Knight Order of Ebliera

[Soviet Panda]

The Kingdom of Ebliera is one full of intermingling and conflicting cultures and kingdoms, with lords and ladies fighting for supremacy and potentially even the crown. However, within the estates of the nobility lies the guilds that manage the day to day workings. And these guilds can be just as savage as the nobility they serve under. Even now they plot and plan, scheming their eventual domination over a particular portion of the Kingdom. Whether it's a religious order or monopolizing merchants, they all want to be the top dog, big kahuna, and undisputed ruler of a domain all their own. But they all started small.

Spoiler: Event tracker

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[Shireling]

The White Stag Company



Hanatun
​

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Prince Torvald Iron-heart took off his armor and laid it semi-permanently into the armor cupboard in his tent. With a huff, he laid a large coin-purse on the wooden table by his bed and listened to the gold and silver inside jingle as the cloth bag sank under its own weight. It was a hefty sum for work that had, thankfully, not cost him a man. But it didn't fill him with security. No, it filled Torvald with anxiety.

Down to just his leathern hauberk and flannel breeches, Torvald collapsed onto the raised wooden platform covered with coarse feathers, quilts, and skins. Shifting on his side, he raised the purse up above his prone figure and let the gold slip through his fingers and onto the bed. Gold to feed his people, gold to repair their armor and shoe their mounts, gold to pay taxes and bribes. Too little gold for such a large party.

He heard the flap of the tent open, but did not shift at all to greet the newcomer. He merely laid the coins back in the purse and stuck the purse back on the table next to the nearly-exhausted candle. He laid back on his back with his fingers interlaced over his breast, staring up at the cloth ceiling of his palace-in-exile.

"Take a seat, Hadvar."

"My liege," murmured Torvald's second in command tiredly. He was still dressed in his armor, his lance resting by the entrance of the tent. Torvald shifted his gaze to meet that of the old man-at-arms, three decades in the service of his family. Hadvar's face was framed with bushy, grey-brown hair: a full beard, a full mustache, thick sideburns, and a full head of hair that was only beginning to thin at the top. He was a fit fighting-man of fifty, and Torvald knew that he needed him desperately more than Hadvar thought. A good Riddegarian, Hadvar had an almost supernatural confidence in Torvald's leadership, a confidence that the young prince did not share, although he did reciprocate. The two men didn't say anything for a second, too tired to talk or think. Finally, Hadvar remembered what he had come for.

"My Prince, the men are settling back in here at Hanatun's Ferry, but Jarl Thorroddson will not have need of us for a long while, and we cannot possibly quarter here on the wages he had paid us. If we were merely fighting men, it would compensate us. But the womenfolk have needs, and the babes must have their meat. What is there left to do but migrate south?"

"There's nothing south but desert, Hadvar." Torvald said, waving a hand in the air as if to fend off the impending desert heat. His imagination concocted images of their mounts stumbling up and down sand dunes...and fighting djinn. He shook his head, as if to banish the vision. "Besides, let's say we buy passage on a ship to the southeastern regions of Ebliera, what then? That will cost us nearly all what we have in our coffers, and what will we do once we get there?"

Hadvar had anticipated this. "Well, my Prince, we could send a messenger ahead of us. Or perhaps to the eastern jarls, although I think word has gotten out about the incident with Jarl Samsson."

"Wasn't us." Torvald shot back.

"Well that's the official story on our end anyways." Hadvar chuckled. Then he turned serious. We have to do something, my Prince, or else what? We eat stale bread and listen to our babes cry for hunger here while we wait for Jarl Thorroddson to need us again to run down a few northmen savages? Think of your subjects, my liege."

"Subjects." Torvald sputtered, looking back up at the tent roof. His memory of the rest of the night failed him, but his dream that knight was quite vivid. He dreamed he was riding his battle-stag through a snow covered field by himself. Wolves howled in the distance and the moon shone brightly on the twinkling snow. Just as he rode into a clearing, a wolf pounced on his mount so high that it snatched the coif off his head. Feeling around, he felt his head was bloodied. Blood fell down his face in little rivulets, but didn't sting his eyes as he raised his sword and dealt a hideous, dire wolf a killing stroke. Out of the wolf's mouth, blood gushed forth but also something small and white. He dismounted, taking up the wolf's jaws, and pulled from them a spotless bird's egg, through which shone the embryo of a human person by aid of the moonlight in the background.

