Hilert stood shivering on the rampart. He was thickly bundled in many layers of furs and wool. Whenever a man had guard duty his tent mates would donate a blanket or wrapping to make sure he was as warm as possible. This was doubly important tonight, as the temperature had plummeted below anything any of them had ever experienced. indeed it was so cold that breathing itself felt like inhaling little crystalline knives. On top of that the wind was blowing at gale force.
Hilert cursed, he couldn't hardly bring himself to peek out from under his hood and couldn't see anything through the stinging sheets of ice when he did. It was utterly pointless for a man to be standing guard outside tonight, no one would be foolish enough to be out on a night like this unless they happened to have a sergeant that hated them. Unfortunately Hilerts relationship with his squad leader was less than amicable. It wasn't fair, Sergeant Patorin always gave him shit details like this just because his family was from way out east.
Hilert stood wrapped in his self-pity and was oblivious to what was happening around him. Even had he been unusually alert he might have missed the whispered sounds of soft leather on stone coming from over the wall. The climber froze as he peered over the wall and saw the sentry standing not two feet directly in front of him. At first he thought everything would be ruined by random chance, but when he realized the sentry hadn't noticed him he grinned. Bracing his feet on the poorly fitted stones below the embrasures he lunged up and over and grasping the imperial by the front of his clothing and yanked him back over the edge. Such was the speed of the attack that the stunned guard did not even make a sound until the barely audible thump as he hit the ground almost a hundred feet below.
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Captain Durvos sat up at his writing desk, the fire glowing in the hearth barely keeping the chill of the brutal winter storm at bay. He glanced down at the letter he was writing. He had been troubled by the conduct of Turiyos for some time now but only recently had it become pronounced enough that he felt he had to take action. The Harudish migration had given them a golden opportunity to secure the Empires northeastern frontier and that fool was throwing it away with his greed and sadistic hatred of the outlanders.
He had known how precarious his position was, he was new to the command and had few friends he could count on out here. As luck would have it though an old companion from the Arsus had recently arrived with dispatches from the Capital. He had had him over and plied him with good wine from the western vine country and finally managed to convince him to return to Torre with a private missive to his father, the very letter he was drafting now.
He was still struggling with how to explain the situation, his distaste for Turiyos and his methods warring with his inbred respect for the authority of his superior officer. His internal conflict was disturbed when the wind briefly subsided and he clearly heard someone cry out. He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like a shout of alarm.
He stood without thinking and strode briskly to the entrance, sweeping up a heavy cloak without slowing and proceeded out into the bitter night. He paused outside the officers quarters, the wind was picking back up and he could hear no more of what had brought him out.
He was about to turn back around and return to his writing when he noticed that the sentry on the upper wall was not at his post. He snarled, even though the weather was abysmal was no excuse for deserting your post. That was especially important during nights like this. He begin towards the guardhouse, vowing to have the man flogged in front of his entire regiment for endangering the garrison. Such was his preoccupation with this task that he passed a full ten paces past before he stopped and turned around. There against the wall he saw the crumpled remains of a sentry. He stepped closer to examine the man, thinking at first that he had fallen or been blown off the wall, but as he leaned in he saw the bloody wound on his neck. Durvos had not been on many battlefields, but he had seen what terrible damage the Harudish battleaxes could do to a man.
"ALARM, ALARM!" He shouted into the night, "To Arms, the fortress has been infiltrated!"
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Argatrides grinned at the call of the imperial. Finally they had noticed their sentries being killed. He was relieved, they had managed to slay so many of the guards that he had begun to fear that they would never rouse the garrison. Now he knew that they could forgo the sneaking about and face their foes as the gods intended.
"Follow me dogs, it's time to start the slaughter in earnest!" He shouted to his housecarls as he unlimbered his massive axe. He and his men were bare to the chest, when the herald had come through to bless the warriors he had felt a strange glow in his heart and had stripped off his furs and mail. His men watched as he began to shudder in religious fury. They had all joined him as he began to chant the old call of the red demons. He heard the rushing sound in the back of his mind again, the bloody handed ones had touched him and his men and they could not be defeated today.
"KRANG, KRANG, KRANG!" He raised his axe over his head and pointed down into the courtyard as the first of the imperial soldiers began to coalesce into their rigid formations.
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Turiyos glared at the bloodied courier. The man had come through to the command post from the fourth company area from Capt Anillis begging for reinforcements. "The devils swooped down on us from all directions and we barely managed to keep them out of the armory, everyone is holed up in their trying to keep them out."
"Your commanders incompetence does not interest me, perhaps if he had been more rigid in his enforcement of discipline instead of trying to curry favor with his underlings some of your companions might still be alive. You will go to the eastern campus and inform the officer in charge their to sally out into the training grounds and clear the walls in front of him. This is entirely too large an effort to be merely a nuisance raid. We must reoccupy the riverine fortifications and be prepared for the possibility that they might attempt a crossing.
The courier slapped his chest and scurried off into the darkness. Off to the east the first faint glimmerings of sunrise could be seen. If he was any judge Turiyos though the day would break in less than an hour. At that point he was confidant that his men could be organized and crush these barbarian reavers. He was impressed with their daring but he knew that their could only be a very few of these raiders on this side of the Hurus. There was some danger know because of the surprise of the attack and the difficulty of fixing the raiders in place.
"Durvos, come here."
"Yes sir?
"I am going to order the Vallian militia over that way to clear the secondary courtyard there. That will secure your flank. I want you to take the Guards detachment and the rest of the fifth company and push forward to the walls. We need to get a look at the encampment over there and see what is going on."
"As you say sir." Durvos surveyed the battle raging around him, or what he could see of it in the dark. There was some sporadic fighting throughout the compound but as yet none of the major strong points had been taken. He knew that there was fighting up on the wall and if more barbarians managed to cross they could easily scale the walls if there wasn't anyone up there to stop them.
He gestured to the drummer and a rally signal was beat out. Slowly the men assembled around him waiting for instructions. "We have been tasked with retaking the main fortifications. I want a wedge formation with the guards in the van. Fifth company fill in the flanks and rear. MOVE!"
The men turned to obeying his orders, the well-trained guardsmen sliding into formation with practiced ease, the raw border troops somewhat more raggedly. They locked shields and started forward in unison. No sooner had they come within sight of the wall then a mob of barbarians came from out of the various outbuildings and began to form an opposing shieldwall. The result was less regular, less coherent than the imperial formation but no less effective for that. Their shields were smaller and round, and what armor they wore was far less sophisticated than the imperial scale that the guardsmen had. Nevertheless they had their own advantages, the wicked bearded axes that many of them were armed with was purpose built to hook on the upper rim of imperial shields and drag them out of position, and each one of those men had been born and raised in a culture that demanded that men be strong and hard, inured to the rigors of battle and incited by the clash of arms.
All of these thoughts fled from his mind at the first clash, Durvos did not consider himself heroic, but he placed himself at the very apex of the wedge without thinking and this kept many of his men in place that might otherwise have shied away. Durvos drove into the barbarian across from him with his shield with all the force he was capable of. The impact was of unthinkable intensity and he felt his shoulder strain with the blow. He lashed out with his sword and was rewarded with a cry of anguish and he felt the pressure decrease slightly. The man next to him was forced back by a giant in dirty fur and mail, he tried to force his way deeper into the imperial line to cause it to buckle, but Durvos stabbed him in the kidneys and watched the light fade from his eyes. The battle was so closely fought that the man could not even fall after he died, only slowly was he dragged down and trampled by his own side and his enemies.
Durvos' momentary distraction was almost the end of him, he heard a solid thunk and turned back to see an axehead hook onto the rim of his shield, without conscious though he his guard down to the ground to release it, and lifted it back into position and slashed underneath the cut his opponents hamstring. The man screamed and lost his footing.
Back and forth the combat raged, until slowly Durvos could feel the opposition ease, after what seemed an eternity but in reality was only a paltry few minutes the pressure slackened greatly and he watched the barbarians turn and flee back into the alleys and cross ways they had come from.
"No, rally to me!" He called out as some of his men fell into pursuit. "We'll see to them later, first we have to secure the walls."
He surveyed the situation on the walls as they approached. He could see there were some scattered skirmishing their, but the arrival of over a hundred imperial troops should be more than enough to bring them fully under control. As they ascended the first series of switchback stairs to the top he began to detail out his men to secure gatehouses and towers. he kept only a small detachment of fifth company men with him as they reached the top of this section of the walls. He spied a group of northerners just coming over the walls. The two groups saw each other at the same time, there was no time and no space for formations of maneuvering. They simply rushed at each other by mutual agreement in a mad desire to kill.
____________________________________________________________________________
Belgarix led his men up and over the wall. They had had no contact with the infiltrators but judging by the confusion they had been successful. As the last of his men joined him a group of imperials climbed the stairs. He pointed with his heavy Pollaxe and shouted in rage and hatred. The two groups came together with a resounding crash and almost immediately half of them were cut down. The frigid stones beneath their feet were soon slick with blood. Belgarix cut down another of the imperial soldiers and spied their leader. A man with fine scale armor and a silvery-bladed sword in his hand. He charged forward, bowling over two other foes in his haste.
His initial strike was met expertly by the face of his enemies shield. The little sword snaked out like lightning towards his belly, but he dodged back and turned it with the shaft of his weapon. Over and over the two slashed and hacked at each other, Belagrix was bleeding from a half dozen minor wounds and finally the imperial had to abandon the tattered remains of his shield.
He felt a strange stirring in the center of his being. He had drank the foul brew given him by the herald this morning. The hooded one had said it would give him great power in battle. Suddenly a white-hot rage flared into being and all of the world disappeared from his view except for the hated tormentor in front of him. He knew something unimaginable was happening to him, but there was so little left of his rational mind that he spared no thought to the changes taking place, he simply dropped his weapon and leapt at for his preys through, screaming in incoherent rage.
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Durvos gasped in surprise, the young Harudish chieftain he had being fighting with suddenly stopped, grimacing in pain and began to change before his very eyes. His hands began to curl into long vicious claws and his face elongated into a blunt muzzle. His eyes began to glow with a baleful yellow light. The creature let loose a deafening roar and attacked.
Durvos watched the beastman fly through the air in slow motion, he knew that he watched his death approaching in the razor toothed maw, yet he was calm. Instead of trying to meet the assault head on, he merged with it, absorbing the impact and letting it carry him over onto his back.
As a younger man, before the army, before the politics and the compromises, Durvos had been something of a promising wrestler. This was something that was encouraged in young men of prominent families but after his school days he had left it behind. He turned to that training now and even as he felt the iron sinewed claws reach for his throat he brought his legs up into the creatures abdomen and pushed with all of his might. The foul thing was lifted over the prostrate soldier and catapulted off the wall, arms windmilling and screaming its hate. Durvos rolled onto his side to see the creature laying motionless on the ground far below. He clambered to his feet and turned to see the remaining barbarians fleeing down the parapet. They would no doubt be a nuisance but right now they were someone else's problem.
The sun had finally crested the mountains and the stinging sleet had quieted. For the first time since this whole episode began he could see clearly. With the dawning of the new day he felt the first stirring of hope that this incursion might be repelled. He ordered his men up to the wall in case any other enemies might appear. As he stepped up to the fighting step he looked out across the fortifications and felt the courage flow from him like water.
The only sound on the wall was the clatter of his sword as it slipped from nerveless fingers. below him, he watched as the Nations of the North approached on foot. The river had frozen solid over the night and now they came unimpeded by the tens of thousands. There was no more thought of victory here, or even survival as he saw that some of the numberless hordes were sweeping out behind them even now.
There was only time left to curse his commander for his shortsightedness, and to pray that this did not signal the end of the Empire.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Monday, April 2, 2012
The Beginning of the End: Part 5
The council fires burned low.
They filled the crude wooden hall with a flickering and sullen light. This suited Belgarix, he still struggled to control his feelings, this was the first time he had been invited to attend the folkmoot and he knew that this would be the most important one if he lived to be a hundred.
Telobastes had been beloved of all his people. A larger-than-life figure whose warriors stood in the shieldwall not for fear of shame or greed for gold, but for love of their chief. He had been the rarest of men, one who could inspire such loyalty in even the most hardened of man. In him Belgarix had seen what the kings of old had been, and his heart ached because he knew he would never meet another like him.
