warriors will be in the fort to protect their chieftain..."<br>
<br>
"I will not lead the first charge, I'll leave that honor to you, Carinoch..."</span> Adanach then said, turning towards a large, towering human wearing nothing. His privates were hidden behind a large Druadach shield. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"You'll lead the <b>Uirodusios</b> and the <b>Wolflings</b>, show them the zeal of our army!"</span> The leader of the naked fanatics nodded with a proud smile upon his face, honoured by Adanach's confidence in him. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"I'll lead the second charge, but I want our <b>Solduros</b> to protect the minotaurs carrying the battering rams should our fanatics not be able to scale the defenses."</span><br>
<br>
He looked then to the Voiceless: <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Ye will lead the <b>Solduros</b>! Yer a deadly warrior, and yer armor might be as thick and strong as our richest and most devoted warriors."</span> The Voiceless saw two Solduros commanders nodding respectfully. While not as disciplined as the Vestati and Yakal legions, it was undeniable that the Solduros were the most organized of the Druadach tribals.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"As for ye..."</span> Adanach then muttered, looking to Dennor, Zavastria and Ystria. <span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">"Ye will follow me and my wife. Understood?"</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><blockquote data-attributes="member: 64549" data-quote="Damian0358" data-source="post: 11860393" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch is-expandable">
	
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			Voyka shone her infamous grin as she chuckled, clearly appreciating the returning gesture, but she returned to her general smile as discussion on the campaign proper continued.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I don't have a plan per say, other than to see if Erevyss blood really is <i>blue</i>,</span>" Voyka joked with implicit intentions, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">but if you were to ask me what our priorities are, we would have three: ensuring the Prince is unable to retake any lost land, ensuring the Prince is not successful in reinforcing Martiel, and maintaining pressure on the Prince. The first assures their people continue to lose hope against our forces, the second guarantees it, and the third would seal Erevan's fate. Until then, however, we will be concentrated in Sabersval, unless we take Wyldsylvain, or you succeed in taking Bhiran, necessitating someone watch Sabersval in our absence, lest the Prince merely walk in,</span>" she elaborated, her tone making it clear she was serious.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Tomorrow, my men and I will make our way back to Sabersval to assure that we maintain our grip there. Whether I go straight for the core, aid Vuldar in the west, or maintain the defense, will depend on how things go,</span>" she looked toward Falwyn as she neared the end, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">if you succeed in breaking into Bhiran, inform us as soon as possible to ensure we fill in the gap. Yz, Borok, our Dark Lord or I could bolster whatever force you leave behind to watch Ysaval.</span>"
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</blockquote>Falwyn silently took note of the return to Sabersval. It made sense to be with a consolidated force in the center, however it led her to believe it was a higher chance of Prince Cameran mounting a counter on her position. More the reason to spend her time here for a while. A dual front without any allies in Ysaval could turn quickly into a bad situation. Falwyn reassured at the end of Baba's message, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Of course, the advance in Bhiran will come with careful plans. Ones that won't allow the empires position in its conquest of Everan to be jeopardized."</span><br>
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			Voyka watched as her men mingled with Falwyn's men. She had beaten it into them to be generally friendly to those considered allies, so those that had been keenly embraced by their counterparts in the Dragonlord's forces returned their embrace in kind. Of course, some of her own men were focused on serious matters as well, namely those in the back bringing with them the imprisoned Abdolon, but her men were cheery enough to partake in some fun. They won't be joining in any drinking though, because the last thing they need is a self-induced civilian killing spree because a few lads got tipsy.<br>
<br>
Voyka remained on her steed as Falwyn proclaimed properly. Voyka noted the look, and followed up with her own comments. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">May this feast be the first of many, a glorious celebration of the success of our Dark Lord!</span>" she exclaimed in a similarly loud tone, before dismounting from her steed. A stableboy approached her, but she waved him off, handing her goat to one of her men instead - a stable wasn't where her steed belonged in. To another of her men, she told him to inform those with Abdolon to hand him over to Falwyn's forces - he was in the dragon's hands now.<br>
<br>
Voyka followed Falwyn thereafter, as various folk songs began to play in the background - she was sure to take seat near her, since she was sure there would be more things to discuss.
