• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.

L'Empire des Ombres (Empire of Shadows)

Duke Jean-Luc





Dear gods...It's like being next too an angry chicken coop when sitting near these dammed childish fools, Jean-Luc groaned softly, putting his head into his hands as the eruption of various untamed and un-thought-out emotion tore through the room, it pulse within his ear drums rattling around his head. Looking up he decided he finally had enough of the utter disrespect and childish behavior, he'd put up with this squabbling for two years, it needed to end, with a voice almost nobody had ever heard booming from him, Jean-Luc stood and bellowed. "Please will you all be quiet!" Glaring about the room at the various dukes and duchesses all now staring at him he'd huff, fixing the collar of his coat before continuing in a firm authoritative voice. "Now, are we actually going to have a good discussion on that matter or are you going to keep on making utter fools out of the titles and you families? We need to have a plan about this matter, not just to throw our arms in the air and go insane!" He'd taking a deep breath and turning to Her Majesty before bowing slightly and saying calmly. "I'm terribly sorry, please, continue Your Majesty" After bowing he'd sit, rubbing his temples gently.


As the meeting came to an end, Jean-Luc was last to leave the room, remaining there gathering his things and simply enjoying the growing silence that was filling the room, walking over and bowing to Her Majesty and smiling apologetically and speaking in a kind tone " I will have my levy ready to support you at a moments notice Your Majesty, I'd rather not be caught out in the open in this terribly turbulent time." He'd put his simplistic cap onto his head, bowing calmly as he leaves "Good day Your Majesty!"


Upon making it back to the Inn he was staying at with his guards and entourage, Jean-Luc collasped into one of the wooden chairs by the fireside, rubbing his eyes and groaning, his bodyguard walking over and putting one of his large hands onto his shoulder, patting him lightly and speaking in his normal deep thunderous like voice "Long meeting Your Grace?" Jean-Luc shook his head, chuckling weakly before replying in a tired tone "If it was long I'd handle it, my fellow dukes seem to act more like angry needy children rather then people who assist in leading a nation. I...Can't believe that I honestly talked like that, I never shout Marc, but there I was, bellowing over the screaming and wailing idiots. But it needed to be done, they were like some angry rabble..In-front of Her Majesty non the less!" He'd shake his head again, looking at the fire as he feels the large hand of Marc leave his shoulder and the old bear as he called him move away, returning a few seconds later with a glass of ale, handing it too him and saying kindly. "Here Your Grace, sounds like you need this sir." Taking the glass and looking up at Marc Jean-Luc smiles, nodding to him calmly, "Thanks Marc, cheers my friend." He'd take a sip from the ale, sitting in-front of the fire for a good few hours, before heading up for bed.


Early next morning Jean-Luc and his entourage set out back home from the capital,


passing the large gatherings of city watch and the legion, Jean-Luc shaking his head as they ride along out of the city. He'd sigh, saying quietly to himself. "Gods forbid we actually have a civil war...That's the last thing this Empire needs." After riding for about twelve hours, they'd stop along the road in one of the small villages for the night utterly surprising the village inn-keeper, normally someone like that would never see a noble up-close, much less have one stay at their inn and generally be helpful around the inn, Jean-Luc going so far as assisting in sweeping out the fireplace and the common room, the innkeeper standing flabbergasted at the duke within his common room, in his tunic with a broom in his hand cleaning up the floor, the innkeeper speaking in a worried tone "Your Grace! Y-you don't need to do that at all! I can handle it there is no need to clean my floor!" Jean-Luc simply smiled and shook his head, eventually finishing up and placing the broom back up against the wall, running a hand along his hair and saying kindly "Well, to be honest I've always got along best with simple workers, and I feel obligated to give a hand around an inn, there is no need to worry about feeling like I'm forcing myself to do this, cleaning I've always found is meditative you know? allows me to clear my mind and relax." The innkeeper nods dumbly, checking to make sure his mouth wasn't slightly agape, shaking his head and chuckling lightly before nodding to him and bowing lightly "I am retiring for the night M'lord, may the Gods bless you sir!" Nodding and replying with a happy, "And may they bless you too sir!" Jean-Luc retired upstairs, heading into his bedchambers.


Upon waking early on the morning Jean-Luc glanced out the slightly cloudy glass window at the mild spring rain, standing and stretching with a yawn, before scratching his head and walking over to his small traveling chest and opening it, grabbing his leggings and red tunic, dressing quietly and slipping outside of the room, heading down to the common and waiting for the rest of his group to wake up, waiting for about an hour before everyone was up and had eaten. With a final farewell too the elderly innkeeper he'd walk out now in a heavier coat and hat, getting with his carriage and making the final leg of his way home, after about a seven hour ride, the sky had cleared and it'd turned into a generally pleasant spring afternoon, making Jean-Luc open the small windows within the carriage and lean his head outside the window, looking at the passing scenery along the highway. As they finally pull over the rolling hills and spot the city, Jean-Luc smiles brightly, pulling his head back inside and shutting his eyes, speaking happily to himself "Home, far away from those dammed fools and sillyness of the capital, Gods I don't know how Her Majesty handles that, I guess I like the simple life more then the politicking of the capital..But for now, I'm home."


@Maven
 
Last edited by a moderator:
The inside of the barracks was as any typical Imperial barracks. Filled with men, all dressed up in their uniforms, some eating, some chatting and others on duty. When Belisarius and Marcus entered the barracks, everybody saluted the two leaders. In response, the two men nodded towards everybody and continued their journey within the barracks underground, through a wooden door, that lead towards the basement, where the prison cells were kept. And the torture chambers. The stairs made out of cold stone gently shined, lit by the multitude of torches carefully placed upon both sides of the walls. The walk was long and cold, not by temperature, but by atmosphere. At a first glance and at the first moment you lay foot on the first step, you hear nothing but the chatting of the common soldier and laughter. But as you venture deeper into the abyss, the chatting fades away and is slowly replaced by the screams of the dammed and the moans of the unfortunate. A place where no one would ever wish to get himself or herself into. A place of horror and brutality, where the violent, tainted core of the Empire lies.


Belisarius knew of this place very well. Most of his information came from here, information about bandits, at that matter. As he approached the end of the staircase, he walked towards the long hallway filled with barred doors and some iron ones too. Both Belisarius and Marcus walked the hallway until they stopped in front of an iron door, which two guards stood on the sides. From within, the groans of a man were heard, followed by yelling. Within the room were three men. One tied up to a wooden chair, dressed up in a ragged tunic, covered in dirt and mud, accompanied by blood and two Imperial officers, one standing behind the chair and the other in front of it, gently caring for the prisoner. The prisoner was filled with blood. His chin was covered in blood, his eye sockets were purple and his body was weak. Weak of so many days without food and water, without a proper rest, without a bed, without a time to think peacefully.


'I swear, I don't know anything else!' the prisoner yelled, from the bottom of his lungs, his voice cracking. He was answered with a powerful fist in his stomach, making him groan in pain.


'Come on friend. Do we have to be like this. Friends don't keep secrets from each other.' the violent officer exclaimed, preparing his fist for a second reunion with the prisoner's stomach.


'I told you,' the prisoner stopped, taking a deep breath, 'everything I know.' he continued. 'Please, I beg of you, stop.' But the officer didn't stopped. Another blow was given, followed by another and another.


'I am sick and tired of your courage boy. Speak up and all this will end. Stop wasting our time and yours!' the officer yelled loud and clear. But the prisoner sat in silence, in a silent sob. 'Fine. Have it your way.' the violent officer motioned to the other officer, who has been quiet and observant of the horror happening in front of him. He approached and untied the prisoner. He grabbed him forcefully and both officers moved the prisoner towards the table that laid in front of them. The prisoner's attempts to break free were in vain. He was too weak to resist two powerful, young, dominant males. They moved him to the table violently. The violent officer sighed angrily, holding the prisoner down, alongside with his companion. 'I'm only going to ask one more time, what else do you know about the bandit camp?'


'N-nothing! I swear! Please sir, please!' the prisoner screamed.


With an unsatisfied groan, the officer continued with the torture until the prisoner's will broke.


'I'll talk! I'll talk! Please, no more!'


'What do you know!?' the officer yelled.


'It's an outpost! An outpost! The camp is further away! the prisoner yelled.


'How many are defending it!? Where is the main camp!?'


'Fifty! Fifty!'


'The camp! Where is it!?' the officer exclaimed.


'I don't know! I don't know! They never showed it to me! Only the outpost! It serves as a checkpoint! Like one of those for caravans! That's all I know! I swear!'


Releasing the prisoner, the prisoner fell upon the chair and the officer sighed happily and looked at his comrade. The prisoner stood scared upon the chair, afraid of making a wrong move.


'Now, that wasn't so difficult, wasn't it?' the violent officer laughed before leaving the room with the other, only to be greeted by Belisarius and Marcus, who were patiently waiting for them. Both the officers saluted them.


'Impressive.' Belisarius commented, followed by a thank you sir. 'Anything new?' he asked.


'A small outpost towards the south east of the location of the last raid. Bandits made an outpost out of an ancient fortress, or what remains of it, poorly upgraded with wooden structures. Apparently, it serves as a re-supply unit. Perhaps the camp is far away from the outpost, that's why they need.' the violent officer answered.


'Good. I heard there were fifty defending that outpost. Easy task. But, make sure their leader survives and some of them. They are to be sucked out of information as best as possible.' Belisarius said.


'If we strike this outpost, it will render the bandits considerably. They will lose some of their supplies. making their travels throughout the desert more difficult, which will give the Empire more control over the region.' Marcus exclaimed.


'I want at least three hundred soldiers prepared. Make sure cavalry is prepared as well, to ensure that no on escapes. Don't want those bandits to warn the others. Marcus, find me a capable man to lead this operation. It is time to give someone the opportunity of promotion.' Belisarius told Marcus, before dismissing the two officers, allowing them to continue with their duties, while both Marcus and Belisarius made ready to leave the barracks, back into the palace.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Johan





Jarl of Arnarhvall


Johan didn’t really know why he called the Thanes together to meet. They were the people who he had direct control over, his few subordinates. It was perhaps formality that had motivated him to initiate this meeting, for the Gods knew that they never talked about any matters of use. This was Avinter ; and Arnarhvall no less - things just didn’t really happen in this part of the Imperium. Although judging by what was happening in other places, that could easily soon change, or at least they were the words of Harald, Thane of Hvelheimr. Always anxious, he was. Paranoid was a term preferred by several of his equals present. Johan had learned quickly to never trust and take whatever he said too seriously, but with recent circumstances it was enticing to buy into his tales.


Like they always had and likely always would, no real progress, conflict or proper conclusion had came with it all, bar petty grumbling over taxes. Or at least that was what they thought.


It was several days later that Harald unexpectedly turned up at Arnesen Hold. He had come alone, and informed Johan that he had done his utmost best to try and ensure he hadn’t been followed. It provoked an ominous feeling in the young Jarl’s gut and he would always trust whatever that feeling told him, except he was unsure whether it was because he didn’t trust the Thane at all and felt like this was an elaborate ploy or because he did trust the Thane that there was danger afoot. Johan invited him in, and they sat by the fire. It was warm there, enough to thaw even the iciest of hearts.


“What brings you here?” queried Johan. In truth, he did wish to speak with Harald one on one, for if anyone had a hint of semblance of current affairs it could have been him. Harald was tall, intimidatingly so, and his unkempt wild beard added to that. Rumour had it, especially on part of Johan’s mother Astrid, that the Thane was a close associate and confidant of his father, but that was not obviously good or bad, Harald not instinctively trustworthy as such.


