Fantasy Realm of Vardisso

[Reinhardt]

With the Eitszal Federation's king fallen, and the various fiefs divided, it is left in a much vulnerable state. And noticing such, the other nations made no hesitation in taking this opportunity.


The Vanate Empire, with its large number, began to assemble its army and ready to conquer every part of Eitszal they can, aiming to take over it all and expand their all ready enormous territory.


The Aurania Kingdom prepared its forces in case of any difficulties regarding the other nations, but were more focused on making the nobles of the Eitszal Federation submit to them, which in turn, would grant them total control over the said lands.


The Grawen Kingdom began to march their forces into the said vulnerable nation, turning their enemies to ruin using their unmatched might, and forcing the others to surrender to its rule.


A great war is to begin, and it will change the entirety of Vardisso. And in the midst of it all, a strange thing had occured.


Various individuals from a different world, called Earth, had appeared. What could have possibly caused this? Who are these individuals? And most importantly, what role would they play in this fated event?

 

[Reinhardt]

It was late morning, people had all ready went to their jobs, markets had been opened, and the civil guard has began their patrols. The sun was up in the sky, casting a bright light over the lands, the warm air cast few breezes. The Fief of Lincolnshire was quite in order. There was no panic, nor fear that grew in the hearts of its citizens. The economy continued to flow without any disruption. People went on with their daily lives, as if without a care in the war that was unfolding - a war that would inevitably affect each and everyone.


The gates to the fief were opened, various kinds of people went in and out, all whilst being checked by the guard. Some were stopped, but entered the fiefdom nevertheless. Security checks were being conducted, but it would seem that nobody were a threat to Lincolnshire. A few nobles were noticed entering it, presumably to conduct a meeting with the Baron himself.


@Anaxial @CloudyBlueDay @augmentedspartan




In a small temple, near the center of Lincolnshire, was an old man in black robes could be seen kneeling before a statue in the far end of the temple. This person was the priest, and he was praying to the goddess, Fate. It would seem that the man was concerned about the war, as it was what he was praying for. Minutes passed and the man never moved an inch, continuing his sincere prayers.


However, in the midst of his praying, something strange occurred. Light flashed before him, and a pulse sent him away from the statue, down to the ground. What he saw next, was truly a surprise.


A person had emerged out of thin air. This person stood before the statue of the goddess, and seemed to be bathing in the light originating from her. Soon enough, the light faded, revealing a young lad, dressed in a strange manner - one that is unfamiliar, and seemed to not belong in the Realm of Vardisso. The priest stood, slowly approaching the man in both awe and curiosity. Was this man the answer to his prayers? Had Fate conjured a savior who would end the war before it even starts?


@Average




Meanwhile, the neighboring fief of Oxwell is under attack, by both the forces of the Grawen Kingdom and the Vanate Empire. Various houses and establishments are in ruins and flames, thousands of corpses scattered everywhere. People ran in panic and fear, whilst the two opposing forces continued to create wreckage and havoc in Oxwell. The nobles were already gone, there was nobody to help this fiefdom that is quickly becoming history. The forces of Vanate are beginning to win, and with such, the elite forces of Grawen had attempted to escape, taking a route that would lead them to Lincolnshire.


One particular troop stood out - this was the troop of Captain Ria Varlet. With much ease, they plowed through the battlefield, turning their enemies into corpses and leading their allies to victory. Upon seeing the elite forces of Grawen cower away, Ria, without any hesitation, commanded her troops to chase them. After all, the order given to them was to take over Oxwell, and leave no opposing force alive - and that includes those elites who had ran away. However, the mages who remained had hindered Ria, by separating her and her troop using their earthly magic.


But, much to her luck, one remained to her side - a battlemage. There was no way to return, back to the field. The way has already been blocked by various rocks and trees, and they seemed to be heavily stacked to resist fire. There was but one option left. Leave the scene, follow the elites, and call for reinforcements. Ria did not like abandoning her troops, especially in times like this, but she had no choice. Remaining in Oxwell would deem their task a failure, thus, she had decided.


"You there.", she addressed the battlemage. "Time to go." She began to walk off in the distance, heading to the neighboring fief - Lincolnshire.


@Orion Pax

 

[Anaxial]

A Baron's work was never quite complete, and an exhausted Sir Roger sat at his desk, adorned in a black thick overcoat with a golden trimming. This was the de Tourneville Coat, quite a, exorbitant coat made of the finest materials that could be gathered on Vardisso. T'was fashioned many a score ago, when war wasn't on the mind of Nobles and blood needn't stain the Coats of Soldiers. Roger had never particularly liked the Regent coat, but he accepted the artifact gracefully as it was tradition to wear the piece of apparel to showcase his stature in the Eitszal Federation.


Sir Roger had taken a seat at his personal desk within his Lordly Quarters to write a letter of resistance to recent Grawen demands and the threat of reprisal should Grawen soldiers be seen within Lincolnshire. Joined only by a sleeping Lady Catherine in the sizeable bed just in the other room, and Brother Partris. The Holy Man was your average monk, a man who abstained from violence and took a vow of celibacy. The Brother was a younger man which was unfortunate that he'd chosen such a path so early at life. To Sir Roger, adversity and existence were one in the same and that to fight to save your countrymen was more venerable a task than devoting your life to a goddess who's favor was ever-changing. Still, the company of the young man was somewhat a welcome one in these trying times and Baron Roger de Tourneville was never one to shy away from the assistance of the divine.


"Sir Roger, are you awake?" Brother Partris asked, leaning down as his brown robes draped around him like a large woolen blanket. Sir Roger took in a sharp breath and turned his gaze to the Monk. "Need you a second cup of cider, or has thy inkwell run dry?" The young man had a stoic face, not terribly handsome but one that may have a seldom lady wish ill upon his Holy career.


