Fantasy Eternal Conquest

[Scatterbrain]

Voyka's grin shone brightly as Aranea stated her intentions.

"Then strike we shall," the old hag said smoothly, "and just as I had made important preparations on my part for the coming battle. My men have been waiting gleefully for this," she commented with a joyous tone.

"Now then, if we intend to strike, we have to discuss attack order. To ensure victory, we have to consider who strikes first and when," Voyka explained, "While I wouldn't mind striking first, I've always been more exceptional as part of the backline, reinforcing our forces as to overwhelm the enemy in steady waves of men. Given your position by the river, I assume you have far greater familiarity of the terrain that'll likely make our battlegrounds, a familiarity you would want to take advantage of before Luthais catches wind. So," she leaned in closer, "I would imagine you have a preferred attack order?"

"You’re correct." Aranea replied, her voice a soft weave of thoughtfulness and intent. "Over the last few months, I have become rather familiar with the woods and the river. Luthais clings to it as his last line of defence but it should not prove much of a hindrance. Especially now that I have honed my visions." Her eyes gleamed with a sinister satisfaction. "If I strike first, I can spread fear to the enemy, drown them in their own fear and confusion and when the time is right..." She paused, her many eyes watching Voyka closely. "That’s when you strike.

 

[turtwigwins]

Act I - Odaden Moves To War

Turn 3 - Year 912 - Early Fall

View attachment 912EarlyFall.png

Althreiell Campaign
The vast swath of plains of Ostermarka and Fairwych lead into the woodlands of Luminae. Originally kin to the nation of Caliban, Luminae has gotten used to the imperial boot. The pragmatic Countess Alice Ashenbrook has navigated the integration well by pushing just enough for imperial tribute always on time, and respect of local practices. Baba Voyka and Aranea both march into the southern province with separate goals in mind for the lands of Althreiell, but both with keen interests in mind. Both find ways to intercept information or spread fear to weaken the opposition of the enemy. Luthais finds clever ways to buy more time, while the bandit queens squabbling with a traveling mercenary company offer an opportunity for Aranea.

===Allied Forces===

Baba Voyka, The Warsome Grandmother
Try and Take It // Nothing is Safe // Break their Spirits
Location: Luminae
Province Fertility: 6/6
Strength: 3
Cards:
Dreamwalker - Upon meeting on Neutral or Allied Ground for diplomacy, Baba may lure an enemy to sleep placing a -3 on them for character v character combat if not using hostile language in interaction before this. (Infinite Uses)
Environmental Expert - Baba and her troops are unaffected by weather cards and terrain related cards. (Infinite Uses)
Motherful Presence - A province will not revolt when Baba is present if it has below 10 disloyalty. (Infinite Uses)
A Turned Informant - Using information gained about Althreiell Baba is better able to plan attacks. Add +1 to attack against any Althreiell province (2 Uses)

Baba and Aranea attack in conjunction against the forces of Luthais with Baba’s forces having the better of the fighting fueling her lust for blood as the intel of her informant proves true. While her forces celebrate a surprise occurs in the port itself with Luthais mysteriously appearing at the local harvest revels, participating and winning in the archery competition. Although some forces move against the man, Countess Ashenbrook forbids it as a day of jubilation. Instead, despite their initial distrust of the man, the public begins to warm to the enemy general as his displays of skill and tales of valor win hearts. This leads to a distrust towards the war with Althriell, remembering that they once were their own power.

Leads:
Aristocratic Dissidents - Some of the more well off of the city disagree in Countess Ashenbrook refusing the opportunity to capture the enemy general when the chance arrived. The more recently established nobility may be eager to support Baba’s war effort if she would call upon their aid.
Righteous Wrath - To not capture Luthais when he presented himself was treachery. A priestess of the seven approaches Baba saying they would support Baba should she make a move against the current countess of the city. That is at the risk of alienating the city, especially the narrow line the countess has toed in being a Solman worshiper with Lunaran leniency.

Aranea, the Mind Weaver
Everywhere at Once // Nothing is Safe // Break their Spirits
Location: Luminae
Province Fertility: 6/6
Strength: 2
Cards:
Psychic Web - For every 3 subordinates (who have been inducted to web) in charge of a province Aranea gains another action to use. (Infinite Uses)
Induction to the Web - Aranea may use an action to induct a subordinate into her neural web. From this she will see and hear any interactions they take, and physically communicate across the realm. (Infinite Uses, this consumes an action for turn)
Telepathy - Every turn Aranea may choose an NPC in a bordering province and has a 1/4 chance to know their action for the turn.

Aranea’s men camp in the wooded lands near the border of Hatia with the river that separates Luminae and Hatia being a strong denotation of where Odaden land begins. Aranea sends vision of fear upon the ranks of Luthais, but these visions only seem to bring her forces into view as a target. In her attacks in conjunction with Baba Luthais’s forces focus upon bringing down the spiders and lead to a defeat of her forces continuing the stalemate that has held this border. Even worse is the reports that come of the man showing up for the local revelries of the harvest festival, and his apparent winning of hearts through stories and flamboyant display.

Leads:
The Huntsman - From her troops Aranea hears tales of a local huntsmen with renowned prowess. Upon one of the trips for supplies a soldier reports to Aranea the man wishes for her to come and have a meal.
The Silver Swords - A group of mercenaries coming from the east approach Araneas camp with wounded and anger in their voices. Apparently their leader was slain in battle that ensued with Freyja Stormviel when he refused to pay for their passage. They are willing to join her forces if Aranea promises vengeance against the bandit queen.

===The Enemy===

Luthais Cailamin, the Marshal of Feathers
With Guile and Cunning // A Master of the Art // A Reckoning for the Wicked
Location: Hatia
Strength: 2
Public Outcry - The heroic status of Luthais can cause disruption that may prevent an attack from happening against him in fall. Upon an attack against Luthais from Luminae in 912 he may roll a 1d4 and on a 4 that attack does not happen.

Luthais in exploring opportunities for holding off the impending march upon his borders takes a gamble in partaking in the harvest festival. Winning the competition he uses his charm to turn public perception against the armies stationed in the province, and the festival provides an excuse for the appeasement prone Countess to not deal with him in the moment. He rouses his men against the great spider that attacks against them, and inflicts casualties against the host despite the receival of losses from the overwhelming attack. Despite his weakened position, Luthais begins to think, foolishly perhaps, that he can hold.

Freyja Stormveil, the Bandit Queen
Liberate the Materiel // Come What May // Never Surrender
Location: Frostfell
Strength: 2
Cards:
Ice Storm - Upon victory in combat in Winter turns Freyja has a 1/2 chance to inflict 2 tokens damage (Infinite Uses)

Freyja receives the tides of imperial banners in Luminae with indifference. If they want to fight their war with Althreiell she will let them. Why come strike at an opponent when their wealth would flow through the province either way. Besides those who are eager to display their strength would find it worn down. The Bandit queen manages her men normally for now, the dues being paid as those who dare to trek through dreary Frostfell give tribute to her domain.As the Silver Swords entered her land they thought to fight the rule of tribute, she gave their company a good thrashing stealing the valuables of the company and slaying the leadership. The event gives her a smile as she is reminded bloodshed can sometimes be more profitable.

South-Western Campaign
Upon reaching their agreement of the division of Caliban the armies of Einar and Nanissis travel in tandem to the birthplace of the empire Odaden. The rolling countryside of the land is accompanied by the wooded coast alongside the southern ocean. Prince Kirin, the younger brother of the Emperor seems to rule with only a light touch upon the people. To the west the vast rolling plains of Budagyar are home to a much more nomadic life. While the armies in Odaden may be replenished by the hard work of peasants, the work in the land of the centaurs seems to be hunting for your own. Victories in both fronts in early fall lead to an establishing presence for the empire.


===Allied Forces===

Nanissis Yevro, The Poisonous Tongue
Meals from the Field // The One and Only // Drenched in Death
Location: Odaden
Province Fertility: 7/7
Strength: 3
Cards:
Poisonous Tongue - Nanissis agitates a province leading to a +3 in disloyalty. (Infinite Uses, once per 3 turns)
The Discontents are Rewarded - After taking control of a province which has had the Poisonous Tounge Card used it on previously Nanissis can take a free recruit a subordinate action to govern the province that same turn. (infinite Uses)
Lightning Raids - The first time attacking a general Nanissis can choose to receive a +2 to the attack. (2 Uses)
Knights of Illumination - Upon a battle loss against a general of Caliban do not lose a token ( 1 Use)

Nanissis and his troops make home outside the former capital of Odaden. The food seems to have been well prepared and few have issues in finding mouths to feed. Although the flat countryside is set up for farming the centaurs under his command have found some small enjoyments in interactions with the land. The inner city itself seems one that has had only a minor corruption when compared to the capital. The Duchess makes her way back to Veloria with views of the victorious company as both Nanissis’s and Einar’s advances upon Moondar go as well as could be hoped. The sickness of the river causing a minor disruption, and the thundering hooves of his centaurs paving way to quite a blood filled victory. The prince offers his congratulations in a letter to Nanissis of his good display to the traveling Duchess, the message delivered by the “surprise” Nanissis had previously given to Einar. Whether that is merely a coincidence or the prince displaying a message is something Nanissis will have to decide for himself.

Lustful Business - Some of the brothels have become all too familiar with the poisonous tongue. A few of the employees becoming regulars to the man have figured they could use their talents to assist him in his own ventures if he had the coin to convince them.
Visiting the Castles Gardens - There is some game that the prince is trying to convince Nanissis to play with him, and it's time to get a view of what the message is.


Einar Jaddeth, The Brutal Bastard
Meals from the Field // The One and Only // Break their Spirits
Location: Odaden
Province Fertility: 7/7
Strength: 2
Cards:
Raze the Traitors - Upon a successful attack Einar may choose to raze one of the fertility of the province, leading to +2 disloyalty in the province attacked (Infinite Uses)
Brutal Vengeance - Upon losing a defensive combat, Einar has a +1 to attack versus that same opponent the next turn. (Infinite Uses)
Make Use of What We Have - Einar's troops can go over the fertility of a province by 2 and not suffer any negative effects. (Infinite Uses)

Einar’s men make advance into the lands of Moondar, the sickness that spreads to Valindra’s forces leading to an overwhelming victory with the combined forces. Although the forces of the moon elfs attempt a defense, he knows that soon the province will be under the imperial thumb. As he advances however, new opportunities present themselves, many of the neighboring wooded villages being ones that are not as ingrained to the ideology of the moon elves. The calls of victory are clear from the Odaden, but the task of rule is one that has not been established clearly between Einar and Nanissis.

Leads:
Hometown Priest - A man that Einar had only known as a child introduces himself to his company. The man was one who Einar had thought as past away from famine still looks slim, but is eager to talk to him in good spirit.
Engineer Impressment - As he presses forward on his conquest to Moondar one of the border villages that falls to his command is home to a family of renowned engineers. These are men not elves, and may serve the empire better than many of their countrymen, and don’t seem particularly religious.

Kypher M. Solari, The Lazy General
Everywhere At Once // Symphony of War // Break their Spirits
Location: Budagyar
Province Fertility: 4/4
Strength: 2
Cards:
Pattern Recognition - The longer in continual battle with an opponent the better the ability to recognize their weaknesses. For every turn in combat with an opponent, either Kypher attacking them or them attacking you Kypher will receive a stacking +1 advantage the next turn on the next combat. This can only stack up to a +3, and if there is a turn where neither side engages in combat against one another the stack is reset to 0. (Infinite Uses)
Officer's Club - The illustrious general inspires loyalty among his officers and men. Any province that Kypher is in will receive a -1 to disloyalty per turn, note can choose not to have this used. (Infinite Uses)
Ways of the Nomads - Once per season when in a steppe or plains region you may harvest one fertility from a province (3 Uses)


The province of Budagyar tests the strength of Kyphers men. While many of the men wish to emulate their general and his laziness, hard work is put to the test with having to track down the roaming centaur tribes subjugated under Regis for food, or scurrying off to do their own hunts in their land. Although there are a few settlements, these mainly rely on hunting as a method of securing their own food. Kypher taking time to learn the ways of the land gains a better understanding of the way of the nomads, and a better chance of survival if needing to harvest food. The Nalunali tribes under the leadership of Hectemnon conduct battle against Kypher.
This time, Kypher takes his chance to strike back against the raider, carefully observing the tactics of the centaur the trap sets works wonders in leveling the playing field even.

Leads:
The White Gazelle - Reports of a mystical gazelle stocking the lands are talked about throughout the local tribes of the area, perhaps this is something that Kypher could find himself?
The Wailing Winds – In the far reaches of Budagyar, the winds carry strange, eerie howls, said to be the cries of fallen warriors.



===The Enemy===

Valindra Redmoon, the Blood Moons Blade
Liberate the Materiel // A Master of the Art // A Reckoning for the Wicked
Location: Moondar
Strength: 1
Cards:
The Cycle of the Blood Moon - Upon 3 successful victories in battle Lunara blesses Valindra’s forces. If Valindra had lost a token during this time she may heal one token as the wounded come back to fight again. (Infinite Uses)

Valindra roars with anger upon the despicable act of poisoning the land's water before striking into the land of Moondar. Although she wishes deeply to strike back immediately her focus is in the present moment on evacuation of civilians to the province of Caliban. She expects her land to fall before years end, but with enough blessings perhaps she can make the invaders bleed before taking her homeland.

Isobole Vadalas, the Duchess of Diplomacy
To Weather the Storm // A Master of the Art // A Truth Unassailable
Location: Veloria
Strength: 4
Cards:
Time Through Words - Upon a diplomacy action being received or sent and responded to, the one who engaged in the diplomacy with Isobole has a -1 to attack against her for that turn and the following turn. Additionally Isobole cannot be forced into combat at neutral locations. (Infinite Uses)

Isobole has had her country prosper through funding and selling to the imperial war machine. One thing that the Duchess has never allowed to be disputed is her sovereignty. As the imperial banners march on either side the men of Veloria rise ready to defend should the empire decide it has no use for their trade any longer. Isobole still thinks that the relationships built can be something that guarantees her kingdom safety. Long friends with Prince Kirin, she believes that a strike against Veloria is not on the priorities of Regis. She only needs to keep diverting attention, and all empires fall sooner or later. One way of doing such is keeping in touch with her dear friend. In this meeting she hears and sees of the triumph of the forces of the empire against the province of Moondar. Warily watching this development she decides to return to Veloria to fortify her position.

Hectemnon, the Thundering Spear
Liberate the Materiel // Colleagues in Arms // A Reckoning for the Wicked
Location: Nalunali
Strength: 2
Cards:
Hectemnon is a massive centaur known for his thundering approach as he raids and pillages farmsteads and rival tribes alike. Taking great baths and indulging in many a woman, and devouring of many a meat Hectemnon enjoys what he considers simple pleasures in life. However, his brute intelligence still realizes that the rising threat of Odaden may soon try to subjugate his tribe. Forming alliances with those around him in mutual protection against those who have already sworn allegiance to the imperial might Hectemnon offers his own strength as the defiant shield. This might have been spurred on by the three cities who offer coins freely with the recognition of service against Odaden. After his first victory the thundering spear looks to press his advantage, but finds himself outmaneuvered as if all of his tracks were seen through clearly. Feeling an unease against the general against him, Hectemnon looks to see what the next step his enemy will take.


North-Western Campaign
To the northern part of the realm a set of threats engulf the boldest of the empire Richard who rests in Kaslia with greenskin and goblin raiders knocking on the doorstep and the distrusting Padorian fleet ready to blockade at a moments notice he may soon have to rely on those around him. In a keen position to provide support is Jannaxes who sits upon the province of the crossroads, a prosperous land for the tolls that its rivers extract and in between the trade cities of Kaslia, Pinterra, and Padoria as well as northern realms when they want to come towards the heartland of Osyne. It is also a keen position to bring support to the generals around him, something the Whisper of Sin is all too familiar with. To the south sits Oneiruth the princeling returned home. Discontent from those who favored his brother still lingers, as well as those whose powers have diminished with his pact. Jack Bower to the North has found perhaps the most promising position in Pinterra, the weakened Mudkadi open for the taking and a people of Aberhald who Jack thinks he can make an interesting gamble to.


===Allied Forces===

Onieruth, The Usurper of Argalis
Try and Take It // The One and Only // Drenched in Death
Location: Argalis
Province Fertility: 3/5
Strength: 3
Cards:
Accursed Pact - Leads will occur with patron, following these could grant boons, and ignoring them lead to punishments.
Magic Devourer - Magical cards are ineffective against Onieruth, either lowering in power or completely failing at GM discretion.

The land of Argalis slowly turns quiet as the tyrannical rule of their Prince has taken hold. The magic that once ruled the land proudly now withers to the power of their prince who makes this land his home with his otherworldly patron. The same can be said with the population who work tirelessly to build the fields of the land to the flourishing wheat it was before the civil conflict. There are still those in the populace few that whisper of vengeance for his brother Janus upon the usurper, and rumors of meetings of those who plan to take vengeance upon the usurper prince. The ancient ruins of past old gods and their temples seem to be a keen part of this scheming against the prince. Seeing the weakened state of the land the goblin tribes of Gurlap raid the land pillaging before fleeing back to their homes.