“I bear news. I have little time to explain, but your - in fact, our - lives are under threat, by the same people who took your father…”


“I demand an explanation!” roared the young man, standing up furiously as he interrupted. But he would not get one, for now. As if on cue, he looked up and out the window, and subsequently thanked the Gods that at least his mother wasn’t home as he drew his sword in anticipation of the coming clash.


The men now gathered outside taking up positions around his home didn’t come across as the friendly and compassionate type. Johan imagined they would have a small chat before it came down to a decision over whether this would end peacefully or not.
 
The Duke of Davennor


Vitellus seemed to glide over the smooth mosaic murals scattered across the main hall. They eventually reached the atrium, and a pair of guards pulled open two large, rectangular doors in unison. The Duke sat at an ornate mahogany desk in the center of the room. Artamo was a slightly older male of four and ten, still very much in his prime. He had short, jet black hair and was clean-shaven like most provincials of status. He wore Danthivan burgundy robes with gold trim at the seams and collar. Quite the fit for an eligible bachelor.


His head jerked up to see who had entered with a long look on his face and he quickly corrected himself, forming a half-pronounced smile. Time to play the part. Rising from the chair to greet the duo, Artamo held his arms wide open. "Ah, Queen Mara! What a treat it is to have you here." If offered, he would take her palm and give it a gentle peck. "I must admit it has been quite some time since we've last received a visit from the Marches." He turned his gaze toward Irisviel. "So the stories are true...the ice holds untold beauty witnessed only by a lucky few. I should consider myself as such," he said, winking. "Wouldn't you agree, Vitellus?"


The old steward simply nodded. It was not his place to comment on such things, nor did he feel privy to this conversation. He merely lingered only to be excused, which typically occurred after these initial formalities. Artamo would await their responses before continuing, "I trust we have business today." He wrinkled his forehead in absent curiosity. "Instruct the guards so as not to be disturbed. They may wait idly in the main hall." Vitellus swiftly departed, his gown hovering behind as those same rectangular doors began to shut. Surely, the Queen would not object. What had yet to transpire concerned only those directly involved, and nothing could tempt the Duke to try something sinister here. "Please..be seated," he motioned toward a comfortable lounge off to the corner of the atrium with fruit baskets and olives. There would also be several jars of wine and cups made from glazed pottery.


@Nateorious
 

The Gilded Queen

Hyperia and her Legionnaire guards, accompanied by the City Watch moved through the sewers and tunnels beneath Val Calais. It took probably the better part of an hour to finally reach the makeshift gate that was the unofficial official entrance to Clandestine the City of Shadows as it were. Before they could even stop to bang on the gate it opened and a man moved out. Hyperia recalled him as someone Azazel had as an adviser of some sort or another though she wasn't too sure about that.

"Majesty," He said bowing, showing his respect to the Queen of Valais. His voice however nice seemed to ooze a practiced and placating tone that made Hyperia feel mocked almost. "Welcome to Lord Azazel's humble city. His guiding hand ever graces us, and may your rule continue on." He said continuing with the tone that the Queen believed to be unsettling.

She nodded and motioned for the Legionnaires to proceed. "Thank you, however Clandestine is no more." She said moving past him and under the gate. The Legionnaires stopped in a small open area and formed a strong defensive circle around Hyperia. The City Watch moved in as well and begin dispersing throughout Clandestine. "By order of the Queen Clandestine is to be vacated within three months of this day. All citizens of Clandestine will be moved into new housing outside Val Calais' southern gate. The housing will be constructed by the Fifth Imperial Legion under the command of General Titus Lexius. The City Watch are to begin patrolling Clandestine during this interim period. Citizens who have things they cannot move to new housing will be compensated at a fair market price. Good evening." She said moving away and back with the Legionnaires to the gate once more. The City Watch went about informing the citizens of Clandestine that they would now maintain a strong presence here. Hopefully this would not erupt into something that spilled onto the streets.

Hyperia departed Clandestine with the guards and exited back to the city proper. Clandestine was... poor and properly bordering squalor. To be fair though Val Calais was the wealthiest city in the Imperium. It didn't have slums as they remained in Valais' old capital and Val Calais had strict laws stating that you had to meet a minimum wage in order to reside in the city. As such living standards were high and the the large amount of gold that went into the upkeep and city infrastructure kept it in good repair. It was also a crown jewel for the Imperium and not one it would likely look kindly upon should Hyperia join the rebels.

The Queen proceeded to return to the Government Quarter to work out some plans with the Legate-Marshall and other military minds from all over Valais, along with the Generals of the other four Imperial Legions in Valais, coupled with the Archons of the Provincial Legions that Valais could raise should the need arise. It was to be a long night and Hyperia feared there would be many more like this.


Shards of Aristhenes

The storm clouds rolled in from The Veil. Dark as black smoke rising from burned homes, the spontaneous bolt of lightning and the crash of thunder that seemed to shake the very foundation of the Citadel. The White flags bearing the Red Insignia of Aristhenes, synonymous with Vale, fluttered furiously in the strong winds the ushered in the storm. The Winds of Change... How quaint. Arrelous thought to himself as he watched the wind blow the flags in the direction of Imperia, Very auspicious he thought once more to himself. Arrelous stepped away from the window and moved back to the large mahogany table that stood in the center of the room. The other figures sat around it, watching one another and none dared to speak and another roar of thunder seemed to shake the room.

"Interesting. The Priests believed the foul weather to not come for some time." Arrelous said looking at those gathered. Arrelous was the High Inquisitor of Vale, a Province run by the Military Order of the Rosen Blades. An Order that stretched back over a millennium in history. Since before the Imperium's Golden Age in what is known to the world now as the Age of Expansion when the Imperium began to truly be more than just the Heartlands and Danthiva. The Knights made there home on the island of Verin which they aptly renamed Vale after the great mists that shrouded the island's approach most of the year, it was known colloquially as the Veil of Mists or just the Veil. Arrelous himself was old, nearly in his sixties now with a finely trimmed full facial beard and mustache that were grey with white beginning to poke through. His hair was kept short, short enough to fit in his helmet. He had broad shoulders and a deep voice, most called him the Elder though his title was High Inquisitor.

The man cared little for titles and pleasantries and much preferred to talk about business and deal with matters of actual importance. He had been the most outspoken critic of Lord Regent Ocato Remanti and the man's moves to consolidate power. Arrelous had been the Imperium's Master of War prior to the Lord Regent's appointment, but since he was a political rival of Ocato Remanti he had to be... dismissed. Some said he was lucky to leave Imperia with his life as some of the other Privy Councillors had not been so fortunate and had been killed on false charges of Treason. Others said Arrelous was too powerful to remain in the Capital at such a time and it was this latter group that believed the Lord Regent needed replacing.

"I have two Legions, and many ships we can use. I assume the rest of you have already begun calling up your Legions as well?" He asked looking at the others, they nodded in response. The man to Arrelous' left was quite large, very tall and broad shouldered. He appeared to be in his thirties, his prime, and was hailed as the King of Delenar. He was naturally their strongest warrior and thus he had earned his position through the Right of Challenge rather than being born to a noble family. King Maximus Atreus and High Inquisitor Arrelous Picon were natural friends. Both lead martial societies that valued similar things. They were going to be natural allies in this war.

Next to the King was Archduke Harold Vintaris, he was the Provincial Leader of Mirevia. It was the Province which sat directly across the Howling Straight from Vale and was their closest neighbor and trading partner. The Archduke was young, as his mother the late Archduchess Cassia, had perished at sea on the return journey from the Conference in Imperia. A storm is what was said but many had their suspicions that she had been killed by Imperial Agents as she was another very vocal critic of the Lord Regent, she also happened to be cousin to the Emperor-Ascendant and thus an heir to the throne. The young Archduke was the Archduchess' son. He was only but twenty-two years of age and already thrust into a situation that might very well cost him not only his seat but his head should the Rebellion fail.

Some other less notables were present, such as Ambassadors from Xenara, Astanor, Neermar, and Ganthen. Others had been invited but were holding a similar conference elsewhere. It was assumed that nearly half the provinces of the Imperium were prepared to raise arms against the Throne if the Lord Regent Ocato Remanti didn't resign his post. This would be the first of many such meetings and the Lord Regent knew he had to bide his time lest he stir the dragon before he was ready to fight. Overreaction from the Throne now would turn the undecided Provinces against, of which there were many, including Valais, strongest of the Southern Imperial Provinces, Coraspia the Breadbasket of the North and Pythia the Religious Center of the Imperium. Much to be seen and much to do.​
 
Last edited by a moderator:


The Stone King


​



"Send word to Maridus, inform them I will be passing through in a few days on my way to Avinter to discuss current events, ask them to send word to Avinter should they wish to discuss such things with myself as I return to Callidus" He said to the men sitting around him, one being the equivalent of his secretary, a man to whom the Kings business was intimately known but fiercely safe. "I shall follow the messenger with my men on the morrow, though I will need funds to reimburse local lords for the hunting of game on their land. I shall be traveling on horseback with my guards, you are to act in my stead, though the Jarls will make any nessisary decisions, you just need to maintain order"


"I know the Drill, It is hardly the first time I have stood in your shoes, though I would advise traveling with more men and by sea I know you will not listen, the necessary arraignments will be made."


"Good, now we have matters of the province to discuss." The King replied, "leave us, please." and so the rest in the room made busy and found more impertinent things to do "Any Jarls who arrive while I am away, which should be most, have them all informed personally. I wish to avoid the scare mongering that other Jarls partake in and make sure they know we hold a neutral stance." The two men kept talking, largely about matters of state but also about more personal matters for one could not know so much about the King without him knowing at least the same and the two growing close. As the two men prepared to part for the night Valiorus said "Have some willing woman sent my way, I shall consider the brides you have selected but I am a free man until then and I shall have my fun. Try to keep it discreet, I am sure many suspect I am looking for a political alliance but should we announce it then we will have all the Jarls shoving their daughters down my throat." With that he left, weeks of riding awaited him and he still had yet to recover from the journey to and from the capital of the Imperium.


When he awoke in the morning he quickly made his way to breakfast and gorged himself on the leg of an elk. As he washed it down with some beer he got ready to leave, putting on his fur cloak and making his way to the meeting room, where he guards would likely be waiting, having already eaten and prepared before he awoke. "We Ride to Avinter, Maridus have been made aware of our tplans to travel through their lands, hopefully our relations remain friendly despite resent events, I myself see no reason for them to betray us so let us ride!" He said as the headed out of the ornate room, down widning passages and through large halls, all ornately carved from centuries of expansion and renovation, making space for more people and more power as the province grew. Eventually they found there way to a large cove on the cliffs edge, grazing pasture for the kings horses and that of many regional Jarls. The Mounted on the power horses, bred for resilience and strength, not speed, better suited for war then travel and even better suited for work then war. They soon rode through a relatively short tunnel through the cliff and the subsequent mountain, before emerging out of the rock into the barely hospitable lands of Callidus, where even trees feared to grow. "We will ride to my hall of Vallidus, we should arrive there the day after this, we shall rest, refill water and other such supplies then continue on through Maridus." The Hall of Vallidus was perhaps the hall closest to the border with Maridus, however it was not the one most trusted with the defence of the western border, that fell to a more coastal Jarl. Vallidus largely got its name from the fact that it looks onto a lush valley, a rare sight in Callidus, and is also the source of one of the many rivers feeding the capital of Callidum its water.


Will continue the journey in another post, please tell me if I need change the info about Vallidus
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Duke Jean-Luc





Arriving back home within his carriage, Jean-Luc was greeted right away by a gathering of his personal guard and mother, his mother looking at him quietly as he steps from the carriage and moves forward, hugging him warmly and patting him on the back, saying in her quiet melodious voice. "Jean my boy, how did the meeting go? How was the Queen? It's been so long since I last saw her." Jean smiles, kissing his mother on the cheek and returning her embrace while replying, "Her Majesty is quite well, I feel saddened by the sore state of her fellow nobility in our land and the Imperial court. I'll tell you more over some food in the parlor, how about that?" Jean's mother looked at him knowingly, before nodding and turning and walking in with him while his house servants began to unload his and his guards suitcases and personal travel effects and lead the carriage away.