When he woke, he patted the breast of his hauberk, where he had placed the egg in his dream but, thankfully, nothing squished against it unpleasantly. It was then about the sixth hour and the sounds and smells of camp were filling his ears and nose. Taking off his leather, he rinsed his hair and beard in the wash basin by the bed and donned a bluish-grey cotton shirt of a smart, noble cut.

He walked through the small tent city where the Riddegarians had lived since they had been sojourning in the territory, a space of about six months. Their women were cooking by the fire or laying out clothes to dry, while the men sat bleary-eyed in front of their meats and ale, talking in hushed tones. As he passed through the camp, all the men rose from their sitting position and face him, while the women averted their eyes and turned their heads down. Only the children seemed to regard him as nothing special in particular, freely running about either doing errands or playing games, depending on their age. It was not long before Torvald found Hadvar's tent on the far end of the camp. When he entered, the old man was laying on his back, snoring loudly. His wife and widowed daughter were tending to his armor, making sure it was dry and properly stowed. Torvald put out a hand and stayed them.

"He will need that," he assured them, which caused their mood to turn noticeably downcast.

"Hadvar," the Prince called. No reply.

"Hadvar Oathseal," he called, even louder. The old man snorted and stumbled out of bed into something approximating a salute.

"Here my lord," he cried, "ready for duty."

"Good," Torvald said with a smirk. "We leave tomorrow."

No further questions were necessary, for Hadvar knew exactly what he meant.

The next day, Torvald and Hadvar along with five other hardened Riddegarian warriors who had never failed either in virtue or in valor, their five senses or their five fingers, saddled their beasts and rode away to the east. Intending to go throughout the Kingdom to seek a permanent place of employment for his band of warriors, Torvald had mapped out their journey the night before. First through the lands of the Jarls, on to the island of Lord McCulloch by sea, finally on to the royal fiefdoms and to the lusher lands of the southeast.

Placing their steps ever eastward, they set out on the road to lands of Jarl Isenvarge.

 

[Royalblue127]

The Keepers of the Guarding Wind

Black Sands Resort​

The Dunes turn from a glaring yellow to a fading orange, as the sun is dragged unwillingly from the sky. The sandstone of the sanctuaries buildings lose their rainbow iridescence, the blocks of curved stone losing their many hues to the encroaching darkness. The oasis quiets, camels lay in the shade near the lake, and opposite the encampment a herd of gazelle move cautiously towards the water, wary of it’s unknown depths. On the horizon, a small dot of brown clears the dunes, the sun glinting off a polished beak. A red-tailed hawk rides the thermals, closing in on the Oasis, it’s wings barely adjusting as it finishes it’s journey. With quiet grace, the hawk dives, and swoops into a curtained pavilion, where a perch waits for it in the corner.

The pavilion is filled with a quiet murmuring, as writers, poets and scholars discuss the works they’ve perfected over their stay. For some, this was their last meal, as the caravan had arrived to take them back to Khuwair. Those that arrived tell them news from the city, idly sipping on the wine provided generously. Away from them sit hunters, fresh from the dunes and none of which have changed from their hunting attire. Lances, spears and longbows litter the ground around them, some sloppily cleaned and still fresh with red blood. One has a bandage over his hand, and his fellows laugh and poke fun at him as the tales of his disaster of using the lone crossbow are regaled to a receptive crowd. Servants move from one group to another, collecting and distributing plates of decadent fruits and meats, ensuring all their goblets are always full. The majority join in the idly chatting and joking, friendly guests all too happy to share their particular literary topics with a new set of confusedly amused ears. One, however, needed a stern glance from a supervising servant, to move to a darkened corner/ There, a small table holds only one individual, who is currently feeding small scraps to a crooning hawk. By his glass, a discarded note is left open with a broken seal which the servant pointedly ignores. He quickly fills the silver cup and deposits a simple spread, sweat nearly visible on his brow, before a quick bow and a hasty retreat banish him from the scene.