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</blockquote>Falwyn would lead Voyka to her command tent. It hadn't yet become to extravagance of her previous setup, but the markings of excess were still present as various furs lay upon the ground and her way to massive bed. In the heart of the room laid out a map of the known world. Markings of the various armies were laid out as wooden tokens, except of course, her own golden horde which had small intricately carved wooden dragons that stood up upon the map. It was continually updated as reports from the field gave news of success or defeat. She pulled from one of the tables nearby a bottle of aged white wine, one that she had claimed from the conquest of Ysaval. She poured it into a wine glass sipping the new taste. It wasn't the best, but its taste was sweetened by the conquest that claimed it.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"My forces will hold against any counter the Prince throws are way. With you pulling back to Sabersval I believe I will be the target of such advance. It isn't certain, but with our decisive victory I believe they will be thrashing out with desperation."</span><br>
<br>
She moved over walking around the board gesturing as she mentioned locations <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"The northern fronts are going well, including Adanach and his conquest of the pagans. How has working with Borok and Yz been... never could understand the masked mans way of speech. Though his forces are effective enough."</span><br>
<br>
After she heard the inital responses to her probes Falwyn would ask in curiosity, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"What of your perspective on the Lacans campaign and the battles with Pianta and the theocracies in the south."</span><br>
<br>
<hr><br>
<a href="/members/k0mori.64014/" class="avatar avatar--xxs" data-user-id="64014" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" id="js-XFUniqueId50">
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<br>
<br>
Falwyn would meet with the Viper now in her captivity. He had been given proper treatment with a healthy meal being given to his cell as he was transfered over. She would go visiting the prisoner that had given such passion against her before.<br>
<br>
She approached later in the night, she had made sure this area was under strict guard by her men. Not allowing the prying eyes of any visitors. She visited in one of her white silk robes, one that she intended to showcase her figure and entice,<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "Kande, I warned you of what would happen if you didn't bend the knee. Although the carnage I have inflicted I am sure has led you to hate me, you can be relieved to know I am doing as I said and ruling with fairness. I haven't been putting up any executions and the people are progressivey falling into line with being under my domion. But..."</span> She leaned against the cage giving a small smile, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I saw your passion, your resroucefulness. Now there lays a choice before you. My ambition is for the conquest of the Sultan, you are from the deserts and would serve me greatly as a guide in the advance against Bhiran. And I would also like to see what that passion of yours could do in my bed."</span> Falwyn gave out a small giggle, but soon turned her face to seriousness,<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "Of course the other option is your execution. I won't begrudge you for it or entact vengance against your people as a woman scorned."</span> She let out an exsparated sigh, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"That would be done by the witch however, I am sure you heard rumors of her execution methods in Sabersval. Would your people really want to see your body put up as a mockery?"</span></div>
				
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			Falwyn would lead Voyka to her command tent. It hadn't yet become to extravagance of her previous setup, but the markings of excess were still present as various furs lay upon the ground and her way to massive bed. In the heart of the room laid out a map of the known world. Markings of the various armies were laid out as wooden tokens, except of course, her own golden horde which had small intricately carved wooden dragons that stood up upon the map. It was continually updated as reports from the field gave news of success or defeat. She pulled from one of the tables nearby a bottle of aged white wine, one that she had claimed from the conquest of Ysaval. She poured it into a wine glass sipping the new taste. It wasn't the best, but its taste was sweetened by the conquest that claimed it.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"My forces will hold against any counter the Prince throws are way. With you pulling back to Sabersval I believe I will be the target of such advance. It isn't certain, but with our decisive victory I believe they will be thrashing out with desperation."</span>
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"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">All depends on where they see their focus right now,</span>" Voyka responded, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">As much as the Prince might see Ysaval as a prime target of attack with my return to Sabersval, he could just as much view such a maneuver as suspect. Think, if you wanted to draw out your enemy and expose them to a surprise attack, leaving one segment of the front 'weaker' on purpose would certainly draw them in,</span>" Voyka grinned. It was clear that wasn't her mindset regarding her return to Sabersval, rather just one of the many ways it could be interpreted.<br>
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			She moved over walking around the board gesturing as she mentioned locations <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"The northern fronts are going well, including Adanach and his conquest of the pagans. How has working with Borok and Yz been... never could understand the masked mans way of speech. Though his forces are effective enough."</span>
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"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Strenuous,</span>" Voyka exclaimed plainly. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Borok, as expected of a fellow long-time member of our forces, executed his attack perfectly. However, in discourse, he seems ill-interested in choosing sides unless he comes out on top. Very much an older breed, he is. Yz, that masked lunatic, they're tiring. They nearly compromised the attack by confronting Farandel ahead of our attack, by themselves, seemingly to try and get them on our side. They made up for that by aiding in capturing Farandel later,</span>" Voyka explained, taking the opportunity to further build on the white lie she had made, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">They are absolutely worth keeping an eye on, however. They and I, we're of a similar breed. Absolutely lost in our element, with me embracing the brutality of the world, and them opting to induce insanity within it,</span>" Voyka gave a cheeky grin.<br>
<br>
She wasn't afraid to share her honest thoughts at this point, especially when it came to Yz. It was important to make sure everyone was on the same page on the newcomers as soon as possible, to ensure proper cooperation. <br>
