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

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

Tales of Miloria: Fall of an Empire

A banner snapped, and fluttered. It displayed it's colours, of reds and greys, high on an oaken mast, which in turn swayed with the tide. From the mast hung these snow white sails, billowing with the strength of the cheering, shouts and merriment from the decks and docks, stark in the shadow of the sails on such a beaming morning. Take a moment, as all on dock and deck have, to admire Stillwater, pride of the Ianoth shipwrights that built her, and of the Solemont dockmaster who maintains her, and of the proud Lord Fralin Ortow who purchased her. Built with both sails and coal engine, wood and steel, she is indeed a marvel; the greatest fortress on the Vulture and the new battleship of Solemont.


Today her deck gleams even brighter for the many painted shields upon it, and the cheers of the accompanying soldiers, and the replies from the citizens on the dock, are deafening. A mighty voice, that of Lord Ortow himself, joins the cheer from the top deck of Stillwater.


"Lord Ortow."


His cheer fades, as does the smile on his face, which is like beaten metal, as he turns towards the old female Lieutenant addressing him. His reply is sharp and stern, coming even before his head is turned to her: "King."


She does not hesitate, but her eyebrows raise slightly: "King, my Lord? Is it wise to ta-"


"King."


She buckles quickly, knowing her position, as all below him should: "King Ortow, the Captain is prepared to cast off at your order. We are soon to leave, and still we do not know your thoughts. We have four hundred." she gestures softly to the armoured people on the deck below, and to the trading ships, Memorial and Old Baker, which carried the rest of them.


"Are you my dead wife, or my daughter on the dock there?"


"I am a general, King Ortow."


"Then with what do you purchase my thoughts?"


"I merely sugge-"


His voice was deep, each word he spoke was sharp and sure. "Dradi."


"Fralin?"


"If you were anyone else, or a day younger and less wise, it would be easier to throw you over the railing."


"Yes, King. And you may still, I know."


"You know." Fralin gave a single dark chuckle, though his eyes remained locked on one of the painted shields hanging from one of the other ships.


"You are not taking our second battleship- Carrion? Even without coal, she is still a great asset."


"Close your mouth Dradi. It's spewing useless questions again."


"Yes."


"And tell the captain to cast off."


"Yes."


Development for House Ortow. 1d 2r
 
Last edited by a moderator:
The city of Selaria was a grand city of the milorain empire, situated dead center of the Milorian Mainland it is the heart of the dwarven road and trade network. It is seen as the Milorian second capital and some say it may have been greater than Miloria itself, however that is disputed. What is known for sure, it is a melting pot of all the various cultures that make up the empire, each given a sector of the city to call their own and it show's immediately by the differences in architecture, smells and laguages belted out by merchants. It was a city were you can find anything you want whether legal or otherwise, in relative security since peace is kept by the nearby Milorian 23rd Mounted regiment now for their cruelty and lighting strike in the past two worker strikes and one demonstration.


It is also a place to go unnotice and pass messages to a large number of people, both of these a tall elven looking man needed. He sat casualy in a traditional nicean coffee house, enjoying a cup of coffee he couldn't never get anywhere else. Black, aromatic and served in just the right temperature, for a man living in a forest until now it was just heavenly. After a sip of his coffee he waved over a few of urchins and gave them two things a load of parchments and 2 gold coins each with instructions to spread the parchment's through out the Nicean sector and beyond. Happy for the gold coina the ran of with excitement and did there job as asked. Spreading this message:


My people,


Sons and daughters of our glorious and holy nation of Nation of Nicea. With the gods at our side and faith in our righteous struggle, I hear by announce that THE NICEAN PEOPLE LIBERATION ARMY have taken up the struggle to restore the Nicean people as the true power of the land and rid us of the oppressive Milorian yoke!


We intend to show these dwarven upstarts and wannabes what we Nicean's are made of. How our empire once stood for a thousand years despite struggles with The Minaan, the Guin and the Ataea. How a band of 500 heroes won agains an army of thousands! My people, people of Nicea! Helps us show them our zeal, our iron will to stop at nothing to achieve our goals! The creativeness and ingenuity that still amazes our slavers who sully our halls and temples that still stand in their so called capital!


Some may claim that peace must be maintained for the safety of our people. Sadly though well intentioned they are wrong. Peace will not stop the Milorian from stealing our children as tax! Peace will not reclaim our stolen property from the so called "Noble houses"! Peace did not win us an empire! It is with a heavy heart I say, there is no other option but war. With the blade and the spell that ounce terrified our foes!


Join us my brothera and sisters! For Nicea!


Princess Imrae, Last of the line of Nashar the Martyr.


 
[January 8,m.r. 401:Nakop]


King Movli stood at the balcony of his palace,admiring the majestic structures and the prosperity of his capital city.Steam vehicles roamed the roads,with smoke emerging from the chimneys of the many factories in the city.


The King soon exited the balcony and headed to the palace's main hall.The main hall is welly decorated with chandeliers and golden statutes,while the floors are paved with marble.A golden chair,with it's beauty only enhanced by the dragon carvings on it,is placed right at the center of the hall.


As King Movli enters the hall,he finds himself stepping on a red silk carpet which leads to the golden chair,which is intended for him.Several well dressed men stood at the both sides of the carpet,bowing to the chair.


Movli sits on the golden chair,as the bowing man knelt down facing him.A table,made from agarwood and decorated with delicate carvings of the phoenix,was placed in front of the king by his servants.Movli takes a look at the kneeling men before he motions for the men to stand up.


"So,anything important to report?"said King Movli as he reads the newspaper handed over by his servants.One of his subordinates stepped in front,bowing to the King as he reports:"Your Majesty,there's currently nothing important enough to disturb your sacred ears."replied the Guin.


"Since there's nothing important,you guys can dismiss."said King Movli as he motions for his subordinates to leave.


[Project Dawn Research Facility]


Zhang looked at the reports of the biplane test flights.With all those failures recently,she knew that the research of biplanes could not be completed without a new type of engine.


As she leaves the facility in disappointment,she is greeted by her husband,Fruvli,at the entrance.


"So,how's work?"asked Fruvli as he opens the door of his locomotive for his wife,who replied:"Good,just a few casualties today.How about you?"


"Not good at all,new recruits just spoiled everything."said Fruvli as he boarded the vehicle.


The couple drives back home as they engage in a chatter.


Development for the Guin Kingdom:None
 


The Island City,

Anon Rill





The sun has hardly peeped over the distant Glamryg Mountains

and yet already the streets are coming to life. Dock workers kiss their wives goodbye, heading for a long day of labor. Fishermen rush to their boats, eager to be the first to the best spots. Guards clink and clank to and fro, hurrying to get to their posts to relieve the nightshifts. A military bugle sounds from the barracks, waking the Imperial Garrison for it's morning routine. The bells of the Clocktower ring, elegant and haughty, signalling the fourth hour of the new day. I will ring again five more times this day, every fourth hour. Like the firing of an engine, the city is grumbling to life.



Even some denizens of the High District seem to be correlating with the sun, mounting horses or getting into wagons, heading down into the Middle and Lower Districts, to supervise their warehouses, or meet with other influentials, or even to go get bread, fresh from the ovens of the bakers. One such denizen, a older man with dark hair and a long goatee rolls out onto his balcony in thick robes. His wheelchair makes faint whirring sounds as the man lightly rolls the wheels manually, the movement assisted somewhat by the partially motorized axles. He goes to the edge of the balcony and sits foward, his arms resting on the railing.



Looking down onto the growing hustle and bustle, Warden Falex Hauster breathes deep the smells of Anon Rill. An eastbound breeze brings with it the scent of the Middle District; fresh bread from the bakeries, roasting breakfast meats from the butchers, and flowers from the Garden Courts. And over all of it, the salty smell of Anor Aeor, the Sunset Sea. Falex takes it all in; the view, the sounds, the smells; the overwhelming spectrum of his city, his home, his heart.



The Warden of the Island City takes one more look, then turns and wheels inside. He washes, shaves and trims, and dresses in his dark blue and gray leathers, complete with maroon cloak. He goes to the lift, which takes him down to the ground floor, where he goes to the dining room. When he enters, he is surprised to find that he isn't the first one awake; the table has been set, and there are three cups sitting out. He wheels to his spot on the end. One cup is empty, one has juice, and the third, the one in his spot, has a light brown, steaming liquid in it. He grabs the cup, and lifts it to his nose, smelling the steam. It's a strange, bitter, earthy scent.



Before he can proceed, he hears steps to his left. He looks over and sees his youngest child, Evalyn, coming from the kitchens, a platter of breakfast foods in hand, smiling broadly. "

Morning, Father . . . I had hoped to have your plate set before you made it down

. . . " she says, setting the food covered platter down, and quickly beginning to fill his plate.



Falex Hauster stares, "

Child, I am pleasantly surprised. But what is the occasion, and how did you know I would be up so early

?"



Evalyn slows slightly, looking somewhat abashed, "

I . . . overheard your conversation with the messenger that came last night . . . I heard you say that you were going to talk to Uncle Psaryn first thing this morning . . . I figured you would have a busy day, so I wanted you to get a good start

. . . " she continues filling their plates. Falex Hauster sets down his cup of still unsampled strange liquid, staring at his daughter, his expression amused.