Richard, The Lionheart
Try and Take It // Symphony of War // Chessmaster
Location: Kaslia
Province Fertility: 5/5
Strength: 3
Cards:
Resilient Lion - When losing to an enemy with more army tokens Richard has a 1/3 chance of not losing an army token. (Infinite Uses)
Golden Boy of the Empire - Richard can attack an internal imperial provinces leader in combat, and if winning assume the province under his control. The empire will not intervene, viewing it as an internal dispute. (2 Uses)
Stand Proud Men - Richard's and the men he commands are immune to Fear Effect Cards
Flanking Attack - Upon attacking into Wolven, Chilfroys army will support also attacking. This adds a +1 to both sides' attacks. (1 Uses)

Kaslia welcomes the protection offered by the Lionheart as they are beset by enemies on all sides. While supplies and trade flow steadily throughout the country now with only the occasional missing ship bringing a reminder of their pirate neighbors to the west in Padoria. Lord Wilmar Rudolf is grateful for the protection offered and allows a great amount of housing in the inner port city to the troops of Richard. From the outer lands of the province, however, persistent pleas are heard by the army for protection from the grinning wolves. His attack against the grinning wolves in conjunction with

Jannaxes, Whisperer of Sin
Everywhere at Once // Nothing is Safe // Chessmaster
Location: The Crossroads
Province Fertility: 8/8
Strength: 3
Cards:
Corruption - Jannaxes offers favors with little ask in return, but once accepting the taint slowly spreads. Accepting a favor adds corruption to the character. A d20 is rolled each turn seeing if this corruption spreads to the province the character is in. If the number is equal to or lower to the corruption score, the province gains corruption. Latent Power is gained each turn in accordance to province corruptions.
Lessor Favor - Costing 5 latent power. Gives minor boon as agreed with GM. Adds 1 corruption to character.
Medium Favor - Costing 10 latent power. Gives minor boon as agreed with GM. Adds 2 corruption to character.
Greater Favor - Costing 15 latent power. Gives minor boon as agreed with GM. Adds 3 corruption to character.
My Dear Puppet - For every corruption gained by a character Jannaxes gains a 3% chance of being able to use their action. Jannaxes may choose to use this every turn if he is within 2 provinces of the corrupted character. Note the action must always be something the person can see as to their interest.
Characters Corrupted - Regis (9), Kirin (1), Arlane Rivers (1)
Provinces Corruption - Odaden (2), Osyne (7)
Accumulated Latent Power - 21
Brackendales - known for their speed and agility using these horses can push a force to move with extra force. A general may move across 2 friendly provinces with a move action taking along up to 3 army strength with them. (3 uses)

Subordinates

Arlane Rivers, Beloved of The Rivers
Meals from the Field // Symphony of War // Chessmaster
Location: The Crossroads
Strength: 0
Cards:
Friend of The River Spirits - When defending a province with Rivers, or attacking into a province with Rivers Arlane gains a +1 to combat rolls. (Infinite Uses)
Corruption: 1

The crossroads are the crossing for much trade and travel along the empire. The Lady of this land Countess Aralia Crosswood makes efficient use of this with various castle crossings set up along the river paths offering both protection for travelers and coins for her pockets. Additionally these rivers offer quite an amount of arable farmland while the savannah like plains surrounding offer a variety of meats for the coming travelers. The location could not be more ideal for a resting army with trade from the western trade cities coming through along with the northern realms of Lovona and Aberhald and flowing to the heart of the empire in Osyne. Jannaxes mens are efficiently camped along the crossings and are well fed, but it does not seem to create a great stir among the people. What it does offer is a great staging ground as the taverns that rest along these lines lead to rumors aflowing a plenty. His investigation of the horse merchant’s plight and subsequent return of valuables gives him a great benefit in the brackendales handed over in exchange. Fine steeds of agility may be able to give him a greater advantage in repositioning across the board. Additionally, the thieves being ones of Kakorm results in a move against the crossroads. Luckily for Jannaxes the forces are repelled by his leadership and strategy, only opening another opportunity.

Leads:
Tavern Rumors - The Crossroads are home to many travelers who have loose lips after a few too many drinks. Although mostly gossip the occasional truth may be something Jannaxes could exploit.
Victrian Chess - The Victrians traveling through the crossroads seem to be particularly intent on their skill in the game of chess. Although not too prominent a game in the Odaden empire, Jannaxes may have an opportunity to indulge sin by putting friendly wagers on the games. (Note: To receive benefit of card will play GM in chess match, GM is around 800 rated)


Jack Bower, The Cheat
Try and Take It // Nothing is Safe // Break their Spirits
Location: Pinterra
Province Fertility: 3/3
Strength: 3
Economic Power: 1
Cards:
The Deck is in my Favor - Jack may redefine his 3 battle leadership strategies (Infinite, once per 4 turns)
All-In Gambit - Jack may choose to make a gamble in which the total amount of army tokens in his army will be either inflicted on the enemy or lost on his own army up to the enemy's strength. (1 Use)
Slip Away - Assuming Jack does not die in character combat if Jack's entire army dies and Jack has a subordinate he may return to their province alive. (2 Uses)
An Ordered Market - The merchants of Pinterra value Jack and his companies presence in Pinterra and will pay for his services. For every 3 consecutive turns that Jack spends in Pinterra with at least 1 army strength under his command he will gain 1 Economic Power. (Infinite Uses)
Open Arms - For the fall of 912 generals in Aberhald receives a -2 on battle rolls dealing with the sickness of the refugees forced upon them. Aberhald also receives 1 permanent manpower, and Pinterra loses 1 permanent manpower. (Instant - Through Fall of 912)

Jack spins ingenuity in using his forces to kick the beggars out of the city of Pinterra proper. The merchants grateful for the services begin reopening stores that had once been closed, and the general tone towards imperial presence is one of appreciation. A consortium of merchants even gives Jack coin in exchange for the service, and chart an agreement for additional payment if the imperial forces continue their moves to an ordered and clean city. Jack further continues this to the outskirts of the countryside, and moves the refugees towards the border of Aberhald. The bleeding hearts of the Manolovs take under their wing those that have been neglected by Pinterra, but was this a lapse in judgment that could lead to their downfall.

Leads:
The Echoes of the Past - An old ruined tower outside Pinterra has been the source of strange noises and sightings.
Northern Merchants - Merchants from the kingdom of Lovona are found idly chatting around the docks. Perhaps he could blend in with conversation and gain future insights into the great kingdom to the North.


===The Enemy===

Nicholas Manolov, Heart of Aberhald
To Weather the Storm // Colleagues in Arms // A Truth Unassailable
Location: Aberhald
Strength: 3
Cards:
Family is Our Bond - If Nicholas should fall one of his six sons will replace him with equal battlefield leadership capabilities (6 Uses)

Nicholas Manolov looks towards Odaden, wary of their imperial ambition. The plains of Aberhald are tended to with a rigor of befitting the eyes of Farin, god of family. Unusual to their fields however is the stomping patrols of soldiers as Nicholas has enlisted many of the working men to serve against the Odaden threat. As Jack sits in Pinterra Nicholas waits for the halfman to make his first move towards his home. The move that comes is one that strikes Nicholas as cowardice, attempting to spread disease through kicking out the sick towards their lands. His devotion to the word of Farin prevents him from doing what the tactical decision would be, and instead he takes in the sick, caring for them as though they were his own people.

Ulx Wheatmaker, The Agrarian
With Guile and Cunning // A Master of the Art // A Truth Unassailable
Location: Mudkadi
Strength: 2
Cards:

Although not one to be afraid of war, after the defeat by Jorvan Lovona in years past Ulx slowly began developing Mudkadi into a more agrarian state. With little worth in the land of Mudkadi the neighboring nations have begun to begin more amicable diplomacy with that of the civilized goblin Ulx. Ulx does not have too much concern for the army in Pinterra thinking they must be directed elsewhere, but those of the old guard have formed militias to defend that of their land.

Kakorm Bittersteel, The Persistent Plunderer
Everywhere at Once // Nothing is Safe // Break their Spirits
Location: Gurlap
Strength: 2
Cards:

Kakorm is not known as the most feared of goblinkind, but his keen mind for raiding has made many flock to his banner. With little in professional weaponry and units made of makeshift armories from that which they have stolen. The goblins find ways of skirmishing in favorable terrain to be of their biggest advantage. Quick hit and run accidents are prevalent for those who dare travel into the province and those of the surrounding provinces. Kakorm thinks the armies upon his doorstep are unideal for certain, and the Jannaxes interfering with his tribes' plundering ways in tracking down those who attacked the horse merchant forces his hand into aggression. Sadly, the tempers being high is not one that provides for a sound mind, and instead they are driven back into their province.

Nograk, The Bone Flayer
Meals from the Field // Nothing is Safe // Break their Spirits
Location: Wolven
Strength: 2
Cards:
Break in Fear - When attacking against Nograk armies have a 1/3 chance to lose a token out of fear, deserting before the battle begins.

Nograk and his warband make the lower grasslands a home of their debauchery. Although a land that could be quite farmable itself the orks of the grinning wolves know one thing, tormenting. Taking sadistic pleasure they consistently raid, pillage, assault, and force themselves upon those who surround them. Riding massive wolves and making messages of wherever they go incites fear to all who stand against them. Attacked in his home province Nograk inflicts losses upon Chivar and the Templars of the Frontier, but Richard again bests him in combat to the chagrin of the orc warlord who now sulks.

Chilfroy Pontier, The Warden of the Frontier
To Weather the Storm // Colleagues in Arms // Never Surrender
Location: Chivar
Strength: 2
Cards:

The frontier of Chivar is a province not unbearable with rolling plains and freshwater that leads to easy farming. The issue lies with those who seek to take from what they have made in the land. Chilfroy has led to at least some stability in the land forming the Templars of the Frontier who hold back the raiders and nomads who try to pillage and enslave from the working folk of the land. He is encouraged by the word his subordinates work out in having an agreement to assist one another against the great threat to them both that is the Grinning Wolves. Eagerly awaiting word from Richard he is greatly heartened when he hears the forces of the Lionheart fended off an attack of the Bone Flayer slaying a good portion of the raiding forces before they retreated back to Wolven. Sadly, his advance does not work as planned with Richard, with his forces receiving losses, despite an ultimate equal amount dealt in kind to th orcs.

Lucile Morren, The Golden Hair Admiral
With Guile and Cunning // Colleagues in Arms // A Truth Unassailable
Location: Padoria
Strength: 3
Cards:
Blockade Their Ports - Lucile can choose to blockade the ports of a tile that has a water connection to her province. This results in a draining of 1 fertility to her command per turn from the province.

Lucile Morren has grown a wide reputation for her exploits both as a trader and pirate. Her golden hair many have claimed is a sign from the gods of the wealth that she was bound to obtain in her life. Lucile is a cunning figure managing both politics of the royal family of Padoria as well as the loyalties of her ship captains. Lucile views carefully the broader picture of the imperial ambition, and worries that should Richard try and fail there will be another general sent to fill his place. Her worry turns to question as she hears of the agreement with the Templars of the Frontier and wonders if there is more to the man then just a tyrant. Enough doubt that she turns her attention back to her seafaring ways, and lessens her watch upon the province of Kaslia.

Agbal Damu, Triumvir of the North
To Weather the Storm // Come What May // Never Surrender
Location: Kizka
Strength: 4
Cards:

Agbal looks upon the imperial fronts with a contentedness. The threat of imperial might has allowed them to stop worrying about one front as the Nalunali present a deterrent. Instead his focus is turned to the goblin and orc tribes specifically with a fear of the grinning wolves. His fields are at a great harvesting time and the fertile crescent of the north can hopefully fend off any would be invaders from their homelands. The forts built across the land lead to a great defense against these raiders, but the keen eyes of the Kizka people need to spot the raiders to make it to these establishments.

Monzia Campaign
Munsie and Ahkmenohtep start with a distaste towards each other in their mouths as they both contest over the favor of the province of Pescon. The front now opens with Pescon falling under Munsie’s control, her agreements with the religious elite of the city leading to a fall that was sooner than many would have expected. This first conquest is not without notice either, with the crown instructing the powers of the faith of the seven to summon a great beast to her command. Now awaits the move of the lich, who for the moment has been eclipsed.

===Allied Forces===

Ahkmenohtep, The Exiled Lich
Meals from the Field // The One and Only // Chessmaster
Location: Tobyou
Province Fertility: 4/4
Strength: 3
Cards:
Army of the Dead - Ahkmenohtep upon defeating an enemy force and occupying their province, or losing a living unit may raise an army token of the dead. Note: Using this card will consume the turn action of Ahkmenohtep. Undead tokens use only .25 ferility of land per turn. (Infinite Uses)
Voices to the Dead - Ahkmenohtep is able to talk to the dead assuming their soul is still in existence. He may ask 3 questions which the soul is compelled to answer truthfully. After this has been used on a soul it may not be used again. (Infinite Uses - Once Per 3 Turns)
Your Soul is Mine - If this card is in play and Ahkmenohtep wins a battle, he will possess the enemy commander's soul, instantly defeating their army. (2 Uses)
Last Croak Assassins - Upon an attack you may choose to use this card. If successful you enact an additional 1 token of damage. If the attack fails this card is lost . (Unlimited Uses)
Counterspell - Akhmenohtep may use this card to negate a magical card used against himself or his army by generals of the provinces of Saka, Khotep, or Semabehdet. (1 Use)

The people of Tobyou are what is called Toadu or the Toad-People and are quite a superstitious bunch of individuals. Akmenothep begins to feel even less welcome as Munsie moves to Pescon with her defeat of Perwin the Peacemaker while his forces are left behind in Tobyou. Still the hag remains as a potential point of observation. His visions gained from visiting the whispering willows will surely assist him in future conquests, so perhaps investigating this land further would be of benefit to him. There is also the point that Munsie has walked into a surrounded front herself. Perhaps it will all unravel and then he can come in and clean up the mess.

Leads:
The Swamp Hag - Tales tell of a swamp hag who makes home in Tobyou. The woman is known for making potions to aid in the many wants of man, but always at a cost. Is Ahkmenotep willing to pay?
Bloodroot Grove - In a remote area of the swamp grows a rare plant known as the Bloodroot, whose sap is said to enhance the physical capabilities of those who consume it at the cost of volatile emotions.

Munsie Moldive, The Beast Tamer
Everywhere at Once // Nothing is Safe // Break their Spirits
Location: Pescon
Province Fertility: 6/6
Strength: 4
Cards:
On the Hunt - For every victory against a general/subordinate Munsie gains a permanent +1 to future attacks against them, max of +2 (Infinite Uses)
Beast Tamer - More beast related cards for exotic and dangerous beasts are available to Munsie with positive effects.
Trackers Eye - Munsie can target and find key dissidents leading to -2 disloyalty (Infinite Uses, Once per 3 turns)
Eologmoth - The gigantic demonic monolith of some weird twisted design with a twisted design as if an elephant partook the rams head and grew dramatically is a force to fear. It also can soak up loads of damage as enemy armies look to take down the beast. Upon winning a combat you may choose to lose one use and deal another damage of strength, or upon losing a combat you may choose for Bologmoth to take the strength damage instead. (2 Uses)

The forces of Perwin attempt to make a valiant stand, but as the initial guard falls in a close combat to Munsie’s forces, the rear under command of the religious faction opens the gate to Munsies forces joining under her banner. Although there is great initial discord the public slowly becomes more accepting with their religious leaders bringing a balance of the benefit of Munsie. Of course, greater disagreements could occur if the city was forced into holding the undead lich in its home. The grand chamber once held to the open democracy now sits dormant, and many wonder what Munsie’s move will be in ruling the new land, and the fate of its previous commander Perwin. Pescon and the land surrounding are quite forested, but the people have made several clearing for agriculture. Additionally the hunt is quite present in the land, as it is in its border of Monzia. A nature for individualism, the land also holds opportunities for finding adventurers to serve.

Leads:
The Thorne Company - The enigmatic company of adventurers who recently returned from Antinia under contract to work for the defense of Pescon now find themselves without contract. Perhaps they could still be convinced to work as mercenaries, only for the new rulership.
Religious Leadership - While Munsie could easily promote one of her own ranks, the fostering relationship with the religious faction of the city could provide a talented individual. Various talents of the churches of Aphraline, goddess of love, Wysdros, God of nature, and Baros, God of battle all approach.

Provinces Under Rule

Pescon:
Subordinate - Vacant
Economic Power: 3/4
Technological Power: 1/2
Fertility Power: 6/6
Manpower: 2/3
Disloyalty: 5/20

===The Enemy===

??????
? // ? // ?
Location: Antinia
Strength: 4
Cards:
Little is known of who the true commander of the Antinian people is. One would have to investigate in a greater detail to have a better understanding before making a decision to invade the fiercely isolationist land. With little in communication, perhaps the adventurers returning home to Pescon would be able to offer insights into their neighbors to the north. The question also remains if it's worth conquering a people who can’t communicate in spoken word to begin with. Still, the mentions of the great works created may mean there is more to these creatures than on first glance.