Upon settling down within the parlor with some warm spiced ale and bread from a local baker his mother always loved to buy from, Jean began to explain the meeting and how it went. "Well mother, it turned out that they were sending a messanger to gather me and all the other ducal Lords and Ladies to the capital to discuss with Her Majesty the current state of the deliberations within the Imperial Court. It turns out deliberations have broken down it appears that we are on the verge of a civil war for the Imperial throne." His mother sighs, setting down her glass and shakes her head, speaking in a rueful tone as she always did when something upset her. "Those fools, they'd have this entire nation torn asunder over their selfish monetary and land based gains. They will be the end of this nation, not some outside force my son, but the rotten core of the Empire." Jean nods with her, sighing lightly as she continues on her mini rant. "And what of the Queen? Doesn't the poor girl have enough to deal with? Surely she's gotten the support of the ducal Lords?" Jean lets out a small groan at this, shaking his head while smiling as he replies in a kind tone. "Mother, Her Majesty is hardly a little girl anymore, she's a proven leader and a strong woman. My fellow Dukes and Duchesses are...A bit frightened by the whole thing, but I'd hope that they have gave their support." His mother shook her head, chuckling lightly and taking a sip of her ale and eating a bit, giving a nice silence for about three minutes before continuing. "And what of you Luc? Don't you think it's time to get married? You are almost thirty after-all, I want to be able to see my grandchildren before I pass away!" Jean coughs into his drink, taking his handkerchief out and coughing into it, looking at her with wide eyes. "Mother! That was something to drop onto my lap out of nowhere! I've..Simply not found a woman from the nobility that suits my personality, that's all!" She'd chuckle at her sons reaction, patting his forearm while saying calmly, "Well, Her Majesties your age? Why not start from the top and work your way down if it doesn't work out. If it does I can have royal grand-babies, a true honor for your poor old mother hmm?" Once again Jean's eyes widen, a faint blush coloring his cheeks while he sputters out. "M-mother! She is my sovereign, I hardly could have the nerve to do that to her, to worry her with some courting while this whole insanity is going on in the Imperial court!" He'd pick up his drink, taking a sip of it again, shaking his head before


standing. "I...Must excuse myself, I have work to do! I...Will take your suggestion into mind mother." His mother chuckles, nodding as he moves away quickly, heading back upstairs to his study, sitting down and beginning to compose various messages to send out to his counts and council.
 


The Stone King


​

The King spent a good day checking on his lands, making sure his people were in good health and no one was trying to steal from him. After finding everything was in order he held a small feast for his party and they enjoyed some strong ale and a good bit to eat too. They then stayed to night there to freshen them all up before their long journey across Maridus.


As the sun rose the men rode, getting an early start to travel as far as they could before it set once more. They had supplies to last them the day in food and most the trip in water so they stopped little on this first day, hoping to cover as much ground as they possibly could as they passed through the trees. It is well known that the lands to the east and north of the Imperium are fairly devoid of roads like the rest of the lands are, making travel by human or horse much more arduous as, for example in Maridus, you had to navigate forests that were often dense with foliage and trees as you passed from the lands of each man. In Callidus traveling was easier but hunting was your difficulty, in its barren landscape nothing could really grow. They soon found themselves tiring as the sun began to set, but kept on for a fair distance more. Eventually they made camp and set a small fire to gather around. Normally they would talk and laugh into the night but all were too tired this evening and so swiftly all made their way to bed with one keeping a watch and taking his rest every few hours to swap with another. These men feared no ambush of man, for they had good relations with Maridus and there was little reason for bandits to set up this far away from the coast, but the beasts here we strong and wolves could catch and unwary traveler before they opened their eyes to figure out what the fuss was all about. The men set off early again the next day, making way just after the sun had risen and riding until mid afternoon, however on this occasion and most of those following, they mad camp while the sun was still safely in sight and half the party went off hunting. They eventually returned with an elk and monetary reparations were sent to the nearest lord. This night many stories were told and spirits high with jovial merriment.


As they were beginning to exit the lands of Maridus, the king himself saw fit to go hunting with the group that were off to forage their food and came across a boar. Deep in the forest. Now the way most people hunt a boar is almost safe and is by far more logical then the way of the Stone Men. Most would have long spears or pikes and would force to boar to skewer itself upon them. However Stone men carried no spears, only sword, shield and axe. Valiorus bashed his sword lightly against his shield to anger the boar and have it rush at him. As it did he dropped low the ground and trapped its snout, lightly cutting his arm on its long tusks. As he did this the other men of the hunting party surrounded it and, with a few axe strikes to its neck, it fell dead. Valiorus was slighty annoyed by his wounds, more so that they would probably stain his fur cloak then that he was wounded. However he was thankful for the rush and the opportunity to be like a normal man, fighting alongside his brothers rather then mollycoddled by his council of Jarls and hoards of guards trying to cocoon him from the 'dangers' of the world. I am the Dangers of the world! he thought as he returned to camp and the hunting party told the short tale of how they took out the boar, adding some falsehoods as is their way.


As they entered Avinter, they began to make their way northwest, toward both Avenheim and the coast. Their days continued much like they had in Maridus, with early starts and early endings followed by some hunting and story telling. The only difference being the terrain, especially as they got closer and closer to the coast. Soon, atleast sooner then it felt it would take for Avinter is a large province, at least compared with Maridus, they had crossed a fair way into the province.


This is your chance @EmperorConnor for us to end up interfering if you would like, or perhaps for you to run into me after you have succeeded, if not I shall arrive at Avenheim in my next post, but it shall be in IC2 (since interacting will be occurring)
 

The Gilded Queen

Hyperia put her hand to her temples rubbing them gently as she listened to those before her bicker. "Valais must support the removal of th-" the man's voice was cut off by another, "If they don't support the throne the might of the Imperial Legions will end them!" They had been going at it for some time and the Queen was close to snapping. First she had to deal with Clandestine, then with reports that dignitaries had arrived without sending words, only to find out they weren't dignitaries but heads of surrounding Provinces come to convince the Queen to take sides in the conflict. The matter was aggravating and it was only further exacerbated by the lack of respect these people showed the Queen of the most powerful province in the South.

"Enough!" She roared standing and stepping off of her throne. "You come to my home and dare to lecture me about what my people need do in this conflict!" She continued. Her eyes narrowed at those gathered before her, as several took hesitant steps back. The King of Delenar was present following his trip to Vale. Across from him, arguing for the support of the Throne was none other than the Imperial Prelate. The pair made for good sparring partners in the ways of debate, and yes their arguments were valid but their complete lack of understanding of Valais was enough to piss off anyone.

"The decision rests with myself and my people, not with some faraway power." She said holding up her hands and very clearly wanting this finished. "King Atreus, you need to return to Delenar at once. Should my Province remain loyal to the Throne you will be apprehended. Tell your leaders that we will at least consider addressing them properly." She said now turning her attention to the Imperial Prelate. "You should return to the Heartlands as well, but since you have business here you are given a couple weeks to handle these matters." She said bidding them farewell and departing for her own study to pour over information gathered and figuring out what to do.

-The next morning-

Following a night of contemplation, Hyperia settled on where to start. She needed to discuss this matter with someone of relative mind and departed at once towards Coraspia. The largest of the Agrarian Provinces, and home of the Imperium's war horses, they had traditionally been neutral in conflicts of the Throne unless they were attacked. They were populous but few knew the way of the sword. Their wealth rarely left their province as their lords put it back into the land to only reap greater benefits in time. This would be her goal, to talk to their Lords and figure out how best to handle the coming conflict.


Children of the Dunes

The dunes were calm as the wind had died down following the sandstorm. The banners fluttered in the gentle breeze as the army watched their destination come into view. It had been a long journey and now was the time to strike. The Imperium had been occupied by the Geshkhanate's proxy state of Bethraan in the Filis Disputed Lands. Now the Geshkhanate itself was prepared, the time was upon them to begin their holy war against the Imperium. Now in the Imperium's greatest moment of weakness their greatest rival would be brought to their knees.

"Cross when ready," the voice was smooth. It was strong and authoritative and yet held the grace that came with the Grand Vizier of the Geshkhanate. Sarine Araan, the youngest Grand Vizier in the history of the Geshkhanate and the closest advisor to the Khagan's ear. Her black hair and rich golden eyes were symbol of her great affluence in society. Her tanned milk colored skin bore some scars from early conflicts. The scar marking her right shoulder up the right side of her kneck was from a failed assassination attempt on her life. For decades the Imperium had been fighting a proxy conflict in the Filis Disputed Lands over Bethaan and the Imperium's claims to ownership. The province had been completely wrecked and its people driven to desperation. Seven Imperial Legions had been permanently stationed there to maintain Imperial control, but that meant they were pulled from other areas. The Geshkhanate had been playing the long game to weaken a specific area on the border of the Imperium and now that it was prepared they would strike.


Vth Legion, Border of Lyria and Delenar

"Move up the reserves!" Legate Daven Illorien bellowed to his officers. The Vth Legion was engaged in a fighting retreat from their fortress. They had been besieged for nearly five days before Legate Illorien had decided it best to withdraw across the border into Lyria where another two Imperial Legions would meet up with the Vth and make a retreat across the sea to Coraspia. They hadn't been recalled but since Delenar and several others had openly declared their opposition for the Throne had made these Legion's positions untenable. Now they moved to safer lands but the tide of war was against them.The battle was long and nearly a quarter of the Legion perished in the retreat and provisions were stretched thin but it wouldn't be long before they withdrew to safer lands. Legate Illorien knew that this first battle would be the beginning of something more. Time would only tell what would come.


Okay so we have the First Battle of the Civil War.

Invasion by the Geshkhanate into Neermar.

These two events will become common knowledge after my next post. If you are a character in the Northern half of the Imperium you are oblivious to this information right now, please don't make mention of it until Queen Hyperia arrives in Coraspia. Thank you!​
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Asger Nantz


Tribune of the XV. Imperial Legion
​



A gentle breeze swept through the lands of the Filis Disputed Lands as Asger stared the marching Cohort from atop of his horse. It has been quite a time since he got the order to travel there and reinforce the Imperial Legion that suffered losses due to bandit attacks. He also got promoted to the Tribune of that Legion. It was a great responsibility, whilst a great honor and an even bigger opportunity to regain the old fame of his family. Asger hoped that this opportunity will raise him higher than any of his ancestors could get, thus proving that he is superior to those in the past.


To prove himself in battle was one of his aims in life and may be the biggest one as well. The knowledge of the family was passed down, but loosing his father so soon, there were plenty of questions about the family's ideology that Asger had to find all by himself. He was aware that the answers found by him may not be the ones he would get from his father, but he convinced himself that it is through this way that he could master The Way of War. He has always been leading his men according to it. The conditions of the rewards and punishments were always clear, Asger did his best to solve every conflict between his men in a just way and it was resulting. His men respected him even in spite of him being so young, they liked serving under him and yet they feared him. The connection between him and his men could hardly be any stronger.


These men now were marching to join forces with the Imperial Legion led by General Belisarius and to defeat the bandits threatening the people and the interests of the Empire. Their equipment was well maintained, the shields were were protected with a leather cover, hung up to the Y-shaped rod borne on their left shoulder. Their heavy equipment on their backs, the soldiers were marching confidently without any sweat. No wonder, Asger did not let them lay back back in Vale like some other Fist Centurions. They had constant training be it a snow covered, cold night or a scorching noon. Sleeping, showering, eating, training, maintaining their equipment and even relaxing, they did everything together and it was not rare to see Asger joining his men and spending some time among them.