"

As I recall, I DID meet with a messenger last night . . . in my private study, behind closed doors, I had assumed away from curious ears

." Falex grins at his daughter, who is purposely avoiding his gaze by slowly scooping gravy out onto their biscuits. He continues, "

I suppose I must have assumed wrong, in any case

." He reaches out and gently grabs her hands, ceasing her movements, and causing her to look up and give him her attention. Softly, he asks, "

How much did you hear, Evalyn

?"



He sees the worry in her eyes now, the concern. He knows the answer before she gives it. "

I heard it all, Father

." She admits, though no longer ashamed or evasive. Her tone is serious now, and she speaks plainly, "

Will there be war, father? And if there is, will you . . . will you have to leave?

" Her eyes tear up slightly now, her hands shake.



Falex pulls his daughter towards him, holding her closer. So much like her mother; sweet, kind, thoughtful, and of course, inquisitive. Out of his four children, Evalyn is the only one who took after his late wife.

The Eight have truly blessed me, to give me this child, a living memory of Rosela,

Falex thinks to himself. He holds his daughter by the shoulders, and pushes her out, so that he can look her in the eyes. "

I'll not be going anywhere child, I promise that. My place is here, in Anon Rill, with you and your sister and younger brother. As to war . . . I make no promises on that matter. I will not lie to you, Evalyn. Change is coming to the Empire, that is for certain. What is not certain, is whether this change will be by civil means, or by conflict. These are dangerous times, uncertain times. In the coming years, we will all need each other. What are the Hauster words, Evalyn?"

Falex asks, releasing his daughter and leaning back.



She wipes away the moisture in her eyes, and steels her face, looking full into her father's face. "

Family and Honor, Blood and Duty."

, she says, her words proud and strong.



Falex nods, pleased. "

You are kind, child, and wise beyond your years. Our countrymen will need you in future, to be an example, a model of the codes and traditions of Harum."

He turns back to the table, and begins to eat. After a few moments, she begins to eat as well. Falex tries the hot drink in his cup; it is strange, almost like tea, but stronger, more bitter. When he looks inquiringly at Evalyn, she smiles and explains, "

Its a drink from the western lands, upriver of Anor Aeor, past Jundaland. The merchants there have become quite fond of it, they say it makes you smarter, gives you energy. It comes from a dark bean called Caffientaer, though the merchant called the drink "coffee". Do you like it?"



Falex nods, "

It is different, but yes, I do like it."

He finishes his food, and the strange drink, thanks his daughter for breakfast when she gives him a hug bye, and then heads outside. There, a sturdy, dark wooded carriage waits. The driver is a young man. He hops down and lowers the lift for Falex, who rolls onto it and is lifted into the carraige. The young man climbs back into the driver seat, and says back into the carriage, "

Where to, Warden?"



Falex answers, "

Blackwater Emporium, Tavyn, but take the long way, if you please. I've a desire to see how my countrymen feel today."



 
In the center of a small city up in the mountains of the north,stood a small two story building,which were it not for the guards outside would not be distinguishable from any other building.Even though inside of this building held what remained of the small city's leadership,and inside of a room that contained only a bed,a small oak table pushed into the corner,and a few chairs.sat the new leader of this city.


Leonis sat in one of the simple chairs starring into the reflection inside of his short sword which he had finished sharpening and careing for earlier,he had been sitting there starring for an hour,his thoughts drifting from the past to the future,and as his thoughts continued to drift worry began to creep into his mind,worry's about the war that is to undoubtably come,about the future of the Tresht clan and it's people,and worrys about if he is leading them in the wrong direction.


Leonis's mind began drifting back to the past and as he did the worry began to fade,his grip on the shortsword began to tighten as the worry began to be replaced by anger,and one simple thought took supremacy as he stood sliding his shortsword into its scabbard with a slight matalic hiss.'all that fell all that was lost will be avenged.'with this thought in his mind he walked to the door with fire burning in his blue eyes,and opened the door to face whatever might challenge him and his people this day.


[no development]
 
The infernal orb known as the Sun rises, as it always does, over the mud brick town that had been made capital of the Relegatio Desert Colony. But to the locals, it has a different name. They call it the Despot's Den. For it is here that the puppet masters of the land reside, pulling the strings on the hands that drive the infernal machine of corruption. One was currently residing in the study of his mansion, a rather bland estate, consisting of an amalgam of interconnected squarish buildings and a five foot wall surrounding the place, all made of the same mud brick that was so common in the desert. The dwarf stood, hunched over his desk, with his fingers running through the beard that flowed beneath tired eyes. Below him was spread a map detailing the Milorian Empire in it's entirety. He had not slept for much of that night, instead analyzing and plotting, trying to find an opportunity in the chaos that was surely to come. But despite his efforts, the governor was having an arduous time trying to discern anything useful. In any case, the associate he had arranged a meeting with today might be able to offer sound, if selfish, advice. In any case, he had other, more important business to attend to at the meeting. Breathing a quiet sigh as he finally rolled up the map and pushed it to the side of his desk, Elak Harkul fell back into his most comfortable leather armchair, one of his most appreciated luxuries, and awaited his company.


Along one of the many roads of the capital, the day was beginning like any other. A group of infantrymen leaned sleepily against a tavern, waiting to be relieved and replaced by the day shift. Further down the road, a child sat a ways into the lane, lazily drawing shapes into the dirt with her finger, her parents close buy, prepping their shop for the days trade like others along the road and keeping a watchful eye on their absentminded daughter. Then, all of a sudden, it was as if one of the guard towers had been hit with a cannonball. The mother dashed out, scooping up the surprised girl before darting back inside, while her husband, along with everyone else along the street, quickly closed their doors and shut their windows, if they had shutters. If one listened closely, the faint sound of improvised door locks were being put into place. Even the previously dozing guards suddenly sprang up, alert, patrolling, and for all their worth, looking horrendously busy. Shambling up the road, having just turned on to it, was a hooded figure, dressed in raggedy clothing, and flanked by four armed guards. He looked down the lane, at the governor's estate, and smiled. Or tried to anyway. It's unsurprisingly hard to smile when your lips are buried beneath a mass of writhing tentacles. Turning his visage to a guard to his right, he blubbered out, "Now, could you tell me, for what reason did those people do that?" The guard seemed surprised that his ward had spoken to him, but quickly recovered. He looked to his employer and responded, "I believe it is because they fear you, sir." Beneath his helmet, a slight smile of pride at his own response formed upon the guard's grizzled face. The smile on Ceza's face disappeared, "That's right, and don't you ever forget it." With that said, he turned away from the guard and continued towards the mansion in silence.


Ceza entered Elak's study slowly, shuffling up in front of the desk before taking a short bow. "You called, governor." Elak waved a hand dismissively, "Don't play submissive, I've known you too long for that." Ceza quickly righted himself, before taking a seat across from Elak. "Now, for what purpose did you summon me, out of all people, to your abode?" Elak leaned forward, placing his elbows upon the desk, the tired look gone from his face, replaced by a serious expression. "As you know, Nasher V is dead, and you of all people should know what that means." Ceza shrugged, before quickly adopting a serious expression as well, "The whole kingdom gets a few days off work to mourn? Come on Elak, get to the point. You know I don't like to waste time." Elak squinted his eyes, but otherwise was indifferent. He growled, "It means the Empire is going to have less power in the coming times, and it may also mean that I may very well be able to finally rid myself of you in the future, threat or no." Ceza also squinted, his beady yellow eyes meeting Elak's brown ones. "So, you believe you can take advantage. Well, in that case, I've got something to tell you.", he said softly. Ceza leaned forward, as if telling a secret in public. "In the resulting power void, many will try to amass influence and power. Can you think of an amazing way to do both? Officially avenge the assassination of the late Emperor and unite others under this cause. Now, I'm not saying our old friend Nasher was assassinated, but in these desperate times, how hard do you think it would be to pin it upon you? You have no allies, that is, besides me. But I am willing to assist you through these hard times, because I, dear Elak, need you to further myself. I...have a plan." Elak was stoic, taking the statement in impassively. Finally, he sat back up, leaning into his chair. "Alright, so we're two fellows with big dreams in a desperate world. And we're both a bit desperate ourselves." Ceza looked confused at this, but Elak quickly explained, "Oh yes, I know. I know all about the planters you happened to piss off. I know you can't leave here just as much as I can't leave here. I, have, what do you call it, leverage now." Ceza appeared almost surprised for a moment, but only for a moment, before resuming his solemn countenance and responding. "So, I guess there's only one thing we can do in this situation." Elak responded, matching Ceza's attitude, "Yes, I suppose so." Ceza suddenly stuck out one of his hands in a handshake position, "Equal and mutual allies?" Elak made no motion, "Equal and mutual allies. However, I really do not want to touch you, so you'll have to take my word for it." Ceza withdrew his hand. "So, about this plan of yours..." Elak continued, before Ceza interrupted him, "The plan isn't ready yet, there are preparations to make, conclusions to recheck, that sort of thing. I'll contact you soon. Just understand, it involves some illegal activity." Elak smiled, "I thought all your plans involved illegal activity." Ceza chuckled, which sounded like someone burping softly repeatedly, "Well, if you'll excuse me governor, I'll need to be going now." With this, Ceza rose and left. Elak sat for a moment, before arising and walking down to the servant's quarters. He approached Droman, the steward, and stated "I wish not to be disturbed until around midday. I am retiring to my chambers to rest." With this said, he turned and did just that.