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			After she heard the inital responses to her probes Falwyn would ask in curiosity, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"What of your perspective on the Lacans campaign and the battles with Pianta and the theocracies in the south."</span>
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</blockquote><br>
Voyka raised her eyebrow at the question, and looked over to the map, glancing at not just the western and southern fronts, but the northern and northeastern fronts too. She chuckled.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I don't have much of a perspective on them.</span>" she answered earnestly, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I make sure I'm informed, and if the info is relevant, I implement it in my procedures on the front I'm on. Simple. You can't assure your supply is consistent if the only supplier is over sea, and the naval front has collapsed, as an example.</span>"<br>
<br>
She began rubbing her chin. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">But if I had to give some thoughts, it would be that the southern campaign is the most sensitive of all our campaigns right now. Too many variables to consider that could easily swing it either in our Dark Lord's favor, or the enemy's favor. In contrast, the western front only has to concentrate on variables contained solely to Lacans, and Tidiaus too to a lesser extent. A manageable amount,</span>" she began her analysis, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">You can see that in action with the northern campaign, with the barbarian. He can concentrate solely on familiar variables, against an enemy that he knows, for he is just like them. And you have the complete opposite with the eastern front, with the unknowability of the desert...</span>"<br>
<br>
Voyka paused mid-sentence as she spoke of the eastern front, as if contemplating her next words, mourning what had happened, She shook her head. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">You see my point.</span>"</div>
				
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			Falwyn would meet with the Viper now in her captivity. He had been given proper treatment with a healthy meal being given to his cell as he was transfered over. She would go visiting the prisoner that had given such passion against her before.<br>
<br>
She approached later in the night, she had made sure this area was under strict guard by her men. Not allowing the prying eyes of any visitors. She visited in one of her white silk robes, one that she intended to showcase her figure and entice,<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "Kande, I warned you of what would happen if you didn't bend the knee."</span>
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"And I told you," Kande replied, seated against the wall of his cell with one elbow resting against his knee, a man already waiting patiently for death, "that I would not abandon the people of Ysaval until I had done all I could to prevent their subjugation. So, here we are."<br>
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			<span style="color: #f7da64">Although the carnage I have inflicted I am sure has led you to hate me, you can be relieved to know I am doing as I said and ruling with fairness. I haven't been putting up any executions and the people are progressively falling into line with being under my dominion."</span>
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Kande closed his eyes and smiled a bit. The dimmest glimmer of hope for the nation he failed seemed to play on his mind. "I had feared, when the last of my army was corned by that hag from the west, that the Empire would send its worst to rule here in the wake of our defeat. From the sound of it, I would assume that she plans to depart and leave you in control here, then."<br>
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			<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">But..."</span> She leaned against the cage giving a small smile, <span style="color: #f7da64">"I saw your passion, your resourcefulness. Now there lays a choice before you. My ambition is for the conquest of the Sultan, you are from the deserts and would serve me greatly as a guide in the advance against Bhiran. And I would also like to see what that passion of yours could do in my bed."</span>
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Kande's brows lifted, and he glanced up again at her outfit and allowed the proposition to settle in. A chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head. "Mad woman..." he mumbled. "Were I inspired to do so, I'm certain I wouldn't disappoint- <i>on either front. </i>But I have no quarrel with Gantar that needs settling with Imperial steel."<br>
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			Falwyn gave out a small giggle, but soon turned her face to seriousness,<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)"> "Of course the other option is your execution. I won't begrudge you for it or entact vengance against your people as a woman scorned."</span> She let out an exsparated sigh, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"That would be done by the witch however, I am sure you heard rumors of her execution methods in Sabersval. Would your people really want to see your body put up as a mockery?"</span>
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Kande remained silent for a moment before speaking, slowly, and with conviction. "I am not a fanatic. If I refuse your offer, then it will only empower Briggun's cruelest impulses against the innocent." He then stood opposite Falwyn at the bars, his back straight. "...I accept."</div>
				
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	<div class="message-userContent lbContainer js-lbContainer " data-lb-id="post-11861837" data-lb-caption-desc="Crocodile · Feb 19, 2024 at 2:25 PM">

		

		
	


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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><a href="https://youtu.be/G2_0Tn1dGmo?si=h1qvfRVtSIMh8ppz" target="_blank" class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FG2_0Tn1dGmo%3Fsi%3Dh1qvfRVtSIMh8ppz&amp;hash=c4f45f6115ad43d03258eb15d7f92dfb" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Symphony of War</a>​</div><b>Pre-Battle</b><br>
Estro read the letter sent from Alexandre and hands it off to Valdin who begins to read it over as Estro stands and walks towards the table with his map and markers. He makes a gesture as the board starts to shift and shuffle pieces about. The Cult of Zo armies are now positioned on Kaula's border, ready to surge in as the damaged forces of Alexandre can be seen shifting to obviously engage with the forces of Jakabo.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">"So its happening,"</span> Valdin stated as he walks over to join Estro at the table to regard their forces. Here and there markers appeared where their caches had been quietly built up with merchant traffic through various proxies hired and utilized by Baskerville to prepare for potential offensives or cult operations within enemy territories. There were their own hidden supplies in the Bone Coast as well to ensure they were prepared for a surprise attack by the likes of Sergius or even Jakabo himself, but the militia commander had remained oblivious to the presence of the Imperial Wizard and his cult armies.