Fantasy Throne of Heaven

[Kent]

Turn 4

Amon sipped his coffee slowly as Granny Eleanor placed more refreshments and snacks on the table before sitting on the seat opposite of him.

“What’s bothering you, child? It’s rare for you to ask for me to just have a chat.” Granny Eleanor said with a worried face.

Amon smiled at the baker’s caring words. “I’m doing something risky, Granny. I’m taking a gamble… I’m not sure if I should… The stakes… I don’t have much choice though. It’s pressing, if I don’t make a move, I might lose a valuable asset of mine.”

Granny Eleanor sighed and held the thief’s hands. “Calm down. You can do it, my dear. I’ve watched you grow up from a starving orphan who’s left with no choice but to steal bread to the lord of the most dangerous city in the Realms.”

Amon nods.

“You’re still a disappointing blood mage though.” Granny Eleanor chuckles as she lets go of Amon’s hands. “I chose you as my successor but you ran away then came back learning all those astral shenanigans. Just stick being a blood mage. It’s great!”

Amon chuckled and all his worries were swept away. “You shouldn’t have let that old man steal me then!”

“I shouldn’t have! The next time I meet him, I’m going to beat him up that old geezer! I’m going to flay him and make him wear the skin of a sheep!” Granny Eleanor complained with an annoyed face. If the regular patrons of the bakery would see her, they would be surprised. This wasn’t the usual gentle and kind Granny Eleanor.

“Okay, okay, calm down, Granny. I’ll make sure to deliver your message to him. I’m pretty sure he would say he’ll slit your throat and throw you into the Astral Seas for the abominations there to feed on you.”

“When did you learn to talk like that, huh? Are you sure it’s him who wants to say that or you? How about I teach you a lesson!”

Amon and Granny Eleanor looked at each other and then laughed. The old baker stood up and went to Amon before hugging him. “Don’t die, I still need to groom you to be the best blood mage.”

“I’ll do my best…”

Action 1: The Raven Ascends
[Redacted]

Action 2: The Thief’s Gambit
[Redacted]

 

[ThatWhichShouldBe]

Turn 4
There's something about fire that always drew Han's gaze. Flickering. Vibrant. Alive. He practices magic in his chambers, patterns of flame flashing through the air as he inscribed characters into the air with the tip of his blade. Shen - Spirit. Po - Hunger. Li - Force. Yang - Sun... And there is a flash of power, greater than he thought he was producing, swirling in the air around him. Rising up in a pillar, encircling, reaching up to eat at the ceiling, because it was hungry, hungry, hungry! HE was hungry, why didn't he just eat it all! Consume this insipid palace, these feckless mortals, revel in red flesh-

Han slams his fist down, forcing the flames to the ground, forcing them back into his flesh and his heart. He snarls, and the sound is only half-man, a tiger's voice laid over it. And then there is silence.

He breathes in and out, as he slumps against the ground. His fist beats against the ground one more time. Frustration. Magic came to him now almost as easily as the blade did- he'd taken to the magics of flame that Flara showed him like a fish to water. Art after art, he'd taken and mastered in their turn. Calligraphy and oration, poetry and strategy. Ever the talented child. So why... why could he not master this?

He'd learned more about it now. About where it came from. The Hunt. The Eater of the Stars. A curse from a land so very far away, for a crime he had not committed. One man's dying request.

Han looks at the lines of his own hand, and how it fights, for a moment- twisting at the line between tiger and man, the muscles under his skin contorting. His nails flexing to claws in one moment, and back the next. And then it was over, and his room was still.

This hunger was not his hunger. He did not just seek to master himself - he was testing his will against the will of something vast and ancient. Fighting the fury of a being of legend, steeped into his soul.

To fight a god.

He already needed to best at least one. What more was besting two?

Action 1: Hexagram 46 - Ascending
Use the Augury spell to search for a Fire Site in the lands of the Great Akula.

Action 2: Hexagram 39 - Limping - Scene Requested
Use 1 Unit of Akthubit Gold to help obtain the services of agents and such to help Han search for a suitable master of the martial/ki arts through gathering rumors and similar, preferably in the Great Akula. The aim is to help Han master his, er, Were-Tiger problem, as well as develop his fighting skills further for the ridiculous odds he'll be facing in the future. If Kozan's libraries make mention of where a suitable school or some immortal master that fits Han's needs, then he'd follow up on it. Otherwise, it's just gonna be searching through hard-work... Of course, just because he's searching doesn't mean Han stops being Han. If he runs into some big monster menacing innocents or similar problem, he's probably going to take the time out of his search to deal with it. Because that's Han for you.

 

[CaptainSully]

THRASSAX

scroll

A middle aged man stood staring out across the ocean, his long, thick mane flowing on the ocean breeze. His bronzed skin was exposed to the rays of the sun, left to bathe in their glorious radiance save for a loincloth hiding his modesty. He was the chieftain of the serene island known as The Isle and ruled over a people who cherished the harmony of their paradise. His name was Thrassax.

The Isle was a haven, shielded from the tumultuous affairs of the outside world and adorned with a vast array of flora and fauna. The people of The Isle thrived in tranquility, basking in the beauty of their surroundings while the rest of the world fought, for power and for wealth. They had avoided the horrors of war through their peaceful demeanor, but as with everything that would not last.

On an extremely hot day, the hottest of the year foreign ships with towering masts appeared on the horizon, bringing traders from a distant land. The ships anchored at the shores of The Isle, their vessels laden with exotic goods and treasures from all corners of the globe. Thrassax greeted the traders with wary eyes, seeing their visit for what it was before they had even opened their mouths. As was custom, the visitors were greeted as family and partook in summer celebrations with Thrassax and his people. As the sun set on the festivities, the traders spoke of vast riches and the wonders they could bring to The Isle through prosperous trade.

It was then that the traders, adorned in garments of opulence, presented a dazzling array of goods to Thrassax. Intricate fabrics, spices that filled the air with an exotic aroma, and rare artifacts of civilisations long since forgotten. Their promises of wealth tempted many among Thrassax's people, who saw the potential for prosperity. Yet, Thrassax, wise and protective of the harmony that defined his people's existence, saw what the show was…a bribe. He saw beyond the glittering façade, sensing an underlying greed and a thirst for dominance among the traders. He thanked them for their offerings but firmly declined their proposal, choosing the serenity of The Isle over the allure of wealth.

The traders left with a smile and a handshake of thanks, doing well at concealing their disappointment. They departed without an ill word, raising anchor and setting sail as if accepting Thrassax's decision. Thrassax and his people continued their celebrations well into the night before finally settling down to sleep under the moon and stars above.

As Thrassax and his people slept, almost like a forboding sign of what was to come, a thick blanket of clouds rolled in. They shrouded The Isle in darkness, blocking the bright light of the moon and it was then, under the blanket of darkness, the traders returned to The Isle. Their once-friendly demeanor had transformed into a ruthless thirst for conquest. Armed with weapons forged in distant lands they unleashed a sudden and brutal assault upon Thrassax's people.

The peaceful island was transformed into a battleground, echoing with the cries of the innocent and the clash of steel. Thrassax, awakened by the wanton slaughter, rushed to the scene. Horror struck him as he witnessed the betrayal unfolding before his eyes. His family, friends, and fellow islanders fell victim to the merciless onslaught. Steel cut through flesh and bodies crumpled into heaps on the desert sand. Blood stained the sand crimson before doing the same in kind to the crashing waves.

Thrassax took up the defence of his people, using his strength to overpower a trader and driving his own blade through his chest. He fought valiantly, defending his people with desperate resolve and sheer determination…yet he was no fighter. Save for a couple who fell to his stolen blade, Thrassax was soon outnumbered and outmatched, finding himself overwhelmed by the sheer brutality of the invaders.

In the midst of the chaos, he was captured and his hands were bound by coarse ropes stained with the blood of his kin. The ruthless traders, devoid of mercy, forced Thrassax to witness the unforgiving massacre of his people. Attempts to close his eyes and turn away were met with brutal blows, the traders determined to make him suffer.

He watched as friends were slain one by one, their pained expressions begging for salvation, but their only salvation was a quick death. The slaughter continued through the night, men, women and children, regardless of age, were put to the sword. It was a slaughter unlike any that had stained the world before and one that would struggle to be rivaled again.

Then came the time his broken heart had feared for most. His tear filled eyes watched as his wife and two young daughters were brought out before him. He felt the ropes cut deeper and deeper into his flesh as he tried to struggle free but it was no use. Every attempt was met with another blow from the captors, the final one knocking him face first into the sand.

As he raised his head from the blood soaked sand, his family's anguished cries echoed in his ears as he remained powerless. His eyes witnessed the murder of his family, steel ending their existence in an instant. The sight he had witnessed burned within, fueling a seething rage that began to eat at his very soul. He was no longer the man he was, all semblance of decency had gone, he simply craved revenge.

He was forced to continue watching his people's extermination, and as the last vestiges of resistance were quelled, Thrassax, battered and bruised, was cast into the unforgiving ocean, but not before a blade was plunged deep into his chest. He was cast away, and his body sank beneath the waves like a stone. The saltwater mingled with his wounds, a painful reminder of the betrayal that had befallen The Isle.

In the silent depths, Thrassax's vision blurred, and the sounds of the massacre above gradually faded. The ocean embraced him in its cold, dark embrace, becoming both his tomb and a testament to the treachery that had shattered the tranquility of The Isle. His lungs burned as he sank, his broken body’s urge to breathe becoming unbearable. He eventually realised the futility and instead took a deep breath of water. As consciousness slipped away, a haunting realisation lingered within him. The Isle, once a paradise, now bore witness to the tragic consequences of misplaced trust and the merciless ambitions of those who coveted its serenity and resources. The picturesque island became a silent graveyard, leaving only the echoes of sorrow and the memory of a betrayed chieftain named Thrassax.

Then he felt it, the embrace of nothingness, the comfort of the end…the merciless and unending darkness of the eternal void…

…

…

…

Amidst the emptiness of the void, a voice spoke.

”Awaken…”

Its deep and thunderous voice shook the very fabric of reality. From the nothingness of death, Thrassax once again became aware of his existence.

”Your business with the world is unfinished…”

For a moment he was just a consciousness, but soon enough he began to feel once again. The cold, unwelcoming embrace of the ocean and its destructive weight pressed down on him. The sensation of touch returned as he dug his fingers into the sand beneath but as he moved to sit up, he did so with ease.

”Rise up…claim your revenge…

Thrassax began to feel the water rush over his body as he rose up towards the surface. His body rose without movement, as if willing himself alone was enough to cut through the water. Soon the blackness of the void began to fade as the light of the sun began to cut through the vast water.

He could see the surface, freedom from the depths and the chance to claim revenge for his people…his family. The sun's rays cascaded through the soft waves to create a light show just beneath the water's surface. Thrassax cut through the shafts of light and broke the water's surface, continuing upwards until his body was fully clear of his former tomb.

He looked down at his hands, his bronzed flesh replaced with a purplish hue and his fingers longer, thinner. He moved his gaze from his body to the water below and caught sight of himself in the mirrored surface. He felt his stomach tighten at what stared back at him, his human form replaced with that of a cephalopod. His mouth was hidden beneath a mass of tentacles that hung low down his chest like a strange, fleshy beard. Such was the shock it took him a moment to realise that he was floating clear of the water.

As he came to realise that whoever…or whatever…had spoken to him had given him this new form, he caught sight of his former home. The Isle and it's natural beauty was the envy of many, but no longer. The coastline was flush with trade ships, docks and buildings, almost all identifiable features that it was his former home were gone, replaced by industry…Thrassax's home was no more…only Valin remained.

He stared intently at the city before slowly disappearing back beneath the waves, his fists clenched as he tried to contain his anger…revenge would come…


Actions

"I must find the cure..." he thought, "...and I will wait to see it's outcome before deciding my next course of action."

© reveriee

 

[Twist]

The Herde

Military Power
4

Economic Power
0

Unique Resource
Airag

Resources
Granite
Art

Perks
Nomads
As a nomadic tribe, it is harder for herde to set up 'trade deals' that are rather permanent in any real means. Whenever the herde enters a region you may decide if they come as Traders or Raiders... with the implications of both being obvious. As the Herde gains a reputation, this may change and the option maybe picked for them.

Raid and Plunder
The Herde has the ability to freely raid and plunder.. Due to the Herde's sheer speed, being all cavalry, it is very hard to 'pin them down'. The Herde may decide if it is plundering the land [and so avoiding more fortified settlements] and the chance of being intercepted and forced to a fight is exceptionally low, or if it will be burning all of it and so attempting to conquer cities, towns and forts where a battle is guaranteed.

The Riders of the Harvest
Whenever the Herde enters a large battle, and a battalion does exceptionally well, I will note them. You will then give them a name and that 'batallion' will become something of a 'heroic unit', gaining unique abilities or higher stats to reflect their status. Groom many heroic units, push the ones you have to new heights and dominate the field of battle. Be warned, if one such unit dies, it will create a wave of panic in the rest.

Units

Commanders

Studs
Studs are 'priest' that can draw their lineage back to the legendary four centaur of old, and they have the unique fur coat to match. Some are a deep bloody red, some an inky pitch black while others are a sterling pearl white. Studs aren't quite the leaders that Warhorses are, but their presence is inspiring as they chant about the legends of old to inspire their fellows. Studs are Level 1 Death Mages.

Warhorses
Magnassia was filled with many tribes before they were unified by Baroqee at the cost of their leaders. With the chieftains killed, command has fallen to those who wield the greatest experience on the battlefield, the great warriors and veterans of the tribes who have seen the most conflict. What 'kind' of Warhorse it is depends on what unit it is assigned to, a Warhorse within a Minotaur Unit is assumed to be a Minotaur. Generally, Centaur Warhorses are the best leaders, Minotaur Warhorses are the greatest warriors and Sataur Warhorses are the most cunning.

Elite Units

Minotaurs
Minotaurs are immensely large and powerful taurs. They are the things of nightmares and so cause Fear especially as they are charging towards a squishy line of two-legged creatures that thought they could stand in their way. Minotaurs use immense great axes to reap a blood toil, cleaving through armor and crushing opposition. Minotaurs have an internal desire to 'feast', to consume the flesh of their prey and gorge themselves.. as such, Minotaurs have Frenzy [Be warned, as cavalry with frenzy, this means they may charge without orders]. Minotaurs are.. not cheap.

Harpies
The Harpies are not 'really' part of the Herde, but instead they follow the Herde looking to snatch up victims that the Herde misses or lure enemies to the Herde so that they may snap a few morsels up for themselves. These 'beautiful' bird women are ferocious fighters, but their real value comes in the fact they are natural fliers making them exceptionally quick and hard to pin down. Harpies can attempt to 'sing' to lure enemy out of formation and towards them, disrupting lines.

Basic Units

Sataur Raiders
Sataur Raiders are a light, unarmored cavalry unit that is very quick on their hooves but lack the sheer punch of their larger cousins. Being part goats, they ignore any terrain penalties and may ride free and fast over any obstacle in their path. Sataur Raiders are armed with spears and short bows that they use to harrass the enemy. While they aren't likely to win a skirmish trade, their sheer speed makes them great for flanking or charging light infantry that are exposed and are fairly cheap for what they are.

Centaur Warrior
The Centaur Warrior is the tried and true Centaur Warrior and make up the bulk of the warriors. They wear light leather lamellar armor, use powerful recurve bows and carry large lances and swords for when they come thundering into melee. They can skirmish, they can charge headlong into combat, they can run around the flanks, there is little a Centaur Warrior cannot do, but they are more expensive then most 'basic' units of other nations.

The Awakened
Sataur tend to be a mischievous bunch.. They are the real 'party animals' of the Herde, dancing and singing under the moon as they dance and drink deep the Airag. This has the strange effect of luring men and women into their parties where they end up discarding their clothes and 'giving in' to the savagery of life. These Awakened don't have much of a real purpose outside of doing chores and other light work, in between the Sataur parties, but on the battlefield they are the only 'infantry' the Herde really has. They are unarmored [and unclothed most of the time] and use simple wooden spears and shields. They are brave, but not great fighters and tend to be undiciplined. Their greatest perk is.. they're free.

Godbound

Name
Baroqee
'The Great Uniter, Death, The Pale Mare and the Coming of the Four Horsemen'

Race
Centaur

Word
Famine

Power
Balancing of the Scales
Land ravaged by Baroqee find that it never recovers. Crops seem to wilt and wither on the vine, waters turn rancid and disease spreads throughout the land. Baroqee permanently lowers the economic prosperity of any land that she successfully raids as population stalls and starts to die off. If a land is plundered enough, it becomes a land of death where it actively becomes hostile to the living. Only an opposing word, such as Fertility, can even attempt to reverse this effect.

