Fantasy Nations RP


God-Emperor of Tealkind
Post 1: Dragonruby/Galadon

God-King Cryan paced down a hallway, his heavy footsteps making filling the hall with quiet noise as the metal of his armor clattered against itself. It would've been a simple matter for him to silence it, almost as easy as breathing, but for the moment, Cryan relished the noise, and besides, one did not need to silence themselves within the walls of their own home. He remembered for a moment when his title had simply been 'Knight-Regent' rather something as fanciful as 'God-King'. It seemed as if everything had grown much more elaborate as time had passed. Cryan's armor was a good example of this. Where, once, it had been nothing more than practical, it could now be considered a work of art, with swirling designs of inlaid gold flowing across his breastplate, a flowing red cape draped around his shoulders and held in place by an emerald brooch, and through the slitted visor of his helmet, a muted blue burned, casting a dim light on his surroundings.

The palace was rather empty at the moment, save for a number of guards and watchmen, as it should've been in the middle of the night. Vrykals did not require sleep, and were in fact quite incapable of it, which was why a way to meditate, and thus idle your spare time away was developed in the early years of their creation. Cryan himself had found little use for it in recent times, as the work of running his kingdom weighed him down with a heavy workload, as he mediated disputes between rival lords, managed internal affairs, played diplomat with visiting dignitaries, and tried to maintain the status quo that seemed to be on the teetering edge of shattering. Tonight was a rare night that he found himself without work, and he was rather unsure what to do with his free time, which was why he seemed to suddenly find himself pacing and feeling nostalgic. Cryan gave a sigh, which came out as a deep and heavy echoing noise, as his mind turned to the matter of politics.

It was no small surprise that the Vrykals were seen as monstrosities to many outsiders. They fed on the souls of living creatures, after all, but all that could be managed as long as their cards were played right, and they remained a decent enough threat to prevent attack, while staying away from being so much of a threat that other nations would strike at them simply so that Galadon could not strike first. It was a delicate balancing act, which was further worsened by the fact that Galadon was split into a rather large number of factions, each vying for their own agendas and beliefs, as those who were once human tried to play god or find a cure for their 'curse'. Skirmishes between rival lords happened quite often, and it was all Cryan could do to stop it all from boiling over and destroy everything they had originally sought to protect. The situation in Galadon was rather precarious indeed.

Post 2: Tirin/Vasa-Wallin border

Far to the northwest of Galadon, on the western border of the Vasa Ascendancy (a border shared with the neighboring Duchy of Wallin), two large parties rode to meet one another. One was led personally by Emperor Luscar, the other by Duke Inurian Wallin, who had in years past acted as both Margrave and General for the Eximian Empire, reliably protecting its borders from any and all enemies who lie beyond them; today, his confidence in his ability to defend his own borders would be tested. As had been agreed, the two parties arrived with some hundred men in the grasslands that constituted a large part of their borders, both sides doing what they could to avoid any deceit on the part of their potential enemy. It seemed initially that the agreements had been made sincerely, and it was doubtless that both sides had a strategy of some kind in place if they had not been.

The good intentions of both parties confirmed, two men dismounted and walked forwards some hundred meters each, meeting well within range of both spell and arrow to further discourage any trickery. The two men could hardly be more different in appearance; Luscar's large, powerful frame was clad in opulent golden armor with a red tunic over it, bearing blond hair, a self-assured smile, and deep crimson eyes that all too easily invited an uncomfortable comparison to blood. Inurian was noticeably shorter, smaller, and above all older, wearing far less flashy armor and dark of both hair and eyes - and unlike Luscar, he looked grim and determined, more than ready to fight were it to come to it. In outlook as well, they differed - Luscar had painted himself as an Emperor reclaiming territory that was rightly his, while Duke Wallin had selected his title carefully, making it clear he would support the true Emperor if one were to come forth.

"Duke Wallin," Luscar said at last, having spent several seconds calmly eyeing the man up, "I'm quite sure you know why I have requested your presence, and I take your acceptance to mean that you're willing to hear me out. It is my understanding that you are a good, loyal man, as well as a skilled commander and governor; you, unlike so many others, have managed to hold your territory together in its entirety, and you style yourself not as a King nor an Emperor, but a Duke. So I ask you to support my claim to the territory of the Eximian Empire and swear allegiance to the Vasa Ascendancy. In exchange, you will be allowed to continue governing your Duchy or relinquish the privilege as best suits your needs, and be granted the temporary rank of General of the Vasa Ascendancy, from which you may be demoted as fits your ability. The only alternative is war, which will assuredly harm both our nations and our people, and more than likely end with your defeat. The choice is yours on whether to return to the fold or bring destruction to your lands."

Post 3: Stoney/Ashen Tusk

It had taken weeks of glacially slow movement to rally all of the tribes willing to come. Sky Splitter estimated that roughly three quarters of the Ashen had responded to his call, including the old and the children. He watched on in well veiled concern which quickly became well veiled despair, as the ragtag collection of spear hunters and children came waddling in on mammoths that only barely qualified for the name. The puny creatures from the coldest most barren reaches looked to be a mere eight feet tall and could only just support the large tents and equipment burdened upon them. The passage down from the mountain involved steep, winding gorges that would hold little mercy for an overburdened mammoth that lost it's footing or became too tired to continue. He drew some solace in the fact that his council of Shamans had already organized most of the tribes into fighters and non fighters, ensuring that even the greenest recruit had a good spear and a set of thick rawhide armor. The Shamans themselves were all rather capable, although the lack of a common written language was proving to be troublesome. The only way a camp of this size could survive without brawling for space and food was if strict order could be implemented. A race of nomads and hunters would chafe under strict rule, but it was necessary for the survival of his people.

Night came as a bleeding red stained the clouds, finally fading further into burgundy and purple, finally descending into the pitch black of the endless night's sky. Stars shone as a million distant campfires, the cold night air blew forbiddingly around the fires and tents erected on every conceivable surface of the valley. The fire cracked and the banner fluttered, and it was long after nightfall when the final tribe he was expecting arrived. Bearing a banner of a wave of ice, the Farwater tribe marched into the camp.
"Who would approach the Host of the Ashen Tusk?" Bellowed one of the self proclaimed guards, giant hands wrapping around his spear and pointing it defensively at the hooded figure striding nonchalantly towards the camp. "Ones who come to join it." The figure answered curtly, in an accent rather alien to Sky Splitter. These appeared to be Northern Coastal Orcs, short and pale, bearing the skins of the strange ocean beasts. His approach seemed to be marked by a sudden drop in temperature, and a stilling of the winds. Based on the glyphs and runes adorning his robes, Sky Splitter had him as the Shaman. He stole a brief glance at the rest of the procession, walking up to meet the new tribe. One thing stuck out.

"You bring no Mammoths, Farwater?" Probed Splitter, voice flexed to sound more of a statement than a query. "We have none to bring, Chieftan." Replied the Shaman, looking directly at the Chief, his cool blue eyes piercing through the glare of the bonfire. "We have no land to graze them on." He shrugged off his sealskin coat, allowing it to sink to the ground as he knelt before the large totem raised before the bonfire. The Totem was freshly carved, depicting an enormous mammoth standing back on it's hind legs before an equally gigantic tree. Below it lay a mountain of grand gifts, iron swords and ivory statues arranged in a semi circle facing the totem. His face cast into shadow by the scale of the fire, he carried with him a weathered pouch, and a skull, and one of his warriors offered a roll of furs without needing to be prompted. Setting down the pack and unrolling it, he seemed not to be disturbed by the growing commotion as camp dwellers began to crowd around and stare at the newcomers. Laying down the pouch and other offerings, he bowed towards Sky Splitter in homage, before turning to stake out the small patch of land still suitable for tents.

The Chieftan sighed, before turning his back to the fire, and drawing the notched blade he had acquired on his adventures. The spirits were restless, and they thrummed constantly in his skull, a meaningless rumble of confusion and discontent. The Ashen would feel the same way soon enough, he needed to mobilize them soon or risk becoming too sedentary and unwieldy to move. He returned briskly to his large tent. Stitched from shaggy mammoth hide and illuminated by low smoky braziers incensed with spiritweed, inside awaited the unmoving silhouettes of several dozen Shamans and veteran Warriors, eager to listen to their leader detail the plan of attack.

"Brothers." He called, addressing the crowd as equals, before turning to a dusty, weathered map of the region he had acquired some twenty years prior. "If we are to move South, we must begin at dawn." The already dull murmur of the room was squashed as the Chief outlined his plan, calling for several vanguard groups to scout out safe routes on foot so as to allow the main body of the host to move quickly down the slopes and onto the grazing lands within a day. After safe routes were scouted the vanguard groups were to rendezvous with other vanguards, and begin light incursions into the Southern Lands properly, avoiding contact with settlements and fighting only to avoid capture. They were to bring no mammoths, to avoid arousing suspicion that these attackers were any more than another seasonal raiding party. Several warriors seemed eager to volunteer their warriors for the expedition, but Sky Splitter had already picked those whom he had considered capable. If the scouts could identify a sheltered path which would keep the herd away from settlements and allow them to pass without fighting the border towns, they were to report. Otherwise, a battle would be necessary to secure free passage from the local warlords or petty noblemen.

It was a few hours later when the first of several veteran hunters and young seers, armed with rare steel tipped spears and arrows accompanied by the power of the spirits, began their own descent down the Mountainside, thrumming with excitement and belief that they were about to embark on some kind of great adventure.

Post 4: zapy/Galadon-Oberland border

In the Pass of Neblig (mountain Pass between Galadon and the Oberland) Out of the mist comes The First of Elite Guard in their usual squad of ten, walking in perfect unity. After it comes a Steam Carriage that contains twenty more of the Elite guard as well as its crew The Boiler Tender, the driver and the Gatling Gunner. Next Comes A majestic ornate horse draw carriage pulled by 6 Beautiful Stallions. This is followed by a Steam Panzer one Ausf. A, The likes of which no one had ever seen before It is armed with a Puckle Gun that allows for six consecutive shots then it needs to swap clips (Which takes time). The Steam Panzer is followed by another Steam Carriage that has its own twenty Elite Guards but It is towing a Gatling Gun. Riding on the Gatling gun Carriage and Caisson are its four man crew. Behind the Last steam Carriage are the ten finest sharpshooters in the Empire. As the Column approaches out of the Gloomy Mist of the Pass, It is brought to a halt by the Boarder Guard Comprising of Galadonian and Imperial alike. The Captain of the First Platoon Steps out of line and hands the Boarder guard the orders to allow the convoy through the Pass. The Border Guard is slightly surprised at the orders but He Lets the Convoy pass further into the land of Galadon. The Captain of the Guard Walks back into line and the Convoy continues on its way to the Galadonian Capital.

Post 5: Easy/Galadon

Dawn had just broken over the horizon in Allin, one of the larger active trade posts in northern Galadon. The nature of the city was such that its residents were not slow to get out of bed and begin to populate their streets. After all, there was money to be made, and anybody who wasn't out there making that money would be losing it.

Today was very unusual in that, instead of flocking to the preferred positions nearer the center of the square, the merchants and buyers of today shied away from the crier's post as though it were hallowed (or contaminated) ground. The source of their misgivings? A kneeling man, dressed in a thick, tattered black cloak and hood, there openly weeping over a couple of small cloth bundles in front of him. Minutes passed. Nervously, as the crowd in the square grew, the people started in with all their bartering and business, though with markedly hushed tones and still keeping well clear of the man in the square. Fully an hour went by, before the weeping man raised his head. In spite of their preoccupation, a hush went over the square, either because the people were curious about what he had to say, because guards were beginning to appear at the edge of the square or, more likely, some combination of both.

