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Re: Fall into Darkness: The Defence of Ferein
Posted: 22 Jan 2007 08:06 PM |
Ulalume sulked her way down the Path of Elbereth, down the stairwell to the shores of the Omael and the shrine of the Mother after her third visit to Tel'Ilmela in as many days. She knew they must know by now, and it was irking her that she was not included in their planning. Surely, no one in Ferein knew the Midoran military as well as she, from strategy to psychology to the make-up of individual squads and ranges of siege engines. It maddened her to no end to think that, even after months of living among them, she was somehow still not completely trusted.
She passed over the rocky bridge to the far shore and knelt before the effigy of Elbereth, taking a deep breath and allowing calmness to wash over her like a spring squall. She knew, deep down, that this was all part of the Mother's plan. Somehow it would all make sense.
Horns sounded in the distance.
Her eyes opened, at first unsure of what she had heard. Surely, the Midoran Army could not be here already. She had seen the encampment on the Great Plains, and knew that the state of readiness she had witnessed would not allow them to cover the miles in between in three days. That could only mean...
She flew down the walkway, passing the curious and the fleeing, fighting against a stream of noncombatants seeking shelter in their homes. She stood taller than most, a blonde head bobbing above the frightened, confused mass of elvish faces.
In the center of the city she heard the horns coming from the direction of the Latonei, and hurried along, placing her blue helm on as she unlimbered her bow. Over the walkway, down the stone steps and she located the source of the chaos: a line of footsoldiers shielding a platoon of Holy Warrior firing arrows at a rapidly advancing mass of Atalan warriors. Funny, she thought as she reached back for an arrow and ran to the line herself, they looked almost exactly like normal elves. No wonder there were some who believed Ferein was responsible for the Brandibuck attack... she suspected there were more differences that would be obvious to an elf. Sometimes the things that ran through one's mind when battle was about to commence were almost humorous.
Her first four arrows found their marks, but it was clear that this tide would not be turned by the force they had at their disposal. She took a step back, drew her sword and shield and bellowed "back to the stair!" The front rank stood, protecting the Holy Warriors with their shield wall, and the Arosians reluctantly started retreating backward to the stone steps that led to the main entrance to Ferein proper. She could see in the tight, angular faces something she had never known in an elven face: real fear. This was all they had, and they were facing the first real threat to their home that most had ever known in their lives. Somehow, watching the Arosians take up positions on the stair behind her and preparing to face her deadly adversaries face-to-face, she felt a kinship with these strange beings that had eluded her before now. Yes, she thought to herself. I would gladly lay down my life for these people.
The force of the Atalan charge hit the line like a tidal wave, but they somehow stood their ground. Ulalume felt her back foot dig into the earth, and pushed back against it with a vicious return blow. Every minute she had spent defeating enemies, every moment she had spent in quiet meditation, honing her mind and soul for calmness and focus was now coming to bear. She battled as she never had before, cleaving through armor and bone like a machine of death. Foes fell around her, both to her blade and the rain of arrows coming from behind them. For a moment, it looked as if they just might hold them at the stair.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught movement from the direction of the McIath compound, and she knew they had somehow been outflanked. With barely a moment to scream a single word, "LEFT!" she wheeled and met the first attacker.
Beside her, a young soldier she recognized from her countless interviews for her as-of-yet nonexistent order failed to get his shield up in time, and the Atalan attacked sunk his sword deep into the space between the young elf's shoulder and neck. A fountain of blood erupted as the Atalan drew his sword cleanly free, triumph gleaming in his eyes for a brief moment until Ulalume's blade whistled through the air and took his head from his shoulders. She sprang sideways, shielding the recruit with her body and allowing her momentum to carry them both away from the point of combat. She twisted as they fell, absorbing the impact with the ground and rolled over on top of him. She looked into his eyes and knew she had but seconds before his soul left his body. She placed her eyes upon his chest, closed her eyes, and implored the Mother to repair his mangled body. She felt the familiar warmth spread from her hands and opened her eyes, relishing the sight of life returning to his eyes. He blinked a moment, unsure of where he was.
"Head for the stairs! Protect the archers!" she commanded, gathering herself for another foray into the maelstrom of the conflict. She had to provide enough of a diversion for these soldiers to advance back up the stairway and provide cover for the retreating Holy Warriors or they would be crushed between the two advancing lines. She quickly incanted a spell, the Elvish words feeling as natural as the Old Midoran she had been accustomed to praying in. Light erupted from her, the positive energy she harnessed fluorescing the air around her. At the top of her lungs she bellowed, "Come at me if you dare, you squirrel-loving bastards!" and threw herself into the fray.
Her sword was a blur of light and steel, her entire being focused in a flurry of blows, parries and counterblows. She felt the bite of Atalan steel once, twice, three times. She could feel the blood streaming down her arms and legs, and she knew she must hold out for just a moment more... she spun away from an attack and glanced up at the stair, seeing three or four more footsoldiers hurrying up the steps, arrows whizzing around them. Now she could make her retr-
An Atalan sword bit into her arm just above the elbow, shattering the bone and coming very close to passing completely through. She staggered, the pain nearly doubling her over, her sword still clutched weakly in her fingers. She tried to spring away, but another blow caught her just below the knee, and she fell. The world swam before her. She blinked and saw a warm, beautiful face looking down at her, smiling benevolently. She felt a love and acceptance that she'd never felt before, and knew that she was home. |
"You know, a gong. Large, flat object that you hit when you want things. Sort of like a waiter, but less portable."
-Radra |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: The Defence of Ferein
Posted: 23 Jan 2007 05:35 AM |
In contrast to the mood of just a few hours ago, the mood in the Council Chamber was buoyant, but sobered a little as Elvalia began to outline the reports that had so far been gathered since the battle.
“Dead and missing, two hundred ad forty three, that figure includes those who were in Latonei who’s fate is unknown and four of our standard patrols on duty in the Slyvian who are at the very least now cut off, also the paladin; Lady A’ Midori who was seen amid the fighting, we are not certain but it is believed she may have fallen in the fight for the stone stair. There is no word from Latonei at all, they were cut off early on by the Atalan, but we have seen the smoke so it does not bode well.” She lay the parchment next to her helm, perched on the edge of the ornate table, and took up another.
“The walkway would take several weeks at least to repair, but given the current situation with Midor I would say our best course of action is to forget about even attempting it. The only way into Ferein by land is along that route ultimately however the Midorans decide to travel here, so it creates a crude, but effective, solution to that problem.”
The parchment joined the other on the table.
“Wounded, three hundred and twelve, ranging from insignificant to near fatal, Nariel’s people and Liana’s clergy are dealing with them now, they will al recover.”
The pile on the table grew.
“Dwarves…” she glanced around the table at her companions, knowing they would be unaware and most likely surprised by what they were about to hear, “the last message from Coruva Lorehammer said that they would expect to arrive… by sea now naturally, in two days. They will boost our own military by the addition of no less than eighteen hundred warriors of varying ability.”
She smiled as the pile grew and, as expected, the surprise registered on the faces of the other women.
“So…we will be able to reinforce our people in Brandibuck, I will speak with Coruva once he arrives, it may be that we can send some dwarves, otherwise we will use our own people, it should enable us to begin rebuilding there and getting the economy back on its feet earlier than expected. We are protected almost impenetrably now from the landward side meaning we are free to act, or respond if necessary, anywhere we can reach via the Inner Sea. Food supplies will be little problem, the extra personnel in Brandibuck means that foraging parties can be sent into Mirghul to supply fresh meat for our dwarven allies, in terms of other foodstuffs Ferein can manage to provide sufficient for both our own people, the halflings, and the dwarves and still have some surplus, if only a small one.”
The last parchment joined the small heap on the table and she leaned back in her chair, unfastening her sword belt and leaning the rapiers against the table and loosening the clasps on her battle-stained armour.
“All in all, given the unexpected nature of the attack, our people did well, and the situation if anything looks better than it did before the Atalan graced us with their presence.”
The Princess nodded, the relieved smile on her face reflected by all in the room. “Those missing or dead, is there anything we might do for them?” She asked.
“Aala,” said Elvalia, “taken care of. I have just spoken with one of Nariel’s people, a human druid by the name of Alis Rapidshill, she can pass freely through the Plains and will go to both Latonei and the Mystic and revive and heal those she is able to, I told her to look out particularly for Strand and Shinesa and the paladin, Ualame. Once she has done that they are to search for anyone else cut off and bring them back to either Ladriel or Brandibuck avoiding the Plains. She will scout out a route on the way there.”
“Now… if you would all excuse me I would like to find my mother and the girls,” she smiled tiredly, “it has been a long night, but all in all a good one I think.”
She stood, gathering her fallen gear in her arms, somehow managing to balance or carry it all without dropping it, and walked towards the door.
“Elvalia…” Nariel’s voice came softly, “I will walk with you, there is something I would like to speak with you about.” |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: A Letter to Elvalia
Posted: 23 Jan 2007 08:06 AM |
*this letter is delivered to Elvalia's mailbox*
Elvalia,
I was doing some scouting around Skarfell earlier today and it occurred to me that besides flying or hiking across the mountains, there's a third option: maybe we could get a ship to pick us up from Asashi coast?
I still have some doubts about the broken bridge keeping the Atalan away. The gnome called Bel suspected that they might be able to teleport across the gap. I have no idea whether it is possible or not, but confirming it one way or another with Tel'Elena wouldn't do any harm, I suppose, assuming you haven't done so already.
Let me know if you'll be able to find us a ship.
Alis |
IG character: Alis Rapidshill |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: A Letter to Elvalia
Posted: 23 Jan 2007 08:27 AM |
*message sent by bird on receipt*
Asashi is certainly viable and arrangements can be made for rendevous with such numbers as you may revive or gather. Those named specifically are obviously of paramount importance but you should not stint in you efforts to save any you may find where practical.