"No, Brother Partis. Thank you, I simply find my eyelids have gotten heavier as of late. 'Specially with the news of the assault on Oxwell. Baron Killian Oxwell-Forth was so close to joining forces with Lincolnshire." Roger responded, his voice graveled with a lack of proper sleep. His hand reached out and took a red apple from a small bowl presented to him by the Brother. He took a large bite, then another, and another, in but four chomps of the Baron's jaw and the apple was nought but core.


It wasn't long before Roger had finished his letter and handed the letter to the Grawen Commanders who demanded his immediate surrender and now he had a moot between local Nobles about united forces with Lincolnshire to repulse Vanate executioners and Grawen conquerors. Tying the waistband of his coat together Sir Roger donned a feathered broad brimmed flat hat the man set off from his chambers with Brother Partris in his tow. He spared his sleeping wife but a passing glance, she enjoyed attending meetings but only to deter a sally forth led by her beloved husband.


However that was Roger's exact idea.


His parlay with the Nobles would be short and sweet; they would meet within the Town Hall, outside of the inner motte and bailey of the Lincolnshire Castle to deter subterfuge from the Vanate enemy. Once they had gathered their moot, Sir Roger would present his plan to Sally forth and meet the Vanate Executioners head on, fighting to free the ruined Oxwell and recruit any survivors. If successful, this would likely lead to further Fiefs joining Sir Roger's cause, and if he failed and was killed by Grawen soldiers or Vanate mages... Then it was suffice to say that Sir Roger died on his feet, with sword in hand, rather than on his knees, his head within the grooves of a chopping block.

 

[augmentedspartan]

While wandering around the country was first nature to Carja, there was still something that he missed about the big cities, and that was the shops. It's not that they were hard to find, almost every town had one or two supply stores and travelling merchants were common, but prices were never the same. Twenty bronze coins for a bag of wheat in one town, thirty in another, forty will get you a pair of pants in one place, but won't be enough for a sock somewhere else. Sometimes you might get lucky and find cheap supplies, but more often than not you're getting robbed. Not to say that big cities prided themselves in having the cheapest prices, but at least they were consistent. Right now he knew more or less what he could buy with the money he had on him, but out there? A complete mystery. Sadly, the vendors weren't as thrilled to see someone like him at their stalls, since Carja tended to negotiate for a lower price too much. Although complain would be a better term, since there wasn't much negotiation as there was shouting.


"Look old man, if you don't like the prices then you can leave. I'm not budging a single bronze piece." One of the shop vendors was already getting tired of Carja's rambling. To be fair though, twenty-five pieces for a single carrot was asking too much, no matter how good quality it was. "How do you expect me to feed Frith here?" Carja asked, stroking the mule's head, who wasn't really paying him much attention. "I don't care how good you think your merchandise is, I'm not as stupid as the rest of these people." He checked how many coins he had on his pouch, being careful not to show the silver pieces he had nicked from unsuspecting citizens after he was let in. "Here, I'll give you twelve pieces," he said, tossing the coins on the table.


"Are you deaf? I said I'm not changing the prices!" The vendor pushed the coins back. "Are you stupid? I said that's too much!" Carja then pushed the coins towards the vendor once again. The vendor, realizing that the crazy old man was scaring customers away, decided that this was enough. "Get out! Get out before I call the guards!" Luckily for him, he wouldn't need to bother, for there was already a pair of them standing close by. They had happen to hear the beginning of the conversation as they were passing by, and had decided to stick around in case things got out of control.


"Alright, you two, enough!" commanded one of them. The other one grabbed the coins and placed them back into Corja's hand. "Keep going now, and stop making a scene," he shooed him away. That, of course, wasn't enough to scare Carja away. Instead, it led into a series of disagreements, shouts, and insults, most of them from Carja himself. Eventually, the guards got tired of the rambling old man and simply walked away, leaving him with a warning.

 

[CloudyBlueDay]

A large hand shook her awake. Compared to her father, an incredibly large man, Feria may as well have been a mouse. His own hand was the size of her head, and getting a hug from him was like being crushed with stone. "Papa?" Feria said, blinking the sleep away from her eyes, slowly sitting up. "Feria, darling. You.. froze over the smith." He admitted. Feria's mouth fell agape as she threw the covers off of herself quickly. A thin layer of ice that had apparently covered her bed shattered as she stood. "Oh, no.."


It was true. During the night ice had coated the walls of her father's work space, as well as the ground beneath her feet. "Your skin is like ice again too," Her father muttered, voice dripping with worry. "I don't feel cold," She protested. "That's not what matters anyhow.. we have to fix your smith. Have you tried melting it with your fire?" "It could take me hours to get rid of all this ice. You know my magic isn't that strong." Feria let out a sigh, turning away. "I'm sorry, papa." "Don't apologize."


"Feria.. you have to find someplace to learn to control your magic." "I don't want too." "Because you don't want to leave me? Is that why?" Feria fell silent. "I.. have chores to do." She said quickly, brushing past her father and hurrying into the washroom before closing the door. She could hear her father sigh. One of his big, sad sighs, that meant 'What should I do with that child?'


A little while later Feria had left the house in route to the market. They were running low on some supplies and food and it was Feria's job to pick up the things they needed. She walked slowly, with a frown, because of the little ice spikes that formed in her path. She was just in time to watch a cooky old man argue with a vendor. He apparently wanted carrots for his mule. After he'd stepped away, Feria took his place. "Good morning, sir." She said quietly. "Good morning, lass. How many carrots for you?" "Three should do." Feria paid without any protest, giving a curt nod to the vendor and taking the produce.


Looking back to the old man once she had turned away from the vendor, Feria tentatively stepped towards him and offered his mule a carrot. Papa and her could deal with a few less vegetables in their stew. She gave the mule a little pat on the head, saying nothing to it's owner, before moving to walk away.