King Aldric Helvandar, The Ledgered
With Guile and Cunning // A Master of the Art // A Truth Unassailable
Location: Monzia
Strength: 4
Cards:
The Coin Belt - Once every season for the cost of 1 economic power Aldric may attempt to buy off a unit of strength of an opposing enemy adding it to his forces if a 4 is rolled on a 1d4. This attempt uses a turn action. (Infinite Uses)

King Aldric Helvandar in his younger years thought too little of the plights of the people, his greater focus on the accumulation of wealth. The kingdom of Monzia was no stranger to switching royalty, and Aldric wanted to ensure his family had the power in coin to back up their rule. This eventually led to the city of Pescon leading a revolt, one that he could have most likely put down if he trusted those at his back. Paranoid, but seeing an opportunity for reclaiming his kingdom, he looks to Munsie’s new conquest as a rallying point to his kingdom. Still, the situation of those around him isn’t as enthusiastic. Will he be able to emphasize the threat of the empire before they gobble up the squabbling kingdom.

Garry Denmane, The Old Guard
To Weather the Storm // Colleagues in Arms // Never Surrender
Location: Scandia
Strength: 2
Cards:
Unlike many of the families around them the Denmane’s have stood at their station as rulers of Scandia for generations. Focusing on his own hunters and their loyalties Garry has carried on the traditions of his forefathers with grace. He sees the change of Pescon as a worrying threat, but is also concerned about leading his people onto greater war. Perhaps if the treatment is right of Pescon, Scandia could see the same grace. Or if the King proves his worth in conquest the issue would sort itself out nicely.

Surbag Brooke, The Shadownapper
With Guile and Cunning // Colleagues in Arms // A Reckoning for the Wicked
Location: The Black Crag
Strength: 3
Cards:
Shadow Kidnap - Upon a successful attack Surbag may roll a 1d4 and on a 4 kidnap an NPC (Can be narrative or Subordinate) taking them into his captivity. (Infinite uses)

Surbag always had a keen mind when growing up. In his early raids he consistently pointed out ineffectiveness in their methods, and grew frustrated with the explanations of tradition and honor. Growing fed up with the clans of the black crag he waited for an adventuring party to come, and sprung his trap of defection. One of the members, Roslin Brooke took pity upon Surbag, and offered to have him schooled and trained in a fine college in Monzia. Surbag took in the knowledge greedily there, and found he had an innate talent for control of the shadows. In this time also grew his relationship with Roslin who he would marry. After years of adventuring he would somehow return home and grow to be a leader of the Black Crag. This has led to rampant speculation, but the once favorable adventurers have now grown an efficient raider culture. Using shadow magic and night Surbag leads the Black Crag to target key points of interest or objectives. Seeing the arrival of Munsie he believes in a window of opportunity as the land is unsettled by new rule.

Secret Objective Complete!

The First Conquest

The newly conquered city of Pescon lay cloaked in uneasy silence. The grand chamber, once a bastion of democracy and debate, now stood empty, its pillars casting long shadows over Munsie Moldive as she gazed out at the darkened forest beyond the city walls. Her victory over Perwin was fresh, but the weight of her new rule settled heavy on her shoulders. The people were still adjusting, the religious leaders she had won over working tirelessly to quell dissent. Yet the land felt restless, as though something unseen watched her every move.

A series of steps broke through her contemplation. Munsie turned to see a group of priests enter, their black robes embroidered with the red glyphs of the Seven. There were four of them, their faces obscured by deep hoods. The leader, an older man with a sharp, bony face and eyes that gleamed red, stepped forward.

"Beast Tamer," he rasped, bowing low. "We come with a message from the Emperor. Regis speaks through us this night."

Munsie remained unmoved, her eyes narrowing. "What message does Regis send that requires so many of you?"

The lead priest’s grin was unsettling. "It is not merely a message, my lady. It is a gift—a reward for your conquest of Pescon. But to convey it, we must first perform a summoning. Emperor Regis offers you power, and with it, dominion over this city and its people. But you must see it for yourself."

Munsie folded her arms, skeptical but intrigued. "And what is this power?"

The priests glanced at one another, and then as one, they moved to form a circle in the center of the chamber. The lead priest stepped forward, spreading his arms wide. "A gift from the Seven, through the will of our Emperor. We shall call forth Eologmoth, a being of immense strength and terror. Its loyalty will be to you, its power yours to command. But the summoning requires many hands... and the voice of the Emperor himself."

Munsie’s expression darkened with interest. "Very well. Proceed."

The priests began to chant in unison, their voices a low, droning hum that reverberated through the room. The floor beneath them trembled as the air grew thick with an oppressive, unnatural energy. The shadows in the from the pillars of the once great open chamber deepened, flickering with a life of their own. The chant grew louder, more intense, and a strange wind whipped as if a tornado was forming.

Suddenly, the lead priest’s body jerked unnaturally, his head snapping back as his eyes rolled into his skull. His limbs stiffened, and when his eyes opened again, they glowed with a deep, fiery light. The voice that emerged from his mouth was not his own—it was the voice of Emperor Regis, booming and commanding.

"Munsie Moldive," Regis spoke through the priest, his voice echoing unnaturally, "you have proven your worth. Pescon bends to your will, and soon, more shall follow. But strength alone will not be enough. You must have fear. You must have power."

The other priests continued their chant, their voices growing louder and more frantic as the summoning reached its peak. The ground cracked beneath their feet, and a black rift began to tear open in the center of the chamber. Dark smoke billowed from the fissure, and from within came a low, guttural growl that shook the very walls.

Regis, still controlling the priest’s body, gestured toward the rift. "Eologmoth, the great beast, shall serve you."

As the rift widened, the massive form of Eologmoth emerged—its grotesque body a twisted amalgamation of elephantine and ram-like features. Its skin was blackened and cracked, pulsing with dark energy. Horns spiraled from its head like gnarled tree branches, and its glowing red eyes locked onto Munsie with a predatory gaze.

The priests faltered, their chanting reaching a fever pitch as they struggled to maintain the summoning. The strain of the ritual was clear—blood trickled from their noses, and one of them collapsed, drained of life, as the dark power consumed him.

Regis's voice, still commanding the priest’s body, growled, "This is your weapon, Beast Tamer. It will serve you, but only if you are capable to command it."

Reward: Card - Eologmoth - The gigantic demonic monolith of some weird twisted design with a twisted design as if an elephant partook the rams head and grew dramatically is a force to fear. It also can soak up loads of damage as enemy armies look to take down the beast. Upon winning a combat you may choose to lose one use and deal another damage of strength, or upon losing a combat you may choose for Bologmoth to take the strength damage instead. (2 Uses)

 

[K0mori]

"This is your weapon, Beast Tamer. It will serve you, but only if you are capable to command it."

"If I'm not," Munsie replied, "then it would be better for me to die than to disappoint you, my Lord."
The beast huffed from its massive lungs, its warm breath pushing on Munsie's small body and nearly driving her backwards, but she held her head high and looked on the creature as if it were a mere dog. "Eologmoth..." she spoke, a smile cracking at the corner of her mouth as her wild eyes took in its nightmarish form. "Glory awaits us. Glory to us all."

---
​

"What the fuck is that!?" Gannis shouted as Eologmoth was guided to the edge of the war camp at the end of a very long chain which, despite its extraordinarily fine construction and magical enchantments, would not do much to hold the beast if it chose to charge. However, at the end of said chain was the renowned Beast Tamer herself, and Munsie felt confident as she steered the creature into a suitable holding location.

"The Emperor has shown us favor!" she shouted to Gannis and the rapidly-gathering onlookers. "Send word to Garry Denmane; tell him to meet me or send an envoy. The world must know of our intent - all of Monzia shall know of the Emperor's generosity!"

 

[turtwigwins]

"If I'm not," Munsie replied, "then it would be better for me to die than to disappoint you, my Lord."
The beast huffed from its massive lungs, its warm breath pushing on Munsie's small body and nearly driving her backwards, but she held her head high and looked on the creature as if it were a mere dog. "Eologmoth..." she spoke, a smile cracking at the corner of her mouth as her wild eyes took in its nightmarish form. "Glory awaits us. Glory to us all."

---
​

"What the fuck is that!?" Gannis shouted as Eologmoth was guided to the edge of the war camp at the end of a very long chain which, despite its extraordinarily fine construction and magical enchantments, would not do much to hold the beast if it chose to charge. However, at the end of said chain was the renowned Beast Tamer herself, and Munsie felt confident as she steered the creature into a suitable holding location.

"The Emperor has shown us favor!" she shouted to Gannis and the rapidly-gathering onlookers. "Send word to Garry Denmane; tell him to meet me or send an envoy. The world must know of our intent - all of Monzia shall know of the Emperor's generosity!"

In the quiet of his hunting lodge, Garry Denmane sat by the large hearth, the flames dancing against the heavy shadows cast by the antlers adorning the walls. Outside, the dense woods of Scandia whispered as the wind stirred the leaves, and the scent of the forest mingled with the smell of burning logs. He had received Munsie’s message and felt the weight of it in his hands.

Pescon had fallen to her and the Odaden Empire, a fact that gnawed at Garry. Munsie was no ordinary foe. Her reputation as a Beast Tamer gave him respect towards her, a like mind of the hunt, but as a hunter always lays traps.

Garry’s thoughts drifted to King Aldric Helvandar, the man he had pledged his loyalty to. Aldric’s focus on reclaiming his lost lands, especially Pescon, seemed driven by a personal need for revenge. Garry understood that. There was a sense of pride in wanting to restore what had been taken, but it troubled him how far the king might go to achieve that. Would Aldric’s desire for conquest blind him to the dangers that lie ahead? Would it drive Monzia and Scandia alike into ruin? These doubts never left Garry’s mind, and yet, he was not ready to turn his back on the crown—not yet.

He leaned forward in his chair, staring into the fire as if the flickering flames could give him the answers. Munsie wanted a meeting. The thought of parlaying with a servant of Emperor Regis left a sour taste in his mouth, but there was a logic to it. War caused devastation, and Scandia was not a province that could afford needless conflict.

After a long silence, he turned to his second-in-command, "We’ll agree to meet," Garry said, his voice rough with decision. "But not here—not on our soil. She’ll come to a village just over the border, Resdin, inside Pescon. Neutral ground."

--

A sleek hawk glided through the sky, feathers streaked with gold in the fading light. It carried a tightly rolled parchment, sealed with the mark of three red stags, the heraldry of Denmane. It landed gracefully near her tent, a message in its bill for Munsie to retreive.

To Lady Moldive,

I have received your message and considered your request. While our paths are drawn by opposing forces, I will agree to a meeting. However, it will not take place on Scandian soil. You will come to a village right by the border, Resdin, where we shall speak on neutral ground. There, we can discuss what must be said.

Garry Denmane, Lord of Scandia

 

[K0mori]

A sleek hawk glided through the sky, feathers streaked with gold in the fading light. It carried a tightly rolled parchment, sealed with the mark of three red stags, the heraldry of Denmane. It landed gracefully near her tent, a message in its bill for Munsie to retreive.

To Lady Moldive,

I have received your message and considered your request. While our paths are drawn by opposing forces, I will agree to a meeting. However, it will not take place on Scandian soil. You will come to a village right by the border, Resdin, where we shall speak on neutral ground. There, we can discuss what must be said.

Garry Denmane, Lord of Scandia

Munsie smiled and then tossed the letter into a burning brazier. Having shed her plate armor for the night and undone her braids in order to wash her hair, she appeared far less reserved and disciplined. Her one eye was as sharp and as wily as one would expect from a huntress.

Gannis looked up from his bowl, having just finished eating his dinner. "I'm assuming we've got a response from the east?" he inquired.

"Aye. Lord Denmane wants to meet with us on our side of the border," she answered calmly. "He wants us to meet in Resdin. Tomorrow, I'll leave you in command of our headquarters here while I take a small force. Eologmoth will accompany us."

"Do you think he'll appreciate the surprise?" Gannis asked, raising an eyebrow. "This has a chance of backfiring, you know."

Munsie cocked her head. "Oh?"

"What if Lord Denmane is a man whose faith is a higher calling than his allegiance to his country? The sight of that thing could inspire him to carry on the struggle to avert your conquest."

The Beast Tamer gave a mischievous chuckle. "If seeing Eologmoth inspires him to fight when I would invite him to stand aside, then perhaps Lord Denmane is a fool. But I don't take him for one; to hunt is to understand the gap between one's own understanding of the world and that of their prey, and to exploit the differences therein - anyone so attuned to those difference would be able to sense when they're about to become the hunted."

Gannis nodded. "...That makes sense. Then, assuming that Denmane stands aside, as do the forces of Scandia, then will you honor your promises not to betray him at a later date?"

"I'll make no such promises," Munsie replied. "Later dates stretch on into infinity. I can't pretend that circumstances will never bring us to fight; that's simply unreasonable. But I will seek to find a peaceful, long-term solution to his presence as we conquer Monzia."

---
​

Days later, Munsie's detachment arrived in Resdin with enough soldiers to ensure the population would remain quiet and well-behaved as negotiations unfolded, and set up camp outside of the village. The great beast, Eologmoth, was hidden behind a large barn at the edge of town, while Munsie sought out a suitable meeting place for her potential foe. She was once again dressed for battle and resembled a competent and respectable leader as she walked in to an inn and informed the owners of the coming meeting.

 

[Twist]

In the comfort of his lodge, Jack penned a letter. By his side he had two of his men, Kragg and Uggor help in the endeavour. Though it was easy enough to write, it didn't hurt to add some authenticity to his deception.

------ Royal
To His ^ Majesty, King Nick of Aberhald,

Your guvness Majesty,

------------------------------------- in
I hope this letter finds you ^ proper .health. I write to ya with a heart eavy wit regret for the recent trubles that have beefallen your noble kingdom. It seems that, through a bit of clumsiness on me part, those poor folk from Pinterra— the pan- handlers, you know the 'omeless' —found their way to your lands. I meant ya no harm, onest, and it was a mistake I now realize has caused ya's grief.

The shoppies of Pinterra hold the people of Aberhald in the highest esteem. meself I don't have an opinion, who would listen to ol' me anyways. But for Pinterra It’s well known to em all that Aberhald is a place of kindness and charity, where no man or woman is left wanting. I suppose that’s why me soldiers, finking only the best for those poor sods, must have sent them in your direction. Though it was not my intention to dump em on you, I think it only proper I take full responsibility for the mishap.

To make amends, I think it only propa to meet you in person so I can say sorry and talk about what i can do to make it right. I've marked a little place on da border where we can meet, somewhere nice and quiet, where we can talk about it in private.

If it pleases Your Guvness, I ask humbly that ya come alone, a man of me stature is undeserving to be seen with ya in public. I promise no funny business, just a chance to talk with ya mightyness so we can discuss how i can make things ight.

P.S Map on de back.

Sincerely and with da utmost respect,
General Jack Bow'eh
Oded Oden The Empire

turtwigwins

Jack looked over the letter, his head bobbing with satisfaction. Not bad he thought to himself. Just one final touch however. Taking the map, he gently dabbed it's corner in pigs blood, pressing his finger upon the viscous liquid and gently running his finger over the smallest section of the map. Another trick, an illusion for the mind, one he hoped may bring the wanted results. He blew on to the liquid to dry the blood...

 

[dikdik]

The coming days were dull, monotonous, and filled with naught but rest, reading, and sitting. Hedinn remained unridden, Breath without a single spar, Einar full of irritation at it all. But, the day before a planned strike had arrived. A plan he’d mulled over in his head a few times before calling a meeting of his officers. Between well-practiced preparations, delivering Merle’s horse, preparing a pyre, Einar summoned the officers to a communal tent near his own, ornamented by a single banner and slightly larger than most. Meant to host meals and meetings, a long, heavy table was at its center. Today, a map stretched across it.

Orm entered the tent with a helmet tucked under his arm and a curt salute before tossing the headpiece into a chair on the tent’s edge, away from the table where Einar was seated. He stood to Einar’s right as the remaining officers joined their meeting. Einar remained in his seat, an ankle crossed over a knee, spine pressed straight against the back, elbows on armrests and fingers intertwined with each other in front of him. The officers remained standing, a roughly sketched map of Moondar and Caliban on the table, its edges curling slightly in the humidity.

Orm was the first to break the silence. “General Jaddeth, sir. Where shall we begin?”

A brief silence, “Form up in the meadow at the edge of the forest downriver of us. She will plan a defense. Charge. Infantry follows immediately with the shield wall up and pikes and swords behind.” An officer began to drop painted wooden blocks representing regiments along the northern edge of Moondar.

“We’ll be galloping down a hill and towards a wall of trees, sir. If we don’t make contact in the meadow, we risk higher losses in the forest.” Orm cautioned. Oh, Orm. The voice of reason. Reason has no place where traitors are concerned. Einar offered no response to the man. He was right to advocate for his men. Right again to take a pause, an answer, as his order.