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Yes, Alexandre will launch a strike on dear bold Jakabo and if successful, will leave his vulnerable to our superior numbers and Civicerian support. Sergius will at least feel more in control of the situation when I do this. And the terms Alexandre offer are suitable,"</span> Estro muses as with gestures of his fingers starts to reposition more pieces with a certain dark glee in his green inhuman eyes.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">"We could just seize the province for ourselves. It would certainly please the Dominion while giving us operational space for our plans along their border,"</span> Valdin said as he walks around the table to examine it more as his master continues to make adjustments.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"We could, yes. Yet that is what Sergius likely wants, and I intend to complicate things for him. Letting the leeches take Kaula, or more handing it over to them after we display our magnificent martial prowess, will position them to flank Bolia. It also will please Briggun on some level after all the setbacks that have played out so far to know that I am still as ever his dependable problem solver."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">"Court politics, to think we still must play them,"</span> Valdin grumbles some as he picks up a piece from Jakabo's forces that bore the man's likeness as his command icon.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"There will always be such things, Valdin. Briggun is already likely fuming over the setbacks. Delivering him one piece of good news is best. It reminds him why I am his Imperial Wizard. Why he can rely upon me to deal with situations. Securing more of the coastline also means we'll have more room for dealing with the damnable Piantian Navy. Leaving Kaula to the vampires also helps out plans,"</span> Estro noted as he looks over to Valdin with a bit of a savage grin.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(209, 72, 65)">"Because it will drive far more refugees into Bolia..."</span> Valdin said as he sets the piece down with a look of realization.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"In one fell swoop, not only will I ensure our forces are more stable in the South to catch our breaths, I will POUR every bit of human debris I can into Bolia. Sergius will obviously do his slow and stable processing... which will build up pressures at the borders. And all those Piantians will be building up the urge for the Patricians... to make use of them. Which in turn makes the Plebians more wary. The fuel for the fire will build up, no matter how hard Sergius tries to stem the flow. His merchants need our business and with all this chaos, we look like we need it,"</span> Estro said with a bit of a laugh as he gestures to conjure paper and quill floating in the air. Already his response to Alexandre was writing across it in glowing letters before they cooled to simply black marks.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Send this missive to Alexandre at once. Then prepare to attack!"</span><br>
<hr><b>Aftermath</b><br>
The field was littered with bodies, some Cult of Zo troops but many more were Piantian militia that had followed Jakabo Gratini in his efforts to protect Kaula from the Saarus invasion. Here and there were signs of battle and smoking craters were Estro had strode the field and personal unleashed his own arcane might upon the hapless troops of his foes in a display of power to break their lines.<br>
<br>
Jakabo Gratini himself was dragged towards a pavilion tent that had various cult troops moving about. He was left standing, preserving some semblance of dignity, though he was bloody and his armor tattered after that fighting. He looks about seeing the banners of the empire and the Cult of Zo with a slightly bewildered look. He pales some as the tent flaps are pulled open and Estro Dorozan comes strolling out, his dark robes flapping about him. The Imperial Wizard knew how to put on a show when he wanted and this was one of those moments as he approaches Jakabo as the ground before him transmutes into a blood red carpet to guard his steps from the filth of the battlefield. Jakabo had to shift his feet as the carpet extends to beneath his own.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"The Imperial Wizard,"</span> Jakabo declared as he attempted to meet the gaze of Estro and those green eyes of his.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Jakabo Gratini,"</span> Estro replied with a calm smile as he was utterly in control here.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Since when does Briggun's pet wizard come this far South? Shouldn't you be up North, holding his cape or something?" </span>Jakabo spat out defiantly as he considered that this was going to be the end of him. He wasn't going to beg. At last it wasn't the damn vampires that had gotten him. Though his stomach churns suddenly as he realized Estro could send him the to dreaded labs of the cult.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Briggun has a goblin for that,"</span> Estro replied casually as he steps closer to regard the man who had managed to bloody Alexandre's forces. Who had required him to step in and crush him to ensure the South had some semblance of victory to avoid the total wrath of Briggun. <span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"I solve his problems. You were a problem. I have solved you. The question is what to do with you?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Don't jerk me around, wizard. If you're going to kill me, just do it. I've seen my army broken, my men scattered. I've failed Kaula,"</span> Jakabo spat out with defiance as he finds his courage even before a man he probably should have been terrified of. A very Piantian response. Pride even in the end.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"You have, but  who could blame you for faltering? The Oligarchs failed you, did they not? They left you up here lacking support, relying upon what was here and desperate. You had the wit and ability to turn back an undead host. That... is rare talent. Few survive such an encounter, let alone bloody the foe enough they have to retreat. Yet, here you are before me,"</span> Estro said as he starts to walk around Jakabo as the fallen commander glares at the gloating wizard.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"Get to the point, I've not got all day for banter. You can go stroke your ego in front of a damn mirror,"</span> Jakabo growls some as he watches the man like one watches a stalking predator. One snap of those fingers could probably kill him and he would just as soon provoke it and get this done with.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"You misunderstand. I was applauding you, despite the rage it caused me and likely Briggun. Admittedly, dear Alexandre seemed to learn from your bold moves and struck back. Leaving you open to me. So now I have a question for you. Are you so eager to die, or would you like to see what comes next? To be part of things and perhaps... avenge yourself upon the Oligarchs and that rakish bastard on the waves who left you all alone to fend for yourself?"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"You're joking, you're trying to recruit me?"</span> Jakabo looks a bit floored as he regards Estro while the wizard continues his pacing orbit of his prisoner.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Zero Origin doesn't care where you're from, Jakabo. I would embrace you as anyone else if you choose to join me. Fight under my banner. You're a seasoned leader and I feel it would be a waste to throw away that potential... plus we both know you're a survivor, don't we?"