Reptans Syndicate: Neutral Post


D2R2
 
Last edited by a moderator:
It was dark. Black except for a few rays of light from a guards torch passing the barred window. A large shadow sat in the middle of the room, it's scales gently reflecting the light as it passed. The voices that spoke were hushed and cautious. That of a young man spoke, his voice sharp and demanding: "This is it?"


The scaly creature's voice was airy, with a slight rasp: "If I demonstrated now, we would all die, but yes, this is it. I've made it plenty."


A third voice, this one older, pained, but gentle spoke. "Did they beat you badly?" Another burst of torchlight fell in through the high window, illuminating for a moment thick oak walls, and a sea of ragged people crouched on their beds, crammed into the tiny confines of the building, all watching the large scaly creature which sat hunched on one of the cots. The creature's wounds, bruises all over his body, a twisted, broken arm, and a cut across his brow, which continued to slowly cry blood. No words were spoken until the light disappeared, and the reptile's voice cut the silence. "Yes."


The gentle voice whispered again. "I apologize. You understand, yes? The boys are always worried newcomers might be, well, spies. Spies tend to cry for help." The creature gave no response. "I'm sorry."


The voice of the young man cut in halfway through the final apology. "Tarrol. Hush for a moment. Reptile, do we have enough? You can go back home, friend, but we need this to do it." The young man felt a scaly hold on his wrist, and he allowed his hand to be guided into a powdery material, as the creature spoke bluntly. "There is enough." The young man breathed deeply, before he spoke, his words louder for the benefit of his peers, but still no louder than a whisper: "I call you family. It is all I, and many of us, have ever known. It now seems that is time to leave the nest. Funny as it is, it will be lonely out there, lost as we'll be in our grand estates. This is the last night that we do what we are told, by bastards we don't respect- but it is also the last night that we shall be together, crammed into little wooden boxes. Never again shall we be this close, so don't fret- smile. This is the last time we are so close as a family, so enjoy it until tomorrow. I will. Tomorrow is tomorrow."


Many various, coal-choked voices, male and female, murmured in agreement.


"Damn right, but it still stinks in here."


"I can't cheer you now, but I want to."


"Wait for tomorrow,then."


A gruff female voice from the back sliced through the others. "Lovely. Now everyone shut up and sleep, or I'll help the guards beat you awake in the morning."


As the voices dissipated, as did the creaks of the old cots as bodies settled in to them, the gentle, old, hacking voice returned, speaking softly to the scaled man. "So, what's a Guin doing here, eh?"


The eyes of the Guin flashed in the moonlight as his head flicked sideways. "You know of the Guin?"


"I wasn't born here. Traveled a bit before I ended up packed onto a boat headed here." The older man leaned forward, though it was heard rather than seen in the darkness. "How does a Guin wind up here, with this rabble, not to say we aren't the finest rabble one could lay eyes upon of course."


The Guin seemed more amiable now. "He screws up very badly. I was a researcher, which is how I know this will explode, by the way, but for the mistake I made, I'm lucky I didn't end up in the ground."


"Son, I think you might have misunderstood the concept of a mine."


There was a pause, and a small noise that might have been a chuckle. "You are strange people. You are too happy for this place."


"I do my best, Guin. Now we better sleep."


The Free People of Solemont: Neutral 2D 2R
 
Last edited by a moderator:
With the posters gone to be but up the elf finish the coffee and stood about to begin the next stage of his plan. He walked through the narrow streets of the Nicaen sector and entered an abandoned building. This was an old warehouse once used to store the goods of one of the many stores in the area that was closed down due to thievery or something, the elf didnt care enough to remember.


He walked up the flight of stairs on to the warehouse roof and looked on from one of the sides. The building over looked one of the Milorean government towes over looking a nearby sector, used as a seat of the sectors overseers and one of the symbols of Milorean control. Now mostly empty apart from the overseer and a couple of guards. His next target.


He sat down in a meditation pose and closed his eyes, gathering his energies. Within only a few deep breath there was a red energy appearing around him dancing about and getting bigger until it reaches his hand turning to a ball of fire. He opened his eyes and stood marking his target. The very center of the tower. He breathed in once more and through the fire ball at the target, before stumbling backward and falling to the ground from exuastion. The large explosion that followed ensure that the tower did the same. In other two sectors, two towers suffered the same fate...Three less than what was planned. Still the point was made:The Nicaen liberation army is here.


D1R2
 
In the Northern Snowlands,


Sandra stared into the plain whiteness of the endless snow of the Northern Snowlands,monitoring the horizon for suspicous activities.Three months has passed since her company was sent here by their chieftain to transport supplies to a distant tribe located in the snowlands.Yet,they are only halfway in their journey.


Sanda continued to stare at the snowy plains before she saw a feminine figure emerging from the horizon.Several archers draw out their bows in alert as the figure came closer to Sandra's company.Sandra drawed out her bow alongside with her companions,but she lowered her weapon when the figure is revealed to be none other than one of Sandra's archers who were sent out to scout the area.The archer approached Sandra and reported:"Captain,no enemies here."


Upon hearing the report of her fellow archer,Sandra ordered her company to continue travelling to their destination,with the band of archers slowly venturing into the mountains of Asdarsan.


Neutral:2D2R
 
"We're at sea, Fralin. Would you grace us now with your plan?"


The older female general asking, was sat at a low wooden table beside a young lieutenant (a mere boy when sat next to her) and across from a slyly grinning Fralin Ortow, his eyes bright specks in his delicately groomed, bearded face. Stillwater swayed gently under them as she glided forward over the water of the Vulture, flanked on one side by the bulks of the two trade ships accompanying her. The simple table was sat outside, on the top deck, to bask in the midday sun. "Lord?"


Lord Ortow continued his wolfish grin. "Yes?"


"We're on a boat with most of our warriors."


The Lord took a moment to peer around himself in mock surprise. "Aye, we are."


"We were wondering why?"


"I thought I was clear about our objective."


The general, Dradi Irrow, sighed under her breath. "What I mean to say is, how? We don't have enough troops to siege Manira."


Lord Ortow's expression became stern as he pushed his stool away from the table, and advanced on the young dwarf lieutenant, who had been silent up until this point. The Lieutenant did not move as Lord Ortow seized the painted shield on the younger man's back, cutting one of the leather straps holding it in the process without a second thought, and as he slid his short utility knife back into it's sheath he dropped the shield on the table with a crash. Most of the table was covered by the rectangular sheet of wood and metal, and without sitting, Lord Ortow once again grabbed the top of it, leaning it up to face his two companions, one wary and one unaffected by the display. He pointed at the colours swirling on the face: "The shield isn't important. Look. Look at the paint. This is a child's shield, made of what-wood- instead of anything that could stop swords. This is a shit shield next to the others, but it's pretty as an apple to the starving man, eh? That's important, Dradi."


The woman, Dradi, would have raised an eyebrow to anyone else; to Lord Ortow she nodded and waited a moment to speak, her clever tongue layering inquisition over her words, merely to appease his idea that she was outwitted here. "A show of daggers?"


Fralin Ortow however, had a clever tongue too, saw her attempt to manipulate him and, unimpressed, struck back to correct her. "No. If a dagger is seen before used, it's useless, Dradi. Daggers should be felt on the backs of necks, not seen." Dradi nodded and accepted defeat graciously, but Ortow had not finished. "And..." he paused his little green eyes panning across his audience. "We have this." He declared triumphantly, and with a motion he dropped and shoved the shield off the table and in it's place presented what you would know as a thin revolver, which he had produced from the depths of his maroon robes. His two advisers raised their eyebrows this time. His voice was almost reverent as he touched it with one short finger. "That is a Lu'wan revolver. We have 50 guin rifles below, late as we were to recieve 'em, because Manira is run by fat, stupid administrators. They are intended 'to defend Solemont, and Miloria', according to the merchant who delivered 'em. This is the advancement of warfare right here though. Look at it. Look. It's puny." Lord Ortow was grinning again. "First, boats that fly and now, this wonder. It's all those Guin lizards, or whatever they are. I'll tell you Dradi, this is probably the best thing they've ever done, those pompous pricks, and I've got it."


Dradi, or General Irrow as most knew her by, took a moment to admire the weapon in the Lord's large hands, but as she considered asking to hold the weapon, the lieutenant beside her hesitantly piped up for the first time. "My Lord, if I may, it's a bad idea." Tones changed immediately: General Irrow closed her eyes for a moment, recognizing this boy's ignorance and stupidity only now that he had done what she spent her days continuously trying to avoid. Lord Ortow's face fell into a scowl, his eyes narrowing and his jaw set. "What's that Lieutenant?" There were daggers in his words. The Lieutenant became even more hesitant, and his concentration was off, and perhaps this influenced his bad decision-making. "Those things, those guns... They are... untrustworthy, my Lord."


Now it was Lord Ortow's turn to raise his eyebrows, but this time it was menacing. "Step away from the table lieutenant." he growled. Head down, the young lieutenant stepped away from the table, his quick breathing audible. Ortow continued his growl "General Irrow says you are good with battle tactics. So tell me, boy, since you would dare to think yourself wise enough to question me, do you ride a horse?" Standing properly, the lieutenant would be taller than his lord, but now he seemed very small, one step away from truly cowering. "I am sorry, my lord."