"Murder!" the tear-streaked man cried hoarsely, "murder!" His accent placed him as one of Galadon's, a northerner from the sound of it. Nobody recognized the man, but this was hardly an oddity. People of all sorts, after all, went in, out, or through Allin absolutely all the time, which was the source of its size and prosperity in the first place. Far more shocking was the nature of his parcels, which were delicately unwrapped to reveal a couple of bloody, mangled, and above all very small corpses; one, a little girl, who could not have been more than six when she died. The other, a boy, who perhaps could have been placed at ten. Their limbs flopped indiscriminately in a variety of horribly unnatural directions, and their eyes stared blankly upward, though one of the boy's had evidently been cut open.

"A Vrykal encountered our tent in the night!" the man cried, prompting a gasp of shock from the crowd, of alarm from the guards. "His men cut it open and dragged us outside! I begged him for mercy-" he pointed accusingly at the little girl's body - "he said, 'break her legs'. I pleaded with him to tell us why. He laughed, and said 'break her arms'! Before-" The man's voice broke into a sob, but as the guards were advancing, he took in a deep breath and went on even louder: "Before he took her life, his men had broken every bone in her body and raped her bloody! And then- and then they did the same to my son! Back, sirs! I will have my say!" A ball of fire suddenly formed in his right hand as he rose, stopping the oncoming guards as they moved to break from the crowd and take him. They traded glances with each other, uncertain whether to call his bluff or wait it out. For the moment, nobody seemed willing to make the first move.

"My fellow people of Galadon, how can we allow this!? The Vrykal have given up their humanity, aye, not to become gods but rather parasites! They force their will on our people, kill whomever they please, and what do we get in return? Nothing! Nothing but death, and sorrow, and broken corpses! Our blood on their hands! Back! You won't take me like you took them! I won't let you defile their bodies any more! Back!" But the guards, having heard more than enough, kept coming. He waited until they were within arm's length, then suddenly pressed the fire to his own chest. There was a blaze of light, and then a mass of flames that forced the guards back as the man's cloak burned and he screamed, in equal parts anger and agony: "Vengeance for the slain! Justice for the living! END THE VRYKALLLLSSSSSSS!..." and fell, still burning, over his children's bodies. On the other side of the square, unnoticed in the shadows, a wizened old woman in a faded brown traveler's cloak whispered: "Recall."

"Ugh." said the tall, muscular youth that suddenly appeared beside her, in similar dress and with the hood pulled up over his head to cover his slightly-exaggerated, halfway elven ears. "That 'recall' business really takes some getting used to. I never know when to expect it." They turned, in unison, and calmly began walking their way out of the square, then the town. "How did it look?"

"Quite convincing," Miranda Zasolez replied calmly. "As I've said before, your command of illusions is impeccable, and you've a talent for deception."

"So, not to complain or anything," the youth answered, "but couldn't I have done it without digging up all those bodies first? I swear, dry or not, I'm going to be smelling them in my clothes for weeks. Not to mention all the blisters I got on my hands now."

"Yes, that will certainly cut into your 'meditation'." Miranda said dryly. She had never seemed very trusting of Giland's word when he claimed he had to go "meditate" alone before bed most nights. "Or were you more worried about your swordplay?"

"Well, I'm just saying, grave-robbing isn't exactly dignified..."

"Nonetheless." said Miranda. "We needed bodies, and not only for fuel. The people will expect to find three sets of charred bones in the square when that fire dies down. Would you rather have murdered someone, or purchased them?"

"Well, if they happen to be for sale-"

"Preposterous." the old legend was clearly not open to further debate. "In any case, mine is to see you learn to be a man in whom our order may take some amount of pride, even respect. All those fencing lessons you had as a child gave you strong arms, aye, but soft hands. In this line of work, you're not always going to have your fine leather gloves on hand when conflict arises. Remember that, because this next part is going to require a lot more preparation."

Your move: Druby (/Tirin)

Post 6: Milamber/The Warren

Current Location: The Warren – Oldfort

At the heart of the Warren, under the gaze of the stars the White Wolves had made camp for the night. A sense of unease had overcome Justin Sanford that night, not even the company of his partner could soothe his mind. Rustling his partner’s hair as he slept, Justin readied himself for the following day, knowing he would not rest this night. Exiting his tent into the cool breeze of the plains, he felt his fatigue light slightly.

Sniffing the air slightly, he sensed nothing. With a low growl, his eyes burned yellow and his snout grew. Again his nose twitched, trying to catch the scent of approaching packs, again nothing. The Gathering had been announced months ago, two days of negotiations had passed and still not one pack was present. It was not unusual for one pack to veto the negotiations but for no packs to attend at all was unheard of.

In a state of irritation Justin searched the patrols, looking for the scout responsible for organising this affair.


The matured wolf responded to the summons his head hanging low. Before he could respond, Justin seized his throat with his claws, hoisting him in the air and tightening his windpipe. “Can you explain something to me Garoth? It’s something very mild’s our annual Gathering to decide how to improve our nation and somehow not one pack is present. Despite the fact it’s been TWO DAYS INTO MEETINGS!”

Garoth squirmed and whimpered uncontrollably, forcing out a reply with gasps of air. “The messages...we’re...sent. I...don’t know...why..”

“Wrong answer...” hurling his body to the floor, Garoth crashed to the ground. In a desperate attempt to escape, Garoth started crawling backwards hoping to avoid punishment. Justin’s foot slammed onto his ribs and began building pressure, “then maybe I should find someone who can.”

As the pressure intensified, Garoth pleaded “I’ll find out...please.”

Justin’s rage was only being fuelled; it had been weeks since he last experienced a fight. Longer still since he made a kill, it would have been so easy to end him right then and there.

Yet a firm embrace from the waist reminded him he wasn’t just a beast but also human. The soothing whisper of his partner drummed in his ears, “It’s alright..he’ll fix it. You can carry out your own plans in the meantime right!?” Justin was quiet for a moment and simply nodded. “Just rest..and come with me” tightening his embrace, his partner leaned back encouraging him to return to their tent.

“Alright..Linus” Justin surrendered, removing his foot from Garoths ribs but continuing to give him a dark gaze. “Garoth, you will take a group and escort the main packs to these talks and as you go inform Volk that he will be making a trip to Rekka Mekura. I want to start forging this alliance with the elves.”

Garoth scurried away, ready to prove himself worthy once again.

Tag: Druby (Description of the land between the Warren and Rekka Mekura)

Post 7: zapy/Galadon
Location: Galadonian countryside

As Corsan the VI rides along in his carriage he gazes out the window thinking to himself "What a Beautiful country this is. The Air is so fresh, and the sky is beautiful. I wish I could come on these diplomacy expeditions more often." Corsan the VI begins Twirling his mustache again which is what he often does when he is bored or thinking. He goes on thinking, "I should annex those wild lands to the west and make them into the Agricultural center of my Empire.


God-Emperor of Tealkind
Post 8: Dragonruby/Galadon

The city of Allin was one of Lord Aryos' more finer holdings. A trade city that acted as one of Galadon's larger connections with the Vasa Ascendancy to the north. As befitting of the city's importance, a small host of Vrykals were stationed within, in charge of leading the city and ensuring that the peace within was kept. The recent news of the ongoings within city troubled Aryos, however. There were a number of things off with the supposed victim's story. Vrykals needed to feed, yes, and they occasionally had a particular taste for certain kinds of souls, but the Vrykals stationed within Allin were all selected by Aryos personally, and their feeding habits were assured to be nothing too unseemly or blatant. It wouldn't do to harm diplomatic or trade relations, after all. Money was power, and if there was one thing Aryos enjoyed, it was power. According to the story, two children, a young boy and a young girl were beaten and raped before being killed, and the father was seemingly left alive. None of the Vrykals stationed within Allin were known to have a... taste, for children, and even if they did, they likely would not have simply let the father go, as they would've known this would have brought the attention of someone higher up, so unless they were rather blatantly incompetent, it was unlikely to be anyone stationed within the city.

Another possibility was that the incident was caused by a 'demon'. Of course, they were not really demons, as they had long been driven from Galadonian lands, but instead 'feral' Vrykal, as they were called, one of his kind driven to insanity in one of two major ways. Either by self-starvation, or overfeeding. The hunger of a Vrykal was always present. It was capable to soothe it for a moment, but never could one get rid of it completely, and the feeling of consuming a sentient soul was often described as a pleasurable one. The act of starving one's self only made the hunger worse and worse, until it consumed a Vrykal's sense of self, and indulging in one's hunger could lead to an addiction of sorts instead. The ones who tended to starve themselves into such insanity tended to be older Vrykals, those who were part of the very first generations, unwilling to live with their 'curse' any longer, or perhaps as some sort of penance. Fools, those. Old bastards who were unwilling to change with the times. Those who overindulged tended to be younger Vrykals, unknowing of their true history. Bolstered by confidence and the high of being promoted to 'godhood', they were all too often easily caught by the pitfalls of their new forms. Even so, it was not likely that the culprit was one of Aryos' feral kin, as, once again, why let the father live. A feral Vrykal would not be in command of mortal men, and would have instead simply slaughtered the family and fed. It was also entirely possible that the story had simply grown out of proportion, as rumors were wont to do, but it all still felt wrong to Aryos.

Still, even if Aryos did not know the reason, the people would want one, and so for the moment, it was blamed on a demon. A Demon Hunt was being arranged within Allin right this moment, and this was why Aryos himself rode towards the city to take the lead on such a hunt as befit the Lord of the land, atop his Warbeast, along with his retinue. A Warbeast was a being of living steel, much like a Vrykal, but instead it was a conglomerate of numerous bestial souls. Aryos' personal Warbeast consisted the souls of dozens of Galadon's finest horses, bread over generations, and it was a massive, hulking thing, with four great steel claws, the size of a man's head, a tail several feet long made of interlocking plate, and a monstrously large and smooth head, with jaws large enough to swallow a child whole, and through the cracks within its metal hide, one could see a blue glow shine through.

Aryos himself was an imposing figure, a large suit of armor with decorative spikes and points running all along its joints, and the solid grey metal of his armor was marred by cracks of shining red, like the seams of a precious jewel hidden beneath rock and stone. His retinue consisted of four other Vrykals, in much more simpler looking armor, simple guards for the journey, but the fifth member of his retinue was someone more important. A middle aged looking man by the name of Declan, and a skilled wizard and scholar, a possible master of the arcane arts even, one who specialized in the study of spirits and souls. Declan claimed to be from somewhere far to the west, some no-name country somewhere who earned his skill through hard work and study within yet another no-name academy, with a bit of help from his natural talents. Declan had never shown himself to be anything more than simply skilled or talented, but there was something about the man that made Aryos think that he was hiding something. None the less, his talent was useful, and all he had asked in return for his services was the ability to study Aryos and the Vrykals under his command first hand. Declan rode silently behind Aryos, on top a regular horse, sitting silently and smiling quietly to himself. A strange man, that one.

The party soon found themselves approaching the city, and the guards were quick to open the gates as Aryos' coming had been made known beforehand. The streets filled with people, hoping to get a look at the patron god of the county, and it seemed as if a festival of sorts was being held in his honor. Aryos would've normally kept his attention simply ahead of himself as the majority of these people were far below his attention, but this time he could not help but glance, or some equivalent of glancing when he lacked the eyes to do so, at the populace around him, quietly wondering if it was simple paranoia telling him that something was off, or if it was possible that someone was truly plotting something.