“We will begin our advance at dawn. Keep them sober. Don’t want any fuck ups in the morning.” Einar rose, his officers saluted, and he paced out of the tent and towards his own. Not a far walk, though one that lingered as his gaze found the sky, painting itself in that impossible transition from orange to purple. The camp began to toss and turn with noise: horses fed, weapons sharpened, armored fitted. The raucous would continue partway through the night, though Einar couldn’t be bothered. Rest was needed the night before a battle. Upon reaching his tent, Einar slipped off his boots and trousers and left them neatly on the chair next to the small table. By morning, they would be gone, breakfast would appear piping hot, and his fitted, black plate would be on its rack just outside the door to his tent. Peeling back the tucked corner of a thick blanket, he sat on the edge of the bed before pulling up the corner of his shirt. The wound wasn’t oozing anymore. Scabbed over enough to be safe the next morning. It would be sore, tight, and reopen with any intense flexion. He would tend to it and any others he received after it was done. Einar settled into the blanket, curling and finding rest in an instant.

Eyes flitting open and body stretching outwards, Einar rose to sitting with a yawn. Hedinn had pulled the door of his tent to the side with a quivering muzzle, the subtle light of dawn leaking through the crack as the horse chewed and gnawed the edge of the canvas. Gooseflesh pricked his thighs and face as his skin recognized the coolness of a fall morning. Hedinn retreated with a huff, the tent door falling closed, as Einar stood to find a tight linen tunic and trousers waiting, folded on the chair beside the table. He tugged them both on before attempting to stomach a plate of bread and eggs. Anticipation had his stomach in a bit of a knot, as it usually did the morning of an engagement. Bile kicked at the back of his mouth and he forced it back down. It was prudent to eat breakfast. Weakness in the field would not serve him.

After eating as much as he could, Einar made his way outside his tent, where staff were waiting to fit him into layers: aketon with plate and mail voiders to follow. The armor was designed around and for Einar’s body and fit tightly, reflections of the morning’s fog and dull gray light shimmering across the blackness of the plate. A servant gestured a helmet at him. He refused. Stretching and tugging at various straps and kinks to straighten them out, Einar whistled at Hedinn, who had been grazing about his tent after having been saddled by the stablehand before Einar woke, Breath of Eden in its scabbard clattering with the animal’s steady steps. Upon mounting, Einar rode through camp to its southern exit where Orm would have the soldiers participating in the day’s assault formed up and awaiting orders. Hedinn towered over the other horses by a hand or two at minimum. The stirring units, cavalry and infantry, tightened and stiffened as Einar rode past, pausing just downhill of them and being greeted by Orm, saluting from atop his mare. The other officers remained just behind Orm’s mount.

Einar let the tension, anticipation, build just a moment before breaking the silence. “They’re prepared?” A glance at Orm.

“They are.”

As if on cue, a group of a few riders galloped towards their formation from the direction of Nanissis’ camp. They were messengers, accepted with a moment of relief and anticipation. The elf would begin his assault on this day, mercenaries crushing any resistance with a highly mobile force. Nanissis requested word of Einar’s position.

“Tell the inglorious bastard I’m charging towards the forest’s edge. We will follow the direction of the river and attempt contact before the forest is too thick for horses. I’ll send a raven by day’s end.” Einar tapped Hedinn’s side with a heel and the horse turned, walking a measured pace over gentle hills, closing on the forest’s edge with the hooves and boots of an army behind him. His standard was flown by an officer following just behind, Orm briefing him on preparations and what lovely words of encouragement were hurled at the men upon the morning. Though their march wasn’t far from camp, watching the sun begin to burn off the valley’s dense fog and glow golden on the horizon seemed to pause time. His body moved with Hedinn’s, mind wandering and finding his mother’s face shrouded in clouds, curling wisps through the gray humidity; pressing a smile and melting into light that turned orange, later red, warped in Memory creeping into the edges of his vision, stirred by Hedinn’s pause. A deep inhale and a brief moment of recollection, Einar was staring down a gentle incline. Thick, tall grasses gave way to shrubbery and sparse trees, a sudden and immense wall of black forest looming, speckled with the dying lights of campfires and the frantic noise of an army mobilizing.

Einar turned to glance at the army behind him, tightly formed and preparing, introspectively and physically, to charge towards potential slaughter or dismemberment. “Break your lances, you worthless fucks. Come back and it isn’t in pieces, or you aren’t covered in blood, and you’ll be thrown on a pyre missing your limbs.”

By the time he had turned back towards Valindra fucking Redmoon’s brood, they had formed up on the edge of the forest, preparing for horses with pikes and fury. It’d take more than that to dissuade the disciplined, violent men to Einar’s left, right, and rear. Hedinn’s withers twitched, disturbed by a fly, intent on galloping down the hill, stamping towards doom. Breath of Eden whispered against its scabbard as Einar drew the long blade into his hand, gripping and bracing it with the sliding of an hundred more behind him. Bright morning light glimmering off the ripples of the river’s surface contrasted with the hell that would break loose quite soon. A deep inhale. A shifting behemoth of a horse. Anticipation mounting in men and beasts. Hedinn sensed a subtle switch in Einar’s position and he began to trot down the incline, slowly gaining momentum, with the thudding of hooves to follow suit, forming up a wedge with Einar, Orm, and another officer at its point. Einar’s heart was thumping in his throat with the rhythm of Hedinn’s trot. Noise became a blur, light glinting off metal, dissipating in the dark depths of the forest. Closing the distance almost faster than expected, leaning into the horse as he broke into a gallop with 5-4-3-2-1-

Eden rasped and rattled against an elf’s armor as it found a chink and ripped free a limb, Hedinn’s front hooves crunching and squishing as the rest of the wedge collided with steel and flesh. Pummeling through rows, scattering the formation, punching a hole, chaos. A sword smacked off Einar’s thigh, another dragging down Hedinn’s side, threatening to slice through a saddle strap, a head loosed from its convulsing corpse in retribution. Blood smattering across skin, face, whinnies, screams. An officer fell from his mount, an elf stole it. A crossbow bolt found the elf’s eye through the slit in his helmet and off he slid. The bowman ripped off a mare, beaten and cut to pieces by a crowd. An elf ripped the crossbow from his dying arms and aimed it straight at a youth, not older than Einar was when he first joined his fucking father’s army. The boy whipped up a small round shield and caught the bolt, his horse panicking and rearing, taking a bolt in the chest, neck, chest before falling. Crushing the boy, the stark snapping of ribs, shocked eyes striking, wide. The horse scrambled upwards, falling back. A horseman took an eye from the elf, galloping through him. Surrounded by a panicked, routing enemy, swinging wildly until catching a pike to the abdomen, melting out of the saddle. Hedinn crushed the man under foot, quickening his slow and miserable death and taking a few more elves with him. The horse whipped sideways, circling back to reform as the shieldwall was descending upon their rear. Breath of Eden smashed through bodies as Hedinn wheeled towards the left, surviving cavalry on his heels.

A safe distance from the wall and subsequent pikemen and swordsmen, Einar’s wrists, elbows, shoulders were throbbing from intense energy being routed through them with every deafening strike, every piece parted from its owner. He’d be bruised in the morning. No blood was his. A second charge was not needed. After a while of observing the second wave of infantry smash through the forest, the bitch’s forces were scattering through the trees and echoes of Nanissis’ assault were the only sound on the air. Upon sheathing their weapons, Einar’s men were combing through the heaps of bodies, plucking rings, knives, false teeth, anything of potential value from the enemy. A pyre would be built for his own outside camp, the enemy piled in the forest and lit before his departure from the site. Best not to leave hundreds of decomposing corpses in the sun to rot and poison the land, the water, the mind.

Upon his return to camp, Einar dismounted Hedinn, patting the stallion on the shoulder and receiving a satisfied smack on the side of the head with a bloodied muzzle before turning him over to his stablehand for equipment removal, a good scrubbing, and a check for injuries. Staff assisted in the removal of armor and layers, Orm reported with casualties. Only a few dead, including the boy. Some injured, not mortally. Acceptable losses, better than expected. A battle bravely fought, slaughter complete, Einar saw no purpose in addressing his men and no evidence of noncompliance. They’d surely drink, fuck, and enjoy the crashing adrenaline throughout the rest of the evening and night, a boost to their morale following the nasty raid not long ago. Einar retired to his tent, swiftly composing a letter and summoning a raven to deliver it to Nanissis before stripping out of clothing coated in curdling, stinking blood:

“You lazy fuck Brave, noble General Nanissis Yevro. Much to your ado, I’m still alive, as are the majority of my men. Dare I say we’ve two victories on our hands, considering the screams I heard on the wind this evening. Of course, your victory was most certainly due to my diligence in poisoning the fuckers. Softened them up a bit for you. You’re welcome. Couldn't have done without the help, could you? Meet me for a drink in Kerth to discuss Moondar’s imminent fall. I’ll be at the corner table at high noon. We’ve earned it.

I’ve all my limbs still. You’re welcome, again.
EJ”

Folding the letter and sealing it in an envelope, Einar put on a fresh pair of linen trousers and a tunic, the clean, soft fabric, grating against blood-caked skin, his own wound having reopened just enough to ooze thin, pale red. The raven was sent promptly, leaving with a whistle of feathers against air as Einar left his tent barefoot, men chanting, singing, performing burial rituals led by Orm. The dead were cremated, their weapons destroyed so as to sever their souls from an eternity of war and strife. Einar walked past the open courtyard at camp’s edge with Hedinn in tow, the horse having appeared out of the shadows nearby, a single strand of hay dangling out of a whiskered mouth. Feet finding their way through soft earth, hesitating just slightly with each step, avoiding any roots or stones that may pierce them; finding their way to the edge of the river, followed only by the pulsating glow of a pyre and the thumping of hooves on packed soil. Sitting at the edge of the river, observing the everchanging reflection of the pale moon on the shifting ripples of water, Einar tucked his knees to his chest, hugging them a moment, breathing deeply. Hedinn meandered his own way about the river’s edge, grazing and slurping water as he saw fit. Einar laid his head on his knees, the boy’s eyes finding their way to his, gaze locked in a swirling motion before the dead face left the moon’s form and retreated into the stars, bending the pitch of the clanging echoes in his head. A shiver found its way through flesh and spine, settling in his gut and resonating through his chest as fire licked at vision’s edges and Memory planted itself in the reflection of midnight’s light against the current.

Einar’s body moved without permission, stripping down to nothing and wading into the blackness of the river, swells of stained red wisping away, gray in the darkness. Up to his throat in cold water, periodically submerging, holding his breath as long as he could until his lungs burned and begged for air, Einar ran fingers through thick and wet black curls, tangled with crimson and releasing it in the numbing water. Air leaving his lungs in dense bubbles, moon glowing, form sinking through the cold and finding the stones encapsulating, enveloping his back before surfacing again, a sharp inhale, scraping blood from under fingernails, skin crawling. Sopping wet, Einar tugged resistant clothes over his body. Sluggish and heavy steps found their way to Hedinn’s side, hopping up, pressing on the horse’s back and vaulting to a seat atop him. The animal made his way back to camp, past a pyre billowing black smoke and the pungent stench of burning flesh, through racket and din of drunken soldiers clinging to one another in a song lasting through midnight and towards the morning. Dismounting, Einar tottered into his bed, landing atop the blanket, curling tightly and finding near immediate sleep, though damp and cold, breath puffing into clouds of moisture in the autumn air.

Awakening to Recollect was a bit unpleasant, as Memory served itself, lingering gazes, blood tracing its way through sight and vision until it was banished for the sake of sliding a pair of boots over raw feet, rawer bruises congregating over flesh that met bone and steel the day before. Einar scarfed a quick breakfast of cheese, eggs, and slice of bread double baked on a fire. The carafe of water could have been larger, though he’d not complain this morning, as first light had passed. Reason for pausing and pondering had passed. Memory left space. Emptiness. Einar meandered from his dwelling, silently retrieving Hedinn from the stablehand, mounting him and leaning into him, resting, as he rode towards Kerth.

Upon his arrival, he let Hedinn loose on the weeds and grass growing just outside the town, finding his way into the inn, Merle scraping gunk off the bartop as he entered. “Morning to you, friend.” Einar found his place at the corner table.

“Y’ as well. Assuming it'll be yer usual?” Merle filled a stein with ale, delivering it to the table after a moment. “Mare’s been great, docile and sweet.”

“Glad to hear it.” Einar responded flatly, pulling a long swig over the edge of the glass. “If you’d so choose, another may be on its way. Victory comes at cost, and I’ve no use for a horse with no rider. Oh, and Merle?” A nod from the older fellow. “The elven General should be arriving shortly. Mind if no others find their way in ‘til we’re through?”

The old man nodded, pouring a second stein and leaving it on the other end of the sticky tabletop. Einar waited. Slurping down his stein til it was near empty, expecting Nanissis to arrive at any moment.

 

[Abstracty]

Nanissis set the letter aside with a wide and satisfied grin. As soon as Einars raven had arrived, he knew that two victories had been won. Reading the taunts and invitation only made the feeling sweeter. But before he could meet up as suggested, there was still work left to do. He needed to make sure that none of the mercenaries got to eager now. Overextending their position could endanger them, as not all of Valindras Redmoons forces had been defeated. Worse yet, he had not captured the elusive general and since Einar had mentioned her with no word he could be sure that she was still riding around in these forests. Instructing his officers to restore order in their respective companies, the infantry set up defensive positions along the forest lines. The wounded needed to be tended to, as was the case for the captives. Nanissis could tell that disease had weakened them, helping the success of their quick assault.

Leaving the centaurs to patrol behind their new lines and to deal with any stragglers and remaining nests of resistance, he could finally ride back to the Inn. Nanissis let himself be escorted by the Knights of Illumination, who wanted to pray and give thanks for their victories anyways and it would be better to do so away from the mercenaries. With only a handful of guards, he paraded into the village, where he would soon find that entrance to the Inn was once again quite exclusive. Leaving a few men at the door, he dramatically swung up his cave and entered, making a grandiose gesture as he did so. "My dear General Einar! I am starting to consider myself a good influence on you! Your words are starting to carry some swagger and you took that stick out your arse.", he wasn't shy in announcing himself, holding a thick, bulbous bottle of sparkling wine in one hand, which he quickly set down at the table. With a wide smile, he shook Einars hand and patted his shoulder seven times in rapid succession. "Softened them up, eh? Last time we met you were sulking about how they pulled your pants down, but its good to know that your morale can improve quite quickly!", the banter began quickly, but as Nanissis sat down he was much friendlier. "The poison did indeed help. Well prepared defenses in theory, but sick and exhausted soldiers couldn't keep up with our pace.", he admitted that the alchemist had been worth their trust.

Unlike Einar, the Elf hadn't gotten his hands dirty in the fighting the slightest, so their stories ended up quite different. Nanissis made sure to catch Einar up on the movements they had made and where the men were positioned now. "Today we should celebrate, but not for too long. We need to keep up the pressure and start a new offensive soon, while they are disorganized and on the run. The damn Redmoon bitch has escaped our clutches, so the fight isn't over.", he turned serious for a moment, but quickly got back to a smile as he grabbed the big bottle. Nanissis feigned popping it open right there, but instead he laughed as he shook the sparkling wine violently. Propping the bottle up against his crotch, he seemed all set up for a crude joke and a big mess, but when the cork popped away he quickly had a glass ready to catch the exploding liquid in a surprisingly efficient manner. The table was soiled nonetheless, but not as much as it should have been, as Nanissis generously filled up whatever cup he could find for Einar, Merle and himself. Just as only a dripple was still flowing from the hip-held bottle, there was a knocking on the door.

Merle was dilligent in telling the disturbance off, but the knocking repeated itself in a distinct pattern of seven knocks and Nanissis bit his lip. "Let them in.", he demanded as he set down the bottle and much to his surprise - and joy - a familiar face entered. A certain beautiful, demonic surprise walzed into the room, immediately smiling deviously towards Einar. With a smooth movement, she caressed the mans face, only to turn over to Nanissis and hand him a letter with Prince Kirins seal. The Elf smiled and his fingers slid across her hand unnecessarily as he took it. "Well, thank you very much.", he smiled confidently, but inside his mind was racing. Nanissis took two coins and slid them deep into her cleavage, after which the surprise waved goodbye and strutted seductively to the door, blowing a kiss to Einar as she disappeared. The Prince of Poisonous Tongues didn't even pay her any more attention as she did so, as he pried open the letter and read it in silence. After taking a very deep breath, he looked at Einar. For a moment, there was no expression, but then he grinned devilishly. "I am afraid our celebration has to be cut short. I must ride immediately and write to our beloved Emperor.", he did not reveal the contents of the letter, but he pointed towards the door in an urgent manner. "Please, follow me."

