A History of the Covenant Lands [IC Posts]

Knight Kroun watched his friend. High overlooking the verdant jungle, two mighty four-armed orcs conversed of dark matters.

"No. Not true. No say."

Knight Clayt waved his lower right arm in a horizontal slash. "Is true. Say so."

Kroun, overwhelmed by this overwhelming logic, grunted and nodded, then shook his head. "Not good."

Clayt shook his head as well. "Not good."

The lengthy debate settled, the two knights contemplated the deeper matters of statecraft for a few minutes, silently except for the deep scratching.

"Idea. Kill croppers."

Clayt raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Who get food?"

Kroun pounded his two upper fists onto the obsidian rimmed ledge. But not too hard, the Overseer was sleeping and couldn't be woken.

Clayt spat into the air, his loogie arcing long but lost in sight before it reached the jungle green.

"Good one."

Clayt thought. "Idea. Kill only rebel croppers!"

Kroun raised a lower hand, ready to dismiss the idea with a horizontal slash, but... didn't. He raised an eyebrow. "Good idea. Tell overseer?"

Clayt looked back into the room. "No, let sleep. We do." They both worried about the Overseer. A unique orc, incomparably intelligent, he alone could band them together, unite them into a nation of smashers, rather than independent warring tribes of smashers.

Kroun nodded and thumped his chest. "Kroun and Clayt, intercessors of internecine interdiction."

"Huh?" His friend looked at him with suspicion.

"Uhh, oh, er, smash rebels!"

Clayt nodded. "Smash good."

"Tell sorcerers?"

"Oh," replied Clayt, baffled by the sudden and unexpected twist. "No?"

Kroun raised an eyebrow halfway. "Overseer say tell sorcerers." As his condition worsened, the Overseer had ordered his attendants to run their plans past the Sun Sorcerers, a cabal of, well, sorcerers who were generally recruited for being smarter than other orcs. This of course made them wildly unpopular.

Clayt shook his head. "Sorcerers."

Kroun agreed. "Sorcerers."

They shook their heads together as if to say, this would complicate the orc response to rebellion tenfold.