Sufficient transport will be kept available and sail as soon as word is received that you are ready
*bearing Elvalia's signature and the seal of the Council of Ferein* |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: A Letter to Elvalia
Posted: 24 Jan 2007 09:27 AM |
Alis sits at the bank of the brook outside Asashi and hastily writes a short note. She sends it to Elvalia, carried by a dove.
I am almost ready. I'll make some preparations and then enter the woods.
Alis |
IG character: Alis Rapidshill |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: A Letter to Elvalia
Posted: 24 Jan 2007 09:37 AM |
The two ships were loaded efficiently and in almost complete silence, archers skipping lightly aboard to protect the druis who already lined the rail.
As dawn broke above the waters of the Inner Sea they set their sails and slid away from the shoreline of Ferein, setting course for Asashi. |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: the Rescue
Posted: 24 Jan 2007 06:36 PM |
Dear, sweet, merciful Goddess, please don't let the enemy see me.
Please, let me get through this, and save as many lives as possible.
I am afraid but I know I must do this. I want to do this.
Ferein needs all the forces it can get, as it faces two different opponents.
Please, guide my path today, and during the dangerous days to come.
Alis looked down at her shaking hands. This is it. She cast her protections, preparing for the worst: that the Atalan would still be somewhere close. She tried to push the thought of this possibility out of her mind, checking the fastenings of her armor. She drew one last, deep breath before heading to Tauras Bridge.
As she entered Mystic Wood, she faced a miserable sight. A day ago, she’d walked across this battlefield, shocked and barely understanding what she was seeing. So many bodies lying on the ground. Panic started to brew inside her again, but this time she forced herself to stay calm. To think. She walked deeper into the woods quietly, avoiding any cracking branches that might have given away her location to hidden enemies.
She reached the first body. A woman, dressed in green robes customary to Ferein druids. She kneeled next to the body and focused. Soon the healing energies coursed through her body and into the lifeless one lying on the ground, leaving her weakened. She remembered how Alton had said some time ago that he’d stopped praying before reviving, as he’d done it so many times over a short period of time. Alis remembered, and understood. It would be enough if she’d keep the Goddess in her heart.
“Do you think you can stand?” Alis asked the druid in Common, looking around cautiously.
The druid coughed groggily.
“Head for the Asashi coast”, Alis said quietly. The druid was getting to her feet shakily. “Or if you think you're doing well enough, you can stay here and help me”, Alis continued. The druid looked around, and simply nodded her answer.
The druid looked in dismay at the dead bodies littering the ground. “Ferein... the Atalan...” She was obviously afraid for her homeland, expecting the worst.
“Ferein is safe, for now”, Alis replied. She was a little surprised as the words flowed out of her mouth in Elven instead of Common, which she usually stubbornly stuck with, even though others spoke to her in Elven.
The shaken druid sighed in relief. “You are here alone?“ she asked Alis.
“We need to save as many as we can”, she replied, and the druid nodded in response, looking determined.
“There's a ship waiting for us at the coast”, Alis added.
“There is? You are from Ferein then?” the druid asked, sounding slightly surprised. “We may not use the entrance?”
“Elvalia sent me. The bridge is broken”, Alis replied, looking around for the next one she could save. The druid looked silently for a moment and then simply nodded, accepting the name without question.
They walked to a body of a fallen archer, who was still clutching her bow in her hand. Alis focused again, feeling the magic burn through her. The light-haired archer was breathing again, and Alis offered her a hand to help her get up. She weakly lifted herself first to her knees and then to her feet. She looked around wildly for a moment. They were close to the entrance to Slyvian, another site where the battle had demanded many casualties, Atalan and Ferein elves alike.
“We need to keep going”, Alis said urgently.
“They look... beyond help”, the druid muttered, as she and Alis surveyed the area.
Alis sighed. “So many have died... All around Vives.”
They moved on, going from one body to another, looking for signs of hope and life. Many were beyond their help, but they struggled on with sheer determination, saving every single one of those who could be saved.
They were approaching Latonei, when they smelled it. The stench of burning wood and flesh got thicker by every step. The Oakhouse was still in flames. They searched the surrounding areas, hoping to find survivors but it was a hopeless task. The fires had simply been too fierce. Alis wandered around aimlessly, feeling so numb and weak that she could barely stay on her feet.
“Are there any other places we can check?” she asked the group of elves with a blank voice, trudging onwards, away from the fires.
“Slyvian”, one of the archers suggested. Alis nodded wearily.
On the road that leads towards Tarik’s realm, they saw a dead female Atalan at the grass. Probably a mage, since she was wearing a robe instead of armor. A little further, they saw two Ferein archers lying on the ground, a man and a woman. They walked past the Atalan, and revived the archers.
“Can you search for tracks? Has anyone gone further?” Alis asked, as the two newest additions were shakily getting to their feet, aided by the other elves.
“We were the last, my lady”, the pale-looking woman replied, taking support from the ones standing on her side.
“We were cut off, everyone else had passed into Mystic”, the man continued.
“Has any of you seen Strand or Shinesa?” Alis asked the group, remembering Elvalia’s instructions. The elves shook their heads. Alis sighed, turned her sad gaze towards Mystic Wood, and started walking. When she was passing the corpse of the Atalan, she stopped, silently hoping that the robe-clad woman’s soul had ended up in the deepest pits of Hell.
One of the archers standing on Alis’ side hesitantly uttered half a question. “Should we...?”
It didn’t take long from Alis to figure out the rest of the question. “You mean... revive him and take him for a prisoner?”
An answering nod from the archer. “She may prove useful.”
A brown-haired elf added that the mage was outnumbered, and that they could tie and gag her before bringing her back. Alis pursed her lips. She wasn’t too keen on reviving an enemy that was likely to be a mage, and who knew how strong.
“Very dangerous idea... but it might be useful, yes.” If it would help Ferein, or the rest of Vives for that matter, she would do it. She started digging through her bag, looking for the coil of rope that she always carried with her. After finding it, she crouched next to the mage, pulled her arms behind her back and bound them tightly together with the rope, tying several knots. At the same time, the archer that had suggested this course of action, gagged the Atalan mage expertly, preventing any speaking attempts. “All right then...” Alis mutters, preparing for her not-so-pleasant task.
The Atalan mage regained consciousness and struggled weakly against her bindings, then rolling onto her back and glaring at the assembled company. Alis grabbed her by the elbow and unceremoniously pulled her up on her feet. “Let’s go”.
The mage made muffled attempts of speaking, clearly not happy about the situation she’d ended up in. Alis nudged her back, signalling her to start walking. She wrapped the loose end of her rope several times around her wrist, in order to keep the mage under control, in a sufficiently short leash.
There was only one place left to check: the entrance to Ferein. They moved through the battlefield in silence, apart from a few muffled sounds of protest from their prisoner, and arrived at the stairs. It was clear that a big battle had taken place there. Amongst the bodies, there was something that caught Alis’ attention: a battle-scarred tower shield, two shades of blue, with a figure of a golden, winged horse in the middle. She picked it up.
“I think we should take this with us.” She assumed that such a beautifully crafted shield must’ve belonged to someone important. One of the archers nodded in agreement and added that he knew of only two shields such as this one, and they were used by the human paladins.
Even though her tracking skills are limited to say the least, even Alis couldn’t help noticing that something heavy had been dragged away from the site. Alis flinched as she realised what this could mean. Ulalume. And she was nowhere to be found. She closed her eyes for a brief moment.
“Elvalia asked me to look for Ulalume... I can’t see her body, this is bad.”
There wasn’t much they could do about it, and they climbed up the stairs to save those they could still save.
The sight that awaited them at the walkway wasn’t new to them. It wasn’t pretty. Crumpled forms of elves lying on the ground. Only this time, one of them was still alive. She was leaning against the rail, sitting with her head bowed, her flesh scorched, hand pressed on a savage tear across her stomach. As the rescuers approached, she groaned softly, the blood seeping over her badly burned fingers. Alis hurried to her, quickly grabbing a bandage in mid-step and pressing it against the wound. The breathing of the badly burned archer grew a little easier as the bleeding slowed down, and she looked up at the faces surrounding her, her eyes looking very strange against the background of blackened flesh.
Alis swallowed, as looking at the poor woman was almost too much to take. “Are there any more?” she asked and looked around. Only one warrior waiting for their aid.
“You... you have been to Latonei?” the badly burned elf asked with a strained voice. “The humans... did you find them?” She sagged a little, as if speaking had taken all of her strength. Alis shook her head in response.
The elf spoke again: “We were with them... in the Oakhouse.” her breath was wheezing painfully but she continued. “It was hopeless, we tried to fight our way out but the fires...”
Alis hanged her head in sorrow, listening to her. The archer let out a whimper as she looked at her hand, burned to severe blisters. Then she gathered herself and looked back up at Alis. “Then I fell unconscious... they were alive then.... I made my way here... trying to get to Ferein but...“
Alis’ brow creases with thought. “Maybe they got out.”
Though her flesh was too burned to show expression, the eyes clearly showed she was certain. “They were alive when I fell.” Then she painfully pulled herself to her feet.
Alis nodded once. “Let’s go. The ship should be waiting for us.”
They headed for the coast, a human and a large gathering of elves in their torn and bloody armors, all looking equally sorrowful and tired. As they reached the coast, Alis saw them. Two ships waiting not too far away. She waved at them, and they pulled close into the shore, and druids and archers on board helped everyone aboard. Then the ships were quickly and efficiently turned and set sail for Ferein.
As Alis walked down to the dock, she let out a relieved sigh. They were safe. She had succeeded. Elvalia and Nariel were waiting for them. “You have done well”, Elvalia said. Spotting the pale features of the mage among the crowd, her eyes lit up. “And a prisoner!”