Gresur Marqasan chuckles quietly, and watches as the quickly retreating figure disappears from the pavilion with the stream of other students rushing to and from the kitchens. “The initiates are always nervous working their first eavesdropping lesson, but that was especially entertaining, wasn’t it ya helo, hm?” he says as he scratches the hawks head. It leans into his touch, cawing softly, causing a smile to grace his lips momentarily. He turns to the note, rereads it, then reaches for an inkwell and quill nearby. His brow furrows, a note of concentration glimmering in his eyes, before writing a message on the back of the previous one. Gresurrolls it loseley, and inserts it into a tube fitted with leather straps to the leg of the tired bird. He then sits back, gazing out on the oasis, considering the message and it’s future effects.

A cough interrupts his musings, and he starts briefly, a lazy, crafted smile sliding into place as behind him Lady Amara stands, the curtains moving slightly behind her armored form the only evidence of her sudden appearance.“Come, sit my friend.” He gestures slightly to a chair at another table close to them, which she retrieves as a gesture from Gresur brought another glass racing into existence. The servant quickly filled her goblet, bowed, and slid a thick curtain around them, leaving them alone with a view of the oasis as the sun was finally wrest from the sky, only a faint glow remaining over the dune waves.

“We’ve waited too long Gresur, those damn slavers still hold power in the city close to our home, even with all your boasting of ‘beginning our great journey into the world.’” Her leather gloves groaned under the stress of her clenched fists, while a serene mask remained on her face. Gresur jumps slightly, and tries to interject but she cuts him off swiftly. “For all the good the Walkers do, we’ve seen no real change. The people are too afraid to make many contracts for people more important than a pimp or a goon, and the large contracts we do receive, you discard. Why do you insist that we wait, why not just strike now?” The clenched fist slams on the table, and the first flash of real anger is seen on her face, before it is smoothed away faster than it came. The hawk ruffles its feathers uncomfortably, before taking off, flying low before disappearing into a building farther away from the lake.

Gresur nurses his cup, watching the hawk as it returns to roost, before turning his gaze to her, smile fading from energetic to weary. “I was about to welcome you home, but I can see I should have expected anger from you at the length of your journey.” He taps his finger lightly, before returning his gaze to the calm waters of the lake. “Tell me, do you know why we are called the Keepers of the Guarding Wind?”

She huffs slightly, before joining him in contemplating the water. “We all learn this story, why do we need to go over it again?”

“Indulge me” he entreauges, a slight smile crossing his face as he sees her eyes narrow in annoyance, before she grumbles and adopts a monotone voice.

“When our founders left Sidra, we traveled for many days into the desert, the only things left to our name the records of the University, the steel on our backs, and the horses that pulled the wagons.” She glances at him, and when he doesn’t react she continues her bored retelling. “Many decided to leave, our caravan turning from tens of thousands, to thousands, to a couple hundred. They pressed on, hoping against all logical thought that a new oasis had appeared in the only place explorers hadn’t mapped, as any who tried the journey turned back when they ran low on supplies, or simply never returned. Many advocated that we turn to Misma or Shyria, and hope that the rulers there wouldn’t be part of the coalition that burned our home. Yet your grandfather pressed on, and the winds cooled our journey, dust storms refusing to pass closer than a league from our group. The winds were strong enough at times that carts used spare cloth to make small sails, and ease the burden on the horses' backs. They shepherded rare storm clouds to us, and renewed our water skins to continue the journey. Finally, on the 20th day, your grandfather, blown over by a strong gust of wind, tumbled down the Black Dune, and gave him the first glimpse of the oasis before them. His wife, and your father swathed in cloth, followed close behind as the caravan reached The Sunken Dunes, and in the ruins there we made our home.”