</span> Estro steps in behind him, gloved hands on his shoulders as he whispers that last part into his ear. <br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"I should tell you to go to hell," </span>Jakabo said grimly as as he stiffened at how closely the wizard was to him now. <span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"But I'm listening..."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"I thought you might be open to my offer. Besides, we both know your fate with me is better than what Rocher and her ilk will do to you. I was going to give you to them... but I decided to be a little greedy considering Kaula is about to fall under their jurisdiction. So instead I'll give you something better. Join me and save what people you can. Already other survivors are being offered the opportunity to convert which will admittedly help replenish the losses from our battle. And then help me with something larger. Help me break the Dominion,"</span> Estro whispers still into his ear as he remains close and makes his temptation.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(251, 160, 38)">"You're insane, but better a mad man than a monster... If it'll save even one of my people, I accept,"</span> Jakabo said and bowed his head a little. He wasn't a coward but he also wasn't a fanatic and knew he might still have a few more years now to live even if now under the thumb of the dreaded Wizard of Zo. <br>
<br>
Estro just smiles and comes around, surprising Jakabo with an embrace.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(26, 188, 156)">"Welcome to the fold. What works we shall see together. Now come, let us get you cleaned up and outfitted in proper cult officer gear."</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><i><span style="font-size: 18px">Among the wreckages washed ashore on the Bone coast </span></i><br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(235, 107, 86)">Can either of you tell me what in the bloody 'ells happened?</span>" Sawtooth yelled in frustration. He had dived into the waters from his own raft to rescue the only two familiar crew members he could find. Of course one of them had to be the damn gremlin.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">Torpedo happened.</span>" Uripa finally said as she was done coughing up the salt water. "<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">The damn blowhard led another raid and struck directly at the heart of Cordia's fleet. He did what nobody thought would be possible. He killed her.</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Not really.</span>" Gribbs raised a hand. The other two looked at him. Uripa with confusion and Sawtooth with...something else that wasn't disgust for once. "<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">I was there at their confrontation. In her cabin, they locked sabers. Magic was thrown all over the place. Sparks flew. I think at one point she even started flirting with him to distract him, calling her little...</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(184, 49, 47)">NOT ANOTHER WORD ABOUT THAT!</span>" Crassus cut him off.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">The fight. What happened?</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Right. Well, he must have figured out she had a philactery and struck it to break the thing and this happened.</span>" The gremlin motioned to the remains of the shattered fleet "<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">She's not dead though. I know because I would be too.</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">Of course the both of you are connected.</span>" Uripa let out a frustrated sigh "<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">Then its possible to get her back?</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Maybe?</span>" Gribbs shrugged "<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">I don't know how these things work, but as of right now, the boss is gone.</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(235, 107, 86)">So is the Butcher's blade.</span>" Crassus thought about it "<span style="color: rgb(235, 107, 86)">When I was coming back from me own failled assault, I dived to save you both. No sign of the ship down there. Or anywhere.</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">Could it have been captured?</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(235, 107, 86)">No. That thing has a mind of its own. If Torpedo had tried, it would have eaten him alive. I think...I think its with Cordia in...whenever the captin went.</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">What do we do now?</span>"<br>
<br>
 "<span style="color: rgb(235, 107, 86)">We?</span>" Crassus scoffed "<span style="color: rgb(235, 107, 86)">There is no we, lass.</span>" He put his hat back on. "<span style="color: rgb(235, 107, 86)">My business with you was on that ship and if its gone, I got no bussiness with you anymore.</span>" The sharkman turned around.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">You're just going to leave us here?</span>" Uripa shouted in anger "<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">You damn finn breathing bottom feeder!</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(235, 107, 86)">See you on the waves, lass.</span>" He raised a hand to wave without turning back.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(84, 172, 210)">Bastard!</span>" Uripa breathed in deep before collecting her thoughts. There was still somewhere she could go...hopefully. She turned in the opposite direction of Crassus and walked her own path along the sand.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">Hey hey! Wait up!</span>" The gremlin chassed after her. "<span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">You'll need supplies!</span>"<br>
---<br>
<i><span style="font-size: 18px">Kaula, before the slaugter</span></i><br>
<br>
"Lady Alexandre will not be attending the battle it seems."<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">This is...unprecedented.</span>"<br>
<br>
"Seems to be some affliction thats been spreading in recent weeks."<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Is it one of ours?</span>"<br>
<br>
"Nay."<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Fine, I'll do this myself.</span>" Illfis. A climber in the armies of Kaula when amongs the living, but was cut down in his prime during the bloody campaigns. His ambitions seemed to have been over, but Rocher had other plans for him. Why let a perfectly good commander go to waste? In undeath, the man was released from such restraints as mercy and honor. There was only the glory of Rocher now.<br>
<br>