Gifts

Greater Gifts

Mistress of Carrion
All Carrion Birds [Vultures, Crows, Etc] will obey Baroqee. They listen to her commands and will follow her will [although they follow their instincts and so aren't suicidal]. Baroqee may see and hear through any carrion bird within a mile of her position. Baroqee may cast the spell: Raven's Feast for free.

Raven's Feast - A massive unkindness of Ravens descends upon the site of a battle and gorges themselves on the flesh of the fallen. They then return to the caster where their stomachs are ripped open and death gems harvested. Amount of gems depends on the size of the battle they feast upon.

Wither
Baroqee can force all enemies within 100 feet to 'Wither'. This will cause constant damage to foes as their bodies begin to atrophy and wither to nothing. As their strength fails, so too will their prowess... Unworthy are helpless against this while Heroic and Worthy take a test each round, if they fail, not only do they take damage but their might is lowered as well. [They regain their might the next game turn... if they survive]

Lesser Gifts

Wheat to Barley, Hoof to Dust
Whenever Baroqee and the Herd pillage a province, they roll twice for loot and take the better rolls. If the Herd is ever forced to retreat or flee a battlefield, they count their retreat as an Organized Withdrawal.

Dead Scar
Baroqee can drain the life from the ground beneath her hooves and channel that into the herd. This leads a massive 'dead scar' wherever the Herd has been, but doubles their map movement.

Equipment

Shimmermail
This chainmail is lightly enchanted with Air Magic. Whenever someone successfully hits the wearer, roll a dice. On a 4+ the hit is ignored. Every time you fail the test (1-3), it gets harder to pass as the shimmer stops being so distracting. So first fail, becomes 5+. Second fail, 6+. Third fail and the glamour vanishes.
The enchantment resets every game turn.


Turn 4

Smoke sat heavily in the air of Sulla's tent, the crackling fire, incense and vaporous airrag wafting thickly around the Liaf. Sulla was young though of good stock, with a lineage that could link back to the first Death of the Herde. Well versed in all manner of divination, Cleromancy, Haurspex, Necromancy, the Liaf oracle was also an Augur. An old and sometimes overlooked practice, Augury was a means of telling fortune by the behavior of birds.

Breathing deeply in the air, the Oracle Sulla cast a handful of bones on to a worn out cloth. White clattered and crashed against white, stitching an omen of the future before him. Within the mist of his tent, Sulla could see the images of his ancestors watching alongside him as the bones stilled. Sulla gazed at the assortment of ivory, discerning their meaning in his mind. A breeze brushed over him, the Taurs who had come before whispering to him and he agreed with a shallow grunt.

He pushed the bones to one aside atop the stone slab that was his work surface, his cleromancy done and moved on to haruspex. Shifting sideways, Sulla pulled the knife that embedded the raven from the corpses throat, carefully pulling it downwards. With a thumb and forefinger the Oracle pulled open the chest cavity and inspected the entrails of the bird. The viscera revealed a narrative in its intricate patterns, a story made of blood that spoke of the impending clash between the Herde and their neighboring city. Sulla's trained hands traced the lines of destiny written in the organs, seeking the hidden truths within the intricate folds.

More voices began to whisper to him in the mist. Determining destiny as he saw it from the innards , Sulla turned to a council of thousands. Through Necromancy the oracle communed with the spirits of the departed Taurs. In the flickering light of the hearth, shadows danced on the tent walls as he invoked the presence of those who had crossed the veil. Whispers from the realm of the dead echoed through the tent, conveying cryptic messages about the success or failure that awaited the Herde's endeavors.

Silently Sulla exchanged words with the spirits taking their council until he once more determined the Herde's destiny. Bowing to the dancing shadows, the Liaf made his way out the tent, kicking out the campfire as he left. He let the canopy of the tent rest on his white haunches, dispelling the smoke and haze of his craft as he looked upon the vultures outside his home, a minor flock of the bald birds resting upon the rocks. He clapped his hands, stirring the birds to flight so he could begin his defined augury, the reason for his recent rise in status. Observing the movements of the flock, his senses extended beyond the veil of the material world.

Waiting in the shadows of the tent, stood Baroqee, her own dark gaze cast upon the circling birds as she waited for the Oracles council. Having deciphered what he needed, Sulla looked into the shadows and upon Death herself. "Is it time...?"

Sulla kept his nerve in her presence, the young Taur doing his best to remain calm and confident. With a wave of his head, he bid the Coming of the Four Horsemen into his tent to explain...
​

Orders

​

1. SECRET
2. The attack on Loris begins....

 

[Dest]

Chepura
Turn 4

The Queen drowsily looked upon the rough map within her chambers, a mountain of silken clothes draped over her form as she made her plans. Surrounding her the Rex and Regina that formed her main core of advisors were much the same, each of them feeling the winter season far more acutely now that they were part insectoid.

"How goes our plans to the West?" The queen asked, forcing herself away from even the barest thought of hibernation.

"They go well my queen, we have some new information for you to go over as you desire," Ingrid, the only one in the chamber to not be shivering slightly, spoke up, tapping on a sheet of parchment that had been delivered to them.

"Excellent, and our new 'allies'?"

"The first delivery has been made, they are satisfied for the time being," Another one of the Regina spoke up, the mandibles coming out of her mouth making her words a tad more difficult to understand.

"Good, then it is time for us to proceed with our plans," The smile that broke out across the Queen's face was cruel, promising a painful end to come.​

---

The young girl's tears rolled down her face, memories flowing unbidden in front of her as old pains were brought forth once more by the season. Images of blackened fingers and toes that she had seen from others, painfully cold nights huddled under windows as warmth just barely trickled over her, jeers and taunts from those who were around the watchfires around their village. All of them were waiting on her to die, just another poor orphan left to brave the elements on her own. It wasn't until she had managed to survive a full decade that she had a single true memory of why it was like this.

"I don't understand it Masago, that damned brat hasn't even lost a toe yet!" The voice echoed out slightly from the window above her, the wooden shutters just barely open enough to allow a miniscule amount of heat out. "I've lost so much coin betting on when she would die, if only her damned mother were here so I could have spent it a better way."

"Calm down Dras, ain't worth getting upset over if you don't know how to keep your coins out of the betting pools," Another voice jeered at the first, a thunking sound following it. "Besides, the little shits gonna die eventually, you know what children born in these bloody cursed months are like."

"Ah fuck off, you win the shit every year. No clue how the hell you manage it!"

"Cause I ain't a dumbass? Come on, little shit was born in the dead of winter, ain't no way she weren't gonna make it a few years! It's easy money, nowadays is when I ain't gonna risk it no more, could die any second out there."

"Whatever, just go get the next round from Baran for us, you've taken enough of my money that you can afford buying me a drink after all!"

As the words dwindled the girl's eyes drifted closed, and sparkling tears began to form on her face. Even as they flowed down, they began to freeze into ice in the cold and cruel winter air. She had finally found the true reason that the village hated her, and it made her pain ever more present.
​

---

Action 1: Tis a secret lads and lasses.

Action 2: Tis another secret lads and lasses.

Movement: Take a guess

Trade Deals:
Gofrit - Archymaw Silk - Half of produced per turn.
Wasp Venom - Six Units - 6/6 Sent

Montague - Two Units of Archymaw Silk - 1/2 Sent

Resources:
Archymaw Silk - All units used for trade
Wasp Venom - All units used for trade
Wasp Honey - Used for Orc Allies
Eternal Amber: 1 Unit
Nature Gems: 1
​

 

[LecternOfJasper]

Turn 4​

The turning of the year...

[[THE ROAD TO MASON'S JET]]

Galuin Kymas, colloquially referred to as Galuin the Great, was not to be seen again in Hammar's Rise.

This suited him just fine. He'd been cooped up in that workshop for so long he had almost forgotten how much life there is in the world, and that life goes on regardless of its demons.

He looked to the gruff man sitting across from him in the carriage, who appeared to be having an awful time getting any sleep as they bumped and wound their way across another mountain pass. Torvin, he remembered. Both of them were getting a nice long retirement after Glass made a mess of their lives. Well, sure, the money was good, and he'd gotten quite a few free meals in the process, and access to the power of a dark magician and master craftsman sure didn't hurt... but the people that are drawn to such things gave him the creeps. Never seeing them again is worth far more than all the free meals in the word, and based on his stipend, he'd get those too, at least for the first few months.

Another jolt of the carriage caused Torvin to give up on his folly, and he sat up, giving the once-craftsman a curt nod. A set of black leather gloves had been fashioned for him; Galuin saw second-hand the damage the Worldender had done to his arm, and was sure that scarring would never properly heal.

Their journey is typically around three days of spiraling up and down the countryside, but came to a somewhat abrupt stop midway through day two. There was a rap on the front of the carriage, and the driver - a feminine voice that Galuin couldn't quite place - said roughly, "rockslide. Aemas, come help move these stones, yeah?"

The man grunted, taking an annoyed look at the Wondersmith before him, before getting up and leaving the carriage. Poor man, he thought. This face must appear in all his nightmares.

Several minutes passed, interspersed with the sound of stones tumbling down the steep drop to their flank. Galuin wrote a few more pages in his journal before Torvin reappeared at the door, breathing heavily and red in the face. "You're needed out here. Road's in rough shape."

"It must be, if you're asking me to help," he said, annoyed at the interruption. He's hardly built like a laborer, he couldn't imagine he'd be of any use.

"Just- just get out here," Torvin spits, steadying himself against the carriage and opening the door for him.

The craftsman, after pondering refusing for a moment longer than necessary, stows his journal in his satchel and gets out of the carriage. He has a moment to take in the scene - the clear road ahead, Cassidy grinning and leaning over from the driver's seat - before gasping, and falling apart in two clean pieces.

Torvin pukes over the cliffside, before admiring the edge on the dull steel blade before very carefully cleaning it with a spare rag. "I'm gonna hold on to this for a while. May help with some renovations," he mumbled, a bit delirious from the nausea.

"Be my guest," Cassidy says, her eyes flaring an emerald green. "I may take it back if it's needed though. You think you'll be gone for long? It may be difficult, having one less person I can trust around," she continues, watching Torvin kick the components that were once Galuin Kymas down the cliffside, along with a few more stones.

"I... I'll be back in the spring," the guard responds, the faces of the thralled children and that dreadful spider swimming through his mind. "It'll be good to see ol grandad again. I'll return to my duty soon."

"Of course, sir. We're still about a day's ride out, but I know a clearing we'll get to before nightfall. Some rest will do you good, I bet."

The two of them continue their journey in silence, taking in the beauty of the frosty landscape. Torvin's nightmares featured Galuin's face not once.

---

Other plans (hopefully not actions):
Grabbing the death gems generated this turn from Moorholm.

ACTION 1: THE WEAPONS OF WAR
Despite the absence of the Wondersmith, Hammar's Rise still quite a few problems that need be addressed. In furtherance of the Council's need to prepare for supernatural threats, they are seeking out the mass production of mithril [[and possibly silverite, as negotiated]] equipment for use on the battlefield and by the city guard against supernatural menaces within and without. Tragically for the Order of the Craft, the Acolytes of the Dark Philosopher have found a way to produce weapons of great quality (Re: Glass).

Benefits: Earth Magic 3, Death Magic 5, Astral Magic 3, Word: ARTIFICE, Abundant Mithril, Bristlecone, [[potentially Silverite, as negotiated]], 1 Death Gem (focusing on survivability of the troops/units), 1 Astral Gem (focusing on hurting demons/undead), Opal (spirit stones), Melting Pot Perk

ACTION 2: A VAMPIRIC INQUIRY (1 EP USED)

Gil-Galit is home to a greatly diverse culture of men, women and others who come to seek their fortune and follow their passions. Tragically, some of these passions include rampant murder and the devouring of towns through demonic intervention. Glass is going to be investigating this personally, and with the help of a few trusted associates.

1.) Based on the information divulged by a creepy dude, he's going to venture to the library of Kozan to find what he can about the Tremere, what the goal of randomly spitting giant spiders around the country would be, and any clues about their favored hiding places and dens. Vampires are, hopefully, creatures of habit.

2.) The leads related to the smuggling from Talirus will be monitored, by making inquiries and trying to smuggle in a test batch of materials (I'm not looking for anything in particular here, but maybe a weird metal, like infernal iron or something) to another small town in the countryside. The area will be monitored to the best of Glass and the Dark Philosopher's abilities (using the Scrying Mirror) to try and determine their methods, and to learn how to better catch the actual smugglers to try and get more notice before another ritual takes place.

3.) News and propoganda about the Massacre at Chanios will be circulated, in an attempt to get a See Something, Say Something campaign started. Patrols to smaller towns will be instructed to remain vigilant to demonic activity (with hopefully good instruction as to what demonic activity specifically looks like from the knowledge roll). Glass will be personally investigating in the seedier parts of town, posing as an aspiring initiate in the ways of Killing People with Demon Summoning.

Benefits: Scrying Mirror (turned towards Gil Galit), Kozan Research (Tremere Goals and Methods), Smuggling Ledger (ID'ing sellers hopefully turning into ID'ing Buyers), Actor Skill, Leadership Skill, 1 EP.

 

[Trektek]

Throne of Heaven

Turn 4
Inziim


Inziim was ecstatic. After all, not only had the Greatest Playwright in a Generation come to his Kingdom, but he actually performed a play there. And of course the people loved it. It brought so much needed life and vitality to his civilization. The people were in fact so inspired that a literal art revolution was underway. A true renaissance inspired by the greatness that came from Caolin.

He was a very giddy Lich.

And in fact, what little was left of the drug trade practically evaporated overnight. His own actions had majorly curtailed it, but Montague’s inspiration to his people, threw it fully off for good.

The people were happy and if the people were happy, so was their Lord. He was a man of his people after all. He cared about them and would do just about anything for them. It was only such a shame that there was only so much time in a day to get things done. Even for one who didn’t need to sleep.

He had many things that he wished to do. Nation improvement plans, military buildups, searching for ancient locations of power.

But there just wasn’t enough time to do them all. So he chose the ones that were the most important. And the others would in fact, have to wait.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------

The time was now. He needed those Death Gems. If he had a steady supply, he would be able to not only raise up the Jotun that had single handedly wrecked his army as a loyal member of Ysrendelle, but also be able to fulfill an obligation to a man in a swamp. One who needed a Powerful Wight of his own. And he would deliver. He was a man of his word. Which was why he needed to find a steady supply of Death Gems.

Over the course of many days, Inziim carefully prepared the ritual. It was painstaking work. But the Lich wished to do it right and so it carefully, the first time. So he didn’t accidentally do something wrong, like summon a horror or powerful beast from the outer planes.

He knew that this would use up a lot of his power for some time. At least his magical essences. But it was worth it. And if push came to shove, he was no slouch when it came to physical combat, if need be.


—------------------------------------------------------------




Action1. Perform a Ritual to Locate a Powerful Death Site for Death Gems

Action 2: Give the owed 1 EP and Train Godfrit to Martial 3. Also train Glass, Chepura, Farator

 

[Cosmo]

Han
Turn 4
ThatWhichShouldBe

Winter in the Silver City wasn't really worth noting. It never got gold this far south, hugging the sea as they were. The ever so slight fall in temperature was pleasant, if anything. Truly, it was the rainy seasons near the end of summer that tended to be the closest thing to 'unpleasant' it got. Still, there was always so much to be done so the fact they did not need to worry about blankets of snow everywhere was certainly a boon, but was this really okay? To look for sites and to go wandering to look for a master again? Especially as the others were about to go looking Yichen, another of the generals.. Would they truly be okay without Han to be their shield? Well, what had been decided, had been decided, there was nothing more to it... Still, if Han truly knew where that curse had come from, then what did he truly hope to gain by running to a 'Master'? If the curse had come from an eater of stars, what hope did some hermit punching trees or sitting under a waterfall had to overcome it? But to be human was to hope. No matter how dim, no matter how faint, without hope there was no point to this thing called life.

Using his newly acquired fire magic, Han stretched out his mind to touch the corners of the Silver City and the land beyond, to find these 'sites of power' and try to harness their energy for himself..

Decision Point
Pick 1

Pillar of Fire
A pillar of flame ascends into the heavens, burning eternal. The pillar is incredibly.. warm and people can simple reach in to run the flame across their hands because the flame does not burn, instead it sucks in the cold of the world around it making it very pleasant to stand around just as it is beautiful to watch. Within the pillar, the power of the Elemental Plane of Fire will condense into a gem that can be plucked freely from it, it produces 1 Fire Gem each season. In addition, if given a water gem, it will 'absorb' it and transform it into a Fire Gem with a small [20%] chance of converting it into two Fire Gems.