Gresur waited before she relaxed more into her chair, her recitation over, before breaking the momentary silence. “The wind spared my family and our people. It safeguarded the journey, safeguarded our vengeance, and along the way turned it into determination. It even brought our loyal messengers to us.” He pauses, looking to her, “but it can’t change the minds of amirs or lords. Our ancestors may have moved the world for us, but we must move it’s people.” His gaze moves to the rookery, and as Amara follows it a sudden burst of energy fills the dimly lit sky. A dozen hawks swoop from the small building, flying upward together, before exploding like a spark of ashes from flame as they spread out across the fading light of the night sky.

“As we continue forward, we need allies, and now as confirmation comes from one deal, a dozen more must be made. The wind will carry our whispers, from the depths of the sewers, to the nobles in their keeps, that we will hide no more. Amir Saladin will be alerted to a potential changing of the guard, as will the other lords and ladies, and we will gauge his response in due time.” Gresur finally fully faces her, his face a mask of determination and anger.”Then, and only then, when we are sure we are not alone, will we begin to change the world.”

Amara looks at him oddly, before a relaxed smile finally rests itself onto her face. “Good” she states simply, before taking a hearty gulp from her cup. “Make sure you speak just as flowery when you talk to the old stooges in the council, and maybe they’ll agree.” She stands, and moves to leave, before turning back to face Gresur. “Just remember, when the first contract on one of those two is signed, you’ll give it to me.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He retorts back, waving her off as he returns to looking at the lake. He opens the shutter of the lantern, and a cool breeze quickly extinguishes the light, and leans back to look up to the star ladden sky.

 

[BLK]

The Wetzlendish Brotherhood
​

The Sitzungassaal, Reponeing

Floorboards could be heard creaking across the old house. It had been closed for some months, only used by the groundskeeper and a few others during the hunting season. People typically preferred to get outside of the big city during this time of year, anyways.

“Horace, where are we with preparations for the study? I wanted the shelves redone this year.”
“We are nearly finished, sir.”
“Wonderful. Could you tell the groundskeeper to come in, Horace?” He said.
“Right away, sir.”
“You asked for me, Mister Kelly?” The groundskeeper asked.
“Yes, thank you. Horace, you may go.”

The butler bowed and stepped out of the room. With each of his steps dust danced off the ground and white sheets surrounding the three men. While it was hardly noticeable against the drab and muddied clothes of the groundskeeper the specks stood out like white snow atop a forest when they fell onto the robes of the other man.

“Speak.”
“Well, my wife is good friends with some kitchen staff up in Lady Whitely’s place you see, and she was telling me about how they play cards some days-”
“Please get to the point.”
“Oh… Well she was saying some folks around Lady Whitely were making a big fuss about something to do with the horsefolk right south of us.” He said.
“Oh?”
“And she said that they was having some kind of talks about an allegiance.”
“Alliance?”
“Yeah right an alliance. I just thought it was best of you to know this sort of thing is all. I didn’t mean nothing if this isn’t anything of concern.”
“No, you’ve done a very good job. I’ll have you sent some fresh wine and pork tonight for your services.” He stood up and brushed some dust off his shoulder. “And please do keep me informed if your wife happens to have any other useful friends.”

He had meant for the reopening of the manor to be a whole event, but things had clearly changed now. Talks between the Chiangir and the House of the Elk would certainly be troublesome for business. The less often the raids happened the fewer houses needed rebuilding. The masons would be up in arms if they heard of these talks.

“Horace!” He called.
“Yes, Mister Kelly?” The doors creaked open as the imposing man inched his way in.
“Please make sure that Meyers do not hear of this.”
“As you wish, sir.”

The Meyer brothers knowing of a meeting between one of the lords of the House of the Elk and the Horde would be a problem for Iann Kelly and his current plans. It would be impossible to recoup the losses that would occur should the masons learn of a possible alliance. The laborers were rather a simpleminded lot. They set their bricks down, covered them in mortar, and went home to their families to complain. They made good wages thanks to the Brotherhood’s name and were spared the less pleasant sides of society too. But they all still wanted so much more than they could afford. Sometimes Iann wishes these men would just accept their stations in the world so that things could go on as the should. But retaining the sympathies of the poor and unwashed masses would be needed later.