(@augmentedspartan )

 

[Anaxial]

For the hold of Lincolnshire, many turned to the Town Center for announcement and organization out of convenience alone. It was a spot that Sir Roger and his court often times mustered to discuss matters of the fief in public forum. A place that any commoner could come and witness democracy manifest in a place otherwise ruled by the Monarch: Baron Roger de Tourneville. It hadn't taken the Baron and his page, Brother Partris but half an hour to reach the Town Center and the sight of the Baron entering such a place already stirred the town with hushed whispers and giddy scuttlebutt. Entry to the Town Center was simple, a double door that lead to the common area with rows of seating for the commoners to come and witness the podium with a large table where Sir Roger and his court would discuss matters and take suggestions from chosen townsfolk.


When sun blazed high above them within the scopes of heaven, the old brazen bell on top the Town Center rang thrice, giving purchase to the open forum that Sir Roger and his nobility guestbook would be holding the meeting to discuss matters of war. From the moment that the last bell toll rang throughout the town, Sir Roger stood at the center of the table, his guests lining him in equal number on each side.


"Barons and Lords, Marshalls and Mayors, I have assembled this discourse so that we may discuss the initial invasion from the Vanate Empire and the Grawen Kingdom." Sir Roger's voice was powerful and projected itself over not only the Nobles gathered at the table, but also the commoners who were silently filling the pews below them. Silent nods of agreement were seen from the various nobles around him. "The siege of Oxwell is not going well off according to most recent news. The Vanate Empire and the Grawen Kingdom have temporarily ceased their hostilities to break through the Hold walls. However, this temporary alliance will likely end should they take Oxwell."


"While it is unfortunate for the denizens of Oxwell, their fate is sealed! What about our own fiefs, our own people!? SOMETHING must be done!" The second voice came from Baron Gregory Frauld who so rudely interrupted the Baron Roger de Tourneville.


"T'is an awful statement and in poor taste, Sir Gregory." the Baron responded post-haste. A foul look washed over the Baron Gregory from the various nobles, his craven outburst clearly in the minority. "I have gathered we few here, because in my opinion... ONE Eitszal Soldier or Citizen killed by the Vanate or Grawen is TOO many. And ONE fief under siege by either is an INSULTING ATROCITY." Roger stated, slamming his hand on the table.

 

[augmentedspartan]

Carja had been distracted and didn't notice the girl feeding Frith. By the time he turned around and looked at him, Firth was munching on the end of the carrot. "Where did you get that?" he asked, surprised, looking back at the vendor. Perhaps he had taken it without either of them realizing. Great, if someone noticed and reported it to the guards he would have to deal with them. Worse, he might have to pay the infuriating vendor for it. The best thing right now was for Frith to finish eating it before the vendor noticed it, however, it seem that Frith didn't much care if Carja got caught for he had stopped chewing on it and had left it dangling on the end of his snout. Carja, noticing this, grabbed the end and yanked it, wanting to simply throw it away. "Come on, give it. I don't have time for this." Once again, the mule seemed to be purposely making his life difficult, because no matter how hard he tried, the vegetable would bulge. "Fine! Keep it!" Carja said irritated, and gave up. If anyone asked, he'll just say a kid gave it to him. Wouldn't be the first time he used that excuse.


Walking around the city, Carja passed in front the Town Center, which seems to have more traffic than normal. He gave it no attention, he wasn't interested in politics, and instead focused on finding a tavern where he could have a drink and rest. Finding one that was relatively empty, he tied Frith to a post and set an alarm spell on the carriage. Although it wasn't exactly an alarm, per se, but rather a small movement base trap that would activate a small flame if anyone touched his things. The alarm bit came when the person getting hit in the face with fire screamed.


Sitting down, he ordered a drink and opened the map he brought in. In it the routes he had traverse were marked in, or at least, the ones he could remember. He hadn't bothered to keep track until the last few years, when he started to move around familiar places. Since then, he had marked the areas he's been to and attempted to follow new paths. So far, the map's starting point was somewhere in the Grawen Kingdom, he had guessed the location, and it traced a rough path from there to his current position.

 

[Reinhardt]

In the midst of the assembly within Lincolnshire's town center, a messenger rushed through the crowd, speedily heading towards the group of nobles. This man's uniform was torn and drenched in blood, dirt, and ash. Deep in his eyes, hopelessness could be easily seen. Upon coming close enough, he knelt quickly, and rose once more. He did not wait for any response, nor approval of what he was to do, after all, it is an urgent matter.


"Milords.", he said, still panting. "Oxwell has fallen. It is now under the Vanate Empire's reign. I've heard word that they will be heading to Hifvale as soon as they finish compensating for their losses."


One of the nobles stood as soon as the the word Hifvale was spoken. "I deeply apologize, Lord Tourneville, but I must leave. If what he says is to be true, then I must prepare my land before our enemies strike. I am with you in removing our divisions, however, I cannot ensure that I will always be in approval of this idea of yours.", the noble known as Baron Isaac Kaizer, ruler to the fiefdom of Hifvale. Without waiting for a response, he left, along with his trusty knights and advisers. It was not so soon that the sound of his carriage leaving in a hurry was heard from outside the town hall.


@Anaxial




Feria left the old man and his mule, and walked away. It seemed to be a surprisingly ordinary day to others, but not for a very few individuals. And one of these was no other than Feria herself.


The ground before her cracked open and a geyser of flame formed a quickly fading spire to the heavens, sending heated rocks of varying sizes flying away as they slowly turned to dust. From the newly formed hole of fire-y death, a human-like figure emerged, bathed in light that shadowed its appearance. Slowly, the ground reformed and the light faded, revealing a young lady dressed in an unfamiliar manner. She seemed to not belong to this world, she seemed to be from some otherworldly origin, at least, that was what her presence gave off.


Other people passing by did not notice the woman's sudden appearance, nor the events that unfolded before her.


@CloudyBlueDay @Yanire




Carja, the wandering old man, had decided to spend his time in a seemingly empty tavern. He was on a table, alone, busily scribbling on his map. And as he traced a path from his origin to his current location, something strange occurred before him.