Week 1: The Spider's Web
The haphazard streets of the Lower City were unusually quiet. The harsh sun was hanging low in the sky and a lone man was making his way back to one of the few inns the city seemed to possess. Covered in soot and sand, he was leaving an area wrought with disaster, as a long-dormant volcano had erupted earlier in the week. Many were still struggling to find shelter and aid in a place where it was every man for himself. The military had stepped in to aid in the evacuation, but they seemed more intent on minimizing the spread of the damage than helping anyone.
Even though he was bone-tired and ready to collapse, he kept a hand on the hilt of his sword and his eyes peered alertly from the depths of the fabric which wrapped his face to protect from the sun. The city itself seemed poised like a predator, ready to strike him down at the first sign of weakness, but he was able to find his way to the inn. The sign of the inn had long since broken off its hinges, though those who had been around long enough knew it as the "Last Stop Inn."
The man, Allisande Dawnshield, relaxed as he was bathed in the warm light from within. Everywhere else in the city seemed to be filled to the brim with lawless heathens, but the proprietor of the Inn was a stout, brash, dwarven woman who protected the establishment with a stern eye and a large cudgel on her hip. Her adopted son, a brutish but kind-hearted human who could put an orc to shame with his size, also helped her keep the riffraff and violence at bay. It was a welcome oasis of peace within the city.
Taking off his head wrap, Allisande shook the sand from his long blonde hair and scraggly beard, which he would swear up and down he didn’t have before arriving in Vax Kaggath. It was easy to tell that Allisande was not a native of Oszeth, nor anywhere in the Desert Wastes. His skin, while tanned, did not yet possess the bronzed look of those who had toiled away under the desert sun. He smiled warmly at Durm, the owner’s son, who responded with a little wave before going back to looking menacing by the door.
Sidling up to the bar on the first floor, he fell onto the stool with a groan, his aching bones needing a stiff drink to help him sleep through the night. A few moments later, the dwarf matron of the inn came out from behind the kitchen door, looking everywhere she could but at Allisande.
"Is everything alright, Ilde," the man asked her, not used to seeing her so beside herself.
Wringing her hands, Ilde finally brought herself to look at him, her eyes wet with tears. "You need to leave," she said, fear quaking in her voice.
Allisande sat up straight on the stool. "Leave? What are you talking about?" he asked with genuine confusion. In the short time he had been in the city, he had thought they had become good friends. She was one of the few who would listen about the teachings of his order, and her and her son seemed to be kindred spirits.
Choking down a sob, she looks at the floor again. "Please. You need to leave. It isn’t safe here…"
"I…" he begins, wanting to argue that he was not in any danger, despite the few attempts of brigands and thieves he had met in the streets. But maybe she was in danger, or her son. "I don’t understand… but I will go." He tells her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder over the bar.
He stands, saying "Let me go gather my things."
"NO!" she shouts, trying to grab him before he can head up the stairs to his room. "Don’t go up there."
After a bit of prying, she informs him of the strange woman who came to the Inn, asking about a holy man within the city. The woman described him in all but name, but Ilde did her best to not reveal that she knew him. It wasn’t until she revealed herself to be a member of the Shadow’s Web that Ilde became aware of how serious the situation was. Under threat of her life, her son’s life, and the continuation of her establishment, she told the woman everything she knew about Allisande.
Allisande was shocked. He had heard of the city’s secret organization but did not understand what they could want with him or how they could inspire so much fear into this woman he had thought to be fearless. Ilde warned him that the woman was up in his room, had been for the last few hours, and she had not seen her come down. The paladin did his best to calm the dwarf, but he had to confront her. No sense in letting the woman’s wrath come down on his friends when it was him that she wanted. Ilde bitterly when back to the kitchen, muttering about fools and death wishes.
Allisande climbed the stairs to his room, blade at the ready. It was as Ilde said, he could see the flickering light of a candle from beneath his shut door. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his gaze and pushed the door open. The room was spacious enough. One bed in the corner, neatly kept as Ilde kept all things. A small writing desk in the corner that Allisande had requested, allowing him to write in his journal and study his prayer book by candlelight. A few changes seem to have been made in his absence, however. His leather sack, containing all of his personal items that did not have a place strapped onto him, was dumped out on his bed, and a small table, flanked by two chairs, from the dining room had been placed in the center of the room atop which was a teapot bubbling on a contained, arcane fire.
The chair closest to the back of the room was taken by a woman clad in leather, the same type of leather he had seen earlier in the week when he was attacked by a group of, what he had presumed, organized thugs. It was becoming clearer to him why he was being asked about, but he had only defended himself from the attacks. The woman’s boots were kicked up on the desk, and she seemed deep in thought as she thumbed through his journal, her face concealed by her deep hood.
She seemed undisturbed as he closed the door gently behind him, being careful to keep his blade between them. Taking a moment to finish whatever page she was on; she closes the book.
"It took you long enough," the woman said, her voice smooth and eloquent, yet oddly grating at the edges of his mind. She continued to look the book over, running her finger along the spine as if it would reveal some hidden title. "Sit." She commanded.
A wave washed over the paladin’s mind as he put a hand on the chair, making to take a seat, but, with a shake of his head, he frees himself from whatever the woman had sent his way. When he does not sit, the woman laughs, a delicate, emotionless laugh. "You do have some spirit, don’t you."
"Who are you? And what do you want with me?" It took a lot to just force those words out. Allisande was a man of faith, and force. He had fought many battles, even against those with arcane might, but the ease with which his mind had been swayed struck his heart with a sliver of fear.
"I could ask you the same… but you seem a stubborn man, so I’ll comply so that this conversation will go somewhere." Her head turns towards him, her face concealed by a white porcelain mask. "My name is Salindra. I am here to ask you a few questions, though I think I’ve found the answers to most of them already." She says waving the journal in front of him. "You’re such a good little boy, aren’t you, keeping all of your secrets down for me."
His face burned with shame, though he couldn’t tell why. He had nothing to hide, especially not in that journal. Why was she making him feel this way? What was wrong with him? Salindra’s strikingly blue eyes pierced into him, seeming to read every minute detail of his face. "Sit." She said again.
He could not help but comply. He sat down across the table from her, still gripping his blade tightly in his fist.
"You’ve been causing a bit of trouble for me lately…" she begins, producing two small porcelain cups and placing them on the table. "You’ve been killing my spies, though, I suppose it can’t be helped. From your journal, it sounds as though you had no idea what you were getting yourself in to." She tells him. She begins to pour a light liquid from the teapot on the table into each cup, pushing one in front of him, and pulling the other towards herself.
With the smell of the brew before him, his mind seems to clear. It was obvious, at least right now, that the woman just wanted information. Fine. He had nothing to hide, and he would not be threatened by her if she tried. He reached deep, remembering the teachings of his order and steeled his mind from her magics. He looked down at the cup, taking it in his hand, but doing nothing with it. She also had not had a drink yet, but, with her mask, it was likely she didn’t plan to.
"If anything, I’m impressed. I train my spies well, and to have, not only one, but a small team bested is nothing short of impressive to me." She looked him up and down. "I could use someone like you." She looked at his cup, and at him, clearly expecting him to drink.
He looked at his cup as well, then back at her. Taking that as a ‘you drink first’ gesture, the woman shrugs. Slowly, she removes the mask. It seemed a trick of the light, but Allisande could swear that the face beneath looked more statuesque than the mask. Her skin was as pale as ivory, and the contrast of her blue eyes made her seem like she wasn’t real. She brought the cup up to her lips, taking a sip as she continued to stare into the Paladin’s soul.
Seeing that the drink was clearly not poisoned, he takes a drink as well. It was a fairly inoffensive drink, though it had an odd flavor that he couldn’t place. The smile in response to his action did not reassure him, but he had satisfied whatever desire within that had wanted him to drink. "So, you are offering me a job, then?" He asks, trying to maintain eye contact with the strange woman.
"Simply put, yes. Though consider it less as an offer, than a sentence." Her lip twitches into a crooked smile. "You are a man of law, yes?"
He nods, though he was growing more concerned by the second.
"Then, by the laws of this land, you are found guilty of the murder of 4 government officials. Your sentence, while normally death, has been lessened. These charges were brought before our illustrious ruler, who has allowed you to make up for this lapse of judgement by serving in the place of those who were killed so senselessly." Salindra’s gaze seemed to deepen in intensity as she continued, like a spider watching with glee as a fly flies deeper into its trap.
"It was my impression," Allisande retorts, "that this land had no laws."
Salindra’s smile drops. "So, you do not accept the King’s mercy, I take it?"
He thinks for a moment. "No. I have seen what passes for order in this land, and what your Shadow King sees as mercy. I will have no part in serving him."
Salindra tuts disapprovingly. The table is gone in a moment, flung across the bed as she draws a dagger, intent on piercing the Paladin’s heart. His blade is up just as quick, swinging before him to block her strike, and leaving a rent in the leather on her arm. A second dagger seems to jump into her hand as she goes for the knee, tearing into the fabric on his leg, but stopping short as it reaches his flesh.
She looks up at him coyly, "So the reports are accurate. Normal weapons don’t work." She seems oddly pleased with the development as she continues to fight, now defensively, as Allisande strikes again and again, testing her defenses. Minutes pass, neither seeming to tire and neither having so much as a scratch on their bodies. At once, Allisande sees an opening, sending both of her daggers flying across the room, though losing his sword in the process. He pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her to pin her arms to her side.
She struggles for a moment, seeming to take delight in the turn of events. While smiling, her eyes were cold and heartless. She turns in his arms, taking his moment of surprise to plant a kiss on his lips. Letting her go in shock, his whole body reels from some unknown force. His legs give out from under him as his mind goes blank. He collapses in a heap, the last thing he knows being the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

Mordith Pikara loomed over a table within the Palace’s war room, a map of the desert spread out before him. His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps, quiet and precise on the marble floor. "You’re still alive." He said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Did he take the offer? Or did you give him the Dream Weed?"
Salindra stalked up to him, walking around the table to stand on the opposite side of the map. "He was too stubborn, but naive enough to drink the tea. Your catalyst idea worked like a charm as well." She said, her eyes shining with equal amusement from behind her mask. "He didn’t know what hit him."
Mordith chuckled and scratched his chin as he turned his attention back to the map.
Looking over the map, Salindra points to a spot, north-west of Vax Kaggath. "There."
He looks up in confusion. "Why there?"
"If my reports are correct, we will need a vantage point from which to watch for any threats from the north. This is one of the highest peaks around. One well-fortified outpost and we can see them before they get anywhere close to the city."
The elven man nodded solemnly, "I will lead a force there tomorrow. Whenever he is ready, have him bring another force to help secure the area." He looks at her, "When will he be ready?"
"The paladin is with the King now… I don’t imagine he will be far behind you."

