Nations of the Second Age

[Shireling]

Nations of the Second Age
A History in Seven Volumes
Volume IV
By Viktor Mageson​

We have, in previous volumes of this work, touched on the earlier history of the Second Age. Primarily, we have touched on the Magisteri who, in their long and storied history as a people, came to dominate the continent of Enmundi. We will continue to confine our historiography to the continent of Enmundi, which in the Magisteri tongue is the "little world." Bounded on the east by an impassable desert, and to the south by the dense jungle of Moora, Enmundi was a self-contained microcosm well into the Second Age, justifying the name which the wayward sons of Plendar gave it after the Desolation of the First Age.

We begin our treatment of the successor states to the Magisteri in the year 5420 of the Second Age, for it was in this year that the long Concord between the gods had ended (though most of the mortal races of Enmundi did not know it yet). The gods of the Underearth were eager to reestablish their holds on the realms of mortals after long years in the dank dark of the underworld. Meanwhile, the forces of good on the surface of Enmundi were beginning to wane. The worship of Morfus was, it is true, almost a novelty in many parts of the continent — and furthermore any affection for the Ill'Cantori who had shepherded mortals in their darkest days was beginning to fade. Many kingdoms even rose to challenge the gods themselves. But in the midst of great evil and upheaval, there were opportunities for the greatest of the Second Age to prove themselves...

Maimon, the Underearth City of Ploutorio
​

The dark spires of Maimon rose into the cavernous sky above the dark under-city ruled by Ploutorio, the dread god who had harassed the races of mortals for ten thousand years. And for ten thousand years he had ruled the demons of the underground with an iron fist, terrorizing the mortals who would dare to dig too deep, coveting the stores of adamant and gleaming crystal that he grew to entice them below the world. In the five thousand, four hundred and twentieth year of the Second Age, in early autumn, a lieutenant Malacaccio, fresh from a failed campaign against the crystalline Geldeks of the north, approached the throne of Ploutorio.

In the throne room, two red-skinned throne guardians with halberds of gleaming black bronze flanked an enormous pillar of light, red and casting a haunting glow over the black marble of the subterranean palace. Malacaccio, his plate stained with blood not his own and his black hair and goatee glistening with sweat, knelt before the throne in homage. He shut his eyes and waited for the inevitable response.

"You have failed me, Malacaccio. My patience with you grows thin."

"Yes, my lord," coughed Malacaccio nervously.

"And yet, none of my lieutenants have thus far defeated the Geldek in combat. Their magics are, apparently, no match for my legions whose power I cannot supplement with my own." The disembodied voice echoed around the chamber, causing the throne guardians to kneel in reverence. "Thus, I forgive you this failure, and you may take as punishment only the loss of three fingers from the left hand."

One of the guardsmen stepped forward, and at this gesture Malacaccio wordlessly held out his left hand with three fingers extended. Drawing a thin, curved, one-sided blade, the guardsman struck swiftly and severed the fingers which clattered noisily to the floor, still encased in gauntlet armor. Blood spurted from the fingers and onto the stone before the pillar of light which represented Ploutorio's usual form. The demon lieutenant merely held his hand, one in the other, and silently accepted his punishment with little more than a guffaw of surprise.

"I have taken three of your fingers as a memento of the three duties you swore: to me, to my treasures, and to your own death. See to it that all three of these oaths are upheld in the future, with your new assignment."

"Which is, my liege?" Probed Malacaccio.

"A new campaign. The mortals of the north of Enmundi are hardy for now, racked with constant warfare against the lich kings. The south has become rich and fat, perfectly ripe for a bloodletting. Moreover, it is clear to me that..." The voice stopped, as if he was about to give too much information away to a being of lesser rank. "Powers that would see us deposed are growing in the south. I wish to bring them to heel before my 'brothers and sisters' would force us into a precarious situation."

"My lord," Malacaccio began with a mischievous grin already growing on his face, "do you mean to say we will transgress the Concord?"

"No, Malacaccio. We will make my brothers and sisters transgress the Concord. But to do so will require...outside help. You know of the Deoram?"

"Their rapaciousness in Koravor knows no bounds, my liege."

"Yes. I want you to seek them out. But you most go disguised, or you will be discovered. Can I trust this task to you Malacaccio?"

"You can trust any task to me, lord."

"We shall see. Depart from my presence," commanded the voice, and just so Malacaccio left, leaving his three fingers behind with blood trailing out of the throne room. Wordlessly, the guardians were dismissed and a fell wind passed into the room. A column of light, orange and green putrescent, emerged from the open doorway as the owner of a second disembodied voice. "Ploutorio, as you have deduced," said the spirit, "we have reason to believe that the Ancient Power is returning. The warrens entrusted to Carakoccio have been completely destroyed by, of all things, Barding crusaders!"

"Yes, but we cannot let word of this escape," muttered Ploutorio. In a flash, the column of red light coalesced and descended on the metal statue that had heretofore rested in the throne, masked by the pillar of light. The statue was of burnished bronze, with legs of blackened adamant. The featureless face, frozen in a blank grimace, was lightened by the same red light as before. His companion spirit remained disembodied, and the statue spoke with a dark gravity. "We cannot let the ranks of the daemon think that we could not, by the snap of our fingers, conquer the mortal realm. We want them to believe that we allow the mortals to survive only so as to despoil the work of their hard hands and let them breed more playthings for the pleasure gardens. The fact is, the Ancient Power is growing stronger in the west, and in Enmundi. Your tale of crusaders only solidifies the fact in my mind. If we are to act, Ulkuran, it is now. If we do not break the Concord now, it may remain unbreakable."

"But I thought you would not break the Concord?"

"I will lure the Ill to do so, of course, but in truth we both know that it will be I that breaks the Pact. If we allow the Ancient One to return and we have not solidified our hold on this world, there may be no hope left for us, and for our rebellion. We must strike now, while the mortals are weak and disconnected from their old gods and traditions. Surely some may be won to the cause with displays of riches and force?"

"So, you go to the Deoram first?"

"Yes, to crush the Barding Church. If there is no conduit for Him, perhaps it will buy us time. As of yet, we have no reason to fear reprisals, and I have no affection for the hordes of the Deoram. If they perish on those ancient walls, it is of no consequence to us. There is a further project I would have you assist us with, Ulkuran."

"And what is that, mysir?"

"Go to the Lich King of Illthak. His long war on mortalkind has been fruitless, but he is still a valuable ally to keep in one's pocket. I want him to marshal his strength and attack this winter. He must strike hard and directly. The Ill are reclaiming their right over the Galarians and I would prefer them weak and degenerate."

"I will send word at once, my lord. As for my people?"

"Ready them for war in the underdark. The Geldek hold the most direct route for our armies into Enmundi, and Enmundi is the best beachhead for our assault. We must break them if we are ultimately to succeed. No more probing attacks, we must strike hard and quickly, and preferably while the iron of mortal conflict on Enmundi is glowing hot."

Winter 5420, North of the Tulian Confederacy
​

They descended like a tidal wave, in greater numbers and with a rapidity heretofore unseen. No scouts, no probing attacks. The palisade-walled settlement of Durgan was razed in less than a day with the population still inside, and from the heights at the source of the Blue River, Tulian scouts counted the numbers of their hosts. Ten thousand, fifty thousand, one hundred thousand. Revenants and reanimated corpses flying the black and white banner of Illthak. They descended on the frozen northlands with voice in their icy jaws, calling for all who would harken to the siren song of death.

The quest of the grave is done!
The army of the grave hath come!
The triumph of death hath come!

Winter 5420, The Galarian Palace
​

"You must wait!" Cried the guardsman, but the messenger ran on, breathless, gasping for air. He ran past the whole of the citadel guard into the very chamber of government.

"I must, speak, to Consul Marius!" The messenger gasped, his torn Tulian garments stained with blood and other questionable, black and ichorous, fluids. Bursting into the Consul's chamber, the messenger threw himself at the feet of Marius Galarius and, promptly, ceased to breathe. In his hand, the rolled up letter stamped by the military government of the Tulian Confederacy, when pried out, read as follows:

We request urgent aid at once. The Undead of Illthak are upon us. One hundred thousand strong. Baring down on Tublika. The Temple of Halaria is under threat of siege. Send reinforcements immediately. The gods will smile kindly on those who aid their brothers. -General Illurian Tulius

Winter 5240, The Camps of the Deoram
​

Walking in the armed camps of the Deoram, flying banners of the dusty Southern Desert, a hooded figure passed without the notice of others, shrouded in dread magics. The camp of Buras Ur’ull was outfitted for war on mortals, and the tent of Buras Ur'ull was therefore empty save the warlord himself. The flap opened and closed without his noticing, and suddenly a figure sprang into view out of the air before him. Clad head to foot in dark armor, the face a dark shade of greyish red and full of reserved malice, the hair and goatee black as pitch, the eyes red as burning coals. Malacaccio knelt and paid the warlord of the Deoram homage.

"Leader of the Deoram," he said by way of address, "will you listen to the message of my Dread Sovereign, Ploutorio the Underking?"

 

[Selee-01]

The Obsidian Palace, Winter 5240

Emperor Archibald

The Old Wyrm is napping on the balcony when his daughter arrives. Archibald wakes to a dragon’s roar, as Emma and her husband Charles soar over the horizon. Their sons are with them, Little Archibald, Harold and Myos. The Obsidian Palace, ancestral hall of dragons, shakes when they land. Five of the cattle yards are given over to the hunger of dragons.

Emma, green-yellow and thick with muscle in her scales, blasts the entire yard. The cattle are swiftly devoured, black fangs smashing through bone and flesh with ease as yellow flames devour hair and hide.

Charles is more dainty than his wife, snapping up a single cow at a time. Black fire fries his meal, searing the meat to perfection.

The children are smaller, too small to eat more than one steer per meal. Little Archibald almost takes a second, but his father warns him off with a growl.

Once his daughter’s gluttony is sated, she and her brood soar to the broad balcony. Yellow fire flares and she stands in mortal shape, dressed in a coat of her own shed scales. A blade of dragonbone, Char, hangs at her side. Her husband and sons do the same. The Princess is tall and corded with muscle, and despite bearing three sons is still lean. Emma brushes aside a black hair, and smiles.

“Hello, Father. It is so good to see you once again.” Archibald smiles a dragonbone grin, once-white teeth gleaming black.

“And you as well, daughter.”

***

After the greetings, the wife of the Emperor descends from the angled roofs of the Palace. Lady Rose went to scales years ago, red as blood. Her golden eyes are all the hint that she once walked as a woman.

She sniffs the princes, rumbling in approval at each of her grandsons. They stand still, frozen in fear and reverence for their grandmother. Then Rose takes wing, ascending to her place on the towers. Prince James, the Dragonmad as some call him (out of the Emperor’s hearing) soars in the distance.

Archibald wishes to take wing as well, to shed the aches and pains of mortal flesh forever and abandon his realm. But if he does, war will rage. His second son, Harrison, the Sun Prince, would rip the realm to pieces to attain the throne.

He should arrive shortly.

***
Sun Prince Harrison

He rises on golden wings, dancing like his twin sister never can. He knows the winds above Faircourt, and which will bear him quickly to the Palace. Soon the white towers vanish, and the inky mass of the Obsidian Palace looms.

Jon has wanted to come with him to the feast. Harrison had dissuaded him.

“My father does not want you there,” he’d said. “Besides, it’s family only. Even Myos’s bastards can’t come. You’d never like the Palace anyway. It’s sweltering all year, and my forefather’s skulls are all over the place.”