“Greetings, Brother Kelly.” A man dress in ornate white robes adorned with a golden trim skimmed across the floor. His feet were silent, almost as if to emphasize the cold and sanitary aura he carried.
“Brother Baylor.”
“These are troubling times for men of the faith such as yourself.”
“I don’t think I paid any indulgences this year, Brother.”
“No. But the fathers have a plan for us all, don’t they?”
“Maybe.” He scoffed. “What is it you need?”
“Now that you ask, I do believe I have need of the services of the Meyer brothers.”
“Why don’t you just ask them yourself? You seem awfully happy to take their client’s coin.”
“Let’s leave my church’s matters to me, Brother Kelly. Regardless, I require their assistance recovering one of my deacons. Some crackpot sailor calling himself a pirate has been making a mess outside of Kingsgate. As if he had been alive to see the real terrors at sea. Godless lot.”
“So, you require me to either call on the men in the shipyards or to get the Meyers to fund a recovery expedition.”
“I do not doubt that the Bergenmann Group have been hurt by this as well.”
“Very well. I shall write to Josef. Although I expect you will repay me in the coming year, Brother Baylor.”
“As the fathers will it.” He said with a smile as he strode from the room.

Iann Kelly began composing a letter on the empty table outlining his request for Josef Meyer. He would give Bergenmann absolute discretion, so long as they did not use any Brotherhood men on the expedition. Josef Meyer would receive the letter in a few weeks and put out notice that the Bergenmann Group would fund an expedition aimed to capture of Captain O’Halloran. All interested and qualified parties would be welcomed, from sailors to businessmen. The Bergenmann Group sprung at the opportunity to get in the good graces of Brother Baylor and his acolytes, especially one he would go as far as to ask a favor from Iann Kelly for.

Spoiler: Summary

Iann Kelly learns news of a meeting between a member of the House of the Elk and the Chiangir Horde. He chooses to keep this from the Meyer brothers as he fears the reaction the stonemasons may have to such news.
Brother Baylor asks Iann Kelly for a favor. Kelly in turn directs the Bergenmann Group to fund an expedition to capture Captain O'Halloran to recover a deacon of Brother Baylor's. The expedition will welcome anyone willing to participate (Who can handle themselves) and any parties interested in acquiring a share of the expedition. Notable business within Kingsgate and nearby cities would have been informed of this.
Note: People are welcome to interact with any characters mentioned in this post in theirs.

 

[Pilgrim59]

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[div class=fyuriwrapper][div class=imageheader][div class=header]Griffin Maritime League[/div][/div][div class=fyuricredit]code/design by @Fyuri[/div]

The Hestian-Griffin Convention
Seaside, Hestian Church, Lady Stella Ryder's Domain
Minyari
The League eyed the distant seas, the ultimate prize of their existence. Its domains in distant lands teeming with those that sought respite and refuge, others with commercial interests. Among these are those that dwelled on the subjects of maritime differences and perhaps common grounds. Particular in the presence of the infamy of Captain O'Halloran and his deeds that stirred the already troubled waters of Kingstate.

The Grandmaster of the League, Sartinen, had been looking southward for some time. The League sought passage south, where their outpost in Seaside was in touch with the Order of Hestia. The joint history of the knighthood and the Griffins predates many generations. Where the Hestian's turbulent crusades were waged, the League's hospitals followed. One could say their marginal profit and rise to prominence was in part, owed to the crusaders in their own rights. But even memories fade, as the League began to spread their influences hroughout the kingdom as a tertiary trading service. With the disruption in their proprietary relations and trades at the behest of O'Halloran's doing, the Grandmaster deemed it imperative for the League to immediately seek for the Hestian's favor.

After several days on the road, Sartinen finally arrived at Seaside. A congregation of the League and the Order of Hestia eventually met. For hours, Sartinen spent much time revising the two organization's history, using their shared endeavors in the past as leverage. Ascertaining the League's primary emphasis on maritime interests, and their future plans of mutual benefits, Sartinen woved her words with confidence as she drew closer to her final words to the head of the Order - Grand Commander Holden.