The details were still sketchy, the only thing the assembled chiefs and elders knew for certain was that Telobastes had gone across to parley with the imperials and he had been brutally slain. The first inkling was the keening howl of his hearth warriors. They had been stripped of their weapons and forced to wait by the rivers edge for their lords return. When he came back a corpse they had rose up as one and fell upon their captors with a fury only whispered of in ancient tails. They had failed their lord and were doubly shamed as they had not even been been allowed to be present at his demise. So to expunge this dishonor they had lashed out at the hated imperials and dragged as many down with rocks and barehands as they could.
The hearthguards were some of the best warriors left among the people, but even so they had been no match for the armed and armored imperials. Thirty-one bodies had been consigned to the river, while thirty-thousand stood on the far bank and watched in mute anguish.
"We must leave this hateful place." This from Gorantes, an old man who had seen all of his children and grandchildren die on the march. "There is nothing for us here, we must go north until we find a place that no one will want to take from us. Only then will we know peace."
"Peace! I don't want PEACE, I want retribution!" A younger man who had not lost nearly so much raged from the back of the council space. "These imperials think that we are broken, but I say they are not invincible." As he spoke he stepped forward into the light to show that he was still covered in blood, after the debacle at the riverside, those imperials present in the Harudish camp had been hunted down and slaughtered. Over a hundred of the dogs had been rounded up, they had been torn limb from limb by the maddened crowd and their bodies thrown into the river, although this had ellicited no response from the imperial side.
"Belgarix knew he needed to speak now. He had inherited his uncle's position and some degree of the respect he held had been transferred to him, and he knew what Telobastes would say. "I know brother, I know, but how can we cross the river?"
At this, the assembled elders muttered amongst themselves. "I want nothing more than to feel the blood of the one who perpetrated this villainy to run down my sword, but we must look to to the larger problem; we have no boats, no bridge, and the river is too deep to ford."
"We could fashion rafts." Came someone from outside the ring of firelight.
"With what tools, we have nothing left to us, and our remaining warriors are too sick and hungry to work. No, as much as it galls me, we are too weak to exact our revenge now. We must look elsewhere, if we should attempt the crossing and fail, that would be the end of our people."
"Your people have already ended." Croaked an unfamiliar voice from the entrance way.
All eyes turned towards the newcomer, standing in the entranceway was a shadowy figure silhouetted by the bright winter moon. The howl of the wind blew in frigid air from outside and those closest shivered, though from cold or unease none could say.
"Who are you?" asked Belgarix.
"I am the voice of the darkest night, the call of wolves on the hunt. I am the Herald of Stiggan and will brook no insolence from a pup like you."
"There hasn't been a Herald in over a hundred years." Shouted Gorantes, I remember when I was a boy my grandfather told me of when he saw the last one."
The stranger stepped into the council, a chill seemed to follow him and the fire visibly dimmed as he approached the center of the gathering.
"You have fallen from the true path. You were led astray by fools who lusted after tainted gold and soft living. Your people were born in winter, you are sons of the bear and the wolf."
His listeners leaned forward, each of them had at one time or another been paid in imperial gold, now they each felt a secret shame, and as the stranger continued their desire to wipe it away grew into a burning need.
"It is time that these perfumed southerners felt the true power of the north, you must gather your warriors, the attack will begin before dawn."
Belgarix found himself on his knees without remembering how. "But...how will we cross the river?"
"If you have faith, you won't need to."
They filled the crude wooden hall with a flickering and sullen light. This suited Belgarix, he still struggled to control his feelings, this was the first time he had been invited to attend the folkmoot and he knew that this would be the most important one if he lived to be a hundred.
Telobastes had been beloved of all his people. A larger-than-life figure whose warriors stood in the shieldwall not for fear of shame or greed for gold, but for love of their chief. He had been the rarest of men, one who could inspire such loyalty in even the most hardened of man. In him Belgarix had seen what the kings of old had been, and his heart ached because he knew he would never meet another like him.
The details were still sketchy, the only thing the assembled chiefs and elders knew for certain was that Telobastes had gone across to parley with the imperials and he had been brutally slain. The first inkling was the keening howl of his hearth warriors. They had been stripped of their weapons and forced to wait by the rivers edge for their lords return. When he came back a corpse they had rose up as one and fell upon their captors with a fury only whispered of in ancient tails. They had failed their lord and were doubly shamed as they had not even been been allowed to be present at his demise. So to expunge this dishonor they had lashed out at the hated imperials and dragged as many down with rocks and barehands as they could.
The hearthguards were some of the best warriors left among the people, but even so they had been no match for the armed and armored imperials. Thirty-one bodies had been consigned to the river, while thirty-thousand stood on the far bank and watched in mute anguish.
"We must leave this hateful place." This from Gorantes, an old man who had seen all of his children and grandchildren die on the march. "There is nothing for us here, we must go north until we find a place that no one will want to take from us. Only then will we know peace."
"Peace! I don't want PEACE, I want retribution!" A younger man who had not lost nearly so much raged from the back of the council space. "These imperials think that we are broken, but I say they are not invincible." As he spoke he stepped forward into the light to show that he was still covered in blood, after the debacle at the riverside, those imperials present in the Harudish camp had been hunted down and slaughtered. Over a hundred of the dogs had been rounded up, they had been torn limb from limb by the maddened crowd and their bodies thrown into the river, although this had ellicited no response from the imperial side.
"Belgarix knew he needed to speak now. He had inherited his uncle's position and some degree of the respect he held had been transferred to him, and he knew what Telobastes would say. "I know brother, I know, but how can we cross the river?"
At this, the assembled elders muttered amongst themselves. "I want nothing more than to feel the blood of the one who perpetrated this villainy to run down my sword, but we must look to to the larger problem; we have no boats, no bridge, and the river is too deep to ford."
"We could fashion rafts." Came someone from outside the ring of firelight.
"With what tools, we have nothing left to us, and our remaining warriors are too sick and hungry to work. No, as much as it galls me, we are too weak to exact our revenge now. We must look elsewhere, if we should attempt the crossing and fail, that would be the end of our people."
"Your people have already ended." Croaked an unfamiliar voice from the entrance way.
All eyes turned towards the newcomer, standing in the entranceway was a shadowy figure silhouetted by the bright winter moon. The howl of the wind blew in frigid air from outside and those closest shivered, though from cold or unease none could say.
"Who are you?" asked Belgarix.
"I am the voice of the darkest night, the call of wolves on the hunt. I am the Herald of Stiggan and will brook no insolence from a pup like you."
"There hasn't been a Herald in over a hundred years." Shouted Gorantes, I remember when I was a boy my grandfather told me of when he saw the last one."
The stranger stepped into the council, a chill seemed to follow him and the fire visibly dimmed as he approached the center of the gathering.
"You have fallen from the true path. You were led astray by fools who lusted after tainted gold and soft living. Your people were born in winter, you are sons of the bear and the wolf."
His listeners leaned forward, each of them had at one time or another been paid in imperial gold, now they each felt a secret shame, and as the stranger continued their desire to wipe it away grew into a burning need.
"It is time that these perfumed southerners felt the true power of the north, you must gather your warriors, the attack will begin before dawn."
Belgarix found himself on his knees without remembering how. "But...how will we cross the river?"
"If you have faith, you won't need to."
Thursday, March 29, 2012
The Beginning of the End: Part 4
General Turiyos stared blankly at his visitor. He sat on a padded camp chair he had been gifted by a rich benefactor many years before when he had been promoted to the regimental mess. In front of him was a battered sea chest strewn with disposition accounts and scouting reports, after years of inactivity, he had finally managed to goad his command into a semblance of military efficiency.
Before him stood Telobastes, paramount chief of the Harudish people, king in all but name. The barbarian was livid, he could see the barely-restrained fury bubbling beneath the surface. Despite his outward calm Turiyos quietly seethed himself. The gall of this puffed up savage, to storm into his command post uninvited and dare to question his actions. He vowed to show this petty bandit not to impugn the honor of an officer of the empire.
"I fail to see the issue." He announced in a disinterested tone of voice.
"The issue! The issue is your men are kidnapping my people to sell into slavery!"
"Hardly, this is a simple matter of trade. We find the best way to see to the fair distribution of goods is by exchange. Since your people are lamentably short of goods at the moment, we have magnanimously deigned to accept a period of indentured servitude instead. You should be thankful that we are willing to do so as, quite frankly, few of your people would be worth anything at all in the flesh markets of Torre."
"We have come to you in need, our warriors offer allegiance in good faith to save their wives and children from starvation. You have rebuked our offer and instead trade crumbs for slaves. Truly yours is a fallen people that you could commit such vile acts."
Turiyos was a soldier of great experience, and he knew that it was vital to maintain your composure during any encounter. Indeed, he had often been described as particularly icy and remorseless man. So it was that even he was surprised at the sheer magnitude of his rage at this accusation. He surged to his feet, sending his stool crashing backwards.
"You are NOTHING to me! I hold the very life of your entire race in my hand, and it is only though my good graces that I have decided not to exterminate you like the vermin you are. SEIZE HIM!"
Momentarily taken aback, the guards hesitated at his shouted command. Bellowing in incoherent rage, the normally composed imperial general ripped his short sword from its scabbard, leapt bodily over his desk and stabbed the surprised barbarian through the stomach.
Carried over backwards by the ferocity of the sudden assault, Telobastes was born to the ground. He was no shrinking violet, as he had one his leadership through feats of bravery in battle. Despite his mortal wound he gripped the sword hand of his murderer and hammered into his face with a gauntleted fist over and over.
In the grip of a bloodlust he had never experienced before, Turiyos tore his sword free and began hacking wildly at the source of his ire. He continued this long after the bloody ruin ceased to struggle. Finally, tossing aside his notched sword and heaving with exertion, he turned to his aide-de-camp.
"Take this thing from my sight, and toss it into the river."
Captain Durvos turned to the guards, "Your heard the general, move it!"
The guards heard the note of command and responded instictively. Glad to have a clear order to obey so they could avoid thinking about what they just witnessed. They gathered up the ruined carcass, noses wrinkling at the fetid stink of it, and if they detected a smoky hint of brimstone in the air neither of them recognized it for what it was.
Captain Durvos watched the men as they went about their grisly task. When they had departed, he walked back into the generals private chambers to see him calmly washing the blood from his hands as though it were no more than road dust.
"That will be poorly received across the river. He was well-respected and the remaining chiefs might vote for war."
"So what if they do, those rabble could never force the river. They have no boats and lack the means to fashion a bridge. We could hold this position for a thousand years against the likes of them."
"Even so, we have men over there now. Surely there will be reprisals when this comes out."
"If our men are not able to extricate themselves then they are of little value to us anyways. Surely I do not detect a hint of reprimand from you Durvos. I know you think your father will see to you, but I will brook no disrepect from an inferior."
"As you say, sir."
Before him stood Telobastes, paramount chief of the Harudish people, king in all but name. The barbarian was livid, he could see the barely-restrained fury bubbling beneath the surface. Despite his outward calm Turiyos quietly seethed himself. The gall of this puffed up savage, to storm into his command post uninvited and dare to question his actions. He vowed to show this petty bandit not to impugn the honor of an officer of the empire.
"I fail to see the issue." He announced in a disinterested tone of voice.
"The issue! The issue is your men are kidnapping my people to sell into slavery!"
"Hardly, this is a simple matter of trade. We find the best way to see to the fair distribution of goods is by exchange. Since your people are lamentably short of goods at the moment, we have magnanimously deigned to accept a period of indentured servitude instead. You should be thankful that we are willing to do so as, quite frankly, few of your people would be worth anything at all in the flesh markets of Torre."
"We have come to you in need, our warriors offer allegiance in good faith to save their wives and children from starvation. You have rebuked our offer and instead trade crumbs for slaves. Truly yours is a fallen people that you could commit such vile acts."
Turiyos was a soldier of great experience, and he knew that it was vital to maintain your composure during any encounter. Indeed, he had often been described as particularly icy and remorseless man. So it was that even he was surprised at the sheer magnitude of his rage at this accusation. He surged to his feet, sending his stool crashing backwards.