Jon had sulked, but accepted it. Even if they were of a height in mortal shape, Harrison made him a gnat in scales. And now he swooped over the black, angled stone, and lighted in an inner courtyard. In a flash, he was in mortal shape once more. The Cormen servants are shouldered past, as their Sun Prince enters the Throne Room.

Nigh one hundred skulls line the black walls of the Palace. Here, only the skulls of the Emperors and Kings of eld are allowed. The space is large enough for dragons to walk it, and so he takes scales once more. His raspy breathing is drowned by his father’s deep rumbling.

The White Wyrm is in his scales, pink wings folded to support his bulk. He is coiled at the far end of the hall, before the towering throne. It is an angular, brutal seat, of the same fused black stone of the rest of the citadel, with a set of dragon’s jaws looming on its summit. Above is the skull of the First Dragon, twice as large as the second-biggest head.

“Hello, Father,” he hisses in dragontongue. “My Emperor.”

Archibald rears up painfully, lips curling back to reveal obsidian fangs longer than spears. White-hot smoke seeps between his teeth.

“You stink of Kerys. I have warned you time and again to set him aside, and yet you further sully yourself with one not of the blood.”

“He is none of your concern, my Emperor. Dragons can have their toys, after all.”

“Kerys is an embarrassment to the Throne and the Crown. Take a wife of the blood, and make little dragons if you want to succeed me. Without heirs, Emma is the superior choice.”

“That Pissfire She-Dragon? She is hated. I speak with the commoners. They only know her as an ugly yellow beast that devours their flocks in a vain attempt to become even larger. I am loved. Even Grace knows it to be true. You remember Grace? The most graceful of your daughters.” Harrison laughs a dragon’s laugh, deep as the sea, fiercer than a volcano, and filled with fire. His sun-bright flames light up the dark hall, and leave a storm of smoke behind. Archibald is not amused.

“Until I forsake flesh forever, I am EMPEROR, not you. Nor Emma. No matter Grace’s ideas, you are but a second child. Emma has four dragons at her side day and night. Even you should be ill-pressed if you strike at her.“ The Emperor bared the white flames in his throat, grated by black fangs. Harrison only snorts, and leaves the hall.

A deer from the Dragonwood sates his hunger.

For now.

***

That evening, the Royal Family congregates in the heart of the Palace, seating themselves on the chairs arranged around the feast table. Platters of meat and fruit are brought by Cormen servants, many of whom are sweating from the heat of the hearths.

The dragonlords have no such qualms. Their blood runs with fire.

The aging Emperor rises, raising a hand for silence. His fingers are long and webbed with age, and his fingernails curl into talons.

“I am pleased to see my children and grandchildren once more. I have called all of you to discuss the state of our great Empire.
“Drachen has a long and noble history. We have never been conquered, and for long years we have not been conquerors. For long years, we have been isolated, wrapped up in our own intrigues and feuds. In a way, we are blessed by our isolation, for no dragonlord has perished on the field of war since the Mad Prince tore our Empire apart.
“This cannot last. My blood, my heirs, I have heard disturbing reports from the Northern lands. I have heard of armies of undead marching. Of war, ravaging our northern neighbors. Mayhaps it is naught. I shall not take that chance.
“We are dragons. And dragons do not hide in the distance and circle like vultures. We hunt with fire and might, and break all threats to our own. So I will send one of you, my children, to ascertain these dark rumors.”

These words send a murmur through the assembled dragonprinces and princesses. James mutters something to Harrison, and he smirks. Emma frowns, golden eyes narrowing. Grace simply nods, as if she expected this from the start. Charles looks to his wife, and taps his fingers on the stone table. His sons are busy eating, only Little Archibald understanding what has passed.

“Well,” Harrison says with a smile. “I’ve always wanted to see the world. I’ll gladly go.”

“You will take a contingent of Fiery Swords,” Emperor Archibald replies. “Five, to attend to you. And you are to go as an ambassador, not a fighter. Arrange alliances where possible. And remember to be polite, no matter the customs they demonstrate.” Harrison nods in assent.

***
Weeks later, Harrison takes wing from Faircourt, five Fiery Swords chained to his back.

The Highway Confederation awaits.
Shireling

 

[Shireling]

Winter 5240, Dondaravia, Enensur, Solicazia
​

"My old man, Teo! I know you've got a pretty pair of Goblets in with that Ace."

"Stuff it, Andre, you're drunk," Captain Salvicci said through an exhausted grin at his First Officer and longtime Yukra partner. The card game was not going well, Teodoro thought as he limply dropped the Eight of Cups and the Nine of Swords on the table, only for the bloviated, drunken Grummere that he sat across the table from to chuckle in the back of his throat.

"Ah, O Captain, my Captain, you are truly an amphibian's best friend," he quipped, picking up the pile of cards and with it the pile of Solicazian crowns which he stuffed unceremoniously in his coinpurse. Putting his three-cornered hat on his bald, slimy head, the Grummere gave the hat a slight tip, although just enough to smack Andre in the face with its prodigious plume. Andre, nonplussed about losing his coin, immediately rose to his feet, towering over the portly frog-man by a decent foot and a half. The Grummere glanced briefly towards the door, then to Teo, then back to Andre, who by now was glowering and asking for a fight.

Mercifully, Teo stepped in and ended the staring contest. "Alright, toad, take your winnings and clear out. It's almost midnight."

The Captain watched as the Grummere drew in a snotty breath, then swaggered out the door. The only one sober, Teo decided that he would be the one to round up his officer corps who were in various states of drunken debauchery scattered around the rather large portside bar. Going upstairs first, dodging a Galuthran chewing the stem of a pipe in the corner of his mouth and headed down the stairs with a heavy gate, then passing by the woman that chased after him demanding payment for certain services rendered, Teo reached the second floor of the tavern with little trouble. The smell of alcohol, vomit, piss, and sex all combined to make the air uniquely stale and unpleasant. The rooms, clustered together in a claustrophobic hallway, were closed fast so as not to disclose the, frankly, disappointing meetings that were taking place behind the doors. The hallway terminated in a window, which looked out on the bay. The only sound and smell that reminded Teo of something even remotely comforting were the waves and the salt in the port city air. Searching about, he found the door he thought would reveal his Chief Swain, Frederico, and banged on it with the pommel of his sword. The sound of a mattress swaying suddenly stopped.

"Oi, what you want!?" Came a voice from inside.

"City guard, come out with your pecker sheathed!" Teo called back with a chortle.

"Captain, uh, five minutes."

"Five minutes till you're back on the ship. Sounds good, see you there."

"Godsdamnit, Captain Salvicci, I'm..." But Teo was already on to the next hallway, rounding up his Chief Navigator and Quartermaster who were, naturally, sharing sea stories with a few young sailors in their room. By midnight, the gang was assembled for the walk back to the HMS Quicksilver, which floated over the harbor at moor for the winter. A few lights stood out on the deck from the sentinels, but otherwise no sign of life could be detected onboard the craft.

"So how much did your night with the Silvi cost you, Frederico?" The Captain asked, glancing sideways at his Swain.

"You're just salty, mysir," Frederico said back with a snigger, "because you haven't had a woman touch you in a fortnight. I reckon we'll be hearing you call after them fish women before we're done winterin' in port. Or maybe, sending back to call on Oph—" Frederico stopped dead, both talking and walking, and for a tense moment there was silence. Then a hiccup. The men laughed and went on.

"Yes, I might call on Ophelia, but not for a romp in one of these oh so classy establishments you seem so fond of, Fredo. No," Teo grew quiet at the thought, so much so that the other men stopped laughing at their own jokes and listened. Matteo, the older Quartermaster with thick sideburns and a downcast look, began to work a small, earnest smile on his lips. He glanced from the others back to Teo: "That man is a marryin' man, fellas. Ophelia Rezanotti found the one man in the whole Royal Navy who weren't no scoundrel."

"Aye, I'll raise a glass to Mister and Missus Captain Teo's future happiness!" Said Fredo, raising a non-existent glass, tipping it bottom's up, and promptly stumbling drunkenly backwards onto the paving stones. Matteo caught him and hauled him up, allowing them all back onto the ship together.

The sentinel, a bright-faced lad of eighteen, held up a lantern and inspected each of the men as they came aboard. "Welcome back, Captain. This came for you while you were away. A royal envoy sent this, I suppose."

Teo took the letter, sealed with the Royal Navy seal and stamped with His Majesty's personal crest. He hastily took it back to his cabin, where he opened it and it read as follows:

My esteemed Captains of the Fleet,

I request you to sail immediately for Lucrezia when this letter arrives for you, to join with the wider fleet. We are scheduled to sail on the 17th of this month, therefore it is imperative that you sail quickly as soon as you receive this missive. We will be taking hostile action upon sailing from Lucrezia, details to be forthcoming upon your arrival. Furthermore, I order you to burn this letter.

Godspeed, and Morfus guide you,
Providentially yours,
His Majesty King Vanian

 

[Royalblue127]

Winter 5240, Senate Chambers, Galaria, 2nd Galarian Republic​

Marius looked tiredly on the collection of robed men and women, as shouts filled the Curia Agusta's amphitheater. His gaze fell on the curved wall opposite him, the towering heights of marble a hotbed of activity. where once murals of Republican armies marching against the dead of Gurad'Nur had displayed proudly by scenes of Livia Agustas discovery of the Drema, there were only the portraits of vain men with crowns and shaved derevs. He watched the scribes as they painted over the stern faces, musing on the Irony of men that painted over history were being replaced by what was there before. A rough nudge from Felix shook him from his reverie, forcing him to look down onto the forums floor.

A frustrated senator met his gaze, curling derevs framing a red face. "As I was trying to tell you Consul Marius, the city can barley afford to keep the standing army as it is. Although we have seen renewed interest from the Drema in our people, their blessing has not met by any of our clerics. We made due with magic before, buts its rough and elemental nature is not fit for the task of healing. More died under the magicians fingers than survived to fight on. As it stands, we may win the battle, but we will leave ourselves open to invasion. Our focus should be negotiations from a position of strength, and while it is regrettable that the Temple of Halaria may fall, the dead can't rebuild." Murmers of agreement came from the seats behind her, and Marius opened his mouth to speak as a voice rang from the opposite side of the hall.

"You'd leave our people to die Cellia, from the scourge that we could beat back with ease?" A black haired senator rose from his bench in the back of the assembly, striding quickly down the polished steps to meet his adversary. "We have just regained the favor of our Drema, and you'd spit in their eye! No matter the cost, we must defend our people and our homes from this attack. If we falter in our approach, the dead will simply grow and take us here." His gaze went to the walls where the dreaded armies were appearing, then returned to the Senator across from him. "if we don't support our former people now, even if they survive, the blood will be on our hands from those battles. They will not forgive or forget that easily."

The senators continued to stand mere feet apart, their Derevs nearly touching as their argument continued under the shouting of their supporters. Marius stood, and the hall quieted quickly as he stepped forward from the two seats the consuls held on the floor. "We may not be able to afford this war, Senator Cellia, on that we can agree." As Cellia straightened and smirked at her colleague in triumph, Marius continued. "However, Senator Lucius is also correct, this is not a conflict we can afford to remain apart from. Consul Felix is willing to marshal the Eagle Legion tonight, and set sail with the rest of the army tomorrow." Marius held up a hand as Senator Cellia opened her mouth to reply, stopping her words before they left her throat. "We discussed the letter before the emergency meeting was called, and we stained our hands with the blood of the brave man who brought it to us. Felix and I are in agreement, this is the best way for us to help our brothers and sisters to the north, and prove that we are not our forefathers." His voice filled in power, magic forcing his words to ring throughout the Curia and beyond into the plaza outside. "Will you stand by our people, or doom yourself to shame as the blood of the innocents is spilt!?"