It's due to these methods that this Cohort became a second family to everyone in it. Each of them trained hard to become stronger and after all that training they are a true Imperial Cohort.





As Asger stared at the far horizon, he noticed one of his scouts approaching with high speed. He calmly waited for the scout's arrival who got off of his horse and saluted before Asger. "Reporting: Our forces shall arrive to the destination in six hours with the current pace." Asger looked at the marching Cohort and replied: "Well done soldier. Now join the scouting circle around the Cohort and report any movement to me." By saying that Asger galloped back to his men and as he got from the back to the front he yelled the information for the soldiers:"Prepare for full pace! We are eating lunch in the barracks!"


The order was followed by the legionaries whispering something that Asger did not bother trying to hear. As he got to the front his centurions saluted. "Sir! May I ask why are we changing to full pace?" Asger took his place in the middle front of his Cohort and answered with a grin on his face "I want to arrive in three hours."


...





"Sixth, Fifth, Fourth and Third Centurions! I want you to move in to the barracks. We are staying for a while so make sure to talk with the other officers. Second and First Centurions! You shall move in too, but I want both centurias to be ready for departure in full combat gear in one hour if I give the order." With that, Asger rode his horse forward as he wanted to report to General Belisarius as soon as possible. He headed to the barracks hoping that an office could tell him where the General was to be found but fortunately enough as he found the General with a companion, preparing to leave the barracks.





Asger got off and walked up to the General. "General Belisarius! I am Tribune Asger Nantz, and I got the order to reinforce the Fifteenth Imperial Legion with my Cohort as well as serve you as you new second-in-command officer." After saluting to the general, Asger pulled out the written order with the Imperial Stamp on the bottom side of the letter, and showed it to the General.





@NorbertM


 
Duke Jean-Luc


Within the span of a week and a half around five-thousand levies raised and began to gather at the local capital where hastily erected tent and palisades city surrounded by another, smaller city based upon gathering the large number of levies and be able to train them a bit more then the average peasant armed with a pitchfork and rags. Currently Jean-Luc was sitting within a large vaulted building within the center of the capital of his Duchy, sitting at a large maple table in high backed leather-bound chairs with his commanders and economic advisers discussing the effects of raising the troops within his Duchy and the further cost of equipping and training the levy. Currently speaking was the chief steward Estienne Aliker, awised man of about seventy-eight who'd served Jean-Luc's family as far back as his grandfather. "Gentlemen and ladies, I have provided the necessary information packets of velum to you all so that you are able to be on the same situation as myself when it comes to the economics of this situation since the Crown has permitted us to use the current funds if a war arises that we give them per that year to fund our own levies and train them, they are being diverted to that. I will not bore all of you with the direct details please read them at your leisure"


He'd bow gently, before sitting back down and his Marshal Gaetan Delon stands, a tall fair haired man, very well built for his age of forty-five. Clad in his formal armor with it's precious metal inlays, Gaetan had never really gotten along well with Jean-Luc, due to his happiness to show off his wealth and failure to give back a reasonable sum to the population that works in his barony to gather it. "Gentlemen, I feel that we must raise all of the levy, all fifteen-thousand of them. We cannot simply get shown up by the larger duchies! So what if we lose some money we are the richest within the Empire and we should be proud of it!" A few nod in agreement with him, though the majority of the council seems to not be so easily convinced by his militarist speech. Countess Oliva Bourbeau standing and looking at Gaetan while speaking in her firm, authoritative voice that made most men within the council find that it was much better to not look at her but at the table then face her ire. "If we do as you say, we will be without any money within our coffers within a year, we won't have to care about this war because we will be too busy starving without the manpower to generate any currency or supplies. If we are to raise levy and we should in my opinion, we must raise the normal rate and do it as we always have, it's worked for the Anastos family for the five hundred years they've reigned within this Duchy and it should be able to handle it now!" She'd look around the table, meeting the looks of those defiant, those in agreement, and those with a healthy dose of fear and respect for the tiger of Arveignon.


Finally Jean-Luc stands, looking at them all as he raps his gavel upon the table. "I understand your wish Sir Gaetan, to go and show off our loyalty to Her Majesty in this dire time. But I also must take the best wishes of my people into account and so I cannot simply send everyone off to war, no matter how patriotic the cause. For what good is it for us to win this war and return home coin less, without food, and without tended fields and ways of gaining money?" Siting down again, Jean-Luc glances about at the council, before sighing and speaking in a less formal voice. "All of you have served both myself and my father well, and I count many among you as respected allies and friends, you have your orders and my blessing all of you. Go forth and bring victory to this nation!" He'd stand, bowing and saying goodbye to each in turn as they left the council chambers, before heading upstairs in his villa to pack his things, say goodbye to his mother, and then embark on his journey towards the capital again. This time though he took only one guard and rode on horse to make it in as quick time possible, rather then being slowed down by the normal five to ten men and carriage with supplies and all that.


After a day and a half of riding they make their way towards the last stretch of the journey, glancing about at the countryside riding by them as they ride on at a quick pace, Jean-Luc's face a mask of concern and worry, constantly thinking about the possibilities of the damage of a full blown civil war on this nation as a whole, and that the wolves outside the gates may take this time to invade and regain lands they've lost or take more...But currently he couldn't do anything about that until he met with Her Majesty and received his orders, and to do that he needed to meet with her in person. Looking forward he finally saw the city coming into focus on the distant horizon, riding towards what he feared would be the last time he saw Her Majesties homelands in peacetime.
 
Johan





Jarl of Arnarhvall


The knock on the door was loud and swift, authoritatively so. “If you open the door unarmed, my employer says he will guarantee that no harm will come to you if you wish to settle this with your life.” came the gravelly growl that Johan did not recognize. Of course he did not, he thought to himself. Whoever his opposition was was not stupid enough to place themselves so close to a door that one could not see behind. Who knew whether the young Jarl (or anyone else, for that matter) would come barrelling straight through it, sword in hand? And clever opponents were not preferable. For an intelligent man or woman always knows that in conflict, the situation is fair, then you were doing it wrong. Ideally one would have the odds stacked in their favor and leave any enemy with serious disadvantages. Johan couldn’t help but think that the very fact that he wasn’t objectively aware of who was behind all this put him on the back foot.


The door opened slowly and silently, words being beyond a fuming and ashamed young man. He valued his life above his personal internal rhetoric but that did not make him proud, nor happy or content. “Anyone else in there?” the same voice asked him, revealing itself as belonging to a herculean who looked as strong as an ox. That prompted Harald to reveal himself, sparing Johan the dilemma of being honest against the Thane’s wishes or possibly selling him out.


Johan merely scowled at the person before him. “Come with me.” the man told him, not suggesting, but ordering. And the Jarl was in no position to negotiate right about now. He need not tempt fate by not watching his mouth and making a stupid throwaway comment. “And your friend.” he added quickly. All sides were covered by other grunts, but none were quite the size of the one they were primarily dealing with and speaking with. But Johan had never been overly agile and making a run or dash for it was not an option. It would likely have repercussions even if by some miracle he got away. Harald, and certainly those he cared about, would feel the consequences.


His eyes remained vigilant, searching for whoever could be the mastermind behind all of this. But they never perceived the blow which swept his legs from underneath him before a sack went over his head and it was clubbed by some blunt object, the identity of which would forever remain unclear.


The next thing he knew of, he still couldn’t see anything ; for his head was still covered. But he recognised who was talking to him, for it was Bjorn of Odinligr. The smugness was unmistakeable and doubly more annoying than usual now that the young man had yet another thing to dislike about him. True, he or his father had never got on with Bjorn but they had always had a handful of opponents to pick from. This just put him at the very top of the list of people whom he despised and solidified the position too, as the sack preventing Johan from observing his ugly face was roughly taken off. Bjorn turned around and stopped his sinister pacing around the room to make eye contact, presumably in order to deliver some witty statement, the man loved to humour himself. It was definitely not amusing on the other end of it all though. But the Gods had smiled on him by making sure his mother wasn’t here when things took this turn, and they did so again by sparing him the torture of having to put up with it, for the Thane got straight to the point.


“The fact that you’re right here before me now with your hands tied behind your back tells me that you’re probably willing to listen to reason and that you value your life. So therefore I have a proposition for you.”


“Aren’t you so clever for working that one out?” Johan teased. It was met nigh immediately with a punch to the face and cold hands around his neck.


“Listen to me, you worthless dreg.” he hissed. “Because if you don’t, I could torture you for days. And that would be after I force you to watch me doing things to your whore of a mother and other such people you hold so dear. How about the pretty girl you always seem so keen on trading with every Sunday? You get my point?”


Johan nodded, not enlightening him on how it’d be a preferential alternative to having to pretend that he didn’t hate Bjorn or listening to him talk for more than a minute at a time.


“Everything you do, little boy, will be watched by someone who works for me. And if you dare do something without my express permission, I shall personally ensure that you will get dragged back here. You’re my puppet from this moment onwards, but you won’t betray my trust. You’re far too much of a coward to do that.” he concluded, pausing as if expecting a remark as an answer. “Now I don’t want you to know where we are so I’m going to put this sack back over your head in a second or two. I’ll make sure you get home fine. Now, I shall repeat it one final time - should you run too far or disobey, I’ll destroy you and everything you know.”


And Fate being the exceedingly cruel mistress she often was, the literal moment he found himself opening the door to Arnesen Hold a couple of hours later, which no longer felt like the safe and secure family home it once had, his input was required already. A rider came swift like lightning, cresting the hill at such a speed that one could blink and miss it.


“Your Grace, I have spotted a group of horsemen in nearby territory. They fly an unfamiliar banner, it is Callidus, I believe? Have you received prior word concerning their passage?”


“I have not.” the Jarl stated. He didn’t give any reason as to why that might have been the case. Those closer to him would not even be moderately surprised about how he had gone mysteriously. It was not out of character for him to go out and not return for a day or two, but in truth he couldn’t honestly recall how long it had been since that encounter. “Gather horsemen of our own. I shall meet you in the centre of town on horseback soon.”


What did one have to do to get a decent break and a bit of rest around here?
 

Azazel


The Silver Tongued Sinner
​



Azazel cleaned his blades as he walked towards Val Calais. His contract went surprisingly well, despite it's time consuming nature. Everything in his plan went smoothly, clean kills, clean escape, clean scene. Azazel got his pay for the work and went on his way without a hitch. His day was going almost too well. Azazel wiped the last of his knives, before quickly sheathing it along with all the others as he approached the main entrance to the city. He bowed in jest to the guards on watch he passed. Something told him they didn't appreciate the tongue-in-cheek form of respect he gave them. Not like they could do much about it. All the more reason! He chuckled to himself has he worked his way through the city. Usually, he'd use the rooftops or use one of Clandestine's tunnels, but today was a good enough day to stroll about the streets. Azazel's good day slowly started to fade as he came upon Clandestine's entrance actually under watch by the guards.