This battle was going to be his first ride side by side with the Thristing herself, yet she was gone and her forces were in dissaray as a result. This wasn't good, not good at all. The Kaula infestation were to catch on soon and rally to push them back again. Illifis had arrainged a couple of surprises to be deployed in the field to gain favor, but now it seemed that they would be used to ensure this army doesn't fall apart.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Fall in line!</span>" The commander shouted from atop his pale pale horse "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Battle formations!</span>" The bone soldiers and thralls didn't take much time to do what they were told. "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Hold them in the valley and not one step back. Any of them break through and I'll have your souls crushed!</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">Where are we to move, sire?</span>" Tristan, his loyal second asked.  "<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">The cavalry is prepared.</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Follow me.</span>" Tristan nodded as he signalled the bone chargers to follow their liege. Soon enough, the horns of battle would be heard. The Kaulan froces appeared over the horizon from the top of the hill. Chivalrous knights, honorable men at arms and many more conscripted soldiers all saw the undead host before them. And they saw the cavalry running away. There was no sign of any of the Rocher high command. This army headless and gutless. A perfect opportunity to weken the evil bitch.<br>
<br>
The heroes charged down the hill and threw themselves at the undead. Blinded to the ruse Illifis had layed out. A second horn was heard and the undead horsemen and death knights turned around, splitting into two groups. From the Rocher camp a disaster was being prepared. Illifis had gained a moniker among his new allies-Blightspreader. The necromancers commanded their thralls to pick up foul smelling concoctions and guzzle them down. Their bellies glowed with a eerie light as they started to run towards the Kaulan soldiers.<br>
<br>
The unaware men at arms began to cut down these new maddened enemies that charged from the backs for the undead horde, thinking them another desperate ploy. They were the first victims of the new weapon. The undead began to explode in a corrosive bile that ate through cloth, leather and poor quality metal. Those who tried to fight back without using blade or mace found out that it was pointless as the vile creatures vomited the same concoction on them. Not even the nobility could escape. The dripping evil poured through the knights eye slots and blinded them. Those who died instantly were the lucky ones the rest were those that survived the painful process of their skin melting off the bone.<br>
<br>
"THEY'RE COMING BACK!" A Kaulan scout cried out as the undead cavalry made their return.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">BREAK THEIR WILL!</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">SHOW THEM NO MERCY! ROUND THEM UP! LOOK INTO THEIR EYES AS THEY BEG FOR THEIR LIVES!</span>" The lighter troops had quickly made their way to the enemy archers and had begun their part of the massacre. The death knights had moved to smash into the enemy's back. The Kaulans began to understand what was happening. They were led into a trap and now a circle of death was tightening around them. "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">COUP DE GRACE!</span>" Illifis cried out as his hand was raised. A death knight blew a third horn. From the camp, the necromancers were in the second phase of his plan. The dead that had fallen in the battle on both sides began to stir. A mass ressurection spell had been cast. Whatever Kaulan forces remained were no screaming in terror as their comrades joined the undead hordes and were looking to feast.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><blockquote data-attributes="member: 64549" data-quote="Damian0358" data-source="post: 11861094" class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--expandable bbCodeBlock--quote js-expandWatch is-expandable">
	
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				<a href="/goto/post?id=11861094" class="bbCodeBlock-sourceJump" rel="nofollow" data-xf-click="attribution" data-content-selector="#post-11861094">Damian0358 said:</a>
			
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			"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Strenuous,</span>" Voyka exclaimed plainly. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">Borok, as expected of a fellow long-time member of our forces, executed his attack perfectly. However, in discourse, he seems ill-interested in choosing sides unless he comes out on top. Very much an older breed, he is. Yz, that masked lunatic, they're tiring. They nearly compromised the attack by confronting Farandel ahead of our attack, by themselves, seemingly to try and get them on our side. They made up for that by aiding in capturing Farandel later,</span>" Voyka explained, taking the opportunity to further build on the white lie she had made, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">They are absolutely worth keeping an eye on, however. They and I, we're of a similar breed. Absolutely lost in our element, with me embracing the brutality of the world, and them opting to induce insanity within it,</span>" Voyka gave a cheeky grin.<br>
<br>
She wasn't afraid to share her honest thoughts at this point, especially when it came to Yz. It was important to make sure everyone was on the same page on the newcomers as soon as possible, to ensure proper cooperation.
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Falwyn gave a snort as Voyka relayed the information that Yz had decided to confront Farandel before the attack. Such action could of led to the discovery and collapse of the whole tunnel system. But that was a moot point considering the victory that had latter been accomplished. Falwyn small laugh as Voyka grinned in her comparison to Yz. She didn't believe for a second that Voyka would believe herself to be as Yz and she would retort, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Brutality has valuable uses, insanity only causes confusion and <i>chaos</i>."</span> She said with a slight disgust, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"I will remain cautious, I would rather not allow my ambitions to be prophezized to the enemy as it seems he almost did."</span><br>
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			Voyka raised her eyebrow at the question, and looked over to the map, glancing at not just the western and southern fronts, but the northern and northeastern fronts too. She chuckled.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I don't have much of a perspective on them.</span>" she answered earnestly, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">I make sure I'm informed, and if the info is relevant, I implement it in my procedures on the front I'm on. Simple. You can't assure your supply is consistent if the only supplier is over sea, and the naval front has collapsed, as an example.</span>"<br>
<br>
She began rubbing her chin. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">But if I had to give some thoughts, it would be that the southern campaign is the most sensitive of all our campaigns right now. Too many variables to consider that could easily swing it either in our Dark Lord's favor, or the enemy's favor. In contrast, the western front only has to concentrate on variables contained solely to Lacans, and Tidiaus too to a lesser extent. A manageable amount,</span>" she began her analysis, "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">You can see that in action with the northern campaign, with the barbarian. He can concentrate solely on familiar variables, against an enemy that he knows, for he is just like them. And you have the complete opposite with the eastern front, with the unknowability of the desert...</span>"<br>
<br>
Voyka paused mid-sentence as she spoke of the eastern front, as if contemplating her next words, mourning what had happened, She shook her head. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 81, 72)">You see my point.</span>"