Through the doors and the windows, strong winds blew, and with it were a bunch of dried leaves and broken twigs. The winds circled the entire interior of the tavern, rummaging through the large area for a place where it could fade away. These powerful winds continued to circle until they formed a seemingly contained whirlwind, moving in random directions until it was before Carja, where it remained for a lengthy period of time. The whirlwind spun and spun, slowly decreasing its size, until its entire existence was no more. Once it had subsided, a bright light flashed before him, and as it faded, a seemingly healthy man, dressed in unfamiliar clothing, appeared before him, in the same table.


@augmentedspartan @callmenox

 

[Yanire]

Keelyn stomped into a large puddle of water with her tennis shoe as she was rushing to open the door of The Flower Peddlar. An odd name for a comic shop, however the place was indeed a flower shop back in the day, and still had the large, intricate sign above its door to prove it. A sign which for the vintage charm, was never removed - and so the old name stuck.


"Aww crap." She said, water soaking through her scrub pants as the bells on the door jingled to announce her arrival. The other four were already at the table waiting for her. "Rocks fall, your character dies." The DM said in a joking monotone. An admittedly handsome monotone - his Australian accent got her every time. "Oh don't start, Jay. I'm barely late." She walked into the quiet shop, the smell of cedar and old paper greeting her. The door closed quietly behind her and she bolted the ancient lock into place to keep any passers-by from thinking they were open. "I had a code brown." Jacob, who had already started in on the communal bag of Doritos raised his brow. "Code brown?" Almost simultaneously, Nicolette scrunched her nose. "That's disgusting." Jacob still seemed confused, and Keelyn reached a hand over his shoulder to grab a Dorito. "Don't think about it too hard, Jake. You wouldn't like it." Jay and Sean continued to chuckle. "We're outside of the lich's lair. You ready?" Jacob asked. Keelyn walked hurriedly to the back, where the single bathroom was. "The Lich King can wait until I take a pee." She said, her mouth still somewhat full after having popped the chip into her mouth.


Closing the door behind her, she freed one of her shoulders from her backpack strap and felt a wave of dizziness overcome her. She blinked a few times, and ran her hand over her face. What the hell? Her hand found the faucet of the sink and turned it to 'warm'. Her other hand joined the first to cup the water, her backpack threatening to fall from her shoulder onto the floor. The warm splash of water on her face was a relief. She cupped her hands once more and splashed the water onto her face again, leaving her hands there this time. It was soothing. A little hot. No, way too hot. She pressed her eyes closed as her entire body grew hot and her ears began to ring loudly. If someone had shouted at her, she'd likely not hear them. I'm going to pass out in here. Was all that she could think.


She kept her hands on her face until after many long, unmeasurable moments, the dizziness subsided, and removed them slowly as the ringing began to fade. Her eyes squinted, the blinding light of day a stark contrast to the dim light from the Flower Peddlar's bathroom. She looked up at the bright light, thinking at first she'd been taken to the hospital. The sun? The cacophony of a busy marketplace began to wash through her ears, and she looked around, noticing first the clothing of the market's patrons. It looks like Kansas City's annual Renaissance festival. She turned slowly, to take in the things around her and then looked down. Her black tennis shoes were still soaked, but her white scrub pants and black zip-up jacket were already almost dry. She looked up again, and meet the eyes of a young, freckled girl - her own grey eyes full of confusion and horror. @CloudyBlueDay

 

[callmenox]

Aiden's day had started well enough, with a hearty breakfast and a new work assignment. He liked those: more work meant more money, and more money might erase his parents' concern over the freelance nature of his work as a translator. Feeling lucky enough, he had decided to go for a walk – well, there wouldn't be much walking, but he'd roll his way to the local park in his wheelchair, maybe take a couple reference pictures of birds and squirrels if there were any to be seen. He'd become somewhat a master of pushing the wheelchair slowly enough to get close to the little buggers without scaring them off, a little trick he w as rather proud of.


The weather was pleasant and Aiden enjoyed this little bit of seasonal sunshine. Soon, they'd be able to have barbecues in the backyard, he was sure of it, no matter what his roommate said about March weather being unpredictable and whatnot. Barbecues. Backyard parties. Soon. He knew it.


The young man wasn't far from home when the wind started to pick up. What the hell? Decided not to let a bit of a breeze counter his plan, he rolled on, but the gale grew stronger still, soon forcing him to stop, raising his arms around his face to protect him. Was that a sudden storm? Aiden couldn't tell, but he couldn't breath either: all air seemed to escape from his lungs. Suffocating, he closed his eyes. Gusts whirled around him, rousting his hair, almost taking his sunglasses off his eyes. The wind was one thing, but this choking feeling was another: he found himself grasping for air, on the break of hyperventilation, unable to move. He fought to stay conscious, wondering if he was going to die again, his panicked brain throwing him back to images of a country road at night and a pool of his own blood.


Wouldn't it be terrible to end like this? Asphyxiated on such a fine morning?


After what seemed like hours, but might have been mere minutes, the wind calmed down, and Aiden found himself breathing again. He lowered his arms, gulping for air like a drowning man, clutching the table in front of him. What the hell was that about? Climate change was real: the weather was completely getting out of hand!


Then, as he caught his breath and raised his head, he realised.


A table.


There was a wooden table in front of him, with a funny old man sitting across him. At a table. In... some sort of bar?


“What the actual...”


His voice trailed off as the blond gave the place a good look around. Chandeliers? Barrels? He was on the street not a minute ago, on his wheelch–


His wheelchair!


A sudden anxiety rising his chest, Aiden patted his leg and a half, discovering with horror that he wasn't on his trusted wheelchair anymore, but sitting on a wooden chair that looked right out of the set of Generic Medieval Fantasy Adventure.


This was some sort of joke, right?


Some very elaborate prank from his siblings, right?


But even the kids wouldn't be so cruel as to take his only mean of transport from him.


“Okay,” he said, to no-one in particular. “Okay,” he repeated, as if might help. It didn't.


He had no idea of what the hell was going on, but as long as he didn't panic, everything was going to be fine. He just needed to approach things calmly and reasonably. First things first, baby steps and all that.


Eventually, Aiden turned his attention back to the old man at his table.