"You are NOTHING to me! I hold the very life of your entire race in my hand, and it is only though my good graces that I have decided not to exterminate you like the vermin you are. SEIZE HIM!"
Momentarily taken aback, the guards hesitated at his shouted command. Bellowing in incoherent rage, the normally composed imperial general ripped his short sword from its scabbard, leapt bodily over his desk and stabbed the surprised barbarian through the stomach.
Carried over backwards by the ferocity of the sudden assault, Telobastes was born to the ground. He was no shrinking violet, as he had one his leadership through feats of bravery in battle. Despite his mortal wound he gripped the sword hand of his murderer and hammered into his face with a gauntleted fist over and over.
In the grip of a bloodlust he had never experienced before, Turiyos tore his sword free and began hacking wildly at the source of his ire. He continued this long after the bloody ruin ceased to struggle. Finally, tossing aside his notched sword and heaving with exertion, he turned to his aide-de-camp.
"Take this thing from my sight, and toss it into the river."
Captain Durvos turned to the guards, "Your heard the general, move it!"
The guards heard the note of command and responded instictively. Glad to have a clear order to obey so they could avoid thinking about what they just witnessed. They gathered up the ruined carcass, noses wrinkling at the fetid stink of it, and if they detected a smoky hint of brimstone in the air neither of them recognized it for what it was.
Captain Durvos watched the men as they went about their grisly task. When they had departed, he walked back into the generals private chambers to see him calmly washing the blood from his hands as though it were no more than road dust.
"That will be poorly received across the river. He was well-respected and the remaining chiefs might vote for war."
"So what if they do, those rabble could never force the river. They have no boats and lack the means to fashion a bridge. We could hold this position for a thousand years against the likes of them."
"Even so, we have men over there now. Surely there will be reprisals when this comes out."
"If our men are not able to extricate themselves then they are of little value to us anyways. Surely I do not detect a hint of reprimand from you Durvos. I know you think your father will see to you, but I will brook no disrepect from an inferior."
"As you say, sir."
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
The Beginning of the End: Part 3
The two imperial soldiers wended there way through the Harudish encampment. One was a small, dark man with greasy hair and a cruel gleam in his one remaining eye, the other having been lost in a battle many years ago with a war party of the great barbarian chieftain Andelistes. The other was a large bluff blond man who strode through the filth with nary a glance. He was used to such conditions, having been raised as a laborer on one of the empires great plantations until he had joined the army barely a year before. This marked him as an oddity, a genuine imperial at the post. Most of the higher ranking officers were citizens of course, and some of the captains. The vast majority of the men in ranks were locals however, some were tawny-haired westermen or dusky-hued islanders from the Sea of Armagh, although most were simply of mixed heritage, a legacy of the advance of the imperial legions and the plague of bastards they left behind.
"We're gonna make a mint in this place." Declared Hahnel, the smaller of the two.
"What do you mean, aren't we just supposed to find someone to take charge of the relief supplies over here?"
"No, captain said we needed coin ta pay fer tha new citadel. He said since it was ta protect the empire from these ragged-ass barbarians, s'only right they pay for it, huh."
"It doesn't look like they have much in the way of money."
"Then I guess we need to take it in kind from what they do have."
This puzzled Tiro, even walking the periphery of the disorganized mass of the refugees was enough to tell him that they had little but the clothes on their backs. They had some pack animals, some of the men still had weapons, but most of them were in poor condition and would hardly be worth trading. More to the point, Tiro couldn't see why the general wanted a new fortress when the river provided such an effective natural obstacle. This was one of the few suitable crossing sites for hundreds of miles and even here the Hurus was close to half a mile across and flowed swift and deep. Even with the sorry state of the imperial garrison and the sheer size of the barbarian host, Tiro did not think they could carry out any kind of assault, let alone a successful one.
His thoughts were interrupted as a large man stepped out in front of them. He was dressed in the mail and fur of a chieftain, and he carried at his side an axe almost as tall as him. Despite this Tiro could see that his once massive frame had shrunk and his eyes had the fever bright glow of one facing starvation.
"Inta-hunye gorsenn ail yeja!"
Tiro starred uncomprehendingly, but Hahnel had been chosen for this task specifically. His mother had been a slave taken from her home by an imperial raid and he had been raised among other Harudish slaves.
"We come from across the river in the name of General Turiyos. He had ordered us to bring food to trade with you."
"Trade," spat the axeman, "You make me sick, what would you have of us, our dying horses, or the rags from our backs!"
At the sound of the barbarians anger, Hahnel saw a small head peek out of the makeshift tent behind him. A girl of no more than ten, with shockingly blue eyes stared at the soldiers. She had been raised to hate these men, but as she set eyes on them for the first time she knew only a deep, formless dread."
Hahnel smiled at the girl, exposing several missing teeth. "There is much call for workers in the empire, there is no reason for your family to starve. Tell me, how many children do you have?"
"We're gonna make a mint in this place." Declared Hahnel, the smaller of the two.
"What do you mean, aren't we just supposed to find someone to take charge of the relief supplies over here?"
"No, captain said we needed coin ta pay fer tha new citadel. He said since it was ta protect the empire from these ragged-ass barbarians, s'only right they pay for it, huh."
"It doesn't look like they have much in the way of money."
"Then I guess we need to take it in kind from what they do have."
This puzzled Tiro, even walking the periphery of the disorganized mass of the refugees was enough to tell him that they had little but the clothes on their backs. They had some pack animals, some of the men still had weapons, but most of them were in poor condition and would hardly be worth trading. More to the point, Tiro couldn't see why the general wanted a new fortress when the river provided such an effective natural obstacle. This was one of the few suitable crossing sites for hundreds of miles and even here the Hurus was close to half a mile across and flowed swift and deep. Even with the sorry state of the imperial garrison and the sheer size of the barbarian host, Tiro did not think they could carry out any kind of assault, let alone a successful one.
His thoughts were interrupted as a large man stepped out in front of them. He was dressed in the mail and fur of a chieftain, and he carried at his side an axe almost as tall as him. Despite this Tiro could see that his once massive frame had shrunk and his eyes had the fever bright glow of one facing starvation.
"Inta-hunye gorsenn ail yeja!"
Tiro starred uncomprehendingly, but Hahnel had been chosen for this task specifically. His mother had been a slave taken from her home by an imperial raid and he had been raised among other Harudish slaves.
"We come from across the river in the name of General Turiyos. He had ordered us to bring food to trade with you."
"Trade," spat the axeman, "You make me sick, what would you have of us, our dying horses, or the rags from our backs!"
At the sound of the barbarians anger, Hahnel saw a small head peek out of the makeshift tent behind him. A girl of no more than ten, with shockingly blue eyes stared at the soldiers. She had been raised to hate these men, but as she set eyes on them for the first time she knew only a deep, formless dread."
Hahnel smiled at the girl, exposing several missing teeth. "There is much call for workers in the empire, there is no reason for your family to starve. Tell me, how many children do you have?"
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
The Beginning of the End: Part 2
Turiyos listened with satisfaction to the bustle of the garrison. It was long after nightfall and yet the soldiers labored on. Since the Harudish had arrived on the banks it had been a great deal easier to assign fatigue duties to the troops. Fortifications that had been decaying for want of simple maintenance were once again being renovated and reoccupied. It had been a monumental struggle just to keep the surly border guards to the watch schedules, let alone the work details needed to keep the ancient fortresses in repair.
Turiyos snarled, remembering the frustration of trying to get even an ounce of work out of the surly border guards. Most of them were local barbarians themselves, or half-mongrel bastards without the virtue of true imperial citizens. Thankfully that seemed to change with the presence of the Harudish tribes in sight across the river. Suddenly repairing the bastions and watchtowers became a greater priority than drinking and dicing with the oppressive presence of a horde of foreigners, even one so pathetic as the Harudish.
"They are disgusting, aren't they?"
"Who, the rabble across the river, or the one out in the yard?"
"Yes, truly they are beneath you. A man of your stature should have a position that better suits you. Perhaps you will be named Warden here by the council?"
Turiyos snorted with disdain, "The council, they are fools every one of them. They don't understand that a strong leader is needed in times such as these. They are too busy bankrupting the treasury and buggering elf-children to do anything worthwhile."
"Perhaps a strong man might take matters into his own hands? A great leader would not want for permission from lesser men. He would have the strength to do what was needed for the greater good."
Turiyos eyed his companion warily. "That is treason you speak. I fear that our leaders lack the virtues that made our people masters of the known world, but part of that greatness was the holy regard given us by adherence to our republican principles. A rebel has never known the patronage of Surt or Belann."
"Truly? What good has the approval of such beings done for your lords and masters, what has it gotten you? You mouth pious words, but in your heart you know the truth. Your gods have abandoned you, whether for your sins or for their own amusement matters not. You know that no matter what happens here, you are all alone."
The slender man in the corner of the room smiled, his yellow eyes glinting in the firelight, and a forked tongue darted out to taste the air. He could smell the fear and weakness of the man before him. He knew that the time was nigh to begin the next step.
"But it does not need to be that way. There are other gods, gods who would not abandon you in your time of need. They have watched you for many years. They, unlike your benighted councilors have seen the measure of your worth and they know that it is you and you alone who can save the empire from its own decadence."
Turiyos stared into the small fire at the center of his chamber, lost in thought. He was not an evil man and in his heart of hearts he recognized this for what it was. The strangers honeyed words floated through his mind back and forth, and the fact that he recognized the manipulation behind them did nothing to lessen their power over him. For he was an ambitious man, and more damning, he truly did believe that he could save the empire if only given the chance.
Finally, he spoke in a voice like a freshly dug grave.
"What do I need to do?"
Turiyos snarled, remembering the frustration of trying to get even an ounce of work out of the surly border guards. Most of them were local barbarians themselves, or half-mongrel bastards without the virtue of true imperial citizens. Thankfully that seemed to change with the presence of the Harudish tribes in sight across the river. Suddenly repairing the bastions and watchtowers became a greater priority than drinking and dicing with the oppressive presence of a horde of foreigners, even one so pathetic as the Harudish.
"They are disgusting, aren't they?"
"Who, the rabble across the river, or the one out in the yard?"
"Yes, truly they are beneath you. A man of your stature should have a position that better suits you. Perhaps you will be named Warden here by the council?"
Turiyos snorted with disdain, "The council, they are fools every one of them. They don't understand that a strong leader is needed in times such as these. They are too busy bankrupting the treasury and buggering elf-children to do anything worthwhile."
"Perhaps a strong man might take matters into his own hands? A great leader would not want for permission from lesser men. He would have the strength to do what was needed for the greater good."
Turiyos eyed his companion warily. "That is treason you speak. I fear that our leaders lack the virtues that made our people masters of the known world, but part of that greatness was the holy regard given us by adherence to our republican principles. A rebel has never known the patronage of Surt or Belann."
"Truly? What good has the approval of such beings done for your lords and masters, what has it gotten you? You mouth pious words, but in your heart you know the truth. Your gods have abandoned you, whether for your sins or for their own amusement matters not. You know that no matter what happens here, you are all alone."
The slender man in the corner of the room smiled, his yellow eyes glinting in the firelight, and a forked tongue darted out to taste the air. He could smell the fear and weakness of the man before him. He knew that the time was nigh to begin the next step.
"But it does not need to be that way. There are other gods, gods who would not abandon you in your time of need. They have watched you for many years. They, unlike your benighted councilors have seen the measure of your worth and they know that it is you and you alone who can save the empire from its own decadence."
Turiyos stared into the small fire at the center of his chamber, lost in thought. He was not an evil man and in his heart of hearts he recognized this for what it was. The strangers honeyed words floated through his mind back and forth, and the fact that he recognized the manipulation behind them did nothing to lessen their power over him. For he was an ambitious man, and more damning, he truly did believe that he could save the empire if only given the chance.
Finally, he spoke in a voice like a freshly dug grave.
"What do I need to do?"
Monday, March 26, 2012
The Beginning of the End: Part 1
Turiyos, Provincial Administrator of the Northern Marches looked out from the bastion wall and smiled to himself. Across the mighty Hurus river sat arrayed all the collected nations of the Harudish people. Even a few years ago such a vast host would have chilled the blood of any imperial soldier, but Turiyos knew he had their measure.