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Falwyn considered the words as Voyka spoke. The South did have lots of variability, but the further away you were from a situation the more your judgement would have to be estimations. As she spoke of Falwyn's own campaign she would have a response, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Yes, I will remain perceptive in my ambition. Age can lead to wisdom, but also overconfidence."</span> The ending statement was a reminder that Falwyn had experinced lots, if only a young dragon. She sipped her wine before collecting herself, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"We should now get some food ourselves, yes?" </span><br>
<br>
Falwyn would for a while sit with Voyka in the feast exchanging pleasantries and making a good show of unity. She would give a last statement to Voyka before slipping away to check on some matter as female drow Linota had come up and whispered to her, <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"Looks as if I have matters to attend to. Please do keep me informed of any developments that occur in Sabersval." </span>It was to Voyka's own judgement if this was a serious matter, or rather Falwyn having planned an excuse to partake in indulging herself.<br>
<br>
After the nights gathering the two companies would say there goodbyes as Falwyn would address Voyka on the matter of Kande. <span style="color: rgb(247, 218, 100)">"The viper was receptive to my words. I hope that doesn't put too much a sour on your departure. I wish you good hunting in your campaign against the prince."</span> She'd give a smile with a nod as the troops of Voyka would begin their return to Sabersval.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-size: 18px">Kaula, Days after the slaughter </span><br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">She's not coming out?</span>" Illifis asked as he looked up to the tower's stairs leading to the private chambers of the Thirsting lady. The apochateries, mages, necromancers and assorted other experts looked to each other with a bit of worry. They had maintained enough of their independance in unlife to do that at least. "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Well? Out with it.</span>" <br>
<br>
"We...aren't sure if its related to anything that happened out at sea or if its another affliction entirely." <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">What do you mean by out at sea?</span>" <br>
<br>
"When Cordia's fleet sank my liege. There was a major release of foul energy and some of the walking dead were...affected somehow." <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Are you telling me that the sea witch's demise send shockwaves across all deadkind?</span>" Illifis sounded confused by his own question before he burst into laughter "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">What nonsense. A vast majority of our people and soldiers are unnafected. I haven't heard word of any of the other armies suffering from such a thing. You'd think Lord Izaac would have send a warning or something.</span>" Like as if a switch was flipped his tone changed and he grabbed the mage that suggested the notion by the neck and lifted her up "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">I will not have the letigious rumor that the glory of Rocher is sullied by the pained screams of a hag playing sea captain.</span>" The grip tightened "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">And if I hear the very notion entertained again I will strike your pathetic unlife out of existance.</span>" He let go and the mage fell to the ground. "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">This goes for the rest of you. We are not tied to anyone else's fate but our own.</span>" <br>
<br>
"The rest of her inner circle is suffering from the same problem it seem, lord." The apochatery next to him spoke "Non of them are bedridden, but they refuse to leave their dwellings and quarters. As if they're in a waking coma." <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Do they still feed?</span>" <br>
<br>
"Yes...but the spark is missing." <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Well then its obvious isn't it?</span>" The group were confused by what he meant, but the lord had en explanation ready.  Illithis motioned to Tristan to come forward. "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Tristan, we appear to be in a dire crisis of leadership. The head of Rocher has been effectively cut off and we are leaderless. A foul plot by enemy mages from Piantia has paralized our lady and her court.</span>" The mages and apochateries were visibly stunned. How did he come to that conclusion?<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">Piantia, ser?</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">You're right. Could be Weildach for all we know. The living are crafty and dangerous foes.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">What shall we do then?</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">My friend, it falls to us to pick up the mantle and fight for Rocher and the Empire.</span>" He placed both hands on Tristan's shoulders "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Can I trust you to stand by me in this difficult time?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(243, 121, 52)">It would be my honor.</span>" The death knight bowed his head. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Good! Spread the word to the counts, the dukes and their bannermen. The knights of the Withered Rose will cut a path of blood and carnage through our enemies.</span>"<br>
---<br>
<span style="font-size: 18px">A week later</span> <br>
<br>
Uripa and Gribbs finally arrived at the gates of Paestrum. The infamous citadel didn't seem as it was descibed to them from those they talked to. It was still a sight of terror, but there was a certain falir to it. For one thing, Uripa did not expect this many wagons full of alchemical materials and reagents to be stockpiled in the city. Another striking change from what the people say is the severe lack of corpses hung up as decorations. Did Alexandre tire of that aesthetic choice or was it fabrication? Not even a bloodstain on the church or cathedral. Something was off. <br>
<br>
"The living rarely make it this far, my dear." A voice sounded to her left as a death knight approached. "Judging by your attire and companion, I'd wager you are imperial?"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">Yes...I was part of Cordia's fleet. As you can see, I rather stick with the empire than risk it with the others.</span>" <br>
<br>
"Smart. The Emperor's justice would have come for your head had you chosen to desert his armies. A shame losing such a lovely thing that would be." <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">I was part of Cordia's inner circle. Both of us actually. I want to speak to lady Alexandre...</span>" <br>
<br>
"That is impossible, I'm afraid. The Thirsting one has been...rendered incapable to lead for now." She clasped his hands "But fear not, the reagent lord will surely hear you out." <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">Reagent lord?</span>" <br>
<br>