"Master Azazel! Oh my master..." Sojourn shuffled towards Azazel. "The queen, she has turned us from Clandestine, master. Her guards fill it's walls and have removed everyone." "What?" Azazel hissed, his good mood quickly turning to that of seething anger. "Why, and where then are the resident's of Clandestine?" Sojourn slowly backed away from his fuming master to avoid any of his relent. "The.. The lady Hyperia came to inform us of our departure after Deacon delivered our message. They've been moving us to a housing, closer to a slums really.. Everyone has been moved there, including the agents." Azazel paced in a small circle, barely containing himself from going into Clandestine and ending the lives of any and all involved in this, the removal of his work. Azazel cursed, in a manner that even Sojourn was taken aback by, and he was used to Azazel's swearing habits. Azazel vented enough to not snap the necks of the entire guard force before making up his mind. "W.. what do we do Master Azazel?" "Where is this housing?" "It's located near the southern gate, being built by the fifth legion under the watch of one General Titus Lexius." "Go there, and fetch me Esmerée and Salem. I'll deal with Deacon after we sort this mess out. I have a feeling he didn't undertake his task as planned. Go." Azazel climbed to the roof tops and raced to the southern gate. Rare was it that his temper was cut short. This was one such rarity. As he made his way to an overlooking rooftop, the sight disgusted him. Not solely from the fact his people of Clandestine had been made to live in a ramshackle of a living space, more to the fact Hyperia would allow for what was slowly becoming a slums to form in the city of Val Calais. "This won't stand. There is a manner of tolerance a people must attain to. Clearly they have failed to retain it." Azazel lost himself in staring at his people of Clandestine chained to this horrid corner of Val Calais they called 'housing'. The longer he looked the more his rage grew.





"You asked for us Master Azazel?" Two women, both in light black armor Azazel's Azazel-lings used in combat and in recon, walked from behind him. The one who called to him stood prominent, her dark hair and dark eyes standing out in the light of day. Azazel's gaze remain fixed upon the sight before him. "Yes, Salem, and I see Sojourn had preformed in retrieving you two." "Oh, we'll always come to the call of our Master Azazel. Especially after all you've done for us." "Your loyalty is appreciated." "There is an anger in your voice Master. Have we done you wrong?" "Master Azazel, please do not be mad at us. We will do everything in our power to correct our wrong!" Esmerée clung to Azazel's arm, her blonde hair falling on him. "Contain yourself Esmerée." "I apologize for my actions Master Azazel." Salem sighed in annoyance. Azazel was used to Esmerée's rather intoxicating persona. "It isn't your actions I am infuriated by, rather the actions of others. Neither of you have done anything to make me ill tempered." Salem walked to Azazel's side, Esmerée still holding his arm, though standing upright. "Who has angered you? They will see a quick death." "Or a painfully tortured one. I like those better." "No one needs to be brought down, yet. Deacon and our Queen Hyperia are the one's who have my attention. They are why I have called for you both." "I hate that bitch of a woman! She took our home from us!" "The feeling is mutual. What has Deacon done however?" "I figure, he was the starting point for this, yeah. Never the less, we have work to do if we are to fix this situation. Esmerée, you are to accompany me to go visit our queen. I have a feeling she has more on this situation to discuss with me. Salem, find Deacon. I doubt it will be hard. Bring him to me after Esmerée and I return. Unarmed." "Yes, Lord Azazel. It will be done." "Come Esmerée, we've our lady Hyperia to meet with, yeah." "Just tell me when I get to kill, master."





The two made their way to the Estate of Law, and up to Hyperia's study. Esmerée took to the rafters in hiding. Azazel stood in wait. Esmerée was simply here for Azazel's sake. Should his temper reach a point of danger, Esmerée would be his 'reminder' to settle down. It was the waiting game until Hyperia arrived. Azazel could feel the heat of his anger radiating throughout the room. His difficulty controlling his anger was concerning, but less of the matter at hand. His will and patience were stronger than that of other emotions. Control was key. Esmerée was the backup. This meeting would go smoothly. Most likely.

@Maven

​
 
Last edited by a moderator:

The Gilded Queen

The horses thundered on the highway of Valais, fine roads built long ago during the Golden Age and still sturdy as ever. Hyperia had abandoned her dress for armor. The walls of Val Calais came into view and a sigh of relief was let out from the group of dogged riders. All present were all that was left. An ambush, a meeting, a battle and an invasion. War had come not just to Valais but to the entire Imperium It would not be long before this spiraled, that is if the fighting continued unchecked. A horn sounded from one of the men beside Hyperia, it was signalling the the southern gate to open and for the streets could be cleared so the riders could make haste. This kind of action was rare, though it was exceptionally rare that Queen Hyperia donned her armor. They passed through the housing that had been constructed by the Vth for the citizens of Clandestine. It was far more of a slums than Hyperia wished to admit, but that would change soon. This was only temporary afterall.

The riders thundered into the streets of Val Calais, making haste to the Estate of Law. The horn sounded again, this time to make sure the Estate's gates were indeed open for her arrival. The group of about two dozen came to a halt, their faces told of horror. At least one steed collapsed in its dying throes from exhaustion. Darkness was coming.

As Hyperia made her way to her study, she was flanked by figures of great note, some of which were the Legate-Marshal Celaarian, Steward Cormor and Legate Arsonius. Some members from important Guilds or representatives of her duchies were also present. The group drew weapons when they entered her study, caught off guard by the presence of a lone figure. Azazel, Hyperia thought to herself. "Leave us at once," she said raising her hand to stop any kind of rebuttal. The doors closed behind them and Hyperia sighed looking at the man before her. He was not one for pleasantries and though they had known eachother for a short time, Hyperia had come to understand this about him and make sure to just dispatch with the pleasantries and get to the point of the matter.

"Temporary housing Azazel," she said knowing that her Master of Whispers would have already seen the sorry state of housing his people had been moved into following the closure of Clandestine. "Deacon I believe is what he is called," Hyperia said inquisitively. Her tone was even, not condescending or submissive. "He dropped daggers from a height inside the Grand Hall, and while none came closer than the one that hit the table before me, he started a Duchess half to death." She said not being able to hide the entertainment at the thought of recalling how the Duchess had been sent careening backwards in her chair before toppling over. Much to the amusement of those present. "I am however, Queen of Valais, and with that comes the responsibility to not let my authority be so blatantly undermined, as such action was taken and Clandestine had to be removed from the equation." She stood before walking and looking out the window to the city below. Her thoughts changed from the situation at hand to that which she had learned of. The first battle of the Civil War had occurred, and adding salt to the wound, the Geshkhanate had chosen now to strike at the Imperium.

"I'm naming you a Duke." She held up her hand much like she had done to those before, stopping Azazel and making sure he knew this was not up for debate. "You care about these people more than I, not because I see them as less but because I have to weigh them against all of Valais. For you they are like family, like children. So as a parent I am giving you the power to protect them. You are being given lands that will be carved from two other Duchies. The Dukes were not as willing but their Queen asked and so then had little choice. It's in the Haven Mountains, in the center of Valais. There is a rather rundown Citadel in those mountains, with large sections built inside one of the mountains. The valleys are fertile and while most of the mines have been stripped, I'm sure you would find uses for them nonetheless. Perfect for you to restore, and a strong place should you need to make a stand." She said looking at him and then back at the table between them.

A piece of parchment was rolled up and she handed it to him. "This is the decree stating you are the Duke of these new lands, and it also guarantees you the resources along with financing to rebuild the Citadel to a more livable state. All those you wish to have from the remnants of Clandestine are welcome to go with you, we will also provide carts for their belongings. The Vth Legion under Titus Lexius will go with you as well, they will provide security in these times but will also be the manpower you will need to rebuild with. Their commander, Lexius will take orders from me, you will act as my Proxy meaning he will take orders from you." A smile crept onto her face as she wondered how much he was either cursing her or blessing her for all this. This was far more of an anchor for Azazel than he was likely to want. "How you determine to lead your duchy, which laws you plan to implement and how your successor is ultimately chosen is up to you. Just do not infringe on the laws of Valais or the Imperium and I will not be forced to intervene." She said looking at him again. "Oh, and you will be expected to remain on the Privy Council as Master of Whispers, I will also allow you the same freedoms you currently have." She said alluding to the independent contracts he was allowed to take up. "Best not to rattle one's foundation too much." She said with a smile.

Her face grew dark now, as the information she had to tell him was grave, "The Geshkhanate has crossed the Imperium's border at Neermar. Initial reports suggest soldiers as far as the eye can see, hundreds of thousands." She said looking at him. "I was boarding the ship to Coraspia when I was told, and to add onto this the Legions in Delenar had to fight there way out of their fortresses and seek shelter in Lyria for the time being." She watched her mysterious Master of Whispers. Now more than ever her trip to Coraspia was necessary. She had to make sure that food would be supplied to the Northern half of the Imperium because Valais was about to have to withhold its supplies to support its own war effort. "I'm leaving at once for Coraspia to talk to their Duke. I will return soon, until I do Legate-Marshal Celaarian will take command of the Kingdom. Listen to her Azazel, I really don't want to have to handle something when I get back." She said looking at him and turning to leave. "Rebuild that Citadel, make a home for yourself and your people." She said finally leaving and making her way to the docks of Val Calais. The ship departed at once and Azazel was left alone in the Estate of Law.

@Reddrection
​
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Azazel


The Silver Tongued Sinner
​



The Master of Whispers and his agent sat in wait. It was a game they had learned to take fun in while participating. Azazel had become rather adept at games such as these as he had grown. He mastered the rules of the game while the kids of his age played the games of children. He had also learned that there was never simply one game going on at once. The horns reminded Azazel of this rule. Azazel straightened and looked to Esmerée, hiding in the shadows of the rafters. "Something is wrong. Ready yourself." "The fun seems to have started without us, Master Azazel." Esmerée slipped a thin blade from her waist. Azazel returned his stare to the door of the study. The horns sounded once more, much closer. Signaling to the Estate of Law. What in the world are you such a rush for? Azazel remained motionless, staring in wait for the next person to go through that door. Footsteps grouped up outside the door. The sounds of metal being unsheathed muffled through the door. Esmerée shifted in her position, only to be called off by the raise of Azazel's hand. The small group entered the study weapons at the ready. If they were a threat, they could have been easily dispatched. The fact his singular presence seemed to miff them also would have made the task all the easier. Azazel recognized a few faces, not that he cared enough about each one to put a name to them. Hyperia, among them, and in armor no less. This was becoming a stranger and stranger as time passed. "Leave us at once." Azazel glared down each one that left, his gaze finally locking with Hyperia's. He wasn't here with hidden intent. He made his disliking of the matter of his people of Clandestine clear.





He remained still and silent as Hyperia spoke. Deacon's method of delivery was one Azazel should have expected, none the less the one he wanted to avoid. A matter he would no doubt bring up with him later. Due to Deacon's failure to restrain himself, Clandestine as he knew it was no more. As Hyperia moved to the window, the change in her thinking managed to catch Azazel slightly off guard. Azazel hated that. Not the matter she managed to catch him off guard, but that because the matter she was thinking of did. Ill news was coming. "I'm naming you a Duke." Azazel gritted his teeth. He maintained his calm while Hyperia explained more on the matter. The old citadel. She was giving him the power to restore a home to the people of Clandestine. It's central location would be useful, as well as the magnitude of opportunities it's construction allowed him. As she handed him the rolled up parchment, he simply tossed it into the shadows where Esmerée hid, his gaze unmoved from Hyperia. The use of the Vth Legion sweetened the deal. Their long term uses seemed minimal, but the manpower would be of use to him. Titus being placed under his thumb didn't seem so bad either. All of it Azazel was wary of and annoyed by. Hyperia's smile wasn't helping. Her calculating look, to see his either appreciation or damnation of this gift. He gave her no indication of either. If anything Azazel was cautions of everything he was just handed. Remaining Master of Whispers was one of the few things that brought him comfort in this dealing. This whole thing gave off an aura of deeper meaning. Clearing Clandestine's tunnels, giving someone of Azazel's... stature... reign over a duchy. There were variables to this he wasn't being given, and it was starting to pester him. This was a matter he would tread carefully.