Once outside, Nanissis got back to business. "I won't be there when the final push for Moondar happens. But I will leave instructions to my men to cover your flanks and act as reserve. They will keep your back safe should you advance.", he reassured the fellow general. With quick steps, he lead them to where the Knights of Illumination were gathered on a field, finishing their sermon. A bearded man held a golden mace, fashioned to resemble the sun, into the light and the reflections brightened like halos around the kneeling rest. Nanissis waited for a moment and whispered to Einar. "I pity them, they only have one god and he seems like a bit of a prick. But it would be a shame to waste their fanatical fervour.", he quietly conveyed, before stepping closer as one of the Knights signalled them to do so. "Sir Marcellius, I would like to introduce you to the esteemed General Einar Jaddeth who fought alongside us today. Important matters require my immediate attention, so I would like to ask you to join him instead of myself as you deliver justice upon the Calibanians.", Nanissis spoke and the Knight with the golden mace respectfully lowered his head before placing his hand on the sun depicted on his chestplate. "The Knights of Illumination are at your service until General Yevro returns, General Jaddeth.", Sir Marcellius announced and a younger knight with a winged helmet came to his side. "Do not hold us back when the time comes.", he demanded and his spear briefly engulfed in flames and light. "Very well, now that that is settled, I must leave.", Nanissis wasted little more time. "Best of luck to you, lets see if you can do it without me.", he quipped at Einar, before quickly taking his leave.

Spoiler

Once on the road, Nanissis was quick to have a raven send to the Emperor himself, requesting his approval for the plan forming in his head. Prince Kirins invitation to the Castle Gardens had come unexpected and the way it was delivered made him understand that it was time to play seriously. But the Poisonous Tongue wouldn't just stumble into a game of somebody elses rules. With the Emperors consent in written form, he made his entrance to the Castle Gardens after an extensive bath, wearing his finest silks and some perfume. He was anxious, but also excited to see what the Prince was up to and if he could surprise him a little with a diplomatic arrangement he would soon propose.

turtwigwins

 

[dikdik]

The General’s entrance was almost less elaborate than expected, with less of an escort following him to the Inn. The gesture, flipping a cape, jabbering on about his influence in a most sing-song, grating fashion, however, was expected. An expensive, frivolous bottle of wine set down on the uneven tabletop, Nanissis grabbed Einar’s hand and shook it, smacking him on the throbbing shoulders seven times. Einar neither stood nor winced, but examined the bottle as the elf sat across the table. “I’ve never had a stick up my arse and I wasn’t sulking.” Dryly. Einar placed the bottle back on the table, glancing over at the elf. “You’d be pissed too if some godsdamned witch came knocking on your doorstep in the dead of night and lit your house on fire. But she’s getting what she’s owed. Righteous fury, and all that shit you puff out your own arse.” Einar chuckled to himself quietly for a moment before exchanging accounts of the day before, being sure to mention how few his losses were, and that he would be on the offensive as soon as possible, so as to press a routing enemy. He agreed with Nanissis proposition of a short celebration, with Redmoon still in the forests of Moondar. Nanissis’ quick, joking mess of pouring the wine made for a sticky table and a floral, sweet aroma. The moment was cut short by a knocking at the door and Einar peeled the glass from his lips and clacked it on the tabletop in irritation as he settled back into the creaking chair, crossing his arms. Every fucking time. Every single time. What’s it take to find some fucking quiet-

The same pattern Nanissis smacked into Einar’s shoulder earlier and then the elf was demanding whoever was on the other side their entry. It was who entered that startled the piss out of him, eyes widening in a moment of realization, dread, exposure, all of it creeping up his throat and settling there, pressure. Thin, pointed ears and horns on her face, deep red limbs marked with dark tattoos and golden adornments, and her knowing, impish smile, fingers stroking over the angles of his face before whipping around to the elf and delivering a letter, receiving coins and leaving with a kiss blown back to Einar. Blood drained from his face and settled in knots in the pits of his stomach. Nanissis’ deep breath, brief pause from expression, and distinct lack of wordiness had him nervous. Writing to Regis and rushing out of the Inn? Einar said nothing to Merle on the way out of the door, but reminded himself to send the other horse in the coming days as they locked gazes for just a moment.

“Who did you fucking tell?” Einar snapped through gritted teeth the moment they exited the Inn, color rushing back to his cheeks in a burst of hot anger. He pressed it back. Though difficult, it wouldn’t serve him to scream bloody murder at the elf outside the Inn. It wouldn’t serve him to be perceived as unpredictable. He needed Yevro to trust him and this was most likely not worth losing that over. “I’m buying the whores next time. Not because I owe you. Because mine don’t talk.” His tone softened as much as he could force it to. Intentionally. The Ramblings of General Nanissis Yevro continued on and on about the Knights, their prickish god, a haughty introduction, and a wish for luck. Einar finally broke his shocked silence. “Thanks for your Knights. I won’t need them, but I’ll accept them, so long as they don’t disrupt my operations.” Irritation settled in. Einar wouldn’t be riding back alone afterall. And his first impression for this group of illustrious mercenaries would be one where a demon knocked his demeanor over and he was still wearing the clothes he slept in. His reputation preceded the rest of him. They’d obey. “Oh, and Yevro? If you’ve no objection, I’ve lost blood and sleep over this fucking province. If Moondar falls to me in your absence, I’d prefer to hold it and assist in your occupation of Caliban. Redmoon’s resistance is treason and the witch will fucking burn.”

 

[Abstracty]

Perhaps Nanissis had overdone his teasing slightly this time, but given Einars recent letter he felt like some pushing back was only fair. Guessing that the other general had taken his previous defeat to heart, he decided not to poke around that topic any longer. "Righteous fury indeed. And its a good thing those words come puffing out my arse, as wrath is one of the Seven sinful blessings. You are not lacking in it, so why wouldn't I encourage it from time to time?", he just chuckled along, unaware of the sudden leave he would soon need to take. Unlike last time, the company was much easier on the eyes, but far less comfortable in almost every other aspect. He could have send any thirsty orc away, but not this demonic messenger. Expecting Einar to not react too kindly to this game, Nanissis wasn't surprised when he got snapped at.

"Nobody. Precisely nobody.", he answered truthfully and still smiled despite Einars indignation. "Which makes it most curious as to why this messenger was send. Perhaps she is even more of a message than the actual letter. Perhaps its all a coincidence - although I think thats highly unlikely.", he mused for a bit, his mind already working hard on devising his next move. "All whores talk. They're whores. Are you worried she let the size of your sword slip to someone? She was meant to unsettle me, not you.", his quip was slightly more tense than usual, but not as tense as Einar was. The lack of appreciation for the Knights of Illumination was likely a result of his anger and the Elf decided to leave it at that. "I think that will be for the best, Jaddeth. We need to act quick and if you can establish imperial order here, then it is for our best. Best of luck with your hunt. Try not to loose any more sleep.", his goodbyes weren't overly long. As he rode off, he quickly looked back once. "Try not to burn down the entire province!", he shouted and soon his thoughts were focused entirely on the Prince, the Duchess and their game.

 

[turtwigwins]

Munsie smiled and then tossed the letter into a burning brazier. Having shed her plate armor for the night and undone her braids in order to wash her hair, she appeared far less reserved and disciplined. Her one eye was as sharp and as wily as one would expect from a huntress.

Gannis looked up from his bowl, having just finished eating his dinner. "I'm assuming we've got a response from the east?" he inquired.

"Aye. Lord Denmane wants to meet with us on our side of the border," she answered calmly. "He wants us to meet in Resdin. Tomorrow, I'll leave you in command of our headquarters here while I take a small force. Eologmoth will accompany us."

"Do you think he'll appreciate the surprise?" Gannis asked, raising an eyebrow. "This has a chance of backfiring, you know."

Munsie cocked her head. "Oh?"

"What if Lord Denmane is a man whose faith is a higher calling than his allegiance to his country? The sight of that thing could inspire him to carry on the struggle to avert your conquest."

The Beast Tamer gave a mischievous chuckle. "If seeing Eologmoth inspires him to fight when I would invite him to stand aside, then perhaps Lord Denmane is a fool. But I don't take him for one; to hunt is to understand the gap between one's own understanding of the world and that of their prey, and to exploit the differences therein - anyone so attuned to those difference would be able to sense when they're about to become the hunted."

Gannis nodded. "...That makes sense. Then, assuming that Denmane stands aside, as do the forces of Scandia, then will you honor your promises not to betray him at a later date?"

"I'll make no such promises," Munsie replied. "Later dates stretch on into infinity. I can't pretend that circumstances will never bring us to fight; that's simply unreasonable. But I will seek to find a peaceful, long-term solution to his presence as we conquer Monzia."

---
​

Days later, Munsie's detachment arrived in Resdin with enough soldiers to ensure the population would remain quiet and well-behaved as negotiations unfolded, and set up camp outside of the village. The great beast, Eologmoth, was hidden behind a large barn at the edge of town, while Munsie sought out a suitable meeting place for her potential foe. She was once again dressed for battle and resembled a competent and respectable leader as she walked in to an inn and informed the owners of the coming meeting.

Garry Denmane stood at the edge of the woods with four of his most trusted men behind him, the banner of parlay held high in their hands. The unease from his hawk’s earlier warning still gnawed at him, though he kept his face calm and steady. He turned to his second-in-command, taking a firm grip to his shoulder.

“Have a message ready,” Garry said quietly, his voice low but firm. “If I don't return from this meeting, send word to King Aldric and the Assembly Chamber in Pescon immediately. Let him know it was treachery—Munsie used the banner of parlay as a false flag. Make sure that letter is in the hawk’s talons within minutes if anything goes wrong.”

The second-in-command nodded gravely, Scandia needed to be ready should disaster occur.

With that settled, Garry adjusted his cloak and turned his attention toward Resdin. The inn where the meeting was to take place was just ahead, and despite the lingering sense of something lurking in the village, he had to move forward. Munsie was dangerous, but if there was a chance to avoid further bloodshed, he would take it.

“Wait here,” he instructed his men as they reached the outskirts of the village. “I’ll handle this.”

His men nodded, watching him with expressions of steely resolve. They were all prepared for the worst, even if they hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Garry approached the inn alone, his senses sharpened as he took in his surroundings. The barn loomed in the distance, the one his hawk had circled earlier. The uneasy feeling deepened, but Garry pushed it aside. Now wasn’t the time for hesitation.

The door to the inn creaked open as he entered. The warmth of the hearth greeted him, but there was a stillness in the air that set his instincts on edge. He was here under the banner of peace, but the hunter in him knew all too well that the most dangerous traps were often set with calm and silence.

He stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping over the dim corners before making his way to the counter. Grabbing an ale, he moved to sit across from Munsie.

"So, you’ve taken Pescon. Their grand experiment was bound to fall apart sooner or later. Monzia won’t crumble so easily, But I doubt you’re here just to beg me to bend the knee." He took a slow sip of his ale, his eyes briefly shifting toward the spot where his hawk had sensed something off. "For a moment, I thought you might try to take me hostage, bait my sons into a reckless move. But they know well enough that when an animal’s trapped, you don’t hesitate—you finish it."

Rising to his feet, tankard in hand, he began walking toward the door where the danger lurked. "So, tell me, Beast Tamer—what have you really brought with you?"

 

[turtwigwins]

In the comfort of his lodge, Jack penned a letter. By his side he had two of his men, Kragg and Uggor help in the endeavour. Though it was easy enough to write, it didn't hurt to add some authenticity to his deception.

------ Royal
To His ^ Majesty, King Nick of Aberhald,

Your guvness Majesty,

------------------------------------- in
I hope this letter finds you ^ proper .health. I write to ya with a heart eavy wit regret for the recent trubles that have beefallen your noble kingdom. It seems that, through a bit of clumsiness on me part, those poor folk from Pinterra— the pan- handlers, you know the 'omeless' —found their way to your lands. I meant ya no harm, onest, and it was a mistake I now realize has caused ya's grief.

The shoppies of Pinterra hold the people of Aberhald in the highest esteem. meself I don't have an opinion, who would listen to ol' me anyways. But for Pinterra It’s well known to em all that Aberhald is a place of kindness and charity, where no man or woman is left wanting. I suppose that’s why me soldiers, finking only the best for those poor sods, must have sent them in your direction. Though it was not my intention to dump em on you, I think it only proper I take full responsibility for the mishap.

To make amends, I think it only propa to meet you in person so I can say sorry and talk about what i can do to make it right. I've marked a little place on da border where we can meet, somewhere nice and quiet, where we can talk about it in private.

If it pleases Your Guvness, I ask humbly that ya come alone, a man of me stature is undeserving to be seen with ya in public. I promise no funny business, just a chance to talk with ya mightyness so we can discuss how i can make things ight.

P.S Map on de back.

Sincerely and with da utmost respect,
General Jack Bow'eh
Oded Oden The Empire

turtwigwins

Jack looked over the letter, his head bobbing with satisfaction. Not bad he thought to himself. Just one final touch however. Taking the map, he gently dabbed it's corner in pigs blood, pressing his finger upon the viscous liquid and gently running his finger over the smallest section of the map. Another trick, an illusion for the mind, one he hoped may bring the wanted results. He blew on to the liquid to dry the blood...

Nicholas Manolov sat at the long oak table in the main hall of his estate, the heavy letter from Jack Bower in his hand. The air was thick with tension, the dim light from the hearth flickering over the ancient family banners that lined the walls. His six sons, all grown and ready to fight, stood nearby, their expressions mirroring his grim resolve. Outside, the sound of marching feet echoed as more of Aberhald’s soldiers patrolled the fields, ready for any imperial threat.

The letter had come —mocking in its tone, the sort of thinly veiled deceit that only the halfman could muster. Nicholas’s eyes lingered on the stained letter, t. His hands clenched as he scanned the message again, the false humility and exaggerated regret laid bare for him to see.

"The audacity..." Nicholas muttered under his breath, tossing the letter onto the table. "He sends beggars and disease to my people and now expects an apology to make it right? He thinks me a fool."

One of his sons, Tomas, stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "We can’t trust him, Father, its a trap for certain."

Nicholas nodded slowly, his brow furrowing in thought. "He’s gambling on me taking the bait, hoping my honor will lead me into a vulnerable position. And he uses the weak as pawns, knowing our devotion to Farin binds us to mercy."

His eldest son, Aric, leaned over the table, tracing a finger over the map Jack had sent. "If you go, Father, we should be prepared. He’s played tricks with us before, but we must make sure this time is different."

Nicholas stared at the map, his mind racing. "No," he said after a long silence, his voice firm. "I will not be drawn into a coward’s game. But we cannot let him think we are idle. His tactics are designed to break our spirit, to paint us as weak to his merchants and allies."

He turned to his sons, his eyes hard with determination. "We will not give Jack Bower the satisfaction of a response on his terms. We will gather a greater army, let him see our strength. And we will prepare the fields for battle. If Jack wants a meeting, it will be on our soil, under the banner of Aberhald, with the full might of our family at my back. I will not cower in the face of his tricks."

Tomas smiled, a fierce gleam in his eyes. "And if he dares send more of his filth our way, we’ll return them with interest."

Nicholas placed a hand on Tomas’s shoulder. "Let’s ensure the refugees are well cared for. Farin’s law binds us to family, and now those people are under our protection. But we’ll send a message to Jack, one he won’t forget."

He motioned to a nearby scribe. "Write to Jack Bower. Tell him that the Manolovs do not fall for simple lies. Should he continue his cowardly acts, we will march into Pinterra and end his petty games for good."

The scribe nodded and hurried to pen the letter as Nicholas and his sons stood tall, ready to face the imperial menace. The storm was brewing, and the heart of Aberhald would weather it, no matter what Jack Bower had in store.

To Jack Bower of Pinterra,

Your recent message has been received and read, but your words do not fool the Manolovs. I see through your thinly veiled lies and the mockery you intend. You send disease and despair to my lands, hoping to break my resolve. But you have underestimated the strength of Aberhald and the bond we hold as a family.

You wish to speak of apologies and meetings, but your actions speak louder than your words. Know this: the Manolovs do not fall prey to cowards who use the weak as pawns. If you think that your half-hearted regret and empty promises will sway me, you are mistaken.

Should you persist in your cowardly acts—sending your refuse to our borders, thinking you can break our spirit—we will march on Pinterra. And when we do, your petty games will end, and there will be no refuge.

Prepare yourself, the Manolovs will not stand idle.

Nicholas Manolov
Lord of Aberhald

 

[dikdik]

Rage still lingering at the back of his throat, tickling his fingertips and settling as a pervasive heaviness in his chest, Einar held his tongue through Nanissis pressed response. The elf seemed to understand his aggravation, though he smiled here and there and spoke with an air of confidence throughout, per his usual. If the messenger was sent to bother Nanissis alone, why arrive at the Inn? Einar’s presence was certainly known to her master. Whether the General was attempting to simply dissuade Einar’s anxiety or genuinely believed the demon was only a message for himself, Eianr wouldn’t know. It didn't matter. She was sent. If the Master knew of Einar’s presence in the House that night, or just of Nanissis’ purchase, it wouldn’t matter. He was used to sailing a tight ship, secrets non-existent or kept under threat of duress. Here he was, exposed and angry. Blame shifted inwards. He should never have joined Nanissis in such an activity as glitter and whores.

“They don’t all talk. You chose poorly.” Einar spat with venom, defensive. Though he’d himself to blame for such a lapse in judgment as to gain the elf’s trust by partaking in such vices. “I don’t need your luck, Yevro.” The last name intentional, whether Nanissis was truthful in holding his secrets to himself, some portion of trust was gone, even if it wasn’t Nanissis’ doing. His mother’s name. Jaddeth. Oh, it was for her. The world would burn for her. “It’ll be handled. When it falls, Redmoon will fucking burn, and you’d be lucky if the whole fucking province didn’t.”