Despite Elvalia’s pleased reaction, Alis looked sad. “I didn't find Strand, Shinesa or Ulalume...” Elvalia frowned, while Alis continued. “I found this...” she said, and produced the shield from her bag.
“No bodies?” Elvalia asked.
Alis shook her head and glanced back at the archer, who had been at the Oakhouse. She retold her story to Elvalia.
Elvalia sighed. “Prisoners then, perhaps.”
Nariel turned towards Alis. “You have done well, sister.”
“Thank you. I tried my best”, she answered. “I wish I could've done more.”
Then Nariel looked at the gathering of elves waiting behind Alis. “Food and healing await, take the prisoner to detention, we will... speak with her later.”
The rescued elves departed up the slope towards Ferein, and Nariel turned her attention back to Alis. “It can’t have been easy”, she said, her head tilted. Then she seemed to consider something for a moment. “I imagine were I to offer you a reward, you would refuse it.”
Alis merely smiled weakly.
“Nevertheless... doubtless there may have been times when you doubted where you belong?” Nariel asked.
“Well, yes”, Alis replied hesitantly. “I have my weak moments.”
Nariel smiled at her gently. “I believe you now have your answer”, she said and laid a carefully wrapped package on the decking at Alis’ feet.
Alis looked at her curiously, as Nariel had been right, and she would never have asked for, or even thought of any kind of reward, and yet she was presented with one.
“Take it, it is yours”, Nariel said and gestured her to pick up the package. “Wear it with pride, one does not need to be an Elf to serve the Mother, welcome to the Order.”
Alis thanked her and smiled to her warmly, clearly moved by her words. “This is an honour. Thank you.”
Then Nariel looked at Elvalia. “We had best see what is to be done with that prisoner... and discuss those still missing.” Elvalia nodded thoughtfully.
Alis remembered the shield that was still in her bag. “What about the shield?”
“Keep it”, Elvalia said, smiling. “I imagine you can find a use for it?”
“I'll give it back to Ulalume when I see her again”, Alis replies, her voice full of determination and hope.
Elvalia nodded. “Very well then. We had best go, take care, Alis.”
“You too”, she replies.
The two elves walked towards Ferein and Alis sat down on the bench, staring at the sea. It didn’t take long until the heaviness of the day caught up with her. She couldn’t keep her eyes open and soon her head started bobbing. She positioned herself on the bench and drifted to sleep almost instantly.
((A huge thank you to the Ranger for making this happen. This is pretty much what went down, I only took some minor narrative liberties.)) |
IG character: Alis Rapidshill |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 25 Jan 2007 02:00 PM |
The situation in Port Royale is worsening, many of those not killed in the attack now dying instead to disease and starvation whilst healers work full-time to prevent an epidemic. The strain is taking its toll, a severe form of triage now being resorted to in these desperate times to ensure the greatest amount of survivors.
The healers here look drained, the task of raising so many leaving them not only depleted but also wary of calling upon the devastating blessings of the gods to recall souls from the brink of death, lest it result in their own and leave Port Royale with no healers. |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: The current situation
Posted: 29 Jan 2007 05:38 AM |
Since the attack on Ferein and the burning of Latonei Forest, the Atalan have been quiet. Some may say too quiet, yet no one is in any real doubt as to the attacks having ceased.
Brandibuck Vale: The situation there is stable, supplies continue to come from Ferein to feed the population. Indeed, those observant enough to note will have seen an increase in the number of Elves in the village, many departing regularly to the surrounding forest lands on foraging and hunting parties, using meat gathered to feed not only the hin population but for shipping back to the Elven realm. Those aware of recent developments will know that a large number of dwarves is expected to arrive in Ferein soon, which is no doubt the reason behind this. The store and apothecary remain closed, Fredo has not been seen since the attack and Drugo has been heard to mention on more than one occasion that he cannot make bandages with thin air.
Midor: There is little news from the city of an official nature, though fields still lie barren. Some are heard to wonder as to how long the city can survive on what foodstuffs it may have stockpiled, even more so given the huge army encamped on the Great Plains. Midor is still at war with Ferein, but as yet, there has been little sign of movement from their army.
Port Royale: The situation in the lower port is dire, The Aristi, splitting their efforts between there and Icy Vale, continue to aid as they can but there is an air of resentment within the poorer area at the lack of action, the indifference even, of the noble section of the city who seem to neither care nor even in some cases be aware of the plight of those who are suffering.
Gladden: If ever there were a settlement that fit the description of a ghost town then Gladden would be the ideal subject. Nothing lives.
Latonei Forest: Completely burned out and devastated, the Oakhouse lies shattered, the whereabouts of Strand and Shinesa unknown. It is thought, by some at least, that they were alive when last seen and may in fact now be captives.
Ferein: After having fought off the Atalan incursion. The Elven realm lies in a position of relative security. The lack of landward access means it is if anything more secure from attack by either Midoran or Tarikian forces. The survivors of the Bregodim military, together with their leaders, are due any day now. Nevertheless, Ferein has mobilised further armed forces and in contrast to the usual two standing legions, has no less than 6 under arms and on a war footing. They do not mean to be caught by an unexpected attack again.
Rumours persist that the rescue effort in Latonei and the Slyvian after the attack yielded a prisoner, currently being held in Ferein. The rumours are not being denied. Like Strand and Shinesa, the whereabouts of the Elberethian paladin, Ualame a Midori, remain unknown, she is thought to have been at the very least wounded and suspected by evidence that could be gathered to be a captive.
Buckshire: Still, miraculously, untouched. General Fennigan is known to have been in discussion with the Mayor and representatives of the Aristi in an effort to organise a defence against what many feel is sure to come. Rumour also speaks of the imminent delivery of a 'miraculous weapon' apparently paid for by donation.
Overall
Staple foods are becoming more expensive, rationing is in force in Port Royale though the situation is Midor is unknown. The Elves, existing as they do on different staple foods due to their differing economy, are not subject to rationing, as yet at least.
Healing supplies also, potions, bandages, are becoming more expensive. Basic items such as farm tools have also increased in price. Weaponsmiths and armourers have been heard to whisper that stocks of metal are low since the fall of Bregodim, giving rise to rumours that their wares also will soon be more expensive and in shorter supply.
As hunger and shortages begin to bite in many places, folk are left wondering when, and where, the Atalan will strike next. |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: The WONDER WEAPON
Posted: 29 Jan 2007 07:37 AM |
The cart was HUGE, moreover, so were its contents, whatever they were.
The gnome jumped down from the driver's seat and approach Harold, prodding him in the gut, "Is this Buckshire?"
"Yuzz," replied the befuddled half-orc, staring in dismay at the group of gnomes busying themselves with untying the tarpaulin that covered the wagon's contents and readying something that, though it looked like it might overbalance the whole wagon, appeared to be some sort of enormous crane or hoist.
"Good, good," in that case I have a delivery for you, "said the gnome holding out a parchment and quill, "sign here please."
Still bemused, the trader grasped the quill in his fist and laboriously scratched an 'X' at the bottom of the parchment before losing himself in the sight of the gnomes now attaching harnesses to various points on the wagon's contents.
"Now, you understand that this is the Tockticken Mark 22a Bad-Thing-Squisher, not the Mark 23 Turn-On-A-Copper-Piece Racer, so you'd best warn people around here that they need to get out of its way, it goes through and over, not around, understand?" Said the gnome, once more prodding Harold's gut to get his attention.
The half-orc nodded dumbly, as the engineer team began to operate the hoist.
Whether by design or not as it began to lift the whole wagon lurched into an almost upright position and the contents screeched down the bed of the wagon to land in an upright position in the road with an almighty thud. Relieved of it's burden the wagon fell back to earth with a crash, gnomes flying in all directions.
"Good job team!" Beamed their leader, "Now... let's have that tarpaulin off and get it switched on eh?"
Hauling on the ropes for a minute or two at least seemed to produce the desired effect and Harold and the by now growing crowd of onlookers gawped at the enormous man-shaped 'thing' which gleamed in the evening light.
The access panel, literally on the contraption's rear, was opened and a gnomish head or two disappeared from sight, looking from a distance quite obscene. The murmering of the crowd was punctuated occasionally by hastily mutterd gnomish from the machine's rear, and the soft clicks of instruments carefully applied.
The gnomes, or at least their heads, reappeared beaming, giving their leader the 'thumbs up', at which point he approached the machine, holding in his hand some outlandish contraption from which came a serious of what could only be described as squeals, such as one would hear from an injured cat.
"Good job fellows! Now... all we need to do is activate..." He prodded a button on the contraption, nothing.
Once more the access panel was opened, gnomish heads disappearing, muttered gnomish, tinkling sounds, this time also the occasional clang, then again, the slam of the panel and the thumbs up signals.
"Here goes!"
Nothing.
The leader turned to Harold, "I say! Trader aren't you? Would you have such a thing in your store as a golem starter?"
"A whut?" Answered the half-orc, scratching his head.
"Perhaps better if I look myself eh? Easier than trying to describe it," said the gnome brightly, rummaging through Harold's wares.
"AH!" He shouted in triumph, "Here we are! Mark I Golem Starter... should work perfectly, don't see many of these nowadays, outmoded you know but it should do the trick!"
He hefted the sledgehammer over his shoulder and walked over to the towering figure, waving his companions away.
"Here we go then, STAND CLEAR EVERYONE!" With that he fetched the golem an almighty clout with the hammer on the rear end.
With a creaking of joints and hiss of gears the golem moved off on its programmed patrol, accompanied by the cheering of the gnomish contingent.
"Wonderful!" Cried the leader, shepherding his gang back onto the wagon and clambering back into the driver's seat.
As the vehicle moved off he waved back to Harold over his shoulder, "Nice to do business with you sir. Have a nice day!" |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: The Gnomes of Tockticken
Posted: 04 Feb 2007 05:50 PM |
In the dead of night, Salt Sower awakes in a cold sweat. The images still burn vivid in his mind's eye.