“I, ah... I think I'm going to need a drink there.”

@augmentedspartan

 

[CloudyBlueDay]

After the carrots, and other grocery items, Feria had considered making one more trip before she went home. Perhaps to the bookstore, or maybe she'd double back and pass off her long absence as "taking a walk". She was dreading facing her father again, and any excuse she got she would take it.


Well, her prayers were answered.


The ground shook, and cracked open. Feria stumbled and fell on her backside, dropping her shopping basket. A few carrots and tomatoes and other assorted produce tumbled out, but Feria didn't bother to go back for it. She was more focused on scrambling away from the fiery geyser of lava. Her heart was beating out of her chest, her eyes filled with pure panic as a human figure emerged.


Feria couldn't even find the strength stand as she gaped at the girl in both horror and astonishment. Who -- how -- questions flooded her, but she could not make her mouth move. What were those clothes she was wearing? The shoes, the...coat? She'd never seen anything like it before. And because she was so afraid, she had hardly realized that the ground beneath her had froze over at a rapid rate.


After a few moments, Feria had taken a few deep breaths to calm herself down, looking over the female woman once again. She now attempted to stand, but quickly fell forward on the slippery ice she herself had conjured. Luckily she put her hands forward in the nick of time, positioned almost like a dog on all fours. She looked very stupid, and Feria hated to look stupid. Another inhale, and she'd successfully stood up and moved off of the patch of ice.


"Who - who are you?" She said slowly.


@Yanire

 

[Anaxial]

It didn't take long for the news of Oxwell's falling to stir the room into a crazed hive of frightened nobles and war hungry soldiers. Even the villagers of Lincolnshire that had attended the forum seemed roused into a fury at the news of their enemy's victory. Sir Roger himself seemed shaken, only for a second as he ran his fingers through his beard for but a moment before he rose above the table and waved down the panicked voices of the crowd. Still, they were busy focusing on one another rather than their most venerable Lord, Baron Roger de Tourneville.


"ENOUGH." Roger's booming voice silenced the room in but a single word. His piercing stare glared out across the room as all within seemed to look to him for leadership now. Brother Partris rushed to Sir Roger's side and presented him the summons written by the Vanate Empire ordering that Sir Roger surrender. "I hold in my hand... Our fate." Roger said coldly, waving the envelope for all to see as he paced calmly across his podium. "I will not force our people to go to war, but I will NOT kneel to those murderers in the Vanate Empire. Alone and divided we are weak, but together we can repel these invaders!"


A silence met him, noble and commoner alike were too craven to face their enemies. They all seemed to believe their only chance was to defend their own Fiefs and hope that the Vanate Empire and the Grawen Kingdom would spare them in the end. Sir Roger's expression changed from a solemn look to one of determination and he cast the summons aside, stomping his way down from the podium.


"Very well, hide behind your walls ye craven bastards! But I, and any true citizen of the Eitszal Federation will ride. Any true man or woman who was faithful to our king will Sally Forth and meet this enemy head on with the bravado that you tarnish and disgrace but was once known of we Eitszal." Sir Roger barked at the people as he stormed from the Town Center. He gave the pitiful gaze of the onlookers a final look before turning towards the door... only to find Lady Catherine dressed in her most elegant Ruby dress, a cross face and arms folded across her bosom.


T'was suffice to say that Sir Roger's courage was brevity incarnate. A nervous chuckle escaped the Baron's lips as his wife flashed him a courteous smile and curtsied before her Lord. If anything it was only to affirm his authority and not embarrass the man, as Lady Catherine could be a wonderful wife one moment, and quite a dragon another.


"Milord, Roger... A word with you?" Her voice was like velvet, a surprisingly elegant and young sounding voice even for a woman not over 40 years.


"Of course, Lady Catherine." Sir Roger retorted, ushering the Town Center a bow before exiting with his wife. He had prepared himself for this conversation, Lady Catherine would deny Roger's request of a Sally Forth, but Roger would insist upon it. As much as he loved his wife, as much as he cared for Lady Catherine, he would not wait for the Vanate Empire to pillage his home and take her away from him.


The two strode off into the fief, occasionally returning a bow or curtsy from the passing villager that saw the Baron and Baroness. While it was not uncommon to see the two striding through the fief, it was always a pleasure to see your leader directly observing your home and making his decisions accordingly.


"Sir Roger, I do not like this talk of a Sally Forth... of bravado!" Lady Catherine protested, locking her arm in Sir Roger's as they made their way along, Brother Partris in tow. "Oxwell has already fallen and suffered a fate worse than death. Perhaps t'would be best if we answered the Vanate Summons and came to an agreement!" Her words carried a heavy tone of worry and of regret. She didn't want to lose her husband to war, but even she knew the futility of negotiating with the Vanate Empire.


Sir Roger needn't find it necessary to berate her, for he knew that she only spoke such words out of worry for his life. "Milady, I couldn't bare the thought of those Vanate animals storming this place... You know there is no negotiations, this summons is a pathetic ploy to get the Barons and Mayors in one place if only to slay them all." Roger gazed at his wife as her eyes averted themselves towards the ground. "I am sorry, my dearest but I will not wait for that time. For better or for worse I am riding out within the week to meet the Vanate head on at Hifvale and hopefully gain some allies in this war." As he spoke, the Lady Catherine wrenched her arm from his and stopped dead in her tracks. She stared up at her husband with a sorrowful sneer and shook her head in disagreement.


"But if you are killed..."


"Then I will die a freeman, with a blade in my hand." He placed a hand on her shoulder and embraced her snugly. "Not a slave on his knees, head as the axeman's target."


Even with such harsh truths known, the Lady Catherine pulled herself away from her husband Sir Roger and stormed away. Roger watched her leave and heaved a heavy sigh as Brother Partris looked on with concern. The Monk awaited Sir Roger's command but at the same time had taken it upon himself to be personally responsible for the de Tourneville's well being.