Rather than as conquerors, these savages had come as supplicants. Forced from their homes by the inexorable march of greenskins and other, darker forces, the Harudish people had taken to the refugee trail en masse and now sat on the empire's doorstep little more than beggars.
Despite their fearsome reputation Turiyos knew that the battered host before him could never force a river crossing. The great host before him was a paper tiger. Most of it was women and children, the few warriors were sick and starving. Even though he only had a few paltry regiments of border guards, they and the extensive river works would be more than enough to hold the barbarians back.
"General Turiyos!"
His reverie interrupted, the imperial commander turned to regard a young captain as he approached, his breath steaming in the winter cold.
"General, we have word from the Harudish, they will send a legation to discuss terms. I understand they wish to settle within our borders and offer to shoulder the burden of the frontier defenses."
"A handsome offer, but one that is not acceptable."
"Sir?" The officer looked confused. Despite his low-rank he was the son of a prominent political family and was familiar with the difficulties involved in even keeping a small garrison in place this far from the center of the empire.
"These Harudish are hardened warriors and they are know to be people of their word."
"I would not expect you to have the proper perspective, but a life of fighting them has given me an understanding of their nature that no schooling could possible provide you." This last was delivered with a derisive sneer.
The young captain Durvos gazed into the middle distance, "As you say sir. When would you like to receive their chiefs?"
"Not yet, I think we would be better served by making them wait. Let them feel the pressure mount and we will find negotiations far more fruitful."
"As you say sir."
Rather than as conquerors, these savages had come as supplicants. Forced from their homes by the inexorable march of greenskins and other, darker forces, the Harudish people had taken to the refugee trail en masse and now sat on the empire's doorstep little more than beggars.
Despite their fearsome reputation Turiyos knew that the battered host before him could never force a river crossing. The great host before him was a paper tiger. Most of it was women and children, the few warriors were sick and starving. Even though he only had a few paltry regiments of border guards, they and the extensive river works would be more than enough to hold the barbarians back.
"General Turiyos!"
His reverie interrupted, the imperial commander turned to regard a young captain as he approached, his breath steaming in the winter cold.
"General, we have word from the Harudish, they will send a legation to discuss terms. I understand they wish to settle within our borders and offer to shoulder the burden of the frontier defenses."
"A handsome offer, but one that is not acceptable."
"Sir?" The officer looked confused. Despite his low-rank he was the son of a prominent political family and was familiar with the difficulties involved in even keeping a small garrison in place this far from the center of the empire.
"These Harudish are hardened warriors and they are know to be people of their word."
"I would not expect you to have the proper perspective, but a life of fighting them has given me an understanding of their nature that no schooling could possible provide you." This last was delivered with a derisive sneer.
The young captain Durvos gazed into the middle distance, "As you say sir. When would you like to receive their chiefs?"
"Not yet, I think we would be better served by making them wait. Let them feel the pressure mount and we will find negotiations far more fruitful."
"As you say sir."
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
First Session 03/09/2012
Characters Present
Ugg, Ankhan, Markus, Ladian, Kihn, Oramis
Our heroes found themselves drawn to the city of Ostwin on the shores of the Sea of Armagh. They came for their own reasons, for knowledge, for faith, for money, or revenge. Unfortunately the stolid city of Ostwin is not the best place for rowdy men who make danger their profession and soon enough all of them found themselves on the wrong side of an iron cell.
Each of them were shackled and thrown unceremoniously into the back of a prison wagon. This took them out of the city proper and into a fine manor house about five miles outside the city proper. Once they were dragged out of the wagon the city guards departed without a backward glance and a small man dressed as a servant ordered their chains struck off and led them into the back of the manse into the servants quarters.
Here a man named Praster introduced himself and told them that he was a criminal kingpin and that he had identified them as capable individuals who could be of use to him for a specific job. Praster intimated that he was going into the antiques trade and he had been made aware of a lead on how to obtain a valuable relic of the old empire.
He had been told that an unknown mage had been seen doing extensive research on the location of various magical artifacts. After a few weeks of daily study, he had suddenly departed into the wilderness alone, stopping only long enough to visit the city market and purchase some survival gear and traveling rations.
Praster indicated that he wanted them to track down the mage and obtain the relic, which he described to them IN GREAT DETAIL. At this point they were given back all of their possessions and allowed to leave after questioning Praster's informant about their target's activities. Including a clue in the form of a map copied out of an ancient manuscript that pinpointed two possible destinations; one to the northwest in hilly wild lands plagued by marauding orcs, and another to the south in a more settled lowland area.
Reasoning that if the relic where located in an area that still had regular traffic, it would have most likely been found already, our heroes set off towards the hills to the northwest. Markus' navigational skills and tracking and proved invaluable as he led the party through the increasingly difficult terrain leading into the Focari mountains. Their trek proved relatively uneventful until the morning of the second day.
It was approaching midday when the party was navigating through a narrow defile surrounded on both sides by a gentle rocky slope when trouble was spotted. Kihn was the first to notice the shadowy figures slinking around above them. He shouted a warning to his new compatriots and readied his massive blade for an ambush.
The sight that met their eyes as they lifted them to the heights chilled their hearts and would have set lesser men scurrying for escape. An entire warband of orcs and goblins rushed down upon them, the orcs slavering in anticipation at the battle to come. Spotting a large well-armored orc on the left flank, Kihn moved quickly to intercept them. Meanwhile Ugg, feeling the battle lust bubbling just beneath the surface strode out to the right. His fearsome visage was such that every opponent who moved to attack him lost their nerve at the last moment. Markus readied his bow to begin dealing death to the onrushing orcs and Oramis glided charged the nearest enemies, his blades whispering out of their custom leather sheaths and laid low the first goblin that came within his grasp. This terrified the late goblins broodmates and they broke and ran for their lives. The stoic dwarf holy warrior Ladian had grimly unlimbered his shield and hammer and moved out to place himself between his most vulnerable companions and the horde of wild creatures.
After whetting his blades in the thin blood of the goblins, Oramis dashed across the field to find a worthier foe. He found this in the form of a handful of orc warriors armed with rusty weapons surely looted from dead men. Markus, having drawn his bow and put shaft to string, loosed it in one smooth, practiced motion and buried it to the flights in the hide of an orc, who thrashed in pain and dropped to the ground, dead in seconds. Kihn found himself alone and surrounded on the left side of the field and did well merely to hold his own against his raving opponents. Ladian stepped forward with unstoppable intent and raised his mighty hammer to brain an orc who had tried to get past him to his allies. On the right flank, the orcs and goblins had finally overcome their terror of the great beast facing them and danced around him, darting in with spears and arrows to bloody the giant. This served merely to enrage Ugg and something inside him snapped and he roared with murderous fury and laid about him with his massive stone-headed maul, leaving broken bodies in his wake.
Up the hill, the orcs captive realized that, for the moment, the orc camp where he had been held prisoner was deserted. Wasting no time he promptly extricated himself from his bindings and collected his belongings. His curiosity got the better of him and instead of fleeing into the hills he moved cautiously down the rise to investigate the cause of his sudden opportunity. When he spied the melee below he knew that his best chance of escape lay in supporting these strangers and driving the orcs off. To this end he crouched down behind a low slung boulder and began to concentrate. He reached out with his will to the dark corners of the universe and began to marshal the phenomenal power needed to alter creation.
Down below, Kihn had struck a telling blow on the orc chieftain and enraged him. With a bellow he ordered his minions back and pointed with his huge cudgel at the injured clansman. He rushed forward with the unstoppable rage of a charging bull, Kihn barely managed to lunge to the side and avoid being trampled. The combatants danced around each other for long tense minutes, the orc chopping away at the smaller man whose defense became increasingly desperate. Finally, with one great sweep the orc connected solidly and swept Kihn from his feet and into blackness. As he raised his club to finish off the insensate human, the orc standing in front of him was struck by an arrow and killed. Looking out across the field for the first time in many minutes, the chieftain saw his warriors locked in combat, he saw the nearest cohort of his band chasing a wildly laughing shadow elf and being cut down in great numbers. Forgetting the prostrate foe at his feet he lumbered off towards the rest of the battle for more things to kill.
To the right, Ladian found himself overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of opponents, for every one he engaged, two more slipped around behind him. His hammer worked unceasingly, up and down and his arm burned with the effort of stoving in thick orcish skulls, but never did it slow in his steady, machine-like motions. Over and over again the dwarfs sheer stubbornness defeated his enemies as they pressed in on him from all sides, raining blow after blow that were wasted on shield and armor. Those that slipped past though, made for Markus, who was forced to abandon his bow and draw his shortsword and buckler.
Out in front, Ugg and Oramis continued to slaughter all those who came within their reach. The few remaining goblins finally realized that they feared these killers far more than their cruel orc overlords and slipped away in the confusion. The orcs were doughty fighters and used to the hardships of battle, but their skill was simply no match for the virtuosity of the elf or the sheer brute power of the wildman. They traversed the battlefield at will and left nothing but slain enemies in their wake.
Markus found himself locked in a fight for his life as more and more orcs got through to him. relying on his superior mobility, Markus dodged back and forth, leaping across rocky gaps and ducking behind boulders as the orcs chased after him. He struck blows as he was able, but more and more of the foul creatures closed in and he knew that it was only a matter of time until his foot slipped or an orc landed a telling blow. Then, inspiration struck in the form of a watermelon-sized stone tied to a tree branch. Ugg, having finished killing everything on his side of the battlefield, had wandered back over to the center. His pelt was sticky with blood, both his and his enemies and his killing lust had left him drained and somewhat lethargic. This was not to say that he was not still enthusiastic about smashing orcs, he just went about it in a more sedate manner than previously.
Ladian gathered himself and pushed forward into the horde opposing him, he laid about with his hammer and forced the tired orcs back a step, and then two. Crying his dwarvish warcry he positioned himself in the center of a chokepoint and set his feet, eyeing the orcs over the rim of his shield and daring them to try him. This became a non-issue as, strangely enough, a huge tiger leapt down from the rocks above and tore into the hapless orcs. Showing not a bit of the surprise he felt, he simply turned away in search of new foes and left the screaming orcs to their fate.
Oramis let out a shout of triumph as he deftly removed an orcs head with his razor sharp blade and watched grinning as it spun through the air. He tracked the arc of the head until it crashed into the ground at the feet of a massive orc with a bloody iron maul. The two combatants eyed each other for a brief moment and then, looking past Oramis to survey the battlefield, the orc turned and fled. He had been so intent on confronting the murderous elf that he did not notice the rest of his warband being slaughtered and now, finding himself alone, his orcish courage deserted him and he though only of living to see another day.
Unfortunately for the chieftain and any plans he might have had, the elf was far faster than he and in no mood to see the architect of the attack escape. He ran down the orc after a brief foot chase and, deftly avoiding the orcs uncoordinated efforts, removed his head with almost surgical precision.
Ankhan was uncertain of what might happen next, the travelers had helped rescue him, in a manner of speaking, but in these dark times that meant less than nothing so he called his conjured tiger back and ordered him to confront the great mass of fur and muscle that approached. The wildman and the great cat eyed one another for a brief moment, then Ugg extended his hand and the cat sniffed it and licked it. Just like that the tension was gone and Ankhan decided that whatever happened next, he did not believe these strangers meant him harm.
"Hello, my thanks for your help with the orcs." Ankhan said, watching the others as they gathered around him.
"Greetings, by the look of ye, ye've had a rough time of it." intoned Ladian.
"Indeed I have, but it is all in the service of a good cause."
"And what cause would that be, that would cause a man alone to be found in this dangerous place?" Asked Oramis as he eyed the new arrival with suspicion.
"My quest is my own, you need only know that I am a wizard of no small power. I am grateful for your intervention but I would take a dim view of any further inquiries into business I consider my own."
"Ak-ook, oo mag eye!" Rumbled the wildman, pointing at Ankhan and gesturing excitedly.
"by the gods, it speaks!" he cried, taken aback.
"Uchu nota Maagak!"