He pulls a sleeping cap from his head and mops his face with it, hissing as he does so, "Haven!"
Only a segment of his consciousness awakes from the dream; the greater part of it is still in the dreamlands, moving without friction according to his will. He partitions his consciousness as is his way, reviewing and recording this new premonition as it unfolds before him, arranging it within the palace of his memory where - even if it is lost - it would always remain.
Perhaps it would settle alongside another fragment, an older premonition that he had not then fathomed. There side by side he would see similarities.
Vylduno. That is what the gnome Quirini called the place. Factory.
The Aristi called it Haven. Home.
The last time Salt had seen Quirini he experienced a premonition similar to the one he had just dreamed. The streams of lava moving in conduits through and around Haven were still. It was terrible to see the magma grow cool in those channels. How would the rock ever be cleared out, the entirety reactivated? It could not be. The mountains stopped their wandering allowing the location of Haven to be fixed, the enormous magma-powered apparatus of its concealment brought to full stop.
I think if we were to visit Haven right now... Salt said then, Vylduno would be empty. Empty of its mechanical guardians, those mighty Sentinels that the Aristi seemed somehow to have activated, empty of the noise that the mysterious Hush Tunnels once concealed.
That vision came three months ago, and immediately after Salt visited Haven, finding to his relief and befuddlement that nothing at Haven had changed. The mountains still shifted in a moving labyrinth and the Sentinels still stalked beneath them. Nothing had changed, except for the revelation to near everyone of the existence of a "neutral city" inhabited by gnomes that was called Tockticken.
Vylduno, the Factory where the gnomes perfected their craft in constructs had a clear relationship to Tockticken. The gnomes of Factory and the gnomes of Tockticken were one. There may even have been passage from one locale to the other, through those mountains shifting under pressure from canalized magma-flows.
Tockticken seemed to be contiguous with the underground realm that was inhabited by the Duergar, and the terrible grey-skinned Atalan.
And hadn't those gnomes been seen to trade with the Duergar as well? Salt had once seen the Halls of Bregodim. He tried to imagine what it must have been like when the Duergar boiled up through the Halls like a thundering tide cutting down everything that stood in their path.
Salt stepped into a pair of leather and wood clogs that sat by his bed, stood, and dressed.
His slickrock abode was quiet and chill. It was lonesome.
The gnomes of Tockticken could without a doubt reestablish control over Vylduno, turn the Sentinels upon the Aristi who were little more than squatters there.
As he pulled on his robes, knotted a sash about his waist and packed a hasty traveling bag, Salt considered that the wards upon Haven's plateau might yet offer some protection. He had consulted with Lillian in their design. Though he disagreed, Lillian wanted them strong enough to bring down the mountain.
Better to destroy Factory? Salt asked his intuition, Or better to give it to the dwarves that dwelled in the darkness?
The answer seemed fairly plain.
However the answer would come from Byron, and the Aristi squatters at Factory. Compelled by what he had seen in the darkness, Salt shuffled clip-clopping to the ranking Herald at Brandibuck Vale, woke her, and ascertained that Byron had sent word from the command center at Haven on the previous day. Then what he saw had yet to transpire. There was still time - none could say how much - to act.
Moving through the nighted village and speaking to no one else, Salt made his way to the shore and waited impatiently as the Gnomish flying machine reached operating temperature. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: Silent departure
Posted: 05 Feb 2007 05:45 AM |
So many questions; so many imponderables. So few… answers.
Her blonde hair fell forward as she examined the maps, the papers in front of her, brushing it absently from her eyes as she studied, altered a note on the map here, scratched a reminder for her own benefit, or made amendments to the three carefully worded sets of orders that she had spent the night drafting. It would be a bold move, like most she made unexpected, risky even, but as with anything else she did, her heart told her it was the right thing to do.
She looked up as her ears picked up the sound of the quietly approaching footsteps and smiled at the much older woman who was rapidly becoming one of her closest friends, “Nariel, greetings,” she looked down once more at the papers before her running her mind for one last time over the contents and deciding there was nothing more to add.
The druid watched the small figure gathering the papers together, orders and maps collated, notes slid into a fold in her hooded cloak.
“All is ready,” her soft, almost whispering voice breaking the stillness of the night, “ships loaded and the Cavee on board. Aeladhrial and the others will be here shortly for their orders.” As the other nodded she sat beside her, “You are sure then?”
Elvalia looked at her, green eyes glinting briefly in the misty light of the garden, and laughed, “No, but it is the right thing to do, I gave my word.”
The druid merely nodded, acceptance complete. “You have changed a great deal, did you know that?” She asked, “I doubt you do. I watch you in Council, in situations like this and I don’t think you realise what you are becoming to many of our people, how they look to you.”
As the smile faded from Elvalia’s face her eyes almost seemed to darken to black as the light disappeared from them and it was the druid’s turn to laugh, “Don’t raise those barriers to me my Lady Mellebin, there is no need to hide from me.” She pointed at the three, now sealed sets of orders, “Could you have done that a year ago? I doubt it, I doubt also they would have been given only under your own seal. Whether you realise it or not, our people look to you, respect you, listen to you. You have become a leader.” She looked at the silent, carefully composed features of the younger woman. “I don’t think you want it, but you have it, and whether you realise it or not you know how to use it. How else could someone deal with the lives of so many of our people as you are doing now?”
“I know you don’t show what you feel, your worry, your doubts, but you do it nevertheless. You might not want power, seek it out, but you have gained it and accepted it even without realising, I think. It is not easy to do the things we do, I know it as well as you, but we do them nevertheless because we must.”
Elvalia simply nodded before replying, “I am constantly surprised as to why people should even listen.”
“They listen because they trust you, Elvalia,” said the druid softly, “I trust you, Arien and the Princess trust you, as does almost the whole of this realm. Do you think anyone other than you could have stopped the retreat from the Atalan on the walkway? Would they have listened to anyone else, to me for instance, as they listened to you? A few words from you, your presence among them, and the entire situation changed. I believe we are very fortunate to have you among us Elvalia Mellebin.”
She turned away as the sound of soft voices heralded the approach of the three Anmefylala, watched as they approached, bowed and accepted the packages from her companion.
Elvalia had risen to her feet in her usual effortless, economical manner, the movements so fluid as to be almost unnoticeable. “Everything you need is in these packages,” she said, you’ll see where you should take up position from the maps. Once there, do what we do best, disappear. She laid out a larger map at her feet and the other three crouched along with her as her finger traced over it. “Aeladhrial, I want Anmaa here, it’s the most likely approach, the most vulnerable and your people are the most experienced. Galdan and Telnor, Seel and Layl will take up positions here… and here. Stealth and secrecy are vital, doubtless there will be occasions when your Ocea are spotted, if so their orders are that they are foraging, hunting game, after all we have a village and a sizeable number of dwarves to feed. The explanation will be accepted. Under no circumstances is there to be any provocation at all, anything else is in your orders.”
Aeladhrial was the one to put into words what all there were thinking, “If we are attacked?”
Nariel watched, the younger Elve did not hesitate in the slightest.
“You fight”, said Elvalia, “kill them.”
Each Anmefyla simply nodded, accepting the pronouncement as Elvalia continued, “The ships will drop you at Asashi, from there make your own way to your new positions as stealthily as possible.”
The three Elves bowed and began to walk off in the direction of the dock, halted as their commander spoke again.
“Take care, all of you.”
As they disappeared from sight and earshot, Nariel turned once more to Elvalia.
“You see?” She said softly, “That is why they follow you, because they know that you care. |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: Silent departure
Posted: 05 Feb 2007 03:19 PM |
((Originally Posted by The Snooty Duchess))
The following message is posted, in bold, neatly drawn letters, on the notice board at the Buckshire Trading Post:
Make A Difference!
To our fellow adventurers:
Every day, many of us go off and fight fearsome foes, for a variety of reasons. Sometimes it is to win safety for the innocent, sometimes it is to ensure the continued flow of commerce, sometimes it is to deliver messages for those unable to do so themselves, or to find missing loved ones.
We are what we are: people with the means to deal death. It is a sobering analysis to face, but it is also the truth. As many are wont to point out, that ability, whether given by God or Nature, is a responsibility to be used wisely, not a gift to be frivolously exploited.
We ask all those that are able to call upon their compassion to assist in an endeavour to alleviate the suffering in Port Royale. For one day, help direct your efforts toward finding food and bringing it to those who need it. The world has available hunting grounds, whether at the peaks of mountains or deep beneath the earth. We need merely go to them, and return with the meat of our kills, rather than leaving them freezing in the cold or festering in the heat, as we so often do.
Though I know little of such things, naturalists among you may also know of fertile grounds where wild vegetables can be found, that we may deliver balanced meals to those in need. We especially ask the assistance of those that make their way in the wild, rangers and druids, to find and deliver the necessary aid.
The most vulnerable need sustenance, and they need hope. Please help to bring it to them.
You may discuss your participation in this endeavour with Emma Robinson, Sylune Almare Tindomerel, or Alexi Sorvika, or simply leave your name on this letter. We hope to have everything arranged and to strike out in a few days time.
With thanks, and hope,
Emma Robinson
Sylune Almare Tindomerel
Alexi Sorvika
((I would want to make this trip (or trips) no later than Thursday, starting at some point between 9 and 11 EST (i.e. between 6 and 8 PST), perhaps with a brief meeting or two to plan things out beforehand, if anyone is interested. The trip to the 'hunting grounds' should be somewhat harrowing and quite fun for those that haven't reached epic levels.)) |
ELVES! |
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Fall into Darkness: Byron and Haven
Posted: 06 Feb 2007 01:17 PM |
((written with Byron))
The following conversation began two days ago, early on the morning of Salt's premonition. He was transported to Haven on the gnomish flying machine just as soon as the thing was warmed up, and set about bothering every Herald that he came across for the whereabouts of Byron Lorion. Finding him he recounts what he has foreseen.