A moment of silence filled the chamber, only the soft tune of a songbird flying by filling the tense moment. Almost as one, the majoity of those on Senator Cellias side stood and moved, their soft footfalls leading to the left. The silent support of the people was shown behind Senator Lucius, and Senator Cellia stood still for a moment, before angrily storming to her bench those that remained shifting away from her. "I see that it's decided." Felix's voice rang clear from his seat, startling those there as he broke his stoic silence. "I will go ready the men." He stood, his solid derevs flashing in the wanning sunlight, and walked out of the archway and the plaza, marching down the street that led to the military encampments in the city.

"Well," Marius walked slowly to his seat, relaxing into it and smiling at the silent Senators. "I believe that is all we need to discuss as a body today, the Senate is closed until tomorrow, please remember to prepare your arguments for the use of touchstones for voting." he waited as the senators filed out, talking idly with the ones that approached him with final remarks, and watched as the doors of the Curia were closed with a subtle *thuum*. His smile dropped then, changing to a tired frown as he stood and walked behind the two seats to a small door, heading through and down a long hall. He stopped and entered a ornate door, passing through a decadent office to a surprisingly simple desk setup, his attendant waiting with a glass of water and a small meal. "Thank you Percival, please fetch the Luminion ambassador." Percival nodded, and exited the room as Marius slumped down with a heavy sigh, grabbing a reed pen and a inkwell. As the Ambassador entered quietly, he looked up from his work and forced a smile again.

"Please don't bother to sit, this won't take long." He finished the letter, sealing it with a wax seal and handing it to the ambassador. "Please have this sent through the embassy, ensure that it is delivered as swiftly as possible. Use a Eagle Rider if you need to."

"Of course sir" the ambassador took the letter in his hands, frowning slightly in puzzlement. "May I ask why we need to contact the Luminion, the shipments of food stuffs have been unimpeded and flow readily."

"We've just entered a war to the north my dear friend, we'll need as much relief supplies and a stable source of food for the soldiers if this is to work. We'll need to buy more, as much as that will annoy the temple of Morgot here."Marius doesn't react to the paling of the ambassador, and brushes his rushed goodbye away as he looks out the window that his office contains. He looks on the harbour, watching as slowly the Dragonflame Ships are filled with supplies and munitions, soldiers swarming the decks and more appearing from the city by the minute. Marius is startled as a sudden wall of feathers blocks his view, a loud screech and a hearty laugh identifying the perpetrator as Felix waves from his mount, before joining the flights on the horizon. The eagles circle the city, before heading north along the river, straight towards the temple of Halaria. Marius frowns mockingly at Felix even though he knows his fellow Consul can't see him, but when his gaze returns to the retreating Eagle Legion any levity leaves the situation. He closes his eyes, and offers up prayers to Sefra and Farhail, hoping that their anger had abated enough to lend their blessing to the clerics going into battle.

Shireling Crumbli

 

[DapperKnight]

Fall 5240
It has been a generation since we had left the deep. 2 million Malacs were gathered for the Great March towards the shallows. We followed the light for many years, and many had died in our journey. Of the many Casts who had joined us, there were just as many who had stayed in the deep. Of the many who had joined us, more then half had succumb to predators, infighting or had simply turned back. Our saving grace at least was that food wasn't a scarcity during out journey. 2 million Malacs had left for the shallows, and a little over 500,000 had made it to what we now know as the Strait. Luc Mabba-Breke, our leader, had staked out a claim in this new land, and through him, we have begun to finally prosper. He wished for the Casts to form a singular body, and through it the Malacs would form a new identity, a new Confederacy to secure the survival of our people.

However there were many who did not see Luc Mabba-Breke's vision. Sura Gla-Owenvif, the King of the Ondervi Cast, had wished to simply take what the surface had to offer us, take and bring back to the deep and inspire more from our homeland to rise to the shallows. Luc did not agree, and denounced Sura's proposal. Soon after, the Ondervi Cast, as well as like minded Casts, even the Sunverti Cast left. Luc allowed them to leave, believing that without the support of the other 5 Casts, the Ondervi and the Sunverti would not be able to gain much ground.

They focused on rebuilding their people, and building a new home for the Malacs. The strait provided many creatures to hunt, and plenty of land to build and fortify our territory. For a year we had prospered, but in a year Sura had returned. Sura believed that the easiest way to for the Malacs to live, was to take prosperity from others, just as our ancestors had done for millennia. The Sura rebellion had begun and Luc's Confederacy suffered greatly due to this civil war. Villages were raided, hunting parties butchered and jars of larvae had been stolen to fuel the Rebellion's numbers. A generation ago, the rebellion began, and a generation later the rebellion continues.

The Confederacy and the Rebellion was at a stalemate, as our fortified walled cities kept the invaders out, but the Rebellion had trapped us within the Central Sea. They constantly bribe and bring more from our homeland with ill-gotten treasure and food, and slowly they will surely soon outnumber our own forces. Desperate times calls for desperate actions. Originally Luc's Confederacy, now simply the Luc Confederacy had wished to explore the new world in-depth and expand after the Rebellion had been put down, but without a favorable end in sight, I, King Ovry Jarvan-Rarteca, have been ordered to take my Cast and go inland, to find new allies and new weapons to use against the rebels.

Fall 5240
My Cast began our journey travelling along the northern coastline. 11 leagues a day we marched, marched along the ocean's floor looking for signs of civilized life. During our journey, we had to had encountered a large beast made of brown bone, with softskinned beasts walking on the beast's back. The softskins wore shells on their heads, or were the shells growing from their heads? Either way, our scouts tailed the beast from under the water, and told me that they had encountered a surface settlement of these softskins, which they called Coneheads. Upon reaching the settlement however, my scouts return saying that the Coneheads would not speak to us and threatened to forcefully remove them from their land. I believe the Coneheads will not be having us over for a talk anytime soon. Still we must march. There is an island to our west we can travel alongside to forage and rest.

Winter 5240
Our detour took us to the coasts of a small island, where we scavenged and hunted for food before continuing. Unlike the strait, this land had little in the way of edible matter. The closer one came to shore, the smaller everything seemed to become. Luckily a pod of whales were migrating close by so our hunters had time to at least practice their harpooning. We traveled along the southern coastline of the island, and soon left the island behind, and made our way back towards the northern shore. We stopped halfway, and allowed our scouts to travel ahead while my Cast rested and enjoyed the spoils of our latest hunt.

During the blue bright, I planned on joining the latest hunt in order to break the monotony of the daily march when my second came with me to the news that the scouting party had discovered settlements along the coastline, underwater shelters inhabited by strange soft skin creatures, similar to the shell crushing squids of our homeland. A second chance to make contact with the shallow's inhabitants. With my Elder Guard, I will follow the shallow trail our scouts had left to the site of the settlement. From there, I hope to begin some gain support for the Confederacy. Time is limited, and I cannot waste more on this march. I believe I should reach the these strangers by dark.

Crumbli

 

[Shireling]

Holenweln, The Highway Confederation, Winter, 5420
​

The winter festival was in full swing when Prince Harrison and his guards reached the walled border-town of Holenweln, nestled into the hills south of the Vosen Channel. In the distance, as he flew in, Harrison could see barges floating up and down the channel, stopping only at the few bridges that also served as locks for the river trade. The town itself was dominated by a few tall towers of white stone, while the rest of the houses were made of the same white stone but with sloping, black-shingled roofs. It was not until he could see the sentries clearly on the wall that he could also see the townsfolk gathered in the square on top of the central hill. They were dancing around several large bonfires, waving colored streamers and wearing red and yellow jackets.

At first, the sentries on the wall raised an alarm. They began to ready the ballistae which were nestled into the battlements on the wall and pointing them towards Harrison, but once the white flag became visible, raised by one of the soldiers on the back of the dragon, they hesitated to take hostile action. They knew that this was likely to be one of the dragonlords of the south, although their people had few dealings with the Drachen in living memory. Luckily the road was deserted, so no traffic was disrupted as Harrison came to rest on the wide pavement outside the gatehouse. A small squad of troops emerged from the gate, led by a captain. They were all decked in armor with plumed caps, and they carried shining steel halberds and sheathed longswords.

"Hail, dragon," the Captain said. The accent probably sounded thick to the Drachen emissaries, but he was still understandable. "I hope you come with no martial intentions toward my people. How may Captain Olar Gustavsen be of service?"

Selee-01

The Temple of Everen, Galaria
​

The legions were set to depart tomorrow for the front, and this was precisely why Bellator Vitalius, a centurion of the Eagle Legion, sought out the guidance of his patron god Everen in his temple. The temple gates were wide open on this particularly warm winter day, and a few patricians and other well-to-do citizens were ascending and descending the steps, musing while walking amidst the great marble pillars, and making sacrifices at the altar.

Bellator approached the altar, a raised stone table that held a stack of parchment, an inkwell, and a quill. Taking up the quill and a sheet of paper, he wrote his sacrifice to Everen. The typical sacrifice was of thoughts. Whatever ideas were stirring in the minds of Everen's devotees. Bellator wrote:

I go to battle and, possibly, to death. I feel more alive now than I have ever been. What strange paradox that life should come in threat of death. O Everen, long-suffering patron of my people, protect me now as I face the jaws of death.

Holding the parchment out, he dried the ink and then tossed it into the flaming brazier on the other side of the altar. Steam and smoke rose up immediately, as the flames consumed the page. Turning to leave, Bellator was about to put his helmet back on his head when a blinding light flashed in a moment from the brazier. He staggered back and almost tumbled down the stairs, but at the last moment an unseen hand caught him and brought him to a sitting position at the base of the stairs below the altar. A voice descended from the smoke and steam, a voice ethereal and unconditioned by vocal chords, or tongues, or any mortal artifice. Yet, it sounded warm and wise.

"Bellator, you did well to seek me."

Yet Bellator did not speak, struck dumb by the power of his patron manifesting for the first time in centuries. Across the temple, the priests and priestesses were dumbfounded as well, staring at Bellator and the bright light that overshadowed him. The patricians as well stood on and gawked.

"Bellator, you are favored by me to take on a holy mission. My brothers and sisters are willing to return, to aid your people once more, now that those who reveled in debauchery and cruelty, like the Magisteri before you, have been swept into the sea. I want you, Bellator, who have sought me in these long years when even you doubted I would ever return, yes I know you doubted, to be my champion."

"Yes, my lord!" Bellator struggled to enunciate.

"Rise, my fair knight," Everen commanded, and it was done. "Below the altar is the tomb of my former champion, Lumos Aurelius. I will set aside the stone for you."

As he spoke these words, one of the heavy stones below the altar was flung a short distance in the air with a puff of dusty mortar. It fell against the marble floor and shattered, causing the patricians and priests to gasp. Yet Bellator did as he was commanded. He knelt down and saw the desiccated corpse of Lumos Aurelius, dead for centuries, encased in gleaming armor of blessed adamant. And on his breast laid a longsword of the same adamant steel, glowing in blue and white. Bellator took the sword the scabbard, turning to let the people see the artifact charged with power before returning it to the scabbard.