Ladian looked back and forth between the lumbering brute and the young mage, "Tell me, master wizard, would you happen to be searching for a silver rod, a silver rod with some connection to the old empire?"
Despite his best efforts Ankhan could not keep the shock from his face. "Who sent you?" He asked with noticable menace in his voice.
Ladian stepped forward and answered; "We were hired by a local....dignitary, to find you and see you safely to your destination. Our employer has an interest in ancient relics as well as wanted us to ensure that this scepter did not fall into the wrong hands."
Oramis looked confused, "That's not right, he said we were gonna sell oof!" he exhaled sharply as Markus elbowed him in the ribs.
Ankhan listened to this exchange, but in his head he was pndering this new turn of events. It seemed that his time in Ostwin had not been as discrete as he had hoped. It seemed that a local criminal element had learned enough of his purpose to smell an opportunity for illicit profits and had sent these pawns out to steal the scepter as soon as he found it. Well, that was a knife that cut both ways, he would make use of them to reach his destination, and once he had want he needed, there were ways he could evade his erstwhile companions that they could not possibly counteract.
He was a wizard after all.
...to be continued. Next time; storming the walls of the Arsis Lacerium, an ancient center of magical learning in the old empire.
Ugg, Ankhan, Markus, Ladian, Kihn, Oramis
Our heroes found themselves drawn to the city of Ostwin on the shores of the Sea of Armagh. They came for their own reasons, for knowledge, for faith, for money, or revenge. Unfortunately the stolid city of Ostwin is not the best place for rowdy men who make danger their profession and soon enough all of them found themselves on the wrong side of an iron cell.
Each of them were shackled and thrown unceremoniously into the back of a prison wagon. This took them out of the city proper and into a fine manor house about five miles outside the city proper. Once they were dragged out of the wagon the city guards departed without a backward glance and a small man dressed as a servant ordered their chains struck off and led them into the back of the manse into the servants quarters.
Here a man named Praster introduced himself and told them that he was a criminal kingpin and that he had identified them as capable individuals who could be of use to him for a specific job. Praster intimated that he was going into the antiques trade and he had been made aware of a lead on how to obtain a valuable relic of the old empire.
He had been told that an unknown mage had been seen doing extensive research on the location of various magical artifacts. After a few weeks of daily study, he had suddenly departed into the wilderness alone, stopping only long enough to visit the city market and purchase some survival gear and traveling rations.
Praster indicated that he wanted them to track down the mage and obtain the relic, which he described to them IN GREAT DETAIL. At this point they were given back all of their possessions and allowed to leave after questioning Praster's informant about their target's activities. Including a clue in the form of a map copied out of an ancient manuscript that pinpointed two possible destinations; one to the northwest in hilly wild lands plagued by marauding orcs, and another to the south in a more settled lowland area.
Reasoning that if the relic where located in an area that still had regular traffic, it would have most likely been found already, our heroes set off towards the hills to the northwest. Markus' navigational skills and tracking and proved invaluable as he led the party through the increasingly difficult terrain leading into the Focari mountains. Their trek proved relatively uneventful until the morning of the second day.
It was approaching midday when the party was navigating through a narrow defile surrounded on both sides by a gentle rocky slope when trouble was spotted. Kihn was the first to notice the shadowy figures slinking around above them. He shouted a warning to his new compatriots and readied his massive blade for an ambush.
The sight that met their eyes as they lifted them to the heights chilled their hearts and would have set lesser men scurrying for escape. An entire warband of orcs and goblins rushed down upon them, the orcs slavering in anticipation at the battle to come. Spotting a large well-armored orc on the left flank, Kihn moved quickly to intercept them. Meanwhile Ugg, feeling the battle lust bubbling just beneath the surface strode out to the right. His fearsome visage was such that every opponent who moved to attack him lost their nerve at the last moment. Markus readied his bow to begin dealing death to the onrushing orcs and Oramis glided charged the nearest enemies, his blades whispering out of their custom leather sheaths and laid low the first goblin that came within his grasp. This terrified the late goblins broodmates and they broke and ran for their lives. The stoic dwarf holy warrior Ladian had grimly unlimbered his shield and hammer and moved out to place himself between his most vulnerable companions and the horde of wild creatures.
After whetting his blades in the thin blood of the goblins, Oramis dashed across the field to find a worthier foe. He found this in the form of a handful of orc warriors armed with rusty weapons surely looted from dead men. Markus, having drawn his bow and put shaft to string, loosed it in one smooth, practiced motion and buried it to the flights in the hide of an orc, who thrashed in pain and dropped to the ground, dead in seconds. Kihn found himself alone and surrounded on the left side of the field and did well merely to hold his own against his raving opponents. Ladian stepped forward with unstoppable intent and raised his mighty hammer to brain an orc who had tried to get past him to his allies. On the right flank, the orcs and goblins had finally overcome their terror of the great beast facing them and danced around him, darting in with spears and arrows to bloody the giant. This served merely to enrage Ugg and something inside him snapped and he roared with murderous fury and laid about him with his massive stone-headed maul, leaving broken bodies in his wake.
Up the hill, the orcs captive realized that, for the moment, the orc camp where he had been held prisoner was deserted. Wasting no time he promptly extricated himself from his bindings and collected his belongings. His curiosity got the better of him and instead of fleeing into the hills he moved cautiously down the rise to investigate the cause of his sudden opportunity. When he spied the melee below he knew that his best chance of escape lay in supporting these strangers and driving the orcs off. To this end he crouched down behind a low slung boulder and began to concentrate. He reached out with his will to the dark corners of the universe and began to marshal the phenomenal power needed to alter creation.
Down below, Kihn had struck a telling blow on the orc chieftain and enraged him. With a bellow he ordered his minions back and pointed with his huge cudgel at the injured clansman. He rushed forward with the unstoppable rage of a charging bull, Kihn barely managed to lunge to the side and avoid being trampled. The combatants danced around each other for long tense minutes, the orc chopping away at the smaller man whose defense became increasingly desperate. Finally, with one great sweep the orc connected solidly and swept Kihn from his feet and into blackness. As he raised his club to finish off the insensate human, the orc standing in front of him was struck by an arrow and killed. Looking out across the field for the first time in many minutes, the chieftain saw his warriors locked in combat, he saw the nearest cohort of his band chasing a wildly laughing shadow elf and being cut down in great numbers. Forgetting the prostrate foe at his feet he lumbered off towards the rest of the battle for more things to kill.
To the right, Ladian found himself overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of opponents, for every one he engaged, two more slipped around behind him. His hammer worked unceasingly, up and down and his arm burned with the effort of stoving in thick orcish skulls, but never did it slow in his steady, machine-like motions. Over and over again the dwarfs sheer stubbornness defeated his enemies as they pressed in on him from all sides, raining blow after blow that were wasted on shield and armor. Those that slipped past though, made for Markus, who was forced to abandon his bow and draw his shortsword and buckler.
Out in front, Ugg and Oramis continued to slaughter all those who came within their reach. The few remaining goblins finally realized that they feared these killers far more than their cruel orc overlords and slipped away in the confusion. The orcs were doughty fighters and used to the hardships of battle, but their skill was simply no match for the virtuosity of the elf or the sheer brute power of the wildman. They traversed the battlefield at will and left nothing but slain enemies in their wake.
Markus found himself locked in a fight for his life as more and more orcs got through to him. relying on his superior mobility, Markus dodged back and forth, leaping across rocky gaps and ducking behind boulders as the orcs chased after him. He struck blows as he was able, but more and more of the foul creatures closed in and he knew that it was only a matter of time until his foot slipped or an orc landed a telling blow. Then, inspiration struck in the form of a watermelon-sized stone tied to a tree branch. Ugg, having finished killing everything on his side of the battlefield, had wandered back over to the center. His pelt was sticky with blood, both his and his enemies and his killing lust had left him drained and somewhat lethargic. This was not to say that he was not still enthusiastic about smashing orcs, he just went about it in a more sedate manner than previously.
Ladian gathered himself and pushed forward into the horde opposing him, he laid about with his hammer and forced the tired orcs back a step, and then two. Crying his dwarvish warcry he positioned himself in the center of a chokepoint and set his feet, eyeing the orcs over the rim of his shield and daring them to try him. This became a non-issue as, strangely enough, a huge tiger leapt down from the rocks above and tore into the hapless orcs. Showing not a bit of the surprise he felt, he simply turned away in search of new foes and left the screaming orcs to their fate.
Oramis let out a shout of triumph as he deftly removed an orcs head with his razor sharp blade and watched grinning as it spun through the air. He tracked the arc of the head until it crashed into the ground at the feet of a massive orc with a bloody iron maul. The two combatants eyed each other for a brief moment and then, looking past Oramis to survey the battlefield, the orc turned and fled. He had been so intent on confronting the murderous elf that he did not notice the rest of his warband being slaughtered and now, finding himself alone, his orcish courage deserted him and he though only of living to see another day.
Unfortunately for the chieftain and any plans he might have had, the elf was far faster than he and in no mood to see the architect of the attack escape. He ran down the orc after a brief foot chase and, deftly avoiding the orcs uncoordinated efforts, removed his head with almost surgical precision.
Ankhan was uncertain of what might happen next, the travelers had helped rescue him, in a manner of speaking, but in these dark times that meant less than nothing so he called his conjured tiger back and ordered him to confront the great mass of fur and muscle that approached. The wildman and the great cat eyed one another for a brief moment, then Ugg extended his hand and the cat sniffed it and licked it. Just like that the tension was gone and Ankhan decided that whatever happened next, he did not believe these strangers meant him harm.
"Hello, my thanks for your help with the orcs." Ankhan said, watching the others as they gathered around him.
"Greetings, by the look of ye, ye've had a rough time of it." intoned Ladian.
"Indeed I have, but it is all in the service of a good cause."
"And what cause would that be, that would cause a man alone to be found in this dangerous place?" Asked Oramis as he eyed the new arrival with suspicion.
"My quest is my own, you need only know that I am a wizard of no small power. I am grateful for your intervention but I would take a dim view of any further inquiries into business I consider my own."
"Ak-ook, oo mag eye!" Rumbled the wildman, pointing at Ankhan and gesturing excitedly.
"by the gods, it speaks!" he cried, taken aback.
"Uchu nota Maagak!"
Ladian looked back and forth between the lumbering brute and the young mage, "Tell me, master wizard, would you happen to be searching for a silver rod, a silver rod with some connection to the old empire?"
Despite his best efforts Ankhan could not keep the shock from his face. "Who sent you?" He asked with noticable menace in his voice.
Ladian stepped forward and answered; "We were hired by a local....dignitary, to find you and see you safely to your destination. Our employer has an interest in ancient relics as well as wanted us to ensure that this scepter did not fall into the wrong hands."
Oramis looked confused, "That's not right, he said we were gonna sell oof!" he exhaled sharply as Markus elbowed him in the ribs.
Ankhan listened to this exchange, but in his head he was pndering this new turn of events. It seemed that his time in Ostwin had not been as discrete as he had hoped. It seemed that a local criminal element had learned enough of his purpose to smell an opportunity for illicit profits and had sent these pawns out to steal the scepter as soon as he found it. Well, that was a knife that cut both ways, he would make use of them to reach his destination, and once he had want he needed, there were ways he could evade his erstwhile companions that they could not possibly counteract.
He was a wizard after all.
...to be continued. Next time; storming the walls of the Arsis Lacerium, an ancient center of magical learning in the old empire.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
The Windblown Pirate
The shadow elf Oramis has spent the better part of fifty years plying the seas around the old empire as a smuggler and pirate. He delights in employing trickery and intimidation in his dealings with his victims but is not above casual violence. His thirst for riches is only matched by his thirst for wine. As yet he is very young, so the traders of the old empire can look forward to centuries more of his depredations, unless of course his intemperate and impulsive nature gets the best of him and he becomes a victim of his own cleverness.
The Hunter of Men
Markus is a hard man born in the rough wastelands at the edge of the Cisallian peninsula. He learned fieldcraft and survival with his father, hunting deer for the duke's table. As he grew older he came into his own and began to stalk the woodlands around his home as well.