"Sir Roger, with all due respect I must say that you are correct in this order. The Vanate will not spare us should we surrender, your beloved: Lady Catherine surely knows this and is only watching out for your well being."


"Aye... I know Brother. Tell the Marshal to gather my men and prepared a wagon train. I'd like to be on the march by tomorrow." Sir Roger sighed before suddenly the Earth rumbled beneath his feet... Panicked screams were heard as several villagers fled from somewhere deeper in the village. "Brother Partris, fetch my sword, summon the guard!" he was fast to make the order and Brother Partris was faster to complete them. Sir Roger ran off into the city.

 

[Yanire]

Keelyn tilted her head, her brows pressing together as she stood, unmoving, and watched the poor girl slip on the ice. After a moment, she herself took a single step back upon realizing that the ice was out of control. What sort of odd dream is this? She imagined the others finding her on the bathroom floor; Jay kneeling to check a pulse, Nicolette calling an ambulance, Jacob panicking, and Sean offering calming advice and direction. Surely that's what was happening - not this.


The girl seemed to regain her balance, and her voice brought Keelyn back to the matter at hand. "Who- who are you?" It echoed in her head for a few moments before she could find her voice to answer. "Who am I? Who are you?" She questioned. The middle of her brow pushed upward in desperation. She did another slow turn to look at the various faces in the marketplace. They seemed to be going about their daily business without alarm. Did they not notice the commotion? Or did they just not care? Of course they don't, you dolt. It's a dream. Her eyes returned to the girl's, noting that the confusion on her own face could really only be matched by the one who had seen her appear out of nowhere. A deep breath of air filled her lungs, and she slowly exhaled and breathed her name. "Keelyn." A quiet introduction. Just because she had no idea what was happening didn't mean she had to be rude. She drummed her fingers against her thighs and shifted her weight nervously. "What... exactly is happening?"

 

[augmentedspartan]

Carja held the map tightly and closed his eyes to shield them from the dust moving around. Cursing loudly, he wondered who was the idiot that was using nature magic inside a tavern. Once the the wind stopped making a mess of the place Carja uncovered his eyes. This proved to be a mistake, because the flash of light that followed hit him right in the eyes. Half cursing and half crying out, he covered his eyes again, hoping that he hadn't gone blind; a fear not too unreasonable at his age. After a few seconds of blinking he looked around the tavern in search for the perpetrator of this distasteful prank. To his surprise, instead of running away laughing, the culprit was sitting right next to him. Not only that, but he had the audacity to ask for a drink.


"You're quite the joker, kid," he finally said sarcastically. "Nature magic inside a tavern? I'm dying of laughter here." Yet his face staid with his usual contemptuous expression. Wouldn't be the first time he has had to deal with kids using magic to prank him, thinking that he wouldn't be able to catch them, which was usually true since running was beyond his physical capabilities. The young man before wasn't exactly a kid though, but when one is as old as Carja, almost everyone looked like a child. "Get lost now," he said, shooing him away.


@callmenox

 

[CloudyBlueDay]

"Who am I? Who are you?"


Feria looked absolutely stunned. Her mouth fell open and she gaped at the girl. She wasn't the stranger here! This was her home! "Wh-what?!" She exclaimed in response, staring at her, astonished. This person had just appeared from a fiery geyser of lava for crying out loud!


Keelyn? Was that her name? She'd never met anyone with that name. Where in the world was this person from? "I'm.. Feria." She said quietly, kneeling down to pick up her basket and attempt to pick up the produce she had dropped. The tomatoes hadn't been bruised too badly, lucky for her.


"Uh.. nothing is happening, really.." Feria said quietly, voice filled with uncertainty. "I mean.. you did kind of just pop out of the ground," She sounded a bit exasperated. "..but other than that.. it's just a normal day." Feria mumbled, resting the basket handle in the crook of her elbow and looking the girl over once again. "Are you from the Vanate empire? I was not aware they could travel that way. And where ever did you get such clothing?"





@Yanire

 

[Yanire]

Feria.


The name echoed in her thoughts. It was a lovely name. The girl's shocked expression surprised her - although she wasn't sure why she was surprised by it. Clearly neither of them knew what was happening. She watched the girl kneel to collect the produce while shaking her head and crouching, herself, to pick up a small squash that had slowly and clumsily rolled over toward her. She saw a stray apple a few paces away and walked a few steps closer to it before kneeling again to pick it up, her hand stopping in it's tracks as Feria had mentioned her 'popping out of the ground'. She raised an eyebrow at the girl as her fingers wrapped around the apple, and slowly stood. It's skin felt cold, but likely not as cold as the remnants of ice that surrounded the stranger's feet.


"Empire?" Keelyn repeated, a perplexed tone clouding her normally calm one. A few seconds of silence passed between them before she said with a breathy tone that sounded like the ghost of a laugh. "I'm from Kansas City, Missouri." A pause as she remembered the girl's second inquiry and looked down at her post-work attire. "And these are from the scrub store a few blocks down from my apartment. I'm a nurse, you see. They're not the most fashionable but they're certainly comfortable." She said, her voice still shaky.


Her eyes darted down to the ice beneath the girl's feet and then looked back to her face, extending both of her hands slightly in offering but keeping her own feet planted. She was aware of this being a dream, but she still wasn't taking any chances. After all, the cold of the apple in her hands seemed to bite into her flesh as though she'd just packed a snowball from the first winter snow. The feeling was oddly potent for a dream. "Ice." She said aloud and nodding toward the frost particles, making the obvious observation known. "Like 'Ray of Frost'? I had a level twelve wizard who casted that quite frequently before our party had a TPK." She finally shifted her weight and took half a step forward to hand the two items she'd gathered back to the girl.


"But... What is a Vanate empire? And exactly where is here?"





@CloudyBlueDay

 

[callmenox]

Breath in, breath out. “You're going to get through this, dude,” Aiden thought, “this is probably just a bad dream.” It felt damn real to be a nightmare, that was true, but the young man's brain was coping as best as it could with this unexpected development to his quiet morning. The table was still sturdy and stable under his tapping fingers. His one foot felt the stable ground beneath the sole of his sneaker, and his nose was starting to protest against the seemingly low standard of sanitisation this particular establishment endorsed.