Week One

Reclamation Day, an important day in the Directives calendar. All the important members of government address the public, often accompanied by the unveiling of a massive project. This Reclamation Day was no different. Today, the Chancellor unveiled Operation Advent, the expansion of the Directive into the surrounding area. The crowd went cheered loudly at this, expansion having been a distant dream of the populace since the reclamation of the nation from the Empire.

Somehow, while everyone was distracted by the festivities, a lone thief had snuck into Administra HQ and took the original copy of The Foundation (the documents written by Malstar). Unfortunately for the thief, the only route out that wasn’t guarded was the courtyard, which was currently packed with spectators of the speeches, whom all recognised the Scroll. To say what followed was messy was an understatement. By the time Protecira officers had arrived and apprehended the thief, she’d been beaten within an inch of her life by the crowd. Said crowd, recognising the officers’ authority, dispersed from that area, allowing her to be placed into an infirmary and then a cell, where she is residing at the end of the week, trial set for next week.


Malstar Estrella

Malstar was sitting at her rather spartan desk, looking uncomfortable in the uniform she was wearing. "This is a peaceful occupation, Ordinus. Order all your troops to keep their swords sheathed and to only use their batons, non-lethal only. If I hear anything about deaths, you are going to be demoted several ranks. Think of this as a test, make up for that training oversight last week. Jenkins will be out for a whole year now."

"That would be General, Marshal, and I will allow my commanders to do as they wish. I wouldn’t put it past these savages to attack us on sight, no matter what the leaders say." Ordinus twitched as Malstar called him by his last name, not the title he’d earned.

This caused Malstar, uncharacteristically, to stand up abruptly and slam her hand against the desk, causing Ordinus to flinch. "Have you bothered to even do any preliminary research? These ‘savages’ are better farmers than we have ever been, not to mention their connections between the towns? These people can bring more to the Directive than you ever can. After you execute this plan, consider Tresimine your commanding officer."

Ordinus ALMOST struck Malstar, almost shaking with anger. He’d never been a supporter of her, always the other side, especially during the Pre-Reclamation years. He didn’t quite have the egalitarian world view Malstar founded the Directive with.

"If you wish me to be led by a woman, then so be it. I look forward to replacing her when she fails."

Malstar throws her letter opener to the side of his head, the blade going into the wall "Speak like that again and you’ll be seeing the inside of a prison cell"

With that, Ordinus basically ran out of the room, though looking a little more dignified than as if he’d bolted. Then, he led the troops of the 1st and 3rd legions into the south, peacefully occupying the province.

The Politics of Rivellesk

Pre-Covenant Years

The early migrants settled into the islands as families and close-knit tribes. Individual islands came around to choosing a clan leader to settle petty squabbles of livestock and property, always someone both stronger and wiser. Each island had a Haartrosz, or a ‘hearth-circle’, a circle of neutral ground, usually centred around an artesian well or hot spring, where the clan elder spoke his authority and passed judgements.

As their population grew, and more and more islands were civilised, ships crossed each other routes, net and lines got entangled, and together with that, prows butted heads. There was an increasing need to resort to some kind of feudal arrangement before swords were crossed as well. It was agreed that the elders of the five largest islands had authority over the smaller ones surrounding them. Each of these, Tenczek, Letzhia, Dreji-zil, Ninnorej and Hetvmik, were respectively Haartroszi for their satellite islands. They were neutral grounds of peace. Disputes and conflicts happened offshore, at sea, or in one of the smaller isles. Arbitration occurred on these central Rivellian domains.

The Empire Arrives

The empire arrived with an armada. With their repeated overtures demanding fealty, escalating into threat of war, they fully expected resistance from the Rivellese. As they exited the Straits of Waal Vilnaz and made for the Riev peninsula, they found themselves largely ignored as the Rivellese went about their usual business. Demanding to see the Rivellese rulers, the five elders, after much delay, turned up for a parley at the mouth of the Strait, with the lord of Dreji-zil purported to have turned up drunk and quoted as having said "What do these grit fuckers want this time?". War was averted when the five lords collectively agreed to let the empire rule from Vodspitz. For while the mountain spire was important to the Rivellese in symbolic ways, the truth was that no one particularly cared to live on the mainland to run the country.

In the subsequent years, the empire brought progress and development to Vodspitz. The building of Vodspitz city and established the northern road up the Vodulian mountains. Its crowning glory was Vodspitz castle, a gleaming structure at the base of the Vod spire itself, overlooking the entire city. It was the empire that appointed a Count as ruler of the nation, and named the island leaders barons of their respective territories, with each baron sending a representative to sit in court. This feudal arrangement seemed to benefit all concerned, and the years passed in relative prosperity.

The End of the Covenant

No one knows the reason for the downfall and disappearance of the empire. The entire Vodspitz nobility vanished, leaving only court administrators and functionaries. The Barons were nonplussed, and turned their attention back to island affairs, appointing a castellan from the foremost of the remaining knights to rule. They even kept him the title, Count of Riev, to make matters as least disruptive as possible.

A hundred years after the Vanishing, the third castellan, Count Delmark, approaches old age. Once again, succession plans need to be put in motion.

The early days of New Zaangoria:
As the brutal slaughter of the residents of Lake Wood starts to die down, the people are being rounded up and binded in ropes the Zaangor raiders found in their town's supply. The first few things are decided: the people are to be made into slaves, and are grouped according to their own race so as to keep track of their numbers and have them labour according to their talents. The first thing that they did was to build giant wooden buildings that are more for efficiency for having the slaves to sleep in. Buildings for the Zaangors are also made. In particular, there is a one that is built like a fortress for Hra'an and his Council to live in. The heads of the slain are put on pikes along the walls the fort. For now, they stink as they decompose, but eventually, they will turn to skulls.

Then the slaves were also made to farm the land that they had. The people are warned that if they do not produce enough food, their masters might consider serving their neighbours as part of their meals.

As for communication, the Hra'an appointed one of his nine advisors to learn the language of the people, specifically common. The advisor is known as The Elder of Tongues, and was the one to name their developing capital city "La'eka Warued" after it's original name. The Elder of Tongues in turn, appointed some of his own assistants to teach the Zaangors common. The Zaangors that can speak simple concepts will be made to be the Inspectors. They are ones who goes around the city to make sure that both Zaangor and slave are behaving appropriately according to Hra'an's rule.