Flame of Rebirth
In a great basin there is a fire that never stops burning, it burns not trees or grass and is unbothered by rain or time. The flames constantly flickering and crackling regardless of the world around it.. If the Fire of Rebirth is claimed, any that step into it become Fire Born. The owner will also have a much easier time calling the forces of the Elemental Plane of Fire from this basin as it acts as something akin to a door... But beware, for it is said that the previous King of Fire could use such a place to return to claim his throne.

The Lost Lover
In an old cave, there is a woman frozen in time, a woman of pure flame who is reaching for something, someone. This woman is an Efreet, a powerful being related to the Elemental Plane of Fire.. How and why she is here, or for how long is unknown. Regardless of the reason, she is breathtakingly beautiful even as her form constantly shifts and flickers like the living flame she is, and it aches the heart to see the sheer longing trapped onto her face. Once a season, a single fiery tear will spill forth from her eye and condense into a Fire Gem. Gain 1 Fire Gem a season. It is said that if the Efreet is ever reunited with her lost love, the person who brought them together would get a reward befitting the Sovereign.

[To be clear, this isn't a 'the other two are there just unfound', this is a 'whatever you didn't pick never existed at all']

The Search For A Master: Part 2
[Or Possibly 3 if the search for a training temple is counted]

The exhausted Han attempts to do it again.. Spending gold gotten from Akthubit [hopefully their people don't learn that their warrior-queen is handing out giant crates of gold to be spent trying to find a 'teacher' rather then feeding their people] to hire people to help him look.

Reports eventually come back to him with leads..

1. There is said to be a very powerful woman of great beauty who lives in a cottage that, seemingly, has the ability to teleport as, every once in awhile, she will appear outside of a town or village and grant whomever lives there aid before vanishing again. Han hears whispers that her cottage is currently outside of a small village in Xicala. If he hurries, she may be able to help.

2. In Jotunheim, there is an ancient Jotun Warrior who has said to have faced the gods, titans and all the beast of heaven and hell and lived to tell the tale. The old Jotun spends most of his time in his home or on hunts and enjoys letting people into his great hall to trade stories of valor.. This Jotun almost certainly knows a trick or two.

3. Within the Ryu, there is said to be a Bushi of legendary skill, his shell red and his sword faster then lightning. The Master of a Thousand Cuts, they call him. This Bushi is very reclusive but Han's agents think he may be along the coast although they aren't sure why he is there.

Pick one to attempt to speak with.
​

 

[Cosmo]

Amon
Turn 4
Kent

SECRET SECRET SECRET SECRET SECRET SECRET SECRET
​

 

[Auriel Maza]

Ryx Oryon - The Oryon Word - Turn 4​

Home

“Well, sometimes home is a person.”
― Beth Revis, A Million Suns

• Fluff
• Actions

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  Sanctuary
  [Amongst the Trees of Flaustan] - [Section Theme]
  
  Grunting and heaving, sweat forming beads on the forehead. Flutters of leaves and silence encase around, the last rays of sunlight absorbed or reflected away deep in the brush of the redwoods. Dusting of snow across the leaves, freezing air. And yet, amongst the painted and treated planks, high in the air, a figure worked furiously, stitching branches together. The wood dotted with leaves and various dark cloths. Cotton and other materials added as needed. Underneath the planks, these branches nestle themselves, blocking light and sound from the world below. The figure rushing and crawling to place everything just right. Piles of materials under a tarp shelter lay behind him on the boardwalk. Safely staked and tied down to prevent the weather from spoiling them. The boards fresh and recently painted. Railings, walls, foundations, supports; all was ready for installation. As the night settled in and the sun dipped beneath the mountains and trees, another figure began to jog out to the long boardwalk. Muscular, caramel-olive skin, soft hair; the lingering signs of dirt, grime, malnutrition slowly fading away. The power of a season for rest on display. Tools lay on the planks, resting from the furious work. Thumps of feet slowing down to pips of a lazy walk. The newcomer's hands find their way to the worker's shoulders, massaging and easing tension. What once was mounting, now eases as water rolling down mountains. Slowly, the newcomer knelt, wrapping himself around the worker, pulling him close. A shiver flows through them both. No particular reaction out of the worker, staying still, stoic as best he could. Fur hoodies, soft jeans, and boots; more casual and expressive clothing. The worker wore a rusty-auburn hoodie, the newcomer wore more of a rustic green. For within the canopy of course. A gust of wind blows through, a chill running down both of their spines.
  
  A sigh as the newcomer's arms squeeze, hoisting the worker away from the scene. Grunts of frustration to breaths of indifference, hallow emotion. Silence reigning until a furious gritting of teeth finally snarled away the regime, "Stop freezing to death. Mavysk, just STOP." Mavysk sighed, getting on his feet. Turning with his shoulders brushing against the other's. His face blank and devoid of emotion, yet deep in his skin, in his eyes, a cold sadness, exhaustion. The newcomer gripped Mavysk's arms, massaging his triceps with a forceful, tender grip. Rolling down his sleeves, fluffing up his hoodie. Mavysk looked down, his eyes twitching slightly, his breathing slowing down as his body rests. His eyes return to the other, hands by his side. Looking to the hands, the face, the legs. The posture, the shivers, the slight movements of weakness.
  
  He takes a breath, looking the other dead in the eyes, "Risking your life to come out here. Speak for yourself, Zaiden. You'll die before you get back." Mavysk sighed, holding his head. Throbbing, beating through his head. Knees wobbling, Mavysk leaned into Zaiden, moaning in pain.
  
  "Looks like you will too. Maybe together, we'll live. Fucking dumbass." Zaiden lifted Mavysk up, trembling as he did. Body tired, yet full of passion and rage.
  
  "You've just started to recover from your torture. Why are you exerting yourself for me?"
  
  Zaiden gritted his teeth as he and Mavysk wrapped their arms together. Limping each other up, arms entwined. Zaiden's lip trembled as he looked over at Mavysk. His face full of anger, but his eyes filled with worry, fear, and shared pain. An anger flowing like an allergic reaction. His lips squirming softly, just barely visible. Concern, uncertainty, stress. But in his arms, his body, butterflies. Not of the fearful kind. His chest leaned close, his arm clutching close to Mavysk's shoulders. A heart beating rapidly, fluttering, skipping beats. His mind begin to blank as he stared into Mavysk's eyes. Senses overloaded and Zaiden froze in awe. On the other side of the aisle, Mavysk stared out into the distance, curling his tongue in. Stopping saliva from drizzling out of his mouth. His breathing slowed, his eyes watered. Both stayed as they were, not moving. Two beating, breathing hearts having a moment. Sweat beading down their foreheads. But, slowly, composure rushed back through and they stood straight.
  
  "Because... I rather not have to clean up after your dumbass."
  
  "Oooo, the baby whining. Not liking soiling his pants?" Mavysk raised his eyebrow, his eyes snickering. Shuffling out, a push and the two separated, "Oh, think you were lying. You got some FIGHT in you. Come along you fat bull. Come along bitchboy. First City made you a victim huh?" Mavysk curled his fingers towards him, swaying his hips. Halfway blowing a kiss. Zaiden gritted his teeth, steaming... blowing over. A missed tackle, a swirl back on his feet with a punch. Arms and elbows clash, chests meet as they rolled around on the boardwalk. Not a hint of weakness coming from either of them. Not least until their strengths began to fade.
  
  Busted lips, red skin, trickles of blood; they laid face up on the boardwalk. Breaths heavy and ragged, whimpers and winces of pain exited their mouths. Safe it was, so why not? Their eyes close, their bodies shuffle to move away the pain. And as they looked away from each other, two hands met and clasped the other. Deep breaths and sighed in relief. Back to the wood, they slowly sit upright, eyes regain focus. They peek glances at each other. Zaiden rubbing his face with his other hand. Then, in unison, they snatch back their hands in "disgust". Standing, Mavysk curled his hand up against his chest. Zaiden shook it out. And in a jolt, they held their breasts. A pain in chest. Cheeks red, eyes turned to the ground. They walked back. Not another word. Not another glance. A torrent of emotions stiffing both, for now.
  
  Turns out they were not tired in body, but in heart, in soul. An exhaustion not fixed by magic or technology. And Kaladin, my sweet boy, if they ever wonder if I'd do it all again. If I ever doubted myself, know that for the star-struck, raw, passionate, heated, unconventional and evermore true love, I'd march through a thousand times. For that day, they both began to live their lives. For that day, I knew they were meant to be. For that day, I made beauty that no play, no sculpture, no painting, could ever convey. For even in my short time on this world, I know that many of this world, even the gods that came before, know nothing of this beauty. The price of the Sovereign's tyranny.
  
  -Ryx's Journal #56, Year 20 YK.
  

  ---​

  Currents & Destinies
  [Amongst the Trees of Flaustan] - [Section Theme] - [Some time later]
  
  Stitched furs laid across the floor, hardened sap tubes filled with fireflies poke out from the converging edges of the room, the center holds a large tube of sap diffusing and curing, and the walls covered in murals from various artists; murals akin to street art graffiti showing images of hooded figures, crowns, and various maps of the surrounding areas. Tables, chairs littered the rooms. A lobby, a raised room behind a couple steps in the back, an archway led to another room; the room felt dark but it was lit well between the fireflies and the fie at the base of the sap tube, supplying heat to cure the sap. Rocks contain the fires, formed together in a mosaic pattern with plaster. There were few in the building. Past the archway room laid a set of doors with clanking metal, soft voices, and rustling of fire. Slowly, the smell of roasted meat and wildflowers enter the air. A snapshot, a soft moment in time, then the front doors open wide and a crowd enters. Youth, from early adults to teens, meander in as a woman skitters to the wooden stand at the front. Cloth draped over with a strange tube filled with ink and a pad of paper. A pouch nailed to the side of the stand, holding various leather bound books. The woman wore an apron in a black dress. With a twirl, she grabbed the tube, tore a sheet of paper from the pad, balling it and throwing into a bin, and various individuals stepped up to speak with her. And a line formed. It was going to be a busy night. Like it usually was.
  
  Her name was Ally. Her hair short yet long enough to cover her face. Braided with twine to give a webby look, add some contrast. She clasped her hands together with a smile as a party of five made there way through. Climbing up the steps towards a table in the back. Various figures come from the back, check with Ally, and begin to check the manned tables as she continued. Her hands moving quickly, crossing off, writing down, drawing, All that she needs to do. As the line continues forward, the initial crowd began to fit better and the lobby returned to its vacant state. Leather couches filled with leaves and wool as seats for the waiting parties. A dark brown hue on the leather. Soon, Ally wiped her forehead as each person left the lobby to their tables. She sighed, moving her hand like a bird as she took a breather. Then, a soft creak and chill of cold air jostled her from her trance.
  
  One foot, jeans, then a black, wool fibered hoodie with tight threads, then white skin with touch of caramelization. Drops of honey offering tone and contrast. Hair black as the lightless black of a singularity, small brow, and thick lips that softened his otherwise sharp features. Eyes with the shade of lilac. Ally yelped, straightened her posture with a smile. She reached underneath the stand, on a shelf, and grabbed a new hoodie and shirt. She ran out to the newcomer, holding out the clothes.
  
  "Ally, you didn't need to get me clothes. I'm fine what I'm wearing." He spoke softly, taking the clothes with intent in his eyes.
  
  Ally giggled, "Kaladin, you've been busy and I can tell you've been working. You know you can take help sometimes right? Mav gets pissed off at you because you make him feel pointless sometimes. Probably because you remind him of his own problems." She patted his shoulder, checking her nails on his collarbone.
  
  "You really want everyone to think we're together don't you?"
  
  Ally massaged his shoulders, "Why not. Its our little joke huh?" Kaladin smirked, letting her hands drop off his shoulders. The doors open again in a flutter of noise as Zaiden and Mavysk wander through. Standing close to Kaladin, eyeing the walls and corners. Ally rolled her eyes, putting her hands on her hips. "What are you two doing?" Ally crosses her arms, "Not like you two come around to the Dogpark often. Don't you two prefer Issac's place, Leaf Roost?"
  
  "Sure, maybe. But, like to keep things different." Kaladin looks back at Zaiden as he spoke. Zaiden raised his eyebrow, "Yes, your grace?" Kaladin stood still, his eyes glazed. His arms and shoulder fall limp as his breathing accelerates. Zaiden waves his hand in front of Kaladin's face. No reaction. Then, in an instant, Kaladin fainted, thumping to the ground. His head caught just in time by Zaiden. Chairs scoot, feet run, and Ally gets to her knees to hold Kaladin's hand. Zaiden held Kaladin's head in his lap. Tapping his cheek with rising panic overtaking him. Not knowing what was happening, the nature that resided deep in something they did not know. Something that does not know itself. Or even a scandalous consideration... does not remember its true nature.
  
  So Zaiden and Mavysk crowded around Kaladin, covering him with one of each of their hands slowly coming together. When one worry lays before one, knowing another is banished eases some of the soul.
  
  [The Heart of the Glitch] - [Section Theme]
  
  "The story of the universe boils to two ideas. Nothing is as it seems. Nothing is set permanent. And yet, to those that embrace the strangeness, the paradoxes, they ignore the second idea."
  
  ????
  --
  
  Crashing into waters, dark waters. An ocean, alien and unknown, with bubbles of air supposedly coming up from him. Yet, an overwhelming sensation suggested otherwise. Fight or flight response, panic, curiosity; all natural responses to the circumstance. An impossible place, a seeming void. Yet, every sensation suggested otherwise. Oh how easy to confuse the two. And yet, easy to distinguish. A paradox. Or was it? Isn't a paradox by a sign of an illusive fact? A sign of something more? Maybe nothing at all? What could be for certain? If certainties lie within the realm of the divine. Afterall, for beings that decide what is, cannot it not be certain what is? Thus, what came first the chicken or the egg? Morality or divine? Reality or divine? The answers to some may be easy, but they are not. Nothing is as it seems. Consider the assumptions, the underlying thoughts and suddenly... nothing makes sense. So, in this dark ocean of "water, Kaladin opens his eyes. His hands reach out, his feet fish around for footing. And on the thought, ground became and did not. Kaladin stood, floated, and none of the above at once. His eyes scanned around. Even with his altered vision, nothing could be seen. Kaladin let his mind and eyes wonder, not opening his mouth out of instinct. Don't inhale water. Minutes path and Kaladin seems fine, despite his lack of breathing. His rubs his arms, his chest, his face. All seems fine.
  
  "Father? Father? Is this meant for me?" Is anything truly meant for anything? And if not, is that a bad thing? Crashes, two crashes... they seem real. Reality, firmness, existence; alien to this place. Soon, two new bodies float down. Kaladin reaches out, stretching himself to catch them. And as his mind visuals the problem, they both appear in his arms and he 'stands'. The darkness covers their identities despite their proximity. Kaladin raised an eyebrow, "What in the holy hell just happened?" Kaladin looked down again at the two figures. Both of their identities mystified, Kaladin felt along their chins, the sides of their heads. Feeling out the facial structures. The concealments did not match. There was something underneath. Hair, skin, warmth; a place such as this doesn't have something... this typical... this familiar. In some unknown sense. As if his soul could tell, and his soul alone, Kaladin knew someone else, no two others, followed him here. And he closed his eyes. Accessing the memories. Were they moments ago? Or was it longer than that? Kaladin furrowed his forehead as he remembered. No... not to long ago. And he heard two voices scream his name. Friendly voices, Zaiden and Mavysk. Then, two touches. It ends. Must be both of them. Kaladin took a deep breath and he spoke again, "Zaiden. Mavysk. Wake up."
  
  Suddenly, Mavysk and Zaiden are uncovered. Their eyes rush open and they take a breath, flopping out of Kaladin's grasp. Kaladin kneeled down as they recovered, looking around. Zaiden and Mavysk spot each other. They're hands reach out, then they take it back as they do. Sharp and quick. Grumbles with their eyes locked. Frowns seeded with comfortable emotions. Even now, their legs stayed together, held against one another. Neither notices, leaving Kaladin to simply smile. They eventually find Kaladin. Some sort of effect clouding their minds. But, over some minutes, it fades. Perhaps Kaladin is more attuned and prepared for this place.
  
  "Your Grace, are you alright?" Zaiden stood, wrapping his arm around Kaladin's shoulders. Shielding his nape from harm, preparing to tuck his head in his chest. Mavysk approached the otherside, a shadow lance forming in his right hand. Pointing it out to intimidate any possible threats in this place. It could be called a darkness. But, that be a half... no quarter measure.
  
  "I'm fine. Are both of you?" Zaiden and Mavysk nodded after Kaladin's response. A slight trembling in their eyes. Not the faintest clue where they were.
  