Lord Ortow removed his glove swiftly, and with it, slapped the Lieutenant hard across the cheek. The Lieutenant flinched. "Yes, I do, I do, I ride a horse, I-"


"I know you ride a horse. That was a challenge. Draw." The growl was gone from the Lord's voice, replaced by a sort of cold tone.


The young dwarf did as he was told and, shaking, unsheathed his sword, forged of Solemont steel which gleamed in the bright sunshine.


Ortow took three paces back. "Swing. Kill me."


The lieutenant, who was breaking down, locked eyes with the lord, and leapt forward, drawing back his sword arm, and in the same moment, Ortow casually picked up his shiny new revolver and shot his attacker in the knee. The Lieutenant cried out and hit the ground in a heap, his sword clattering onto the wooden deck alone. Lord Ortow put his Lu'wan back into the folds of his robes. "I believe my point is proven- it's lovely technology. Dradi, clean up, and don't worry, you haven't lost a tactician- he can ride horses."


House Ortow: 0d 2r
 
Last edited by a moderator:
[Project Dawn Research Facility]


The research facility is one of the most advanced and strongest buildings in the Guin Kingdom.The walls are reinforced with iron and the ground is paved with concrete,while lighting is supplied by the expensive light bulbs to eliminate the need of natural light.Test subjects and experimental weapons are kept in custody and experimented within the facility's glass chambers,which are reinforced with magic.Fully armed guards patrol the corridors of the building,while high-ranked officers observes the scientist's work through the second floor,which is safe from the hazards from the experiments with a wall of magic-reinforced glass.Given that the building's size was equivalent to 5 soccer fields,despite the fact that it was built underground,the facility is truly a marvel of guin architecture.


Zhang arrived at her workplace ,waiting for the steam-powered elevators to rise to the surface of the building as she plans out today's experiment,while her mind drifts within the various theories she learnt and discovered during her previous years.Zhang's thoughts are only interrupted as the elevator finally arrives with it's distinctive "bonk" noise.She stepped into the elevator alongside several guin scientists,as the elevator descended deep into the ground.As soon as she stepped out of the elevator,Zhang was greeted by an excited scientist,who informs her of a discovery of a new element.


"Zhang,we discovered a new element!"said the scientist as soon as he saw Zhang's face through the opening doors of the elevator,who replied:"Calm down,it's just another element discovered,nothing to get excited about."


The guin soon replied:"No,Zhang,you don't know what this thing can do.It can change our lives."


Staring at the guin with disbelief,Zhang asked mockingly:"I presume that this element is capable of replacing magic,am I right?"


The guin,unimpressed by Zhang's mockery,pauses for a while before he continues his speech:"Zhang,everyone knows that no element or substance of any kind is capable of replacing magic.Instead of your 'miracle element',we have an element that glows!Can you believe it,it glows!"


"What?"said Zhang in disbelief as a report is handed over by the guin,who explains the properties of the newly discovered element while Zhang reads the report.


"As you can see,this element glows when combined with a certain amount of phospor,which reduces our dependence on electric lighting.It also has a high enough melting point,which is...."


The guin's speech is only interrupted by Zhang's inquiry:"Is His Majesty informed about this discovery?" which the guin replied:"His Majesty isn't informed yet,as we had only finished the report just now."


"Inform His Majesty now,we need this element in our military.By the way,is the element named?"said Zhang.


"We named it movlium,in honour of His Majesty,who brought us out of the darkness when the Empire fell."The guin paused for a while,before continuing:"Someday,our armies shall march into Maloria and put an end tp this fallen Empire...Hail Movli!"


Zhang watches as the guins collectively performed a salute towards the Palace as a response to the call.While she proceeds to her workplace,she thought to herself:"All guins are like that,they are always overly patriotic."


Development for the Guin Kingdom (1D2R):


-Discovery of radium,which means:


-Guins can now perform stealth raids during nightime,due to the replacement of the easily detectable torches with radium paint,which it's glow is dark enough to not be discovered,but still bright enough for guin soldiers to see during the night.


-Guin vehicles and zeppelins no longer have to rely on natural lighting and electric light bulbs.
 

<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2016_01/fantasy-city.jpg.a3254b8f2e770b3407f6cb17df29ed95.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="96645" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2016_01/fantasy-city.jpg.a3254b8f2e770b3407f6cb17df29ed95.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p> The River City, Anon Rill

In the Middle District,


on Blackwater Emporium's southern veranda
​



The artificial creek trickles past the veranda of Blackwater Emporium, carrying with it dozens of small, white petals from am aging white star magnolia planted upstream. Falex Hauster watches them pass by his bench, absentmindedly and halfheartedly counting them as they pass by. The sight seems familiar to him, like de ja vu. Concentrating, he tries to focus his subconscious, but can't seem to remember. Under the shimmering surface of the water, a brood of muckhopper tadpoles are surfacing for the first time, wriggling to the top to bob for a few moments, their oval mouths lifting just out of the water. Even though they are taking their first breaths, for all the world it could look like their last; the way they violently squirm to remain afloat and the way their mouths open and close quickly, sucking in air like a man being pulled under to his death . . .


Fireballs rain down on the fleet, as if to herald the collapse of the heavens themselves. Far above the fleet, hidden in the cliffs and ledges, the rebel dwarves of the Brimhower Clans scream battle cries as they unleash hell upon the unsuspecting sailors of the 12th Imperial Fleet, hundreds of feet below. Dozens of catapults, trebuchets, ballistas rain waves after wave of flaming destruction down onto the fleet. A hundred or more mercenary archers from Jundaland dip their arrows in oil, light them in torches nearby, and fire in near perfect unison at the smaller vessels in the fleet, engulfing one after another in killing flame. Two dozen mountain trolls fling boulders the size of wagons, crushing sailors and marines alike.


Falex Hauster yells at his men to move the fleet to far side of the river. But before his first mate can relay the message, a ten foot long ballista bolt punches straight through the top of his chest, staking the seasoned sailor to the deck. Falex runs to him, but cannot pull the thick bolt out of the deck. He looks into his first mate's eyes, sees the agony, and horror reflected there. In a flash, Falex's dagger whips out and ends his friend's life quickly. Someone screams nearby, "INCOMING!!!". Before Falex can respond, he hears the approach of a massive, roaring ball of fire from above; the deck of the galleon is illuminated in orange light. Falex yells something, but cannot finish his command before his world turns to chaos.


Heat like he has never experienced blasts over him, filling his nostrils and mouth and lungs with searing smoke. The deck of his Galleon disappears beneath him as he is violently tossed from the vessel into the muddy waters of the Brimvale River. The force of the blast sends him ten feet into the water before he can right himself. His scorched lungs beg him for a fresh breathe, but he keeps his mouth closed. Disorientated, he tries to figure out which way is up; the murky waters are so dark. But, to his right, he sees a faint glow breaking through the thick water. The surface!


Falex kicks and swims hard, his lungs impulsively trying to draw breathe. As he moves foward, the faint glow turns into a flickering ambience, then into a bright wall of orange and yellow. By the time he reaches the surface, the light is blinding. Falex's head explodes out of the water, and he desperately gasps for air. Struggling to remain bobbing at the surface, Falex takes in the scene around him. Fire. Death. Everywhere. All around him, the 12th Fleet burns. Sailors and marine dive from their doomed vessels lest they burn alive. Some linger too long, and burn anyway. And still, more fire falls from above; the Brimhower Clans' relentlessness was not exaggerated.


Falex sees a marine nearby, splashing violently against the surface of the water, screaming for help, the weight of his armor dooming him to a watery death. Falex swims to him just as his screams turn to gurgles, and manages to pull the marine back above the surface. But now they both begin to sink, so Falex tries to kick-swim them both to the nearest ship, a war schooner. Just as they nearly reach it, a boulder the size of several cows smashes into the front deck. The rear lifts up out of the water, the whole vessel stands straight up, before it comes crashing down, deck first, a dozen feet away from Falex and the marine. A wave of debris filled water washes over the two floating men, sending them spinning under the water.


Falex sees the marine for only a few seconds, fear etched across his face, reaching pleadingly for Falex, before his armor drags him down, and he fades into the murky depths . . . .


"Reminiscing of more exciting times?" A deep, heavily accented voice chuckles behind him, breaking the flashback. Falex turns away from the creek and looks at the approaching man. Head of House Blackwater, Magister of Anon Rill, Lord Mage of the Midland Valley Mages Guild, and Falex Hauster's oldest friend; Psaryn Blackwater.


Falex smiles and briefly glances backwards at the creek, "Oh yes . . . exciting times, to be sure." He looks back at Psaryn, who is standing now in front of him, eyebrows raised, eyes amused, the beginnings of a sly grin developing. Falex continues, "It comes with old age. You start thinking back on your life, questioning decisions, formulating regrets. That sort of thing." Falex takes a solemn expression, "Not that an Eladrin would know about such things. You got what? A hundred? Two hundred more years before you begin to recede back to the fae? And even then, it's not really dying, now is it?"