All in all, Hra'an wishes to make sure that the Capital is well established before acquiring new lands.
(This is a 300 word development action.)
----
The cleric's claim:
As Hra'an watches his city over the balcony of his wooden castle, one of his advisers came to him. She was a cleric of Zaang, better known as The Elder of Visions. "Brother Hra'an, I would like a word with you."

"You may speak, Sister of Visions."

"This is concerning a vision that was given to me by Zaang. He told me that our trip to this new land was his intention, and that it was in his great plan to cure himself and his people of his curse."

The cleric now has the leader's full attention.
"This is very important. Come with me to my chambers, and continue sharing your vision there."

Once they are in the leader's sleeping chamber, the cleric continues.
"I foresee that we will continue conquering this land. Brother of Tongues had told us that the slaves once belonged to a great empire that had fallen long ago. I saw the empire, but instead of the Humans and the others, it was us Zaangors. The streets were full of celebration as the cured hornless Zaangors waved their flags of the New Zaangorian nation. This is a vision of the future! We will soon save our race and make ourselves the proud nation that comes after our descendants! Perhaps even greater than the Zaangoria before!"

The two of them celebrated the revelation by copulating with each other. By the next day, Hra'an met with her again.
"The vision was indeed good news, you should announce it once our great temple to Zaang has been completed. As for our relationship, it would be best for it to remain platonic."

The temple being built was made from stone taken from the nearby mines. It was mainly the dwarven slaves that were forced to mine it and build the temple. Seeing it being constructed made the Zaangors more at ease at behaving themselves.

The construction took about 2 months, due to the efficient manner of which the dwarves acquired and sculpted the stones. By the time it was finished, a celebration of feasting was held. Even the newly discovered addictive fish was served to the Zaangors who attended.

As the feast was midway, Hra'an came forward, alongside the Elders of Visions and Tongues, to give a speech. Hra'an announces that a great vision was received by his fellow Sister, then he allows her to speak. While she speaks, the Elder of Tongues translated the message in Common for the slaves to understand as well. Once the message was delivered, the alcohol was taken from the town's storage was given to all the partying Zaangors. Once the night ended, all the alcohol is drained from the supply.

And thus was this vision repeated every week. It has become like a form of propaganda for when times are tough, and as part of a new doctrine by the clerics of Zaang to remind their people that their god has a plan of prosperity for their nation.

(This is the 500 word development action.)

The addictive fish:

It has been known that the locals use the lake as a food source other than farming or hunting in the woods. It was because the fishes commonly go there to breed. The Zaangors will also do that, forcing the fishermen slaves to continue on their profession for their kingdom.

The Zaangors have not tasted the species of fish and other forms of life in the new continent, so they enjoyed the new delicacies with great thrill. They would be willing to eat anything; the fishes, frogs, crabs, or bugs. They would demand that the more tastier ones to be reserved for those in higher authority to enjoy. That was fine, until a particular species of fish was discovered.

It was not very impressive looking, albeit perhaps slightly amusing. It is brown, has a flat body, and spend most of its time lying on the bottom of the lake floor. When they are first captured and served to the assistants of the Elder of Meats, who are called The First Tasters, they found it to be incredibly delicious. They demanded more and secretly kept extras for themselves without reporting it to their elder. An Inspector eventually discovered the secret horde they are collecting a month later, and she swiftly reported it to the Elder of Meats.

The ones responsible for hiding the stash were executed publicly, while those that just kept the plan a secret was punished by receiving a few sword slashes at the thigh. New First Tasters were recruited to return the number to nine.

It was after this that the Elder of Meats tried the fish, and found it to be pleasantly salty and meaty, but then, he felt strong cravings. He was more in control of his desires than his underlings, and so figured that this craving was not natural, and asked about it to the Elder of Thoughts. The Elder of Thoughts, through a collaboration with the Elder of Flesh, discovered that the fish has an organ that produces chemicals that can cause addictive effects when ingested. They found it to be dangerous if knowledge got out, as the Elder of Books warned that Zaangoria, the old kingdom, has a neighbour that destroyed itself with drugs, and they shouldn’t risk the same outcome for their newly born empire.

And so, they continued the development of their society without involving addictive substances.
(400 words for development)