"...Pertaining to the matter of Captain O'Halloran's scourge upon the tides, perhaps ye would see to this as an opportunity to earn His Majesty's comity. Providence willing, perhaps the people of the seas will see the deliverance of their blight. The impending gestures of the League's gratitude will be met equally, of course, lest we stray from our principles. I believe that despite our distance, the Order and the League have much to accomplish together, as we did in the past. What say ye, Grand Commander?" Sartinen concluded, leaning by her seat.

The Wetzlandish-Griffin Commitment
The Sitzungassaal, Reponeing, Wetzlandish Hall
BLK
While the Grandmaster had sought out to the Order of Hestia, she had dispatched her Marshall and Deputy Headmaster westward. In the north, Headmaster Van Ryste and Marshall Envyl were on their way to request an audience with the head of the Wetzlandish Brotherhood - Iann Kelly. Surely, it was a necessary effort to aid the Brotherhood's endeavor to rid of Captain O'Halloran's troubles at sea. To ensure a decisive victory, the League must gather allies. For the Brotherhood and the League's past dealings, they both share an indifferent attitude towards one another, plunging on the common interests of commercial interests in the central sea. Perhaps the O'Halloran's situation would strengthen the bond between the Brotherhood and the League, or perhaps it would cause a rift lest the two pursues their own ends for glory.

Among the faces of volunteers and Brotherhood personnel at the port, stood Van Ryste and the fully-armed Envyl, of whom had just gotten off their vessel. Many of whom had their eyes set on the peculiar Marshall, whose distinctive pair of wolf ears are hard to miss. Rather than trying to conceal them, the Marshall's readily-secured sword and set of daggers were more than enough to dissuade those with ill-intentions. Her blazing amber eyes proved useful to put distance between those that traversed the same path as her and Van Ryste's, all the while donning a battle scar of a bygone conflict to seal the deal. Despite their contrasting apparatus, the two were poised to follow through with a single goal in their trip to the Brotherhood - the neutralization of Captain O'Halloran. How the League would go about it, remains to be discoursed when they are granted time with Kelly. Guided by the local garrison, the two made their way towards the guild hall. Convening among themselves, as they await an audience with Kelly, Envyl eyed those around her before turning back towards Van Ryste.

"How ardent are you, in our endeavors here?" she asked, folding her arms and leaning against the wall behind her.

"As hopeful as the Grandmaster's southern insistence. Has the calm wind grounded your ship (something on your mind), Marshall?" Van Ryste raised his brows.

"I am wary of opportunists and unsalted... militias..." she said, eyeing the multitude of the Brotherhood's men-at-arms passing by the corridor.
"... Commission me a fleet and I'm sure to bring back O'Harlot's head on a spike. Pernay (besides), Sartinen is a fool for turning to those fanatical crusaders."

"Yet you sheathed your challenges in Syrakusa." Van Ryste remarked about the Marshall's uncommon habit to 'not' oppose Sartinen's decisions prior, with a chuckle to follow.

"My dull blades are no match for the Pent's (Pentateuch Council) bureaucratic principles. A notion of paroxysm and I will surely be committed to the drydocks. Curse that Treasurer and his ilk." Envyl turned away towards the window, clenching her fists and teeth.

"Spare me your unfruitful perjuries, Envyl. We both know that you were glad that the Grandmaster's decision benefited your wild side. Besides, I'm sure you would rather settle with the 'valorous sacrifice' of foreign men than those of our brethren, no?" Van Ryste added, with a smug look on his face. The Marshall glowing eyes glared at Van Ryste.

"Keep spewing those words, and I might have to respect you. A devious and dangerous man you are, Van Ryste." Envyl laughed slightly.

"You have your verse in the arts of war, and I my devotion to the honest language of Kingstate's court. We dance with what the Gods bestowed upon us."

Van Ryste and Envyl would spend their time within the study, conversing on a number of subjects, as they await their host's presence.