Psaryn's smile fades somewhat. He pulls his robes tighter around him, and sits on the bench next to his friend. His voice is heavy, "Oh, my friend . . . you are so cruel to torment me so. After you have passed, what time remains to my mortal span will be sad and boring time indeed. As I start receding, and this mortal shell begins to age, perhaps then I will have acquired the wisdom to understand this matter of reminiscentation. And regarding the matter of death; it is a construct, an illusion born of misunderstanding. Death is a transformation, for all men, not just the fae. It is purely relevative, much like love, or time, or . . . . peace." He lets the last word hang in the air.


The two of them stare foward, out over the south side of the Middle District. After a few moments, Falex speaks, "Xanril sent a messenger to you as well, I take it?"


Psaryn nods, "Oh yes, and quite late too, to bring such dark tidings. There is unrest in the Empire. The ambitious prepare to ascend. The greedy prepare to harvest. The scorned prepare to avenge."


Falix interupts, "And the commonfolk prepare to hide. It will be they who pay the price, as they always have."


Psaryn spreads his hands in a hopeless gesture, "Such is the price of change. It is unfortunate, yes, but unavoidable. It is a fact of this world: everything that lives must change, or it WILL die. This land, The Midland Valley, it's people are many, and segmented. They speak different dialects. They wear different styles. They have different flags. Their armor is different. These things keep them apart, have made them view one another as rivals, rather than countrymen. If this does not change, if the people do not change, then they will not survive the times to come. They will die. Of course, death is a transformation, but what will they transform into? Not the same people, I am thinking."


Falex feels a sickness in his gut. He has seen war, in it's full spectrum. He has seen what happens when a land is occupied, when it's people fail to defend it. His countrymen deserve better. But Psaryn is right. If the Empire is to collapse, invaders would come for Midland Valley. The five holds would fall, one by one. Only the combined strength of ALL the holds would be enough to protect the region's borders. Falex speaks now, "The people differ in many ways, but only on the surface. They come from the same place, Harum. They cook and eat the foods of old Harum. They sing the songs and tell the tales of old Harum. They worship the eight aspects of old Harum. Their hearts beat as one, although their minds have been made to think otherwise. They must be reminded of their common heritage. They must stand together, as one people once again, or they will fall apart, as five peoples."


Psaryn stands slowly and walks foward several feet, before abruptly turning, staring intently at his friend, "What is it you are proposing, Falex?"


The Warden of Anon Rill meets his friend's gaze, "Ready your ravens, Psaryn. I'm calling a gathering of the holds."


Harum Resurgency


D2R2

 

Attachments

  • fantasy-city.jpg
    fantasy-city.jpg
    902.6 KB · Views: 107
Last edited by a moderator:
Tarrol, hunched over, blackened hands leaning on the hilt of his pickaxe, gave a hacking cough. He spat something onto the shapeless mass of gravel at the base of the mine wall. Slowly, as if every movement was a challenge, he raised his head to see the rest of the dark mine: the dust drifting aimlessly, illuminated only by the occasional torch; his fellow workers, who were unidentifiable in the gloom and shuffled like the dead walking, the coughs and the ring of pickaxes striking rock ringing loudly through the silence; and the cold gleam of the Overseer's mail, as the stocky dwarf marched along the path, towards Tarrol, though not appearing to seek him. She roared: "Nightfall! Move!" Not that anyone could tell the difference down here; the workers, zombies would be a better description of them down here, began to shuffle towards the exit, marked only by a line of torches. One worker was slower to react and Tarrol turned his head away a moment before the crack of the whip marked their punishment. He did not see it, but he knew every other worker had subtly closed their eyes or turned before the blow- he had suggested that, out of respect for the victims. As he looked back, beginning to try and drag his pickaxe, he saw with slight dread the Overseer's approach, and her whip, which must have drawn enough blood to fill rivers in it's time, raise. A young voice spoke before it fell: "Don't! I'll handle him!" The voice advanced from behind Tarrol, who's eyes had calmed. "You don't want to be the one to actually kill the Lord's property, eh?" It was the hasty voice of a young dwarf in simple chain mail, slightly muffled by a handkerchief held over his nose and mouth. His gloved hand had appeared between Tarrol and the Overseer, who dropped her whip, to strike hard across the young dwarf's face, immediately drawing blood and a cry. "Then you can pay for him. If he can't walk home, cut his throat." and with that she turned on a heel and marched after the other workers and guards. Tarrol turned his head ever so slightly to look sidelong at the dwarf, who was clutching his face. "Thank you, Galo. That was noble."


Galo gently prodded his wound, grimacing slightly before replying softly. "You're alright?"


"I'm fine, Galo." the older human reassured him.


Galo glanced back to the man, and down to the man's legs which had never seemed terribly healthy, but now seemed to shake with each shift in position. "Come on, Tap. You can use the pick as a cane, and we'll walk back to the city before it get's any darker. You're fine."


Tarrol nodded faintly and began to drag his tired body forward, leaning heavily on his cane.


"And Tarrol?" the man looked back and smiled "I cannot disobey twice."


Tap Dancing Tarrol nodded.


The Free People of Solemont: Neutral 2d 2r
 
After months of trekking through the white snow,Sandra and her company had finally found herself standing in front of her destination,Fort Kolotheria,where the dwarves of Miston live in.Giant walls surround the impenetrable fortress,which it's only entry is a giant wooden door with dozens of fit dwarven guards stationed nearby.She walked over to one of the guards,who motions her to stop:"Hey,you better stand still we hack you into pieces!"


Offended by the dwarf's words,an annoyed Sandra stood still,her face filled with anger as she said:"Chieftain Greg sent us here for your supplies,dwarf.You better watch your language if you really need them."


The shocked dwarf soon cleared the way for Sandra and her archers as the giant wooden gates are pulled open by several guards.The company passed through the stone-paved paths of the fortress,while passing the small houses at their sides.Soon enough,they found themselves in front of a large building which is the home of Frogo Miston,the chieftain of the Mistons.The splendor building is decorated with finely-carved statues,golden chandeliers,various jewelry and other luxury items plundered from other cities over the years.As Sandra walked into the chieftains room,she was dumbfounded when she found a cannon pointing at her.Instinctively,she jumped to the other side and drew her bow.Noticing the hostile situation is his private chamber,Chieftain Frogo emerged from the darkness,motioning for Sandra to calm down."Calm down,Sandra.It's no longer functioning.If you noticed,the cylinder is already broken."


Sandra curiously takes a look at the cannon,before asking the chieftain:"Chieftain,I don't think that any weapons merchant would venture into the harsh cold environment here,where do you got this?"


Chieftain Frogo gently pats the cannon before proceeding:"Got this stuff while looting some Milorian scum nearby.It's design,especially those weird characters carved at the side of the cylinder reminds me of the guins that the yaojing constantly whines about.Yes,they lost a war,but don't complain about it from day to night.Don't they know that people don't like it when someone just whines about their sad history everyday?No one's ears deserves to get that treatment.I guess you know how it feels like,Sandra."


"You are also whining,Chieftain."though Sandra while nodding as a response towards the Frogo's statement.After her brief observation of the cannon,which is believed to be of guin origin,Sandra asked the chieftain:"Are there any more cannons like this out there?I believe that those Milorian scum surely possess more than these?"


The Chieftain looked at Sandra,his minds questioning Sandra's intentions."Why should I answer you,Sandra?"


“For your information,the Elders just ordered an experiment,which is exploring the possibilities of shooting magical projectiles out of cannons.If we succeed,then we shall prove that magic is indeed better than technology."


The Chieftain turned his head to look at Sandra:"Aren't cannons a part of technology?Even if you succeed,it's still technology.You are just modifying technology to shoot magic.What's the difference?I would rather buy cannonballs from those guin pricks."


Annoyed by Frogo's statement,the archer retorted:"Don't you know that this could initiate a new age of magic,Chieftain?Technology isn't our only way."


"Fine,I'll show you our storage."Frogo finally gave in after a long debate session with Sandra.He then motions for one of his guards to come over."Bobo,lead us to the storage."


Following Bobo's lead,the group soon found themselves in front of a giant iron door,which guards the storage. Taking out a bunch of keys from his pocket,he unlocks the seven locks of the door in a special order and opens the door for the storage's visitors.


Confused,Sandra asked Frogo:"Do the doors need to be so complicated?It's not like someone will invade here or somehow."


Both Frogo and Bobo gave her a look that made her feel like she asked the wrong question.


"It needs to be complicated.Who knows that there's a traitor amongst us?"said the chieftain,who pulled the door open.Sandra peeked inside the room,but it's interior was so dark that she could perceive nothing inside it.


"It's dark,isn't it?"said Frogo while lighting the braziers.As the warm glow of the fire engulfs the room,several cannons are seen stocked within and arranged in an orderly manner.Sandra examines the cannons within the room,checking if their condition is good enough for the experiments.


Frogo pats one of the cannons.


"So,I guess this is good enough for the Elders?"


Development post:1D2R
 
Leonis looked around the room,examining the space around him,the large room which only decorations were a few bear pelts on a cold hard flagstone floor,the two tapestries both depicting battles,and a large oak table pushed six foot away from the large chair he sat in.


A small in front of him brings his attention back to the man in front of him. The man was short only five foot tall,a fact which is not helped with his hunched over posture. His long flowing dark brown robes covering his scrawny body,his long unkept hair is covered by the hood of his robe with little of his face being visible.