"You forget that it was my choir, the Amani, who forged the blades that cleaved mortalkind into male and female. Such skill was never lost, though it has been buried for long years. It is an enchanted sword, Bellator, Ill'Vitarus, 'Light of Life.' Just a single touch of its blade upon the undead will see them crumble to dust before you. Take this weapon and lead your men from the front, and if you hold faith in me, none of the thousands of the ranks of the dead may harm you."

"It..It will be as you wish, Lord Everen."

"Be a champion to the people, Bellator. Dark times are upon you all. Go to the front, and when you have triumphed return again, my champion."

...

Word spread throughout the city like wildfire. Bellator Vitalius was the new champion of Everen, who had returned to his people at long last. The moral legitimacy of the new republic was seeming more and more secure, but yet the news that a simple centurion was to be a champion of Everen did cause some of the military command, some of whom were even devotees of Everen. Jealousy, but also hope, abounded as the legions marched north into the Tulian Confederacy.

After a march of only a week or so, the Galarian army reached the city of Tublika, resting on the mountain slope, and on the other side of the river, sitting on a tall hill, was the gleaming temple constructed to honor Halaria. The city was, as of yet, not under siege, yet smoke rose ominously farther up the valley of the Blue River.

Royalblue127

 

[Selee-01]

Holenweln, The Highway Confederation, Winter, 5420
​

The winter festival was in full swing when Prince Harrison and his guards reached the walled border-town of Holenweln, nestled into the hills south of the Vosen Channel. In the distance, as he flew in, Harrison could see barges floating up and down the channel, stopping only at the few bridges that also served as locks for the river trade. The town itself was dominated by a few tall towers of white stone, while the rest of the houses were made of the same white stone but with sloping, black-shingled roofs. It was not until he could see the sentries clearly on the wall that he could also see the townsfolk gathered in the square on top of the central hill. They were dancing around several large bonfires, waving colored streamers and wearing red and yellow jackets.

At first, the sentries on the wall raised an alarm. They began to ready the ballistae which were nestled into the battlements on the wall and pointing them towards Harrison, but once the white flag became visible, raised by one of the soldiers on the back of the dragon, they hesitated to take hostile action. They knew that this was likely to be one of the dragonlords of the south, although their people had few dealings with the Drachen in living memory. Luckily the road was deserted, so no traffic was disrupted as Harrison came to rest on the wide pavement outside the gatehouse. A small squad of troops emerged from the gate, led by a captain. They were all decked in armor with plumed caps, and they carried shining steel halberds and sheathed longswords.

"Hail, dragon," the Captain said. The accent probably sounded thick to the Drachen emissaries, but he was still understandable. "I hope you come with no martial intentions toward my people. How may Captain Olar Gustavsen be of service?"

Selee-01

The Fiery Swords slid off the Prince’s golden back, one stepping forward to unclasp the chains that secured them. Harrison rolled his shoulders, and the harness fell off.

In a flash of golden fire, he stood as a mortal. He was dressed in his own shed scales, emblazoned with his sigil: a golden dragon crowned with black stars, within a white sun.

“I am Prince Harrison, son of Emperor Archibald, the White Wyrm. I have come on behalf of my Lord Father to hear the latest news, and to see the lands beyond our borders.”

 

[Soviet Panda]

The camp of the Deoram was alive with the sounds of their savage ways. Brutal fights of dominance between Hridir were a common sight, Raet watching from the sides and quickly scurrying out of the way when the fighting inevitably went in their direction. Vargr packs snarled over kills as choice portions were torn off and devoured, bone cracking under the strength of their jaws. And Stedonare poked at the lone Siege Beast, whose two curved tusks could run a horse through, tempting fate, all for an excuse to kill the creature. And above it all, standing a lone vigil, was the symbol of the largest warpack on Morfea. The symbol of the Blodgita, Blood Shedders, was a winged beast, but in place of bones and feathers was swords, knives, axes, and frankly anything else that could be considered sharp.

And in the center of it all sat the hide tent of Buras Ur'ull. All that passed by the tent hurried, not even the Stedonare loitered outside the tent of their leader for fear of what he could do to them if he perceived some unknown slight. And inside the tent, crouching on the dirt floor, was Buras, and he was doing something unseen from the Deoram. He was planning. For in the dirt was a crude drawing of the surrounding area. Villages were marked with circles, rivers and streams with wavy lines, certainly this map was no work of art. But to see it in front of a creature renown for their lack of foresight was almost breath taking.

As the stranger materialized in his tent, Buras turned with lightning speed despite his bulk, with his hand held in a fist and ready to crunch the skull of the trespasser. But upon seeing the dark armor and grey skin, something made him freeze. He could not describe the sensation that came over him, but if he had to try he would say it was because something felt familiar about the man. Buras did not know what seemed familiar, only that there was this overwhelming urge to not crush him, to see his body broken and torn asunder in the tent.

Slowly lowering his hand to his side, Buras listens to the creature before him. "Buras will listen," he said in the deep, rumbling tones of the Deoram, the words feeling odd in the beast like mouth of the warlord.

 

[Eshspoyeofdoom]

Fall, 5240

*Rei Uytari*
[Trade and Foreign Minister]
Royal Winter Palace, 19km North of Ra'Kelli

​

"Your majesty," Rei spoke as she kneeled before the man sitting opposite her, "It's an honour to be part of your first order."

She had been waiting for this moment her entire life. Finally, a part of the inner circle, face to face with the king. An instrumental player in the kingdom's new golden age of expansion. It all begins here.

The man opposite her smirked and motioned for her to stand up again. "Please Minister, there's no need for these formalities," he leapt off his marble throne and stood level with his minister, "But I'm glad you're more than enthusiastic to carry this out...especially under such discreet circumstances. You do understand what I'm referring to, yes?" Rei knew exactly what he was referring to. An act of this kind needed to be debated in the senate and vetted by the Chancellor, and based on his previous attitudes on conflict, that would never happen. What Rei needed to do was to execute this order swiftly and efficiently, before the senate has any time to react. The emperor and the monarchists loyal to him will clean up any mess afterwards. Though technically what they were doing was illegal, or at least sat uncomfortably in the grey area of the constitution, Rei believed it was all for the greater good.

"Of course, your majesty," Rei replied.

"Good," Ra'sh spun around to face the enormous map framed on the wall, eyes set on the small province on their western border. The Neaeru comprised of broken bands and tribes of Goblins scattered across the continent. Annexing them or at least occupying them would grant them free access to the plainsland and be the first step of the long road to continental domination. Easy prey, but he couldn't be too careful. One simple mistake and he'd be out. Exiled, or worse. "You'll be escorted by a battalion of the Riteno lead by Major General Usiguy. He's there mainly for intimidation and protection, but if things go wrong...he and his men will be the only thing keeping you alive."

"Yes, your majesty," Rei said, "I won't disappoint you."

[***A week later***]

Fall, 5240

*Rei Uytari*
[Trade and Foreign Minister]
Temporary military camp, Southern Jorpindarre Delta, Bordering Western Neaeru Stronghold

​

The air stank of soot and peat. Men cackled with the fire as they saddled their horses with silver armour and sharpened their swords. The faint screeching of birds drowned out by the rushing river. Dawn was just creeping over the distance when Rei emerged from her personal tent, a scroll in her left hand and a pen in her right. She had spent the week formalising a document. A treaty of sorts. it was filled with political jargon and promises of peace and prosperity, but no amount of diction and flowery language could cover up the elephant in the room that was the message she was sending:

"Assimilate and keep your villages, wealth and some degree of autonomy...or die fighting a futile existence."
​

She exhaled and approached a small group of lightly armoured men on horseback near the mouth of the encampment. Handing the scroll over to the leader, she gave them her orders. Cross the river and reach the nearest tribe. Give the scroll to the chief and allow them to think on it. We'll wait until sundown for a decision. If they do not return, the Kingdom will invade with greater military forces.

As she watched the men cross the river and disappear into the forest, she prayed as if she was going into battle.

 

[Shireling]

Holenweln
​

Without much further in the way of niceties, the Captain led Prince Harrison into the city to be entertained at the Mayor's house and get the information he wished out of the well-connected municipal leader. The streets of Holenweln were narrow and flanked on both sides by stone and timber frame constructions about two or three stories that jettied out over the streets. When they entered into the broad central square, they were forced to walk past the bonfires that the citizenry were dancing around. There was the sound of drums and pipes, and men and women were dancing in paired dances arm in arm. Though the air was relatively cold, the square was balmy between all the large fires. Some of the citizens stopped to stare curiously at the newcomers, but most of them paid no mind to them. The soldiers accompanying them did not seem to cause them any alarm.

The church on the other side of the square tolled twelve o'clock and the Captain finally spoke to Harrison again. "I believe you're just in time for lunch. Mayor Harkon would be delighted to entertain you and your retainers."

It was only a short walk back to the Mayor's mansion, a squat stone edifice below the central hill surrounded by gardens and small chapels. Upon entering, Harrison was led into a dining room where platters of ham and mixed vegetables were being served to the Mayor's family. The Mayor himself was a corpulent, good-natured looking man with a white beard.

"Ah, who are these, gentlemen...Captain?" He asked, glancing between Harrison and Captain Gustavsen nervously.

"This is Prince Harrison of Drachen. He's making a tour of these countries. And he wants to have his curiosity about the rumors about war in the north tickled. Would you oblige him?"

"Of course," He glanced at Harrison. "Surely you gentlemen will take a seat? Would you care for luncheon?" His eyes drifted down to the swords in their scabbards. "Now, I will say, normally, we don't wear swords at the table. You can leave those with the good captain."

As he waited for the reply, he might take a moment to survey the rest of the table. To the Mayor's left sat his wife, a tall, blonde woman of severe figure, and beside her a ruddy boy of twelve in a blue suit. On the other side of the table, the Mayor's six daughters, curiously arranged by age. Most of the older girls looked at Harrison with an imperious and aloof gaze, ditto his retainers, but the youngest, a girl with light features and red hair of about sixteen, regarded him with curiosity and a kind of recognition that one might regard an equal with.

Selee-01

The Southern Desert
​

"I know you are a..." Malacaccio paused, trying to think of the word to replace "man" for Buras. "I know you are one whose time is not to be wasted, and therefore I bring you an offer of much benefit to both our people. That is to say, my lord Ploutorio will pay the horde very handsomely in coin, drink, and slaves to attack one particular target. That is, he would like you to march against the ruined city of Vostra'vin in Wuslan. There, the guardians of the Great Barding Temple have become a great thorn in my lord's side. You may, of course, keep any plunder you yield. Ploutorio seeks only their total destruction, both the city and all in it."

Malacaccio materialized a small chest and opened it before Buras, inside it were small bars of adamant-silver. Rare and expensive metals good for armor and weaponry. "This is but a small token of what will come, if you agree to aid our cause. What do you say to that, great warlord?"

Soviet Panda

 

[Royalblue127]

The Blue Port, Galaria​

As the sun rose the next morning, the Dragonflame Fleet cast away it's lines, and began their journey up Junthum's River. The ships moved steadily, their blue and orange hulls matching the colors of the morning river, and the sails seeming to glow as the sun back lit the rearing dragons painted there. Soldiers waved excitedly as cheers rang from the shore, before returning to their workstations as the mighty walls of Galaria disappeared down stream. Inside the heavy laden hulls, the supplies and foodstuffs taken from now barren stores sat quietly, stored next to dragon heads full of liquid fire.

...