"Yes, lord Illifis the Blightspreader has taken it upon himself to lead us in this dire time." Suddenly the discrepencies made sense. Uripa started to have second thoughts about this. "Come. He's currently in the keep." The drow followed the horsewoman through Paestrum and she noticed more changes. The banners that the troops carried was different than the one she remembered in the capital. The undead soldiers that were on patrol carried vials or bottles of some undentified elixirs. Laborers were busy sculpting the walls and buildings into a different shapes and architercture. Were they planning to make this city livable? "We're here." They finally stopped at the keep of the citadel. "Just walk inside. His lordship is working on some personal projects." <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">Thank you.</span>" Uripa said as she motioned to an uncertain Gribbs to follow her. The guards let them pass unhindered and one with decorated armor oppened the gates for them. Inside they heard the pulling of strings and a woman trying to compose a song. Her voice in stark contrast to the rest of this place was a pleasant. It briefly reminded Uripa of Cordia's singing. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Do you think you can work in my orders in the song, my dear?</span>" <br>
<br>
"They were rather simple from what you told me. I believe I can work them in." She plucked the strings on her harp as she tried to sing the lyrics in her mind.<br>
<br>
<i>Fall in line, battle formations<br>
Show no fear, riding them down<br>
Break their will, show them no mercy</i><br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">You know, better not.</span>" Illific waved a hand in a dismissive motion "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Songwritting is not my forte.</span>" He chuckled as he turned his attention to his guests. "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Selene, leave us for a short while.</span>" The bard stopped what she was doing, bowed and left the lord's hall. "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">I regret not noticing you sooner.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Ehh, we didn't wait long. Plus her voice was pretty.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Yes. I assume you're envoys from some parts of the empire. From the necromancy practically dripping from you my dear, I'd assume lady Veno has started dabbling in that art now, but yet you wear a naval uniform. What's left of it at least. Cordia's fleet?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">About the only ones left of it, yes.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Ah, shame.</span>" He faked concern as he reached to the table nearby "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">She was holding the sea for us and with the fleet gone, we lost control of the waves. But what can you do with pirates compared to a navy. Wine or brandy?</span>" He held two bottles in his hands. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">Wine would be greatly appreciated.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Can I have the brandy?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">I suppose you'd be looking for work with some of us?</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">I was hoping that maybe I can offer my talents to lady Alexandre, but that doesn't seem like an option now.</span>" She took the glass she was offered. "<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">Your knight informed me why you were...</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">You're the new boss and you took to it really quick. So about that brandy?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Yes...the new boss.</span>" He poured brandy for the creature and passed it a goblet of the lowest quality he could find. "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Im afraid that you cannot help the Thirsting lady as of now. But I can always make room in my roster for another necromancer.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">I'm afraid that my branch differs from what you are looking for.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Really? Do tell.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">You seem to be of the alchemical side of things. What your people call you, Blightspreader. I can only summerise that you're interested in brewing diseases and plagues. My field is more traditional and well...I like to sew things together.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Ah, a bone sculpter?</span>"<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">And flesh shaper.</span>" She sipped from the glass of wine "<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">Much as I would want to settle in here, I believe that I'd just divert your resources.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">What do you mean? You know I can just copy most regents you need right?</span>" Uripa looked at Gribs with anger. The vile little creature only shrugged and he drank. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">Well, not everything. You have a hard time copying rare ingredients.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Sounds rather useful still.</span>" Illifis looked at the gremlin "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">So he can replicate things?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(250, 197, 28)">Yep. Was Cordia's quartermaster because of it.</span>" Gribbs grinned, revealing a horrific maw. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">You want him in your service? I can use reprieve from his presence. His chittering is annoying beyond belief.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Easily fixed by sowing his lips together.</span>" Illifis finally drank from his cup "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Now, I do wonder why you're trying to skirt away from service under my wing? Am I that intimidating? Surely I am more welcoming than Alexandre ever was. Or maybe you don't trust me?</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">I have goals ser and I just don't believe I can achieve them under your house.</span>" The answer didn't seem to satisfy him. The charming demeanor seemed to drain away from his face. "<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">Its about as simple as I can put it.</span>" <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">Young lady, I don't have the patience for this. I welcome you, I offer you wine and just want a simple answer. Yet I can't even have that? I'm tempted to have you gutted from ears to split for wasting my time, but I am in a good mood and you have given me a rather useful gift and frankly, that would be a great waste and I rather not.</span>" Gribbs did his best to shove his face in the goblet to avoid eye contact "<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">You may go. Keep your secrets and your wims. We will meet again however and when we do, I will want answers from you.</span>" His more joious mood seemed to have actually returned.<br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">Maybe you'll get them.</span>" Uripa finished her glass and bowed to the lord reagent. He may have some charm, but there was definetly a hunger underneath that mask. It rivals that of Cordia, yet she couldn't tell if he was in control of his or it controlled him. She wasn't too eager to find out.  "<span style="color: rgb(44, 130, 201)">Till then, lord Illifis.</span>" She turned around and left. <br>
<br>
"<span style="color: rgb(163, 143, 132)">May the Red sun guide you.</span>" He lifted his cup in a toast.</div>
				
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