Byron did not speak as he considered Salt's words. The sage has sought him out, as so many had the past several days, and Byron was happy to see him again. He was a valuable ally, Byron knew this, and he would give him the time he needed.
"Byron, I fear for the security of Haven. We know too little of this place... of its history, its powers... But let me begin differently. Lest I sound like a simple lunatic, eh?
"No," responded Byron, "not a lunatic. But you are right. Now say what you are bursting to say, Salt. I will hear you."
Salt begain, his words pouring over each other as water from a dam. "It was just a few days before the gnomes revealed Tockticken to the rest of the country, that I had my first premonition of disaster at Haven..."
"Disaster?" inquired Byron, but Salt would not slow in his account.
"It was strange. I received a strong impression that this place had been abandoned... I don't mean the way it was after the Battle of the Plains, winds blowing the tents down and more of these strange Sentinels in it than warm bodies... It was as though the strange life of this place, the life that goes back to before it was discovered by the Novus Aristi, was suddenly extinguished. I saw this place empty. The hot magma stopped flowing, the Sentinels had vanished..."
"You know what the gnomes called this place, Byron? They called it Factory. Vylduno is the name for it, among those who remember. And they called these mountains Nanihil Fihdial before they were claimed by Midoran. Still do, I suppose..." He paused to consider his next words, and Byron did not interupt.
"Were they waiting down there in Tockticken for the proper sign to appear, veiled behind ancient illusions? Did they slumber? It seems clear that the Naillamne mages, and the Duergar trade with them, and now constructs from Tockticken protect their territories just one protects Buckshire... Yes... The Naillamne and the Duergar knew of Tockticken before we did, that is certain. That is part of what troubles me, lends substance to my premonition Byron.
"How did you and Lillian find this place, Byron? I mean, was it active, magma flowing, mountains shifting, Sentinels operating... Did you find those Sentinels where they stand now, or did you somehow activate them?"
The rush of words finally ended, and Byron sensed it was his turn to speak, "It was no special revelation that lead us to Haven. The renegade paladins needed a place to organize, a base, if you will. The Midor Mountains seemed ideal, and Haven, well...it was not like this when we first came" Salt gave Byron a quizzical look. "It is true. Haven did not reveal it's secrets to us until after we had settled here. I do not know what caused it to activate. No one does, I suppose."
He could hear Salt's eyes darting back and forth. He was thinking, and Byron gave him a moment. Finally, Salt spoke, "To return to the beginning... my warning, my fears for this place... Byron, months ago, before I had seen Tockticken for myself, I could see Haven completely shut down. It seemed as though some piece of clockwork had thrown a switch, and this Factory was finally retired. The mountains stopped moving. The Sentinels departed, by what means I cannot say.
"Byron, I have seen this again, and more. The mountains cease their wandering, fixing the location of your Haven. The Sentinels depart leaving it virtually defenseless to attack. And the Atalan, they and their dwarven allies enter through the Hush Tunnels for an assault equal to the one thrown against the Halls of Bregodim. Byron, Tockticken adjoins the darkness that those Atalan and Duergar call home, and through Tockticken there lies a pathway to its former Factory. I have no doubt whatever that your Haven is staggeringly vulnerable to an attack by these forces."
Again, Byron considered the sage's words. Ticktocken did not seem allied to the Atalan, or the Duergar. They seemed more mercenary, willing to work for whomever offered the most gold. Salt shattered this train of thought with his next words. "Moreover my friend, I tell you now that I have foreseen this attack.
"The wards... Byron, I consulted with Lillian in their design. They will foil this attack, bring the mountain down upon these attackers. This I have also foreseen. But your Haven will be lost. Therefore you must decide. Do you recall your Heralds and fortify Haven, or do you detonate it such that the rich mineral wealth does not fall to the Duergar and Atalan?"
He knew what had to be done. Salt's words were a buzzing in his ears, a distraction from his task.
"Or, do you go to Tockticken, negotiate your safety with the gnomes who are already in negotiation with their neighbors, the Duergar." Salt choked back a blend of revulsion... Byron could tell he dreaded the the thought of sustained discussions with the gnomes. "I am sorry to lay this upon your shoulders, Byron. You shall have my assistance if there is any use for me in averting this tragedy..."
Byron summoned an aide, a jaunty boy who recently had come of age. He wrote his orders on three seperate pieces of paper and handed them to the boy. Then Byron raised a hand. "I have issued recall orders to all the Aristi. They are to return to Haven at once to assist in it's defense. If Haven falls, the Novus Aristi are lost." Suddenly, he heard a shout from outside the tent. The jaunty aid whom Byron had given his orders charged into the tent.
"Sir," he shouted, "We are under attack!" Byron charged out of the tent, leaving Salt alone. The automatic defenses would activate, this Byron knew. The Q-store would be protected, the Hush Tunnels would be blocked off. Haven would defend itself. But it was to his Heralds that Byron rushed. To organize a defense, and save those he could.
The attack on Haven had begun. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Fall into Darkness: Starvation
Posted: 06 Feb 2007 01:24 PM |
Emma sat at the table at the Four Winds Inn, a piece of parchment in hand, penning a note. It wasn’t in her journal, and didn’t follow her usual writing style. It was an outline, the bones over which muscle and skin would later be stretched.
It read as follows:
1. This is a stop-gap measure This must be acknowledged, but immediate needs can’t be subsumed by debates about longer term solutions. Those can wait until after delivery. Time is at a premium…these tangents burn it.
2. Many headed hydra More like the beasts of legend than the real ones – cut off one head and two grow back. Everyone has a different idea of where to hunt and what to do. Little time to make a decision. The better ones are as follows:
a. Fiirkrag megafauna – dangerous trip, but plenty of meat. Getting it down the mountain is difficult, but not insurmountable;
b. Fish, caught by the man known as Corbin – can’t think of any problems with this plan, aside from the fact that ships and their crew tend to have a price in gold.
c. Deep cattle - it should be confirmed they are edible, distracts from Fiirkrag trip,the only way down is a narrow well, meaning meat would have to be cut into manageable pieces to get it out. Need to further discuss with Timik. Should only go if the resources are there for both Fiirkrag and the depths
d. Nutmeats from the jungle – people need a balanced diet, but unless we have a very large party, I question how much can be gathered in a short time. Need to further discuss with Vrodo
e. Berries from the cursed forest – same issues as with nutmeats
f. Purchases of food stores from other settlements – Does it transfer the starvation burden? In these times, should the flow of gold determine the flow of food? Would it be enough, in any event?
3. Get oxen in Icy Vale - bring to staging area in Buckshire
4. Aristi involvement – no reply as yet; discussed with Sir Markus. Contingencies?
5. Artio – Use of fires, assistance curing the meat? Need to speak to them. |
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Fall into Darkness: Starvation, Part Two
Posted: 07 Feb 2007 12:57 PM |
((Unless I hear screams of protest, this will happen at 9 PM EST / 6 PM PST Thursday February 8, starting from outside McGillicutty's in Buckshire. My apologies to folks who might have wished to take part but for whom these times don't work. Anyone is welcome to participate.))
Emma unfolded her original parchment and went through it line by line, checking off some items and crossing out some others. Fish, it seemed, were unlikely to be caught on such short notice. The sailor Corbin's ship was now at sea, and nobody seemed to know when or if he'd be returning. Sylune had said she'd look into other options, but time was not on their side.
The logistics of bringing Fiirkrag megafauna down the mountain seemed so much simpler than the logistics of bringing deep cattle up a narrow well. The group that had thus far assembled were warriors and naturalists, not butchers and chefs. It would take a very long time to bring deep cattle up piece by piece, and one of those cows was between one-sixth and one-tenth the size of the creatures they would be bringing down the mountain.
Ten of the horned creatures, therefore, would provide the meat equivalent of between sixty and one-hundred head of cattle. It seemed Vrodo had figured out a reasonable method to bring them to the Artio, as well. As Emma pondered this, it seemed to her that, with Sylune's help, Vrodo's plan would allow the creatures to be delivered safely to the Artio without anyone but the tribesmen and the party even knowing something was going on.
Food other than meat remained a concern, and the only options Emma saw were buying from other places (Ferein, Icy Vale, Buckshire, and some further off, more out-of-the-way settlements), and the gathering efforts of Vrodo and his ilk. In such times as these, she didn't know if the economics of the bakery still applied: that half of all that's made gets thrown away. Still, people were dying of starvation in Port Royale. She'd not heard reports of starvation elsewhere, so, as distasteful as she found it, she would use what gold she had to bring bread and preserved vegetables from elsewhere to the desperate in Port Royale.
Finally, Sir Markus had been in contact with Lord Byron, and it seemed that the decision of whether the Aristi would take responsibility for rationing and distributing the food was in Markus' hands. Happily, he offered that assistance without equivocation. The work of the group that hunted and gathered the food would effectively be over upon delivery of such to the Novus Aristi field office at the Northern Highway.
Emma stared for a time at the parchment, then idly doodled a picture of a stick-figure knight handing out food to the thankful masses, his golden locks (in this case, black charcoal brush cut) shining in the bright sun against the backdrop of a blue sky. She smiled at the picture for a time, lost in a fantasy, before once more allowing reality to catch her in its grip, and folded the parchment and returned it to her pocket.
Execution, it seemed, was all that remained. |
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Buckshire
Posted: 08 Feb 2007 10:33 AM |
After a long period of negotiation, there is movement within Buckshire.
A warning spread to the merchants of the Trading Post has resulted in most of the travelling merchants of the Trading Post moving to the devastated docklands of Port Royale. Their arrival is met by the starving and sick people of Port Royale with animosity bordering on hatred: exotic merchants setting up their stalls in the streets that were once the open-air markets of Port Royale and usurping the now-homeless former merchants.