"Mind started to wonder again Chief?"the man asked with a chuckle"you know I have some mushrooms that woul-" "No!"Leonis interrupted hastily"No thank you Miracle Maker,I have no desire to try one of your experiments."


shifting his weight slightly on the chair acting as a makeshift throne,Leonis quickly changed the subject "Miracle Maker you came here for a reason didn't you?" The Man nodded and reached into his brown cloak,pulling out a strange totem Leonis had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.The Miracle Man unknowing of the Chiefs feelings holds the strange totem in front of him like a prize"the spirits have sent me a warning a blizzard is coming!"


"Did you use one of your tonics before receiving this vision?"Fallren chuckled as he walked into the room leaning heavily on his cane


Glaring at him the Miracle Maker put the small totem back into his robes"no I didn't and I do not see why that is important,we need to prepare the citizens and protect what little crops we have!"


Fallren laughed quietly as he took his seat next to the chief "you need to calm down,are you sure this "Vision" you had was accurate?Or that you interpreted it correctly?"Fallren asked in a tone that suggested he was more humoring him than anything else.


"Of course I'm sure!and don't think for one measly minuet that I'm wrong!"


"Enough with you two we don't need another of your arguments."Leonis sighed in annoyance. "Now Miracle Maker do you know when this blizzard is supposed to get here?"


The Miracle maker shifted uncomfortably "I'm afraid not,Chief the spirits implied that it would be here with a week or two...or three."Fallren opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off by the Chief "Thank you Miracle Maker we will began to make plans to prepare." The Miracle Maker nodded and left the room without a word


Fallren turned to the Chief with a questioning look to which Leonis replied "In these days we must be careful,you and I both know the Miracle Makers magic may be unpredictable at times,but it could mean the difference between being fed and starving and we can't afford to lose what meager crops we have"Fallren nodded at this answer with a slight smile on his face "I will meet with the body of advisors and discuss plans later"


Leonis nodded and smiled at him "thank you"


[2D.2R Neutral post]
 
Galo, the young guard, had dropped his hand from Tarrol's arm as they approached the east gate and passed through the city, to one of the simple longhouses of the slave quarters. It had become truly late now, as the two fell behind the rest of the workers, and the evening had become one of those cool nights, when the moonlight tints everything that slight blue, and the air is fresh and comfortable enough to enjoy the mere act of breathing. The thin iron gates for the quarters swung open as Galo called to the guard, who was sat cross legged on the stone wall beside it, and Tarrol continued to shuffle after him, accompanied by the thud of the pickaxe Galo had allowed him to keep as a walking stick, another guard bearing a torch, passing them as they approached one of the cramped wooden buildings. The old man, hunched as he was, seemed almost as short as his dwarf guards. They reached the house, and Tarrol placed the pick head down a final time to support him as Galo rustled through his armour, avoiding pockets designed to trap the hands of thieves, to find his key. The dwarf's helmet guarded the back of his head, flowing into his mail down his back, the metal shining blue under the moon.


"Galo?


The dwarf did not turn his head, and remained focused "Do not talk to me here."


"Galo, I'm sorry."


The dwarf's expression softened as he turned to face the old man. The blunt end of the pickaxe caught him in the nose, a corner striking the small piece of exposed forehead with a sickening crack as the body became limp and tumbled backwards. For a moment, Tarrol had stood far taller than the dwarf, but now he dropped almost instantly to his knees beside the him, the pickaxe hastily dropped, as he searched desperately for a pulse. The boy's face, already bloodied by the whip, was now a disaster. He tried tugging at the gloves for a moment, failed and quickly pulled off the dented helm, pawing hastily at the young guard's neck. There it was. Faint, but he wasn't dead. For how much longer? Who knows? "You're a loyal boy, Galo. I'm sorry. Couldn't risk it." Tarrol realised he was panting, and tried to calm his breathing, his eyes darting around him for the torches heralding guards. As he peered about, eyes narrowed, his arm slowly and carefully withdrew Galo's sword from it's sheath. Tarrol turned, seized the keys off the dusty ground and pressed himself against the door to the house, his wrinkled fingers quivering as he tried to unlock the door, and the aches and pains of the day seeping back into him. The door creaked as it swung open, and hearts went cold with fear for a moment. Tarrol's heart, standing back as it swung open, and the hearts of the people standing on the other side of the door, their faces clustered together in the near darkness. The wiry young man who had spoken the night before stepped out from the throng, and the shadow, first, his stern, clean shaven face suddenly illuminated. Without a word, he placed hand on the old man's shoulder, and thrust him a handful of rags. Tarrol only now noticed that the youth was missing a leg of his trousers. A quick wave from the youth and the people behind him began pouring past him and the now slightly grinning old man. A few people congregated around Galo, pulling his armour and clothing from him. Several scrambled towards other buildings, flowing over roofs like spiders one of them snatching the keys from Tarrol's hands. The youth, Reneel, leaned forward and whispered gently, an almost smile touching his face, his brown eyes focused on his friend: "That dwarf would have died, for being on the wrong side of the fence. You know that," he paused, glancing about, "Now, I've kept track of how many lives I've seen you save, so how about you go put another notch on wall by my cot and heal this fellow. Stay here. The first notch, by the way, was me."


Tap Dancing Tarrol grinned as the flood of people scurried into the night. He spoke with a little bit of genuine happiness in his distant voice, as he turned and rushed as fast as his legs could carry him to the fallen dwarf, improvised bandages in hand. "Alexander. That was the second notch."


The light of a torch spilled around the building, and the ground and walls which had been alive with movement froze and died back into shadow, the scuffling of bare feet ceasing.


It had been at least a couple hours, as activity flourished and died down according to the passage of the guards with their torches. One guard, who had not carried a light, was now unconscious, having surprised them before the plotter's sentry, a woman laying covered in rags (to dodge the eyes of the few guards on the castle walls that might look inward) on one of the wooden roofs dropped onto his head with a floorboard in hand to silence him. He would be missed soon, and the workers had to coordinate faster. Now, the Guin passed a sack of powder to the young man organizing the work, Reneel, who helps one of the two soon-to-be guards, both the shortest humans in the mines, to fill their pockets and coats and spaces in their armour with the odd substance, having been under the Guin's instruction on it's usage. Now, biting down on a piece of rotten wood, one of the 'guards' lay down, and a strong-stomached older woman, without giving the man time to reconsider, twists his ankle violently. The man grunts, and clamps his teeth, but alerts nobody. A couple of minutes later and two guards, one helping the other, who had tripped in the dark without a torch, leave the compound to seek a healer.


Ah, the night was cool and blue and more silent than any other time. A female dwarf rested on a low stone bench, which matched the low stone ceiling above them, which was really only intended for the event of hellfire from the sky, and whose wide stone openings did nothing to keep out the cold. Tonight though, it was fine, as though the air was cool, it was far from uncomfortable, even this high up, perched just off the Eastern Sea Tower. From her position, she could clearly see the walkway of the momentous wall holding them, and would warn her fellow watchman, a male dwarf standing across the small space and peering out to sea, should attackers appear. Solemont might be under-garrisoned, and by those too new or too old to accompany Lord Ortow, but in her opinion, the city was as safe as it's ever been. No attacker has successfully climbed these walls. Ever. Nobody will get in on their watch, new or not. Not unless they'd care to meet her blade. A scream, nearly muted by distance and the vast air, drifted through the wall behind her. She and her companion were on their feet in moments. Loosening her blade in it's scabbard, the two hurried into the open air eyes shooting in all directions, and for a moment, just a moment, she thought she saw a shadow tumbling from the west wall before it hit water, and the long scream abruptly ceased. The huge wall was distant enough that the two could not hear the splash, but if her companion missed the shadow, he had seen the splash. There were shadows on the West wall, headed for the tower, seeming almost like figments of her imagination. So goes the punishment for confidence. "The bell! Now!"


If those two had run to the bell as soon as they saw trouble perhaps I would be telling a different story, but they had stood a moment too long watching, for recruits make mistakes, and even as they turned to run towards the large East Tower they heard it. They heard the first time Solemont changed hands. A great, metallic thud, though they were too far out on the wall for the noise to reach the sleeping city or the nearest guards, for Solemont was currently garrisoned by a skeleton crew. They knew before they reached the tower what they would see. They saw the great eastern sea bell, sitting on the stone base, it's chain filed 'til it broke. Filed? In that time? Both felt it sink in that somebody had been filing for more than one night, and there beside the bell stood a child. A young boy no older than twelve summers. The rasp of blades sliced through the air as both were drawn and leveled, the steel glimmering beautifully in the moonlight. Her companion spoke: "You're Ralos' servant, aren't ya." Ralos was locally known to be a brutal and unkind to his inferiors. "Put your hands on the fucking ground!" The female dwarf found herself roaring, her blade snapping back and forth as she advanced, and before she was in reach, the boy turned on a bare foot skipped to the crenelated wall, and without hesitation, threw himself from it. The woman slammed into the wall, hands gripping the sides as she peered over at the water so far below. A hand, that of the male dwarf pulled her back and into a run. "East bell!" he barked sharply. They passed beneath their shelter, hearts pounding. Solemont was laid out below them as they ran along the wall, towards the land and aid. An explosion rocked the night air, a fountain of flame erupting near the slave quarters. They did not stop running. It was a few minutes until they had almost reached the tower marking land, panting, and she tripped, slamming into unforgiving stone, fear of rolling and falling from the wall freezing her for a moment. There, laying on the ground, the side of her face pressed into the cold wall, she saw the portcullis of the New Fortress lift, and it's warriors, roused from sleep, and about half the city garrison all around charge out in formation, ready to sweep the city- and she saw the explosion lift the formation. She saw the soldiers suddenly enveloped by a column of flames, and the shingles flying off of the nearest buildings. The other dwarf's hand seized the neck of her mail, hauling her to her feet, and they ran. They ran past two bodies in the nearest tower, eyes locked on the east gate.