The time came where he was ordered to accompany a large party in the search for a man wanted for killing the dukes nephew. After two weeks of fruitless chasing, Markus decided to strike out on his own and hunt the criminal as he would any other prey. Much to his benefit this method proved far more effective and he brought back the offending soul in chains.
From that day forward he was empowered by his duke to hunt down those who had offended him. Markus was pleased with this as he had found a vocation that he was adept at and that he found he enjoyed. Unfortunately this situation did not last as his patron was on the losing end of a dispute with a bandit king and was killed in an ambush. Since then, Markus has travelled incessantly in search of those who need someone found and are willing to pay the price to see them brought in.
The time came where he was ordered to accompany a large party in the search for a man wanted for killing the dukes nephew. After two weeks of fruitless chasing, Markus decided to strike out on his own and hunt the criminal as he would any other prey. Much to his benefit this method proved far more effective and he brought back the offending soul in chains.
From that day forward he was empowered by his duke to hunt down those who had offended him. Markus was pleased with this as he had found a vocation that he was adept at and that he found he enjoyed. Unfortunately this situation did not last as his patron was on the losing end of a dispute with a bandit king and was killed in an ambush. Since then, Markus has travelled incessantly in search of those who need someone found and are willing to pay the price to see them brought in.
The Devout Blade
Kihn the shameless is an extradordinary individual, even amongst his own people. Born in the harsh and unforgiving coasts far to the northwest, Kihn's people were not greatly influenced by the hand of the old empire and their connection to their own gods yet remains strong. This gives Kihn a purity of outlook and a serene confidence in his own place in the world that is lacking in the more "civilized" peoples farther south.
The Stalwart Shield
The dwarf holy warrior Ladian is an upright defender of all that is right and proper in the world. Ladian is a devotee of a minor dwarven deity that, while not well known in the wider world, is still greatly revered in his clan freehold and is a formidable supernatural ally.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Language in the old empire
There are many languages and dialects spoken across the breadth of the world. In the lands that were once part of the old empire there are several major languages.
- Low Imperial: This is the most prevalent language in the province of Cisallia itself and was the primary tongue spoken by imperial citizens and their descendants. It is an elegant tongue with a tight grammatical structure and is capable of great precision even when speaking of highly abstract concepts. Almost everyone in the Cisallian peninsula speaks low imperial or a derivative thereof, this includes halflings, who have been part of human society so long that their original language has died out except in the form of some few words that were absorbed into imperial(most of which are ways of describing food). In addition, many in the western land of Prydein also speak a form of low imperial, especially the educated urban nobility.
- High Imperial: This is a very formal and much more restrictive subdialect of low imperial. It is considered the most noble of languages (at least by imperials and their admirers). Its baroque and convoluted grammar and syntax are seen by its users as proof of its superiority and it is the tongue most often used both in poetry and scholarly works as well as in magical writings created by imperials.
- Prydi: This is the language of the western peoples. Looked down upon for their barbarian heritage, in truth the Prydein people were absorbed by the empire during its early expansion and have a tradition of urban culture almost as old as the Cisallians. The Prydi tongue has changed significantly since contact with the empire has begun and it can legitimately be said that their are now two distinct sub families; Imperial Prydi and Old Prydi. The imperial version of the language uses Prydi vocabulary for the most part with some loanwords for more abstract concepts but is structured according to imperial grammatical rules. Old Prydi on the other hand is rare outside of the northwestern hills and is most closely related to the original speech of the barbarian Prydeins. It is a musical and somewhat singsong tongue that has a tendency for grand exposition.
- Harudish: The northern peoples were never entirely conquered by the empire and so their speech is much less affected by imperial language. The Harudish tongue is a simple, blunt thing that is well suited to conveying simple concrete information quickly and efficiently. It has little ability to cover more scholarly topics and is disdained by men of learning as the tongue of savages. Harudish people return the sentiment as they have a dim view of sophistry and prefer men to speak clearly and to the point.
- Common Elven: This is the language that elves speak during their everyday lives. It is also the only elven language that non-elves are likely to be able to learn. It is a language of capable of astounding clarity but also enormous depth.
- Sylphan: This is a bastardized offshoot of Common Elven that is spoken exclusively by the isolated forest-dwelling wood elves. It retains many of the features of Common Elven but its separation from the Elven community has resulted in the Sylphan language developing an additional level of complexity. Those few outside the wood elf community that have learned something of the language are fascinated by it, they say that it seems to be cryptic by nature, as if it was a conscious decision on the part of the speakers to hide what they were thinking at all times.
- Arcane Elven: This is the Elven language at its most inscrutable. The Arcane dialect of elven is almost never spoken in mixed company and indeed only a small percentage of elves are capable of speaking it, as it is truly a magical language and it requires the application of mana in order to convey meaning with it. Those who are not capable of wizardry who simply repeat the sounds by rote will find that they merely spew meaningless syllables.
- Dwaryn: This is the common tongue of all of the dwarvish peoples and is quite commonly spoken by gnomes as well. It is a craftsman's language and is simple in structure and efficient in use, but is capable of exacting precision in all things, especially discussing mining and metalwork.
- Courtly Dwaryn: This is an elaborate linguistic embellishment of the simple dwaryn and is almost never used outside of official court functions for the simple fact that it takes an inordinate amount of time to actual say something. It is a requirement of such formal occasions though and this custom actually represents the first level of insulation between the dwarven king and petitioners. If the petitioner is not capable of speaking courtly dwarvish, they must obtain the support of one who does in order to have their issue raised in the presence of the king or his officers.
- Gnomish: Gnomish is a sharp, staccato speech that is prized by linguists for its enormous flexibility. Gnomes rarely use loanwords because their own native tongue has such a robust system of prefix's and suffix's that it is almost impossible not to be able to describe something with gnomish vocabulary. Gnomes have more ways to express the concept of stubbornness than dwarves, and are better able to describe ennui than elves.
- Orcish: This is the language spoken by the various greenskinned peoples of the far east. It is a crude, guttural tongue with little capability for intelligent discourse and many words that express rage and hatred.
- Cheyua: This language is rarely encountered in imperial lands, but it is known as the eastern exiles speak it amongst themselves and can sometimes be heard quoting the wisdom of the ancient philosophy of their masters.
- Wilder: This is the brutish language of the wildmen. It is unsophisticated in the extreme and has few abstract concepts and has a limited means of communicating events in time. As such, wildmen have little concept of the passage of time. Events can only be described as "before," "now," or "soon."
The Noble Savage
To The People, I am
Bloodfang, Ripper-Of-Dead. My mother
was Meets-The-Mind's-Eye, a sage of The People. My father was
Thrashes-in-the-Dark, the One Who Was Corrupt.
I take no pride in this. Mother
died in birth, father said. She is with Nex. She was never given a honor rite
or proper burial. She died like an
animal. My father treated her like an
animal. I take no pride in this.
My father caged
me. He hated me. I hated him back. In Youth, I knew no better. I have no pride in this.
He would whip me. He would starve me. I do not remember what happened after that. I remember being angry. There is nothing in those memories but red hate. I know it now to be Rage. I know it now to be Frenzy. I remember next running. I ran until I found Erika. I licked her wounds, she licked mine. I was happy.
He would whip me. He would starve me. I do not remember what happened after that. I remember being angry. There is nothing in those memories but red hate. I know it now to be Rage. I know it now to be Frenzy. I remember next running. I ran until I found Erika. I licked her wounds, she licked mine. I was happy.
We lived together in
the woods, killing anything we could to eat, running from everything else. It
was a long time. A long long time, until we went to find my father again. I
don't know why we did. Erika wanted to. We found him dead, killed by his clan
members. They hated him too. For making me into a monster. They tried to kill
me, too, the ones who found us first. We killed them. Erika was good at
killing. Erika liked it. I did it for her. . The Rage made us soldiers. She said she
needed my strength to fight The Evil. Erika taught me to fight with weapons.
She was graceful. And fierce. And beautiful.
I craved her. I yearned for her
when she was away. She was mine.
I was taught to hit things that needed to be
broken. I am good at it. The club is my weapon. I can break anything with my
club. We killed many Evil in my Wood. I was happy.
We were strong even
then. Very strong. We were lead into battle against a great Serpent. The
Serpent killed many many soldiers when we were there. Erika said we could
destroy The Evil for good. In one battle, we were lead into an ambush. It was
not the first, and we fought. Erika was betrayed by her Rage, though. She fell
and frothed with blood on the ground. I fought off the Evil as they tried to
kill her as the rest of the soldiers ran off. I killed many, but there were
more. I would have died had Menna not saved me.
A mighty bolt slew the Serpent, it's source Unseen. Erika and I survived
to fight again. No others did.
The army hated us
then. Erika was blamed for the soldier's deaths. I almost killed the General
who said Erika should be killed. They
put a collar on me. They called me Pet. I have no pride in this.
They caged
Erika. In bars, and shackles. They did not call her pet. I was confused. A few days later, they hung Erika from a
rope. She was graceful. And fierce.
And Beautiful. And dead. I cried.
I have no pride in this.
I do not remember
what happened after that. I remember
being angry. There is nothing in those
memories but red hate. Rage. Frenzy.
I remember running.
Now I am in
South. I do not like South. The sun is hot. The ground is hot. The snow is gone. I am alone.
I am hungry. But I am no Pet. I
am free now. I have pride in this.
The Prodigal Mage
It was a
brilliant casting. As the Orc scouting
party dared to enter the grounds of the Order of the White
River, they were observed by an advanced student returning from
his early-morning cleansing in the refreshing waters. As his fellow mages were too fond of the
comforts and servants of their chambers, he was alone. As the trespassers slinked past the
reflecting pool in the outer gardens, they were beset upon by ghastly, rotting
images of themselves, too long in the grave, from the surface of the
water.
The magic
flowed from Ankhan easily, effortlessly.
He reveled in the dismay and panic that sent the unwelcome guests
fleeing out into the plains. Then, it
took hold of him. Something flowed from
the living mana of that spell into his consciousness. It was a window, perhaps; maybe a
foreshadowing or even a brief but chilling connection with the other side. A dark force met his gaze and the sight of it
took the color from his eyes.
Brushing away
his single-handed defense of the community, the masters were quick to point out
Ankhan’s boldness. Their smug and
disapproving tone never failed to infuriate him. Surely, he would be quoted as the example of
inappropriate scholarly methods in all the forthcoming lectures, again.
Since his arrival
at age four, he was trouble. His peasant
parents, of unknown origin, recognized his gifts. Leaving them with the Order was visibly
painful, but they could not hope to care for him nearly as well as the wise and
learned brothers of the mystical ways.
All that remains of them, now, is found in Ahkhan’s olive skin and quick
temper. These traits and his
incorrigible mischief set him apart from all of the other students. His friends and classmates were never
disappointed by his antics, though.
Sometimes, he even took the blame for someone else’s mayhem to keep them
from harm. They soon learned to trust
and admire him.
For years, he
has felt the corruption creeping into the workings of the world. He senses it when he manipulates the mana to
his will, bringing forth all manner of beast and phantom. The more he uses his power, the more the
creatures of this world shun him. Now,
he is forbidden to enter the stables for the unease that he brings. He hasn’t seen one of the dozens of cats of
the Order, favorite familiars of the mages, in two years. Yet, the masters dismiss his concerns as one
might fan smoke from a room. They say
his worries are as one of his illusions; without form or substance. Too long have Ankhan’s masters submitted to
the rituals and rulings of the Order.
They no longer feel the living mana, but use it only as a potter uses
clay. They’ve lost their true ties to
the arts. They are blind.
It is time to
leave. Ankhan has learned all that he
can from the Order of the White River. Severing all ties, he dismisses the lost
masters and their hidebound lecturing. He makes his way into the larger world
to learn the source of this corruption and seek out the magical artifacts of
legend to assist him. Into the city of Ostwin he travels,
seeking rumors and tales. He seeks to
reveal this evil and pull it from the earth.
Thus, he makes his way through the world. He’s a wizard, mind you…
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
The ravaged Capital
Finally, a young man whose name has been lost to time made a decision with repercussions that resonate down through to the modern age. He feared death, and the longer the siege lasted the more certain his ultimate doom appeared so he decided that he would take whatever steps necessary to regain control of his own destiny. If he was fated to die, than death should not be an end. He began a search through the cavernous magical libraries of the city to find a way out for himself. After weeks of searching he came across a book that had been buried in a locked vault. The vault had been breached by a massive stone projectile launched in one of the periodic orc bombardments.