Disin has moved in with the Seven Sisters, one of a very few merchants from the Trading Post persuaded to take charitable action and provide his stockpiles of flour and food to the Sisters. Mathelis, too, lends a helping hand, stationing himself at the Port Royale Herbalists to help out Anna, Tasha and others with the production of medicine and healing supplies.
Then there are others who've found employment in other places: Angel, long renowned for her dress designs, happily lands a position as costume designer with Wilde's Stagecrafters - just in time for the Grand Opening.
A sign outside the famous Ale Shoppe tells of Theakston's departure but does not say to where he has gone. Then there are those like Sillia, who leave no clue behind at all of where they have gone after evacuating the Trading Post.
In the meantime, the trees surrounding the town of Buckshire have been cleared out, denying potential spies or attackers their primary source of cover. Local rangers are seen prowling around the boundaries of town, laying down traps.
Once bustling with activity, the Trading Post has now been emptied. |
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Ferein: Tel'Ilmela Council Chambers
Posted: 13 Feb 2007 03:08 AM |
((There is information contained within this post which is quite obviously OOC for the bulk of the player base, please treat it as such))
Princess Sairalindë Nénharma, regent and designate ruler of Ferein watched the arrival of her Council in silence. Nariel; the smile warm as ever but the eyes calculating, wise, missing little or nothing. Arien; the latest member and as such, the Princess felt, one who was for the most part finding her feet, feeling her way in the lofty heights of Elven politics. Elvalia; youngest and last to enter, her deep green eyes as usual missing little, but Sairalindë had learned through the years that those eyes were often a better display of the young elve’s feelings than any words she might utter.
“Doubtless,” began the Princess, “since Elvalia’s news via others a week ago, you may have some inkling of the purpose of this meeting. I have further information pertaining to our ‘guest’, for want of a better term.”
The room was attentively silent as she continued, “As you are aware, she claimed before the Seer and a young halfling priest to bear the name Nénharma. Not as unusual as it may seem, I suppose, there is after all reason to expect – given our common heritage, that there are likely to be others among the Atalan who bear names similar to our own.”
“Given the surprise engendered by her revelation, however, and the fact that it was my name she claimed, it was decided that some further investigation may prove necessary.”
She paused to look slowly at the faces, still silent as they waited for what she would say next.
“The Seer has interviewed her once more, asking her questions to which the answers are known only within this room and to two other people. Her great grandfather, it would appear, was An’sil Nénharma, last seen by any of our people over three thousand years ago when Minyaren fell as he led a large party to escape the city following… well, following the betrayal.”
“Given that he never in fact arrived here with other fugitives, nor any of those he led, it had been thought that they were discovered and killed either by the Hunter’s folk, or those who turned against the loyal forces.”
“It would appear from our prisoner, from this Evayne’s tale, that they were in fact waylaid on their journey by the Atalan, since when they have dwelt within Undreath and become part of that society.”
She paused once more, the Archmage taking the opportunity to speak, “We are certain, I assume, that she speaks the truth? There was some talk of her opportune appearance and capture having been slightly too opportune. That she had been left deliberately for us to discover, that her words are part of some deeper Atalan scheme, perhaps to undermine you.”
Sairalindë nodded, “There was indeed, Arien, which is why it was felt necessary to question her in greater depth. The Seer, master Sower, was primed with questions that only those within this room could possibly answer. She was asked as to An’sil’s parentage, and answered correctly. An’sil was a son of Inwe Nenharma.”
“All here are aware of his parentage of course, and the need for… discretion in that regard given some elements within the realm and, for that matter, outside it. The knowledge that one of my forbears was a twin of Marcus Aristi is something which would doubtless be held as reason for an end to my rule.”
Sairalindë looked around at her companions once more, “I have no doubt that no one within this room has spoken out of turn, nor do I doubt the discretion of Salt Sower. Yet it appears that Evayne also holds this knowledge. She too is aware of the human blood in my, and her past.”
“Nevertheless,” said Nariel softly, “while we can be sure of our discretion, that is no guarantee that it is not known by others. We are well aware that Camthalion discovered it, whether he believed it or not. Simple knowledge of that fact is not proof enough for me at least.”
“I agree,” nodded the Princess, “however, another question was asked, one unlikely to be found in a book or scroll. Can any here name my great grandfather?”
As each demurred, Sairalindë smiled faintly, “I thought not, yet I can. So too can Evayne.”
“The Seer, at my prompting asked whether An’sil had any siblings. She confirmed that he did, an older brother by the name of Serein. My forebear who like others of our people managed to reach safety here when Minyaren fell.”
“It would appear then that rather than a prisoner we have as a guest a long lost cousin of mine. I believe that she speaks truly; so too, though for reasons he will not specify, does the Seer. It would appear that there is in Undreath, from the Seer’s report, some form of substrata in their society, one that is not entirely trusted, and one that does not necessarily agree with their ‘betters’. It may be, also that this ‘caste’ for want of a better word is formed of those like An’sil’s descendants who have become assimilated by the Atalan.”
The silence that followed these words was one that would best be described as stunned, and seemingly endless.
“Then what is to be done with her?” Asked Nariel at last, “It seems she speaks the truth… what now? At the very least she cannot be used in trade if the enemy holds indeed Ualame and others from the Oakhouse. There is also the knowledge she holds that has been revealed here. It was kept secret for a reason, if she were to reveal it…”
“For now, she has been moved,” answered Sairalindë, “she is no longer to be treated as a captive and will instead dwell with the Firstcomers. None will be admitted without their agreement, nor can she leave. She seemed as reluctant to reveal her knowledge of the Aristi connection as some within Ferein would be and only did so on condition that she remain within Ferein. I have agreed to that.”
“As to our connection with Aristi…” she folded her hands beneath her chin thoughtfully, “perhaps it is time it were no longer a secret. Common knowledge means no secret to be discovered, and if there are any who would use it against me, well… secrets have a way of being discovered no matter how closely guarded.”
Catching a slight hint of movement from the corner of her eye at these words, she turned towards the youngest occupant of the room. “Elvalia? You have not yet spoken, you disagree?”
The young elve nodded, “Aala, I do not think it wise that we should be so open with this. Your Highness is as aware as we of those elements within Ferein who would see this as reason for your removal from any position of power. We are at war now with the Hunter, the Atalan and Midor and have problems enough without giving cause for unrest within Ferein.”
“You really believe such a thing might result?” Whispered Nariel.
“Aala… Camthalion was not alone in his views; not alone in feeling that our reliance on human aid was wrong, that we are careless with regard to our own ways and heritage. Such a thing as unrest in Ferein may only be a possibility but not one I would be willing to face, least of all now.” Elvalia looked briefly at each of the others, seeing clearly that none were in agreement with her, “I see I am alone in this, but if you will not listen to that warning at least agree to a coronation. Furthermore it should be held soon… very soon before any of this information becomes common knowledge.”
Sairalindë watched her as she spoke, then nodded, “Very well, if nothing else you have been proven correct too often in the past to simply ignore. A compromise then; the Aristi connection is no longer hidden, but we hold the coronation within the month, sooner if possible.
Keenly aware of the voice in her head that even now spoke against it, Elvalia nodded, then continued. “As to the Nénharma connection… we guard it, no one should know. No one other, that is, than those who know already.”
“Surely you do not believe that news of a long lost relative would be as dangerous as knowledge of human blood?” Asked Tel’Elena’s leader.
“No… I do not,” answered Elvalia, “but if we accept she speaks the truth then we also accept that there may be others like her, for all we know in substantial numbers, living still within Undreath. Are there any among us who would care to imagine what might befall them if the Atalan were to learn of our knowledge?”
None answered, merely watched her as she continued, “There is no telling what the reaction may be within Ferein, after all many of our people are descended from those who fought and escaped, or even perhaps died there, Evayne and her people would also be at risk, not least from the Atalan, I have little doubt of that.”
“They should not know we have her, whatever she knows of Undreath and their ways is more than we do, quite apart from anything else.”
“Very well,” said the Princess thoughtfully, “I am against secrecy of any sought particularly in these times but I cannot argue with that logic. For now she remains with the Firstcomers and no mention is made of her name. What of the others who know; Sower and the halflings?”
“Salt can be trusted, he has known the Aristi information for some considerable time and kept it to himself,” answered Elvalia, “as to the halfling… well I think I managed to convince him to remain silent.”
Sairalindë cleared her throat and glanced around the table at the brief smiles that played across the other two faces, “Ah, then I think we can assume your usual methods will prove successful.”
“For now then we are agreed, an announcement of the coronation imminently, and the Aristi heritage to no longer be hidden. I informed the Seer that should he wish to converse with Evayne further, or for that matter any who are aware of the truth, then she should be made available. Are we agreed on that?”
At the general assent she politely gave her farewells and rose to leave the room, followed closely by Nariel and Arien.
Elvalia though remained for a few moments staring at the statue of the Archer towering over the table. Unable to clear from her head the small nagging voice, the one which as ever advised caution and the one which was now almost shouting that at least one of the decisions that had just been made was wrong. |
ELVES! |
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Fall into Darkness: Starvation, Part Three
Posted: 13 Feb 2007 12:31 PM |
((The events in this post took place Thursday, Feb. 8; they just took awhile to write about.))
Emma’s arms shook as each bale dropped from Sylune’s embrace to her own, the exquisite pain of muscle fatigue burning in her thighs and arms receiving short relief each time the black-and-gold clad soldier beside her accepted the load; he seemed hard, immutable, perhaps granite to Emma’s shale or clay. Then again, he’d likely not been awake for the last thirty-six hours either. Sylune and Markus seemed to be wavering and stumbling as much as Emma, but the line passing the jerky started with Markus, and she supposed his determination to keep passing it on gave succor to both she and Sylune.