Sergeant Moler heard the sounds, but considering that the ore processing plants do occasionally run overnight, he was not immediately alarmed. Sitting in the warm light of the tavern, surrounded by his troops, listening to the story of one of their more comical and imaginative troop, he felt as safe as he ever had. Still, it was best to check, and Moler dragged himself from the bench, nodded to his man to keep telling the story without him, and, leaving his helmet at the table strolled towards the door. It was the rumbling as he approached it that put him on guard. There was a faint, yet deep sound, like waves crashing on a shore from afar. Moler pushed the door open, light from the tavern spilling into the quiet blue streets. Nothing was coming from the South, but the noise seemed to be emanating from the road up North. He squinted his eyes. Light, and then a sea came over the hill. A sea of figures, screaming, and waving various picks, torches and improvised weaponry, bearing down on him. Another, less clean-mouthed man might have sworn, but Moler instead wrenched the tavern door open, seizing his sword hanging by the door and bellowing "ARMS!" The tavern took a moment to react, but Solemont warriors wasted no time. In an instant, a dozen or so Dwarves, some lacking helmets, others their chain mail and a good few without shoes, soup dripping from their chins were before him. "OUT! SHIELDS FRONT! SWORDS AT THE REAR!" Moler stepped out of the doorway as his men and women poured past, bewildered but drawing steel nonetheless. Their eyes widened at the sight of the mob, consumed by an animal fury, which was descending. The Lower District wasn't stately, but the stone building were certainly in good repair, each a good few stories high. Lower windows shattered as the mob passed, ragged people throwing themselves through the windows, some residents being pulled from them. A chant was shaking the air around him.


"PAY YOUR DUES! PAY YOUR DUES! PAY YOUR DUES!"


Four shields had been lined at the front of his formation. The sea of people hit them, heralded by crashes and the screams of struck rebels. They began to spill around the sides of the wall, many on Moler's side and he threw himself to them. They expected the sword, so he struck the first with a fist, his victim tumbling back. His sword, which shined in the light like the Eleven themselves had blessed the steel, flicked to his side and cut into the side of another rebel. He was surrounded now by the fury of a battle, the chant still roaring from the back of the crowd.


"PAY YOUR DUES! PAY YOUR DUES! PAY YOUR DUES!"


Ducking under a board, a kick sent another attacker down. Knowing any attempt at it with a sword not wrought in Solemont steel would be idiocy, he prayed and swung. The top of the pickaxe dropped, leaving a hacked off stick in the hands of the woman holding it. Moler had a moment to see her, an older human woman it seemed, though people aged far quicker in the mines, and then she jabbed him in the face with the handle. His nose was broken. A step forward, dodging something and not caring what it was, he felt little resistance as his sword dispatched her. Something hit his side, bruising. His mail held fine. Something hit his back as well. The sergeant lept back and turned to face what had hit him. One of the slaves, this scum that dared attack him, that dared to disobey, stood there. It was a young man, bald like the other slaves, his eyes an alarmingly gentle brown, his features sharp, stern and defined. He was underfed, but he stood as tall as possible it seemed, and in his hand he held a sword, covered in blood. Where did he come from? Moler saw the rest of the slaves pouring out of streets behind the formation. Where did he get the sword? Looking around, Moler saw only a couple swords left flashing, resisting... "Warrior, you wronged us, but now your dues are paid."


Another voice, "Go in peace."


Where did the blood come from? Moler put a hand to his stomach, and collapsed.


The sentries on the wall kept running, now drenched in sweat within their armour. Out of the corner of their eyes, they could see the fires spreading down through the city, and a sea crashing through the streets as if a waterfall had appeared on the mountain, and the waters were racing for the sea. They could see the bell. The female dwarf crashed to the ground behind a shocked man, his file still in hand beside the third of the gate bell's chains. She didn't think. He dropped. Her companion arrived beside her, and looked at her with what could have been disgust- or fear. He stepped past though, and straining, pushed the bell for dear life, straining. She joined him and as the first toll sounded they stepped back. The sea below was now climbing towards them, agitated. "Keep it ringing."


The Ortow family was eating quietly. Her Grandfather sat at the head of the ornate table, her grandmother to his right, and her, Sarow Ortow, daughter of Fralin Ortow, to his left. They were in a large, comfortable dining room. "Do you like it?"


"Yes, grandmother. Thank you." Saro grinned as she spoke to the old woman, who was in Saro's view, somehow cheating death. Grandfather Ortow attempted to nod, but was only halfway through the motion as a bell began to ring. A loud bell. He gently placed his fork on the table, cocking his head at the sound. It rang again. Grandmother Ortow looked at him, "You have to?"


He nodded grimly. "I have to." and with that he picked pulled his cane close, picked himself up, brushed his robe down briefly, brushed off a servant trying to help him, and marched as well as he could to the door. He didn't pause for a moment as he gave the order. "Saro. Stay." The girl stopped in her tracks and watched as the heavy door closed behind him. She waited. She waited until she heard the gate, which was more ornament than defense, close behind him, waited a few minutes longer, the raised eyebrow of her grandmother boring into the side of her head the entire time, and then she slipped out into the night. It was quiet. She marched easily and confidently to the gate, peering down the road to see if her Grandfather had turned the bend in the road. Seeming that he had, one of her hands immediately tried the gate. Locked. She could scale their iron fence easily, but her Grandfather was an Ortow, and if he made it clear not to follow, she dared not follow. He was old, but no less fearsome for it. Up on the west wall, on one of the cannon-bearing towers, a puff of smoke rose, and the Ortow mansion exploded behind her. Glass from tall windows rained down, pieces of masonry and stone flying out of the smoke, striking the fence, the ground, the road. More and more Dwarves, other inhabitants of the middle district, were pouring out of their large homes, responding to the bell, and all turned for a moment, looking at her, leaning on the fence she'd been thrown against. The ringing in her ears wasn't stopping. She turned her head to look for the house. She could not think. She could not breath. She could not understand what her senses told her. She turned her gaze back to the road, and saw a sea, saw the nobles fleeing, falling. She saw her grandfather's body, floating above the sea, on hands. She saw joy and terror and anger in his bearers. Her hand brushed her hip, trying to feel the simple sword that wasn't there. Sometimes an animal's instinct must take over, and keep out emotion and thought for a time. For survival. Saro Ortow turned and ran. She ran through the wreckage of her home and her world, not even taking the time to acknowledge the apocalypse. She felt her arms lift her over the fence, felt herself running across the bank of the river, then up onto one of the smaller roads to avoid exposed ground. She felt the club hit her as she turned a corner. For a moment, she heard.


"Stop! Not her! Not her! Leave her be!"


Then she didn't.


The Free People of Solemont: Very Development 0d 2r
 
Imrae sat uncomfortably on her throne within the royal tent in the main camp of the Nicean People Liberation Army deep in the mountain forest of Turatha. The area was legendary to the nicean people, it is said that the first nicean movement which brought the first empire began not so far from here in the ruins of an old Temple to Griva the god of gods. There at the holy feast of Narea, the high priest blessed their uprising and those involved proclaiming its start. She had to go through the same process a couple of a few days ago, proclaiming her the leader of the movement and blessed its cell before they went of to their missions.


The camp itself was alive with activity, messengers traveled back and forth bringing word of the various first strikes going throughout the Milorean empire. In front of Imrae, Marshal Talious and the venerable arch priest Vanor, the true leaders of the revolution discussed the results of their first strike among themselves and planned for the future while Imrae remained quite through it all.


"....The results are pitiful, Vanor!" Talious shouted at the priest." Out of the twenty cells only seven performed successful operations, the rest failed during the operation while others werent even able to start! The glorious bang that would start our revolution, became just a whimper! We need arms, Vanor! We need help from other elements throughout the empire and maybe beyond!"


"The are not needed." The elder spoke quieter and more calmly than his counterparts. " Among our people are the finest mages in the land and with other movements comes conflicting interest. We must do it on our own, like Griva wills it."


"We wont survive on our own!" Talious said and for the first time in their long argument she turned to Imrae." Please allow me to write a massage to the Guins in your behalf calling for their aid whether to buy it or they give it away."


Imrae looked confused for a moment surprised that she was involved. In the end it made sense to ask for outside help, they needed modern weapons. They had a few steam rifles and mages but they were few and far between. She nodded and the two obeyed and went about their business.


Recession R1D1
 
[Nakop]


A formally-dressed King Movli sat on the throne with his guards surrounding him.The king usually doesn't wear his formal clothing,which is a yellow robe made out of gold,with an embroidery of dragons circling the guin coat of arms,due to the sheer weight and the discomfort caused by the clothing.But the respected man has no choice,for the Milorian Empire has sent a messenger to the kingdom.