Week 2: The Dwarven Temple

Black flags bearing the sigil of Oszeth whipped about in the high winds of the mountainside. The initial battle had been over quickly. It was unknown to Vax Kaggath that this monastery existed, but the dwarven monks had put up little resistance. The survivors of the onslaught knelt in the snow, each held by thick chains and a black clad guard standing by their side. A small force of the monks was holding a barricade within the heart of the temple, but Mordith knew they would stomp the rebellion before much longer.
Among the monks was a priest of some sort, likely their leader and the only reason this foolishness was dragging out. The elven man watched with subdued interest as a few of his soldiers hammered away at the wall of natural stone that had sprung up with a wave of the ancient-looking dwarf’s hand. He had already sent a few teams to search for alternate entry, and he knew that the dwarves had not left the room, as the old one audibly shouted orders from the other side. They were trapped like vermin and would soon be exterminated like such.
With a sigh, he pushed himself from the wall he was leaning against and began to examine the etchings in the stone walls. Most of the artwork and valuable pieces of history had already been looted and was on its way to Vax Kaggath. Quite a few of the walls, however, were equally ornamented and carved with rich history. Mostly creation myths and teachings of the Creator and Hammerfist, the dwarves’ god. Mordith would have to send some scribes here. The King was always after bits of history and religious theory, though he could only wonder why.
His attention was pulled from his reverie by the sound of crashing stone and cries of battle. But the cries stopped as quickly as they began. He looked, seeing his men looking into the room with confusion and disgust. He quickly pushed himself to the front, peering into the room that had held the dwarves last defense. The room itself was a large circular chamber, the only entrance was from his side, but a large set of stone doors stood open on the other side. What had stopped his men in their tracks were the remains of the dwarven monks.
Several them lay on the floor near the other door, their fingers bloody and their eyes torn away. A faint, red glow bathed the whole room and seemed to emanate from the stairwell behind the bodies that led deeper into the mountain. Seeing the nasty work the dwarves had done, Mordith ordered one of his men to head down the stairwell and see what had happened. Hesitantly, the soldier eased down the steps. A few moments later, the soldier’s howling laughter could be heard, and the pounding of his boots up the stairs. Blood poured from his eye socket and his remaining one shone with mad, murderous glee.
Before anyone could stop him, he drove his blade into the neck of one of his fellow soldiers. They fought each other to the ground, both laying silent after a few moments of fighting and stabbing. The remaining soldiers looked in shock at their leader, who, for once, had no answers.
He commanded his troops to reconvene with the others outside while he decided what to do. Reaching the stairs peak, he found another strange sight. He was getting quite sick of these odd happenings. Another flag waved at the forward camp, still the black of Vax Kaggath, but tattered, and bearing a sigil he did not recognize. Upon reaching the camp, he was led by a wide-eyed and terrified soldier to the newcomer.
"So…" the elf said, a cruel smile forming on his lips. "You finally made it."
Before him stood a terrible sight. A creature, once a man, but now nothing but bone. His great armor named him a knight of some sort, explaining the sigil he did not recognize. Its eye sockets glowed with burning hatred for everything that lived around it, but the glow was tempered by a dark intelligence. He knew the King had plans for the Paladin, but this surpassed his expectations.
It looked at him, seemingly recognizing him as the man in charge. "I have." It replied. It seemed unimpeded by its lack of lips or vocal chords, but the sound of its voice raised the hairs on the back of his neck. "I was told that there were others. That the leader remained within the temple."
Mordith nodded. "Yes. But there was a complication. The dwarves who held out against us are dead… but by their own hand. Something within the mountain drove them mad, as well as one of the soldiers I sent to investigate." He could almost swear the Paladin looked amused. "But now that you’re here… I think we can solve this matter."
The Paladin accompanied Mordith back to the chamber. He waited as he descended the steps, holding his blade at the ready in case the creature wasn’t immune to the source of the madness. The red glow faded from view, and a short time later, it came back up with the old dwarf in tow. The paladin’s gauntleted hand was gripping something tightly, and his other hand held the back of the dwarf’s robe.
He was truly ancient looking, his face a mess of wrinkled, leathery skin and his eyes had the look of blindness. He seemed exhausted, probably why he hadn’t put up a fight against the undead monster.
"Good work, Paladin." Mordith said. "What was down there?"
"A chamber, housing a single relic." He answered, holding up his fist. "A crystal of some type." Releasing the dwarf, who collapsed to the ground, he dropped the crystal into a cloth bag, cinched it tight and handed it to Mordith. "Bring both of these back to the Capital. I will remain here and work to turn this temple into an outpost."
Mordith took the sack, placing it in his own bag before his curiosity could get the better of him. "My orders were to remain until the task is complete." He challenged, trying to hide his anger that this abomination was giving him orders.
"Your orders have changed. You must be present before the council to swear in your new member."

Mordith and the rest of his men left the monastery, leaving behind the corpses of the dwarven prisoners that the Paladin had ordered executed. The dwarven priest lay bound across the front of the massive Corrathix that the elven General used as a mount. The crystal weighed heavily in his mind, but less so than the fact that a new Council Member was being sworn in. Either one of the others had died, or they soon would.

The Myths of Rivellesk

Crivelln and the Vodspitz

The man from the sea
In a mighty ship of old
He came to the mountain
He came to the mountain
The gates of stone stayed shut
We did not move for him

The man from the sea
Lay he each day on the sand
He watched the rocky peak
He watched the rocky peak
The veil of clouds obscured
We did not move for him

The man from the sea
Grandfather gave him strength
He planted his steadfast feet
He planted his steadfast feet
The rock of ages held
We did not move for him

The man from the sea
Upwards he wended his way
He scaled each crag and spur
He scaled each crag and spur
The cliffs did not deter
We did not move for him

The man from the sea
Stood he on highest peak
He surveyed all below
The mountain was now his
We could not move for him
We could not move for him

- from the Lay of Crivelln, as recorded by the dwarves of Kharas-Rad

When the islanders of Rivellesk (before it was known as Rivellesk) looked northwards, they saw the frozen wastes of the inhospitable tundra, and the might of the volcanic terrain that circumscribed the arctic. When the islanders of Rivellesk looked south, towards the mainland, they saw a spire, rising towards the heavens. On a clear day they could barely see the peak.

Crivelln saw the light of heaven.

From the islands, he sailed to the shore of the Rivellian peninsula. There he built a shrine, and prayed for forty days and forty nights. The other islanders brought him food, water, built shelter for him, but he was not distracted by these comforts. On the fortieth day he approached the mountain, and began to climb. The dwarves under the mountain took note, but took no action. A madman, they assumed, and left him alone.

Crivelln climbed, the plants of the mountain gave him drink, it is said the queen of the avariel, Irilelyel herself, brought him food. It is said Grandfather himself opened up crevices and ridges for him to sleep on. Forty days and forty nights he climbed. The snow on his back cooled his fever. The clouds of the sky occupied his dreams.

At the peak, the light of the unfiltered sun blinded him. The thinness of the air brought him to his knees. The voice of Grandfather echoed in his head. Carrying nothing with him all this while except for this, he made the simplest of shrines to his god, a handful of island sand. And so it came to pass, that the islanders of the Zendir ocean found themselves higher than the highest mountain in their known world.

- from the oral traditions of the Haartrosz elders

Post 1: The Claim
(Imperial Senate)

It was inevitable that this day would come… Since the Great Recall when the emperor and his army left, the Covenant’s situation has been slowly degenerating into chaos. Loyalty to an absent power wasn’t easy to gain or even enforce, and so it slowly started with the outer lands rebelling. With no real opposition, new kingdoms and realms emerged to grab the abandoned holdings from the empire. Everyone knew that it was only a matter of time until the plague of war could spread from the outskirts of the empire to its heart.

For generations the Lords of the Old Land managed to hold together what was left of the Empire. The Imperial Council became mostly ceremonial, weakened by the Great Recall and the rise of the Imperial Senate, who was to rule as Regent for the Empire. But with each passing day, the Empire grew weaker while its enemies grew stronger. Inevitably, the Senate became too deep in scandals, backstabbing and power games to hold the Lords of the Old Lands together. And so, the day finally came. The truth is that, in their current state, any external threat would easily send the Empire into disarray, and so each Lord was more interested in solidifying his own land. Gaining influence and power became not only a matter of status, but also of survival.

It started with a discussion about the Emperor’s absence and the growing threat of the outsider realms, most of which were still labelled as rebels. It ended in war. An alliance of dissident nobles approached the Senate claiming that the Emperor has been absent for so long that his claim to the throne is void and the grandson of the Emperor’s brother should be named the new Emperor, showing the world that the Empire still exists and will be reborn, instead of being a dying state living in the past...