For Cryan, the night passed by quickly, and with the coming of the day he was once again surrounded by work, or, at least he was until he heard the news of King Corsan himself was riding towards the capital city of Vestioc. A rarity to be sure. Most kings and lords seemed to more often sit within their halls and castles, letting people come to them for what they needed, and sending out diplomats and messengers when they required something from someone else. Riding out to meet someone personally generally meant that it was going to be a meeting on something of importance, but for the king himself to ride out from his country of Oberland and into Galadon? That was almost completely unheard of. All work was dropped in order to prepare the palace for King Corsin's arrival. Much of the castle needed to be cleaned, and new staff needed to be brought in. Galadon did not honestly get too many diplomats knocking on its doors, and as such most of the palace had been lacking in maintenance with little need for the majority of its space, and as Vrykals did not require food, there was only cooking staff enough to feed what few servants worked within, but a king would likely be expecting a feast fit for his perceived stature. Cryan was honestly unsure if much the work he was putting into fixing everything up would be required, but maintaining his image was an important part of politics. Soldiers would line the walls of the city, and the halls of the palace, looking impressive and Vrykal guards would accompany Cryan personally, looking regal and fine. Cryan himself would wait within the throne room, sitting high upon his seat. All the meanwhile, Cryan wondered what it was that brought Corsin here personally.

Post 9: zapy/Galadon
Current location: Vestioc

As Corsan's carriage passed through the gate Corsan saw the guards standing at alert in almost perfect order. After his Carriage had passed he heard a loud bang sound, so he ordered the convoy to halt. Corsan opens the Emergency top hatch on his Carriage and puts his head throw so he can see out. As Corsan looks at the rear of the convoy he sees that the Steam Panzer one's smoke stack was to tall for the Gate way and the top that kept embers from flying out and burning vegetation near by was knocked off as a result. Corsan sighs at which point he leaves his carriage. As he walks over to the Steam Panzer one, he hears the Guards above him laughing to themselves. Corsan looks down at the Smokestack top, he then looks up and sees that the Steam Panzer one can pass now. Corsan walks over to the smokestack top and he picks it up to examine it. The Ember Catcher was mangled beyond repair, but the convoy could continue on its journey. After the Mangled Ember Catcher was picked up Corsan Returned to his carriage, upon which the convoy continued through the beautiful city of Vestioc.

Upon Arrival Corsan got out stretched a little from the long journey, Put on his Pickelhaube helmet and fashioned his ceremonial Kaiser sword in the correct place on his belt. At which point he walked into the Large palace escorted by the ten elite guards who had walked ahead of the convoy, surprisingly to some of the Galadonian guards the Kaiser Guard as the Ten Soldiers were called were not even tired from the long march without rest despite their heavy equipment load.

Tag: DragonRuby

Post 10: Tirin/Vasa-Wallin border

Duke Wallin said not a word as he mulled over Luscar's offer, crossing his arms as he did so. It was relatively fair, even generous - depending on how it was looked at. The fact that the terms were so reasonable made it likely that refusing them would upset his people regardless; it would seem that he was bringing the devastation of war upon them for no reason other than his own pride. It took some time, spent doing nothing more than staring into Luscar's eyes, but eventually Duke Wallin took a knee before what would soon be his new Emperor. "I accept your offer, my Lord, but I'll ask you to appoint your own governor in the south. It can fall to another the watch over our trade with the Averians; personally, I would rather go back to being Margrave Wallin after all of this. A duchy's just too much hassle." The armies watched, one shocked and the other triumphant at the development.

Though he had been slightly nervous during Wallin's period of indecision, a broad, bright smile broke upon Luscar's face like a wave as the older man knelt and said his part. Truthfully, the offer had been a formality before the anticipated bloody conquest, made only on the advice of General Graf. With a flourish, Luscar drew his sword and set it flat on Wallin's shoulder. "I, Luscar I Vasa, hereby instill in you, Inurian Wallin, the titles of Margrave and General of the Vasa Ascendancy, accompanied by all of their various powers, entitlements, and responsibilities," He decreed, loudly enough for the men constituting Wallin's army to kneel as well, "Your primary duty will be to guard our northwestern border from all external threats, as well as to train and outfit your troops to the standards of the Vasa Ascendancy. In this task you will be assisted by armorers, mages, and trainers from the remainder of the Ascendancy. Finally, the area you govern will be known in perpetuity as Wallinsguard. Now go with your Emperor's blessing, Margrave Wallin!"

At this ardent command the Margrave stood and bowed in thanks, even as Luscar returned his blade to its sheath. Even as the two men returned to the head of their hosts, twenty of Luscar's men broke off to join with Wallin's force; apparently there were already qualified mages and trainers among their number, though armorers would take more time to procure. In the meantime the two hundred men would return with the news, and while Wallin set up the southern portion of his lands to receive a new ruler and saw to the further training of his thousands of men, Luscar would appoint said ruler and ensure that the training and preparations were supplied with plenty of armorers, trainers, mages and steel. The Margrave would depart for Wallinsguard the instant that his replacement arrived, and though it was extremely unlikely that the transition would be seamless, all parties involved would be supervised closely enough to avoid careless mistakes. While other nations prepared to forge alliances and maintain diplomatic ties, the Vasa would prepare first for the defense of the west, and then for war, glory, and victory.

Post 11: Easy/Galadon

The little town of Signpost was a pathetic affair, having been named after its most distinguishing feature and capable of existing only by virtue of being a day's ride to the west of Allin, exactly where a busy merchant might need to stop and stable his or her horses. The solitary stables of the town were out of order at the moment, unfortunately. Earlier this morning two Vrykal atop their warbeasts had amused themselves by trapping a young, travelling couple inside and then burning the structure down, loudly calling out cruel-hearted jokes about the Burned Man of Allin, and threats as to what would happen to those that opposed the Vrykal, over the screams.

News from Signpost did not travel fast, but even so a rider took the eastward road towards Allin significantly faster than the other pair of travellers from Signpost who beat the same path, closely side-by-side, sitting atop a pair of horses with a third tied up behind them. Perhaps those two had some very pressing business in Allin of late, to be wandering alone into what had lately become regarded as such dangerous territory. That would certainly explain the extra horse, although it would have been explained better if they ever appeared to rotate mounts. Not, of course, that there was anyone else travelling that road today that might have noticed the difference. In any case, the slow crawl of their pace indicated that they'd be on their way for some time. Perhaps they were wearied after deeming it too dangerous to stop and rest at Signpost?

TAG: Droobie(/Tirin)

Post 12: Stoney/Ashen Tusk havin' a time

The mountain air was crisp and bitterly cold, as was to be expected. The first crimson rays pierced the frosty mantle of the shivering pines as the scouting group maneuvered it's way through the thickets. Other groups had been sent out earlier to scout the twisting, rocky valleys of the midlands for paths, but this one was sent for an altogether different purpose. The haggard group of fighters and mystics had been sent to probe the defenses of the closest walled settlements. Many of the warriors were clothed in thick hide armour, frayed cloaks trailing behind them as they carried their weapons in their hands. Eight orcs in all, bearing the odd assortment of bows and spears and swords and axes that a veteran raider would be expected to carry. Another hulking behemoth clad in frosty steel treading behind. Backbreaker found it difficult to keep pace with the lightly armoured skirmishers as they wound down the steep rocky inclines and streams, but struggled on to escape the incessant rambling of the wrinkled old seer that was attached to the group. The old thing looked to be at least sixty five years old, but moved with a spritely gaunt that meant she'd be far ahead of even the swiftest trailblazers, had she not remained behind to pester Backbreaker.

She was short for an orc, wispy gray hair just about spilling from behind a green hood, a flattened nose and well ground tusk protruding from the small frame of her face. Her staff was an old gnarled oak branch, with various runes and items etched and embedded within the structure. She was a powerful mystic, adept as wielding natural magic and communing with the spirits. Adept as well at riling up the proud warrior with the mace.

"Heheh, I bet you could play a nice tune on those steel plates of yours, at least more pleasant than that rattling you're playing at now..." She cackled, ascending another rock and looking out at the surrounding forest gleefully.

Apart from the muted footsteps of the scouts and the clanking of the steel armour, the only sounds to be heard was the rustling of the leaves and the soft flowing of water from the nearby streams. Suddenly, the forward orc sounded for a hush.

"Tree-cuttin' camp ahead. Looks to be a few softies wand'ren 'bout. Axes and such, but no guards. Easy..." Just as he'd said, there appeared to be a small lumber yard set up at the base of the hill they were on, about fifteen or so men and five small buildings seemingly oblivious to the danger of an impending Orcish warband descending from the highlands. Some of the orcs were already positioning to attack, seemingly only needing the word from Backbreaker.

Post 13: Tirin/Galadon

One of the aforementioned pair of riders was far from happy with the guise that he had been forced to assume; not only was he wearing the modest clothing of one of Galadon's peasants, as opposed to his own resplendent plate mail (covered, of course, by a rich orange tunic and surcoat), but he had to look the part of a feeble old man. He could hardly stop himself from uttering the occasional grumble while they continued onwards, feeling that being disguised as such was beneath his dignity. There was, of course, some degree of necessity to it - he and Giland could very well be identified were they to look as they usually did, and being recognized in spreading terror and destruction throughout Galadon would be cause for a declaration of war against the Ascendancy. Such additional risks could ill afford to be taken, particularly without any news on how well the meeting between Luscar and Wallin had went.

Finally, though, the grating knowledge that he looked and sounded far less appealing than usual was too much for one Lazarus Udredge, and he turned to Giland to soak up the complaints. "Do we really need to look like this? I can understand being peasants and all, but what difference does it make whether or not we're young or old? They're hardly going to feel threatened by a few scared commoners... and even if they did, they wouldn't feel threatened enough." He said the last quite smugly, belaying his confidence in their abilities - his own in particular. Those on the road ahead of him were as good as dead even in the unlikely event that the plan didn't work as expected; it'd be too humiliating (not to mention dangerous) for Lazarus to let them escape. "Either way, it shouldn't be too big a deal to make me look like myself wearing these clothes, right? That way we could be father and son, which is just as believable as two old men travelling along the road together with an extra horse. Moreso, even."

TAG: Easy

Post 13.5: Tirin/Ashen Tusk havin' a time

Backbreaker had kept silent save for the occasional loud, low growl of irritation at the ancient seer's teasing and prodding. Difficult climbs and frigid weather were far from uncommon in the Warchief's life, and thus far from worthy of complaint, but the incessant irritation that the old woman brought along with her had slowly grated on his nerves over the past several days. All of that in mind, he continued to clank along without a word until the forward orc called a halt, at which point he stopped suddenly, and with a rattle louder than was usual. A vicious smile grew underneath his helmet as he was given the news of the small softskin camp ahead of them; while the seeress may well have been closer to the spirits that many other orcs venerated, this would be Backbreaker's chance to prove his skill and dedication before the Great Mammoth, though it would be a minor offering at best. They would be easy prey for an experienced squad of orcs even if they had had guards and Backbreaker hadn't been among the orcs. As it was, the men wouldn't stand anything resembling a chance.

The ease with which they would conquer the small logging camp in mind, Backbreaker nodded firmly, the shaking of the heavy steel music to his ears in the face of death and combat. He paced forwards to the front of the pack as quietly as he could - which, of course, was not very - and said, in the deep, gravelly voice he possessed, "Let us go forth and show the softskins what we can do. Make sure to take at least one alive; if he can tell us anything of their cities, so much the better. If not, we can kill him like the rest." His orders given, the colossal orc rushed forwards towards the small settlement, inviting the rest of the band to do the same. Truth be told, he was fairly certain that he would be able to raze the outpost and slaughter its inhabitants singlehandedly, but a warrior didn't live long enough to become a Warchief by working off of pride alone.

TAG: Stoney

Post 14: Easy/Galadon

Giland's illusions were good. Very good. So good, in fact, that an extraordinarily skilled caster would be needed to even have a chance at dispelling them, provided he even suspected he had a reason to. Which was why maintaining these illusions, while travelling the road all day, left him feeling disinclined to waste his breath arguing with Lazarus right now.

"You want to be younger? Fine. But if Miranda doesn't like it, I'm telling her you pulled rank." He waved his hand a couple of times, and the body riding alongside him turned into that of a pale-skinned, frail looking youth, far too small for his ragged clothing and with soot smeared on his face. He elected not to relay the finer details of this new appearance to Lazarus at this moment. It wasn't as though they carried around a mirror, after all.