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[Minyari]

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[/div][/div][div class=fyuri10text][div class=fyuri10parent][div class=fyuri10child][div class=fyuri10textarea][div class=fyuri10header]Victoria Holden[/div]
A chill of relief ran down her spine as Vic stretched herself out, the brightening dawn had just pierced itself through the shadows; waking the knight. Getting herself dressed she tied her hair back and mounted her light chain mail before performing a brief prayer to her idol. The last few nights had Vic dancing around within her head. The scheduled meeting this morning had been arranged weeks prior by the Griffin Maritime League, a working partner throughout the history of Hestia, and that the Grandmaster herself was to attend to the meeting. The two had a brief history of interaction in their youth as she was a newly ordained member of Hestia and the Grandmaster being a Sworn Sister. Blinking, Vic had arrived at the arranged location, a Hestian church of Sealand, and entered the holy sanctuary.

Upon entering she offered a speedy prayer before scanning the indoors and laid her eyes upon the private quarters for the meeting. Making her way over she entered the room and took a seat across the Grandmaster and exchanged their greetings before bluntly questioning the Grandmaster of her intentions.

"...Pertaining to the matter of Captain O'Halloran's scourge upon the tides, perhaps ye would see to this as an opportunity to earn His Majesty's comity. Providence willing, perhaps the people of the seas will see the deliverance of their blight. The impending gestures of the League's gratitude will be met equally, of course, lest we stray from our principles. I believe that despite our distance, the Order and the League have much to accomplish together, as we did in the past. What say ye, Grand Commander?" Sartinen concluded, leaning by her seat.

Pondering at the question as she gazed into Sartinen eyes with a smirk. "Regardless of what His Majesty's views are on Hestia and her congregation and what merit my name would receive if I were to commit the church's men and resources, I'd be behind the Griffin confidently. Does that answer suffice for your long, enduring journey here, miss?" Vic questioned with a peak in tone meanwhile continuing her enticing gaze.
[/div][/div][/div][/div][/div][/div] [div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[Am Vya]

The Cihangir Horde

Near a tributary of the Great River:

The sound of horses darting by the river filled the valley with life and movement, gophers and rabbits raced across to their dens as horseshoes trampled the ground above the small creatures, Hizir and a group of riders had begun a hunt to acquire meat for the horde, the supply was beginning to run low and they would rather run the risk of angering local farmers than not have venison on the table. The men stopped by the river and dismounted. The horses were led up to the bank and dipped their heads, drinking up from the stream. Hizir walked over to his friend Avtandil, a tall and well built man, with hair dark as a raven and jade eyes that hold a gaze sharp enough to to pierce the strongest armor.

The prince let out a sigh, crossing his arms as he stood next to his friend, staring out at the wide rolling hills that surrounded the valley the river rests in.

"Do you think we're going to find any deer this time? The last two hunts came with nothing aside from a few rabbits we managed to score, if we don't get something soon the people are going to grow frustrated."

"Do not fear Hizir, we will find something this time I'm sure of it. Remember what Okan said, Shalyk has blessed this hunt. Besides, I'm sure if we don't find any venison you would make a fine substitute!" Avtandil lets out a hearty laugh and slams his hand onto the young lords back, sending him forward slightly.

"Oof! If you so much as even dare try to roast me I will have Azmych poison my flesh and bring you weeks of bowel troubles!" A grin breaks across Hizir's face and he pats his friends shoulder. "Anyways, I think the horses are ready so lets not linger too long, we have a horde to feed."

"Aye, After you my prince." Avtandil bows slightly and extends his arm out to their horses, and the two mount their horses, leading the hunting party up to the wooded hills east of the valley. The hunt went on as the day passed, and they fell 3 deer by nights end. The group camped out before heading back for Qosal at Dawn, with a rather uneventul trip until they made their by a small farm. The group observed from the treeline and Hizir looked back at his group. "I believe we should get some crops with our meat we've acquired in the hunt, what say you all?"

The group talked amongst themselves and Avtandil gave a concerned look to his prince. "Are you sure we want to do this? There's been reports that one of the Lords is coming to Qosal to discuss something with your father, if word gets out that we raided a farm during this meeting it won't end well for you."

"We'll be fine Avtandil, just relax, the rest of you, what do you think? Shall we make our meal to a proper feast?" They all nod in agreement and the group shot out from the trees and were upon the farmhouse as quick as arrows, with the family out in the further out parts of the field they took to the silo and stole some sacks of crops, hurrying out back to their path as quick as they came. They continued their journey, by next day they were close to Qosal, and stopped to rest some more.