As Hyperia's face grew dark, Azazel managed to stifle a small smile. Now they were getting into the matter that required the horns, armed entrances, and armor. "The Geshkhanate has crossed the Imperium's border at Neermar. Initial reports suggest soldiers as far as the eye can see, hundreds of thousands." Azazel lifted a brow. This wasn't the war I was expecting. The Geshkhanate was a curious combatant to try and attack Imperium. The large number of attackers was also something that peak his interest. This oncoming conflict was one Azazel could get behind. So many lives to put down. Azazel assumed, with what else he knew was going on, he'd be reaping the lives of both men of Geshkhanate, and men of Imperium. Oh, how much fun poets and storytellers would have recalling the events of these times. The War of Crowns, as any who bore them would have a blood red target painted upon it, and the head it sat upon. Azazel's thoughts quickly faded at the mention of Legate-Marshal Celaarian's temporary command. He was in dealing with Hyperia, not some Legate-Marshal from the likes of which Azazel would have offed if they annoyed him or he was getting payed well enough. Azazel respected command, but not when it was below him. "Listen to her Azazel, I really don't want to have to handle something when I get back." Azazel grudgingly nodded. He at least respected the fact there were bigger matters at hand than listening to the orders of someone below him. "Rebuild that Citadel, make a home for yourself and your people." As she turned to leave him, Azazel finally spoke, his voice calm, but it's impact commanding and without debate. "Never call me Duke, you and everyone else who would know me as such." Azazel watched her turn and leave. "And take that damned armor off. It isn't fitting of you." And Azazel was left alone in the Estate of Law.





"You can be sure none of us will call you that, Master Azazel." Esmeree made sure to mention, dropping from the rafters and landing just behind him. She looked over the parchment, again and again, confirming everything it mentioned. "At least we have a new home to call ours. And you've got a shiny new position of power." "One that grounds me to the law of this place, especially now that war is breaking out." Azazel hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I want you to recreate that document, yeah. Only sign it under Sojourn's name." Esmerée blinked at him. "Master Azazel, why would you eventually give up such a position?" "I won't be held in one place by anyone. I have my ties and I keep them few for a reason. We only keep a second form of this document encase I need to be free of all such a title binds me to. Sojourn is the least... active in our dealings. He has a strong son he can pass down to, not to mention he follows our ideals like a religion." Esmerée nodded slowly as he spoke, starting to understand Azazel's reasoning. If his plans were to go with as minimal hitches as possible, he would need as few anchors as possible. She smiled and cocked her head at him. "Don't worry Master, I'll always follow your word. I'll recreate it to your specifications. Now then, we have a lot of work ahead of us." "That we do. Come, I believe we have our people to relocate and a slums to remove." "Aaaand, we have to punish Deacon, remember?" "Punish.. and reward him." Esmerée giggled maniacally as they departed. Azazel slid one of his daggers out of it's sheath and planted it into the doorway as the two left. Fine, I'll play along for now Lady Hyperia. In the end, I'll put a knife in this war with the Geshkhanate and off anyone who stand in your way. I always keep my deals to the very end. War, a game the children of this world still played to this day. Azazel always came out on top against his piers. Now the playing field was much more to a size of Azazel's liking, the players much more experienced than before. None, however, were as practiced as Azazel. None, knew how he played. Azazel was the grey piece in the battle board of white and black pawns. White had moved first against black. Black would soon retaliate. And Azazel would soon take out the kings. A War of Crowns, and Azazel bore none upon his head. Yet.

@Maven

​
 
Duke Jean-Luc





The hard riding had left both rider and horse exhausted, finally making their way within the city, Jean and his guard Emmanuel had finally managed to head up to the inn. Emmanuel being given the relief of being able to head upstairs and pass out from riding all day. Jean instead assisted the stable hands at making sure his horse and his guards horse were taken care of and properly housed before quickly changing into his formal garb and make his way up-to the main gates of the Estate of Law.


Being stopped by the two guards at the gates, Jean would glance at the two, frowning slightly before saying calmly. "Hail good sirs, I am here to meet with Her Majesty, Queen Hyperia" The two guards would glance at each other, before the higher ranked of the two in a gruff voice. "Sorry You're Grace, Her Majesty just left this early morning, Legate-Marshal Celaarian is currently in charge and residing within Imperial Embassy." Jean sighs, running a hand through his hair before looking at the officer again before replying in a tired voice, "I will see her instead, if I am allowed to pass?" the guards quickly nod, stepping aside and opening the gates and allowing him to hurry within and head to the Imperial Embassy, walking up the steps and entering within the Embassy. Making his way inside, Jean-Luc would be lead to meet with Legate-Marshal Celaarian.
 

UzblN7K.gif


The large hulking vessel was flanking by three smaller but still formidable ships. This large vessel was different than the smaller one she took to the Imperial Capital. It was a warship through and through. One that was meant to ward off any would be attackers. It mattered little at this point though, Coras was coming into sight and a sigh of general relief escaped the Queen's lips. It had been stormy for most of the voyage and under most circumstances they would have sought port, but with the Imperium in Civil War, a friendly port might not be easy to find. Fortunately for Valais they were still neutral, and would likely remain so in the foreseeable future. They had no reason to enter a Civil War and divide their forces when they would be the ones coordinating in the Southern Imperium against the Geshkhanate.

The ship pulled into port and some people gathered on the docks and throughout the cliffs to see the hulking ship and her escorts. Coras was building into and around a natural cove. It's deep water port had been important to the north-western Imperium for a very long time as one of the few deep water ports in this region. The city was large, nearly as large as Val Calais and just as formidable in defenses. The Dukes of Coraspia were among the wealthiest in all the Imperium and due to the humble communities the lived in, that wealth made its way down through the ranks to even the common citizen. Life in Coraspia was simple, and besides their grains, their horses were much sought after. It was Coraspian Chargers that the Valaisan Chevaliers used.

As Hyperia stepped off the boat a smiled graced her lips as an elderly gentlemen in fine robes but not overly opulent stood waiting at the docks for her. He was flanked by a couple guards, but again nothing over the top. His white beard was well kept and trimmed, his green eyes looks warn but inviting. Everything about this man gave an air of general contentment and appreciation, much like a grandfather's would. Uriel Coraan, the Duke of Coras, ruler of Coraspia. He was flanked by an aged woman whom Hyperia knew to be the Duke's wife, Alexia Coraan. The elderly woman was the daughter of a Valaisan Merchant family that moved to Coraspia some time ago.

"Such a lovely sight, don't you think Uriel?" Alexia said as Hyperia approached and bowed to the pair. "I would yes my darling dove." Uriel said back to his wife, gently unhitching his arm from her's. He bowed and she curtsied, both flawless, especially considering their age. They were true nobility, effortless in execution, beloved by their people, respected by what few foes they had and immensely influential without expending any of their time to do so. "It is such a pleasure to see you again my dear," Alexia said coming up to Hyperia and taking a hand in her's.

"Yes, too long." Hyperia said to the older woman, who reminded her of her own grandmother. The trio made their way to the palace that overlooked the harbor from high on the cliff side. Once they had arrived, they made their way to one of the balconies overlooking the harbor and jutting out just a bit over the side of the cliff. it was pure stone and seemed ethereal in the soft light of the sun. The crashing of the waves was soothing and seemed to lull Hyperia into a calm as it reminded her of home.

"So my dear, what do we own the pleasure of your arrival here to?" Alexia said a smile on her face. Hyperia cursed herself that she had to be the harbinger of bad news, devastating news really, but it was necessary as she was going to need to ensure the grain supply for the Imperium and to pretty much buy every steed that Coraspia had. The Chevaliers and other soldiers needed horses for war, and Valais needed them sooner than later, lest they face a grave situation like Neermar.

"The Geshkhanate has crossed into Neermar with a million men, or there abouts." She said. The Duchess' face paled and the Duke started coughing a bit because he had been sipping some water when she said that. "I'm here to ensure that your state will remain neutral in the Civil War and to ask if I could purchase all your steeds except those needed for breeding." Hyperia added. She watched the pair share a look of concern and without a word, Duchess Alexia stood and with a curtsie that was again flawless departed to the depths of the palace to take care of business.

Recovering the Duke stood and looked out over his city, his lands and then the ocean. "I guess it was only a matter of time." he said turning back to Hyperia and offering a nod. "Neutrality is where we were going to remain anyhow. No need to drag my people into a civil war when I haven't done that over the course of my reign. As for the steeds, I can give you what we have, we will need compensation at a later date." He said sitting back down and smiling as his wife returned with a scrolls. The Duke looked it over and affixed his seal to it after signing it. He handed it to Hyperia. "The contract." He stated and smiled. Duchess Alexia was quick with her writing and it looked effortless.

"Thank you your grace," Hyperia said with a smile. "I would like to remain her for a few days before returning home." She asked warranting a nod from the Duke and the Duchess smiled. This would be a much needed rest period for her now that her mission had succeeded with relative ease.

@Nateorious


fZc6lgz.gif


The air was thick with the smell of burning oil, flesh and wood. The sun seemed blotted out from how dark and thick the smoke was. At least the smoke covered sky made it a bit cooler than it was normally at this time of day, though the group didn't really find it very amusing. The Geshkhanate's forces had moved through this area only a few days prior, and these scouts were part of the various parties out to survey their enemy. No real fight had occurred, the only Legion on the border had been wiped out overnight. The cities nearest to the entry point had all been burned and destroyed. Their forts occupied and their castles dismantled. The enemy was not here to occupy land, more to destroy than to take.

Neermar was at war with an enemy of the Imperium, at the same time the Imperium was tearing itself apart from within. Rather desperate times, and sure this would make its way into the history books. How the Imperium nearly fell. Least that's what it would read if the Imperium some how pulled a victory out of a hat. At this point, all that would likely do is halt the advance of the Geshkhanate, not end the war like it had in the past. Initial reports had suggested two hundred and fifty thousand men. That was wrong, and the scouts had only been able to give an estimate as the true number would not be known. One million Geshkhanate soldiers had crossed into Neermar. An Imperial Province which had only four Legions at it's disposal, all but one of which had been recalled to Imperia weeks ago. Now Ullrian Fannos, the King of Neermar, with General Varin Settani made ready the defenses of Neermar's capital, the formidable Citadel of Malred. Yes, rising out of the dunes of Neermar stood Malred, situated on seven fresh water springs, with three tiered walls each sixty-feet high, with defensive siege weapons and other engines atop them to ward off attackers. It would fall without reinforcements, but would hold off the enemy for some time.

"Let's go. Time to report back." Erros said to his companions. The group mounted their steeds and made a beeline for Malred. The city was buzzing with activity as levies poured in from the countryside, though refugees numbering in the tens of thousands were pouring into the massive city as well. This was going to be a bloodbath should the enemy enter the city. Already the people cursed the Lord Regent for allowing this to happen, and Neermar had been staunchly loyalist prior to the invasion. Now? Now they would bless whoever actually came to their defense, they would likely support whoever could spare them from the Geshkhanate, though hope seemed in short supply. A light had come though, Ostmar to the East, Roven to the North and Valais to the North as well had all opened their borders to refugees and promised reinforcements. How quickly they came would determine the fate of hundreds of thousands of innocents.​
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Deacon

Iron Glory

"I'm moving Salem. Why does Master Azazel need me so urgently anyhow?" Salem remained silent. The two moved through the city streets quickly and quietly. Usually they would have moved via the rooftops or through Clandestine's tunnel's if they were still active. Such open movement was beginning to get to him. The matter of his disarming was also getting to him. They traveled until they reached a large open alleyway. The shadows blanketed the ally from the light. A single torch light reminded Deacon where they were. One of the old entrances to Clandestine. Deacon pressed forward, Salem right behind him. He squinted to make out anything he could see in the darkness. At the last second he spotted a dark figure move, just as the stinging of being striked set in upon his cheek. Deacon fell backwards onto the stone street. "What..? What is the meaning of this?" "You have failed to preform Deacon." Deacon's heart stopped, his skin turning an icy white. Azazel. "Master Azazel, wh.. what have I done to displease you?"