"Just follow my lead and make sure you let me do the talking, okay? Doing that ridiculous Galadonian accent for you isn't exactly easy." In fact, it was, because Lazarus did a pretty good impression of it himself already. But since a retinue of Vrykals had shown up in Allin yesterday to hunt 'demons' in the area, and since news would soon be reaching Allin, if it hadn't already, that a pair of rogue Vrykals had been sighted in Signpost, it was very likely that the hunting party would be passing by them moving in Signpost's direction any time now. Giland was by far the better liar of the two, or in fact of almost any group of any size one cared to pick, and much preferred to entrust himself with their cover story. It was vital that none of their recent activities ever be tied to the Vasa Ascendancy, in any way.


God-Emperor of Tealkind
Post 15: Stoney/Ashen Tusk havin' a time

The cry was all the encouragement the warriors needed, bursting into their own as they practically flew down the slope like leather clad hawks swooping to the kill, stone and steel claws glinting viciously in the early morning sun. Backbreaker was slower to start, but picked up momentum faster as they charged down the hill, with the result of arriving into the yard at roughly the same time as his fellow warriors. Saws and hatchets lay frosty in the darkness of the camp, a weak fire having only just been started by a few of the handful of workers up at this hour preparing the yard for a day's work. All turned like startled rabbits at the charging band, and all but a few bolted as such, the remaining humans likely bound to the spot in terror. The closest man looked to be no older than twenty, when a throwing axe came sailing through the air and bisected his rather handsome features with a savage crack. He dropped like a stone, and the last gurgles left his throat before the warrior even had time to retrieve his axe.

Four men remained in the yard, although not willingly, as it appears that the swifter ones had already barricaded themselves inside the lodgings, with a great clamor of shouting and panicked shrieks as they attempted to do... something. Likely pray. An orc attack hadn't been recorded this far South in decades, and had caught the men completely unawares. More men came running back from the opposite end of the camp, still wielding the axes they'd been using to chop down the grand pines moments ago. These men appeared to be made of sterner stuff, with a well bearded countenance that may have well been carved from the wood itself. Knowing that most orc raids usually fled as soon as they encountered armed resistance, he shouted harshly in a lowland language Backbreaker didn't recognize, although being a warrior he could interpret the tone as an order. The axemen clenched the axes desperately, their numbers roughly equal to the raiders. It would be a fight.

Post 16: Milamber/Vasa Ascendancy

While Luscar marched to the northwest of Galdon preparing to meet the Duchy of Wallin. Samir remained at the capital, beginning preparations to assist in the defense of the west. What these preparations entailed were discussed with the top members of the Eight, these details never found their war to Samir. Before she left on her own assignment Miranda had encouraged Samir to ponder one question, “What does it mean to be a Ward?” while other members simply shrugged off the question advising Samir to prepare defenses on a more traditional level.

This idea of a Ward bothered Samir greatly, he had always seen himself as merely an advanced soldier. While many saw him as something more than that, he had always defined a Ward as the means to protect others with both sword and magic, but it was clear that the empathises was implied on the magical means. It was for this reason that Samir decided to take some initiative, if his abilities could be passed on successfully to both soldiers and mages the Empires defenses could improve significantly.

Reaching for a quill and parchment, Samir addressed various letters to the military branches, to the Academy and the Magical Forces. While he knew his own abilities inside and out, communicating them could be a problem. A small elite team was all he needed to begin. Requesting men and women with experience or promise, Samir asked for a list of candidates to forge his squad. Sealing each letter with the Eights Seal, he began to write one final letter requesting an available scholar with expertise in magical theory. This was how all preparations began, all he could do know was train and wait.

TAG: Tirin

Post 17: Druby/Galadon

The "God King" Cryan had much to think about these last few days. Perhaps this was a fitting punishment for half an eternity spent wishing for more to occupy his time, or perhaps simply a cosmic coincidence. At any rate, he found himself patiently awaiting the Oberlandish King to finish rearranging the floral decoration and moving the furniture, as he could hear him doing mere feet beyond the closed door. He had become rather good at being patient, he supposed; rushing for an extra piece of immortality to squander idly hardly seemed worth the fuss it always raised. Once the King eventually realized the door had been unlocked the entire time, Cryan leaned backwards, a calculated smile adorning his cold face. His armour rattled, a sound he had become rather fond of late, and he stood up, sending a hand open towards the rather silly looking King. Hopefully something of use would come of this meeting.

"Ah, there you are, my friend." He decided to address him informally, perhaps hoping that Corsan would take the hint and not treat this as one of the infinitely dull diplomatic pissing contests that seemed to demand so much of his infinite attention.

"The Kaiser is always a welcome visitor to our fine land, have you find everything so far to your tastes?" He gestured non-threateningly with his hands to the surroundings. "Ah, but I doubt you wish to waste your time on such frivolous chatter. What is it you wish to discuss with me that would not be trusted via emissary?" Cryan descended back into his seat, smile painted delicately onto his otherwise intimidating features. He had hoped this would go better than the last time he had met with the Oberlandish ruler.

Tag : Zapy

To say Lord Aryos had suffered from a terrible week would be the understatement of the decade. News of the supposed merciless rape and slaughter of a commoner's daughter and son followed by the incredibly incendiary public outcry for all Vrykals to be slain disturbed him greatly. More to the point, it disturbed the commoners to a much greater extent. The tales of a murderous Vrykal running roughshod throughout the land to quench it's unholy appetite for the souls of the young played havoc with the already superstitious and gullible masses. Worse yet, the lack of a public denial or apprehension for the "killings" seemed to invite rumor of official indifference or even complicity. Attempts to dispel rumors by blaming "demons" seemed to do little to calm the panicked lower class. The whole affair was a joke in desperate need of a punchline, but none could be found.

Aryos shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, the metal beast below him not any more accommodating than the day it had been forged. Beside him rode the handful of Vrykals trusted to attend this most vital of "missions". Allin had almost proven to be a dead end, as he had feared. The bones left behind from the conflagration were so charred as to be of near insignificance to the investigation, until one Declan rose to prove his worth. He had spent a long time examining the charred remains, and his expertise at the sorcery of souls seemed to come in handy. It would appear that while the bones of the children had long since given up the remaining essence of the soul, as was to be expected of a rogue Vrykal attack, the bones of the man appeared to be in a similar state to that of the children, which made little sense as the man was clearly alive and very much in possession of his soul until he was so thoroughly burned. Lord Aryos could smell a rat.

Ordering an immediate inspection of burial sites, a messenger arrived bearing news from the rundown backwater of Signpost. Another Vrykal attack, it would seem, and another case of immolation. Nothing left behind but bones and the shell of a building. He wasted no time about riding out for the town, followed by his retinue of guards and the wizard. No doubt the news of the Vrykal Lord and his Beast of War would travel faster than he could, giving the culprits ample time to escape ahead. Hours later on the road, which seemed surprisingly abandoned, he and his men happened upon two lone riders and a spare horse. One appeared young, wearing ill fitting clothing and covered in dirt, whilst the other was much older, leading the third horse behind him. It was a common enough scene, a peasant boy with an older relative leading livestock to sale. If they had come from Signpost it was likely they had attempted to skip it following the attack. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask these weary travelers what they had seen.

"You there, with the horse. We're following reports of a Demon attack in Signpost." Aryos announced with a tone of well practiced authority, sticking to the official story so as not to further complicate the whirlwind of rumors and lies surrounding the affair. It was not as if he had expected much from the peasant in the first place, they tended to be skittish and unreliable witnesses. "What do you know of the events that have taken place there?"

Tag : Easy/Tirin

Post 18: zapy/Galadon
Current location: Vestioc

Corsan VI remembered his last visit, of course it wasn't a particularly fond memory. Corsan of course here on important business, he realized how Cryan's tone and manner of speaking were fabricated with the purpose of sweeping the Vrykal's embarrassment under the rug. Corsan began with a slightly exasperated sigh, biting back his indifference "I think we can both agree that we want to keep this meeting as short as possible. Firstly albeit I do not like to kiss up to the likes of you, but I have very little say in the matter. I would like to request that you join me in a defensive alliance against the Vasa Ascendancy. I do not know much all kinds of rumors are coming from their lands,we both know their attitude and disdain against both of us. I need to know if I would have your support if my nation were to be attacked by them them, the Oberlandish Highlanders are strong but they are small minority within my forces. With my musket men and your valiant Galadonian Knights at our backs surely we can hold the line against this evil consuming monster." Corsan did his best to convey the seriousness of his journey.

As Corsan spoke to Cryan his blood boiled at this monstrosity, he couldn't stand having to beg for help from this cretin. All the while he knew the desperation of his quest in this land. Corsan showed not a sign of his hatred for the evil in front of him, but Corsan knew that even if he had done in fact the opposite he would be faced with a more powerful enemy. He did his best to remember his last meeting with the Vasa Ascendancy's leadership, how they acted above him. All of their ignorance, saying how superior they were to everyone else. Corsan knew that eventually he would have to disperse them some how, if he could of course just get Cryan on his side he might stand a chance. As he finished his little speech he desperately hoped that he had convinced Cryan to join his side.

Tag: Stoney

Post 19: Easy/Galadon

“Take it! Please!” The fat old man, who had been looking increasingly nervous since the Vrykal party first showed on the horizon, now broke into an expression of full-fledged panic as the Vrykal stopped him, and withdrew a hand from his tunic to throw a meager collection of admittedly-shiny copper coins at the party's feet, a gesture rather undermined by how they all scattered and bounced every which way across the road. “We won't say anything, just please don't hurt us! That's all we have!” Nervously, he started backing his horse up as though preparing to flee, prompting the younger peasant traveler to do the same. A trickle of urine ran over the old man's boot and splattered along the ground below; from the looks of it, he'd be more than happy just to get out of there alive.

Tag: @Stoney, @Tirin

Post 20: Tirin/Ashen Tusk havin' a time

A broad grin struck Backbreaker's face as the older, more experienced, and overall better-suited for combat men came into view; he thought it amusing that they expected that they could match him and the raiding party, but accepted their challenge all the same. He and his band cascaded forwards, an unstoppable tide of bone, steel, and fury, and while Backbreaker was not the first to reach the human ranks (if they could really be called as such), he certainly him them the hardest. The massive orc didn't even attempt to slow himself down to meet the woodsmen; instead, in a display of surprising agility he darted left to avoid his opponent's rather clumsy strike, then back right to impact the man with his... entire body. The loud, wet snap that the collision generated made it quite clear that six hundred pounds of quick, steel-clad orc had a serious advantage on an unarmored lumberjack. Said advantage would have been made more immediately clear to anyone closely inspecting the man's fractured body; unfortunately, Backbreaker had little time to do as much right now, and so restricted himself to a bloodthirsty, though obscured, smile.

Immediately following this smile was a swing of his tremendous mace towards the man on his right, who was put in the unfortunate position of being six feet away from an orc as large as Backbreaker. Like the man before him, he had little chance; he was too far to do much to harm Backbreaker, too close to avoid it, and much, much too weak to block or parry the thunderous blow. Though the skirmish countinued around him, the Warchief now took a moment to admire his handiwork; the bones of the man's torso had shattered like glass, and his flesh nearly been liquified. Perhaps it was foolish to spend even the slightest time priding himself during the battle - but no less foolish than attacking him, and in doing so gaining his attention. But seconds later he returned to the fight, and to making art out of his enemies.

TAG: Stoney

Post 20.5: Tirin/Galadon

Lazarus merely nodded his head at Giland's request to let him do the talking, quite aware that he was far more suited to destroying the Vrykals than attempting to fool them, and so followed the illusionist's lead when he saw the Vrykal investigation party. His "nervousness" manifested fairly subtly at first; his face paled still further from its seeming sickliness, creating quite a strong contrast with the soot staining it. When the Vrykal spoke, he flinched and raised his arms momentarily as if to protect himself - not, of course, that such lean limbs would be capable of stopping a spell or sword. Finally, after his father tossed coins towards the Vrykals in an attempt to buy their mercy, Lazarus urged his horse to back up and begin to wheel around to flee. While prepared to defend himself and Giland as necessary, he was fairly certain that the party wouldn't attack terrified civilians - not that mercy would save them.