As he stared at the tome, bound in pale flesh and inked in a dark blood red ink, and his very humanity cried out to step away, to abandon this mad course of action and go back to man the walls, but he did not. Instead he picked up the book and immediately heard a rasping whisper in the back of his mind and a brief moment of regret was the last sane thought in his head.
Soon afterwords, the orc camp was caught completely by surprise as the massive reinforced gates swung open. The imperials had been unassailable beyond their mighty fortifications and the orc warlord had begun to doubt his position as daily he had reports of subordinate chiefs losing faith and striking out on their own in search of easier plunder. Instead of a disciplined phalanx of imperial guardsmen, what greeted the eyes of the astonished orcs was a shambling horde of dead and decaying human bodies.
Taken completely by surprise, the orcs struggled to form a coherent defense but the undead were without fear and consumed with the need to come to grips, to rend and destroy and make someone pay for the monstrosity that had been wrought upon them by one of their own.
After the brief, one-sided battle, the remaining undead turned about and filed back into the city, the gates were shut behind them and that is the last time the living have laid eyes on the glory that once was the great city of Torre.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Prominent Factions
- Berskr-Krang: The Berskr-Krang are a savage brotherhood of warriors dedicated to blood and glory. They have their origins in the far north but the group is nomadic by nature. As members wander further and further afield looking for battles to fight and enemies to slay, occasionally they meet other individuals desirous of glory and willing to swear to the service of Stiggan and spend their lives wandering the earth in search of worthy foes to slay.
- The Watchers: The Watchers are a loosed association of poets and historians who have dedicated their lives to ensuring that great events are preserved for posterity. Rather than write their histories down in books and papers that can be lost or destroyed, the Watchers commit their histories to memory by composing them as songs and poems.
- The Temple of Maskius: The single most powerful and influential cult in Cisallia, the Temple of Maskius has dedicated itself to the advancement of mankind. The means of accomplishing this goal are hotly debated within the Priory and by the lay brothers as well. Some favor a passive program of teaching and empowering, others are more militant and insist that Maskius demands that evil be confronted and destroyed wherever it resides.
- The Circle: The circle is a group of druids appointed by Faina herself to safeguard the purity of the wilderness. In the west there are few cities not already abandoned and slowly being reclaimed but there is an ever present danger of corruption by dark forces. Circle druids patrol their lands in search of any evidence of desecration and move to combat it by any means necessary.
- The Chosen of Rhoinn: This is a holy order of paladins who serve as champions of justice across the land. The members of this order of selected from the most promising Prydein nobility. Being selected for elevation to this order brings great honor both on the initiate but his entire clan and even though the life they lead often ends with a grisly death at the hands of some supernatural evil, their selection is a moment of profound joy.
- The Second Sons:The Seconds Sons are a company of mercenary warriors that travel throughout the lands of the old empire in search of a battle to be fought and profit to be made. They are not the largest company, or the most renowned, but they are respected because of their reputation for keeping faith with their employers, not the most common trait among sellswords.
- The Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists: Across the sea to the east lies a a land beseiged by evil. Qechuay is a poor land with few resources and her people are of humble origin, but long have they lain in the shadow of darkness. The adepts of the society travel in exile and search tirelessly for ancient teachings and artifacts of power that might aid in freeing their land from the grip of its dark overlords.
- The Road Wardens: In the days when the emperors writ held true, it was said that a naked virgin could walk from the capital in the south all the way to the winterkeep with a bag of gold and no fear. This was so because the imperial roadwardens knew every road and path and mule track in their districts and worked ceaselessly to keep them safe. After the empire fell the roadwarden ceased to be a paid position and became instead an inherited duty. Today these modern descendants know the hills and forests of their homes every much as well as their forebears and snuff out evil wherever it is found.
- The Sunburst Corsairs: Originally this was a piratical brotherhood that counted amongst its members almost one in three of the pirates that plied the waters around the empire southern coasts. Since the fall of the empire and the resulting diminishing of trade, the Sunburst Corsairs have become much more diverse in their activities. The swaggering arrogance of the corsair holds a certain appeal for young gentleman and the Corsairs are very welcoming of rich young men seeking a place to find companionship in many varieties.
- The Night Market: In Ostwin, when one wishes to acquire something that cannot be had otherwise, one goes to the Night Market. The Night Market is a group of unscrupulous merchants that employ all manner of cutpurses, catburglers, and outright thugs to obtain goods that are sold at cut-rate prices. The stolen property is sold off at secret bazaars that are held in the abandoned sections of the city after sundown. The locations of the Night Markets are a closely guarded secret and you must be invited to know where they will be held at any given time.
- The Order of the White River: On the plains outside Ostwin snakes a slender clear river. Along a bend in this river there sits a small cluster of slender graceful buildings. Within these buildings reside the mages of the Order of the White River. A small school that has dedicated itself to the preservation of the arcane knowledge accumulated by the wizards of the old empire. Members of the order go out into the world in search of the learning of a past age. The Order of the White River is one of the few places where great magic is still taught.
The city of Ostwin
The city of Ostwin has fallen far from its previous glory. Once a shimmering jewel in the crowns of the emperors of man, Ostwin has suffered greatly since the dissolution. Ostwin was once a thriving metropolis of over 50,000 permanent residents but it has suffered greatly in the intervening centuries and now less than half that number live in its crumbling precincts.
Despite this, Ostwin is still one of the largest of the old imperial city-states still in existance. Ostwins port facilities, although a far cry from their heyday, are still extensive and provide trade and wealth to the city's rich merchant houses.
The city itself is a study in contrast, the dockyards and trading markets are in good repair and well patrolled by city guardsmen. The poorer districts and back alleys are virtually neglected and are on the verge of collapse. When you leave the business and merchant quarters you are entering abandoned ruins inhabited by the deperately poor and those who make their living illicitly.
Despite this, Ostwin is still one of the largest of the old imperial city-states still in existance. Ostwins port facilities, although a far cry from their heyday, are still extensive and provide trade and wealth to the city's rich merchant houses.
The city itself is a study in contrast, the dockyards and trading markets are in good repair and well patrolled by city guardsmen. The poorer districts and back alleys are virtually neglected and are on the verge of collapse. When you leave the business and merchant quarters you are entering abandoned ruins inhabited by the deperately poor and those who make their living illicitly.
Monday, March 5, 2012
The heart of the old empire
This is a map of the region known as Cisallia, it was the seat of the old empire and one of the few places left on the continent where mankind was not entirely forced back into a tribal existence. Although the former capital of the empire is now for the most part a mouldering ruin, there yet remains some imperial city states with the strength and wealth to resist the dark tide of evil that constantly threatens mankind.
One of these is the old imperial port of Ostwin, situation on the interior coast of a peninsula separating the vast Middle sea to the south and the Sea of Armagh to the north, Ostwin was one of the chief trading cities of the old empire and yet maintains a strong merchant fleet. Unfortunately the city is beset on all sides by hostile orcish tribes in the mountains to the northwest, rival city states to the south, and the constant threat of seaborne raiders. Yet out of this adversity grows a thriving community led by the vigorous and charismatic Lord Mayor Oraka. Some say that the young Lord Mayor has the greatness of the ancient imperial line in him and it is whispered that he himself feels the call of destiny.
Halflings and Gnomes
These small humanoid people have long since been integrated into the great societies of their larger brethren. In the case of halflings, whose villages and burrows are found throughout the human lands of the old empire, they have for the most part simply taken up the worship of the human gods. However, there is one exception to this, only a single halfling deity has survived intact to the present day; Rallo. It is unknown whether Rallo was always a god, or if he represents an ancient halfling culture hero but one thing is clear, Rallo represents the epitome of all of the virtues that halflings most admire. He is a sensible being who enjoys nothing more than the comfort of a warm safe burrow and a good meal. However, when the situation calls, Rallo has been known to perform great feats and is renowned for his ability to out-think his opponents. Given the lack of physical prowess, it is very important for both a halfling and a halfling god be sly, and a fiendish sense of humor is another trait that marks Rallo as a true halfling.
Gnomes are a slightly larger people that lived originally in the foothills of the great mountain ranges. It was long before the emergence of mankind that they met and befriended the ancient dwarves. Although they live in separate communities for the most part, gnomes are not uncommon in dwarven holds and vice versa. Unlike halflings, gnomes never took to worshiping the gods of their benefactors and in fact, if gnomes ever worshiped that has long since changed. Unlike any other people gnomes are rational beings by nature and inclination and do not expend effort in trying to placate the fickle supernatural egos of the divine entities. Instead the gnomes look to better understand the world in the most complete way possible. Because of this gnomish technology is far in advance of any of the other people of the world, but due to their distate for large populations this technology is not disseminated efficiently and most gnomish devices are merely prototypes.
Gnomes are a slightly larger people that lived originally in the foothills of the great mountain ranges. It was long before the emergence of mankind that they met and befriended the ancient dwarves. Although they live in separate communities for the most part, gnomes are not uncommon in dwarven holds and vice versa. Unlike halflings, gnomes never took to worshiping the gods of their benefactors and in fact, if gnomes ever worshiped that has long since changed. Unlike any other people gnomes are rational beings by nature and inclination and do not expend effort in trying to placate the fickle supernatural egos of the divine entities. Instead the gnomes look to better understand the world in the most complete way possible. Because of this gnomish technology is far in advance of any of the other people of the world, but due to their distate for large populations this technology is not disseminated efficiently and most gnomish devices are merely prototypes.
gods of the West and North
The western, or Prydein people were a free and proud culture with there own grand legacy and legendary heroes until they were brought under the control of the emperors of old many thousands of years ago. After that period they were encouraged to emulate imperial culture in every particular so it is very common to see great urban centers that are peopled entirely by those of Prydein descent. Worship of the southern gods is widespread but the western gods were never completed suppressed and since the fall have enjoyed a great resurgence as they old ways of the tribes are rediscovered and ancient legends are remembered. Some of the most powerful western gods are detailed below.
Far to the north, cold winds blow all year round and hard men stalk great beasts through the dark bowers of endless evergreen woods. This land was never fully tamed by the empire and only in the borderlands are there any signs of cities or the comforting familiarity of imperial culture. Beyond the borderlands lies harsh mountains and boundless forests. Within these lands roam mighty beings of elemental power and unthinkable abominations that defy description. Among these live the Harudish peoples of the north. Never having been subjugated by the old empire, their ancient culture remains untainted and intact. Imperials will find cold comfort among the windblown savages and the deep north unless they can prove their worth against the worst that the dark hordes can bring. The Harudish people still pay homage to the gods of their ancestors almost exclusively.
- Rhoinn: Rhoinn is the Prydein god of kingship and sovereignty. He is invoked whenever a new royal is acknowledged and is also considered the protector of the Prydein people in general. He is also the master of freshwater and in this capacity he is guardian of the well of wisdom.
- Faina: Faina is the untamed western goddess of freedom and the wildness of nature. She is sometimes depicted as a wild mare and it is known that she holds a special place in her heart for horses of all kinds. Faina does not generally inspire clerics or holy warriors as her followers do not believe in restricting themselves to such an extent. Instead many of her priesthood are druids or shamans.
- Farhage: Farhage is the dark and sinister god of seas and winter. He was originally a significant member of the western pantheon but was confronted by Rhoinn and exiled from into his current watery domain. Farhage is an cruel and unsavory god who is rarely worshiped but is instead placated by sailors hoping to avoid a wrathful storm or by farmers hoping for an early end to winter.
- Athair: Athair is a great jovial god who is master of the natural order. He holds sway over life and death in its most fundamental expression. He is also the mentor of Rhoinn and is master of teaching and magic. He is depicted as a massive avuncular character with a great club in one hand and a cauldron in the other hand.