Azazel stepped out into the torch light. Sojourn and Esmeree stood at his side. The Wandering Devil stood tall and powerful over Deacon. He shook in fear, not only because the wrath of Azazel was upon him, but he had no idea as to why. "You were tasked with delivering the message of Clandestine to the Dukes and Duchesses of Valais." "I did as you asked of me." "Wrong!" Azazel barked, sending Deacon scrambling backwards. "In your form of... delivery... you started this chain that resulted in our loss of Clandestine. You brought down the hammer than nailed our coffin shut." "I... I am sorry, Master Azazel. I only acted as I thought was to your liking. I beg of your forgiveness!" Azazel chuckled, sending a ghostly chill down Deacon's spine. It even seemed to rattle his companions that stood watching. "Oh, you deserve far more than my forgiveness Iron Glory." Deacon swallowed hardly. "I don't understand..." "In your failure you have managed to produce a silver... no, rather a golden lining. The Lady Hyperia had granted us rule over a duchy. One far more useful to us than even the tunnels of Val Calias." "Oh and Master Azazel is now a... Oh wait. Can't say it." Deacon blinked. In his failure, Master Azazel had been promoted to a Duke and given the land to harbor the people of Clandestine. Even in his error, he had managed to save himself. Deacon sighed of relief. "I am grateful I managed to correct my mistake. I promise you Master Azazel I will not fail you again."





Azazel nodded, satisfied with Deacon's choice words. "You won't. Or else you'll only have one chance left in this world as well. Now then, we have work to do." "We have a new Clandestine! I would dance a merry jig if I could. Oh how our wise and mighty lord and savior prevails in guarding us once more!" "Quite. We are at your beck and will Lord Azazel." "Woohoo! We've got a new home!" Azazel grinned. That smile had always managed to creep into the nightmares of Deacon's thoughts. Azazel turned to face his faithful servants. "First things first, we move out the people of Clandestine to our new Clandestine." "I can handle organizing this Vth Legion to do as required of us. Surely they must have some use." "Good. Esmeree. Sojourn. Get to organizing the people of Clandestine. Prepare them for departure, as well as organizing our agents harbored in Val Calais. We all move for our new home." "We will do as your will asks of us Lord Azazel." "If Sojourn doesn't die first! Haha!" Azazel smirked. Everything was going to his liking. He turned to look down at Deacon, sending shivers crawling back up his spine. "You, Deacon. You will do as you do best. Hunt down more useful agents for me. This Vth Legoin will only be useful for so long. We need our own militia. Especially with war on the brink. Pick through the residents of Clandestine. Don't fail me." Azazel extended his hand to help him up. Deacon grinned and took it. This was his chance to redeem himself in the eyes of his Master. "It shall be done, Master Azazel. You will be pleased. I promise."

@Maven​
 
Three days have passed since the messenger delivered the scroll with Legate Titus Rhen's orders, information and, promotion. Three days have passed, and Belisarius has done everything he could, perhaps even more, to pull every single man under the Fifteenth Legion banner to return back to Filis's headquarters. All operations within the Filis Disputed Lands attended by the Fifteenth Legion have been canceled, and orders to return back immediately have been spread. Within three days, almost the entire legion returned back, by the orders of Legate Belisarius. Belisarius informed Marcus and Tribune Asger of the current affairs. Belisarius ordered Asger to remain with his cohort, while Marcus took care of the preparations for the long march. Belisarius had one more thing to accomplish before they departed away. He walked among the legion, glaring on both sides, at the men who stood proudly, bravely and disciplined, in formation. He glared at the men, at their faces, who carried many scars, proof of the difficulties they faced within these hostile sands, within these shadowing figures who would do anything to harm them in any way possible.


'Comrades!' he yelled, loud and clear. 'Proud sons of the Imperium! Brave soldiers of the Fifteenth Legion!' he continued, walking towards the front of the legion. 'We have fought, together! We watched each others back, all this time! We have lost many, many, many good friends! In this land. On these sands!' his voice disappeared suddenly.


He was no longer between the ranks of legionnaires. Now. Now Belisarius was in front of the legion, with most men looking at him, others, just in front, but listening closely. And carefully.


'Unfortunately, the sacrifices we have made here. Are but in vain! It is not because of us! But because of those politicians, hungry for power and filled with greed and lust, with a hunger so big that now its tearing our Imperium apart! Civil war is not knocking at our door's step. No! It's kicking the door open and enters to slap us face front, on the cheek and treat us like nothing! And it is us who have to fight and die, for them, for this! But we have swore an oath! To serve and protect the Imperium! And no man, no woman, no politician, no lord regent and definitely NO emperor will stand in our way in doing our sacred duty, for if we do not, we shame our ancestors, who have built this powerful and outstanding Imperium, so we can live in peace! But enemies lurk on all corners. Those desert devils. You know who I am talking. Those camel riders, those bastards used this opportunity, where we are now at our weakest, divided. To attack us! As part of our duty, we must stop them! We must defend what is rightfully ours and do what we must in doing so. As I have said when I was given command of this powerful legion, I will say it once more. I do not promise you that I will bring everybody alive back home! By the Divines, I doubt that I will live to share the tale. But no matter what happens, remember! We are all together in this. Look for each other as you have done, as always. We march! To Valais! Then to war! For the Emperor! For the Imperium! For the Fifteenth Legion!' Belisarius yelled, smashing his fist on his chest, loud and clear, followed by his men in gesture and enthusiasm.


There were some things Belisarius should have not said, but he never lied to his legion, and he wouldn't start doing so. This legion made him the man he is, it trusted him, and he will not break that trust. The following day, the Fifteenth Legion left the Filis Disputed lands, perhaps ending the Imperial rule over the sands there, leaving the cities on their own, for anyone with power for the taking. Some citizens grabbed their belongings and followed the legion along the road, too afraid to remain and defend themselves, alone. Others perhaps celebrated the departure of the Imperium, satisfied that their doings have finally drove the Imperium out of their homes. Legate Belisarius left for the city of Vermillion, located in the south of Valais, where he would rendezvous with Legate-Marshal Celaarian and perhaps, finish this war that was set upon them. If the Divines wish it so, of course.
 
The window by the port-side of the vessel was a small little thing that offered only a tiny glimpse of what was outside. It was mostly covered with debris and large blobs of water that muddled the scarce view given but Irisviel didn't mind, for her thoughts wandered else where. She rested her soft head by the wall next to the window as she contemplated on what was to come. Corospia was getting nearer with every second and the meeting with its leaders was coming closer and closer by the minute. It would be the first time she would hold a tete-a-tete with a notable figure without the guidance of her older sister. Yes, in the past, the Queen of the North did teach her in the ways of politicking, but never has she engaged in a combat of words against the infamous nobles of the southern region, to debate against the fabled creators of the Great Game, against true savants of words and rhetoric. She was frightened to say the least, but at the same time, excited at the prospect. Even though Corospia was only a few miles away from her frozen homeland, the land itself offered something new for the young girl like a fresh warm summer breeze that seldom reach the borders of her icy province. It was refreshing and greatly needed for a lass that craved for adventure, though she wished it wasn't under such political circumstances. Ever since she was a young girl, all she had wished for was to roam from one province to the next, to experience what each had to offer than later explore other countries and regions. She did not wish for all of this, to become a player of the Great Game.


She sighed silently as she remembered her older sister's parting words, "Make me proud."


"Make her proud... Pffft" The young lass whispered. "I love you Mary, but I don't know if I can do this..." She doubted as she hugged herself tighter.


"Oi! Me'lady. We've arrived!" said a rather unnecessarily loud man who banged at the intricate Danthivan wooden door.


"oh ok-um, coming!" She replied sweetly as his words shook her from thought.


She removed herself from the side of the ship and paced around in the heavily decorated room with one hand crossed whilst tracing with her free delicate fingers on the leather love seat. The Duke of Davennor is a rich man. She thought to herself. She than shook her head to silence her thoughts and began her preparations on what was more important, the meeting. "Oh yeah, back to the meeting...Hello your lordship... no, no, no, that's not right. Your grace? Is that it? Maybe... hmmm." She traversed around the room for a few more seconds and then a second loud knock came again from the other side of the wooden door.


"Miss, we're here!" He said impatiently.


"One more minute please!" She replied. "Ok, Mary mode..." She whispered to herself as she nicknamed her hopefully-adequate new personality after her infamous sister. She gave herself one last look from the ornate mirror and skipped to the door and then suddenly correcting herself knowing Mara would never skip. "Ok ready! -er I mean, I am ready." She said with her best effort in mimicking her sisters cold voice though failing miserably. She opened the door and marched forward with her head held high and her eyes fixed in a glare. Others around her grimaced at the look, not out of fear, but more nonplused than anything else. Irisviel thought of their reaction as the former and smiled as a result. She continued to stride forward rather awkwardly as she entered the carriage that was waiting for her. Once she was inside, she relaxed and sighed superfluously as she sat on the soft cushions.


"Do I bow and then shake hands? or do I shake hands then bow? Uncle said if it's a man, slap him on the back while giving him your biggest smile...but I don't think Mary would like that... Bow, I'll do that instead. No, curtsy, no, bow... oh I'll just bend over, same thing... wait! do I..." She continued to murmur more to herself and as moments passed by, she finally arrived at the home of the Duke and his wife. Irisviel was still in heavy debate with herself until the door swung open to usher in bright light. The young girl shielded her eyes then recovered, smiling at her guards and then exiting the vehicle absent of grace and poise. "Oops..." She whispered to herself.


The young girl looked around then whispered something to her guard. "Do I wait or do I just go?" The man didn't reply. Great, she thought.


The young lass walked slowly as she once again, gawked at her surroundings. "Wow... amazing..." she said out loud. "Wonder if they have cake..."





@Maven
 

Azazel


The Silver Tongued Sinner
​



The Wandering Devil found himself once again wandering. Though this time it was through the veins that ran through his new citadel. He had been mapping out every hallway, memorizing each and every nook and cranny their new home harbored. In the few days Sojourn, Esmeree, and Salem had been organizing moving the people of Clandestine to the citadel, Azazel had been exploring the vast majority of the citadel. The possibilities he could come up with were becoming endless. One thought continued to ring in his head. "Perfect for you to restore, and a strong place should you need to make a stand." Those words had been picking at Azazel's mind ever since they were uttered. Would their New Clandestine really be a place of war in the oncoming conflicts? Most people would happily bunker down in a place such as this. Azazel had always hated being out in the open for long. A giant mountain fortress of a duchy stuck out like a sore thumb. The City of Shadows brought into the light. The thought stabbed at him more than most things that had been taking up his time lately.


"Master Azazel." Azazel jumped slightly. He cursed himself for allowing himself to be caught off guard. "Apologies, I had no intention of.." "It's fine, Salem. You have something to report, yeah?" "The residents of Clandestine are finally being moved out to the citadel. This legion is nearly useless at organizing a simple transport. Without my overseeing, this surely would have been far longer delayed." "As always I can have faith in your ability to preform. Well done Salem." "You seem troubled, Master Azazel." Azazel sighed. This answering questions thing had become less enjoyable with each passing day. He turned to Salem, standing with the posture of a soldier. She was possibly the most routine and organized of their outcast band of rouges. "While you have time free of preparations of Clandestine, I need you to prepare a message." "Whom to?" "Gregrr, Fjolda, and Sifr Ebdon in the High Marches." Salem looked to him questioningly. He could feel her gaze attempting to pierce the veil of his mind. Azazel made a point to make sure such looks stared into a mirror. "Why are such people important, hailing all the way from the High Marches?" "You could say I came upon a dealing with them far more unique than any other. One that I feel I need to be more protective over. Write to them asking them to come to Valais and more specifically New Clandestine." "Mmm. Very well. Anything else you would have me specify in the letter?" "Yes, one thing. Sign it from Azazel Ebdon." Azazel figured if Salem had the self-control of Esmeree, her jaw would have hit the floor. Salem nodded wide eyed, before shifting to a more lame posture and smirking. "It will be done, Master Ebdon." "It's Azazel to everyone other than those three. Are we clear?" His voice was commanding as usual, but had a certain quip of warmth. For once, his smile wasn't that of the devil, and more that of a man. That managed to surprise Salem the most. She couldn't help but smile at this new side of her leader. "Clear, Master Azazel."
 