Warriors' Bridge, Galaria
​

As the sails of the Dragonflame fleet receded upriver, a more formal farewell was taking place where the city was connected to the Isle of Junthum. Spanning the river crossing to the east, the bridge was covered with names of every Legionare that had ever served in the Galarian military. Massive statues of legendary generals stood on pedestals formed into the pillars of the bridge, their metal derevs shinning as the sun rose higher in the sky. Every hundred feet, a giant golden standard was set, with a different totem for each of the named Legions. Only one was noticeably absent, and its bearer stood at the front a massive gathering near the bridges gates, the golden eagle a beacon of shimmering light in a mass of wood and steel. Thousands of men and women stood at attention, silent and stoic, waiting for the order to begin their large march. Their silence was the oddity, however, as the crowd before them jostled and shook with excitement. Murmurs of apprehension, pride, and anticipation filled the open air as more arrived from the city, all eyes turned toward a wooden platform at the forefront of the legion. The murmurs died for a moment, as from the rank and file emerged a group of men and women in senatorial garb, and the command staff of the legion. While they didn't garner much of a reaction from the crowd, the man garbed in the red and white robes of consulship did. Cheers rang up from the crowd, chants of "Marius" rang through the mid-day air, boosting the already cheerful atmosphere as he took the stage, the Primus Pillus breaking from the other commanders and following behind. A raised hand calmed the crowd quickly, and with a happy grin Marius Galarus cast a quick spell, his voice booming from his throat.

"I welcome you, my people, for history in the making. Before you stand, for the first time in a century, and the first time in our republic, the Legio Aquila!" He let the cheers ring for a while, smiling at the energy of the crowd, before raising a hand to calm it again. "Our people to the north have called upon us, to defend them from the most ancient of our foes. The dead march from the bitter lands of Guard'Nur one more, and attack the Temple of Halaria itself! As is our solemn charge since ancient days, we will march against these abominations of life. Consul Felix Coriarus himself will lead our legion, as is the duty of our station, and now," he turns, motioning the Primus Pillus to the front "Everen's Champion, Bellator Vitalus, will fight with him on the front lines, Ill'Vitarus itself by his side!" A massive cheer rose from the crowd at this announcement, and Bellator Vitalus stepped up beside the consul, as the crowd chanted his name.

"Everen himself told me that the gods would return to us, now we must defend them. We will not let this vile scourge defile Halaria, and we will once again be one people, united under the Dremas blessing!" As he finished his proclamation, Bellator exited the stage, followed by the cheers of the crowd. Marius smiled warmly, as he had seen the flustered look Bellator had barely kept from affecting his voice, and waved to take the attention of the crowd again.

"Now, lady Aurellia will bless the legion, and allow the dremas light to follow them into battle." A previously unseen figure stepped up from behind the platform, and for the first time true silence fell onto the crowd. Her powder green robes were matched by her unnaturally pale blue skin, and her long auburn hair seemed to wisp in the wind. Delicate derevs framed a petite face, and her soft voice rang through the crowd like a bell.

"May Everen keep your steel ever strong and your minds ever clear. May Farhail listen to the prayers of your loved ones, and keep you safe in the battles ahead. May Morgot tame the earth in your path, and send your foes back to the depths of the earth they came from. May Seferas light blind those who dare to harm our people, and shine bright on your swords as you battle onward. May Grentha's scales see our battle worthy, and tip fate in our favor." As she spoke, a glow began to emanate from her, and the wind picked up around them, causing murmurs in the crowd that were quickly silenced." May Junthum wash away the blight that haunts our lands, and send strong winds for our racing fleet. Finally, may Halaria guard the souls of those who are lost, and take them safely to the next world." As Auerlia finished, the glow surrounding her almost too bright to look at, the light seemed to burst, and fell like snow upon the gathered legionaries. Where each mote of light dropped, a brief spell of warmth bloomed, and each soldier privately felt their resolve strengthen, their courage grow. Marius looked at Aurellia with awe and fear, the magic she cast so readily unheard of for centuries. He shook himself slightly as Auerllia exited the stage, then turned to face the legion, a grim expression replacing his smile.

"Soldiers, I, Marius Galarus, Consul of the Second Republic," he paused, almost hesitant, before finally saying "send you to war." Once those words were spoken, the soldiers unsheathed their swords and slammed them against their tower shields, the sound they made louder than any firework or oil explosion.

"For the Republic! For the Republic! For the Republic!" As one they turned towards the east, and in lockstep began their journey across the bridge, led at their front by a Legate and their Primus Pillus, a glowing sword by his side.

Shireling

 

[Selee-01]

Holenweln
​

Without much further in the way of niceties, the Captain led Prince Harrison into the city to be entertained at the Mayor's house and get the information he wished out of the well-connected municipal leader. The streets of Holenweln were narrow and flanked on both sides by stone and timber frame constructions about two or three stories that jettied out over the streets. When they entered into the broad central square, they were forced to walk past the bonfires that the citizenry were dancing around. There was the sound of drums and pipes, and men and women were dancing in paired dances arm in arm. Though the air was relatively cold, the square was balmy between all the large fires. Some of the citizens stopped to stare curiously at the newcomers, but most of them paid no mind to them. The soldiers accompanying them did not seem to cause them any alarm.

The church on the other side of the square tolled twelve o'clock and the Captain finally spoke to Harrison again. "I believe you're just in time for lunch. Mayor Harkon would be delighted to entertain you and your retainers."

It was only a short walk back to the Mayor's mansion, a squat stone edifice below the central hill surrounded by gardens and small chapels. Upon entering, Harrison was led into a dining room where platters of ham and mixed vegetables were being served to the Mayor's family. The Mayor himself was a corpulent, good-natured looking man with a white beard.

"Ah, who are these, gentlemen...Captain?" He asked, glancing between Harrison and Captain Gustavsen nervously.

"This is Prince Harrison of Drachen. He's making a tour of these countries. And he wants to have his curiosity about the rumors about war in the north tickled. Would you oblige him?"

"Of course," He glanced at Harrison. "Surely you gentlemen will take a seat? Would you care for luncheon?" His eyes drifted down to the swords in their scabbards. "Now, I will say, normally, we don't wear swords at the table. You can leave those with the good captain."

As he waited for the reply, he might take a moment to survey the rest of the table. To the Mayor's left sat his wife, a tall, blonde woman of severe figure, and beside her a ruddy boy of twelve in a blue suit. On the other side of the table, the Mayor's six daughters, curiously arranged by age. Most of the older girls looked at Harrison with an imperious and aloof gaze, ditto his retainers, but the youngest, a girl with light features and red hair of about sixteen, regarded him with curiosity and a kind of recognition that one might regard an equal with.

@Selee-01

Harrison gazed with curiosity at the bonfires and celebrations, golden eyes trawling over the festivities. After the mayor greeted him, he spoke.

“Firstly, what is the celebration? And secondly, the Fiery Swords seldom yield their blades. They are dragonbone, each storied and legendary. If I yield them, they must be returned. Ideally in perfect condition. Each is from one of my blessed ancestors. If those conditions are met, I shall gladly entrust them to your men.
“As well, who are the ladies and the boy?” The Sun Prince’s gaze falls upon the youngest. “They are truly refined. Your family, I presume?”

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Winter 5420, I"KI'REE'NOR (fortress of air)
​

within only a few weeks the fortress upon the surface had been completed a somewhat small structure when compared to the vast underground fortresses back home but it would do, for the first time Elnor had seen the surface it was rare to get this much light down there, and the whole structure also made of a deep black crystal shone brilliantly reflecting the light of the massive ball that Elnor could only suspect was mounted on the ceiling of this immense place. it was honestly all worth it to be up here though many of his brothers disagreed finding the shining of themselves and the fortress to be disgracefully flamboyant... yet he couldn't help but find this place marvellous so much life here the ground was covered in green things.. there were no words for what they were nor the much taller brown things in the distance it was like the floor green but taller. he really wondered if any of the surface dwellers would even show up? he'd heard that some of them knew about this place already in truth he wasn't game on going too far at least for now. he could just wait, as could everyone else, the surface dwellers would come eventually.

 

[Shireling]

Mayor's Palace, Holenwoln
​

"Ah yes, the Captain will take good care of your swords," the mayor said with something of a wince. Captain Gustavsen held out his gauntletted hand and the swords were carefully arranged in their scabbards then taken into the next room and laid upon an antique table. When the guests had taken their seats, the mayor began to answer Harrison's questions.

"Today is the Midwinter Festival, a very special time of the year in Holenwoln. It is a... religious festival, I suppose, where we remember our blessings in the midst of the bleak midwinter, one supposes." It was evident that the mayor was choosing his words carefully and his voice carried a note of indecision, as if he was worried that any stray word might offend his guests. Truth be told, it was one of the major holy days of the Barding religion, and later on that evening the churches would likely be packed with worshipers, yet Mayor Harkon knew a little of the Drachen and knew that they had peculiar religious ideas when compared to the rest of the continent.

"At any rate," he continued, "the festival is a merry occasion for the townspeople to rest from their labors and enjoy the plenty they have stored up for themselves in harvest time. I suppose there is the other matter, the Midwinter Festival is the best occasion for the young men to meet their future wives. You see, the period for the publishing of banns in this part of the world is six weeks, and after that interval if one marries, if you count nine months..."

"Albert," his wife interjected, embarrassed, "why don't you introduce the children?" The children had been silent through their father's rambling, with only a few showing any interest in food or conversation, mostly stealing glances at the foreigners.

"Ah yes," Harkon muttered. "Well, this is my wife, Klara, and beside her in Untock, my son. And here we have Olga, Elma, Erta, Una, Dima, and Rosa there at the far side is the youngest daughter."

The redhead, Rosa, nodded assent and then opted to speak for herself. "Captain Gustavsen said you wanted to know about the world. I've been studying everything there is to know about Enmundi. I have notes in my World Atlas," she said, unashamed to speak so freely in the presence of her elders, "What did you want to know?"

Harkon was, at first, cross, but his featured lightened a bit and then he smiled, knowing he couldn't contain his youngest daughter's gregariousness. "Ah yes, young Rosa here is a prodigy when it comes to book learning. I was thinking of sending her to a special school for women in Solicazia."

Selee-01

 

[Selee-01]

Mayor's Palace, Holenwoln
​

"Ah yes, the Captain will take good care of your swords," the mayor said with something of a wince. Captain Gustavsen held out his gauntletted hand and the swords were carefully arranged in their scabbards then taken into the next room and laid upon an antique table. When the guests had taken their seats, the mayor began to answer Harrison's questions.

"Today is the Midwinter Festival, a very special time of the year in Holenwoln. It is a... religious festival, I suppose, where we remember our blessings in the midst of the bleak midwinter, one supposes." It was evident that the mayor was choosing his words carefully and his voice carried a note of indecision, as if he was worried that any stray word might offend his guests. Truth be told, it was one of the major holy days of the Barding religion, and later on that evening the churches would likely be packed with worshipers, yet Mayor Harkon knew a little of the Drachen and knew that they had peculiar religious ideas when compared to the rest of the continent.

"At any rate," he continued, "the festival is a merry occasion for the townspeople to rest from their labors and enjoy the plenty they have stored up for themselves in harvest time. I suppose there is the other matter, the Midwinter Festival is the best occasion for the young men to meet their future wives. You see, the period for the publishing of banns in this part of the world is six weeks, and after that interval if one marries, if you count nine months..."