Far to the north, cold winds blow all year round and hard men stalk great beasts through the dark bowers of endless evergreen woods. This land was never fully tamed by the empire and only in the borderlands are there any signs of cities or the comforting familiarity of imperial culture. Beyond the borderlands lies harsh mountains and boundless forests. Within these lands roam mighty beings of elemental power and unthinkable abominations that defy description. Among these live the Harudish peoples of the north. Never having been subjugated by the old empire, their ancient culture remains untainted and intact. Imperials will find cold comfort among the windblown savages and the deep north unless they can prove their worth against the worst that the dark hordes can bring. The Harudish people still pay homage to the gods of their ancestors almost exclusively.
- Stiggan: This is the greatest of the northern gods and he rules of the realms of wisdom, war and death. Wizards look to Stiggan for knowledge, warriors look to him for glory, and the dead look to him for peace.
- Fijand: This is the only son of Stiggan and he is master of the sky and is a protector of the weak. He blesses weddings and births and is one of the most beloved of the northern gods.
- Malhyus: Malhyus is the northern god of vows, justice, and leadership. He is also the patron of swords and is invoked by arms makers as they complete their rites and by warriors on the eve of battle.
- Lagjana: Lagjana is the northern earth mother and blesses the harvest of her people. She is wife to Stiggan and shares his powers of wisdom and prophecy. She is the guardian of plants and animals and patroness of love.
Pantheon of Ambrenur
The elves have a well established pantheon of gods that predates any other organized religion. In fact some people say that the human gods are merely shadows of the great elven gods that are more active in the mortal plain simply because they lie closer to the mundane than the unfathomable nature of the elven deities.
Regardless, the elven gods rarely intercede on behalf of their people directly. This has caused the elves to focus more strongly on developing their own supernatural power through the path of Arcane magic. Elven religion also enshrines the idea of the spirit as a object of reverence so elves can be described as powerful animists, and while the great gods are not listening, an elf cleric is quite capable of calling upon the spirits of the land and sky to heed his call.
Aside from the numberless host of spirits both great and small; the elves of any kindred will worship these major gods to some degree or another.
The next post I will be putting up will go over the wilder, more primal gods of the northern and western peoples, and lastly a brief post about how gnomish and halfling cultures fit in and what gods they worship.
Regardless, the elven gods rarely intercede on behalf of their people directly. This has caused the elves to focus more strongly on developing their own supernatural power through the path of Arcane magic. Elven religion also enshrines the idea of the spirit as a object of reverence so elves can be described as powerful animists, and while the great gods are not listening, an elf cleric is quite capable of calling upon the spirits of the land and sky to heed his call.
Aside from the numberless host of spirits both great and small; the elves of any kindred will worship these major gods to some degree or another.
- Aeguo Anwarunya: Aeguo Anwarunya is the elven god of magic and scholarship. He is the most revered of all the elven deities but also the most remote. It is said that his only connection to the elves was to breath in the essence of magic into the first elves at the very instant of their creation so that they might make their own way in the world. Needles to say most elves pay him great respect, but his temple is small and relatively uninfluential because he so rarely manifests on the mortal plan.
- Finarfin Lossehelin: Finarfin is the elven god of sea-faring and also the representation of storms. As such, he is also recognized as the lord of fate and sits in judgement of all living things while on the mortal plan. He is most widely worshiped amongst the sea elves. His fickle nature is often cited by high elves as the reason they behave in such an unseemly manner.
- Gelmir Telperien: Gelmir and Nolofinwe are two sides of the same coin. Both hold sway over death, but Gelmir is recognized as the dark side of elven nature. He is the god of war and murder and he is found in the deep pools of emotion that like under the seemingly serene face of the elf.
- Nolofinwe Telperien: Nolofinwe is the other elven death god. Her nature is diametrically opposed to the brutal, bloody aspect of her sibling. She is the goddess of peace and serenity and also holds authority over dreaming, both in sleep and as a form of prophecy.
- Feanaro Arnatuile: Feanaro Arnatuile is the shimmering goddess of life and beauty. She representents all the is good and pure in the world and is considered incorruptable by the elves.
- Celahir Carnesir: Celahir Carnesir is the elven god of light and the sun. He is most often depicted as a warrior in shining golden armour riding a flashing chariot pulled by a pair of fiery steeds. He is spouse to Feanaro Arnatuile and even though he is considered a force of good, his jealous nature sometimes causes him to lose control of his temper and act rashly.
The next post I will be putting up will go over the wilder, more primal gods of the northern and western peoples, and lastly a brief post about how gnomish and halfling cultures fit in and what gods they worship.
Dwarven gods
The dwarves have a much more intimate religious tradition. Although they do recognize three primary deities, the majority of dwarven worship is directed towards the spirits of their noble forebears. That is to say that any given dwarf will recognize the three main gods, but most of his or er devotion will be given to the ancient progenitors of his clan or hold. In this way, heroic and venerable dwarves can be objects of great respect after their deaths, and slowly become minor local gods, although ancestor worship is less formal than a true temple and will not have a specific clergy as that is restricted to the gods of the dwarven people as a whole. These deities are briefy described below.
- Hendurs: Although the dwarven pantheon is far less heirarchical than the human gods, Hendurs could be considered the primary god and patron of the dwarven people as a whole. His primary area of concern is that of crafting and hence proficiency; age and wisdom, and wealth. These three things being of paramount importance to all dwarves he is a very well respected god.
- Kerdic: Kerdic is the dwarven god of war and is also the manifestation of the absolute fidelity of the dwarf. Kerdic represents the unquenchable fury of the dwarf who is wronged, as well as the implacable nature of the hold when engaged in conquest. As he is also the epitome of loyalty he holds sway over the concept of friendship and alliance, and is often invoked when negotiating or engaging in a business deal.
- Aella: Aella is the only major dwarven goddess and her realm is that of hearth and home. Although she is a domestic goddess and is most often thought of as a nurturing and peaceful entity, her wrath is legendary when her family and home is threatened. Indeed in dwarven legends it is Aella who delivers the deathblow of the great serpent Galuagh as he stands over the badly injured Kerdic.
The Cult of Maskius
Maskius is a new god who has emerged as a major power in the centuries since the dissolution of the old empire. Rather than being incorporated into the imperial pantheon, the Maskian temple stands apart and requires much more exclusive worship from adherants. Unlike other temples, clerics of Maskius do not recognize the primacy of other gods in any area and instead pray to Maskius for everything. This doesn't mean that they do not recognize the existence of other gods, because these supernatural entities do occasional manifest in ways that cannot be denied, simply that they believe that Maskius is a supremely powerful being that is not limited to a single area of influence.
The temple of Maskius has grown powerful in recent centuries, primarily in the larger cities of the old empire, but it has not entirely supplanted the old gods even there. However, recently there has been a marked division within the temple hierarchy; most of the cult wishes to continue to operate as a pacifistic church, while a small but energetic minority have taken to the idea of military expansion, both of their religious authority and on behalf of the citizens of the empire against whatever monstrous elements may be threatening them.
The temple of Maskius has grown powerful in recent centuries, primarily in the larger cities of the old empire, but it has not entirely supplanted the old gods even there. However, recently there has been a marked division within the temple hierarchy; most of the cult wishes to continue to operate as a pacifistic church, while a small but energetic minority have taken to the idea of military expansion, both of their religious authority and on behalf of the citizens of the empire against whatever monstrous elements may be threatening them.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
gods of the old empire
The people of the old empire are divided religiously between the old gods of the southern pantheon, who were worshipped by the people of the empire even before there was an empire, and the recognition of a new cult that has arisen since the fall but has achieved great popularity; especially with those who have ambitions greater than their current stations would allow.
The chief deities of the old empire are outlined below:
The chief deities of the old empire are outlined below:
- Belann: Belann is the ancient imperial god of war, and in these troubled times his cult remains powerful and well respected. Belann has always been considered a god who favors those of lower birth, as he himself was not born of the divine, but was an offspring of Temrian and a mortal mother who was raised to his current position by recognition of his usefulness. He demands the twin virtues of faithfulness and proficiency above all others. The cult of Belann maintains a strong presence throughout the lands of the old empire and there are a multitude of warrior orders empowered in his name.
- Calix: This is the divine manifestation of the Earth, in the strictest elemental sense. Calix is often considered a somewhat distant deity and does not enjoy the universal appeal of some other gods. Nevertheless, his authority is considered absolute within his sphere and almost all miners and stonemasons make regular contributions to his temple in order to ensure favorable working conditions.
- Corion: Corion is a learned god and was the primary god of wisdom and knowledge before he was supplanted by a new jealous divine entity. His role since the fall of the empire has been somewhat reduced, but his feat of restoring the god Surt to life in the age of heroes has ensured that he retains worshipers in the form of doctors and healers of any stripe.
- Deligo: Deligo is a god of love. He not only represents that of romantic love, but also that of a mother for a child, or that shared between brothers. For this reason, despite the lack of a strong cult, Deligo remains an important figure in the divine realm for his diplomacy.
- Ensiu: An elemental force of fire, Ensiu is a two-faced goddess that is both beloved and feared. She is a nurturing mother figure at sometimes, when she represents the positive effects of a warms safe hearthfire. Other times her fickle nature overcomes her and she rages out of control and becomes a titan of unfeeling destruction. Templars of Ensiu go out into the world and expunge evil witht the purifying flame of Ensiu.
- Faber: Faber is the craftsmen of the gods. He is represented as a stocky, unassuming figure wearing simple clothing. Another god of the lower classes, he does not require elaborate ritual or compulsory tithing, but simple an act of expertise. Faber wishes his adherents to find the simple joy of competence.
- Marennon: Marennon is the god of the sea, as such he is also recognized as a master of trade and currency. His temple is by far the richest of the old gods and enjoys a strong relationship with that of Viator. Clerics of Marennon are master sailors and are renowned for their imperturbability in the face of adversity.
- Menna: Menna is the Huntress of the divine realm. She, like Belann, was not born a goddess. Unlike Belann, she seized her godhood by tracking a celestial beast across the bridge of light and into the realm of the gods. When she finally ran down her prey, she slew it and drank of its heartsblood. This act conferred upon her divine status, although the other members of the pantheon do not recognize her as an equal. For this reason there is no central cult of Menna. Instead she empowers her servants individually and does not recognized a true priestly order. Menna is the only southern deity that druids routinely worship.
- Messora: Messora is the goddess of the harvest and fertility in general. She is strongly recognized as a patron of plants and animals, but only those that are under domestication. Rural folk consider her primarily a goddess of agriculture and revere her accordingly. IN aristocratic and urban circles, she is more strongly identified as a representation of fertility and is more often invoked when a marriage contract is concluded by a noble family than Deligo.
- Nex: Nex is the god of death. He was granted authority over the disposition of mortal souls and his integrity is absolute. He is a stern-faced judge and it is universally recognized that there can be no avoiding his gaze. His cult views undeath in any form as a peversion of the natural order and spare no effort in tracking it down and eliminating it wherever it may occur. There is no more frightening situation than to come under the suspicion of one of the cold-eyed inquisitors of the Order of the Shroud.
- Nosirus: Nosirus is the god of the moon and night. He is a sly and untrustworthy deity and his purview is often considered deeds best left unmentioned. For this reason it is often considerd ill-luck for a child to be born under a new moon. IN this instance, parents will often make generous donations to the Temple of Nosirus (usually the only time they receive donations) to persuade him to release the soul of the child so they can make their own way.
- Surt: Surt is the shining god of the sun and was once worshiped as the primary deity of the empire. As a living embodiment of the sun, Surt was believed to be the source of all good in the world. His temple remains a powerful organization and it is rare to find anyone in old imperial lands that does not give thanks to Surt often.
- Temrian: Temrian is the lord of the sky and bringer of storms. He is sometimes depicted as a four-armed god, representing the four winds. Although he is an elemental force, his temple maintains good relations with others and he is very well respected among the rural folk. His templars are special in that they are afflicted with a rare malady that causes them to lose control of their tempers and take on the raging characteristics of a roaring thunderhead in battle.
- Viator: Viator is a somewhat difficult god to describe, as his portfolio is rather complex. Ostensibly the patron of travel and communication, his purview extends to roads and riverways, as well as language and messengers. Strangely enough however, his other activities in the divine realm have also marked him as as Lord of gambling and luck. Needless to say this has also made him a popular figure with criminals and even adventurers.
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