Legate Belisarius,


A troubled man
​




Soon after Belisarius left Filis, the Fifteenth Legion rendezvous with the Fourteenth Legion in the very west of Astanor, where they continued their journey towards south of Valais, together and prepared for what is to come. But were they really prepared for what is to come? Was Belisarius prepared to face the horde of desert rats knocking at their very doorsteps, on their bedrooms, to wake them up and disturb their prolonged sleep of comfortable and beautiful lies, of lust of power and material gain, and the Rebels, who have decided to shatter the Imperium for their own gains, for their own favors. Belisarius always asked himself, put himself in their position, attempting several times in understanding them, on why. Why would they do this? Who would come in the Lord Regent's place? Another individual, who in a few years might become a perfect replica of the Lord Regent? The Emperor is young, too young to rule. Thus, he needs a regent. But who? Who would do their duty fair and square, without being sucked in by the corruption of the Imperium? Who would stand for what is right, if there is anything right left in this Imperium, an Imperium Belisarius struggled to protect and make himself an example of what the Imperium is capable of, but in the end, those with power, not only military, but financially, rule the Imperium and do as they please. And those who dare walk in their path? Victims of this corrupted world. Like Belisarius. No doubt her family would support the Lord Regent. No doubt they would be loyal. No doubt, that deep in his heart, Belisarius would do almost anything to crush her family for what they have done to him. To humiliate him in front of other nobles, to shame his family and to ruin his career. Perhaps, when they have thrown him away from the luxury the Imperial Heartlands offered, they would have expected Belisarius to die, to give up, to surrender. Perhaps they do not know about him, how he reached the rank of Legate. Or perhaps they do, but do not care less. Or perhaps they prepare themselves to take him down, for he might have some vengeful thoughts in his skull? Perhaps.


Marcus rode with haste towards Belisarius, to get close to him and to awaken the young, troubled Legate from his sea of thoughts, from his day-dreaming, from his sorrows. The man, who has been like a brother to Belisarius, who is loyal to him beyond question, who trusts him and always supports him no matter what. This bond they share, it is the result of a life lived in ruthlessness, in darkness, in blood and chaos. No doubt they became good friends. No doubt most of the Fifteenth Legion is not only loyal to Belisarius, but to themselves. They shared their troubles, together. And they will do it again.


'Belisarius.' Marcus spoke, breaking the heavy silence. 'Where do we stand?' he asked, which Belisarius returned a confused look upon Marcus. 'In this civil war. Where do we stand, sir?'


'We stand with the Imperium, friend. Not the Rebels, not the Loyalists. But with the Imperium. If one of them threatens to ruin the Imperium, we will fight against them.' Belisarius answered, never giving Marcus a single glance.


'What if both sides threaten the Imperium?' Marcus asked, curious and desperate for meaningful answers. But Belisarius remained silent. No words came out, nothing. Nothing but emptiness. So empty, that Marcus sighed and slowed down his horse's pace.


'Then we fight both of them.' Marcus answered, in a whisper. But the answer was not for Marcus, but for himself. A plan, or an action he prepared to do in case this happened. 'Divines, hear my words.' he said, looking up, at the big, wide, blue sky. 'I beg of you, end this madness, end this useless civil war and make this invasion vanish. I beg of you, save the Imperium from this madness.' Belisarius prayed. But deep inside, he knew that the Divines wouldn't stop this. No, he knew that the Divines enjoyed watching mortals play their sickening games. If they cared, they would have never let this happen in the first place.


Belisarius's legions marched throughout Astanor, passing through villages and cities, grabbing supplies whenever and wherever they could. He tried to enlist a few men into his legions, to fill the ranks, to prepare more, unofficially. The more days passed, the closer he got. The closer he got, perhaps, to his death. But he will do whatever he can, from the bottom of his soul, from the core of his bones, to stop all of this. In his mind, he rested the Imperium's troubles on his shoulders, although it wasn't him who had to worry so much about it. He would soon arrive in Valais.


 


Guests


​



One of the guards immediately called the party to a halt. Someone was approaching it seemed. Looked like a local Jarl, too few men to have traveled far so likely the one whose land they were either about to leave or about to enter. "Dismount!" Called Valiorus as they approached. The men dismounted from their stout horses, more akin to ponies then horses, especially by the standards of those closer to the centre of the Imperium but they did the job and they were not intended for battle. In essence they were work horses.


If this meeting was between southern dukes or lords then all the guards would have been battle ready and on edge, uptight little buggers thought the king. But up here in the wastes of the north, beautiful though they were, lords were on much more equal footing and so such a meeting would be much more relaxed, guards not even drawing weapons or unslinging shields from their back. The good King Valoirus stepping out in front of his men, he too unarmed, "Hail brother! To what do we owe this visit?" He called.


SORRY MAN, SO GOD DAMN SORRY! @EmperorConnor Shall we continue this over in IC 2? Also want to PM the convo?
 

2xMHolf.gif





Several weeks of preparation, and the only good news was that the Geshkhanate forces were settling into the siege of Malred, and that they had actually broken into four equal sized armies. Two had broken off and were moving towards Ostmar. Fortunately Fifteen Legions had been assembled there and were prepared for the enemy forces. One army had been sent to scare Roven into submission. They had only one legion, and that had been sent to Vermillion to rendezvous with the others. Roven was open to attack and the enemy had decided to capitalize on this. It was a necessary stall in time though, and Roven would be left to their own devices for now.


The Legions under Legate Bellisarius had arrived only a few hours prior. That made it fourteen Legions in total that had assembled in Vermillion. While the Geshkhanate would have numerical superiority, the Legions possessed superior training and equipment.


Legate-Marshal Celaarian who had taken supreme command of all the Legions was still in Val Calais acting as Regent for Valais for the time being as Queen Hyperia was away on business. Instead the command of the Legions fell to Legate-Marshal Errius from the Imperial Province of Pythia, to assemble. A task he was more than capable of doing. The man was tall standing at six foot eight, nearly two-seventy in muscle and had a well kept head of short white hair and a very fine white beard. Scars adorned his body and he was proud of them and his service to the Imperium. Even at his age he was more than capable of holding his own, and refused to have more guards than were absolutely necessary, insisting he was one of the men.


He had assembled a string of forts along the border of Valais and Neermar, to house the Vermillion Legions as they were being called. They were not all loyal to the Lord-Regent, they were not all loyal to the Rebel Lords, no but one thing for sure was that they were all loyal to the Imperium. It was what they would fight and die to protect, the bastions of the people, defenders of the faith and guardians of the state. They were the Imperial Legions and they would be the first and last lines of defense against this menace from the Sea of Dunes. It would be these men and women that would fight to the end to protect what they believed and it would be their officers standing shoulder to shoulder with their men that would rally them if they broke, and lead the attacks.


Legate-Marshal Errius had sent a messenger to the Legates, Generals and other high ranking officers in charge of one or more Legions to assemble in his headquarters and they were to discuss strategy. This was to be when the fate of the Southern Imperium was decided, here when they made their stand. The Legions would make their stand and that would be the end of all things, they would either break the tide of their foes or they would be swept up in the storm.




@NorbertM​
 

Azazel


The Silver Tongued Sinner


Azazel paced along the balcony railing, watching as the last few caravans of people came to a halt before the citadel. Despite Salem's description of the Vth Legion, they seemed to be handling themselves adequately. Their extra hands would aid in rebuilding New Clandestine. How far they would be willing to go once put up to the tasks he had in mind however would determine their true usefulness to him. Azazel blinked in thought, noticing his harsh judgement. He thought back to his outlook as a child, truly believing his sadistic control over his piers was play. Now, fully knowing that what he was doing was morally wrong, nothing had changed. Azazel shook the thoughts from his head. Ever since he considered bringing his adopted family into the picture, these little quips of.. what, a conscious, seemed to appear and increasingly so. He hoped such nonsense would not cloud his judgement come time to act. Especially now.



"Master Azazel!" Salem's voice snapped him out of his conflicted muddling. Azazel glanced over casually, stopping in the middle of the railing and turning to face her. "Ah, Salem. Good. I was just about to hunt you down." Salem shut her gaping mouth. Azazel was unsure of what he did to surprise her so, but whatever it was it seemed to have passed. "Yes, well... What do you require of me?" Azazel hopped down and walked to her, riffling through his cloak and producing a letter. "This entails everything we need done here in the immediate future. See to it that this legion preforms, yeah?" "Is there some reason your leaving this to me rather than handling it yourself?" Salem scanned through the tasks, not looking up to respond. "I'm heading back to Val Calais. I have matters to discuss with our current temporary in-charge. That, and I wish to be there to retrieve my... people-of-interest." Salem looked up at him, smirking annoying up at him. If Salem weren't so tight lipped, Azazel might have just cut them off entirely to spare himself that look. There. Again with the hostility. "I see. Well then, you can rest assured that I will have these dogs of the military trained and working before your return Master Ebdon." Azazel started to scold her for calling him by his last name, but Salem had already left to see to her task. Azazel sighed. He had places to be anyway. Azazel grabbed his satchel and prepared for the journey back to Val Calais.


{~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}

Salem


Silenced Sovereignty

Salem walked quickly and with purpose through the halls of the citadel. She passed various 'Azazel-lings' already in work preparing the citadel to act as their head of operations. Their aims of self-sufficiency were all the closer with each passing minute. Her smirk hadn't yet faded from teasing the master. Never until recently had he ever mentioned anything about his past before coming to Valais. This small fragment of the master's history was to be kept as hidden as he left it. Salem made a point to do so. The thought intrigued her however. Who had raised up the man she and so many others looked up to and many more cowered at the mention of his name? What had they taught him and how had he strayed from it if at all? Would they accept the person he had become? Her questions would inevitably be answered in due time. For now, she was tasked to begin the rebuilding of their new home.




As she stood before the mass of people, of Clandestine and of the legion, Salem caught Deacon and Esmeree overseeing the rallying. Their confused expressions confirmed that they were expecting Azazel. Salem glared in their direction, making it clear that she would explain after all was said and done. "Attention. People of Clandestine, and otherwise, I know the long trip has taxed your energy. The citadel will act as your shelter until a more permanent residency is constructed. The Vth legion has accompanied us in order to aid in said construction efforts." The crowd before her looked up in her direction. They appeared just as confused to see herself over Azazel. A misunderstanding that was to be expected. Even she was unknowing to his leave until just moments before. "As of now, should any of you have questions or concerns, direct them to myself, Salem. Azazel has entrusted me with making sure our New Clandestine's rebuilding is done correctly until he has returned from his business in Val Calais. Speaking of which..." Salem unfolded Azazel's orders, looking for the specific name he mentioned. "One Titus Lexius, I'll need to be speaking with you on the matter at once. That is all. For the Master Azazel and for our home." "For New Clandestine!" Deacon called out from the sidelines, keeping the moral of the crowd up. They began to cheer along with him. Salem began to see why Azazel kept him around. He had his uses in maintaining a charismatic approach with the people. Salem removed herself from the crowd's cheering, leaning against the front doors of the citadel in wait. Hopefully this meeting with this legion commander will be short and sweet.

@Maven​
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 3 (members: 0, guests: 3)
Back
Top