  Then at this quiet moment, the progression of true magnitudes descended. The black faded, like they were moving and not moving. To a place of neon lights, of tall buildings, of dark and cloud-filled sky. A city of construction centuries beyond what either of the three have seen. But, not of what they have heard. Kaladin went wide eyed as he scanned the buildings. A place Ryx once described. Or at least, something like it. And as they observed, people began to filter into the scene. Like they were always there. Simply removed in Photoshop. Mavysk and Zaiden propped themselves as shields. The people pass them bye. Paying no mind to them. One even throws them a half-eaten sandwich. Another asks about the location status of their parents. A teen talks about ingesting poison as part of a challenge. Strangely, no one is bothered by the teen's comment. Then, in a long form, four figures approach. Of metallic sheen and smooth texture. Weapons at their side. Not human. Nothing about them seemed human. They grabbed Zaiden and Mavysk. Mavysk hack and slashed, creating a brawl while Zaiden gusted others away. More figures appeared from all sides as a skirmish broke out. Then, a surge. The lights went out. And a building with a tall red beam extending to the sky become center focus. It's light standing alone. And in a huffed breath, Zaiden, Mavysk, and Kaladin watched as it exploded into earth shattering fragments, reform, and explode again into a stronger blast. As the shockwave struck the breath from their stomachs, the place disappeared and upon the Dogpark's floor they were. On the floor, having just woken up. Was it real? Was it a dream?
  
  Was it another option? Not real, real, the else?
  

  ---​

  The "First Date"
  [Amongst the wilderness of surface Flaustan] - [Section Theme]
  
  The earth, the ground, the surface; a place exclusive for work and business and devoid of the passion, community, and love amongst the trees. A dreary place as the host of nightmares and tragedies. But, perhaps it too can change. All it takes is one tiny push in the other direction. One spark of love, of sweetness. Then, suddenly, a new door opens and a path forward becomes clear. A sunlight of rest to collect thoughts from the burst of insanity of the yesternight. What was it? Where was it? So many questions, none could be answered. The trembling anxiety stacking upon trauma and insecurity. Feelings swirling, creating a fog in the soul. Damage and reactions as thorns to better, sweeter days. Ripping them to tatters before they could be realized. So, as the shadow comes, two figures descend down. To get away, to distract their minds with an interesting task. One most others wouldn't do. But through experience, reputation, and curiosity, two figures find the will to proceed into the ancient temples of Flaustan. Under a clear sky with a full moon, an azure hue, with touches of orange, color the sky, releases from the redwoods. Seeding the ground with short-lived plants to enrich the soil. Nourish the roots. The lights dance, slowly fluttering through the leaves until they hover above the ground in bubbles like a lava lamp. Shadow's Delight they call it. An old abandoned church in the twilight hours. A church in brush to a god only historians remember. Maybe. At least, the uncovered entrance to a church of one. And one god not expected to be worshipped again. For the children of Flaustan, they didn't know his name or what he was about. They honestly didn't care. Whoever he was, he didn't do a damn thing. But, that didn't matter. These churches had something about them and these two figures would decipher it. Or at least, try to.
  
  In black; hoodies, face scarfs, grieves, they stood by the entrance. Side by side, the scanned the scene. Checking the brush and trees for any onlookers, weapons drawn... clear. Rattling the branches and leaves fallen over the entrance, they make a tunnel and slip through into the underground below. The fall for some time, air braking as they plummet to the main room. Landing on their feet, back-to-back, facing opposing walls. Silence, still, darkness; they waited, weapons ready. But, nothing came. Nothing happened. A sigh of relief and the hood came down, face scarf off. Their faces revealed. They looked towards each other, nodding. The more muscular one lifted a piece of stone, looking it over. A piece of the roof. A decorative piece. Symbolic of a flower's leaf. He held the stone, looking around, then he spoke to his companion.
  
  "Mav, I doubt anything is here. Place looks like a deathtrap. So... let's not die."
  
  "An astounding plan. How could anyone ever figure it out, Zaiden?!"
  
  Zaiden sighed, "I'm just saying. You don't need to be an asshole. If you just gonna talk to me, talk to me like I'm something."
  
  Rolling eyes, a huff, and a puff, Mavysk responded, "Hmm, maybe. You know I'd leave you here to die if shit gets bad?" He rolled his left arm, stretching it and then letting it rest at his side.
  Zaiden smiled, blushing a little. Mavysk growled, "What? I mean it."
  
  "You always roll your left arm when you lie." Zaiden muttered, his voice soft. Eyes avoiding Mavysk but also trying to look at him.
  
  There was a stone table nearby. Chairs had survived. Testing their strength, Mavysk sat down and waved Zaiden over to another. Zaiden raised an eyebrow at first, but he held his breath and sat down. His chest tight, his arms squirming. Cheeks flustered. Zaiden fumbled as he sat, falling out of the chair onto the floor. A laugh bellowed as Zaiden hopped back into the chair. A sigh, brushing of clothes, the beginning flow of tears. Like a dam that finally broke, they bubbled and rolled like a rough stone down his cheeks. Splashing and spreading across his cheeks, they were accented with whimpers and sniffles. Sounded like a wounded puppy stuck in the snow, coming to terms with its own mortality. Trembling... arms and legs coming to an upright fetal position. Mav fell silent, deathly so. He stopped moving, simply staring at Zaiden. Minutes pass as Zaiden's tears splash everywhere. Eventually, he chokes out some words.
  
  "Your heart's dead and cold, isn't it?"
  
  Mav shivered, his eyes losing focus. Hand over heart, he let out a shaking breath, "Not wrong. Colder some days than others."
  
  "You like seeing me like this? Makes you feel better?"
  
  Mav laid silent for a minute, staring his eyes into Zaiden's. His eyes and mouth still. Tears still falling from Zaiden's eyes, Mavysk sighed, "Did you ask anyone about me?"
  
  "They barely know you." Zaiden wiped his face, cleaning the snot that was building on his upper lip.
  
  Mavysk nodded, folding his hands together, "That's everyone... but you. You alone." Mav's posture leaned forward, his hands reach out. Palms up, "I've worked alone for the past eight years. Before that, I was in the puppy mills. Fucking girls at swordpoint. Kaladin convinced me to st9ay. Didn't have anything else to do." He shrugged his shoulders, looking down. Lips folded in, eyebrows furrowed. Then, he continued, "I look like a stereotypical Flaustan guy with black hair... and I'm an asshole. I'm lucky to have someone who learned my mannerisms. No one tries this hard. And yet you do. I kinda like it." Mavysk reached out to his companion, his friend, who he won't accept yet as his everything, "But, you're right. You're something. You're my..." Mavysk paused, sputtering to speak, "You're my b... friend."
  
  Zaiden took a deep breath, holding his chest. The tears stopped, and as Mavysk stood up, Zaiden grabbed his hand. Sitting back down, Mavysk looked over at Zaiden, leaning his head down as Zaiden faced down into the stone. Then, suddenly, Zaiden reached up, grabbed Mavysk by the collar, and pressed his lips onto Mavysk's. Mav's eyes went wide, then he relaxed. Zaiden slipped out from under the table, pulling Mavysk out of his seat, arms behind Mav's shoulder blades. A long, passionate kiss. Then, loud of gasps for air, bending over to recover. Hands locked together between them both. Eventually, they stood upright, holding hands, staring into one another. After moments to minutes, Mavysk swallows and breaks the silence.
  
  "That just happened. I... I... care about you. You know? Would you like to stay over with me? I... don't have anyone to live with. Its big for one guy... Perks of being the best." Zaiden smiled, shuffling his feet with a just noticeable blush in his cheeks. He looked side-to-side, blinking quickly, his forehead tightened together. Mavysk slowly reached up, adjusting Zaiden's hair. Mavysk giggling as he raked through; his friend shivered but he closed his eyes and calmed down. Mavysk waited, then he changed the subject, "Have I ever told you how amazing your hair looks? Wavy and spiky and shiny."
  
  "No, you haven't... And... sure, heard you got a nice place. Want to move me in when we get back?"
  
  Mav's eyes lit up, "Absolutely. Let's get out of here." They both stood beside each other, looking around. The room looked to be a grand concourse of sorts. A place where many could gather for a multitude of places. Behind them, imprints for tables and chairs, maybe for relaxing, for eating, for other activities. In front of them, piles of rubble and areas of the wall lacking as much dust. Zaiden and Mavysk step forward, hands in pockets. Glass shards with markings on them scatter the ground. Putting them together, Zaiden looked at them in his palm. Lines and scripts. In even increments. Uncannily even increments. Mavysk nodded and Zaiden wrapped the fragments in a pocket. They walked forward more, the rubble giving vertical climbing some show. And as they meander through the rubble, a set of stairs leading down with a sign beside it. Suspiciously clean and vibrant in the sea of creams, greys, and browns. A red, purple, and yellow; all in unnatural shades. Both jump and approach the sign, and to the utter curiosity, Mavysk could read it, "Sale. Seventy-five percent off select handbags. Goj-Goj Revealed. Weird." Mavysk crouched beside the staircase. The stairs were full of grooves. Like a grate until the center. The handrail had a main part and a belt portion. "Why would you cut stone like this? How could you do this? I'm no mason, no sculptor. But, this feels odd."
  
  "Looks like it wasn't stone before. Isn't the language of the Word from another world? That sign is in it right?"
  
  Mavysk held his forehead, "Yeah..." He pointed down the staircase. In the dark, a figure with antlers coming from the head and ash-like skin. Mavysk thrusted himself between the staircase and Zaiden. Blocking the way to Zaiden. To the left, the colors of Shadow's delight showed the way to the surface. Zaiden wrapped his arms around Mav's waist, the color in his skin fading away as he stared down the creature. Mav muttered, "Kornith killed all those things." On cue, it rumbled. And the light from the surface reflected on the creature. The skin wasn't skin. No, it sheened like a sword. Metal... A metal creature. Mavysk racked his brain, listening carefully to soft buzz in the background. "Springlocks." Zaiden raised an eyebrow. Mavysk's eyes widened, his breathing accelerated. His heart raced. Stories and Kaladin's mentions began to click in. "Beyond the veil... beyond the seas and stars..."
  
  "Mavysk, you're scaring me. What is it?" A rwwwwr sound popped into the air as the creature began to take steps towards the duo.
  
  Mavysk pushed Zaiden towards the entrance, keeping his eyes on the creature. Slowly, thundering steps follow. Zaiden sprints, not turning around. His experience in the First City telling him all he needs to know. Get the fuck out. Mavysk, a bit more hesitant, jogging away. Analyzing the creature as he did so. Zaiden climbed up the stairs to the surface. Once there, he looked back down, Mavysk was moving up. But, the creature was fast approaching. Despite its speed, Mavysk continued the same pace, observing it. Zaiden waved his arms in confusion.
  
  "Are you insane?! Just ran Mav. Just run." Zaiden bellowed down the stairs. Mavysk picked up the pace as Zaiden moved further away, but it was too late. As Mavysk reached the top and touched the soil. He turned and the creature bashed him across the face, sending Mav through the air onto the ground. The creature rushes to continue as Zaiden stands over Mavysk, taking out two long daggers. His body posed to fight. A fight he knew would be his last. But, he didn't care. Not knowing if Mav could hear him, Zaiden muttered, "I love you." The creature reaches out, then it bounced back in. It kept trying. Over and over. Zaiden raised an eyebrow, sighing in relief. Then as he stared at the creature, a swirl of black came from all around. As it built up, the entrance and the creature departed this world. Or did it? Was it a hallucination? A bad trip? Hard to say. With their previous experience, even stranger things were possible. Could Zaiden think on it? Absolutely not. All he could think about was Mavysk below him. He kneeled beside him, panicking for a moment before he remembered. Breathing, pulse, warm skin; he skin would still be warm regardless. But, Zaiden had no room for petty thought. He undid clothes and robes, checking for bleeding and lacerations. Nothing. A blunt attack to the skull. Zaiden slowly checked Mavysk's back. Everything appeared to be fine. So, he moved to Mavysk's face. A bruise, soft cuts. Nothing to scoff at, but nothing incredibly serious either. Zaiden sighed, "You are so going to feel that."
  
  With care, Zaiden cleaned the wound and snuggled Mav into his arms. Out cold still. But, alive. That's what mattered. Zaiden reached into a pocket, unstashing a blanket. Wrapping Mavysk in it. He would be cold from the shock. Zaiden carefully moved through the trees, worries on his mind. Would Mav wake up? What would he do if he didn't? Myriads of thoughts crept through. Doubts dragging him down. But, his grip remained firm. And swiftly, he returned to the canopy with mind on one single focus.
  Fluff EndCharacter Pictures

  Spoiler: Zaiden

  

  Spoiler: Kaladin

  

  Spoiler: Mavysk

  

  Spoiler: Ally

  

  Spoiler: Ursa

  
• 
  
  Secret, sent to Cosmo
  
  Kent for no reason in particular.
  
  

 

[Scatterbrain]

​

Turn 4 - Outskirts of Akthubit

Harnald had gathered his lieutenants together and was briefing them about what he had learnt during his time away.

"Emperor?" Yishai asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"It's a form of royalty. Like a king but bigger." Harnald said, doing his best to explain.

"Or a type of penguin." added Ricardo, not looking up from the book he held in one hand.

"A what?" snapped Yishai. Ricardo closed his book and directed his gaze at Yishai, adjusting his spectacles as he did so.

"A penguin."

"What the hell is a "pinqin?" Yishai did little to hide his contempt, drawing out and placing emphasis on the last word to hammer the point home. Lacking much in the way of an education, Ricardo's propensity to share arbitrary facts often rubbed Yishai up the wrong way, the fact that they were often only tangential to the subject at hand didn't help matters either.

"Peng-win." Ricardo reiterated, sounding it out. "I read about them in a book." Yishai rolled his eyes. "There a small flightless bird. Lives in the cold and swims underwater."

"Swims underwater?" Yishai scoffed. "You're describing a fish, ya smart-ass!"

"Wrong." Ricardo shook his head in a rather condescending manner. "It has feathers, feet and a beak. That makes it a bird."

"A bird that doesn't fly? Bullshit! That's all bird's do! Fly around and shit on everything!"

"What about chickens?" chimed in Seaghan. What the young man lacked in size, he made up in good spirits.

"What about 'em?"

"They can't fly."

"Oh! They can! I seen it!" Whiliyamu asserted, nodding his head up and down. "We had this mean ass rooster on my uncle's farm. Absolute vicious thing. Came straight at you if you ever went near it. He's the reason I got this scar." He pointed to the three large scratch marks on the side of his neck. Yishai looked up at his towering companion.

"I thought you said you got that from a wolf?" Yishai and Whiliyamu were very close. The two were rarely seen apart and it was often joked by the other men that the dark skinned Whiliyamu could be mistaken for Yishai's shadow.

"No, the ones on my leg are from the wolf. This one's from the rooster. Anyway, this rooster got sick of us always taking his eggs so one night he lay in wait and when me uncle came to take the eggs the following morning, he flew straight out of the coop and plucked out both of his eyes with his claws. Pop! Pop!" Rati dropped the acorn she was munching on, her mouth agape in shock.

"You're shitting me?" Yishai probed.

"No sir! I swear on my honour! When we eventually found him a few days later the rooster had made a nest and was sitting on top of them, like he was trying to make them hatch..."

"Great story." said Ricardo, looking over his glasses at Whiliyamu. "But you do realise that rooster's don't lay eggs? It's hens that do."

"And you do realise... Ricardo... that no-one gives two fucks about anything you have to say!" yelled a red faced Yishai, his moustache dripping with spittle. His short temper was well known throughout the camp and it looked like he was going to lunge at Ricardo when Whiliyamu and Salvatore stepped in. Whiliyamu placed his hands on Yishai's shoulders while Salvatore put himself between him and Ricardo. Salvatore like most of the others didn't particularly like Ricardo but, viewing himself as a bit of an outcast, on account of being a half-elf, felt a certain level of kinship with the man who at seemingly every opportunity tried to distance himself further and further from the rest of the group.

Harnald pinched the bridge of his nose in dismay and Rati patted him on the arm with a tiny hand. Why must these things almost always descend into a punch-up?

Actions
1: Harnald, Salvatore, Ricardo and 1 MP's worth of units will accompany Kiyan.
2: Yishai, Whiliyamu, Seaghan and 2 MP's worth of units will perform bilateral military exercises with Akthubit's military.