Qosal, Capital of the Cihangir Horde:

In Qosal business was as usual, merchants and people were making rounds across the town and bustling about. Carts traveled throughout the roads carrying recently made goods, the town buzzed with life. At the centre of it all atop a tall hill stood the 3 tents of The Khan, The High Priest, and of Ekmel Mirza, the practical second in command of the Horde. Guards patrolled the hill ensuring that no undesirables came without consent of the khan, in the distance horses galloped about, being trained by the young riders. The rulers paced their hill, idly talking as they went back and forth.

"Today she should arrive, we had best be prepared." Ekmel said, walking next to the Khan
"Yes I'm aware, and don't worry the guard knows and all is prepared for the Lady's Arrival." Celal retorted, glancing down the main path. "Though I suppose it wouldn't hurt to do some last minute work on the grounds in front of our hill, presentation and all."
"It could never hurt, if the Lady wishes to speak of Alliances we should be as presentable as their standards say."
"Yes quite, what do you imagine the purpose of this alliance could be, considering that these local nobles wish us dead mostly."
"Well I believe that one reason we haven't faced a united army is that they're too busy bickering amongst themselves, maybe Lady Edilgar wishes to put our horde to use against the other Elk Lords and assert her rule over the region."
"Always an optimistic thinker I see, then of course there's the option that this alliance is nothing more but to pester us to cease all raids."
"We shall see when she arrives, for now let us eat." Ekmek motioned to the grand tent and Celal followed, discussing matters with Okan over breakfast as they awaited their guests.

At high noon the drums near the entrance of Qosal sounded with a moderate and steady rhythm, signaling visitors upon the town. Small crowds gathered around the main path, watching Lady Edilgar and her escorts pass, the town had grown in the last few months and the paths were somewhat better maintained, though in the end still just a dirt road. Rows of tents and stands led the way down the main path, up toward the meeting grounds and Khans hill. Celal exited his tent with Okan and Ekmek in tow, stepping to the edge of their hill and watching as the Noblewoman made her way through the town. The Royal guard formed up in preparation, readying water for the horses and preparing gifts to present to the Lady. As the final adjustments were made the Noblewoman and retinue could be seen approaching the base of the hill, and Khan with his advisers behind him descended the steps to the gathering grounds. They stood at the base, ready to greet Edilgar and begin their meeting.
Soviet Panda​

 

[Soviet Panda]

The first to get the Keeper's letter was none other than Amir Saladin. It, along with the hawk that had delivered it, had appeared on the balcony of his bedroom in the dead of night. And while he understood the want for their barbaric tradition of enslaving others, be it prisoners or debtors, it could not be done within a day. And he expressed this in his letter to the mysterious senders. "The course of a river does not change in a day" was all it said. However, on the back was a name. Aseel el-Saleem. The name would be familiar. They were a close member to Vizier Abyad, and one of the louder voices for the slave merchants of the city. Perhaps Aseel was getting ahead of himself, or perhaps the Vizier needed to be subtly reminded that there were ways to replace him. The specifics were unclear, but sending another mysterious message could risk being intercepted by inquisitive parties. It was up to the Keeper's on how they proceeded.
Royalblue127
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The small fleet of pirate hunters assembled at the port of Freibuck. The port officials were notified of the fleet prior, and places had been reserved for them close to the store houses so as to quickly resupply the ships and prepare them for the hunt. And while the information was several days old, the last time 'Madeline Rose' was spotted, it was off the Kingstate Peninsula, more commonly referred to as the Horn, and traveling South, most likely simply patrolling the merchant lanes for potential victims.
Pilgrim59 Minyari BLK
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With no one to contest them, the cult, dubbing themselves the Naturalis Ordo, have quickly spread across the surrounding regions. Their progress was slowed somewhat when entering areas where other religions dominated, but their spread to the west was unhindered. Soon enough, the first emissary entered through the gates of Khuwair, their ram mask firmly affixed to cover his eyes. How they will go about converting the masses is still unknown, but they certainly didn't try to hide their presence.