The elf’s prompt and brash exit was not unexpected, but not particularly welcomed, considering Einar had new mouths to feed and any semblance of privacy on the ride back to camp from Kerth was erased. Almost startled at Nanissis’ exit, involving significantly less pomp and circumstance than the usual, “I’ll burn what I wish when it’s mine.” Muttered through gritted teeth, unaware if his volume was loud enough to be heard as the General left on horseback, with only part of the guard he’d arrived with.

The Knights had formed about him, Hedinn huffing and appearing at Einar’s side. Mounting the horse, Einar spoke not a word to the Marcellius character behind him, hoping his loyalty to Nanissis would carry enough weight that he’d not need to demand anything of the company. The ride back to camp was stiff. Upon his arrival, Einar summoned Orm and informed him of his intent to strike into Moondar again in the coming days. Though Valindra was likely expecting an attack to follow the dual victories the day before, Einar would leverage his momentum and the soaring morale of his men to strike again as soon as they were able. For now, it was preparation; sharpening swords, sparring, dressing the oozing and irritable wound at his side.

 

[Twist]

Nicholas Manolov sat at the long oak table in the main hall of his estate, the heavy letter from Jack Bower in his hand. The air was thick with tension, the dim light from the hearth flickering over the ancient family banners that lined the walls. His six sons, all grown and ready to fight, stood nearby, their expressions mirroring his grim resolve. Outside, the sound of marching feet echoed as more of Aberhald’s soldiers patrolled the fields, ready for any imperial threat.

The letter had come —mocking in its tone, the sort of thinly veiled deceit that only the halfman could muster. Nicholas’s eyes lingered on the stained letter, t. His hands clenched as he scanned the message again, the false humility and exaggerated regret laid bare for him to see.

"The audacity..." Nicholas muttered under his breath, tossing the letter onto the table. "He sends beggars and disease to my people and now expects an apology to make it right? He thinks me a fool."

One of his sons, Tomas, stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "We can’t trust him, Father, its a trap for certain."

Nicholas nodded slowly, his brow furrowing in thought. "He’s gambling on me taking the bait, hoping my honor will lead me into a vulnerable position. And he uses the weak as pawns, knowing our devotion to Farin binds us to mercy."

His eldest son, Aric, leaned over the table, tracing a finger over the map Jack had sent. "If you go, Father, we should be prepared. He’s played tricks with us before, but we must make sure this time is different."

Nicholas stared at the map, his mind racing. "No," he said after a long silence, his voice firm. "I will not be drawn into a coward’s game. But we cannot let him think we are idle. His tactics are designed to break our spirit, to paint us as weak to his merchants and allies."

He turned to his sons, his eyes hard with determination. "We will not give Jack Bower the satisfaction of a response on his terms. We will gather a greater army, let him see our strength. And we will prepare the fields for battle. If Jack wants a meeting, it will be on our soil, under the banner of Aberhald, with the full might of our family at my back. I will not cower in the face of his tricks."

Tomas smiled, a fierce gleam in his eyes. "And if he dares send more of his filth our way, we’ll return them with interest."

Nicholas placed a hand on Tomas’s shoulder. "Let’s ensure the refugees are well cared for. Farin’s law binds us to family, and now those people are under our protection. But we’ll send a message to Jack, one he won’t forget."

He motioned to a nearby scribe. "Write to Jack Bower. Tell him that the Manolovs do not fall for simple lies. Should he continue his cowardly acts, we will march into Pinterra and end his petty games for good."

The scribe nodded and hurried to pen the letter as Nicholas and his sons stood tall, ready to face the imperial menace. The storm was brewing, and the heart of Aberhald would weather it, no matter what Jack Bower had in store.

To Jack Bower of Pinterra,

Your recent message has been received and read, but your words do not fool the Manolovs. I see through your thinly veiled lies and the mockery you intend. You send disease and despair to my lands, hoping to break my resolve. But you have underestimated the strength of Aberhald and the bond we hold as a family.

You wish to speak of apologies and meetings, but your actions speak louder than your words. Know this: the Manolovs do not fall prey to cowards who use the weak as pawns. If you think that your half-hearted regret and empty promises will sway me, you are mistaken.

Should you persist in your cowardly acts—sending your refuse to our borders, thinking you can break our spirit—we will march on Pinterra. And when we do, your petty games will end, and there will be no refuge.

Prepare yourself, the Manolovs will not stand idle.

Nicholas Manolov
Lord of Aberhald

The sun hung low in the sky over Pinterra, casting long shadows across the town square. A crowd had gathered near the fountain, murmuring amongst themselves as tension gripped the air. Small vendors and shopkeepers had closed their stalls early for the day, each eager to hear the words of the Merchants Guild. The city had been abuzz for days since rumours of King Nicholas’ threat began to spread, but few knew the full story—only that something ominous loomed over their city.

Among the crowd stood Grem, a broad-shouldered fisherman, rough-hewn in both appearance and manner. Though not one for public speaking, his fellow shopkeepers had encouraged him to step forward including his wife Morla, to deliver the message they had all agreed upon. It was, after all, for the good of the city. Standing on a makeshift platform of crates near the center of the square, Grem cleared his throat. His eyes nervously scanned the gathering, though his words were not his own—no, they had come from someone far more calculating.

Standing by the fisherman's side watching silently below, alongside a few other shopkeeps; Jum, Harvin, Garin, was Jack Bower. Clad in his usual blend of green and yellow garments, his sharp eyes took in every detail, every reaction. He had helped the shopkeepers prepare this speech, of course, but from the shadows. Now, as the people waited, he was content to remain still.

Grem took a deep breath, casting a anxious look at his wife nearby who did her best to relax him with a warm smile, and began, his voice loud and clear, though not without the occasional crack of nervousness.

“People of Pinterra! We’ve all heard the whispers. We’ve all felt the fear in the streets this last week. Well, I’m here today to tell you the truth.”

The crowd quieted, their attention shifting fully to the fisherman.

“I’m just a simple man, like most of you. I fish the waters, my Morla trades in the market. But today, I stand before you not as a fisherman, but as a citizen who cares deeply about this city. We all do. And that’s why we need to talk about what’s happening right now.”

The crowd murmured, but Grem raised his hands to calm them, as too did the burly Garin and some of the others.

“King Nicholas of Aberhald has sent word. A threat, to be more accurate. He claims we’ve wronged him—us, the people of Pinterra! He calls us cowards for wanting to clean up our streets and has threatened to march on us”

Several shocked gasps and whispers erupted from the crowd. Grem’s voice grew stronger, more confident, as he carried Jack’s message.

“The General, Jack Bower, sent a letter to the king, plain and simple. Apologizing for any misunderstandings, praising Aberhald for its kindness and virtue. He hoped for peace. He hoped for understanding. But what did King Nicholas do? He threatened to march on us. Us!”

Jack watched from the shadows as the tension in the square rose. He saw Grem pause, a practiced move, just long enough for the impact to settle in.

“We’ve been nothing but good to our neighbors. We’ve been nothing but peaceful. And yet, they would bring war to our very streets. But let me tell you something,” Grem continued, his voice steady, his eyes locking with several people in the crowd, “we will not stand by and let that happen.”

A few people cheered, though many remained tense, waiting for what came next.

“General Bower has made it clear—he’s one of us. He cares for this city, for all of us, and he’s made it his duty to protect us. He’s not asking for violence on our part, willing to fight in our stead and to bring the fight to Aberhald but we all know we must be ready. Because if Aberhald invades, we must defend ourselves.”

The crowd’s murmuring grew louder. Some nodded in agreement, others whispered anxiously to their neighbours. Jack’s quiet, calculating eyes flickered with satisfaction as he heard Grem press forward with the final call to action.

“This is not Jack's fight alone. This is our fight. Pinterra stands strong, but we need to stand together, or we will fall apart. We will not be bullied by threats. We will not let them bring ruin to our streets. We must act, and we must act now—to defend this city, to protect our families, and to make sure that Pinterra remains ours.”

Grem paused, and the crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and anxious conversations. The tension shifted—fear turned into a simmering anger, and that anger began to boil into resolve. Jack watched closely, reading the faces of the people as they rallied to Grem’s words, unaware of the quiet mastermind among them.

From his position below Jack allowed a small, satisfied smile to slip across his face. The plan was set in motion. Grem and the shopkeepers had delivered his message perfectly, and the people of Pinterra would soon be ready for whatever Jack decided would come next.

Turn Action
Attack Alberhald

 

[K0mori]

Rising to his feet, tankard in hand, he began walking toward the door where the danger lurked. "So, tell me, Beast Tamer—what have you really brought with you?"

"Oh, such impatience... I haven't even opened my mouth and already you want to take me on an evening stroll around town," she joked as Lord Denmane moved to investigate the barn. Once he had paused and realized she hadn't risen with him, she grew serious and eyed him intensely. "You are in my country, Lord Denmane, and I do not permit you to roam without me. So... should you leave through that door, you will return to your own land, and inform your countrymen that you spoiled a chance at averting what is to come, all because you were too eager to demonstrate your contempt for me in my grace."

Munsie waited for him to process the way she had framed the meeting and the violence underpinning each word. "...I've brought with me a magnificent beast, and I will show it to you safely when we're done speaking. And, since I know you don't wish to wait, I will do you an additional courtesy by being direct: you are wrong about Monzia. King Aldric Helvanda... Have you ever known a more pathetic excuse of a ruler? I have... The King and Queen of my homeland folded even more quickly than the common rabble.

"I was young, then, and I grew up in a tumultuous time. Those most dedicated to the old guard were all who were left when I came of age. They may have taken my eye, but I broke their spirits, and I will do the same to any who resist the Emperor's law once I've finished clearing out Aldric and his lot," she explained, savoring the almost certain sense that permeated her being that she would be successful at further endearing herself to the Emperor.

"That brings me to the core of this matter. You are not Aldric. You have potential, and I'm not in the business of killing off potential friends - only fools who think they can stab at the water and scare back the tide. Do you understand what I'm offering? If you would swear your neutrality, I will bypass Scandia and direct the Empire's might against the rest of Monzia, leaving you in peace."

 

[turtwigwins]

"Oh, such impatience... I haven't even opened my mouth and already you want to take me on an evening stroll around town," she joked as Lord Denmane moved to investigate the barn. Once he had paused and realized she hadn't risen with him, she grew serious and eyed him intensely. "You are in my country, Lord Denmane, and I do not permit you to roam without me. So... should you leave through that door, you will return to your own land, and inform your countrymen that you spoiled a chance at averting what is to come, all because you were too eager to demonstrate your contempt for me in my grace."

Munsie waited for him to process the way she had framed the meeting and the violence underpinning each word. "...I've brought with me a magnificent beast, and I will show it to you safely when we're done speaking. And, since I know you don't wish to wait, I will do you an additional courtesy by being direct: you are wrong about Monzia. King Aldric Helvanda... Have you ever known a more pathetic excuse of a ruler? I have... The King and Queen of my homeland folded even more quickly than the common rabble.

"I was young, then, and I grew up in a tumultuous time. Those most dedicated to the old guard were all who were left when I came of age. They may have taken my eye, but I broke their spirits, and I will do the same to any who resist the Emperor's law once I've finished clearing out Aldric and his lot," she explained, savoring the almost certain sense that permeated her being that she would be successful at further endearing herself to the Emperor.

"That brings me to the core of this matter. You are not Aldric. You have potential, and I'm not in the business of killing off potential friends - only fools who think they can stab at the water and scare back the tide. Do you understand what I'm offering? If you would swear your neutrality, I will bypass Scandia and direct the Empire's might against the rest of Monzia, leaving you in peace."

Garry leaned back against the wall as he considered his response allowing her authority to not walk out the inn directly. As Munsie finished a small laugh came out. "Neutrality? No, Munsie, I’m not some fence-sitter waiting for the storm to pass. The Denmanes have seen rulers rise and fall, and we know this much—talking about taking a throne and actually taking it are two different things."

He took a slow sip of his ale, letting the silence build before continuing, instead offering something Munsie might find even more appealing. "You speak of breaking Monzia, of crushing Aldric. If you want my allegiance, you’ll have to show me you can do more than just talk. Take the Crown"

Garry’s eyes gleamed with a dark promise as he leaned forward. "But hear this—if you falter, if you hesitate for even a moment, I won’t wait on the sidelines. I’ll sink my talons into your throat and tear your blood out. Monzia favors those who seize power, not those who stumble when they’re close to it. So, if you want my fealty, prove you deserve it."

His gaze fixed upon Munsie, unyielding. "Now, let’s see this beast of yours."

 

[turtwigwins]

Once on the road, Nanissis was quick to have a raven send to the Emperor himself, requesting his approval for the plan forming in his head. Prince Kirins invitation to the Castle Gardens had come unexpected and the way it was delivered made him understand that it was time to play seriously. But the Poisonous Tongue wouldn't just stumble into a game of somebody elses rules. With the Emperors consent in written form, he made his entrance to the Castle Gardens after an extensive bath, wearing his finest silks and some perfume. He was anxious, but also excited to see what the Prince was up to and if he could surprise him a little with a diplomatic arrangement he would soon propose.

The Emperor’s approval gave Nanissis great leverage, yet the sight that greeted him at the entrance left him uneasy. Standing before him was a figure all too familiar. Her demonic appearance—both alluring and restrained—was unmistakable. She was dressed modestly compared to how he’d seen her before. A white silk blouse, embroidered with intricate sun-ray designs, clung to her form, only barely managing not to be see-through. She wore a short skirt of prominent golden yellow, the colors of Solman. Tattoos marked her skin, partially visible at her neck and wrists, and fully displayed on her legs, giving him pause. Though a thin veil covered her lower face, leaving only her expressive eyes visible, it was clear this was the same woman he had sent to Einar as a “surprise.”

As Nanissis approached, she gave a small curtsy, then walked alongside him, leaning in to whisper, “Jaddeth was a good fuck. Though by his temper, I’d say he doesn't want to repeat it.” She giggled softly as she led him through the inner halls of the castle, her voice carrying a mix of mischief and familiarity. Before they reached the castle gardens, she offered him a quiet word of caution. “I say this because you're a good client. Be careful—the Prince is a shrewd man.”

Nanissis stepped into the castle gardens, his silken robes brushing against the lush greenery. The atmosphere changed immediately. Outside, Odaden had given in to vice and indulgence, but within these walls, there was an air of purity—this place was a sanctuary, untouched by the corruption that ruled beyond.

The garden was a masterwork of order and beauty. Neatly trimmed hedges bordered rows of meticulously cultivated flowers, their vibrant colors blooming in the soft sunlight. The tranquil sound of water flowing from an ornate fountain filled the space, adding to the sense of peace, a stark contrast to the chaos Nanissis was accustomed to.

Amidst the calm landscape, Prince Kirin knelt in the soil, his hands buried in the earth as he tended to a bed of white lilies. Dressed simply, far from the opulence expected of his status, Kirin looked more like a humble gardener than the brother of the Emperor. His expression was one of calm contemplation as he carefully planted each flower, his focus seemingly undisturbed by Nanissis’ arrival.

Only when Kirin finished placing the final lily did he rise to his feet, wiping his hands on a cloth. He surveyed the garden with a quiet satisfaction before acknowledging Nanissis and the servant with him. There was a subtle glint in his eye—an indication of the ambition that lay beneath his outwardly serene demeanor.

“Lilah, fetch us some refreshments,” Kirin ordered softly. As the servant departed to retrieve wine, Kirin turned to Nanissis, a faint smile on his lips. “Congratulations on your first victory. The visiting Duchess seemed quite impressed with the show. Tell me, how has General Jaddeth taken to his revenge? He’s risen far, given his background. I hope none of his ire has been directed at you? He was a prized pupil of General Maden before his unfortunate demise.”

Kirin raised an eyebrow, studying Nanissis carefully. His words seemed to probe for Nanissis’ thoughts on Einar, subtly testing the political waters between them.

 

[K0mori]

Garry leaned back against the wall as he considered his response allowing her authority to not walk out the inn directly. As Munsie finished a small laugh came out. "Neutrality? No, Munsie, I’m not some fence-sitter waiting for the storm to pass. The Denmanes have seen rulers rise and fall, and we know this much—talking about taking a throne and actually taking it are two different things."

He took a slow sip of his ale, letting the silence build before continuing, instead offering something Munsie might find even more appealing. "You speak of breaking Monzia, of crushing Aldric. If you want my allegiance, you’ll have to show me you can do more than just talk. Take the Crown"

Garry’s eyes gleamed with a dark promise as he leaned forward. "But hear this—if you falter, if you hesitate for even a moment, I won’t wait on the sidelines. I’ll sink my talons into your throat and tear your blood out. Monzia favors those who seize power, not those who stumble when they’re close to it. So, if you want my fealty, prove you deserve it."

"Be careful what you wish for," Munsie replied without elaborating, a self-assured smile on her lips.

His gaze fixed upon Munsie, unyielding. "Now, let’s see this beast of yours."