A day and a half earlier, Emma hadn’t been sure this moment would even come to pass. She didn’t know who would answer the call, having been sure only of the participation of Sylune, Markus, Vrodo, and Alexi. She had spoken to Tristian, but his assistance seemed conditional on Emma massaging his ego; when he showed up and seemed to appoint himself general of the assembled group, she finally flinched. She had patiently heard out all his complaints about how he was being unfairly maligned, his first condition for participation, and now, at least as she saw it, he expected the assembling group to follow his every command, though he didn’t even know what they hoped to accomplish, and how.
After that bump on the road, a bump that was followed with Tristian walking off, to perhaps stew, and then returning with a rather less aggressive demeanour, the next, and much more harrowing, problem reared its head: Alexi fell halfway down a cliff-face. This nearly derailed the entire trip, as both Emma and Sylune ended up spending a few hours in a room with him aiding the Sisters with their ministrations; eventually he was brought to a rather weak state of health, but was unable to make the final trip.
When she, Sylune, and Vrodo reassembled outside the Seven Sisters, many hours late for the departure, the group in disarray, Emma held out little hope that anything would happen. Markus, however, had shown up; he was their contact with the Aristi, and getting food into their field office depended on him. The first part of their mission was accomplished when Markus brought them to said field office and murmured a few commands to the duty clerks: Vrodo pulled bag after bag of nuts and berries from a seemingly bottomless pack, and Emma pulled all the bread and dried vegetables she’d been able to carry from her own. If all went well, the volume of cured meat would dwarf the volume of breads, vegetables, berries, and nuts, but they’d at least made an effort to provide some small amount of balance.
By the time they made it to Buckshire, the group had taken on more members. The elf Isiolia had joined them, as did Tristian once more, and the orc Ophelia. The group again made their way up the murderous mountain, this time stopped by neither rock nor beast. Half-way to the peak, they found their quarry, and Vrodo, Sylune, Isiolia, and Tristian were able to charm some beasts into following the party back down the mountain. For such large and ungainly-looking creatures, they were amazingly agile, and the rangers managed to lead them down some treacherous slopes to get them to the base of the mountain without losing a single creature.
The party’s mistake, however, had been not to warn the fierce warriors at the base of the mountain of their plan. A bloody melee greeted them at that barbarian camp, during which one of the creatures was slain. After some tense moments of negotiation, the party were able to lead the remaining beasts to the gates to Buckshire, whence those with the ability to do so rendered them invisible, and snuck them to the Artio. Buckshire was braced for an attack from the Atalan to the north, after all, not a group of bedraggled adventurers trudging through the south gates.
Though she’d grown up on a farm, and seen far more gentle creatures die at her father’s knife, something tugged at Emma as each of the horned megafauna fell to the swords of Tristian, Vrodo, Ophelia, and Markus. They, and the beasts, had been through a harrowing journey both up and down the mountain, and the creatures were both majestic and, when calmed by the rangers, docile. It seemed so ignoble to kill them one at a time far from their mountain home.
Emma shook off the thought as Vrodo commenced gutting the creatures, assisted quickly by the expert blades of the Artio. It was as silly and fantastical as her dreams of being rescued from a locked tower by a golden-haired knight, and she was standing around like a lazy sloth. She moved to the orc’s side, following his lead as he pulled every edible organ (and a few that she considered inedible) from the beast and threw them in a huge cauldron, then hacked off the meat in manageable chunks and stacked it for the Artio to prepare. Emma supposed she had never swam in so much blood before; there was something almost ritually serene about it, and after a few hours her initial revulsion had evolved into acceptance: she and Vrodo were bathed in the blood, the orc’s axes bringing fresh sprays of it with each carefully aimed swing.
While they worked, Ophelia munched on various unpleasant-looking parts of the animals, and discussed philosophy with Markus. Emma’s own take on the jist of the conversation was that the orc was trying to fit her brutishness into a noble philosophy, and she found herself often biting her tongue as Markus seemed torn between helping with the gory job she and Vrodo were at, and humoring the orcish woman. He ended up carrying furs and listening to the orc, and Emma couldn’t help but wryly consider that she’d won the ‘orc lottery’ on this night, as Vrodo worked tirelessly to cut the meat and Ophelia talked tirelessly in Markus’ ear. Whatever the others were doing while this was happening was lost to Emma.
After many hours of slaughter and carving, the last of the nine beasts was gutted, and the first strips of salted, smoked jerky were being tied into bales by the Artio. Emma, blood-spattered and bleary-eyed, fetched Jusin, who agreed to transfer the bales of jerky by ox-cart in exchange for a sum of gold that, in better times, would probably have ‘fed his five kids’ for a few years. Breacca, true to his word, kept back one bale for the Artio for each three that were loaded on Jusin’s cart, in addition to keeping the fur, bones, and sinew. While Vrodo led a group in turning the entrails into something edible, Emma, Sylune and Markus accompanied Jusin to the field office for the unloading activities. Three brimming ox-carts full of jerky were the final result of their hunting trip.
After it was all over, Emma found herself laying on her back, exhausted, rain falling heavily, washing her crimson-painted body clean and turning her battle dress from red to pink. She was talking to Sylune and Markus (who she suspected had probably heard his weekly quota of nouns, verbs, and adjectives in this single evening), lost in an uncharacteristic melancholy. They might temporarily alleviate the starvation, but for how long?
Three days later, as the power of her Goddess manifested in front of her eyes, Emma’s resolve was strengthened immeasurably. Had she seen it then, had her faith been provided with such powerful vindication, the answer would have come to her profoundly and without a shred of doubt: for as long as it takes. |
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The Invasion of M'Gok Tukar
Posted: 14 Feb 2007 10:12 AM |
The sounds of drunken carousing had long since died down, replaced now by the loud snores of fed and happy Half-Orcs. With their bellies full and their minds elsewhere, the guards at the outermost watch towers never saw them coming.
The first one died from a slit throat. The second one, failing to notice, was killed just as silently.
Between the makeshift moat, the inner wall and the natural defensive rock cradle, the Duergar been stumped, forced to move their schedule back in order to think of ways around these obstacles. It had taken weeks to devise a solution, and even now, it seemed a highly dubious one at that.
Wrinkling her nose at the stench rising from the cesspool that served as both territorial marking and defence for M'Gok Tukar, the Duergar Archmage stepped forward and began to chant softly beneath her breath, her hands complex patterns in the still night air.
It was a long and difficult spell, one which required the utmost concentration to cast and took all of nine minutes to complete. Slowly, in gradual stages, the mucky moat became slush, and finally hardened to solid ice. She gave it another two minutes to ensure that it was safe, then snapped her arms abruptly to her sides, signalling those behind her to go on ahead.
Weeks of drills. Nights out on the Sea of Ice, testing the new boots their mages had developed. All that time and all that training condensed to three minutes flat of perfect synchronisation as the warriors charged over the ice. The ladders had barely gone up against the walls when the next wave went thundering past, streaming up the ladders without even breaking step.
The battle for M'Gok Tukar had begun. |
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Re: The Invasion of M'Gok Tukar
Posted: 14 Feb 2007 07:08 PM |
She could not overhear the heated discussions in the Inn in Icy Vale. From what she gathered, M'Gok Tukar had been attacked.
"The Orcs had been attacked!"
"What if they come for us? My family, my land!"
"A wizard told me the dark elves are the children of demons. They eat their victims alive!"
"Dwarves are among those. I´d never have expected that."
And so on...she had to see it herself.
As Shihaya'zad reached the Hot Springs she cast the full set of protections. After all, in these times you couldn´t be too careful.
The Gladden Farmlands were still filled with the stench of death, the rotting bodies piled up in wagons and dead animals slowly being consumed by maggots and flies.
What she saw on the fields though was unexpected. Orcs working them, ordered around by dwarves. Duergar.
Certainly not volunteerily, and just as the thought about it an orc fell to his knees, obviously weakened by the battle and the forced work. A duergar walked towards him, yelling incomprehensible orders, and stroke the orc with a lash. The huge body shook as the lash hit on the back, leaving a long bloody line. Another hit, and the orc fell prone to the ground. And another. A series of whiplashes rained down on the defenseless creature, and blood emanated from several wounds.
The orc did not move. She could not perceive if he was just too weak, or dead. Hidden in her cloaks of magic she moved on to M'Gok Tukar. The signs of a battle still remained, yet there was no sign of the dwarves. Just orcs who still stood guard. The purpose was clear...slavery. |
Portraits: zip.rar
PRAISE HECK, FOR HIS NAME IS HECK, AND JUST HECK! |
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The Battle of M'Gok Tukar
Posted: 15 Feb 2007 06:41 PM |
M'Gok Tukar was not entirely unprepared for attack. They had been warned that the ground-elves and dark dwarves now threatened all who lived on the surface. The big-men gathered from every clan. The big-men talked always, politicking, enjoying each others' company, and talking, talking, talking. Seated together - some lower-ranking men standing - these hundred-some half-orcs discussed the problem endlessly. They talked over the possibilities for an effective defense, the allies that might be called to aid Tukar's children, and what knowledge and lore of these enemies the eldest among them possessed. Chief Borogask sat at the head of them all, but inspired no specific action.
The shamanic circle prepared in its own way, sweating and starving until they realized the greatest rabid pleasures of the beast. Their cavern was now closed to all who were not initiated. They prayed and held vigil, isolated in their cavern, and saw Gruin's gifts arrayed before them. Then they opened their circle to the berserk fighters whom Gruin had chosen, and initiated more berserkers to defend the Pride of Tukar from its enemies. These were anointed with blood and partook of the shaman's sweat, seated in trance around the volcanic vent in the deeper reaches of the cave, and were fasted so that great hunger for blood would harden them.
Young Orclun children heard these rites and other sounds coming from the cavern dedicated to Gruin's worship. Some cried to hear them and were comforted by their mothers.