TAG: Stoney and Easy

Post 21: zapy/Oberland

Current Location: Corseinburg Central Plaza

The entire area around the plaza was packed with Oberlanders who were eagerly awaiting the surprise in store for them this day. Some of them had waited hours so they could get a good place to watch.

As the Clock tower over looking the plaza struck Twelve a loud roaring could be heard coming from the tram station on the Opposite side of the Plaza. As the tram station Doors opened people were confused to what would be coming from their. With the loud clatter of tracks a steam panzer one Aus A rolled out of one of the tram station's ten doors. A few seconds past a similar clattering came from the tram main station. In perfect order ten steampanzers rolled out of the tram station, one group after another until the steampanzers had formed a perfect ten by ten square with a single steampanzer at the front.

When all were in position the show begun with the Steampanzers performing maneuvers in perfect order and timing. Their movements were graceful and captured the imagination of everyone who watched the show, even the Kaiser himself Corsan VI. Mysteriously though the Prince Corsan VII who at this time was twenty-eight years old at this time. Like all Corsans before him he was sent into the Oberlandish army when he was sixteen. Since then he has risen through the ranks to become a general of the First army. Corsan VII had his own mission.

Tag: Stoney or Anyone.

Current Location: Meermundburg's Port

"We are ready, cousin" Said Altera who was Corsan VII's cousin. Corsan looked at her and smiled and he said "Let's go and make haste to the mouth of the Grosserwalemeer." With that the first Oberlandish Fleet began to move out to the north east.

Altera was the Oberland's most talented admiral, who entered the Oberlandish Navy at age eighteen after graduating from the Meermundberg Admiralty Academy with top honors. While she is not as Talented as Corsan VII she had a four year head start. Now at her current age of thirty-four she commands Oberland's First Flotilla, comprising of the best ships in the Oberlandish Fleet. For this current mission however joining her fleet is Corsan's First Army within hundreds of smaller Transport ships as well as Johann Schmidt's Exploration Vessel.

About five hours later Corsan and Altera step out onto the deck and Altera asks Corsan "So cousin what grand adventure has the fat admiralty dreamed up for this time?" Corsan answers with a somewhat jokingly tone, "I don't know, the next envelope says that we have till we reach the Mouth. Isn't it strange that Johann Schmidt is accompanying us?" Altera replies, "Ja, I thought that was very strange, but from what I have guessed is that when we reach the mouth we will head north and he will head east. I don't like him, I wouldn't be surprised if he practiced magic in secret." Corsan said, "If he did I would be the first to grind his head into the ground with my steel clad boots." Corsan immediately raises right leg and slams it down onto an empty bottle, smashing the bottle into dust. Corsan and Altera both look at the bottle that they hadn't noticed before, Corsan then says in a snarky tone, "The Oberland's most organized fleet they said?" The Couple break out into a roaring laughter following that quip.

Tags: Vance, Stoney and Random Vasa fishing ship.


Active Member
Current Location: Oberland-Galadon Border, Neblig Pass.

Oskar hid his corrupted Blood-Red Eyes under the guise of green ones as the Oberlandish-Galadonian border guards checked his rucksack containing his flintlock pistol, bayonet, fifty-six paper cartridges of ball and cap ammo for his pistol, his wallet, and extra pair of clothing passable in both Galadon and the Oberland, a pipe, some very fine tobacco from the West Oberland Republic, a small tinderbox, some tea leaves, some food and some water. The guard seemingly relieved not to find any contraband, handed the rucksack back to Oskar. Oskar picked up his outdated flintlock long rifle, his cartridge case containing about fifty musket ball cartridges and a few spare flints, his cavalry sabre and a fine ancient dagger made by the legendary "Dragons of the Oberland". The guard let Oskar through onto the foot path next to the road and Oskar went on his merry way down into Galadon towards inn in the next town. Oskar was glad for the expediency of the guards to get him through the border check with less questions and much greater speed. It must have been the Green eyes of his original Highlander blood, he thought.

Oskar once out of sight of the border check when no one was coming towards him or away from him, dove into some bushes. A few minutes later after his first disappearance into the bushes once again emerged wearing his favorite cowl, cape, tunic, cavalry sabre, dagger and holster his flintlock pistol. Oskar looking down the road adjusting the musket on its shoulder strap, its bayonet gleaming in the sunlight. Once again he continued walking towards the small town of Erstorlein a few miles down the road.
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God-Emperor of Tealkind
Location: Vasa Ascendancy, Luscia

The letters Samir had drafted were delivered immediately, the seal of the Eight on the front of them ensuring that they immediately got to the various Dukes, Margraves, and Generals leading the military of the Ascendancy. Due to the widely-spread nature of the military itself, however, the responses trickled in over a period of about five days, with the quickest responses coming in within two, from General Graf and Emperor Luscar, both of whom had by that time returned to the capital; the former provided the names of a Major and Captain, both of whom were based in Luscia and, according to Graf, "of the highest caliber, and given a few years possible candidates to join the Eight".

Luscar, on the other hand, was concerned with what what Samir needed an expert in theory for. While he trusted the man, most such experienced scholars were occupied with further research into applications of magic for the Ascendancy, and thus not readily given over to other pursuits. "If you would better specify what sort of theorist you need, Samir, I would be glad to see who is available to help you with training this squad. Until then, I can only offer you the best of luck in finding the best candidates to fill it, and recommend you speak with the remaining unengaged members of the Eight; I'm sure some of them, Izlude in particular, would be more than happy to assist you."

The bulk of the remaining letters had much the same to say as General Graf's, with six more soldiers - two Majors, three Captains, and a single Lieutenant - being recommended for the squad and transferred posthaste to Luscia to serve in it. The last letter to come in was, surprisingly enough, from Margrave Wallin, who answered with a great deal of thanks for granting his soldiers the opportunity, transfer orders bearing the names, ranks, and accomplishments of two more Lieutenants, and finally the Margrave's personal seal of approval. Reading through it, the two seemed to be extremely accomplished soldiers who worked best together - begging the question of why they were Lieutenants, but more than qualifying them for a place in the group.

TAG: Milamber, anyone who would like to make a Vasa character (because there are up to ten slots available)

Location: Galadon

Lord Aryos and his retinue hardly had much reason to be shocked by the skittish nature of a pair of poor peasants, particularly given the nature of the rumors that had been milling about. Their horses were far from swift, of course, and they weren't sped up by the third they had brought with them, but they covered a decent amount of distance in fifteen seconds or so, by which time the hunting party had continued along the road, over the coins scattered about by the older man. That was a mistake. The younger of the men turned his head to check their position, giving the Vrykals behind him a fraction of a second's sight of his malicious smile before a blindingly bright bolt of fire streaked past them, detonating in their midst as the last thing that the all-too-human guards and wizard would ever see, and searing the resilient armor of the Vrykals besides. If Miranda needed a signal by which to spring the trap, she had gotten one hell of a good one.

TAG: Easy


Right Honorable Justice
Location: Galadon; the road between Allin and Signpost

If whatever the Vrykal had instead of eyes needed to adjust to different levels of lighting, they probably never got the chance to do so before the 'coins' scattered around them suddenly lit up with a bright blue-green glow, with lines of the same light shooting out to connect each of them, before suddenly disappearing along with everything inside of the rough approximation of a circle they had fallen into. The wizened frame of Miranda Zasolez, First of Eight, appeared beside the fat old man's horse, even as his gray hairs and surplus flesh melted away to reveal Giland of Aquevis, seated with his pack hung over his front and an upside-down water skin dripping over the front of his pants. Shielding her eyes with a hand, she squinted almost directly skyward, and nodded at confirming the five tiny dots grouped together in the distance there.

"Take note, Giland," Miranda said, as the half-elven youth corrected his pack and water skin. "Ritual magic can be a powerful tool even for inexperienced magi. With enough investment into the proper rites, one can often use preparation and planning to compensate for a lack of magical training and ability... but even with centuries to spare, one can't possibly have planned for everything. That's why it was a good thing someone like Lazarus was along today, and that is why you have to practice a full session daily, even when I'm not there to compel you. Understood?"

"Yes, Miranda" Giland grumbled, as the shapes in the sky grew just close enough to make out that there were actually ten - the five Vrykals and their mounts, all flailing at the air in an attempt to bring themselves closer together, but all too heavy to be making any real progress. He appeared to focus deeply, and then connected a series of hesitant, but deliberate movements with his hands. As he finished, the wet stain disappeared from his trousers, and the water skin at his hip appeared to partially fill. "Good," Miranda approved. "Now, it's best that we stood clear of this."

A few moments later, ten heavy metal frames hit the road with a deafening smash, with a couple of loose pieces of broken and twisted metal flying off to the side in different directions. At the front end, an especially decorative husk still struggled to arise when the dust had settled, though the number of bent, broken, and missing pieces rendered its joints useless and the efforts futile. "Interesting," Giland noted. "Are you two thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Perhaps," Miranda answered. "Giland, find something to strike it with. Not your sword; you'll ruin it. Sir Udredge, if you have anything more... precise, to work with? The road is clear for miles; nobody wants to travel between two towns struck by mad Vrykal today.

"We have time to run some tests before the next event."

TAG: Tirin, any Galadon rep.


Active Member
Current location: Verschluss Sea, Oberlanish Flagship the "Siegreichen Adler"
Time: 1:38 PM

Corsan VIII Paced in his cabin clearly disturbed, while waiting for Altera to come to his cabin. "Yes sir?" as Altera came into his cabin which had at this time been converted to his command center. The envelope containing his orders was laying on the table which was covered with a map of the "Kingdom Of God." He looked at his cousin and started speaking "here are our orders. We have been commanded to invade the insignificant Island nation of the 'Kingdom Of God'." He said the "Kingdom Of God" in a mocking voice as if it wasn't a nation to him, he about continue but Altera Interrupted him. "Why does the Kaiser want to invade the 'Kingdom Of God', don't we have enough land?" Corsan replied to her, "We both know that the Vasa Ascendancy has a few very powerful individuals and it is rumored they are amassing more. Johanne Schmidt is apparently coming with us to gather intelligence from the 'Kingdom Of God' due to its much closer proximity to the Vasa Ascendancy. His mission will apparently take him into the Ascendancy to inquire more intelligence on these individuals. We will not be invading the Ascendancy yet but it will be a possibility in the future depending on what he finds. I honestly don't want to invade that island they aren't at fault. Altera stared at the battle plans that Corsan had drawn up. The plans were clearly risky but they might pay off if the enemy cooperated.

Tags: Vance.

Current Location: The Prancing Pony Inn within the small Galadonian town of Gamladar.
Time: 7:32 PM

Oskar walked into small inn almost bumping his head on the way in. The innkeeper was somewhat terrified of the stature of his guest, of course he had seen Vrykals of that height but he had never seen a real person that tall. Oskar hiding his true eyes walked over to an empty table in a dark corner and he sat down facing into the center of the room. The innkeeper after overcoming his fear of the new outsider brought over his finest Oberlandish Ale that was from his own personal selection. Oskar at that point had lit up his pipe smoking some wild tobacco that he had found on one of his previous adventures, he considered it as his favorite even over the very fine West Oberland Republic's excellent selection of the weeds. When the bartender put the tall stein on the table he thanked the innkeeper in a very soothing and calming voice. As the innkeeper walked away Oskar grabbed the Stein, put it up to his lips and drank a little. Oskar was shocked as the ale hit his tongue he recognized it instantly as his parents' premier brew which was to expensive for a backwater innkeeper to serve to the common folk or anyone old traveler. Oskar gladly drank it down slowly enjoying the delicious taste of it, while the memories of his family flooded back to him.