"Certainly," she replied, unseating herself and dropping to the floor, the top of her head barely higher than Lord Denmane's belt buckle. The two would cross over the empty field, accompanied by a handful of soldiers, until Garry began to sense the unnervingly loud breathing on the other side of the barn. Something was moving over there - something massive and full of muscle. His steps began to slow as he calculated the risk of Munsie suddenly betraying him here and now, but he was forced to push onward to prevent a gap from appearing, since she hadn't slowed a bit. And soon, they rounded the corner, and he came face to face with Eologmoth for the first time.

Munsie, in order to prove a point, approached and picked up the end of the chain she had used to guide the creature back to her camp in the west. With a confident nod, she instructed the team of handlers: release all of the restraints and allow me to control it alone.

 

[dikdik]

Black, viscous ink licked at the edges of a page, burning as the candle fell, a stilted breath lingering in the door of the tent. A figure hugged in a tight, black cloak ripped the door open, hovering above legs made of mist and darkness. The light of the moon glowed in empty sockets, replacing bright and kind eyes with a coldness, a darkness, a pale and sickly gray emanating from them. Icy bile trickled down the back of Einar’s throat as he glanced over, shocked at the boy appearing, the flames of the paper leaking into the table, the canvas, the fabric of Reality and Mind. His body was stone, impossible to move, the mist enveloping his form, reaching impossibly inside his core, becoming one with his bones before shattering them all at once, a glass bursting on a cobbled floor into a million pieces, unidentifiable. A sharp inhale and Einar was suddenly awake, sitting straight up in the bed, grasping the bare olive shoulder of the woman curled about him, hand a vice, skin around his grip turning white with its pressure.

Aza’s eyes shot open, a quick gasp escaping before she whispered found and frightened words. “What in all the hells is wrong with you?” Her eyebrows knit in irritation as she pried a reluctant hand from her shoulder and sat up beside him. “Einar-”

“That fucking kid again.” A chill burrowed itself into his skin as he shuddered, gooseflesh persistent, the thick blankets completing their descent, catching about his hips and exposing hers as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet landing on a cool floor. Einar leaned, elbows on knees, and buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes and the sides of his face, his hair, anchoring him back into reality. Rain was assaulting the crest of the tent in a bit of a fury. There’d be no charge today. Clanging metal and stamping boots were preparing secondary plans.

Fingernails tickled his lower back, Aza’s deep brown eyes finding a flicker of light in the drab gray of his when he turned towards her, gently knocking her hand away. She shoved him. “I’m sorry.”

About the boy. Not about shoving him. He smiled at her. She smiled back. “You’re a curse, y’know. Dreams only catch me when you’re around.”

Einar stood, linen clothing waiting for him on the chair beside the table set with breakfast. Two breakfasts. Tugging on shirt, pants, boots, and running hands through his curls with a sigh, he settled into the chair. Sipping a glass of warmed tea and gnawing at bread, his empty, unsettled stomach revolted, but he continued. Best to eat a good breakfast on the morning of a battle. He wouldn’t be hungry during or after, and gods knew how long of a day he was in for without a charge. “You’re welcome to eat whenever you’d like, remember.”

“Look at you, thinking you can give me permission.” Aza slinked out from under the covers and slid on her shift. “Get out.” She grabbed him by a fistful of hair and tugged him. His body followed, standing as she took his place in the chair, tucking a leg up on its edge and staring at him through a smirk. He went to leave. “Oh, and Einar?”

At the edge of the tent, just reaching for the canvas door to peel it open, he turned back. “Mm?”

“Don’t die, you stupid bastard.” A grape snapped between her teeth.

The din of battle preparations was quite the contrast to the softness of his tent. Cold rain pelted his cheeks, blood rising to the skin in a pinkish hue, stark against the damp gray of the morning as serving staff and soldiers fitted the black plate to him, tightening straps, attaching mail voiders. He refused the helmet offered to him. Orm intercepted Einar as he paced towards the stable to find Hedinn, who was giving the hands a raucous, bothered by his distinct lack of a saddle on a morning so thick with anticipation.

“General Jaddeth, sir.” A curt and quick salute from Orm. “As I’m certain you’re aware, the horses will be left behind today. Pikemen in the front, heavily armored, will lead us into the forest where the elves are undoubtedly preparing their defense. Swordsmen and archers will follow closely behind. Knights of Illumination stationed at the hilltop. Yes, to your ado. Yes, just in case.”

Einar listened as he continued towards the stable, his pace slowed, Orm still speaking, as he reached out to the horse. Hedinn was an impatient beast on these busy mornings, especially once he realized he’d be trapped at camp all day. Einar scratched his chin and was greeted by an ungrateful stamp and grunt. “Shh. You’re fine, you bloodthirsty fuck.” He turned to Orm, “Ready? We’ve a bit of a march to make it to the edge of the forest.”

Just long enough of a march to be a bother while carrying a sword the length of a shorter man. Just long enough to see the black, dead eyes of a child watching silently through their own blood, crushed beneath the body of a horse, watching up from the bottom of every puddle. Begging for help. A different life. A different death. Get out.

Rain saturated each layer in turn, eventually finding itself gracing Einar’s skin in a most uncomfortable, grating way. Staring down a hill interspersed with bushes and trees until the forest rose through low clouds in its blackened glory, Einar noticed flickers of light glinting off armor dashing through the forest. He shuffled his feet in the mud. It would be slippery. Heavy plate would have a bit of a time holding a line. He would position himself with Orm just behind the line. The nightmare and Hedinn’s absence had a bit of an edge over him. A caution he rarely experienced. Something was off.

A glance and nod exchanged with Orm as the officer smashed his visor closed, Einar turned to his men as they solidified their position on the crest of the hill, last preparations, last sips of water, last chance to take a piss before jogging down the hill into Hell. Through gritted teeth and the distinctive whisper of Breath of Eden against its scabbard, “You expect of me a speech? I’ve none to give. Bring the witch to me. Alive.”

Down the hill they went. Down the hill they jogged, breaking into a run at the edge of the forest. Einar’s heart was in his throat, pounding with his footsteps stamping into the mud below, ground already slippery and pressed and ravaged by the rows of men running in front of him. Einar couldn’t quite see over their heads as they entered the forest. A stark crunch of bodies against bodies slowed the men in front and Einar’s line nearly smashed into theirs, stopping just short. Screams, yelling, pouring rain clashing against his eardrums. The pikeman in front of Einar fell, an elf with golden hair streaked in crimson blackness finishing a swing of a short, curved blade after having met the gap in the man’s armor where his throat could be reached. The man’s ally gripped the elf by the neck and threw him into a nearby tree before stabbing at his chest, blood running down the shaft of the pike as an arrow took the second pikeman in the thigh. He stumbled, a pointed hammer came down on his helmet, a sickening clang ringing through the uproar. Breath of Eden raised, an arm lobbed off the assailant, scream met with the thud of a limb and a weapon in the muck. Bodies piling into the edge of the forest together, the fighting became a crush, a surge, mud splattering up to his mouth, gritty between teeth mashed together as swings of a greatsword became shoves to the ground, trampling, stomping on the poor fuckers that landed there, crushing their skulls as they drowned in rain and blood.

Einar caught Orm’s eye, lingering there just a second too long. As the surge of plate, mail, and flesh loosened around them, an elf leapt at Einar, catching him off balance, his left foot sliding forwards and pulling. A grunt, a thud, Breath of Eden kicked away, the man was on top of Einar throttling him. Weight was over his chest, bloodied hands gripping and thrashing his head back against the ground. Choking, Einar kicked, trying to gain traction to topple the man. He couldn’t. His heels slipped in the muck. His heels. His boots. His knife, he just had to reach his knife, stretch, stretch, stretch around the elf’s thigh- vision tightening, black around the edges- slipped it out and shoved into the leg over and over and over. The elf screamed, hands leaving throat for blood spurting out of an artery. Another quick slice and it was spurting from a neck, tainting white hair, glistening as it mixed with rain. Einar rolled, coughing hard, blood in the spit hitting the ground. On hands and knees, knife in a death-grip, Einar keeled over and spat up bile while gasping, aspirating a bit of it. Breath caught, Breath retrieved from under the corpse of the elf whose hands were stamped, bruised into Einar’s flesh. Red tinted vision’s edges as the clamor faded into white noise. Just a moment to glance around, the fight was close. Forces seemed evenly matched. That’s a problem.

Not the only problem. Orm was overwhelmed in the same shift that gave the elf space to tackle Einar. Bleeding from the side of a head with no helmet, Orm swung wildly at an elf with a crossbow. The elf dodged, leveling the bow. Breath of Eden left Einar’s hands, flung through the air, and smacked into the elf just enough to make him stagger. Orm shoved him over, taking the fighting to the ground and ending it swiftly with a sidearm. As a deep inhale of relief sneaked its way into Einar’s lungs, an arrow stuck Orm in the arm, a body slammed into Einar, his knife falling from his grip, knocking him onto the ground.

Flailing about, wrapping in and out of grip with a black-haired elf, Einar stumbled to his feet. The elf came at him with a screech and a knife, his knife. Elf’s arm raised, Einar blocked it away with a forearm, bracer rattling under the force. The elf’s grip loosening and losing the knife in the mud. The elf ducked, grabbing him at the hips and bracing, pressing him backwards and picking up momentum. Slipping backwards, Einar’s head cracked against a tree trunk on the way down. Dizzy, rain was suddenly louder, thin veil of light behind the clouds suddenly brighter. Elf’s hands came up with a large stone held in the sky, coming down at speed. Einar punched him square in the groin with all the momentum he could muster and the elf dropped the stone. It landed on Einar’s chestplate with a thunk and a grating. Einar shoved the elf and toppled him, whipping upwards with a swell of pressure in the back of his head. Grabbing the stone, trickling blood from his nose, Einar smashed it into the elf’s face, whole body contorting, tightening, hurling itself forward over and over and over again. Yelling until there was naught but gravel left in his throat and viscera splattering the stone, his face, and the mud around them, Einar dropped the stone and rolled onto his side, curling. Vomit, red and angry, wretched free as the world spun in circles.

A kick to the back, the forest eerily still. He wasn’t dreaming, was he?

“Glad to see you’re alive, General Jaddeth, sir.” Orm muttered. Orm muttered? Dark red leaked from under his bracer, but the arrow that had struck him was no longer.

“I don’t feel very alive, Orm.” Einar mumbled, the taste of blood and bile lingering, fuzzy on his teeth. He sat up slowly and scooted to lean on the tree he’d smashed into earlier. “How long was that?”

“Not certain. You went down right after me. I reckon you were laying still enough for no one to find you particularly threatening. We’ve fought the rest of them off. A victory, sir, though a narrow one.” Orm squatted beside Einar, silently inspecting the back of his head before Einar swatted him off and attempted to stand, woozy, but able. Walking might be difficult. “Oh, and you’ll be thrilled, sir.”

“What for? That was fucking miserable.” Einar rubbed his eyes, smearing mud and gore across his face, the low light of the storm still too bright, too piercing.

“We’ve got her.” Orm stated flatly, but with just a touch of pride to his voice.

“You should’ve led with that.” Einar flashed a wicked grin at Orm before the pair regrouped with surviving comrades.

He wished he’d brought Hedinn. Trudging back up the hills to camp was more fucking miserable than writhing around in the mud covered in blood and vomit. Trudging back up the hills, soaked to the bone, carrying a stupid fucking sword? Fuck this. It ended soon enough. Vertigo and the crashing that tended to body him after a fight were nasty mistresses, though they made the exhausting walk back seem a little less exhausting. And a little less long. Time was blurry, as were the faces of those clapping him and others on the backs and shoulders and yelling in celebration upon their return to camp. Einar was handed a carafe of water, which disappeared about as quickly as it arrived, trickling down the corner of his mouth, leaving streaks just a bit cleaner. Rain was still drizzling down, dripping red and gray from black curls now stretched past his eyebrows. Serving staff whirring about, bringing food and water to returning soldiers. Someone paused to strip Einar of his plate. He half-collapsed onto a stool outside of his tent as they did. One promised clean and warm clothing awaited him inside. That could wait. He would just be wet and cold again after walking around. He had a guest to attend to, after all.

“Orm?” Muttered.

The Commander lingered, having his arm bandaged after taking off plate and chain. “Sir?”

“Pyres tomorrow, as long as the rain stops. I’ll pen a letter to Yevro after I see to the witch. Suppose we should inform him of our victory.” Einar grumbled, attempting to stand. Tinnitus ripped through his ears, but settled after he stood a moment. “Take me to her. And bring a knife.”

Officers accompanied Einar to a tent towards the lower half of camp, a single standard flying just outside its door. The tent was positioned away from his own. Away from the stables. A makeshift prison. Orm passed Einar a knife. Not his knife. That was lost. This would do. Einar glanced at him and went for the door, officers standing, remaining, outside. Valindra Redmoon, the Blood Moons Blade, in all her might and fury was tied to a pole at the center of a tent once meant to house a mess area. Its tables, chairs, and everything else were removed. Only a deep red elf with plaited white braids covered in filth and adorned with sticks and mud remained in the tent. Taught ropes rubbed her wrists raw. Her breath was hot with rage as it swirled into puffs of mist in the cool autumn air. Weapons and armor removed, she must have been cold as she was left in naught but trousers and a tunic, both still dripping wet. There was no fire, no warmth, in the tent. Only candles lighting the tent’s edges, casting wicked shadows across the single room, flickers of light licking at Einar’s face and the edges of his vision as he strode into the doorway, intermittent darkness deepening the bruises around his throat. Standing as straight as he could with the world swirling upside down, he tucked one numbing hand into a wet pocket, the other tightening around the knife’s handle, knuckles white.

“You know what this is. Begging will do nothing. Promising me money and land won’t either. It’s already mine.” Einar stalked over to her, squatting in front of her. He hunched forwards, making himself shorter to level his gaze with hers. Valindra’s eyes were deep gold, akin to the flames lapping back and forth atop the candles. He studied them for a moment. They reflected his own rage- rage that was swelling and tightening his chest, searing his face. The knife’s tip poked up under her chin, eliciting the slightest dribble of blood as it raked towards her clavicle. Einar leaned in to whisper, “One for every man that’s died at your hand.” He pressed slowly, steel scraping bone. “And every time you make a sound, the count starts over.”

A cacophony of clanging, crushing, screaming echoed through his head as he half-stumbled from the tent, vision still turning, blood squelching in balled fists that opened in time to grip the post holding his standard for balance. An officer leaned in to catch him as Orm muttered something about a head injury and foolishness. The officers helped Einar back to his tent and bothered him, something about falling asleep cached in blood and wet, muddy clothes, until he finally agreed to scrub his face and hands in a bowl of warm water and change into dry linens. He plopped haphazardly into the chair at the table, grabbed a quill and quickly scribbled.

“The bitch is dead, but I’m not. Ha! I’ll be asleep for the next three days. If you need me, you know where I am. Ride down to collect your Knights and celebrate.

Still have all my limbs,
EJ”

Einar passed the letter, stained with watery blood, to an officer, shooed everyone away, and turned. Horrified. Aza was lounging in the bed, halfway through a carafe of wine and braiding her hair in silence.

“Mm.” Einar laid flat on his stomach on the floor made of thick carpets. She threw a blanket on him.

 

[Abstracty]

The Emperor’s approval gave Nanissis great leverage, yet the sight that greeted him at the entrance left him uneasy. Standing before him was a figure all too familiar. Her demonic appearance—both alluring and restrained—was unmistakable. She was dressed modestly compared to how he’d seen her before. A white silk blouse, embroidered with intricate sun-ray designs, clung to her form, only barely managing not to be see-through. She wore a short skirt of prominent golden yellow, the colors of Solman. Tattoos marked her skin, partially visible at her neck and wrists, and fully displayed on her legs, giving him pause. Though a thin veil covered her lower face, leaving only her expressive eyes visible, it was clear this was the same woman he had sent to Einar as a “surprise.”

As Nanissis approached, she gave a small curtsy, then walked alongside him, leaning in to whisper, “Jaddeth was a good fuck. Though by his temper, I’d say he doesn't want to repeat it.” She giggled softly as she led him through the inner halls of the castle, her voice carrying a mix of mischief and familiarity. Before they reached the castle gardens, she offered him a quiet word of caution. “I say this because you're a good client. Be careful—the Prince is a shrewd man.”

Nanissis stepped into the castle gardens, his silken robes brushing against the lush greenery. The atmosphere changed immediately. Outside, Odaden had given in to vice and indulgence, but within these walls, there was an air of purity—this place was a sanctuary, untouched by the corruption that ruled beyond.

The garden was a masterwork of order and beauty. Neatly trimmed hedges bordered rows of meticulously cultivated flowers, their vibrant colors blooming in the soft sunlight. The tranquil sound of water flowing from an ornate fountain filled the space, adding to the sense of peace, a stark contrast to the chaos Nanissis was accustomed to.

Amidst the calm landscape, Prince Kirin knelt in the soil, his hands buried in the earth as he tended to a bed of white lilies. Dressed simply, far from the opulence expected of his status, Kirin looked more like a humble gardener than the brother of the Emperor. His expression was one of calm contemplation as he carefully planted each flower, his focus seemingly undisturbed by Nanissis’ arrival.