Oh, and the old geezer thought he was being tricked. With nature magic.


“Of course you have nature magic,” Aiden muttered to himself, “looking forward to meet Legolas too.”


Alright, sarcasm wasn't going to help. He wasn't waking up, a disagreeable drip of sweat was beginning to run on his back, and no grinning sibling was popping from behind, shouting “ahah, gotcha!”. This looked less and less like a prank. Aiden breathed heavily, his panicked eyes scanning the room, again and again, looking for an anachronism, a way out, a sign, anything.


“Get lost? Man, I wish I could. Am scared that's not gonna happen though – first, well, I'm already lost. No idea where I am, who you are, what the hell is going on or anything.”


Anxiety was well settled in his sternum now. Breath in, breath out, he couldn't keep the pace; firing words with a voice that wasn't as steady as he'd wished.


“Can't get any more lost than that, and even if I wanted, gramps, I'd still be needing your help...”


He kept on talking, only stopping to gulp, his throat dry and his tongue heavy. Maybe, if he talked for long enough, all this would start to make sense.


“ … 'cause, well, you can't see it from here, but I got... only like one leg and a half?” He explained, pointing to his stump.


“I'm pretty lucky to have landed on a chair, by the way. Would have hated to crawl my way around here.”


The sudden realisation hit him like a punch, again.


“Oh my god. I don't have my wheelchair. I'm going to have to crawl!”

@augmentedspartan

 

[augmentedspartan]

Carja didn't know what the man was talking about, much less his origins, but he wasn't stupid either; he could detect both the initial sarcasm as well as the general confusion. Because his own confusion and anger had dissipated somewhat, he took a good look of the man. Now, Carja wasn't a fashion expert, or knew that fashion was even a thing, but he knew that this person wasn't wearing normal clothes. Add that to the fact that the man seemed to be lost, and one can easily assume this wasn't a prank, at least not one aimed at Carja. His first instincts told him teleportation magic; dangerous, unstable, and difficult, yet it would explain why the poor sod was this confused, as well as how he had gotten here. Light magic or no light magic, one couldn't just sneak next to a person hopping on one leg. The problem was that his transition was too smooth to be teleportation magic. Carja himself had tried it in several occasions, and most had ended in a disaster. The most probable explanation that he could come with was that someone, somewhere, had developed an easier way to teleport objects, which piqued Carja's interest.


"Alright kid, you've got my attention," he finally said, once he had stopped with all the babbling. "The way I see it, you just got teleported, and before you ask why, beats me. No clue. Wasn't part of it. Some friend of yours playing a joke on you. Bad joke too, let me tell you, because the last time I tried something like that.." he stopped for a second to get a better look and make sure the boy was in one piece.


"Last time I tried, the chicken I used it on ended up inside out," he finished. To be fair, the chicken wouldn't stop running around, which probably skewed the spell. He did attempt it with stationary objects, which ended up with better results, but not good enough for him to trust teleportation as more than experimental magic. The other one thing that was out of place was the wind and light show that happened just before the boy appeared. Normally, the fancy lights happened before the spell was complete, not after. From the receiver's point of view, the object would just suddenly be there, no need to even blink.


"Now, your inside bits seem to be where they belong, inside, so your friend isn't a complete idiot." For the most part, teleporting a living person isn't something someone with common sense would do. "But you're the one that got teleported here, so you tell me what happened. Lost a bet? Pissed someone off?"





@callmenox

 

[callmenox]

He was going to have to crawl.


He was going to have to crawl.


If Aiden had made a somewhat proper job at not panicking until then, he was seriously starting to feel things slip out of his control. This was just too weird, too sudden. He could endure anything – but not the loss of his wheelchair, his independence, his survival. This was a bit too much, wasn't it? Surely it was okay to start to be terrified at some point.


Aiden didn't want to crawl, he didn't want to have to find a wheelchair, did the middle ages even have a wheelchair, was he going to have to ask this grandfather to carry him around, seriously, was that his life now? Yes, this was his life now, the voice of reason tried to say among the chaotic noise of his brain, so please take a deep breath and do something about it.


The young man gulped, forced himself to stop tap-tapping the wood of the table, and put in hands on his knees. He also forced his eyes to remain fixed on his interlocutor. He tried to ignore the pearls of sweat dripping on his temples, and to steady his breathing to a normal level. The old man was talking. Right now, this fine member of the elderly class was his only chance at understanding whatever was going on. Okay. Let's do this and maybe cry a little bit after, but first, let's do this. One problem at a time.


Listening to the old man's theory, Aiden couldn't help but let out a small sigh.


Tel... teleportation magic?


No. Just no.


He was also going to pretend he hadn't heard about a chicken's inside being next to a chicken's outside either.


“You could have a point there, gramps, but magic doesn't ex... There's no magic where I come from,” he corrected himself, “and I haven't pissed anyone off recently. I even paid my rent on time this month, and the last bet I took I actually won. To tell you what happened...”


He ruffled a hand through his hair, recollecting the events of his morning, trying to find something unusual in his little routine.


“Uh, today I got up at six, did my physical therapy, took a shower, got breakfast ready for me and my roomie,” he listed, counting up on his fingers, “checked my emails but you probably don't know what that is so I basically checked my mails, got a mission from work, started working on it a bit, then went out for a walk in the park, well, more like a roll in the park if you get my meanin', was on the corner street between the bakery and the hairdresser, when... winds started blowing real strong, you know? Suddenly I couldn't see anything, couldn't breath, tried to protect my face with my hands...”


As he talked, he raised his arms to his eyes, re-enacting what he had done earlier.


“... And when things calmed down and I had a look around me, I was here. In front of you. Needing a drink. That I wouldn't mind still having, actually. I promise to pay you back whenever I can get my hand on some monies? Please?” He tried with a little smile, fully aware that the gramps didn't look the sort to offer drinks to one-legged stranger appearing at his table and yet feeling enough desperate to ask again.