---

Post 2: The North Trade War
Event conclusion: Willowvale approaches the Marches, offering to grant access to their trading network, but what is the price, and is it too high?
(Captain of the Sun's Blade Company)

From the start, his mission was shrouded in chaos. As the captain of the Sun's Blade Company, he had marched to Willowvale, hired by the Margrave himself! The emissary has promised access to the northern trade routes in exchange for some military protection as they secured the seas from the recent increase in triton-related piracy. Once again, the tribes would sell their men for the resources their land lacked. The recent unrest that allowed the tribes to become the prominent force at the Covenant’s Gate created a major lack of food, threatening the new Confederacy with a spiral of rebellions and chaos. His thoughts are interrupted as he quickly surveys his men, making sure they are ready.

He wished he was sent to deal with the brigands. Against those unskilled warriors, the challenge would be more about how to come back with no man lost. Now here, he wondered if he would be going back at all for the first time. And all they had to do was to patrol Willowvale! He wasn’t sure what was happening, but news of something major happening at the Foundation, something from within the Imperial Senate itself, something that would split the Empire. War has been inevitable for some time. Everyone knew that the peace maintained by the Lords of the Old Lands was just an illusion. And today was the day. It was the first battle in what could be a long civil war.

All started with some missing ships, which became frequent piracy and grew to conspiracy of treason... until the ships came. The Willowvale emissary was right, the common skirmishes in the North Sea’s trade routes became a full blow war as the two maritime alliances clashed, Willowvale becoming the battleground. And Sun's Blade Company would be the one to open the battlefield. He knew his men were as ready as they have ever been. A good group of veterans, he had to admit. It had been fifteen years since he started this Company from the ground. Anyway, Terminus fleets sailed down the Scorching sea, set up surprise blockades on the main ports of Northvale and Willowvale. Southvale’s army moved north into Northvale unopposed and the combined force of Windrise’s maritime alliances was standing in front of him, themselves a sea of warriors marching on the grass fields. All that stood in their way now was his company. Willowvale’s army was unprepared, re-enforcements were promised, but would they arrive in time? "Have the mounted archery start" he ordered.

---

Post 3: The Succession War
Event: War breaks out in the Old Land, resulting in Cloudspire becoming the new regional capital.
(Guardian of the Library)

War has come to the Old Land. After all these years maintaining the Empire’s legacy, it seems all it took was one Senate session. The Guardian of the Library knew this would complicate the consolidation of the Confederacy. His informants were very clear about what was going on. As soon as the claim to the throne was laid, the Lords picked the side that suited their ambitious best, in same cases, suspicioulsy too quickly. The Senate was boycotted and put on indefinite hold. The Imperial Council is gone. Cloudspire welcomed the new Emperor and declared itself the new capital of the Empire, styling itself as The place that stands over the Empire. What he found most interesting, is that Cloudspire stood alone when the Senate met, but left with a solid eastern bloc that readily declared war on the Foundation and the Senate, which are nothing but usurping nobles in their view.

The Guardian wondered how Stillbourn was convinced to turn. In fact, it was Stillbourn that crossed the border first. Fallowfield and Fireheart soon followed. Of course, Foundation did call on his allies, but Willowvale, Goldport and Invernë were busy fending for themselves in the North Wars. Terminous surprise attack was almost simultaneous with the end of the metting... And the news weren’t very pleasing for the Confederacy. The Sun’s Blade Company put a good fight, but was ultimately defeated, having to fall back. Many good men died on that field. The Eleven Marches had been dragged into the War because the Margrave decided to ignore the council’s authority and the tribes were the first to pay the price. Ah, the Margrave… He was a completely different story…

The Guardian’s spies send to Southvale have found evidence of inside information. Someone from within turned on the Winter's Ballad Company to Southvale. The Margrave disappeared when the Guardian showed his evidence at the council meeting, only to be caught crossing the border. Since he also sent the Sun’s Blade Company to Willowvale, did he sell them out to Windrise as well? With the Margrave in a dungeon and the Empire crumbling, the Guardian's plans were coming to fruition: the lady of the Eleven could claim the Covenant’s Gate from the Empire and establish the tribes as a major power in the Old Lands. Who knows, maybe the empire was even within their grasp now, if they moved their pieces well.

But first, this War of Succession... Northvale’s diplomatic mission was successful. Why wouldn’t it be? They were being invaded by Southcove and their fleet was blocked by Terminus’ forces. The Confederation’s friendship must have felt like a blessing in their hour of doom. The full military force of the Confederation was deployed to stop the enemy in the southern region of Northcove. The first battle was not decisive, but there would be more. The question now was what Unilith was up to…

He looked at the letter he was reading. The Army from Running marches east. "That can change the war" he though. If Running made it to Foundation and combined forces with Greenwall, the two "walls of the empire" would be more than a match for Cloudspire’s eastern bloc. They would easily put an end to this war. But they would have to cross the Eleven Marches first...

Rivellesk and its Neighbours

The Shale-less Citadel

Thelfstan of Ninnorej stood in front of the dwarven clockwork citadel that had risen from the depths of the Cleft over a month ago. Although it was an exaggeration to say that he was ‘in front of’ the citadel. At its widest point, the width of the Cleft was miles wide. A few hundred of feet of chasm lay between his entourage, and the stone gates of the citadel proper.

With a tremendous blast of steam that sent plumes of smoke and granite grit into the air, a booming crunch echoed deep into the canyon as an impossibly long drawbridge began to extend itself from the gates, the sound of monstrous gears grinding into place, interminable minutes ticking by until it finally reached the edge of where Thelfstan was. The stone’s theirs, but I’ll bet they stole the mechanism from the gnomes. Thelfstan had never been so excited in his life. I do hope they’ll be stubborn and unreasonable. He mused. Nothing like a bit of a skirmish for breakfast, and all out war by lunchtime, then home victorious by dinner.

"By crossing the Cleft, you have entered the sovereign kingdom of Kharas-Rad. State your name and your business here." The command seemed to emanate from the mouth of the gigantic dwarven caryatid statues carved into the masterwork walls.

"Clangor! Clangor you mangy mountain goat, I know you’re in there. Open these damn doors and let me in. And what have you done with my sister? Did she cut off your beard as well as your balls?"