After some time later the bartender was getting worrieded as Oskar had only drank half of the stein of his finest ale by this time. The innkeeper quite familiar with Oberlandish traders and travelers knew that they almost always guzzled down the ale within a heart beat. Wondering if something was amiss with the traveler that he was hosting he came over to Oskar's table. The innkeeper began to ask "is everything alright sir?" Oskar snapped out of his current day dream looked at the innkeeper and said in Galadonian "yeah everything is alright I wasn't expecting that you would end up bringing me the finest ale my family produces from your own personal storage." The innkeeper now quite caught off guard that Oskar had actually come from the family that owned the company that produced that specific brew, while the bartender turned red Oskar took another drink of the ale. Oskar then said "yes everything is quite right. I am quite grateful for the treat." Oskar was smiling broadly at the end of the sentence. The innkeeper relieved that he didn't get turned to a pink paste in his bar went back to serving his other guests.

About half an hour later that night two Behodrung scum came into the Inn stopping to look around they spotted Oskar in the corner staring at them allowing them to see his eyes glow from the faint light of his pipe (none of other light in the room affected his eyes due to his hood making most of his face indistinguishable. The two thugs were horrified beyond belief at coming across one of the most dangerous previous members of the Behodrung division, well dangerous for them anyway. The two thugs with blood chilled to bellow zero degrees Fahrenheit, immediately exited the inn having clearly lost their nerve. As it turns out they were for once in their life running to find the help of Vrykal that could not get to Oskar till the next morning. The innkeeper watching what just happened immediately walked over to Oskar's table and sat down not because he had over come his fear of the Oberlander but Oskar had just caused to thugs that had constantly harassed his business. Oskar began in a quiet voice to the bartender "those were Behodrung thugs it, seems that they have begun to extend their reach out side of the Oberland. The way they fled tells me that they probably didn't any backup from their faction, which tells me that a Vrykal is coming." The innkeeper looked worried then he asked quietly, "what is your plan are you going to get out of here before a Vrykal comes or are you going to be waiting for him?" Oskar responded in an almost clever tone of voice, "I guess it is time for the abomination of the Oberland and the scourge of Galadon to meet for the first time in combat." On that sentence the innkeeper looking worried went back to serving other guests. Oskar put his muddy feet on the table leaned back against the wall and waited.

Tags: Anyone.


God-Emperor of Tealkind
Location: Galadon; the road between Allin and Signpost

Lazarus brought his horse to a halt and had it wheel about when the teleportation trap sprung, smiling brightly at the apparent success of the plan. The horse damn near reared up as the pieces of metal came crashing down, his careful control of its reins being the only thing keeping it from doing so. The malevolent smile tainting the "youth's" face hadn't diminished in the slightest as he approached the remaining shell of a Vrykal, tapping his foot slightly. Much like Miranda and Giland, he was of a mind to run examinations on the Vrykal, and better his understanding - the entire Ascendancy's understanding - of their foe. "I think I'm thinking exactly what you're thinking. Giland, get this... costume off of me. As for precision," A small, but intensely bright flame sprung from his fingertip, "I think I've got that under control, unless you want me to strike it."

TAG: Easy


Well-Known Member
Donor III
Character: Samir O'Toole
Location: Capital – Vasa Ascendancy

Samir’s letters were delivered swiftly and without hesitation. The seal of the Eight was often useful for such times, though he often grimaced at the tone of the responses he received. Usually it was an aspiring leader trying to establish favour in a vain attempt to obtain influence or status. During simpler times Samir would not have to worry about such nonsense, he would fulfil his orders and protect the citizens of the region. Yet with plans in place to retake the Empire he could not afford those simple luxuries.

His Imperial Majesty’s reply was understandingly curious and somewhat blunt in its response. However due to the nature of the times Samir could not fault Luscar for denying his request. Following his advice he sought out the aid of Izlude privately and while the Veteran did not confirm whether he would aid the young Ward, he agreed to meet with him after his conference with the Emperor.

Feeling compelled to explain his rationale further, Samir sought a private audience with Luscar on his return to the capital.

The audience request that was easily granted but Samir feared it may have been a mistake as he had never met with Luscar without the aid of Miranda or another member. Despite this he proceed to bow in respect to the Emperor and make an honest appeal.

“Your Imperial Majesty,

I thank you for meeting with me at such short notice. After receiving your response, I felt it was necessary to explain myself. As a member of your Empire and as the current Seventh of Eight, I feel it is my responsibility to protect you and your citizens. Yet as an individual despite my prowess as a fledged Ward, I feel unable to serve you as efficiently as I should. It is for this reason that I’ve begun recruiting and selecting a small task force to help assist the Empire for your personal use and as a arm for the Eights tasks. I expect with the combined training of myself and Izlude that they will exceed this role.

In the coming days as you reclaim the territory once lost from the Eximian Empire. I fear that resistance will be inevitable and it is for this reason I wish to explore the nature of my powers under the guidance of experts. As a Ward my ability is limited to a set range and while I can manipulate the shape of the structure of any field I create, I’m unable to protect any strongholds or towns. However, if it was possible to break these limitations or even replicate my abilities to a form a larger barrier or integrate it with our current technology the potential strategic value would be immense.

It is for this reason that I ask for your help, to seek the basic resources to explore this possibility.”

Samir aimed to be honest and respectful to Luscar at all times but unlike some of the other members of Eight, he was not on informal terms with the Emperor. It was the uncomfortable silence after his speech that made him realize he was not the same as the founding members and he may have stepped past his mark.

Tag: Tirin for Approval


Right Honorable Justice
Location: Galadon; the road between Allin and Signpost

"Hmph!" Giland was apparently somewhere between disdain and resentment, at having been assigned to physical labor again. "I'll go... find something. Illusion's gone, by the way." In fact, Lazarus's appearance had reverted to its usual form at around the same time as Giland's had, but the youth had forgotten to tell him that. In any case, Giland focused deeply and disappeared from sight, to the tune of the slight 'whumph' sound that typically proceeded a standard teleportation spell. (Something about which Miranda could explain more than the average person generally had time to hear, not that Giland in particular had had much choice.) Miranda addressed Lazarus about their specimen, in his absence. "See the runes and symbols carved throughout the armor?" She asked, "test a blank area first, then a symbol, then see how much it takes to disrupt or deform the symbol, then test for any effects that had on the unmarked plates."

Shortly after, Giland reappeared with a 'pop', the muscles of his arms bulging as he hefted an oak-and-steel warhammer in both hands. One side of the hammerhead was flat; the other, culminating in a dull but nasty-looking spike. "Palace armory," he explained smugly. "Didn't get a chance to talk to my brother while I was in, though." Miranda nodded, approving his choice of armament. The broken Vrykal, on the other hand, seemed to have a much poorer reaction - though less to the hammer than to the face of the youth holding it.

"Vasa?" it spat out in its cold, lifeless chorus of echos. "What are you doing? Why aren't you dead?" Any further queries it might have had were lost, as a sphere of water congealed around the helmet and froze solid, blocking them out. "Start with the right arm, blunt end." Miranda told him, but Giland hesitated before the first swing. "All puns aside, Miranda, doesn't this seem kind of... cold?"

"It's not the sort of thing I would have done to a person," Miranda acknowledged, "but Aryos isn't a person, it's a weapon, one we need to be certain we understand when we go up against it. But if you're not convinced of that, then consider this: I doubt if it recognizes me now, but I've met Aryos before. It was more than thirty years ago, mediating trade negotiations with the lord of Allin, and the human Aryos had already been dead since before I was born. At the rate of one soul a month, the Vrykal has taken over four hundred human lives since I saw it last. Ten of those were condemned murderers.

"If Aryos was a person, what sort of person would he actually be?"

Giland thought about this for a moment, nodded, and swung the hammer.

TAG: Tirin, any Galadon rep.


Active Member
Location: Verschluss Sea, Oberlanish Flagship the "Siegreichen Adler"
Character: Corsan VIII and Altera

They had been standing there in total silence for had seemed like hours on end until Altera's first mate clambered through the door. "The Schnelles Pferd, it is gone! It has broken off of the fleet!" He yelled at his two superiors. Corsan being the first to reply asked "And what of Johanne Schmidt?" The first mate replied "it seems that he is gone to sir." Corsan seeming somewhat happier he said to the first mate "good riddance, let us hope that he can plague the Vasa with his treachery. I was hoping that he would disappear so that we could perhaps get out of planning this suicidal attack that you so thankfully interrupted. The orders clearly say his mission is very necessary to our own." Corsan walks over and pats the first mate on the back, he then continues in a joking voice "you deserve a medal for saving the lives of everyone around you. Altera please give the order for the fleet to turn around, I hate being on the open ocean."
Tag: Anyone

Current Location: The Prancing Pony Inn within the small Galadonian town of Gamladar.
Character: Oskar

Having noticed the fact that the to scum had failed to arouse real security to his presence, Oskar had been prepared to leave for a while now. Before hitting the road however Oskar paid twice the price of the cost of the Ale he drank as a form of thank you to the innkeeper. Once more Oskar hit the road in order to continue on his way to track down more of the Behodrung division on his personal vendetta for vengeance against those monsters. As Oskar looked down the road in the sunlight he saw the destination of Signpost which meant that he would soon be on the hunt for real and things might get interesting.
Tag: Anyone


God-Emperor of Tealkind
Location: Vasa Ascendancy, Luscia - Luscar's Throne Room

Seated on a golden throne to match his armor, Luscar raised an eyebrow as Samir entered the throne room of the imperial palace. It was quite clear to Luscar that the Seventh had come to extol the virtues of his plan, and despite his junior position within the Eight, the Emperor was more than willing to hear him out. Unnecessary though the bowing and formality that Samir brought was, he couldn't help but smile at it, glad that at least one of the group would still speak to him in such a manner.

He listened intently as the details of Samir's plans were elaborated on, his interest piqued further with each passing word. Unbeknownst to the Ward, Luscar had already made his decision by the time an additional group to assist both himself and the Eight was mentioned, the effort to increase the size of his elite forces having grown much more attractive in recent days. Samir, of course, was allowed to continue his explanation, culminating in the implementation of a strategic defense system using the protective fields that Wards could create and sustain.

The silence that followed the speech was not an indication of dismissal from Emperor Luscar; in fact, he was like to be much more vocal and cutting with any flaws he might have seen. Instead, it signified the dilemma of how to devote enough resources to the project without either impeding its development or drawing too much away from other crucial tasks. A smile slowly grew on his face, following which he nodded slowly to himself and stood, addressing Samir in a much less formal, though still wholly authoritative, tone.

"I have considered the merits and flaws of your plans, Samir, and made my decision. Given the need that we will have for others to act in a capacity similar to the Eight for our ambitions to be realized, I give you the permission to seek any resources necessary to recruit and train such a group in tandem with Izlude. I expect you both to make reports on their progress to me at the very least once every two weeks. If you fail to do so under anything short of extraordinary circumstances, your funding may very well be cut to serve other needs.

As for your plan to work on a strategic defense, I am glad to authorize research and development of methods to implement it. Should you succeed, our cities will be impregnable and our people safe from any enemy. You have my permission to contact the Academy and request assistance and training from any among their number who you feel would be able to provide you such; inform them that they will not go unrewarded for their assistance. In exchange, you will make a monthly report to me showing your findings and progress, under the same conditions as before. Good luck with your research, Samir - you are dismissed."

TAG: Milamber

Location: Galadon; the road between Allin and Signpost

Relieved at being able to be seen in his own form, Lazarus ran his free hand through his hair, grinning all the while. "I can't be the only one that the illusions weigh on, can I?" He asked nobody in particular, kneeling down beside the Vrykal to begin his experimenting. He edged his finger closer, Aryos' "body" beginning to show signs of heating well before the flame reached it; as it touched one of the less-decorative patches of metal it brought it to a blazing white color within seconds, a large gash appearing in the Vrykal's armor as he slow moved it downwards, making sure to leave its decorations be for the moment. "Works as expected so far. They're a hell of a lot more resilient than any normal steel, but enough heat will still slice through them. If we get caught offguard, we should be entirely capable of taking at least a couple between us through power alone."