"So,what brings you here,the messenger of the Empire?"said the king,while looking at the messenger,who was bowing towards him.


The messenger looked up to the king,and replied:"The Empire wishes to negotiate the possibility of seceding Hai Shen Wei and it's neighboring territories to us."Before the messenger can complete his words,King Movli slammed the table so hard that the cups fell from it,his face was filled with anger as he stared at the messenger:"What is the Empire thinking!Don't they know that every inch of our land was acquired through the lives of thousands of brave soldiers who fought to the death for the Kingdom,we shall defend every single inch of our land with our own blood,even if it takes every single one of us!Get out,you bastard,I shall never see you again in the future!"


As the angry king shouted angrily as a response towards the Empire's request,the messenger looked up to the king,and said:"If the Guin Kingdom persists in holding the territory,the Empire shall be ready for war."


"So is the Kingdom,we are prepared to fight until the last men to protect our soil!Now,get out before I cut your insolent head off!"shaouted King Movli as the guards drag the messenger out of the palace.King Movli proceeds to go limp on his throne,his face shows that he is exhausted.


"Prepare the central army,we are going to war."ordered the king before he finally falls asleep on the throne in exhaustion.


Regression post


-The Guin kingdom and the Milorian Empire are at the verge of war.


1D1R
 
Ceza walked purposefully down a road of the desert colony's capital. The day was in full swing, with a hustle and bustle of the people fully transfixed by their daily routines. It was one of these routines that was to be altered for, as Ceza saw it, "the grand plan". At the time, the Relegatio Desert Colony had no military research department to speak of, and that was something Ceza intended to fix swiftly and cheaply. Ceza had been informed of a coalition of sorts. A group of scientists, inventors, and engineers who had realized that they could make quite a pretty penny if they joined in league with one another. They had set up a large section of the bazaar dedicated to the selling of their products, but he wasn't heading there. No, Ceza was heading to their administrative building, where they met once a week to discuss business among themselves. The building itself was unremarkable, though a bit larger than most of the mud brick buildings of the capital, and to Ceza's surprise there was even a private guard in front of the building. The guard of course relented at Ceza's arrival, but it's the idea that counts. Not many can afford private guards in Relegatio. Upon entering the building, Ceza is greeted to a hallway with three doors. To the left is a large, open room used for meetings and other events. To the right is a less large storage room, containing chairs, tables, and the like. At the end of the hall is an office/archives room. This is where Ceza intended to go.


Inside the office was an elven man writing at a desk stacked high with papers. Shelves filled with parchments, papers, and tomes filled the room. Across from the desk was a single wooden chair. The man didn't look up as Ceza and his four guards walked in. "If you need to have a correspondence with the league or any of it's members you'll have to schedule an appointment. Chauncy at the door can help you with that." He waved a hand dismissively. Ceza walked closer to the desk before speaking, "I believe that the formality of an appointment can be ignored in this case, don't you?" The man looked up to repeat his statement, but stopped as his eyes landed on Ceza. There was a look of surprise upon his face. "Yes, we are who you think we are, and no, you are not in any danger. Well, at least not yet." Ceza took a seat across from the man, with a guard on either side of him. "Now, I have some questions for you that need answering, are you, to some extent, the administrator of this league?" The man had seemed dumbfounded, but was broken out of his stupor by the question. "Yes, I am Calo, the secretary for the Guild of Original Craftsmen. Why do you ask?" Calo was dressed simply, a vest and tunic, with his blonde hair pulled back by a bind. A pair of spectacles adorned his eyes. "Well, Calo, I have taken an interest in this guild, and have come with an offer." Ceza leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "In return for a weekly report on all findings made by any members of this guild as well as access to your records, the governor offers support and...protection. With this weekly report, you are expected to send a list of all materials and items requested by members of this guild that you are unable to supply, which will be delivered to this building as soon as possible." Ceza stood and walked to Calo, presenting a scroll from within his robes, spreading it out onto Calo's desk. "So, what say you, Calo?" Calo took some time to read through the document before swiftly and gracefully signing at the bottom line. Ceza rolled the scroll, tucking it back into it's place beneath his clothes. "You will not regret this decision Calo. A small group of scribes will come here to copy your records within a few days time. Among them will be guards which I will have stationed here. Treat them well." With this, Ceza turned to leave, but was stopped by Calo's voice. "Excuse me, sir?" Ceza stopped in the middle of turning, and arched to look at Calo. "Yes?" "May I have a copy of the contract delivered here?" Ceza nodded wordlessly before continuing out of the building. Calo returned to his work, but couldn't shake the feeling that he'd done something incredibly wrong.


Earlier that night...


A four mule caravan marched on the outskirts of Relegatio's northernmost village, Kapici. The leader of the caravan, a human, was having an argument with his second in command, a goblin. "Now why would we travel so far just to deliver some black market black powder, and not that much of it mind you, to some governor out in a flangin' desert!" The goblin spoke quietly to the human. "Because, my vertically challenged compatriot, this governor pays a hefty sum for his powder, despite it's quantity. I don't know why, but I don't question it. After all, I'm just the delivery boy." The conversation ended, but began anew as they neared the village. "We'll rest hear and continue tomorrow, there's another three days travel at the leas-" Th captain stopped as he saw a boulder out in the middle of the trail. Considering it strange that a bolder would find it's way onto a well traveled trail, he began directing the caravan to move around it. It was only when they got closer did they learn what the boulder really was. It rose as they approached, standing on two disproportionately small hind legs, raising a goat to it's mouth with one of it's claws, eating the thing in one massive bite. Blood stained the sand below it. The caravan was horrified, the mules braying and rearing in panic. The thing was at least twelve feet tall, with a face reminiscent of a toad out of some nightmare. It raised a four clawed hand and gestured towards itself, it's lips moving to attempt to form words around the bits of goat. "S-St-Sti-St-" The leader, upon noticing this, raised his hands, garnering the attention of the rest of the members of the caravan. "I believe that it is trying to communicate with us." The captain leaned forward. He had heard that some of the people here could look strange, but he never had expected this. "Sti-Stil-Sti" "Come on, what is it? Your name? A greeting?" "Still h-hu-hungry." The thing then roared and charged at the caravan. Later on, an innkeeper in Kapici would be stuck wondering where his paid-in-advance customers were.


Dual development and regression.


Effects of developement:

  • New advances in technology can now be made.


  • Advances will be able to be manufactured locally.


Effects of regression:

  • Black market goods can no longer be imported as frequently.
  • Military runs the risk of being attacked by sandmen when traveling.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
The city of Touksavak is the capital of the Jundalanese.As the capital of the alliance,the city is welly-decorated with whatever the Jundalanese found during their frequent raids on their neighbors.Within the center of the city is a tent as large as 4 football fields,which is only created thanks to the craftsmanship of the yaojing.The tent was guarded by the elite of the Jundalanese as it was the symbol of their strength and power and also the meeting place of the Elders.A caravan loaded with cannons are seen passing through the roads of the city,headed towards the large tent.Sandra was seen escorting the caravan alongside with Bobo,who was sent by his lord to escort the caravan.


As the caravan reached the plains surrounding the tent,the company's tracks were halted by the guards.Sandra steeped in front to explain her intentions to the guards,who stepped aside to give way to the caravan.Sandra stepped inside the camp,only to be greeted by Elder Sorsirah,the chieftain of the lizardmen."Hello Sandra,long time no see.So,I heard that you brought along some...cannons.Well,I'm not really anti-technology,that's the mindset of those old men of the other races.As you can see,technology is really gaining the upper hand against magic in the recent years.Flying ships,miniature dragons(he means machine guns),moving metal houses(armored cars),strange toys which can kill an elemental,balls that explode,clouds that kill for no reason,and of course,cannons.Even the most iconic of us magic users,the yaojing has fallen against these fancy things.I didn't mean that magic is already a thing of the past,just that we needed some innovation,some changes to cope with the advances of technology."


Sorsirah went closer to one of the cannons,observing the fine craftsmanship of whoever that made it."A good one,perhaps it's made by the guins.Only these,I consider them the close-relatives of us lizardmen,guins have the expertise to make these cannons."At this very moment,a panicked soldier entered the camp:"Elder Sorsirah,we have a grave situation here."The soldier proceeded to whisper through the ears of Sorsirah.


The Elder stood up in shock,and shouted in despair:"Who did this?Who dared to betray the alliance?"Sandra,confused by the Elder's sudden change in mood,asked:"What happened?"


"Some bastard burned one of our largest armories.We lost a couple of good weapons."said the angered Elder."Quiktoss,find that guy who is responsible for this and execute him in front of the populace!"


The soldier left the tent after receiving the orders.Sandra stared at the cannons:"Well,looks like technology sin't really that bad at all."


Regression post


1D1R


-The Jundalanese lost a lot of weapons to the fire


-Significant economical damage sustained due to the incident
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 2 (members: 0, guests: 2)

Similar threads

foyiwae
Fantasy ♥♦ ~ What Secrets Lie Ahead? ~ ♣♠
2 fantasy magic nation building
Replies
38
Views
1K
foyiwae
foyiwae
Back
Top