 

[Wew the Polymath]

Turn 4​

Ogrul took a deep swig of his tankard and gazed at the sight before him. The crazy bastard Jek put together a decent feast for the new warband. A long, hastily made table from freshly felled timber was sitting before him. The scent of wood still faintly drifted in the air. There were all manner of food decorating at the table, Jek had clearly spared no expense. Long hydra bratwurst was piled high on silver platters, the skin still bubbling a bit from the open fire. There were bowls of potato salad flecked with swamp herbs, trays of glistening fruit, freshly cooked bread, lard, meat pies, gravy, and all manner of candy all waiting to be consumed by the hungry barbarians. And the BOOZE. The booze alone was enough to make a man cry, Ogrul thought to himself. There were wines, meads, liquors, spirits- everything. He was sipping on a fine dwarven ale imported from Gil-Galit. It was leagues better than the horse piss the barbarians normally got for their rations.
The feast was set up far away from the tent city, to avoid other warbands trying to fake their way into the party. Normally such an incursion was almost welcome- gave the lads an excuse to fight. But Jek wanted this to be a purely relaxing venture. They set up hanging lanterns and candles throughout the sequestered feast, bathing the otherwise dingy swamp in an atmospheric light. Fireflies hummed to and fro throughout the event, almost dancing to the bard songs reverberating through the wood.

Then his gaze fell to Jek, the man of the hour himself. He was seated on a log, slowly sharpening his newly acquired falchion. Manically, he was glancing side to side, practically jumping out of his seat with each unexpected sound. That man could use a stiff drink. Emmony sat dutifully behind him, staring aimlessly into the dark wood. Those two could never just enjoy the moment.

Ogrul sidled up to the two and took an obnoxiously deep swig of his ale. Jek clasped his ears and swore when he heard the large gulp. “So…” Ogrul began. “Couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of alcohol, whores, or drugs in your immediate vicinity. I do believe we should remedy this!” he said in a mock posh accent. Jek’s brow furrowed. “Not now. I’m hearing shit in the woods. I think we’re fucked.” Ogrul laughed. “Come on now, you’re always hearing shit. Take a drink man. Plus if shit goes south you still have your gir-”

Emmony cut him off. “Finish that joke and I’m putting your face in the mud. It wasn’t funny the first time, and it’s now become incredibly irritating.”

“Ok, ok. Sheesh,” Ogrul said, holding his hands up defensively. “You on the rag or something? That even possible?” As soon as he said it, he immediately regretted it. The booze was talking again, and it wrote a check his mouth probably couldn’t cash. The orc felt a sinking feeling in his chest. It reminded him of when he shot a wasp’s nest with a slingshot when he was just a young lad.
Just before Emmony could make good on her promise, the pleasant noises of the party turned to drunken screams. Jek immediately got up with a smirk. “Fuckin knew it,” he muttered under his breath. He clasped a hand on Ogrul’s shoulder.”You’re the martial right? Well, time to martial these boys.”

From the shadows, a lizardfolk hissed and drew back another arrow. His bow glowed faintly with profane runes, and the wood made faint creaking sounds as he pulled the tendon bowstring back. Another arrow shot forth, empowered by magical energy. The arrow buried itself in a nearby tree trunk, and a thick black smoke exploded out from the arrowhead. A vile, oily smoke now rendered the once pleasant aromas of the feast naught.

Pandemonium erupted throughout the banquet. Things were bad, but the smokescreen made things even worse. Drunk, poorly trained bondsmen ran around screaming bloody murder, regretting the fact they didn’t lug their heavy gear along. The more experienced ones drew their blades and assumed fighting stances. Notably, the silent elves that stink eye’d Jek seemed to be the very picture of calm. They wasted no time preparing for combat and immediately drew an impressive array of mini crossbows, sling blades, knives, hatchets, and other various tools. They surveyed the area quickly, getting ready to fight.

The lizardfolk in the tree hissed with glee. He looked down at one of of his comrades and spoke in a profane, ancient tongue. “Kill as many as you can.”

“Yes, Rhux. Your will be done. Glory to Voragoth.”

Lizardfolk poured from the smoke like screeching maggots from a kicked corpse. They cut down the screaming, unprepared warband like nothing. A man held his hands up and begged, only for the cold lizardfolk to slice his guts open. He tried scooping them back up before another lizardfolk smashed his head in with a club. They reveled in the blood that was quickly pooling on the ground. Some even danced from the sheer orgasmic bliss of slaughter. This was retribution. Soon this fate would befall all servants of the Steel One. Glory to Voragoth.

It was a vile, macabre dance as more and more men fell. Some fought back in a drunken stupor, only to be cleaved to pieces. Rhux stayed in the shadows, firing enchanted arrows into the more competent-looking ones. Blood spattered the table and floor. It tainted the open casks of wine and snuffed out candles when it sprayed from sliced arteries. The music had been replaced by ragged screams and pleas for mercy.

The silent elves formed into a death blossom, saying nothing but fighting as a unit. They too felt the hand of death hanging heavy over their heads. It felt hopeless, but the elves were too proud to let themselves be executed. A lizardfolk would step in and give a clumsy swing, only for an elf to counter it and eviscerate the attacker with fluid grace.

During this, Ogrul was screaming commands in a booming voice. “Form up! Make a line! Drive these scale fuckers into the mud!” After the initial shock of the attack, the remaining members of the warband made a blade line much like the elves did. They were able to stave the literal and metaphorical bleeding from lizardfolk attacks.

Emmony had her wings wrapped around Jek to protect him before he shoved her and yelled “Kill the lizardfolk! I’ll be fine!”

“Are you sure Jek?” she asked.

He snarled. “Don’t treat me like a woman. I’ll be fine.”

With a sigh, Emmonly left him. She smiled to herself. The smell of ozone filled the air and the few sensory hairs the lizardfolk had began to stand on end. She spread her arms wide and a fat lightning bolt arced between them, sending bright blue sparks skittering across the ground. The smoke started to burn away. Emmony’s face curled into a snarl and she hurled the lightning bolt at a cluster of lizardfolk. With a deafening clap, it arced between all of them and fried them to literal crisps. A few had a bit of life left and seized on the ground, frothing at the mouth.

She dragged her hands across the ground, and two massive boulders erupted from the ground and hovered next to her head. Wordlessly, she hurled the boulders at more groupings of lizardfolk- flattening them.

Rhux lept from the shadows with a staff in one hand and a purple scimitar in the other. He spoke to Emmony in the ancient language of the blacksteel gargoyles. “Mage? Does your father not abhor them?”
A sharp pressure began building around Rhux’s ribcage as Emmony attempted to psychically crush his ribcage. Blood oozed from his lips and he began gasping for air. As she stared at him with pure contempt, willing his body to be crushed to nothingness, she spoke a single word in her ancestral tongue. “Die.”

Sickening snaps began to ring out as Rhux’s ribcage started to buckle. He flourished his eldritch scimitar, severing the psychic link between Emmony and his ribcage. He lept to the trees and began strafing around her. If not for his mage armor, he would have been dead in seconds. He quickly realized this wasn’t a fight he’d win…but killing her wasn’t his mission.

He threw two enchanted smoke bombs at her feet, filling the air with more oily smoke. Emmony retorted with another lightning bolt, but the extra smoke was making it far more difficult to clear. “Fine,” she thought to herself.

Emmony closed her eyes and tuned out the raging battle around her. Flickers of light appeared in the blackness of vision. They took shape the more she focused. Psychic silhouettes, imprinted with the thoughts and fears of mortals. There were dozens of dying men around her, and their screams and flickering auras made it difficult to concentrate. But she pushed through it and finally saw the silhouette a human running through the trees- Rhux- her new quarry. She imagined a large nail impaling his brain. She imagined the dimensions, velocity, shape, taste, and smell of it.

Rhux began to hallucinate. He saw a nine-inch nail forming in the periphery of his vision, specs of iron from all the dead men’s blood flying in to form it. He tried moving out of the way to avoid it, but it followed him with perfect tracking. How could this be? The gargoyle was completely blind.

The nail continued taking shape and pushing towards his temple until he felt it pressing into his skull. “Ah well,” he thought to himself. “This body was getting boring anyway.” Rhux plunged his scimitar into his heart, his body lifelessly falling to the ground.

One of the dead lizardfolk twitched, then got up. It was now imbued with Rhuxs’ consciousness. Its wounds began rapidly healing over, and its face began changing to match that of Rhux. Emmony was none the wiser.

From there on out it was a simple matter. Rhux charged towards the unsuspecting Jek and grabbed him, casting an enchantment spell to put him to sleep. He heaved Jek over his back and ran to the woods while the other lizardfolk continued to get mauled by Emmony’s psychic prowess.

When the smoke cleared, there were scores of dead lizardfolk and men. Ogrul wiped the blood from his blade and took a huge swig from a nearby tankard. He surveyed the battlefield. The elves were alive. Some of the smarter ones were alive. Emmony was alive. So far so good…wait…where’s Jek?

Ogrul yelled out “Jek, stop hiding! We got em’ all.” Silence. He waited a few minutes and yelled again. No response. A few members of the war band started nervously laughing. “Guys let’s look for him, he’s gotta be around here somewhere,” Ogrul commanded.

They searched the woods high and low to no avail. Jek was gone. Emmony grabbed one of the elves. “You. Track him.”

The elf smirked. “I don’t take orders from you, bitch.” Ogrul put a hand on the elf's shoulder. “Yea, Asil. But you take orders from me.

Asil pulled away from the two and brushed himself off. “Do you have any idea how stupid this whole thing was? What fucking moron throws a party in the middle of the woods.”

“Lizardfolk have never struck this close to the keep. Last I checked, Jek couldn’t use divination magic,” Ogrul shot back.

Rolling his eyes like a teenage girl, Asil spoke in a patronizingly slow tone. “He’s. Not. Here. Let’s find someone who doesn’t get half of us killed. Hell, I’d even take you.”

The gear’s in Ogrul’s head turned. “Fine. I’m the new leader. My first order of business is for you and your little butt buddies to find Jek.”

Actions
1. Use a swamp witch charge, an EP, and my earth mages to begin rebuilding the old mines from the dead civilization. They left...is there some blacksteel left? Perhaps some other useful stuff? It is time to dig deep my brothers. We must find more blacksteel to honor our god.

2. Assist Monty with his little vampire problem...this will likely require a scene.

 

[Cosmo]

Thrassax
Turn 4
CaptainSully

SECRET SECRET SECRET SECRET SECRET SECRET

​

 

[Cosmo]

Chepura
Turn 4
Dest

Secret Secret Secret Secret Secret Good Lord Processes Become Easier When I Can Just Phone Them In Secret Secret Secret Secret Secret​

 

[Eliasdagood]

King Farator of Aventalor
Well! The sanctuary turned out beautifully, if he does say so himself. It will serve many more purposes than housing and and employing refugees. Perhaps it is finally time to invite other rulers to his nation, rather than the other way around. It will be a very solid gesture of goodwill, and start off good relationships. And a way to meet potentially dangerous individuals on his own terms. Speaking of which! His people could use a lesson on mortals and their entertainment after so long. It will be good for them, especially those in charge of entertainment on the island. And who better to apply such a lesson than the great Montague Navarro? That's what the letter states, anyway. Farator will keep a close eye on him while he's here. Friend or foe? This will let him determine it.

Actions
1: Invite Montague Navarro to the resort, with the request that he get the longer lived and more isolated citizens of Aventalor caught up on the best of human art and culture.

2: Sweep some of the shallow, sunlit waters of Aventalor for anything interesting or useful.​

 

[Cosmo]

Dr. Glass
Turn 4
LecternOfJasper

The forges of Glass churn for many nights as he works to create new armaments for his forces... But somethings get in the way. The first and most obvious was the disappearance of much of their mithril supply, an entire warehouse that, just the night before, had been filled with gleaming mithril ingots now lay empty. It was infuriating, how could an entire warehouse of metal, located near the heart of the industrial power of the city, simple up and vanish? Either a lot of people had been bought and paid off to look the other way, or they had another means of emptying the warehouse, perhaps magic or through some other scheme.. Either way, it left the efforts to arm every man and woman with a magical blade impossible which made the possible demonic vampire incursion a difficult proposition. If Glass wanted some sort of vengeance on whomever stole it, perhaps waiting to see if anyone engaged in large scale mithril trading in the coming year? As it was likely that, unless much of it was recovered, they'd be feeling that theft for some seasons in the future.

Rather then arm the entire army, as that was now an impossibility, other options had to be presented and considered. After some time, the option settled on was to create a magical armory for the commanders. If they could not give the entire army magical blades, the least they could do was create a large stockpile of weak magical items that the commanders and professors could take and use in the field. While they would still be humans, and so may struggle with some of the more powerful foes, gear could cover a lot. Shore up areas of weakness or allow even a humble captain to punch far above his weight class. The ability to swap out their gear, before battle, was an impressive advantage that they could make use of should the worst occure.

Investigation

Something was wrong.. very wrong, as on a particularly cold morning, numerous agents of Gil-Galit were found hanging from various points in the city, their entrails spilling out of their stomachs, sometimes, to form strange symbols as the blood and flesh froze into place. Every single agent sent to Kozen never reported back and some were found later, hung from trees, their intestines spilt out.. just like the others. Dr. Glass, too, may have suffered this fate as well on his own journey to Kozen, as while it was doubtful they knew who he was, they seemed to be attacking anyone on the way to Kozen.. but, for some reason, it was not he that met with a gruesome end, but the family of four sleeping in a nearby room in the tavern. A Player Has Interceded On Your Behalf. You Are Spared A Demonic Assassination Attempt. The few surviving witnesses speak of strange small creatures made of shadow that accompanied a great horned being of shade that seemed capable of reaching out and tearing the heart from its victims within the darkness.
While his agents were not able to arrive safely, Dr. Glass was able to do so. He combs the library for clues and information and does find a few things.. The Tremere don't tend to have a preferred hiding spot. Sometimes they will hide in ancient and forgotten keeps and dungeons, other times they will live among the peasants, in squalor, whilst others they live as nobles among the chattel. There doesn't seem to be any particular reason as to 'why' they summoned the Jorugumo... But something it said stuck with it. It had spoken as if they had broken a pact. Had the golden spider been betrayed by them? Did it have anything to do with its plans at all. Had the Jorugumo had been little more then a test run? It did not bode well, but what ritual did they have planned?

... Whatever it was, Glass had a feeling it was large and would be happening soon. But he needed help, someone with vast never ending knowledge, someone who could help him put the pieces together... [You have until the end of the turn to get Nomolos [Croc] to expend a Will or an Action to help you. An Action will be worth more. Gathering signs of reagents from the smugglers, what you've read so far, etc, all comes to head after Croc decides. If he helps, you will gain more, if he doesn't, you will gain only what you were able to piece together with a fairly poor roll but lots of investment]

The attempt to create paranoia in the public to turn everyone into an informant goes very well! And very poorly. The sudden assassination and attacks further the fear the people are feeling and the news, and encouragement, from their government of this drives many people into eyeing every neighbor, for signs of vampirism and betrayal. Neighbors who have been friends for a long time suddenly can't be in the same room for fear of being devoured. Angry and bitter civilians use this chance to air out grievances against others. Vigilance greatly increases but so does the sheer amount of false reporting, it would require an entire separate entity to even begin to try and keep track of the sheer amount of 'sightings' and 'evidence' that they are being swarmed with.

An EP was invested, so it would be possible to set up some sort of internal agency to keep an eye on this, some militarized group with the sole task of sorting out fact from rumors.. But... that EP could also be put into use with the smugglers. Invested with a certain group or two to bring in some unique goods.

Decision
1. Use that EP to found your version of an inquisition/Internal Security Force
2. Use that EP to purchase from the Smugglers [Will give you a small list of materials, you may pick 2]
3. Do nothing and keep the spent EP
​

 

[Cosmo]

Inziim
Turn 4
Trektek

Inziim was a busy lich this season, from using all his magic to search the land for sites of power and training four other godbound, many of which he was meeting for the first time.. Then there was the resurrection of the Jotun Adventurer and any other interesting developments that may happen in his realm. The first, the spreading of his power across the land to find a site of power that may exist goes... well. Expending all his stamina and draining himself to the same husk his body already was.

Decision
[Pick One]

The Ancient Battleground
This site seems to have been the battlefield in a truly ancient war by long forgotten beings. This site does not produce death gems, however, it can produce other things. There is a chance, each turn, that your people will uncover lost and forgotten artifacts from this misbegotten age [chance every turn to uncover an artifact]. All death casters in the holder's domain gain the trait [Reanimator]. Holding this site grants the spell:

'Raise Lost Ones'
A death level 4 ritual that will spawn undead Pale Ones, Fomorian Risen, Vanir Deathsworn or a Hound of Hades depending on how many, if any, death gems are used. Only the holder of this site may ever cast or know this spell.