"Albert," his wife interjected, embarrassed, "why don't you introduce the children?" The children had been silent through their father's rambling, with only a few showing any interest in food or conversation, mostly stealing glances at the foreigners.

"Ah yes," Harkon muttered. "Well, this is my wife, Klara, and beside her in Untock, my son. And here we have Olga, Elma, Erta, Una, Dima, and Rosa there at the far side is the youngest daughter."

The redhead, Rosa, nodded assent and then opted to speak for herself. "Captain Gustavsen said you wanted to know about the world. I've been studying everything there is to know about Enmundi. I have notes in my World Atlas," she said, unashamed to speak so freely in the presence of her elders, "What did you want to know?"

Harkon was, at first, cross, but his featured lightened a bit and then he smiled, knowing he couldn't contain his youngest daughter's gregariousness. "Ah yes, young Rosa here is a prodigy when it comes to book learning. I was thinking of sending her to a special school for women in Solicazia."

Selee-01

Harrison nodded at his Fiery Swords, and they reluctantly passed their blades to the guards. He took a seat, and listened intently to the explanation of the celebration.

“In Drachen, we have a similar celebration. It’s much duller than these, all ‘by the grace of god’ and ‘blessed by holy fire’. These sound more exciting.” The Sun Prince remarked. When the conversation turned to the children, he nodded to each and tried to remember all their names. He’d probably forgot, but no man could fault him for trying his best. When Rosa spoke, he couldn’t help but smile.

“I have a younger sister, Grace, much like you,” he said. “Perhaps you could meet soon,” he added.

“As for what I wish to know... my Lord Father heard rumors of war in the north. Of dead men, and turmoil. I’d also like to know about the major powers of the North, and perhaps their famous monuments. And, good Harkon, may we join you at your repast? I’ve been flying for days, it seems. Oh, I almost forgot! Some decades ago, my uncle Myos disappeared. Perhaps you’ve seen a purple wyrm in the sky? When he left, he could swallow a horse. By now, he could likely devour elephants if he lives.”

 

[Shireling]

The Mayor's Palace, Holenwoln
​

Rosa smiled at Harrison, as he seemed not to underestimate her knowledge or ability. Harkon was the next to speak.

"A purple dragon eh, decades?" He thought for a moment. "I will look in my library and see if there's anything in the town record that would allude to your uncle, Myos as you say? Yes, I will look." He turned to the guests more directly. "Of course, have lunch. My servants will bring fresh plates of meat and bread, whatever you wish. When lunch is over..." he glanced back at Rosa, "Rosa, my sweet, will you and Untock entertain our guests in the front parlor? I have a map there, and some portrait books. You can fill our unworldly stranger here in on the world at large."

"Yes, of course, father." Rosa said respectfully, although Untock only grunted his acquiescence. Mayor Harkon scooped the last mouthful of sweet corn into his mouth from his plate before excusing himself from the table and entering his study, which was very large and the walls were lined with books. It would take him an hour or two to look through the relevant records and see if any mentioned a purple wyrm. In the meantime, the Drachen delegation was brought their lunch and allowed to luxuriate a bit. To drink, they had a choice of sweet ale or water, and after lunch the servants cleaned the lower parlor. Rosa led Harrison down the hallway, with Untock drawing up the rear. The boy favored his father in the face, but was stick-like and tall like his mother. His features were severe and caused him to constantly look like he was scowling, while his hair and eyes were relatively dark, again like his father's. His countenance was unpleasant, though he was only a lad of less than twenty.

Rosa, upon reaching the parlor, strode immediately to the massive map that was arranged over the eastern wall. It was the centerpiece of the room, carved out of a single piece of wood that must have come from a massive tree.

"So, Prince Harrison, here we are," she said, indicating Holenwoln on the map. "I've heard about the war too. The new one that is. The last one was in 5414." She indicated Galaria on the map. "This is the city-state of Galaria, a once mighty empire. They recently had a coup d'etat," she paused and glanced at him to see if he knew the finer verbiage of diplomacy, "that is, they changed governments. Above them is the Tulian Confederacy. Those are rebels led by the descendants of General Tulius who claimed to be the true emperor in 5220, and broke away from the Galarian Empire. Beside them are the Luminion. To be truthful, the Luminion is several nations, all of them subordinate to the moth-men of the mountains, that is, the Scurosi. I don't know much about them, other than their affinity for light magics. To the north of them are the Geldek. Again, it is hard to say much about them, although I read that they are people entirely made of stone...Very strange. At any rate, here in the north is the Dead Pass, that is a pass in the ice around the Tower of Illthak. Morfus created the tower Illthak to regulate the climate of Morfea. It produces all the frigid winds of the north, you see. But in the beginning of the Second Age, the Cantori who had residence there abandoned it and the Lich Kings of Gurad'nur moved in. Ever since, they have warred with mortalkind for slaves, and thralls for their undead ranks. Word of these attacks usually travels fast, you see, but I think in this case, that is, the ongoing war against the Undead, the messengers are wrong. One hundred thousand is far too many undead, I think. I have never read of an invasion of more than twenty thousand, and that was at the height of the succession wars in Galaria in the late 5th Millennium."

She glanced back at him, wondering if he was taking all the information in.

Selee-01

 

[Selee-01]

The Mayor's Palace, Holenwoln
​

Rosa smiled at Harrison, as he seemed not to underestimate her knowledge or ability. Harkon was the next to speak.

"A purple dragon eh, decades?" He thought for a moment. "I will look in my library and see if there's anything in the town record that would allude to your uncle, Myos as you say? Yes, I will look." He turned to the guests more directly. "Of course, have lunch. My servants will bring fresh plates of meat and bread, whatever you wish. When lunch is over..." he glanced back at Rosa, "Rosa, my sweet, will you and Untock entertain our guests in the front parlor? I have a map there, and some portrait books. You can fill our unworldly stranger here in on the world at large."

"Yes, of course, father." Rosa said respectfully, although Untock only grunted his acquiescence. Mayor Harkon scooped the last mouthful of sweet corn into his mouth from his plate before excusing himself from the table and entering his study, which was very large and the walls were lined with books. It would take him an hour or two to look through the relevant records and see if any mentioned a purple wyrm. In the meantime, the Drachen delegation was brought their lunch and allowed to luxuriate a bit. To drink, they had a choice of sweet ale or water, and after lunch the servants cleaned the lower parlor. Rosa led Harrison down the hallway, with Untock drawing up the rear. The boy favored his father in the face, but was stick-like and tall like his mother. His features were severe and caused him to constantly look like he was scowling, while his hair and eyes were relatively dark, again like his father's. His countenance was unpleasant, though he was only a lad of less than twenty.

Rosa, upon reaching the parlor, strode immediately to the massive map that was arranged over the eastern wall. It was the centerpiece of the room, carved out of a single piece of wood that must have come from a massive tree.

"So, Prince Harrison, here we are," she said, indicating Holenwoln on the map. "I've heard about the war too. The new one that is. The last one was in 5414." She indicated Galaria on the map. "This is the city-state of Galaria, a once mighty empire. They recently had a coup d'etat," she paused and glanced at him to see if he knew the finer verbiage of diplomacy, "that is, they changed governments. Above them is the Tulian Confederacy. Those are rebels led by the descendants of General Tulius who claimed to be the true emperor in 5220, and broke away from the Galarian Empire. Beside them are the Luminion. To be truthful, the Luminion is several nations, all of them subordinate to the moth-men of the mountains, that is, the Scurosi. I don't know much about them, other than their affinity for light magics. To the north of them are the Geldek. Again, it is hard to say much about them, although I read that they are people entirely made of stone...Very strange. At any rate, here in the north is the Dead Pass, that is a pass in the ice around the Tower of Illthak. Morfus created the tower Illthak to regulate the climate of Morfea. It produces all the frigid winds of the north, you see. But in the beginning of the Second Age, the Cantori who had residence there abandoned it and the Lich Kings of Gurad'nur moved in. Ever since, they have warred with mortalkind for slaves, and thralls for their undead ranks. Word of these attacks usually travels fast, you see, but I think in this case, that is, the ongoing war against the Undead, the messengers are wrong. One hundred thousand is far too many undead, I think. I have never read of an invasion of more than twenty thousand, and that was at the height of the succession wars in Galaria in the late 5th Millennium."

She glanced back at him, wondering if he was taking all the information in.

Selee-01

The Prince enjoyed the repast, picking meat and ale, as his guards similarly ate. They chose the water, and did not drink the ale. Afterwards Harrison followed Rosa to the parlor, gesturing for the guards to follow at a respectable distance.

At the map, the Prince listened to Rosa as she indicated the northern nations. As she spoke, he realized she was not like Grace. Rosa was more like Emma, wise beyond her years. He reflected on what she said, considering the nations of the north. The Luminion seemed the best bet for aid, if the dragonlords ever headed north. The news of undead made him start.

“Tulians, Moth-men, stone men, and possibly ten thousand undead. Quite a collection. I am no strategist, but how reliable have the reports been in the past? That may indicate how likely these rumors of thousands are. If they are correct, my father would have to interfere. Necromancy is the worst of sorcery, as our history and god speaks. Walking corpses are dire news. In our oldest tales, demons and worse led undead. They were driven out, but no tale says all were gone from the world. And Lich-Kings with access to a tower that makes cold weather? That’s even more suspect. What if they’ve been trying to make it obey them?”

 

[Soviet Panda]

Buras watched the man speak silently, studying the being that thought the Deoram could be bargained with. It wanted them to destroy a town, one imparticular, to put it above all others in exchange for...

Walking over to the opened chest, Buras sinks one massive hand in and picks up a fistful of adamant silver, letting the loose bars fall through his fingers and back into the chest. "Baubles of civilization." he growled as he dropped the rest into the chest. "Useless to us. There are cities that float among the clouds and great beasts whose scaly skin turns aside even the sharpest of our weapons. And yet you offer only these bars. Useless."
~~~~~~~~~~
Snikrit was scurrying through the great camp. When Buras' horde had surrounded his, he willingly gave up those that resisted. Buras, as a reward, gave him control of what remained of his decimated warband. But that was not going to be the end of Snikrit, oh no. For why should he put his neck on the line allowing any and all to challenge him, when there was a more than willing combatant that he could guide.

Speaking of the puppet, he had to make sure the cow's plans weren't going to kill them all. And so, he slipped quietly into the hide tent of the Warlord Buras Ur'ull. There he saw the bull was in conference with a shade, and was currently in the process of turning down the offer of by far the shiniest metal the raet had ever seen.

"Great Warlord," he hissed, bowing and scrapping low to appease the creature that could crush his skull with two fingers, "I beg you, this is good. Raet can make those into great thing. Make Vordr stronger, harder, yes. Can do many things."

Buras looked down at the raet groveling before him, begging him to not turn aside the adamant silver. Kicking the raet away from his feet, Buras growled and said "We will keep the baubles. But I want more things, useful things. Something that could ground a great flying beast or city."

 

[Tetro]

Fall 5420

The hot air that blew around Lylth, her dress flapping about annoyingly and occasionally forcing her to stop it from lifting up entirely. If she knew her brother was going to bring her to any of their forges she would have dressed more appropriately. "Why, again, couldn't you have just told me the good news?" The irritated woman stared daggers at Kan. She didn't hate the forges, she simply enjoyed tending to the slaves at the foot of the mountain more so. "You could have at least given me time to put on better clothes..." Kan paid no mind to her words, but finally gave her an answer when they came to a door leading to some of the newer parts that had been dug underground, "I didn't want you to miss the experience of seeing it for yourself." He gestured for her to proceed. She eyed him suspiciously. She could hear faint noises on the other side. It was probably another one of Kan's pranks. "If it's one of those shelled beasts, I'm going to kick you down the mountain again..."

What Lylth saw next after opening the door made her almost fall. Beautiful, shiny, metal, all around. It was a motherload of ores, plenty of which being adamant silver. And their Omoran cousins working hard to mine it all. "Oh my... You really do love me!" She shouted gleefully with wide-eyes, like a child who had received a pony. "Do the others know? Because the moment Vox sees this he's going to-" As Lylth turned around to face her brother her lips were met with a finger, shushing her mid-sentence. "Yes, and that's why Vox is on the east side of the mountain with Nora testing Elijah's newest toys." Kan removed his hand. "Shouldn't Nora be heading West with Eli? She was so excited to finally leave and explore." Lylth knew how much it meant to Nora to see the rest of the world.

"The nomads, and our scouts, have informed me more of the outside world. Hoards of beasts, armies of the undead, dragons. Some much closer than expected. Our isolation gives us an advantage but has also put us at a disadvantage. This time, we won't be the ones to fall if armies of the outside try to take what we have. Nora and Elijah will make their journey West once we've prepared for the winter. We don't need anything happening to Nora."