@augmentedspartan

 

[augmentedspartan]

Carja had stopped paying attention midway through the story and concentrated on the part about there being no magic where he was from. It was quite difficult to think about living without any type of magic, to the point that he couldn't even fathom such a place. Living without magic sounded like living without the concept of chairs, something so simple, yet very important for one's daily life, that it not existing was almost absurd.


"Yes, magic," he said lifting a finger and producing a small fireball at the tip. He wondered if they had to make fire the hard way wherever he was from. He had to stop himself from delving deeper and deeper into a world with no magic, and decided to focus on the place itself. His mind kept jumping back to the Grawen Kingdom, his homeland, where magic was more scarce than in other areas, yet he knew that magic existed there as well, wasn't he proof of it? No, this man was either from a very secluded location, or from another world altogether. Thinking of other worlds, perhaps from beyond the stars, or in parallel realities, was also threatening to drive Carja's mind into an endless spiral of infinite possibilities, where he could spend days just thinking of the different possibilities that this entailed. He was having the same feeling as he had when he started studying magic, all the branching paths and different possible routes too much to take at once, feeling like he wouldn't be able to learn it all. Instead, he did the same thing he did back then, focus on the one thing that could be answered immediately.


"No," he answered the boy's last question without even thinking about it. "I'm not a walking charity. You want something, you get it yourself." To prove his point, he grabbed his own drink and took a swig.





@callmenox

 

[Reinhardt]

In the temple, where a strange young lad had emerged in a blinding flash of light, the old priest, Father Sila Ponthe, had stepped close enough to see most of the details regarding the man. This young lad wore clothing in an unknown fashion, something that obviously did not seem to belong in this world. Confused and in awe, the priest wanted to try and have a conversation with this person, however, before he could even speak a word, a strong invisible force blew him away, sending him back to where he was once.


The young lad glowed, then a bright pillar of light emerged from him, destroying the roof of the temple as it reached for the heavens. His eyes opened, glowing in the same manner, just as his mouth did when he began to speak. However, the voice was not his, it did not sound that of a young man, rather, it sounded much like that of a queen - no, a goddess. It seemed that the goddess, Fate, is using this strangely clothed person to commune.

"From another world they come,


Saviors and destroyers,


Heroes and villains,


Anything they can become.


In a bright light, they shall emerge,


With the elements might,


Appearing only,


To a few select's sight.


Learn and adapt, they must,


Guidance they will require,


Else, their arrival is their demise.


Fate's call has been answered.


Will Fate's request be fulfilled?"



​

The bright pillar of light faded in to thin air as soon as the words had been spoken. The strange lad fell to the ground, unscathed, yet covered in smokes, as if he had been incinerated. A few debris fell to the ground from the ruined roof, the place and the objects near the young man were burnt to ashes.


"W-what?", the old man said. Slowly, he stood, still trying to comprehend what had occurred before him. Due to what had happened, a number of people began to crowd the area, trying to witness the aftermath of such a strange happening. After all, a pillar of light would easily catch one's attention.




"Lord Baron! Lord Baron!", a young lad, clothed in the same robes as Father Sila, though in a brown color, yelled as he saw the baron run off to the city. The young lad rushed towards him, trying to catch up with the baron. This person was a devoted follower of the Fate Creed, and a servant to the temple located in Lincolnshire. By the looks of this young lad, it seemed that he carried news of urgency.


Something unexpected had happened in the temple.


@Anaxial

 

[callmenox]

Silence fell between the two men, only softened by the rumours of the innkeeper working here and there, far away from them and not phased by their banter in the least. For a little while, Aiden didn't look the older man in the eyes, fixating some part of the table, the gears under his skulls moving as fast as they could. He needed either a witty comeback or a stroke of genius, but alas, it was in vain.


The young man gave up, letting out a deep, long sigh, letting go of all pretensions to actually keep things sane and rational.


“Fuck you.” Said he, first quietly, then repeating it with more strength. “Fuck you, gramps. Fuck you sideways. Seriously. You want me to go and get it myself?”


If there was one thing that could be said about Aiden, it probably was that he never truly gave up. He only looked like he was at the end of his rope before bouncing back and restarting the fight, kindling the spark and all those motivational metaphors he liked to throw at his friends. Talking about bouncing back, that's exactly what he did; slamming his hands against the table and jumping himself on his, well, one foot, immediately grabbing the back of his chair for balance.


“Very well, then. I'll show ya, gramps!” He groaned, catching old on another chair. Using the two as makeshift clutches, he started, slowly but surely, to make his way to the counter. The chairs thudded loudly on the floor and Aiden clenched his jaw. Crawling? Never! Cursed his lost leg, that was hard, though. The chairs weren't the right height and his arms, although strong, would soon be complaining loudly. He didn't even know if he could pay for the drink, but he'd be damned if that was going to stop him.


“Oi, barman!” He shouted, advancing one step at a time, “I want a drink!”


If this was the way he'd had to do things in this world, he was going to show them. He was going to show them all.

@augmentedspartan (ooc: sorry for the wait!)

 

[augmentedspartan]

The boy came back to the table drink in hand, which made the walking more difficult for him, much to Carja's amusement. However, it wasn't the hopping or the awkward usage of chairs that had entertained him, or to be more accurate, weren't the most entertaining part, but rather the fact that the boy did it in the first place. Raising his empty cup in the air and pointing at it with his other hand was enough for the barman to understand. Less than a minute later, he came to the table with a drink for Carja, who didn't even have to stand up.


"I'm gonna charge the boy's drink on you," said the bartender, who had heard about the lack of money, something he always kept an ear out for.


"Yeah, yeah, whatever," responded Carja, shooing him away. Money wasn't really a problem for him, as long as the people around him kept their loose change on their pockets. "Drink worth the trouble?" Carja asked the boy mockingly, taking a swig from his new drink.


@callmenox