Well of Eternal Misery
This is less a 'well' and more a large wound in the earth, within this abyss lies a portal to Hades, the realm of the dead. A great grey pillar of raw energy pours out from this wound, a pillar of grey light piercing the.. equally grey and black ash wastelands that surround it. Each turn, Two Death Gems will be created from the crystalized essence of Hades. However, this direct link to the realm of death does not bode well for the living creatures that call this land home. Slowly, but surely, this kingdom will become a Kingdom of Death. All living creatures will start to wither and die, this is an irreversible process once begun unless the portal to Hades is somehow closed [but this would destroy it as a site]. Those living beings will be converted into creatures of the undead depending on their power, most becoming nothing more then zombies or skeletons, while some of the more powerful will become Wights or possibly something more. If taken, gain 2 Death Gems a turn and 1 MP a turn for 4 turns, after which, every living being within your nation will be dead. In addition, all death casters gain Master Ritualist [Death +1] while near this site.

The Cemetery
An ancient and lost cemetery that seems to have been used.. for pets. Exceedingly powerful pets, most likely, belonging to very powerful beings. Upon the largest gravestone, a single Death Gem will form from the sheer death that permeates this place. However, the Cemetery has other uses as well, if pets are buried within it, they will soon raise again as much larger, and powerful, but foul tempered beast that can be bound and led to war by death mages, these 'Shade Beast' are powerful and fast dogs that are utterly fearless and have a magic, painful, bite. If someone was truly bold, they could use death gems to try and raise up some of the long dead behemoths that were buried within these grounds, to call them forth once more to serve a new owner. It has the power to produce a Death Gem, Shade Hounds or can be used as a ritual sight to attempt to raise one of the long dead beast that dwell within [Pick which one it does each turn].

[To be clear, this isn't a 'the other two are there just unfound', this is a 'whatever you didn't pick never existed at all']

Inziim Bootcamp

The series of training goes.. surprisingly well. Inziim is able to teach many tricks to his new trainees, although rarely were they gathered together [unless that is something you five wished to do for laughs]. Inziim gains the skill [Drill Instructor] as it seems Inziim has some skill at yelling and barking at people to 'pick up that sword and swing it right so you don't embarrass yourself'. Although, of course, in typical Inziim fashion such things are yelled much more politely.

Heyitsjiwon Gofrit takes to the lessons well, perhaps relearning some of the things he had in his past life? Gofrit adds +1 Might [as the cap is 3 for training which you're now at]. Pick 2 of these, then pick 1 of those selected to upgrade.
[Hunter]
[Duelist]
[Weapon Mastery] {pick the weapon type}
[Iron Jaw]
[Grit]

LecternOfJasper Glass, much like everyone else, takes to the lessons well. Add +2 Might and pick 2 of these skills to acquire:
[Weapon Mastery] {pick weapon type}
[Slippery]
[Iron Will]
[Grappler]
[Cripple]

Dest Out of all the godbound that came to train this season, none take to it as well as Chepura, the strange insect humanoid seems to have a knack for combat. Perhaps that is why Montague seemed so fond of her? Her potential? Or did he even know of this potential? Chepura gains +2 Might, in addition, pick 2 of these skills to acquire:
[Flurry of Blows]
[Unarmed Mastery]
[Iron Jaw]
[Berserker]

Eliasdagood Farator learns well, add either +2 Might or +1 Might and your choice of one of these skills:
[Weapon Mastery {pick weapon type}]
[Defender]
[Iron Jaw]

Near the end of a season, an odd man wrapped in so much clothe that he looked like a moving pile of laundry came into the city with a caravan, he brought his lead wagon to a stop outside of Inziim's personal abode and ordered his workers to pull off three large ironbound chest. When Inziim finally emerges, exhausted from his spellcasting, the little man jumps too and fro, his clothes bouncing but always seeming to be 'stuck' to him and never revealing what lay underneath as the man says he has been sent by someone to give a gift to the Lord of Bones.. When questioned about who this 'someone' is, the bundle of clothes becomes very nervous and merely says, 'Its always watching.. Always.'

The first chest seems to have a picture of a Staff on it. The second has a picture of a pile of.. goods and the last shows a small person.

Which of the chest does Inziim wish to open?

[You've had a good event happen to you! As you have 0 Stamina, you will not be getting a good event that is a scene {as its not much of a good event if you're too tired to do it}, instead you may pick one of theses three chest and get a reward based on your choice!]​

 

[Cosmo]

Baroqee
Turn 4
Twist

The Studs are gathered from the various tribes and hold.. ceremonies. Ceremonies where they chant about the legends of old, swapping legends between their tribes. Some of the eldest of their kin attempt to show the younger ones how to go about it, the proper way to dance, the proper way to light the sigils, the proper way to embrace the ancestors, but only some are really listening as the Herde tend to be a naturally rambunctious group. At the center of the great gathering, a brazier is placed and in it three death gems [Three Death Gems Consumed] are 'crushed', the dark gem like remains filling the brazier that starts to glow as purple smoke begins to flood out and into the tent, filling the large tent up with the strange smoke. As the Studs breath in the smoke, they start to have visions as they take a spirit walk with their ancestors. They enter a strange land, an endless plain that stretches before them into infinity. Above him, the sky is an open blue with not a cloud in sight.. It, like the land before them, seemed to stretch on and on. An infinite place to run, to roam, to wander, a place for the Herde to ride eternal under the blue. Perhaps this is where their ancestors dwelled when it was their time?

The earth before them splits as a ghostly centaur rides out from it, when it speaks, the world shakes, when it speaks, they hear, when it speaks.. they understand. Studs are now Level 2 Death Mages.

As the great Centaur vanishes, they see other groups of ghostly taur riding in the distance. They spot some that are all sorts of colors, ones of beautiful brown who make life bloom under their hooves, others of silver that seem to be gazing into the blue as if they could see what lay beyond and another of deep red that was leading a chain of slaves.

Another group are entirely black, like the midnight sky, and around them run skeletal taurs, ancient warriors of long ago called back to fight alongside them once more..

The last group is covered in heavy armor and thunders across the field to run over.. something. They bellow their war cries and raise their great lances into the air..

What group do the Studs follow?

Decision Point
The Divergent
Pick Astral, Nature or Blood. Studs become Level 2 in that path [along with their Death 2]

Midnight Steeds
Studs become Level 3 Death Mages, in addition, you may pick two skills [Keyword] that they will know:
Necromancer
Reanimator
Vita Mortis
Skeletal Body
Poison Resistance [10]
Lesser Twiceborn

Warherde
Studs remain Level 2 Death Mages, but they go on to tell the Warhorses who draw lessons and increase their own power as they follow the visions [All Warhorse commanders gain +1 Might, in addition, they gain two skills {Baroqee will also gain these martial skills}.
Inspirational
Stubborn
Beast Slayers
Iron Jaw
Heavy Impact

Of course, anyone that passed by their grand tent and peeked in would see numerous studs running in place, laying down, screaming at nothing, staring blankly and drolling or otherwise enjoying their strange magically induced psychedelic trip..

Action 2
Secret secret secret secret [likely not secret for long]​

 

[Cosmo]

Ryx
Turn 4
Auriel Maza

Action 1
Secret Secret Secret Secret

Action 2
The First City is devastated, a smoldering wreck where, in some points, dragon fire still continues to burn, the smoke scalding the lungs of people who get too close. New strange crimson crystals have sprung up at the center of these eternally burning flames, they seem to have been areas where blood slaves were centered.. A magical reaction seems to have occurred as the blood slaves were incinerated by the flames, their bodies bubbling and melting, their blood forming into crystals that seem to burn with an inner flame.. Many of the surviving blood mages have been trying to get to these crystals but have yet to have any luck as they are, well, covered in dragon fire. Blood Crystals Discovered, but no one can claim them until the dragon fire has somehow been put out. Kent Auriel Maza deer

The First City is currently a warzone as Amon had very little, if any, actual control of the city, so his loss, or desire or not to lead, has little bearings on the actual denizens.. 'Freed' Slaves battle gangs who battle blood mages who battle mercenaries all over rubble, trying to get scraps of food or loot goods left behind in destroyed shops and museums. Some slaves, their collars still attached and their masters slain, are doomed to repeat their master's last orders for as long as they live as the one being who could remove the collar is now gone.. They live sad lives, digging in rubble, watering the same burnt garden or are abused by the other survivors eager to take out their anger and sorrow on someone who can't fight back, as these masterless slaves are often not seen as 'people' anymore.

Agents of the Word, and its various minor and less spine off and cover groups, attempting to move into the First city get embroiled into this conflict, a never ending fight and grind in the ruined cities.. It is a bloody and awful affair where demons are summoned, horrors are unleashed, foul spawn claw and swim over the rubble to do battle with freed slaves and agents for control of just a few more broken stores and rocks... First City Is Embroiled In Mass Gang Warfare. There are reports and sights of a massive creature of flesh and steel, moving about and abducting people off the street into an underground labyrinth where they are never seen again... The Immortal Blood Mage is running amok.

HOWEVER, there are some large shadows hanging overhead. The first is Flaustan. The First City burning has presented a unique chance to Kornith, and from what reports Ryx has, it seems the tyrant intends to capitalize on it. Sending in 'purgation' forces to finish the job the dragon started. To 'liquidate' the people of the First City, absorb what people he deems good enough for laborers or suitable enough for his 'puppy mills' and pocket what goods and valuables he can find to boost his own personal wealth. These forces are expected to launch in a Spring Offensive... Kornith is keeping a very close eye on this endeavor and is likely quite invested in seeing it through.

There is also the eight hundred pound gorilla in the room and that is the Talirus Republic. The First City has spent its existence relying on using its two other neighbors to offset the Republic's influence, making itself just annoying enough to not be worth invading but avoiding provoking them to decide to revise that opinion, but now.. Now the First City is rubble.. There is nothing stopping the Republic from sending in a legion and retaking the land that was once theirs and that seems to be what is going to happen. A legion, the 11th Legion, is mustering on the border and it is said that the soon to be new consul, Aurelius, will be personally overseeing this, no doubt to put a feather in his cap and show the senate, and people of Talius, that for the first time in a long time, the Republic is expanding back to its old borders... In Spring, there is a good chance both of these forces will be coming into the First City.. And there is very little chance anyone could oppose them.

There was one final neighbor to the First City, one that kept itself isolated, one that that has always enjoyed its seclusion, the only place in the known world to have never been occupied by the Talirus Republic, Maelúir Síocháin. Should its Fae Mistress wanted to, she may also attempt to lay claim to this city, marching with Ent and Fae, to reclaim this broken land for nature.. deer

Ryx and his forces have little hope of trying to stand against these threats.. But if he got one, or better yet, two of these three to support his own bid for the First City, he'd certainly be able to gain control over it. After all, the scattered and broken gangs of the city would quickly be overwhelmed by Legionnaires or the Sidhe Champions.. Would they see this new nation as an ally or a vassal? You MUST get either Siofra's or Aurelius's Military support to claim the First City, ideally, get both else it is almost certain to be purged by Flaustan next turn. [Warning: Siofra's forces would likely have to engage the Flaustan Purgation Army in open field, with what military forces Ryx could scrounge up to support, if you do not have Talirus backing. Talirus is likely to be far less generous with its terms then Siofra is though. Plan accordingly.]

Decision Point
1. Speak with Aurelius
2. Speak with Siofra Officially
[Choosing Siofra will give Deer a free action this turn to do with as she wills and she may deploy her army into the First City next turn to face the Purgation Forces for free]
3. Attempt to find the Immortal Blood Mage
4. Attempt to speak to the most powerful gangs and blood mages that remain in the First City.
​

 

[Cosmo]

Gawain
Turn 4
Wew the Polymath

The Coven did as they were bidden, a favor had been granted and a favor would be paid, plus this was a lot easier and reasonable to them then 'desecrate one of your dearest friends and pervert their nature for use in war'. It was a bit surprising that it was not the first request they made, they prided themselves on suits of blacksteel plate that were nearly as old as the statue that called it home and yet had not the ability to make more or mend suits that were too damaged. The Elves touches various great trees in the swamp, trees that were actually entire organisms, that connected to various smaller 'trees', their roots covering nearly the entire swamp, and felt the earth. Searched for the Blacksteel that the humans so desired... They wouldn't find it, of course, but that was the point. The expanding roots that they suddenly lost contact with would be near veins of blacksteel, the raw metal cutting their feeble connection to the trees. Sadly, this same distaste for magic made Earth Mages very unhelpful as they could not use their magic to unearth Blacksteel nor could they use it to strengthen tunnels being built for fear of their magic running wild and causing cave-ins or otherwise setting back the mining.. Blacksteel had to be mined the hard way, through manual labor.. Which wasn't as bad as it was for most as the Blacksteel Angels were capable of digging rather rapidly and the humans were less prone to falling and dying to disease and insect borne infections thanks to the Coven's not-so-subtle environmental changes to the land.

The small mining village sprung up nearly overnight as workers [many of which unpaid and 'volunteered' against their will] acting as diggers and miners to recover the valuable blacksteel from the veins that ran below the earth... The Mage-Smiths finally had the blacksteel they had waited so long to touch, so long to mold, so long to forge... Finally, the Blacksteel Knights could ride in force once more.. Gain Resource: Blacksteel.

---

Montague had asked for assistance in 'Vampires'. Gawain was likely to leave early this time to ensure he actually arrived before the fighting was done as traveling all that way for nothing was rather... tedious even for a being that didn't truly feel fatigue in the same way. It seemed they were, through intelligence, within a large merchant estate outside of Hammer Rise, a place that was supposdely under the Doukas family. A place that held a massive manor on it, walls that ran all along its widths and servants who did not seem to be coming out of it anymore. A rather decent place for a vampire clan to make its place of residence..

[Assault on the Tremere - Scene]​

 

[LucasGhost]

​

Turn 4​

​

A winter wind whipped through the dark streets of Caolin, but within L'Homme Affamé it is warm, packed, and loud. The center of the floor of the comedy club has been cleared out, and four large posts have been placed in a square with some loose rope making the idea of a barrier. The crowd cheers and jeers as a small red scaled kobold takes his place in one of the corners. As he does so, a man calls out above the clamor from his position on the stage, "And in the indigo corner! He's scrappy! He's mean! He's dead meat like you’ve never seen! He's the Criiiimson Cadaaaaaver!"

The Crimson Cadaver gives a stern nod and a quick wave of his hand at the various shouts at his introduction. His gray and black costume is artfully torn, revealing the shimmering red glitter that adorns his scales underneath. This costume was more akin to a second skin to Amos, he’d donned it long before he was known as ‘Amos,’ and though it wasn’t impressive by any means, it was comforting.

His opponent for the opening act takes his place across from him as the announcer rings out over the crowd once again, “And in the magenta corner! He’s regal! He’s cruel! You love to see him rule! It’s Theeee Duuuuuke!” The large man dressed from head to toe in purple ruffles gives a large, overdramatic wave to the crowd. When he turns back, Amos has only a moment to catch his eye before the bell is struck twice, and both fighters spring into motion.

“Midnight blue or sunset purple?” Montague doesn’t turn around and it has Amos stuttering for a moment.

“The outfit for your masquerade birthday celebration is a light blue. If that’s a problem, I can have them make the correction, I just-” Montague does look over his shoulder at him with that, his gaze making Amos’ heart seize in his chest and the words die in his throat.

“The fabric in my hands, darling. I think the purple might make for a good contrast but I’m not sure if contrast is what I desire here. I was going for a sort of ‘spirit of triumph,’ with this piece but I think it just came out as offensive,” he pauses and looks back at the monstrosity, pressure leaving Amos’ chest, “And to myself of all things at that.”

Amos lets out a breath, relief flooding through him at not having made a mistake, “Midnight blue, then, Lord Navarro. You keep coming back to it.” And it’d compliment your eyes.

Montague Navarro just hums his approval.

The Duke covers most of the distance in three long strides, while the Crimson Cadaver is already scurrying to match his gait. The two meet in the middle, The Duke winding up for a sweeping grab at the kobold, big, showy, and for Amos, an obvious sign of where to go. Just as his arms come down with his lunge, the Crimson Cadaver ducks and rolls under, hopping back up behind the man.

The crowd gives a small murmur at the display, and the Crimson Cadaver accentuates it with a kick to the back of The Duke’s calf. He staggers for a moment, then catches himself with a step forward and sweeps around again, foot kicking out high for the kobold to duck under once more.

Amos creeps over, wincing at a particularly squeaky floorboard, until he’s able to stroke some life back into the fire and tosses two more logs onto it for good measure. Gallica will keep an eye on it, he knows. Rose shifts, and Amos holds his breath, worried he’s disturbed her, but when she’s silent he lets it out slowly. His eyes sweep back to the tray of food he brought, and he glances back to her, eyes lingering on the mess of bandages covering her back. Poor woman.

He had always fancied himself a poet, but when he had heard about what happened, words of sympathy felt short and shallow.

As he turns to go, Rose stretches slightly, mumbling out something indistinct and pained. He offers what comfort he can, and rumbles out, “It’s just me Rose, go back to sleep. You’re safe.”