~~~

"PULL!"

Nora pulled hard at hearing the command, sending a spiked metal ball straight towards the giant beetle she and Vox had been following. The ball embedded itself into the side of the beetle's head, sending it tumbling and causing it to let out a loud screech. Vox swore, rushing past Nora and towards the creature. Slamming his foot down on the already damaged head, he ended its shrill cries. The two looked around in silence. After a tense moment, they looked at each other and started laughing in relief. Nora began to walk to Vox but stopped, staring at his feet. Vox felt the ground beneath him moving at the same time. After he had taken only two steps, a massive set of pincers burst from below and clamped themselves around the Omoran. A beetle larger than the one they had just slain crawled out of the earth, sending chunks of rock and dirt flying, and began relentlessly slamming Vox on the ground, thrashing him like a ragdoll. "GET.... MY.... MACE...." He could only let out a word at a time in between the beetle's thrashing. Nora rushed over and grabbed her brother's weapon, throwing it towards him. After landing a clean hit on the beetle, missing her intended mark, the beast slammed Vox down again, taking its frustration out on him. The Omoran groaned while he regained focus, reaching over and grabbing onto the hilt of his weapon that lay right beside him. The beetle released then reclamped its pincers around Vox, preparing itself to burrow back into the mountain. "NORADON'TLETITTAKEMEHELP!"

"NO!" Nora shouted, watching him get taken away faster than she could react. The little Omoran ran over to the tunnel and looked in, seeing nothing but darkness and hearing faint, seemingly distant sounds of the beetle and what she assumed were the struggles of her brother. "Vox?!" She called out, looking around and contemplating going in after him. Squinting her eyes, she looked back into the tunnel. Vox, with the detached pincers still clamped around him, had escaped. "Vo-" Before she could finish her words her brother spoke with a grunt, "shut up." Nora closed her mouth, stifling a laugh at the sight once Vox got out. She stepped back to see her brother stand tall, alive, covered in dirt, naked, with the exception of a left shinguard and half of a torn shirt, and scuffed up. Vox pried the pincers off, breaking them into pieces in the process with a deep sigh. He stared down at her with an unimpressed look. Finally, the little queen burst out laughing. Vox rolled his eyes in response. "Now that you've had your fun, get me my armor. And disassemble that machine. We're testing the bolts next."

Winter 5420

The oligarchs were standing outside of their fortress, just beyond the gates of the city, clothed in thick furs. While their kind was immune to the coldest winters, the family enjoyed dressing for the occasion. They were all personally overseeing the migration of the slaves. For Nora and Elijah to be leaving was a whole event. Food had been stockpiled, prepped, and most of the livestock belonging to the slaves was slaughtered to keep them all fed adequately. The nation had prepared not just for winter but for any potential invasions that may occur once their two diplomats leave. "Elijah and I will be departing once the last caravan makes its way past the last checkpoint. But, I want our guards to use weapons and armor of low-quality metal. We can't let the world know of what we possess until we are able to properly defend it, or have allies willing to help us do so," Nora spoke up to her siblings. Normally they'd protest, but in this instance she was right. "I'll have a few more of our cousins join us then," Elijah nodded to Nora, accepting her decision.

An uneasy feeling came over Kan. Hundreds of years of work and progress were at stake. As well as their nation's heart, Nora.

 

[Shireling]

Outside of Tublika, Tulian Confederacy, Winter 5420

Spoiler: Music

As the Galarian Army disembarked from the landing point, a fresh blanket of snow was beginning to fall in the fields outside of Tublika. The Tulian city, built by the Imperials many centuries prior, was heavily fortified along three fourths of its length, and the fourth side was nestled into the side of Mt. Toravor and the wall of the Knife-edge Mountains, impassible terrain even for the armies of the Lich Kings. A great aqueduct ferried water from the peaks into the city below, leaving starvation as the only avenue for a besieging army to be able to circumvent the four thousand defenders of the city who were arrayed atop her walls.

As the Galarian scouts rode forward to assess the situation while the army in the field was forming their battle lines, they were able to witness the first ineffectual attack on the city walls on the northern side of the settlement. Armies of Illthak were arrayed in full warlike stance less than five kilometers north of the city, such that their large banners were still easily identifiable across the open terrain. Their first line consisted of loosely-formed skeletal warriors armed with polearms, axes, swords, and shields, and wearing very light armor. The second rank consisted of solid lines of wights, which is, in the parlance of necromancers, enchanted corpses that still have their muscles and tendons intact. These ranks of wights had eyes that burned a dark shade of red which shone through the fog and snow, and their armor was uniformly black and emblazoned with the White Hand of Illthak. Some of them carried great weapons, longswords and warhammers, while the majority carried spear and shield. Finally, behind them were a rank or two of dreadwights, who are, in necromantic parlance, those who are converted into undead servants while still living. They are the strongest of Illthak's soldiers on the field and are encased in heavy mail or, in some instances, blackened plate armor. By counting the banners and estimating the sizes of the regiments, the scouts confirm the estimate of 100,000, although 20,000 of those are spotted across the river, menacing towards the Temple of Halaria which stands on its own above the fields, connected to the city by an ancient stone bridge wide enough for ten men to walk across at a time.

The scouts witness the first attack, a probing attack by the enemy. A small group of skirmishers approach the wall and begin to fire on the battlements. The skeletal archers do very little against the defenders utilizing the cover of the city wall's battlements, and they are soon beaten to scattered piles of bones by return fire from the castle's mounted mangonels. Single missile fire is highly ineffective against the skeletal soldiers, but pelting them with masses of stones exerts enough force on impact to shatter them. After the entire regiment of skeletal archers melts under mangonel fire, the Illthak army begins its first attack on the walls. Advancing a single regiment of dreadwights with the ladders, several regiments of wights with axes and swords advance to utilize the ladders once they have docked the walls. On the way, the dreadwights take withering fire from one or two fire mages who can just barely be seen commanding flames from a staff atop the battlements. The fires engulf the regiment of dreadwights and burn the ladders to ash, forcing a general retreat but not before they are put under withering fire by archers with flaming shot. The arrows covered in lit bitumen that find a target continue to burn the zombies, insensitive to pain, and upon burning into the fat stores left in their almost completely dessicated bodies, they burst into flame, causing their unlife to wither and the enchantment to fade. By the end of the first few attacks, about a thousand undead litter the field before the wall, but it is clear the enemy army is now marshaling its strength for a full assault.

Meanwhile, across the river, ten thousand of the undead warriors menace the temple while the other ten thousand split off to hold the bridge and flank the city's defenders to their west. Horns of the defenders greet the Galarians with a signal that they are under attack, meanwhile the horns of the enemy sound a general advance.

Royalblue127

Spoiler: Battle Map

Mayor's Palace, Holenwoln
​

"Well," Rosa began, without much confidence, "they've never been wrong before. At least not by more than a few thousand. And the men who bring the news to my father's manor seemed to think it was rather serious. So I don't know what to say. Then again, the national armies of the north comprise altogether enough to stop a force of even that size. Unless, of course, they use it as an opportunity to weaken their rivals."

She laughed at the mentioned of the idea that the Lich Kings would try to control the weather. "No, Prince Harrison, I very much doubt the Lich Kings would ever come to control the weather. They are petty sorcerers, you see. Not enlightened. They care for money, and comfort, and power, in their own queer way. I cannot see the appeal in living up there in the frozen cold and torturing already dead folks for an eternity. But then again, I've never tried it." She chuckled again. "No, the Inberi are in control of the weather. You know? The storm-spirits? They sank the Magisteri Imperium nearly three thousand years ago now." She sighed. "But that's just old legend. That's what I do all day, immerse myself in old books. Isn't that right Untock?"

"Mhm." Untock grunted disinterestedly, his head stuck in a portrait book of sunrises made in Solicazia.

Rosa turned back to Harrison, this time with a hint of disappointment on her face. "So, Prince Harrison, will you be staying for the Midwinter Festival? It's awful cold to be out...flying, at night as well."

Selee-01

The Southern Desert
​

"If it is that sort of thing you want, I think that can be arranged." Malacaccio replied. "I like a man, er, bull, who thinks of the practical things of war."

"Once you reach the Great Temple, my master will dispatch a band of warriors with a piece of infernal artillery." He took Buras's stick and drew in the sand to explain, a very close-to-accurate side profile of a ballista-type weapon. "The dimensions are something like ten feet tall, forty feet long. The projectile is thirty pounds, dense, made of lead. And the bowstring is made of adamant coil, very light with a high tensile strength. It can blast holes in stone walls from half a mile."

Malacaccio smiled. "What's more, if you take the city we can promise you at least three of these weapons. They are mounted on four-wheeled carriages, highly mobile, to move with your horde, O Great One." Malacaccio turned back to Buras. "Do we have a deal now?"

Soviet Panda

 

[Selee-01]

Mayor's Palace, Holenwoln
​

"Well," Rosa began, without much confidence, "they've never been wrong before. At least not by more than a few thousand. And the men who bring the news to my father's manor seemed to think it was rather serious. So I don't know what to say. Then again, the national armies of the north comprise altogether enough to stop a force of even that size. Unless, of course, they use it as an opportunity to weaken their rivals."

She laughed at the mentioned of the idea that the Lich Kings would try to control the weather. "No, Prince Harrison, I very much doubt the Lich Kings would ever come to control the weather. They are petty sorcerers, you see. Not enlightened. They care for money, and comfort, and power, in their own queer way. I cannot see the appeal in living up there in the frozen cold and torturing already dead folks for an eternity. But then again, I've never tried it." She chuckled again. "No, the Inberi are in control of the weather. You know? The storm-spirits? They sank the Magisteri Imperium nearly three thousand years ago now." She sighed. "But that's just old legend. That's what I do all day, immerse myself in old books. Isn't that right Untock?"

"Mhm." Untock grunted disinterestedly, his head stuck in a portrait book of sunrises made in Solicazia.

Rosa turned back to Harrison, this time with a hint of disappointment on her face. "So, Prince Harrison, will you be staying for the Midwinter Festival? It's awful cold to be out...flying, at night as well."