* * * * *
The Duergar recognized that the half-orcs of M'Gok Tukar would test their discipline and break apart a shield wall as soon as it was offered. The longer they could delay in the use of these traditional tactics, they better chance they would have of subduing the savage people. And, unlike their other conquests, subdual was the objective of this engagement.
The first wave of Duergar warriors leapt down from the inner wall of M'Gok Tukar, dropping through the air like iron pigs and landing stunning blows upon the unprepared guards below. These were the quickest and easiest kills that the dark dwarves would see for the remainder of the battle. The skirmishers slashed with axes and chased back the unprepared half-orcs, clearing the ground for shieldmen who streamed down from the battlements of the inner wall. Others took and tenaciously held the main portal to prevent the Orclun from sallying forth in sorties directed at the Dwarven rear and flanks.
The Duergar, knowing that they would expose their vulnerability as soon as they formed up, tried to rush into the family caves that dotted the basin and take strength for this fight from those narrow stone confinements. Skirmishers also located the all-but-abandoned mines of M'Gok Tukar and placed a weak guard at the opening, creating the possibility for the Orclun to flee into the mine. Here, if the attack were executed properly, the savages would be contained.
The family caves were easily located but were difficult for the unfamiliar to approach rapidly, even considering the stone-ken of dwarves. The half-orcs were aroused to the defense more quickly than had been anticipated, and warriors streamed from the caves meeting the attackers from superior footing.
Children were carried by twos and threes into the deepest reaches of the family caves. Fires were extinguished and darkness opened up a different spectrum to the watchful eyes of younglings and their guardians. The echoing sound of battle that reached them was horrible. Criers and noisemakers were smothered unconscious.
The Duergar held the inner wall and portal to M'Gok Tukar, and here shieldmen formed up to hold ground and await the order to advance. They kicked apart the bonfire leaving only glowing coals to light the stronghold. Beyond them skirmishers were met with greater numbers. The Duergar moved quickly and harried the half-orcs as they tried to gather. Skirmishers slashed through skin and bone inflicting terrifying injuries, matching the tactics of fearsome Orclun berserkers. They could not match their rage, or their ferocity. Orclun men and available women fought with whatever weapons were at hand. There were spectacular displays of force and bravery and furious sounds carrying across the darkness. Some of them fought with grievous wounds, limbs dangling, blood jetting in the black night.
Gruin's chosen warriors did not awaken; they had not slept. They raced one another into this battle, boiling suddenly from the shaman's cavern without signal or prompting. Perhaps they simply smelled blood. The shaman followed behind them and, arrayed above the battle, they bestowed Gruin's blessings upon his warriors.
Sighting this - and hearing it as well - the shieldmen now moved to their purpose. The shields stepped quickly in a column around the skirmishers and formed rapidly to contain the berserk Orclun fighters, leaving a detachment to guard the inner wall and gate.
This moment was so decisive that the skirmishing of Orclun and Duergar slowed, and then stopped.
In the dark night outside the shaman's cavern, Orclun rage met a wall of Duergar discipline.
Twenty ranks enclosed the Orclun berserkers on three sides. The half-orcs tore at the shields. They punched weapons through them and hooked them, yanking Dwarven fighters out of line and mauling them. They leapt from higher ground landing five and six ranks back, exploding the formation and leaving craters in the ranks before being pulled down. There was no stopping these savage attackers short of hewing off their limbs. When a half-orc broke into the shield wall he would work down the rank slaying one after another until he was stopped. When the front line wore thin they fell back allowing fresh fighters to the front.
At this crescendo Borogask, Chief among the half-orcs at M'Gok Tukar appeared from out of the great hall, in magnificent regalia as suited his rank. His big-men and fighters ran to him and formed a mass of half-orc muscle at his flanks, leaving him visible - and plainly fearsome - to the Dwarven invaders.
The Dwarven skirmishers disengaged, some moving to guard the rear of the shield wall, some rallying to the inner wall.
Borogask, dressed in chiefly battle costume with a great painted shield on his left arm and his double-axe held high with his right, trailed Orclun fighters behind him and carved a wake across the battleground. He was magnificent. None faced him. He moved quickly without any appearance of hurry and he showed no concern for the battle raging around him.
The Duergar shieldmen now encircled the berserkers and squads broke off to subdue the shaman. Borogask led the remaining fighters in the semblance of a parade, his train lengthening as more and more combatants rallied behind him, some holding their stumps, some heartened to stave off death by the mere sight of him.
To the abandoned mines he led them, and the few Duergar who barred their way gave ground immediately, such was Borogask's majesty...
So proud were the Orclun of their chief, that they followed him into the mines. So the Orclun of M'Gok Tukar were divided...
Gruin's chosen within a bear-pit of Duergar shields...
Fighters and big-men contained with their chief within the copper-mines long-abandoned...
Children and their guardians hidden in the deepest areas of the family caves.
So the Orclun of M'Gok Tukar were conquered. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Fall into Darkness: Starvation, Part Four
Posted: 16 Feb 2007 04:52 PM |
Four days ago…
Grey clouds formulated across the predawn skies, blanketing the moon and the stars. The nights in the north were wreathed with a visible tension; an anxiety nestled deep to the very hearts of the people who lived on the land, and they lived in fear of what might come in the darkness of night. In the humble village of Buckshire trees had been felled, leaving the surrounds visible, barricades erected, and the local militia patrolled their routes with bright torches as beacons in the dark. Westward laid the city of Port Royale, its high walls in a state of unprecedented alert.
This city divided in twain: one half for the upper echelon of society, those who lived well, ate, and reclined in their high seats; and the lower city, comprised of the docks, the inns and bars, seedy alleyways, and the market bazaar. Now this lower section, while always rife with the discontent, the criminals, and the poor is left more ruinous than in the past. Buildings that once stood for decades collapsed to frames, ash, and rubble. A populace transformed to living predominantly on charity, and hastily erected shelters. At this hour of night, just prior to the morning, the majority of people slept, and those who lived the long hours of night were just creeping back to their respective niches.
Irrespective of the regular citizenry can be found a constant guard divided in two very philosophically diametric groups. The first comprised of locals, and citizens who were incited to take up arms by an infamous philanthropist, made up a motley crew of little more than brute presence. The second group comprised of a uniform party that can only be described as militaristic, their black uniforms lined with gold, and on which presented an eagle on the breast.
Along Aquinas coast – a coast named after the queen of Port Royale - four ox carts, pulled by oxen, rumbled, creaked, and rolled across the main dirt road bound to the city mentioned prior. The carts wheels dig into the soft earth, their bodies so laden with weight, and the cargo itself secreted by sheets of canvas guarding them from the natural elements. At the sides, and the rear of the caravan guarding it from banditry and other evil forces were Heralds of Novus Aristi, all resplendent in their black armor lined with gold, and their swords and shields within hand. Leading in the vanguard at a marching pace walked a young man, his own armor made plated brilliant silver and gold.
The gates opened to grant entrance to the caravan, and it passed through to the deviant lower half of Port Royale. They - the Heralds of Novus Aristi - arrayed the carts along the wall, and as the darkness waxed before the light, they unfurled the protective canvas from the carts. Low and behold the oxcarts’ burden came from mounds of carefully prepared and preserved foods. As the light rose, and people awakened with the hopeless expectation of another day of light with out breaking of the previous nights’ fast. It was then than they beheld the carts and their cargo. With the burgeoning morning light they witnessed the young man clad in silver, gold and white stand tall on a cart – though his footing was carefully placed as not to be in the food - and the light played off his armor like a paramour divine.
In a loud clear voice he announced the purpose of the carts, the food, and the charity of a closed number of individuals, the woodlander Artio clan, and the Novus Aristi to the people. With those words the people drove to the carts in droves all in hopes of receiving their portion of food first. Due to their expectation of this, the Heralds were ready, and held back the crowd peacefully. Thus they began to dole the food amongst those who came, and none were refused. Except those of nobility and those wealthy, who were selfish, and spiteful as to hold back their own reserves of foodstuffs.
This ubiquitous silence of vociferous stomachs would last a thenceforth a week, and none in Port Royale would be hungry despite their situation. |
CHOO CHOO!
- - - - - -
Bereil Yadashem.
Markus Mortriety, Herald of Novus Aristi. |
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Call to Action: Retaking Haven
Posted: 01 Mar 2007 11:43 PM |
It was time. It was, in fact, far past time.
The call went out to all remaining Heralds, and to all the Herald's allies. In one days time, they would return to Haven. To find survivors and, if necessary, kill any who occupied their home.
((All friends and allies of the Novus Aristi are welcome to assist in the rescue of Haven survivors. This will occur on Saturday, March 3rd at 10 PM CST which is March 4th at 3 AM GMT. If possible, we will start at 9 PM CST, I will update if that is possible.))
((We will begin gathering immediately ane hopefully leave in one hour, maybe less. Meet at the Ladrial tower.)) |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Notice of Meeting
Posted: 12 Mar 2007 02:59 PM |
The following notice is posted in the Chess Hall and at the Four Winds Inn:
My fellow adventurers:
There is one word I have heard voiced by many in the weeks since the Atalan began their murderous campaign: action.
Conversations take on greater and greater urgency, and many say: it's time to act.
Plans are made around tables in taverns, around fires in caverns, in private homes, in gaming halls. Not all of those concerned are ever in the same place at the same time.
Who is in charge? How can ideas become plans, how can plans become actions?
All who wish to present their ideas and offer their support are invited to meet two days hence at Mrs. Miggins Pie Shop in Port Royale ((if it's still open, otherwise someone please make another suggestion)). All who wish to oppose the Atalan are welcome to attend.
In faith,
Emma Robinson
((Tentatively scheduled for Wednesday March 14 at 9:00 PM EST. If folks want to make a second meeting at a GMT-accessible time, feel free)) |
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