He moved on to the shining red cracks that decorated Aryos, very much reminding him of veins. Some kind of network to better transport magical energy throughout the Vrykal, perhaps? As Lazarus' finger traced down one of them, it began to heat much the same as the steel plate had beforehand, and he cut a second line clean through it with no more difficulty, then inspected the plate around it for any other cracks or deformations. "Damn it. Doesn't look like these are important, either structurally or magically..." He grumbled, moving his finger further along it to cut more of the Vrykal before standing, taking a step back, and dissipating the flame. As he did, a few faint, blue tendrils of... something began to seep from the gouges in the armor - which Lazarus promptly ignored to focus on Miranda's assessment of whether or not it was right to experiment on and kill the Vrykal.

"Is it really up to us if it's right or wrong to kill Aryos? Should we even care? Yeah, he's killed plenty of people over the course of thirty years, but just about all of us have body counts. I'm pretty sure that if I keep in this line of work for thirty years, at the rate I'm going now I'll do a lot worse than four hundred, and I'm willing to bet that some of the others have outdone him already. What should matter is that we're here to get a job done; sometimes we'll have to hurt or kill good people to do something important, and it's best to open up that box and all of the things it implies right now. Aryos is our enemy, and learning all we can from him will probably save lives - most likely our own."

TAG: Easy


Active Member
Drums thundered like the heart of The Mastodon himself behind the ears of Skysplitter. Guide torches dwindled with the setting sun, all extinguished save for the front few which would aid the deception. The raiding party stalked the darkened skies of the Northern plains, a convoy of mammoth and orc snaking its way out of the thick forest that bordered the crossing between wilds and "civilization" many miles behind them, sticking close to the edge of the forest as instructed.

A rhythm borne of a hundred marching feet and hooves which cowed the spirits of the Earth before them, not that the small village that lay in the path of the vanguard army would notice either way. The farming village was by now likely aware of the presence of the lead group of orcs, perhaps a dozen experienced raiders armed with heavy steel axes acquired from lumber mills and border crossings. They would be an intimidating sight to the watchmen of the village alone, but not insurmountable. Had the raiders chosen to sneak up invisible they would have done so, but they needed to provide a distraction for the other group which edged around the town under cover of darkness.

The guards were oblivious to the hundred or so orcs that now converged on their location, shielded by the tall grass and sparse forests in ways only those in tune with the elements could. This plan was required a degree of organization, which concerned Skysplitter since the force of one hundred veteran warriors had to be assembled from a number of different tribes. None were dullards, and would likely appreciate the need for subtlety, but it remained to be seen whether the hot blooded braves would restrain themselves once it was clear that easy riches were ripe for plunder.

The Seers had beseeched the ancestors to watch their path, to aid their cause so that they might proceed without hindrance to the lands which might sustain their spirits. Some were angry that the ancestral homeland had been abandoned, but spirits were much like orcs, and there was little that could be done about that. Skysplitter hoped that such acts would be unnecessary in the later stages of the campaign, but knew that a decisive victory here would save his people much hardship in the months to come.

Storming a weak border garrison was no true accomplishment, but it was the planned occupation and imprisonment of minor nobles and knights that would prove vital to the plan. Taking prisoners was not common amongst Orcish raiders, who either simply let their opponents go once the raid was completed or killed them as a matter of course during battle. If prisoners would be taken, supplies plundered and castle destroyed, it would likely infuriate and humiliate the local Lord into taking decisive action. An action which would doom any army he sent to liberate the town and its occupants.

If Skysplitter's knowledge of the surrounding landscape was still correct, the Lords of these wild lands ruled as petty kings in their own stead, ever since the old Empire fell. These lords were shrewd, and cunning, but prone to egotistical acts of rashness and an inability to co-operate with their neighbors. By directly attacking the honor of the proud lord, Skysplitter hoped he could provoke a knee jerk reaction of disproportionate force which he could overwhelm quickly with an army of warriors hidden within the woods surrounding the town. Such an attack would require the attacking army to put down stakes and attempt to rout the small force within the town. It would likely take a few days for the Lord to marshal forces needed to retake the walled town, but would likely take longer if he decided to make a show of it.

Skysplitter strode silently alongside his trusted advisor, the Shaman from the Northern Shores who had proven himself a valuable asset despite what appeared to be advanced age and a lack of tribal retinue. The old seer was adept at marshaling the spirits of Water and Ice, and claimed to hold favour with a powerful natural spirit from the Northern Sea itself. Third Root padded comfortably in the darkness, peering curiously at the limited brightness of the flickering torch of the advance guard as they strode ever closer to the dim outlines of the walls of the town. No doubt an alarm would be sounded soon, a signal for the hundred warriors encircling the town to advance.

"I trust that you have no reservations of the task, Old One?" Skysplitter rumbled in a deep timbre, his steel weaponry clattering lightly against the carved and runed ebony armour he had adorned for the ceremonial task of gathering the warriors. His tone was reverent yet authoritative, befitting that of a Southern monarch, much to the internal amusement of Third Root himself. As always, the air seemed somehow colder around the Shaman, who spoke in soft speech, with nary a trace of emotion to betray his intentions. Skysplitter felt uneasy around the old man, who spoke and acted like the shaman had spent too long gazing into the void beyond the horizon and had left some of himself behind.

The old man chuckled bitterly, and it took no leap of imagination to presume the spirits in communion spoke through him when he uttered his next sentence.

"Warchief, if I had no reservations, I would be a fool. This task is dangerous for an... Old One such as myself." Wrinkled hands delved into pockets unseen in the darkness, retrieving a small handful of powder which he brought to his face in a deft motion. Blowing harshly, the substance dispersed as dust and disappeared, as if inhaled by an unseen entity. The old man grinned.

"You did not ask a fool to do this task. I will do as commanded."

With that, the old man picked up his pace, assuming his place at the head of the small detachment sent to distract the Guards at the Northern gates, should the guards attack before the other warriors took up position, the Shaman's pact with the local spirits of water would ensure they would die very violently and very quickly. He assumed position as the false leader of this insurrection. "The Lord of Winter" shall indeed stir up the common human folk behind these walls. Winter comes early this year.


Active Member
Current Location: Verschluss Sea, The "Galoppierenden Pferdchen"
Character: Johannne Schmidt "The West Oberland's most eccentric and genius cigar vendor"
Johanne Schmidt had broken away from the East Oberland Empire's fleet and successfully changed course for the Vasa Ascendancy's largest commercial port. Johanne and his group of six "cigar merchants" who were really Behodrung agents that were hand picked by Schmidt to be the finest he could muster. Of course for this operation they were disguised as west oberland merchants, in the usual attire with each a beautifully decorated wheel lock pistol on their belts, as well as very common hats and elegantly made fabrics which glittered with every movement. Inside Johanne's traveling coat was a compact but potent experimental double barreled shotgun which had the stamp of the FVF fire arms company on the grip. Three of the larger and stronger team members had some hidden daggers in their outer coats, the other three had useful items, such as one had an Oberlandish-Eximian phrase book, the had a cigar clipper and lighter, and the last had the wallet in which they had spending money.
Tags: Tirin if you want

Current Location: Signpost's Traveler's lodge
Character: Oskar
Oskar glared in through the windows from across the street, while reviewing the first of four bounties. The situation was quite clear as his target was in the travelers lodge. Oskar crossed the street in the full goose step from those years ago as an infantryman. Oskar thrusted the door open with his rifle with affixed bayonet pointing at the Behodrung scum who was "Wooing" a local galadonian girl when Oskar burst through the door. Oskar yelled in Galadonian with an extremely Oberlandish accent, "Hold it right there Rupert Lutz, your time serving the Behodrung divison is over. Surrender or I will fire."
Tags: Anyone

Current Location: Meermundberg harbor.
Character: Corsan VII and VIII, Minister Egon
Corsan VIII walked down the gang plank to great his father, as Egon spoke up "welcome home mein Kaiser." Corsan VIII some what shocked with the statement asked "So you guys already found out about the invasion..." Corsan VII stood there silently looking at his son. Egon replied to the prince, "Yes the council of ministers caught wind of it and it turns out you were going to be inaugurated after the conquest of that puny Island no one cares about. After we found out that your father had launched the attack on that nation we immediately stripped him of his powers. We were actually going to send the Pfeil to retrieve the fleet but seem to have retrieved your self. Your father agreed to cede the throne to you after you returned home and so here we are." Kaiser Corsan VII began with taking off his crowned pickelhaube, Corsan VIII kneels as his father starts to say "I take off the Crown of the Kaiser, worn in war and peace by many a Corsan. I pass it down to the next, one of many in this long line of the greatest Kaisers on this great continent. The next in line is Corsan VIII, eighth after the greatest of our line, the most potent one yet" Corsan VII gently sets the crowned pickelhaube on the new young kaiser's head. Corsan VIII rises and says " I accept my duty and honor, I accept the burden and the toil." Egon asked "what are your first orders as Kaiser?" Corsan VIII looked at Egon and replied "I want the Sicherheit line torn down and the functional weapons to be used to fortify the wall at Nebligs pass city." Egon smiling quickly says "Ja Mein Kaiser! We will see it done when we reach the capital." That being said after burning some time waiting for the next train the three of them board a train to the capital. The first Army is ordered to march there after disembarking the fleet.
Tags: Anyone wanna ride a train?
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Right Honorable Justice
Location: The road between Signpost and Allin

Clang! Giland's warhammer bounced loudly, but ultimately harmlessly, off of the lobstered gauntlets of their experimental subject. "Kill him? I don't mind killing him. It. Whatever," Giland scoffed, stopping to rub the sting of impact from his palms. "We'll discuss it later," Miranda interrupted. She precisely contorted her hands as she spoke, and a layer of frost began creeping over the arm Giland had just struck. "Again," she instructed. "Same force." Giland struck the arm as he was told, and this time, it shattered into a half dozen pieces from which vapor rose like fog as they warmed. "Standard metallic properties, considerable reinforcements," Miranda noted, and the trials continued.

Some time later, when the glow had faded from the collection of cuttings and fragments that used to be Aryos, Miranda spent a couple of minutes preparing another spell. The group disappeared in the blink of an eye when she was done, taking their horses and the remains of their victims along with them, leaving behind nothing but the trampled and deserted road.

Tag: Easy, Mayor Tyrin



Active Member
That old fool was stupid to trust you with a hundred of his "finest." Is this band of poachers and bush burning mystics really best that the kin of the cold can offer?

Root ignored the insult, he was not a man to dandy with words, nor a man who was liken to be offended by those who were, no matter who they were. Words did not hold power, unless they conveyed truth. Root was always wary of those who spoke the truth. Skysplitter was a wise man, strong of will and body but soft of spirit. With the "gift" he had been given he chose to style himself as a king and appease his pitiful delusions of being a savior to his people. His years in the south had softened him, spoiled him with visions of fame and fortune and a place in history. No matter, he would serve as a vehicle for his own ambitions. The Spirits need only keep sight of the objective and not start feuding again like small children.

The wind howled in his mind again, a spontaneous, frigid breeze blowing around him and lifting up several strands of his gray locks which hung from his brow. Root chuckled, and the Spirit rumbled again.

Are you sure he is worthy of our cause?

The old man turned his head upwards to face the sky, darkened as it was by the impenetrable layer of clouds which rolled off into the distance, seeming to sink into the mountains which now lay so far behind them. The ancestors had lobbied the spirits of the skies, and apparently had been successful. Or it was coincidence. Many mammoth calves had been butchered, at any rate.