More minutes ticked by. "Lord Thelfstan, perhaps it’s unwise to remain on this bridge. I suggest we retreat to the cliff edge." His long-suffering captain pulled up alongside; he understood his lord’s idiosyncrasies, but it was still his duty to protect him at all costs. "Listen to him for once master. You can fly, I can fly, but your five hundred men can’t." The little imp perched on Thelfstan’s horse sniggered. Even the horse seemed to whinny in agreement.

The stone doors began the rumble open. A hundred feet tall, twenty feet thick, they were more like slabs hewn from the mountain face proper. Then came the tramping of metal-shod boots, short strides, but heavy ones. Dwarven boots. Two columns of warriors, stretching into the darkness of the entrance hall within, and in the middle, a herald.

"Lord Thelfstan von Leithau, On behalf of Lord Clangor and Kharas-Rad, we bid you welcome to Shar-Nor, or in your tongue, the Shale-less Citadel."

Notable Peoples of Rivellesk

The Von Leithaus of Ninnorej

Visionaries. Charmers. Geniuses. The spark of creativity, and some say bedlam, runs strong in the lineage of the von Leithaus. One of the original founding families who sailed northwards from the old lands to settle in the Rivellian islands, it was Brelst von Leithau who brilliantly conceived of a way to navigate the numerous islands of the Zendir Ocean without having their ships dashed against the perilous rocks and narrow straits. The ships of the old lands were galleons and brigantines, built for war and heavy transport, but ill-suited to the currents and weather of the harsh north. Trapped rounding the Straits of Waal Vilnaz, and in mid-journey, Brelst instructed all their ships to convert their rigs into lateen sails, which allowed them to tack against the polar winds, and make them more nimble as they navigated the archipelago. As one of the primogenitors, the von Leithaus were given authority over Ninnorej island, the second largest of all the Rivellian islands.

It was also a von Leithau, Kirste-En, who stilled the volcano of flame and frost. An inexplicable mystical phenomenon in one of the less charted islands on the north eastern perimeter, the mountain threatened its surroundings with alternating blankets of hailstorms, superheated steam, and magma explosions, the result of an entire ice shelf situated atop an undersea fissure. She opened a miniature portal to the para-elemental plane when both geographical features met, and shunted the excess pressure away. She was last seen searching for a way to penetrate the ring of volcanoes that surround the arctic circle, in her own words, to find what the bloody fire demons are hiding behind that wall of theirs.

Currently, Baroness Thenstella, affectionately known as the Evening Crone of Ninnorej (the Ninnorejians have a wicked sense of humour), rules her domain with a preternatural awareness of all that goes on in Rivellesk. Her brother, Thelfstan, afflicted with the wanderlust of the von Leithau blood, currently spends his time in Vodspitz city. Their youngest sister, Thelfenia, is the Rivellian envoy to the dwarven kingdom of Kharas-Rad under the mountain, and also hasn’t been seen for years.

Week 2: Reason Imprisoned
Erasthmus Krenn sat in a dank cell beneath the citadel, his face twisted in a murderous grimace. He could not help but think back on the events of the past few days. He had felt on top of the world. For once, the Council listened to his ideas, and they had helped greatly in improving life in the city. Perhaps the power he felt was too much to bear, or the curiosity that had brewing since his ascension had grown too great. He had not thought he had spoken out of turn, nor to the wrong ears… but the walls had ears of their own, and the one who heard all of Vax Kaggath’s secrets did not take kindly to his prodding.
It began with a book. A dreaded book that he now wished he had never found in his home. Though, it made more sense to say he found it within the home of the Councilor of Civic Works, as he had inherited it from his predecessor, an ancient man with a great mind for engineering and a mean look that could freeze the blood in your veins. If it hadn’t been for his snooping, he wouldn’t be in this mess. But found the book he did, a journal of secrets kept by the former Councilor.
The book was filled mainly with gossip, rumor and legend. Musing of an aging mad man who couldn’t discern reality from fantasy any longer. He had been reading the book light-heartedly, finding the man’s ramblings amusing and finding the occasional jewel of wisdom to help fuel his ideas. But a few days ago, he found a few tidbits that were incredibly disturbing. The first was that Councilor Salindra, was not human. Not human, nor elf, or incredibly tall dwarf. He was not sure what but was not entirely convinced that she was even alive.
Normally, this idea would have resulted in a chuckle from Krenn, adding to his perception that the man was losing it, if not for a substantial piece of evidence. After Salindra’s encounter with the Paladin, he had seen a gap in her usually pristine armor. Her wrist had been cleaved into, but where there should have been blood, or a bandaged wound, Erasthmus could see wood and wire.
This caused the councilor to look at some of the man’s rumors once again. Compiling it with his own evidence and the idea that maybe, just maybe, he had taken over because the old man knew too much.
The other idea was far more disturbing. He had come across the legend of the Shadow King before in the journal, and the old Councilor had added his own thoughts to the tale. Many knew that he had been exiled from the Old Empire long before its fall, during the age of the roving bands, and had come to where Vax Kaggath now stood across many miles of desert. What the old man speculated was that the King had been exiled from the Empire much longer than most thought. That he had been one of the original exiles, during the time of the Empire’s birth.
Researching his own tomes of history and religion had led Erasthmus to the conclusion that the conclusion that the Shadow King may have been a disciple of the Ashen One, thought to be a deity of destruction directly opposed to the Creator.
Well, he had no concrete evidence of course, but he knew of someone who had been around enough dark magic to know of its history. He had brought the idea to Alsobeth, simply posing it as a curiosity about the city’s history. She scoffed, saying that it didn’t matter what he was, and that questioning his power was a good way to get one’s self killed.
’She wasn’t wrong… he thought morosely, listening to the distant plunk of water hitting the stone floor. His questioning had gotten back to Salindra, who searched his home, found the book, and had Erasthmus arrested. It didn’t matter the cause, she wanted him gone, so he was gone. ’Just like the old man. Died from knowing too much.’

The cackling laughter echoing within the Civic Works estate would be enough to make anyone mad, but not as mad as its source. It had taken many years, but Talak, a strange-looking orc, had finally usurped Councilor Krenn. All it took was a few secrets whispered in the right corners, but those secrets took years to build correctly. It would be his pleasure to reveal the existence of the Labyrinth beneath Vax Kaggath to his fellow councilors, and an even great pleasure to lead the purge of the Zitherakk he had coerced into building it.
Salindra was ecstatic that he had been "brave" enough to speak out against his master and reveal that he had hired the villainous bug-men to create a maze beneath the city to trap his fellow councilors so that he could rule without them. Another howl of mad laughter followed this thought. Instead of his councilors, Erasthmus would be trapped in Talak’s oubliette until he starved, or until he was eaten by one of the creatures he intended to release down there.