The Crimson Cadaver ducks, slides, comes up with a swipe that hits only empty air. The Duke drops down before he can recover, a jab grazing his side before he can fully pull away. He recoils harshly, and the audience gives a small gasp at the impact.

The Duke gets greedy though, and with an imperceptible nod of his head, the Crimson Cadaver recovers and delivers a solid blow to the underside of the man’s chin. The delivery is soft, but The Duke falls back, rolling to his feet with a snarl, and the Crimson Cadaver gets ready.

There is a child wearing the masked uniform of Montague Navarro’s personal guard. He is certain of it, and yet he cannot bring himself to call out to the figure cleaning out the stables in the dead of winter to confirm or deny his suspicions. He may be right, after all, and what would he do then?

Nothing. He’d do nothing. Best not to worry about it. Amos decides he really doesn’t want to know, and turns back to go inside.

The knee comes in faster than he expected, and his feet are just a hair too slow to stumble backwards as the Crimson Cadaver gets cracked dead center with enough force that makes a genuine gasp leave him as he’s knocked over. The audience “Ooos,” at the impact, but he catches the momentary look of apology in The Duke’s eyes as he comes up with another kick. Just fast enough, just barely, and the Crimson Cadaver rolls out of the way, struggling to his feet.

“And he said ‘Three wooden dolls just for Lord Navarro, well, I see he’s a man of veeery specific tastes,’ and I went on and cracked up,” Amos laughs again, only to suddenly stop with a strangled sound. Over the shoulder of the other kobold he spotted a fleeting glimpse of the resident Spiderkin.

He suddenly felt his blood run cold, “I should go, get back to work. Nice- well, chatting.”

An elbow comes down onto the Crimson Cadaver, a soft blow but he winces from the impact as the audience cheers all the same. A quiet whisper, “Up ‘n over.” The arm comes back up slower, and the kobold sees it as his opening to wrap things up. He grabs on, the panting Duke giving him the boost he needs to fling his body up and over until he’s scrabbled onto the gaudy ruffles covering his back.

He stares at the pile of papers on his desk. What’s the point in this? It doesn’t end. It never ends. Maybe it should end.

He’s too scared of what that’d look like, so he picks up another letter to open despite how badly the pain shoots through his hand, fingers locking involuntarily and releasing after a moment of frightening pressure. He pays it no mind and grabs a fresh sheet of parchment to pen yet another meaningless response.

No one even reads these.

The Duke stumbles back as the Crimson Cadaver’s legs swing wildly. It takes him a moment, but he finds his way to one of the posts sat in the corner. As if on cue, the audience connects what’s going to happen next, and begins to cheer wildly. The Crimson Cadaver can only hold on as The Duke hoists himself up before throwing himself backwards to body slam the kobold on his back.

He’s never seen anyone else like him. Not visually, there are plenty of pretty men in the world. No, there’s something underneath that, something older. Something him. Like the way his bright blue eyes stop his heart when they glance over him, not even seeing him. A blessing. A curse.

“Please don’t see me.”

As he falls the Crimson Cadaver tucks his legs and reaches up with a clawed hand until he can grab the front of The Duke’s robe, and flips his smaller body up and over, impacting soundly onto the body of the larger man as he collides solidly with the floor. He wheezes for a moment, and the kobold takes his chance, the Crimson Cadaver pressing his forearms into a pinning position until the referee calls out the victory a few short seconds later.

The Crimson Cadaver wins.

---

Amos sat with his feet propped up on his cousin's crummy desk with a dirty old rag wrapped around a hunk of ice from the alley out back pressed to his chest. He could clearly hear the shouts of the small crowd from the other side of the closed door as the next act inched ever closer to its close. Most nights he'd change and watch the rest of the performers, but Michael nailed him pretty good. Amos knew he wasn't so spry anymore, and he'd rather not have a massive bruise across his chest for the next week. So he slunk back here after Michael apologized and found him some ice to stick on it.

"Not that anybody'd really notice, though," Amos sighs, examining the freezing wet patch on his shirt. It was going to be a cold walk home.

He'd been doing this since his cousins moved to Caolin about five years back. They picked up the building after some minor scandal drove it into the ground, and brought in enough revenue to keep the doors open with these little monthly shows. Most weeks he'd just come in for a few hours to practice with the guys, but he couldn't resist putting on his old costume whenever his cousin Zoks asked.

Speaking of Zoks, he’d have to remember to ask him later what all this talk about a ‘duelists ring,’ was about. Good for the lot of them for trying to bring in more business, but folks waving around swords in a building like this was only asking for trouble.

Amos is pulled out of his thoughts by the muffled roar of applause from the other room, suddenly made clearer as his cousin Gett rushes in through the door. The red scaled kobold stutters in his stride for a moment, before giving Amos a nod and continuing on his dash to his desk, rifling through the drawers in search of something or another. Amos almost thinks he’s spared his cousin’s gratingly squeaky voice until, “You gotta get your head outta the clouds, Smea-.”

“Don’t,” Amos cuts him off, harsher than he meant, but he’s not in the mood for it tonight.

“Alrights, alrights, relax then. Yeah? Good showing, even if yous gotta come ‘round to practice more,” Gett waves a clawed hand at him dismissingly as he talks, focus temporarily pulled away from rooting through the drawer shoved full with scraps of paper and odd and ends.

Amos sighs. He likes his cousins well enough, but they never really adjusted to when he stopped being the helpless little thing from Smallwater. He was somebody now. He was important. “I come around as often as I can, can’t help it that Lord Navarro keeps me busy. Just means I’m doing a good job. You should be happy for me.”

“Yeahs, yeahs, Lord Navarro, Lord Navarro. That’s all yous ever says, Lord Navarro. Temul ‘n Zoks lottsa happy for yous. You actin’ funny anymore though, makes me lottsa worried,” Gett tsks at him, finally finding the small key he was looking for at the bottom of the drawer and holding it up with a puzzled look on his face.

“I am not acting any differently, just a bit more tired these days, is all,” he’s not sure why a little flame of indignation sparks at the comment, but it does. It wasn’t Gett’s place to worry after him.

“Yeah-huh.”

“I am not.”

“Yeah.”

“Not.”

“Yeah!”

“Wretch.”

“Worm!”

“Slime.”

“S-s-slink?” Grett seems to get stuck for a moment, not quite catching the word he’s looking for. He shakes his head, giving up on finding it though, and gives Amos a disproving look as he goes back for the door. “Don’t says I didn’t says nothing.”

“Sure, Grett, sure. Keep the crowd happy out there, alright?” Amos rubs at his temple, glad to nearly be rid of his annoying cousin for the time being.

“Yeahs, yeahs. Oh, you gottsa letter too. When you was fightin’. Big ‘un, in a hurry. Tells him leave it on the desk for yous,” Grett rushes out before Amos can snap at him any further, slamming the door shut as he goes.

Amos looks at the mess of papers his cousin left the desk in and he feels his migraine grow. With a groan he sets the wet towel on the ground and starts leafing through.

There, at the bottom, a neatly sealed envelope with that funny seal that Gil-Galit uses these days. He leans back in his chair again and break it open, certain of another report of, “We’re still looking for anything but we’ll let you know if something comes up.”

Or, well, it should have said that.

Instead Amos feels his heart drop down into his stomach as his eyes skim over the paper.

Emergency. Demons. Ritual. Any day now.

He has to go. He has to go now. Curse Grett for not pulling him off-stage when this came.

Amos hastily folds the letter back up, tucks it into his sopping wet shirt without really thinking about it, and is out through the door that leads to the back alley in what feels like a few short breaths. The chaos of the club traded for the quiet Caolinite streets and the hammering of his heart in his chest.

He needed to let the others know, Lorne, and Gallica, and Lord Navarro. Oh. He almost forgot, and the realization has him skidding for a harrowing moment on some icy cobblestones.

Lord Navarro extended his trip. Fuck.

He’ll just have to get things ready in his stead. Yes. That’s it. He can do that. He can do that.

Gil-Galit would be fine. It had to be.

---

Action 1: A Story of the Old Ways. Montague and his troupe travels to Maelúir Síocháin to put on one of his plays for the denizens of the forest. The generous Han Liuyang is providing their transportation, and Montague is bringing out an old tale that he knows quite well for this. [The die had been rolled in advanced to allow for accurate diplomacy. A '4' was rolled. Relevant perks: Word of Puppets, Air 5, Actor, Magically Adept, Leadership, Kozan Research.]

Spoiler: Lady of Silver

-Act 1-

The play is set in the long forgotten city of Silence, where the King of Blades reigns supreme. This king begins center stage, surrounded on all sides by his advisors. One by one they list off his accomplishments, a ruler and mage who has no mortal equal, who’s hold on his city is so powerful that it is by his will alone that he can force complete silence to fall upon it. Still, the King of Blades is agitated, for every accomplishment he counters with how there is still one who can undo all that he has created. He admits that long has he hoped to destroy her, this one, this Lady in Silver, but he knows that to do so is a foolish task. And so, he commands his advisors to send every able body to attempt to deliver the Lady in Silver and her court unto him, so that he may be at peace from the power she holds over him at last.

One by one, the king’s mages and spies return to him with no news, until, at last, a common guard announces that a party approaches the city. A voice rings out over the city, giving pause to all that hear it, even the King of Blades.

"What makes mountains low?
What makes oceans dry?
What holds sway over the fire in the sky?"

The gates open, and the Lady in Silver and her court steps through into a city that is completely and utterly silent. The crowd parts as the Lady in Silver makes her way to the mortal man that has hounded her across the world.

-Act 2-

The act begins with the moment that the Lady in Silver at last meets this King of Blades. Before he can speak, she interrupts him. He has managed to catch her attention, a dangerous and unwise thing for any mortal man to do. But, should he scorn her, treat her as one of his subjects, then calamity would be brought upon him and his. He smiles at this, a warning appreciated but unneeded, he says that no one could ever make that mistake.

She returns his smile, and terror settles over his heart at just how he is playing with fire.

He summons his courage and gives her his offer. By her birth she is to be a servant to no one, so instead rule at his side as an equal, and their power will surpass the world. She denies him, "The Lady in Silver answers only to the Lady in Silver." He pleads as she tries to leave, hear all that he has to offer, and surely she will change her mind.

The King of Blades vows that if he cannot grant her greater power in this world, then he will not trouble her again. She agrees to give him three chances, offer her something she cannot refuse, or she will leave.

First he offers her wealth. All the riches in the city of Silence: gold, gems, powerful artifacts. And those that they could take from the other great nations with their powers combined.

There is a distant boom of thunder.

She denies him. To trade oneself for coin is to become another type of coin, she tells him. There is no amount that he could even hope to offer her; no victory that they could win that would make him her equal. And she does not ally herself so strongly with lesser creatures.

The King of Blades gathers himself quickly, offering her next the skills of his people. He has at his beck and call the world’s most powerful mages, the most talented craftsmen, and the most brilliant minds leading them.

Another boom of thunder sounds, louder than before.

She denies him. She would be beholden to these lesser things, unable to solve the many problems of the world herself and instead waiting for solutions that could be denied to her. To be dependent on others would give them power over her. And there is not a soul alive who is worthy of holding power over her.

The King of Blades is shaken at this. He has just one chance remaining, and it is with a tremble in his voice that he asks that she grant him the evening to think on his last offer. She allows him this, and the two depart.

-Act 3-

The final act begins with the King of Blade approaching the Lady in Silver. He tells her that he has his final offer that this, this gift that he brings to her shall convince her to rule as his equal. He offers her knowledge. He alone knows the greatest secrets of the world, the answers to unsolvable mysteries, the fate of all the great beings of this day and age. And if she would join him, he will grant her every scrap of knowledge in his brilliant mind.

She denies him.

This offer tempted her, yes, but ultimately it is the same as the other two. She has the knowledge she needs, knowledge of herself. Wealth, skill, and knowledge are all mere aspects of power, but she needs none of it, for she is the Lady in Silver, and she is power.

A final, loud clap of thunder sounds out.

The Lady in Silver turns to leave with her court, and the King of Blades falls into a rage. He was the most powerful man of the most powerful city. She and her kind were arrogant, fools not to see what true gifts he offered. If she would not be his equal, then he would take another means to ensure she would not bring about his ruin.

He demands that she swear allegiance to him, lest he have every ounce of power at his disposal used to rip her and her court to shreds. So complete is his anger that silence falls upon the city.

The Lady in Silver pauses. Slowly turns back to the petty king. She knows that if he will not listen to what she has to say, she will simply have to make him understand in a far more direct fashion.

There is a flash of silver as she takes her true, draconic, form.

And she eats him.

"What makes mountains low?
What makes oceans dry?
What holds sway over the fire in the sky?"

As the city of Silence falls in utter silence, the court laughs and laughs at the remains of the king. And the Lady in Silver leads them away, completely unbothered.

Action 2: I Prefer to Call It Fundraising. Montague will travel to Akthubit with his Air magic and meet up with many of his friends and connections he forged the last time he was in the country. There, he will host parties to collect sponsors for the renovation and expansion of the arts in Caolin (primarily, funding the finest theater troupe in all the world, his own.) (Think of the list of sponsors and donors on the back of a playbill.) Relevant perks: Word of Puppets, Actor, Leadership, Friends in High Places in Akthubit. (Additional details/perks sent to DM.)

Free Action: Sent to the DM!

Additional Rolls:

Spoiler: The Arts

Yours is the city of arts. Every turn, there is a chance someone will create an artistic masterpiece be that a painting, sculpture or muscial piece. These can bring the city great prestige and could potentially be leveraged for wealth. A famous, renown city doesn't need the most gold or army in the world if they have other means to influence those around them. Encourage this growth to increase the chance of masterworks.
+20 to roll from Kozan's Bardic College

Spoiler: Patronage

 

[Spacekitty]

Lady Alcina Turn 4

Sun-Warding
All vampires feel the ire of the sun should it gaze upon them, as if its rays relay the heresy of the chalice to the Sovereign, who strikes out in fury at their disregard for his laws of mortality. Even when covered head to toe in garb or armor, an elder vampire will still burn the moment a curtain is drawn back or they set foot outside during the light of day.

For many, this is a curse, a sign of their fall from grace or a punishment to relish and fester beneath. The more enlightened of course, see this simply as a problem to solve. Great vampiric mages and artificers have through the millennia created enchanted suits of armor, pendants and devices to counter the sun's wrath, almost universally as part of the ancient dreams of Nahrim.

Sunwarded-Armor
Naturally, attempts began with armor that could keep the sun from “seeing” the vampire.

One couldn’t simply dress in dark robes and cover their body in mundane silk or metal, as the suns gaze was as much literal as mystical. One required magical means.

Burning-Star Plate - One of the earliest pieces of armor to successfully block the suns gaze from even the most elder vampire; this piece of vampire technology gets its name from the effect it’s sun-warding has; namely, the immensely, eye-burning halo of intense light that surrounds the armor even under an overcast sun. This armor, made of enchanted mithril polished to an immaculate sheen and enchanted works by simply reflecting all sunlight incident upon it.

While this has the added benefit of blinding enemies- it also blinds all of your allies.

Due to its mithril construction and enchantments, the armor offers superb protection. However, as it relies on its mirrored surface for its sun-warding, damage to the armor reduces its effectiveness, meaning enough scratches can result in the suns rays once again affecting the wearer.

Blackmoon Armor - Where Burning-Star Plate reflects the sun's rays, Blackmoon Armor absorbs them, causing the wearer to essentially be a “black spot” within the sun's vision.

Forged from black-steel with black-steel infused lenses on the helm, it simply takes advantage of the metal's natural properties. It’s biggest downside? The cost.

Variations of the armor exist, where simple steel plate was coated in a layer of Blacksteel creating Black Plate. This was far cheaper and more effective than Burning-Star Armor, but it still was exorbitantly expensive.

Legions of vampires wearing any of these armor were theorized and steps were even taken towards this reality, but the constant attrition of war made the construction of these armies in mass impossible. The stereotype of vampires being exceedingly wealthy is mostly just that; only the elder vampires hold any real wealth, and only those that were smart and business savy before undeath.

Sun-Warded Pendants, Rings, and Etc
With the extreme cost of Sun-Warded Armor and dwindling resources due to the fall of Nahrim and subsequent failures, different methods were considered to allow for the dream of a sun-immune vampiric army. These came in the form of much simpler and less expensive pendants that could provide warding to the wearer.

Pendant of Sun-Shelter - a Pendant containing a chunk of mithril coated in blacksteel that functioned to absorb the light incident upon the wearer, causing an effect where the wearer appeared as a pure black silhouette. Still expensive and difficult to make as Blacksteel and enchanted mithril tend to not play nice with each other, the pendant could only absorb so much light before becoming “full”, at which point excess sunlight would cause the unstable pendant to explode, typically killing the wearer.