Whispers, cold and ancient raced through the wizened shaman's mind as he limped over the darkened ground towards the front of the group. Low stone walls rose in the distance from the grass and low hills around them, orange tendrils of light marking the boundary between the mortal and the ethereal planes. The shadows danced to the tune of an Orcish drum this night. Hidden, only barely visible to an aware eye, were the warriors sent ahead to surround the town, weapons catching the errant ray of moonlight barely peeking through the gaps of the clouds.

The heavily armoured guards glanced at each other, as the old man appeared to chuckle and whisper at himself. As always, the air grew colder around him, and they knew the spirit he had bound to his service, and vice verca, was not at all a very amicable being, from what little they had told them of it. They all had more faith in the ancestors, the wild spirits being seen as too devious and alien of being to be reasoned with.
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God-Emperor of Tealkind
Location: Vasa Ascendancy, Serenn

Johanne Schmidt and his men docked in Serenn, one of the most populous cities of the Vasa Ascendancy and its largest port besides, situated on the eastern tip of the Ascendancy. Goods flowed into Serenn from all corners of the world, both across the land and over the seas, and while this contributed to a wealthy merchant class in the city (not to mention to the Ascendancy's treasury!), it had the less desirable effects of bringing traffic in drugs, slaves, weapons, and plenty of other illicit materials. Mixed in with the wealth and freedom of the city was a healthy layer of danger and intrigue; in Serenn, crossing the wrong powerful man could mean a knife in the back and your body never being found. While the guards were more than capable of keeping open forms of crime confined to the poorest parts of the city, under-the-table deals and sordid affairs were par for the course anywhere within its limits. Were the "cigar merchants" not careful what they did with themselves, they might well end up in trouble.

TAG: Zapy

Location: The road between Signpost and Allin

"Kill him, experiment on his body to determine what it takes to kill him and then kill him, same thing. One's just m-" Lazarus' irritable reply was cut off by Miranda, though he couldn't resist continuing "-more useful, painful, and time-consuming than the other." His part said, he waited impatiently as Miranda and Giland subjected Aryos' body to repeated blows with a hammer, cold, and other various stresses to test how durable it was, feeling that he had done his part in subjecting the Vrykal's body to heat. As they wrapped up the "experiment", Lazarus found himself with but one question to ask. "Where's our next target, and what am I going to have to prepare for?" Given the resilience of the Vrykals, the query was entirely warranted; wiping out humans by the dozen would be a relatively easy task.

TAG: Easy

Location: Verthill

The small town of Verthill lay completely silent in the hours that trailed after midnight, guards pacing wearily along the stone walls, each hoping for the end of their watch to come sooner. It didn't take long for the advances of the dozen or so orc raiders to become noticed by one of the guards, and the first to do so rushed to sound the alarm. The sounds of ringing bells and shouts roused the village's populace as the guards grouped up, some twenty in all, in an attempt to repel the attackers.

TAG: Stoney


Active Member
The band had made it no further than three hundred meters before the alarm had been sounded, and the old shaman couldn't help but smirk in amusement. Had the distraction group taken any more torches the procession would have looked like a funeral march without a corpse, not that the dozen or so guards clustered around the watch towers thought any different.

The bell was rung, no doubt the guards all cramming in at the gate to see off the attackers. All that was needed was a little time for the soldiers to concentrate themselves near the gate. Once the guards felt confident enough to start sending projectiles the way of the band, the Shaman would give the signal for the warriors to assault the empty walls, and take the town with a minimal of bloodshed as was Skysplitter's command.

Finally, once he was confident the guards had been roused and sent to defend the front, he pulled a pouch of sand from one of his many hidden under the sealskin cloak, the sand itself drenched in energy, exposed to the midnight sun for hundreds of years as it was. The inert lump of sediment sat patiently in his hands, grey and unresponsive to the shouting now present in the distance.

He channeled energy through his hand, drawing upon the pliant spirits inhabiting the Earth around him to accept the offering of energy trapped within the sand. In moments he heard the pleased rumble, and each grain began to grow incandescent with power, becoming too hot to hold.

Releasing the sand to the sky, the grains floated ethereally upwards, a cloud of bright dots seeming almost as brilliant as the sun in the day. The large cloud of fine sand illuminated much of the surrounding countryside, rendering the hiding places the Orcs were using to be useless. Not that they required it any longer.

The warriors, having been in place and relatively motionless for much of the day, were excited at being able to attack such a large human settlement. They'd received orders to spare as many humans and guards as possible, and to take anyone that looked important hostage. They'd of course get first pick to the spoils once the armory and blacksmith had been raided.

When they saw the signal, the bright cloud drifting forth from the front of the town, most immediately burst into uproarious cheering. Quickly grabbing the hooks and ropes they'd constructed in order to scale the walls, the soldiers charged forth across the relatively flat plain surrounding the walls. Archers followed up behind, accompanied by the few shamans fit enough for combat amongst the very best fighters. The archers were huntsmen, unparalleled in accuracy although still equipped with ivory tipped arrows. They were to harass and kill any guard that might have stayed behind to attempt to halt the warriors, in the unlikely event that any guard may have been brave enough to face the tide of steel and fury that would very soon be finding its way inside the walls.
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Active Member
Current location: Signpost's travelers lodge
Characters: Oskar and Rupert
Rupert was the first to react after the shock of door being thrown off its hinges, he reached down grabbed his pistol and fired at Oskar. Oskar being somewhat slower to react than usual moved only slightly as the small lead ball ripped his skin open on the left side of his torso, not deep enough to be serious for him but could seriously hinder a normal man. Oskar Fired his rifle which made a loud crack and a flume of smoke. After regaining his hearing Oskar heard the wailing of the peon, not so much soul rending but it was loud. Oskar Looked at Rupert as the smoke cleared, Rupert's right shin bone was completely shattered, blood dripping from it. Of course the maiden Rupert was "wooing" was on the opposite side of the room, although neither Rupert nor Oskar questioned it. Oskar approached Rupert, grabbed rupert's mouth with his massive hand effectively "Halten die Klappe". Oskar looked into Rupert's fear filled eyes and said in an annoyed voice "do you surrender now?" It was at this point Oskar forcefully tied up Rupert with almost no resistance and made sure his prisoner wouldn't be dying of his wounds to soon by cutting off what he could of Rupert's lower right leg and binding the wound cruelly tight. Only now did Oskar realize that he had been hit when he reached down for his coin sack, to find the bullet wound on his side. Ignoring his wound for a bit he walked up to the lodge keeper and said "I hope this covers the door." Oskar dumps about enough gold coins on the counter to pay for two doors of similar quality.

Oskar walks over to Rupert who had passed out from the pain of his wound. Oskar quickly searches around Rupert to ensure there are no daggers hidden around his prisoner. Oskar grabs Rupert, slinging him over his shoulder and walks out of the Traveler's lodge as if nothing had happened as if this was a usual day in the coal mine.
Tags: Anyone

Current location: Corseinburg, The Capital building, Kaiser's Office
Characters: Corsan VIII
Corsan had gotten to work immediately drafting his economic plan for the year which called for the raising of a forth army, the expansion of the military industry by creating several more rifle factories, four more steam carriage factories, three cannon foundries and two specialized steam-panzer factories. The plan called for the dismantling of the Sicherheit line, numerous hidden cannon batteries in the Neblig pass, the left over cannons that wouldn't be mounted in the Neblig pass to be turned into large steam propelled cannons on tracked carriages to be used by the Oberlandish army. The plan included the construction of more ships, to increase the size of the navy to the one and a half times its current size and construct transport vessels to increase the carrying capacity of the fleet so that it can carry another two armies across the seas. When finished with this Bill Corsan sent it to the ministers for approval who were extremely glad that it called for the dismantling of the Sicherheit line to appease their western cousins.

Corsan began smoking a cigar as he read the new daily news paper and looked out the window at city he ruled over. The head line read "The Atrocities of Alladon to be turned into the rolling thunder of the Eighth." Corsan chuckled at the head line thinking that new newspaper has their spies everywhere. Corsan looked out the window at the newspaper's building which was across the street from his office. Which like most things he had seen since coming home to the capital the newspaper was only a few weeks old. Corsan looked out the window again to see the first army marching in the street, with his father leading the march seeming to enjoy himself very much and quite youthfully too.
Tags: Anyone

Current location: Serenn's port
Character: Johanne Schmidt
Johanne Schmidt and his trusty company of cigar merchants six watched as their cargo was unloaded from the East Oberlandish ship. Johanne looked around at the port, realizing that he would be in the trash heap of a nation (in his opinion of course) for at least a month by his estimate or how ever long it would take him to infiltrate. Johanne toyed with the idea that soon enough Oskar might try and hunt him down in this new nation. Johanne knew that Oskar was somewhat close to tracking him down, Oskar had already proved to be more than capable at tracking down and butchering most peons and some higher ranking Behodrung officials. Johanne shrugged off the day dreams and was alerted to the the cargo having been fully unloaded. Him and his traveling band of cigar merchants then with the carts of their bountiful supply of fine West Oberland Cigars, began wheeling them into the market place.
Tags: Tirin
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Right Honorable Justice
Location: The City of Allin, Northern Galadon

Aryos, Lord of Allin, rode back into the city only three days after leaving it, at about a quarter past midday, and not apparently with any news of success. His once-decorative armor was now sadly battered and dull, with even the shining red cracks running along it now sometimes appearing duller than they used to be before, and similar statements could be made about the lesser Vrykal riding the warbeast behind him. The state of their equipment might have offered some insight into why Aryos’s party, having returned with some selected human aid as well as a full retinue of Vrykal, now returned as only two. This served as a welcome bonus to Giland, who had as usual designed his illusion to as closely match the reality as was prudent, in order to make the process of maintaining it as effortless as possible.* Many parts of the visage matched exactly to the helmets and various other, relatively-intact pieces of Vrykal and warbeast that he, Lazarus, and the horses were wearing for the ride.

The setup was less than at all comfortable for Giland, who was well-practiced with either a full set of armor or none, but the imbalanced nature of the burden presented by this arrangement caused no small amount of annoyance and darkened his mood with every movement. It could not have been any better for Lazarus, who presumably wasn’t even accustomed to wearing armor at all, but who so far had voiced no complaint. They only had to put up with the bother for a little while longer, after all, and they weren’t expecting any trouble.

As with the last time Aryos rode into the city of Allin, the crowds gave way to let him pass through the streets, although this time without any of the celebration of the last, and appearing to give a much wider birth. There was a nervous energy and a widespread silence among the people by the time he rode into the square, and the multitude of transactions almost entirely halted as all eyes set upon him. “Where’s the demon?” somebody called. “Did we catch the demon?”

Giland, as Aryos, ignored the question to instead address a patrol of guards stationed across the square. “You there! Watchmen!” He called, in a perfect imitation of the voice used to utter the late Lord Aryos’s last words. “Find Captain Cortus. Inform him that he is to meet me in my-”

“Where’s the demon!?” A woman’s shrill voice cut off Aryos’s demands, and half a brick sailed over the crowd to strike him directly in the helm. “Who threw that!?” ‘Aryos’ roared in reply, but before anyone could move another one had flown from elsewhere and struck him in the back. “Enough!” he roared, “I want whoever threw those stones! Arrest them!” Another stone came from somewhere to his left, striking him in the arm all the same. He roared with anger, and spurred his warbeast in that direction, knocking the commoners aside with his mount or swatting them away with the flat of his blade as he went.

* "Illusions are a lot like lies: the bigger the lie, the harder the sell, unless you're lucky enough that nobody's doubting you to begin with. Half-truths are much easier: most of the story's already set up for you. You only have to fill in a few small details yourself." -Giland of Aquevis to Emperor Luscar, upon meeting him for the first time. (As to why he was wearing a set of false ears.).

TAG: Mayor Tirin, Dragonruby, any/all Galadon.
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