Only when Kirin finished placing the final lily did he rise to his feet, wiping his hands on a cloth. He surveyed the garden with a quiet satisfaction before acknowledging Nanissis and the servant with him. There was a subtle glint in his eye—an indication of the ambition that lay beneath his outwardly serene demeanor.

“Lilah, fetch us some refreshments,” Kirin ordered softly. As the servant departed to retrieve wine, Kirin turned to Nanissis, a faint smile on his lips. “Congratulations on your first victory. The visiting Duchess seemed quite impressed with the show. Tell me, how has General Jaddeth taken to his revenge? He’s risen far, given his background. I hope none of his ire has been directed at you? He was a prized pupil of General Maden before his unfortunate demise.”

Kirin raised an eyebrow, studying Nanissis carefully. His words seemed to probe for Nanissis’ thoughts on Einar, subtly testing the political waters between them.

"What an unexpected blessing to see you again so soon.", Nanissis tried to push past his bewilderment, as he was greeted by a familiar sight in unfamiliar clothing. Over the years at court he had naturally developed a polite facade whenever he was confronted with something uneasy. But his initial politeness soon gave way for a much bolder approach and the Elf grinned as he cordially bowed and kissed the demons hand, just as if she were a lady at court. "Always my pleasure.", he said, before accompanying her as expected. "I'd say so too. But you never know.", he whispered back, without looking her way and with similar mischief in his voice. "Oh, I do not do well when being careful.", he even smirked as she passed her quiet warning. "I look forward to seeing you in something more fitting or nothing at all, that rag looks dreadful.", Nanissis smiled and winked, as he left her immediate company to enter the castle gardens.

The sight here was not what he had expected from an imperial court, but it confirmed his existing preconceptions about Prince Kirin. Treading slowly and softly, he took a moment to take everything in, sauntering at a lax pace towards the Prince who had his hands buried in his work. Compared to the Elfs immaculate and opulent silk garments, the Prince resembled more of a commoner than a brother of Emperor Regis. But Nanissis expected that this visit had been well planned out and this was another part of the game. As such, he waited patiently with his hands folded behind his back, surverying the colorful scenery. These gardens would drive him mad were he to stay for an extended period of time, but for now he could appreciate and enjoy them.

Once Prince Kirin arose, Nanissis bowed as was proper, meeting the glint in his eyes with one of his own. "Thank you for your kind praise, my Prince. I am delighted to hear about the good impression we left. And thank you for your gracious invitation.", he dragged out his answer by starting with some niceties, to study Kirin as well. They would both observe each other keenly, there was no doubt about it, like two knights about to clash, but their battle fought entirely through words and wits. "General Jaddeth always directs some of his ire at me, though I must admit that I am aiding in that. As you know, Wrath is one of the seven blessings and General Jaddeth is truly gifted with it. I can also attest to him having been an eager student.", he picked his words carefully, not directly disparraging Einar in front of the Prince, but also confirming his reputations in disguise of a compliment. "Often times, unexpected people can rise quickly in the Empire.", he also remarked, whilst following along with any protocol initiated by the Prince. Should he want to walk, they would walk. Should he want to sit, they would sit. So long as Nanissis could talk, he was quite satisfied.

"It is a true shame that my obligations on the field of battle kept me from meeting the Duchess of Veloria in person. Quite a remarkable lady, wouldn't you say?", he did keep the conversation flowing, steering it in the direction of his actual reason for visiting. "From what I have heard, you are seeing eye to eye in many matters. A valuable connection in these uncertain times of which the Velorians do not have many. It is hard to believe that she is yet to marry to secure an alliance.", he didn't adress his intentions directly yet, but he was certain the Prince was picking up some hints. "Pardon me, my Prince. We were just talking about General Jaddeth. Have you taken any particular interest in his career path?"

 

[turtwigwins]

"Certainly," she replied, unseating herself and dropping to the floor, the top of her head barely higher than Lord Denmane's belt buckle. The two would cross over the empty field, accompanied by a handful of soldiers, until Garry began to sense the unnervingly loud breathing on the other side of the barn. Something was moving over there - something massive and full of muscle. His steps began to slow as he calculated the risk of Munsie suddenly betraying him here and now, but he was forced to push onward to prevent a gap from appearing, since she hadn't slowed a bit. And soon, they rounded the corner, and he came face to face with Eologmoth for the first time.

Munsie, in order to prove a point, approached and picked up the end of the chain she had used to guide the creature back to her camp in the west. With a confident nod, she instructed the team of handlers: release all of the restraints and allow me to control it alone.

Garry's blood ran cold as he rounded the barn and came face to face with Eologmoth. An unnatural beast of power that exhaled with a rumbling force, like the earth groaning beneath its weight. His throat tightened, and though his hand instinctively moved toward his sword, he knew it was pointless. No blade could challenge this beast.

When she instructed the restraints to be removed, Garry kept his face firm after an initial recoil, but a consistent twitch in the arm revealed his true fear. Slowly removing his hands back to his sides he dared to take his eyes off the beast towards Munsie. Better deal with the foe you know then the one that would devour your countryside.

"You will have your neutrality, and when you conquer Monzia my fealty will be yours to command." There was no longer the bite that had once been in his voice, or a question of her strength. Whether it was merely a ploy for time, or a genuine submission would be for Munsie to decide.

 

[turtwigwins]

"What an unexpected blessing to see you again so soon.", Nanissis tried to push past his bewilderment, as he was greeted by a familiar sight in unfamiliar clothing. Over the years at court he had naturally developed a polite facade whenever he was confronted with something uneasy. But his initial politeness soon gave way for a much bolder approach and the Elf grinned as he cordially bowed and kissed the demons hand, just as if she were a lady at court. "Always my pleasure.", he said, before accompanying her as expected. "I'd say so too. But you never know.", he whispered back, without looking her way and with similar mischief in his voice. "Oh, I do not do well when being careful.", he even smirked as she passed her quiet warning. "I look forward to seeing you in something more fitting or nothing at all, that rag looks dreadful.", Nanissis smiled and winked, as he left her immediate company to enter the castle gardens.

The sight here was not what he had expected from an imperial court, but it confirmed his existing preconceptions about Prince Kirin. Treading slowly and softly, he took a moment to take everything in, sauntering at a lax pace towards the Prince who had his hands buried in his work. Compared to the Elfs immaculate and opulent silk garments, the Prince resembled more of a commoner than a brother of Emperor Regis. But Nanissis expected that this visit had been well planned out and this was another part of the game. As such, he waited patiently with his hands folded behind his back, surverying the colorful scenery. These gardens would drive him mad were he to stay for an extended period of time, but for now he could appreciate and enjoy them.

Once Prince Kirin arose, Nanissis bowed as was proper, meeting the glint in his eyes with one of his own. "Thank you for your kind praise, my Prince. I am delighted to hear about the good impression we left. And thank you for your gracious invitation.", he dragged out his answer by starting with some niceties, to study Kirin as well. They would both observe each other keenly, there was no doubt about it, like two knights about to clash, but their battle fought entirely through words and wits. "General Jaddeth always directs some of his ire at me, though I must admit that I am aiding in that. As you know, Wrath is one of the seven blessings and General Jaddeth is truly gifted with it. I can also attest to him having been an eager student.", he picked his words carefully, not directly disparraging Einar in front of the Prince, but also confirming his reputations in disguise of a compliment. "Often times, unexpected people can rise quickly in the Empire.", he also remarked, whilst following along with any protocol initiated by the Prince. Should he want to walk, they would walk. Should he want to sit, they would sit. So long as Nanissis could talk, he was quite satisfied.

"It is a true shame that my obligations on the field of battle kept me from meeting the Duchess of Veloria in person. Quite a remarkable lady, wouldn't you say?", he did keep the conversation flowing, steering it in the direction of his actual reason for visiting. "From what I have heard, you are seeing eye to eye in many matters. A valuable connection in these uncertain times of which the Velorians do not have many. It is hard to believe that she is yet to marry to secure an alliance.", he didn't adress his intentions directly yet, but he was certain the Prince was picking up some hints. "Pardon me, my Prince. We were just talking about General Jaddeth. Have you taken any particular interest in his career path?"

Prince Kirin looked at Nanissis with an expression that was both amused and curious, his smile deepening as he considered the Elf’s words. "Remarkable, you say?" His tone was light, but there was a subtle undertone of challenge. "It’s an impressive feat to make such an assessment without having met her yourself." He began to walk, slowly and purposefully moving at a deliberate pace through the pristine garden. Kirin’s fingers brushed lightly against the petals of a nearby flower, as if grounding himself in the moment before he continued.

"She is indeed a captivating figure. But as for her lack of marriage... that is no mere oversight, General Yevro." Kirin paused, turning to face him, the calm intensity of his gaze sharpening. "Veloria holds a precarious position. Were she to wed, it would either solidify her submission to one side or the other. The nation of Norale to her south watches her every move, poised for any sign of weakness. What keeps them at bay is her tempting hand in marriage." He smiled again, but this one carried the weight of knowledge and insight, as though he was privy to a truth that others overlooked. "The Duchess being unmarried is her shield, whoever marries her will have their line rule all of Veloria. And what would be the use of a strong-willed woman after the heir?"

The prince’s hand returned to his side as the two continued their measured steps through the garden. When the subject shifted back to General Jaddeth, Kirin’s expression subtly changed, though the smile remained. He glanced briefly at Nanissis before looking ahead, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Einar reminds me of our emperor before his... ascension," Kirin remarked, his words heavy with implication. There was a flicker in his face of something darker. Though his tone was casual, there was an undercurrent that left little doubt that this comparison was far from a compliment.

He turned to Nanissis, his smile returning to its usual composed state. "Ambition, after all, is a dangerous fire. It can illuminate, but it also consumes." The pause in his words carried a weight of history between the lines, one that Nanissis, would have to decipher in his pitch.

 

[K0mori]

"You will have your neutrality, and when you conquer Monzia my fealty will be yours to command." There was no longer the bite that had once been in his voice, or a question of her strength. Whether it was merely a ploy for time, or a genuine submission would be for Munsie to decide.

"Heeheeheehee~! That's more like it!" Munsie crowed, her eyes wild and bloodthirsty. She jangled the chains to agitate the massive creature at her command until it bellowed a roar that rumbled the very ground beneath their feet. "The Emperor has placed his faith in me, and I won't disappoint him - never, never, NEVER! Once I've taken the crown, you should hope I'll have need of your fealty!" As Lord Denmane shrunk back, Munsie turned and faced the monster head on, leaving the ring at the end of the chain in one hand as she approaches, staring Eologmoth in the eyes. It became fixated on her, calming and settling as it was before. "Eheehehee... that's good..." she said before motioning to the handlers to begin restraining the monster again.

She looked back over her shoulder with a blissful expression. "You may go now, Lord Denmane. I'll send for you when I see fit."

 

[Abstracty]

Prince Kirin looked at Nanissis with an expression that was both amused and curious, his smile deepening as he considered the Elf’s words. "Remarkable, you say?" His tone was light, but there was a subtle undertone of challenge. "It’s an impressive feat to make such an assessment without having met her yourself." He began to walk, slowly and purposefully moving at a deliberate pace through the pristine garden. Kirin’s fingers brushed lightly against the petals of a nearby flower, as if grounding himself in the moment before he continued.

"She is indeed a captivating figure. But as for her lack of marriage... that is no mere oversight, General Yevro." Kirin paused, turning to face him, the calm intensity of his gaze sharpening. "Veloria holds a precarious position. Were she to wed, it would either solidify her submission to one side or the other. The nation of Norale to her south watches her every move, poised for any sign of weakness. What keeps them at bay is her tempting hand in marriage." He smiled again, but this one carried the weight of knowledge and insight, as though he was privy to a truth that others overlooked. "The Duchess being unmarried is her shield, whoever marries her will have their line rule all of Veloria. And what would be the use of a strong-willed woman after the heir?"

The prince’s hand returned to his side as the two continued their measured steps through the garden. When the subject shifted back to General Jaddeth, Kirin’s expression subtly changed, though the smile remained. He glanced briefly at Nanissis before looking ahead, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Einar reminds me of our emperor before his... ascension," Kirin remarked, his words heavy with implication. There was a flicker in his face of something darker. Though his tone was casual, there was an undercurrent that left little doubt that this comparison was far from a compliment.

He turned to Nanissis, his smile returning to its usual composed state. "Ambition, after all, is a dangerous fire. It can illuminate, but it also consumes." The pause in his words carried a weight of history between the lines, one that Nanissis, would have to decipher in his pitch.

As the Prince started to walk, so did the Elf. Matching Kirins pace he remained at his side while they spoke, though Nanissis refrained from touching any of the flowers in these gardens. "You honor me, but it is not quite as impressive. Her reputation preceeds her. Besides, there are other sources than my own eyes and ears I trust.", he met the challenging undertone equally as subtle. Nanissis was quite pleased with how things were turning out, the Prince did seem like a suitable candidate to work with.

"Ah, the tempting hand in marriage... a wise move, though not for too long.", he couldn't quite concur with Kirins elaborations. He smiled politely throughout the exchange, making sure not to show any sign of intimidation by the Princes gaze. "It might very well keep the Noralians at bay for now. A strong alliance would keep them at bay forever. Once she becomes too old to produce a natural heir any temptation of marriage will be gone.", he spoke deliberately casually and while he did so, the Elf slowly produced a perfumed letter from his vest pocket. He didn't open it or even acknowledge that he was holding it now in any way, just walking along with Kirin. "Perhaps it is time to break the stalemate. It honorable to consider the Duchesses interests, but the Empire comes first."

Once General Jaddeth was back in their focus, Nanissis was quite surprised. He met the glance he was getting with a smile of his own, but had to choose his next words carefully. "Quite the high praise you are bestowing him.", he decided to simply make it impossible for Prince Kirin to disagree without offending his brothers name. The weird tone wasn't lost on Nanissis and his overt politeness as he responded could surely show that he had taken in, that there was something more to the words. This Prince was not to be underestimated, which would make it even sweeter to reveal the Emperors words.

"Without ambition, we would all be left in the darkness.", the General did not hesitate to respond and as he did so, he stopped his gentle walk. "I would very much love to cooperate with you much further, my Prince.", he politely declared, before handing over the letter. The imperial seal was unbroken and would be very recognizable, proving that these were the Emperors commands. "Your esteemed brother, of which General Einar reminds you so, wishes for the Velorians to be well protected from any harm.", his voice was sultry and Nanissis bowed his head. "A marriage with a suitable candidate, loyal to the Empire, would protect the Velorians far better and secure their arms deliveries to us. The gracious Emperor is even allowing them to retain their independence by official decree... nothing bad would befall the strong-willed woman even after the heir appears. Over time, of course, the ties to the Empire will all but absorb the Velorians into our fold. But until then, it is the best she can hope for and it would be very beneficial if we worked together to convince her. Times are changing.", he spoke with much more purpose than before, the gentle politeness gone now. "Your brother would like to bestow the honor upon you. However, and I will admit so freely right away, he does only wish for you to marry her. He doesn't command you to. Please, read these terms and tell me how the Duchess will likely react."

 

[turtwigwins]

Prince Kirin paused for a moment, his expression unreadable as he took the perfumed letter from Nanissis, its imperial blackstar seal catching the light. The Prince's eyes lingered on the unbroken wax, his thumb lightly brushing over it. His silence carried a weight, and when he finally spoke, his tone was measured, neither betraying surprise nor revealing any enthusiasm.

"A marriage with the Duchess..." he began, his voice neutral, though his gaze briefly flickered toward Nanissis with a hint of surprise. The Emperor’s commands as he read them were not unexpected, but the idea of his own hand being offered suprised him. He considered the Elf carefully, as though weighing something far more significant than the letter between them. "I thought you would seek such for yourself," Kirin remarked lightly, though his sharp gaze betrayed a deeper intrigue. "I suppose I should ask, General Yevro, what exactly is your game in this? Surely you didn’t come all this way merely to deliver my brother’s request without some greater scheme of your own in mind?"

The question hung in the air for a brief moment, but Kirin quickly waved it off, dismissing the thought as if it were of no consequence. He was not one to dwell on suspicions when there was a clear path ahead. "Regardless, whatever designs you have, securing this marriage would undoubtedly be to the benefit of Odaden," he admitted, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "The Duchess and I have a long-standing respect for eachother. She is strong-willed, yes, but... persuadable. This proposal could work, but not through words alone."

Kirin’s smile grew more contemplative as he turned his attention back to the letter, though his mind seemed to be elsewhere. "If I am to secure this union and sway her to the Emperor’s will, it will require a demonstration of strength. The province of Bovech. If you conquer it before the summer of next year, it will show her and the other nobles of Veloria that my courting is not merely ceremonial. With that done, I believe I could secure her hand and, in turn, her nation’s loyalty."

He handed the letter back to Nanissis, his expression calm but with a newfound glint of purpose in his eyes. "Conquer Bovech, and I will ensure the marriage happens. After that, I can offer my our combined support to your campaign into the nation of Norale. Our men will bolster your forces, and your conquests will follow. I’m sure that will be enough to satisfy even your appetite for ambition."

The Prince’s voice held a subtle, teasing edge as he spoke, but the promise was genuine. In this great game of conquest, Kirin had found a piece worth playing with.