Ring of Personal Night - Also found in pendant form, this ring caused the wearer to be enveloped by an orb of supernatural darkness, effectively hiding them from the sun. Far cheaper than the other options discussed so far, the main issue lies in the fact that vampires typically cannot see through supernatural darkness. Therefore while some vampires could directly benefit from this item, most others needed the aid of other magical implements in order to see, and thus limited this rings usefulness.

Magical Rituals
Where armor and magical items failed, arcane ritual may yet succeed. Vampires are no strangers to elaborate and strange rituals, and their war against the sun is no different.

Call of the Black Moon - Direct and to the point, this ritual, fueled naturally through blood sacrifice, summons a dark moon to eclipse the sun for a time proportional to the blood spilled, allowing vampires to walk during day as if at night. It was gifted to Vito Quijano de Pasamonte in a dream by the Black Moon.

Don the Mortal Coil - a less costly ritual that works for a single vampire, involving the ritual sacrifice of blood slaves and the coating of their blood over the Vampire, allowing them for a time to walk under the sun with impunity, as the Vampire has donned the essence of a mortal. This ritual is still in infrequent use today, mostly by vampire assassins and infiltrators of the clans.

Conquering Night - more so a theory than an actual ritual, though it was legend to have been cast once by the great Nahrim, it is a ritual which is said to immediately bring about night time. A ritual created by the head of one of the vampiric clans, known for his skill with ritual magic. It was performed three times by the vampires of the Dusk Legion before their defeat. The ritual was lost with the dearth of Edgar Von Fellhelm and the burning of his library.

Culling of the Blackmoon - a purely theoretical ritual that, in theory, would “slay” the sun and bring about eternal night. Created by Caliveño Picario of the Church of the Black Moon, he attempted to perform this ritual but was cut down by his master, Vito Quijano de Pasamonte, head of his church, in order to stop the Blackmoon.

Magical Contraptions
The vampires of bloodline Tiresias were no sideline Observers in this war against the sun, the early Tiresians, especially the Childe of Tiresias, attempted to solve this problem using the strange magical contraptions they were so fond of.

Machina Nebula - A machine formed from a large boiler, a large reserve tank of water, and various tubing and a splash of the arcane, Aesacus of the Childe of Tiresias believed that her magnum opus, a machine capable of generating a thick fog to cover the battlefield would turn the tides of their war efforts. So confident was she that the device would finally conqueror the sun, that she was the one to test it. Unfortunately, while it did cover a wide swath of land in dense fog, this fog provided no protection against the sun and she was vaporized.

Noctem Crea - Leaning on their astrological roots, the next attempt was far more arcane than mechanical, using a large ritual conduit to enforce an artificial night across a region, even during the height of midday. A pocket of “night” was created in a large area, with all vampire within this pocket hidden from the sun. The main issue with this device was that it was completely immobile. It was as large as a small home, and twice as heavy.

To resolve this, the devices inventor spent his future efforts designing and then finally building a machine to carry his original machine; a large, wheeled metal monster powered by steam, inspired by the Machina Nebula. On the day this gargantuan machine was to be tested, when it’s engine first roared to life, a sudden bolt from the heavens struck the thing, fragmenting it into many pieces, despite it being a clear day. Familiar with the signs of divine fury, the project was abandoned.
The Manor had been reduced to smoldering embers in just the time it took for the bucket brigade of Hammer’s Rise to be notified and then assembled. Thirty men and women, in red linens standing awkwardly in a line with barrel-sized pails dangling uselessly by their sides. The servants of course, had tried desperately to quench or at least hold back the flames in the hour or so it took the brigade to arrive. Many of them sported fresh burns and soot covered faces as rewards for their efforts.

Milk stood near the front of the assembled servants, alone on the edge closest to the bucket brigade, staring grimly into the flickering embers. At least the heat emanating from the ruins was a comfort in the chilly mountain air. Kobolds weren’t really made for the cold, and most wore heavy jackets even through spring. Naturally then, most of them had found their way to the front of the gathered survivors, basking in the warmth while huddling together and crying over their lost home and lost comrades with equal enthusiasm.

Off towards the side, and quite a few steps back from the smoldering ruins, stood Lady Alcina, who mercifully hadn’t been present in the house when the flames had started. A step behind her was the Chamberlain, Julian Le Rouge, who stood silently with a clenched jaw and pursed lips as his Lady spoke with the Fire Chief.

While the other servants cried, milled about, or simply took the opportunity to shirk their duties, Milk listened intently to the discussion, awaiting any news on what had occurred or orders from his Lady on what to do next.

The discussion was short and unenlightening. Lady Alcina sniffled after telling the Fire Chief what little she knew. He gave her an apologetic frown and a nod, and politely asked if she had anywhere else to stay, even though all knew she was more often elsewhere than at this particular manor.

With the fire essentially out and their mission failed successfully, the bucket brigade dispersed. The Fire Chief promised to send council investigators to look into potential foul play, but fire did tend to cover one’s tracks awfully well and there was little certain to come from the gesture. But still, procedure was procedure and Git-Galit was nothing if not bureaucratic. He took his leave, and left the red faced Julian and make-up streaked Lady to pick up the pieces.

As soon as the Chief had gotten to the distance at which one pretended not to be listening anymore and others pretended you couldn’t hear, Julian opened his mouth to let out the fire within, but paused and bit his tongue. Sharply, he turned and with a wave of his hand, dismissed the remaining servants.
“Go!” He shooed them away curtly. “Go home. Don’t just stand here all day and gawk”. The absurdity of his statement dawned on him instantly and he corrected himself. “Go somewhere else.” He sighed. “There’s no house left for you all to manage.” he added bitterly. “You’re all released from your contracts.”.

At this, shocked murmurs erupted from the crowd and quickly began to clamor into desperate protests. Julian held up his hands to silence them, which of course did nothing.

“Yes, yes it’s unfair.” There was contempt in his voice. “But-”

“Come back tomorrow my friends, and I will provide you each with a small sum to hold you until you can find other work.” Lady Alcina interrupted him, their true master’s voice, but primarily promises of coin, silencing the crowd’s protests. “I think I can find places for most if not all of you among my other estates or the estates of my friends. I did hear that the Moremere’s were looking for talented staff.”

“Now please, do as my Chamberlain has asked and leave us to settle the affairs” She asked rather than barked, in a tone far more sympathetic than his.

“I know Grick’s Tavern is a popular spot for the servants around here. I think it’s even open. Go there, relax. There's some cheap inns nearby, my name will be enough to get you a room for a night at least.”

Her words settled the protests and the crowd quickly separated into its cliques and then dispersed. Milk’s fellow Kobolds, still sniffling over their losses, made their own plans together, separate from the human servants who split into several smaller groups. Milk remained on his own, waiting behind while they journeyed off into the downtown. He wanted to speak to his Lady first, and then train with his blade. He didn’t need to go to Grick’s until later, when Iris was off work at sunset.

“My Lady…” Milk approached his Lady and the Chamberlain, the only others remaining besides him.

But either she was not listening, or far more likely, she couldn’t hear him over Julian’s near screaming.
“- a single, mortal thief?” Black veins bulged across Julian’s temple as his hands clenched and unclenched, his fingers looking more like claws than mortal hands. “Really? All of this?”. He demanded, exasperated.

“We will not be discussing this here, Julian.” There was no sniffling to accompany his Lady’s words this time, nor were there the sympathetic offers of compromise. Her tone was sharp, her eyes like daggers.


Reliquaries of “Heros”
All cultures have their own mythology, filled with hero’s and villains. Vampires do not differ in this. Though often who they consider a hero is… a villain to everyone else.

Sun’s Fury - The greatsword wielded by Rogum Subastris of bloodline Draugr, the Conqueror Under the Sun, and first and last King of Gomorrah. It was said to be longer than any man and just as wide, covered in a black, ever burning Necro-flame that hungered only for the flesh of the living. Many believe that the greatest gift of this blade however, was that it granted Rogum the ability to walk out under the sun touched by its fury as it was forged from a piece of fallen star-stone.

The Chalice of Eternal Life - Aisha is known as the mother of all Vampires, to many their savior, to others the source of all of their pain. It is her chalice that birthed Vampire Kind, giving a sip each to 12 she considered the most worthy among mortal kind, with the remaining elixir left to power her own ascension.

The chalice itself is kept locked away among other artifacts Aisha has collected over her many centuries, and few have seen since the night of the 13. However, those that have seen it, claim that there is still a sip left, waiting…

Yew Wand of Nergal - Every vampire created is another who competes for the same prey, another being of comparable power and ambition who, in time, may be the blade that stabs you in the back, hopefully metaphorically.

But projects to reclaim Nahrim needed legions of loyal soldiers, and convincing mortals to aid such a project… well, let’s just say the dead were much more receptive.

Necromancy played an important role in Nahrim and other attempts at Vampiric sovereignty, as skeletons did not compete for human flesh.

Prime among Vampiric Necromancers are those of the bloodline Necrarch, and first of those are the Necromancer Nergal.

One of the elders from Nahrim, he also served as the lead Necromancer in charge of Gromorrahs armies; which, despite the legends told now, mostly comprised of skeletons and wraiths, not vampiric legions. It was his mastery of necromancy, combined with battlefield strategy, that perhaps enabled Gromorrah’s initial success.

Necromancy, though not as common a gift as blood magic and thus not quite as prolific, was once highly regarded as one of if not the greatest vampiric talents to have. Back in the times of Nahrim and the subsequent attempts at it reclamation, Necromancy was seen as one of the most realistic paths to establishing and maintaining a vampiric nation. Every would-be conqueror sought out a court of Necromancers to fill his legions with obedient undead.

Since then, the dreams of Nahrim have been broken and the name associated with foolishness. Necromancy has lost much of the respect it once held in vampiric society, being seen as far less useful than other magical paths due to the attention it’s practice tends to draw, without the amazing upsides of Blood magic.

With Gromorrahs supposed destruction, he also vanished, leaving behind only scattered relics, one being the wand he supposedly used to direct his legions of undead.

The Quill of Niccolo De Medici - Vampire society is defined just as much by its reverence for the politician than by its respect for those skilled with a blade. A blade can kill, a blade can even forge a nation. But a pen can do all of that and more, all without getting one’s hands dirty.

Vampire society is dominated not always, nor not usually, by those with the greatest physical might. Sure, the Brujah place their value purely on combat prowess, but there is a reason that they are seen as little more than simple barbarians. For what good is might when a few pulled strings will see an army at your doorstep, and your “friends” among those at it’s lead?

But do not fall for the image of the conniving, backstabbing politician that many think of when they imagine vampire society. Why yes, that certainly is a part of it, but it is no free-for all fest of betrayal and assassination- vampires are nothing if not vengeful in their immortal unlives. There is a narrow line to tread between working with others and advancing one’s own interests. Go too far to one side and the more cut-throat will walk all over you. Too far to the other and… you will see where vampire politics gets it’s reputation.

There is an etiquette to vampire politics, one tightly bound to centuries of tradition and political philosophy. A balance between loyalty to the Queen, to the blood, to the clan, and just as important- to one’s self’s. There are ways to break one’s promises and betray one’s partners that are considered respectable, “far-play”, and there are others that will earn a dagger. There are limits even to how far one may go in punishing an enemy. It is a game full of unspoken rules and limits- though never unenforced.

Those that play these rules masterfully, achieving their ends while never earning true enemies, all the while advancing the blood as whole, are soon as role models within Vampiric society. First among them are the politician, artist and its champion, Niccolo de Medici.

Born to the Lahmian Bloodline just before the fall of Nahrim, Niccolo saw the failures of many attempts to reclaim vampiric sovereignty and saw that no matter the sharpness of their blades and the strength of their forces, the hordes of mortals allied against them would always rise to meet them. With each attempt, their numbers and resources dwindled, the wealth accumulated over mortal generations wiped out in single battlefield losses. While mortals could always procreate, replacing great warriors with a generation just as strong, vampires had no such luxury. Once an elder was destroyed, their power was lost forever. Vampires could only ever grow weaker with time.

Vampires could never rule openly in his eyes, they would always lose the unavoidable war of attrition. Their strength and magical prowess was in essence, a trap. Their greatest gift was their eternal lives. They could form stable political dynasties that could last for millennia. They could collect wealth and accrue power slowly, beneath the notice of mortals. Vampires could rule, but only from the shadows.

This was not a new idea, but it was one that Niccolo mastered, one that he showed was possible. He became a ruling figure within Old Talirus. Not directly, no. He worked through mortal politicians he kept on tight leashes, benefiting them and their bloodlines in return for their service, using the promises of immortal life as a bribe, along with the normal threats and liches of coin. He cemented a lasting vampiric influence in Talirus.

More than this, he championed the formation of the Midnight Aristocracy, unifying disparate clans to centralize, the most one could, Vampiric rule. The primary purpose of this was to set soft rules for all Vampires, to organize punishment for any that draw too much ire from the mortal herds.

As great was he at politics, he was also a respected artist.

Niccolo is still a prominent and powerful figure in Vampiric politics today.

Blades of “Villains”
Just as you can learn of what a culture values from who they hold as heros, you can learn much the same through who they vilify.

The Rapier of Alessandro Argento - Ornate, but not overly so, and coated in alchemical silver, this blade has pierced the hearts of many of her fellow vampires. Alessandro Argento was a vampire of bloodline Draugr who embodied the noble nature of the blood to a fault, believing that Vampire kind had no more right to life, perhaps even less so, than the herds they fed upon, and that hunting mortals for sport was akin to outright murder. A fool, certainly, unable to throw off the naivety of mortality- a flaw common to the bloodline- became infamous for hunting down his own kind. Wickedly skilled with a blade, he hunted down vampires he felt had become “monstrous”, no matter their status within vampiric society. He became a sort of guardian Angel for mortals, insisting vampires should feed mainly from animals, and only from mortals when necessary, killing only the criminal elements amongst them.

In a a cruel twist of irony, Alessandro was felled by the very mortals he championed; an event that the Lahmians admittedly had some part in.

His head, separated from its body by the mob, is kept preserved in formaldehyde within Aisha’s vault.

The Fangs of Akeldama - When one imagines a Strigoi, Akeldama is who comes to mind. With the face of a bat, the body of a hulking bear, there was no semblance of dignity or grace to her exterior, traits that ran far deeper than his skin.

Ironically, Akeldama was not a Strigoi, nor did she bear the monstrous appearance now ascribed to her. “Born” instead as a Brujah. In life a barbarian warlord from what is now Jotunheim, his thirst for conquest and combat did not end with his death. She used her gift of unlife to expand her holdings; turning her men into vampires as well and launching brazen raids and conquests.

This was rapidly drawing the attention of mortals who saw the rise of another vampire kingdom, and began to raise the banners of yet another Inquisition.

Fearful of the ramifications of another Hunt, the Midnight Aristocracy sent an emissary to the Brujah warlord, giving her a chance to make amends for her transgressions by allowing her warband to be quickly crushed, so as to avoid the ire of the mortals.

Instead, Akeldama killed the emissaries and consumed their souls, committing the sin of Diablerie.

Shocked and outraged, the Midnight Aristocracy sent its assassins, who were killed and Diablerized in turn, the mad barbarian gaining power with each vampire he consumed.

To add insult to injury, the Brujah then turned her warband towards the Midnight Aristocracy, raiding the holdings and lairs of whatever vampires she could find, her and her men Diablerizing any and all they came across.

With a rising Inquisition and a blood-mad Vampife, Aisha herself left her lavish vault of decadence and dealt with the upstart, tearing off his limbs and, before locking her bleeding body in a dungeon to rot, tearing out her fangs from bee mouth.

These are said to have been kept in her vault for a time, and slowly given away as gifts to those who pleased her or her Midnight Aristocracy. They are said to still radiate with bloodlust and rage, and tempt the wearer into tasting forbidden flesh, and will willingly grant them the power to conqueror even the most Elder vampire in their desperation to taste blood once more.

Cravun’s Blade - A small, inoffensive dagger, it never actually belonged to the vampire it is named for, rather it was his demise.

Cravun was a vampire of clan Ravnos, who used his powers to scheme and scam other of his kind. In of itself something looked down upon (using illusions to trick/scam other vampires that is, not trickery and deceit itself mind you. Vampires just want such trickery to be “fair”), his schemes eventually led to his capture by mortals. Trapped, he pleaded for his life and offered, in return for his safe release, to expose the locations for various vampires. They accepted, and his betrayal led to the death of several vampires.

To thank him for his efforts, his mortal captors used a dagger to behead him.

The blade was kept as a trophy by one of the Commissioners and was sold upon his death in an auction, which naturally saw it fall into vampiric hands.

Actions:

1. Clear the snow in Git Galit

2. Do stuff