Harrison scratched his chin. It seemed more and more likely that the Drachen would war in the North. His father was hardly war-ready anymore, so it was likely one of his cousins or other relatives would fly into battle. Maybe Emma would go north. She loved a good fight.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard that the Lich Kings wouldn’t try to control the weather. That would be a truly frightening concept. The talk of storm spirits were interesting as well, but probably not a major concern.

“We have old tales of the Fall of the Wise. In our version, the First Dragon was born shortly afterwards. His skull is mounted above the Throne, in the Obsidian Palace.”

He considered.

“I may as well stay. I do hate cold weather, after all,” he said with a smile. “I’ll attend the Festival, but I’ll probably need to leave shortly afterwards. There’s only so much game to be found around here, and my Lord Father will need to hear about the undead.”

 

[Royalblue127]

Tublika, Tulian Confederacy
​

Felix Coriarus surveyed the field, Ragnar under him shifting his wings to accommodate for the strong northerly winds. The undead abominations seemed to spread wide on both sides of the river, their ranks larger than any army seen in the last 500 years. Felix grimaced, then nudged Ragnar to dive, the wind roaring in his ears before Ragnar spread his wings, the pair landing abruptly right at the front of the legion. He leapt quickly from the eagle, walking quickly to a pavilion set up as the ships began unloading supplies, and surrounding a small table the stood his tribunes, his legate, and the Primus Pillus. Felix took a moment to glance at the figure with the glowing sword, then turned his attention back to the soldiers in front of him. "Champion Vitalius, you and the 1st through 4th legions will march over the bridge to the temple of Halaria, and stage our defense there. Once you deafeat them, return to reinforce Legate Saturnus. Half the riders will escort you over the river" He looked at the golden helmed man, seeing no fear behind his solid derevs."it is your duty to safeguard our goddess, do not disappoint."

Bellator nodded quickly and jogged from the tent, and after a couple quick orders 4 cohorts, one double the size of the rest, began marching towards the bridge. Felix turned to his Legate, who was studying the map where the Eagle riders had given their reports. "Saturnus, you will take the remaining six cohorts and march to Toblikas gates, form a shield wall before them and ensure the city isn't breached, the undead should be repelled by our mages glyphs that the size of their army should not matter." Saturnus nodded slightly, before grabbing his helm and rushing from the tent, the rest of the army following his double time as he moved towards the vast hordes of abominations.

"The Dragonfire fleet is nearly free of it's cargo Consul, are we clear to join the battle?" The captain that approached Felix gestured to the deckhands clearing the last of the food from the deck, and the few clerics of Farhail present began setting up their white tents, medicines being brought to them by the few workers not part of the ships battle crew.

"Ensure more fire is focused on the horde by the city, they are better supported than those at the temple."The captain didn't wait for Felix to finish, running towards the 15 boats, her voice carrying foul words as she rallied the tense men to their stations. Cannons with dragon shaped heads appeared from their hulls, and the lines were quickly cut as the wind filled the sails of the blue flotilla.

Felix took a moment to confer with his prefect, before returning to Ragnar, and signalling to his riders to mount up, their eagles covered in toughed leather. He took a horn from his belt, and with a deep breath he blew, the sound carrying across the field, ringing in the mountains. The riders sprang into the sky, and the sun glared overhead as the armies of Galaria marched to a uncertain battle.

 

[Shireling]

The Battle of Tublika

At Elgoth Bridge
​

Marching forward to take the temple, the first detachment of undead to reach the complex performed an about-face and marched to the bridge, unlimbering their pikes and sending them to the front to hold the enemy's advance. They advanced to the halfway point of the bridge, pikemen at the ready to receive an enemy melee charge. Meanwhile, their skirmishers pelted the Galarian formation as it approached the bridge. At first, the skeletal archer fire was not particularly accurate or powerful. What arrows did land fell more or less uselessly against the upraised shields of the legionnaires as they double-timed to make the bridge. Unfortunately, the enemy was able to bring up a company of wights with crossbows who loosed a volley into the side of the formation. A score or more of Galarians fell in their armor, clattering in a spurt of red upon the white snow. The majority, however, reached the bridge to face the enemy's pike wall. Archers were pelting them the entire time they advanced across the bridge, but holding their shields above their heads they were able to take the fire, most of the arrows bouncing off the glossy metal surface of the Legion shields harmlessly. Yet, the angle of approach made it impossible for the enemy's crossbowmen to engage.

Meanwhile, the undead reached the temple on the far side. The first few dozen skeletons who stepped over the threshold began to waver and immediately caught fire upon entering the gardens that surrounded the temple. They clattered uselessly to the ground, and the troops behind them readied to attack the temple's heart and extinguish the Fire of Halaria, which was now burning white-hot in a blackened bronze brazier the size of a horse, high above the battlefield on the heights of the temple complex. It would, however, buy Bellator and his legions time to carve a path through the undead, if only they could overcome the press of pikes.

The Gates of Tublika
​

While fighting on the bridge was getting underway, the other Legionnaires were being allowed inside the city gates to help prepare for a siege assault. Upon trooping into the gates, they were greeted by a grim-faced populace watching from the rooftops and upper windows. What they did not know was that this city was the last best-defended Tulian stronghold in the valley. If it fell, the rest of the valley was vulnerable to a fate worse than death, all of the northern fortresses had already fallen to the attack.

Talking with the Tulian commander, General Illurian Tulius, Legate Saturnus would have been struck by the general's enormous stature, even for a Galuthran, and the steely determination in his eyes. Tulius locked Saturnus's arm in a military salute, then bowed to one knee. "We who followed the Tulius name, we Tullians ourselves, have prayed you would come. It has been many years since we called you brothers, Galarian. Yet, what pride tore apart let the glory of battle mend. May a million foes break against our shield wall."

Pleasantries such as this out of the way, Tulius rejoined his men on the north wall. Just as the Galarians suspected, the undead split their armies into two forces. The bulk of which assaulted the northern wall, about 60 thousand, while another group of a little under 20 thousand assaulted the gate. As the formations of enemies advanced past the walls, they took fire from archers on the walls, fire mages, and mangonel shot, thinning out their ranks as they advanced. While the bulk of the enemy's forces attempted to dock ladders on the walls, the other attack group finally reached the gate after taking fire along the length of the western wall. They advanced their ram first as the Galarians made ready to defend the breachpoint. A huge thud could be heard, rhythmically coinciding with the gigantic wood and steel-reinforced door buckling against its hinges. With unexpected rapidity and violence, the massive gate was flung open, the doors flying off their hinges and crushing a few unlucky auxiliaries standing too close to either side of the breach. The Undead of Illthak set upon the Legions with unexpected fury, jaws hanging slack, axes and swords raised above their heads. Their voices raised a sickening chorus of, "Death! Murder! Kill!"

They collided with the Legion's shield wall and stumbled back all at once, giving the Galarians a chance to step forward and bury their blades in ichorous flesh. Putrid, black blood fell out on the snow-covered paving stones as the legionnaires hacked through the first rank of the undead, confined in the breachpoint. Behind them, a mob of closely-packed enemies was massed, some of them still on fire from being shot with flaming missiles. Tulian defenders were throwing small boulders through the murder holes atop the gatehouse, crushing two or three undead corpses at a time and clogging the entryway, slowing their advance. Casting their eyes to the north wall, however, they could see that the enemy had docked their ladders and were fighting, despite at a trickling rate, with the Tulian professionals manning the walls. It was now do or die, they would break the undead here or be broken.

Royalblue127

 

[Shireling]

Off the Coast of Northern Loc Sam Nam, Winter 5420
​

Sunlight in the early morning played off the surface of the water, interrupted only by the light waves of the inland sea and the oars of Solicazian galleys plying the waters north of the secretive land of Loc Sam Nam. A fleet of fifteen warships, led by the Mara Cosas, a galean of the first rate. Her forward and aft turrets were bristling with ballistae and a Solicazian flag large as a house flapped from her main mast. Behind her were two armored carracks of the second rate, and trailing after them various galleys and galeans of the third, fourth, and fifth rate. They approached the shore at a steady pace, and by the fullness of dawn they were within landing distance of the shore.

The shore was not uninhabited however, a simple fishing village of perhaps thirty or forty people, with small huts built on stilts around a fresh water spring that trickled off a tall bluff, laid out before the explorers. Perhaps that's what they were. Explorers, whose vessels laid low in the water, weighed down by both men and arms. By noon, a boat had launched with a small force consisting of less than twenty mariners. They began to row at a reasonable pace towards the shore.

"So this is Loc Sam Nam. The coast rather. I must say, I was expecting...something else..." Captain Vokrazia muttered, standing at the head of the boat and looking through his spyglass at the village and the wetland forest beyond the coast. He was a tall man, thin, with a curled moustache and a thick brown beard. He was the only man in the boat wearing steel armor, a cuirass polished to a shine, and a tricorn hat. He put the spyglass down and inspected his map. "I'm told this land is rich in Manna Murioso, is that true?"

"Not yet," his first mate commented, "there are no plantations here to cultivate the stuff. That's why King Vanian wanted us to come and speak to the locals. Remember?"

First Officer Emil Parazotto, a relatively tall, thin Grummere of about five and a half feet tall with light green skin and great big, blue eyes, studied the shore with an intense gaze. His naval regalia was beginning to show wet with sweat and sea spray. "I must say, the climate is agreeable. Even in the winter."

"It's so bloody humid," commended Vokrazia, swatting away some form of insect. "Well Parazotto, you're the brains of the operation then, you do the talking."

"With pleasure, sir," Emil replied. By this time, the boat had made contact with the beach near the village. Emil went up, accompanied with two or three mariners with their swords in their sheathes, to speak to the locals. They would be surprised to find the strange creature spoke to them in their own provincial tongue, being one of the few foreign travelers who knew the language from his widespread travels as a merchant sailor. Behind them, on the beach, the Captain stood leaning tiredly against a Solicazian banner flapping in the noonday wind.

 

[Royalblue127]

The Battle of Tublika

The Elgoth Bridge
​

Captain Olivia Piscatora watched grimly from her ship as the First Detachment held itself against the undead horde. "Are the Onis Draco ready?" she called out to her crew, receiving yells of acknowledgement from below decks. "WELL THEN, LET THEM BURN!" At her shout, the Onis were lit, and from the mouths of dragons came liquid fire, that fell like heavy rain on the pikemen of the horde. Her smile shone behind her derevs as the fire of other 10 ships joined her own, and the roars of the undead turned to screams of pain. Further downstream, the 20 other ships of the fleet began to finally leave their moorings, moving to add their flame to a slowly disintegrating undead line.

Above, Bellator saw the undead beginning to waver, and with a roar he swung his sword, glowing a bright white as it cleaved though the dead like a knife through butter. "Come brothers, to the Flame!" The Galarians rallied behind him, and their shields sparked as the mages in the Testudo allowed their magic to flow through the runic arrays of the shield wall. Walls of purple force pushed the undead back, and with a final heave they broke, slaughtered and trampled as the remaining legionares rushed to the temple.

Above Tublika
​

Felix watched the battle unfold, and as a horn blew from inside the city his attention was drawn to the battle raging on the battlements of the city. He smirked at the wooden ladders the undead were using, and with a sharp nudge he led Ragnar into a steep dive, and with their claws he tore ten ladders from the wall. Felix laughed as the dead that were climbing them fell and splintered against the ground, and his fellow riders soon stopped their strafing runs of flinging undead in the ranks to join him. With their combined efforts, they made quick work of the remaining ladders, and with a few passes on the wall itself, the defenders were able to return to hailing fire and arrows on the undead below.