The Empire is in chaos. Bereft of their singular leader, the two halves of the orc soul have broken their ancient pact and fighting has begun. The powerful Knights wage war on the numerous croppers. But even a peasant orc is a formidable foe and in numbers, there is no easy victory. The Sun Sorcerers, the intelligentsia of the Empire crack down hard on rebellion, but only fuel the flames of strife.

As the Obsidian Empire crumbles into its smaller nation tribes, as alliances teeter and form with maddening rapidity, a small event strikes to the core of the balance of power...

---

Jaxxa winced when the blade plunged down, she could not help it. The raccoon screamed, an awful sound, like an orcish child. The wise woman held the animal’s jaw firmly, bravely, and drawing the thin knife from its side, slid its sharp edge across its throat. Hot blood spilled into the copper bowl and she squeezed the weakened, terrified beast as if it were a lemon.

Blood magic! Why am I here? This isn’t right! Jaxxa felt her pity eclipse with a rush of nausea. Her heart thundered in her ears. Eyes darted around the room, seeking escape, but the croppers surrounded her, their own faces shining with wonder. Their desperation filled the room with a heat that brought a sweat to her brow.

Her jaw firmed, teeth clenching, her lower fangs jutting through her lips. They depended on her, and Jaxxa was not one to let down those who depended on her. For too long, the croppers had been abused by their lord, and with the blight their taxes were too much for them to handle.


The wise woman lay her knife down beside the twitching raccoon. She held the copper bowl with one hand, and her other pinching fresh herbs from the table. The herbs were dropped into the mixture. Lastly, she waved smoke over the mixture and handed the bowl to Jaxxa.

The herbs swam in the hot blood like tiny boats. A stray ray stole from the shuttered window, illuminating the bowl as she looked down. The smoke clung to the herbs, a minute mist upon a miniature macabre lake. Her knees wobbled, her eyes itched, a dizziness stole over her. The scene expanded as if she were a giant looking down upon a tiny world. She imagined industry and families, tiny creatures swimming in the lake, living their unknown lives oblivious to the cataclysm.

She raised the bowl, about to drain the lake and bring ruination to this environment. Her ears buzzing, she was only distantly aware of the old woman was saying something, "Just take a s-"

Jaxxa poured the contents straight down her throat. The hot liquid coated her tongue, her throat in its sharp metallic tang. The smoke danced over her lips, the herbs brushed her palate, but she simply opened herself up and drank it all in one go.

"-sip." The old woman’s eyes grew wide for a moment. Jaxxa handed her the bowl, chin out. "Too much and you could lose yourself to the vessel." She watched her closely for a pause. "Very well, so you are ready. You are now our reeve. Remember our demands, and don’t give away our children." The croppers grumbled, a deep tidal roar that ebbed and rose with her gorge. So much blood! I just needed a sip?

Wanting to seem sure of herself, she nodded curtly and stepped out from the cottage, into the hot jungle.

It was time to see the knight and make the croppers case. How did I get myself into this? But if Jaxxa had any one talent, it was that she was cleverer than her fellow cropper orcs. Her flaw was that she knew how sharp she was and relied on it to get her out of trouble. Being clever did not stop me from agreeing to imbibe more raccoon blood than I could reasonably swallow. Blood magic, I didn’t know!. With each step, the hot mixture sloshed in her abdomen and threatened to undo her plans by splashing outward. Her face grew hot in imagined embarrassment. I will not fail! Her growing fear quelled as she seized that thought.

The orcs crowded around her, clapped her hard on the arm or the back or tousled her hair, as they each gave her a sign that they approved. It was like last night, when they had been drinking fermented palm wine. It had all seemed so smart, "I’ll talk to the knight." A child’s boast, but her friends and family all nodded as if this made surprising good sense. Didn’t they say, "Jaxxa could argue the spots from a jaguar," or "Jaxxa will know how to settle the argument." Dealing with unruly orcs may be easy for me, but what do I know about knights and blights?

Struggling with her unhappy stomach, she marched through the jungle path. A light mist still lingered in the lower brush. Small frogs and insects laboured industriously, and she considered their wisdom. A small snake evacuated the path, and while it was a harmless variety, she stepped along the opposite side of the trail to avoid it. She repeated her arguments in her mind and found that greatly increased her chances of not vomiting.

By the time that she got to the knight’s manor, she was ready. At least, she thought she was.

In the shade of tall palms, the stone manor sit. A rough pyramid of carefully stacked stones, the pyramid was much larger and imposing than the few croppers huts that clung to the edges of its space. Jaxxa entirely enamoured by the spacious luxury, stepped forward, mouth agape. Outside of the shadowy entrance into the stone mound, she clapped her hands together.

"What?" barked the knight from inside. "What do you want?"

She took a step forward, back straightening. "It is Jaxxa, reeve to your croppers. I have urgent matters to discuss with you." She took a deep breath to calm the blood racing in her temples.

"Reeve? What is nonsense. Go away, they no reeve."

"Sir, they elected me this morning. Please, I need to discuss this with you."

The large orc stepped outward. Like the rest of the knight breed, he had four arms, all bulging with toned muscle from a large knot of shoulder joints. His forehead was longer, and his tusks too long to ever enclose within his lips. His skin was patterned with what they called leaffall, a rare and admirable brown and orange mottling. Her own was a more common pattern called lichen, a roughened greenish gray without any real contrast.

"Young girl? Did best them in combat?" He snorted dubiously, his lower two fists furling and unfurling in a disturbing way. His eyes traveled over her features and focussed on her chin, his eyes narrowing.

"I defeated all challengers, yes."

"Excellent. About time lazy whiners bred strength. Come in. Tell me what troubles slaves." He turned and reentered his cave.
She quickly rubbed her chin and saw flakes of dried blood on her palm. Sloppy. She vigorously rubbed her chin clean and licked her lips as she followed him inside.

The chamber she found was filled with spears and shields, a workshop for their construction and maintenance, she supposed. He was clearing a second chair, one hand holding the table, one holding the chair, and two hands brushing off wooden splinters. She rolled her shoulders, wondering what it felt like to have some much motion in her joints. Her breed was inferior in most ways to the larger, more developed knights. As she looked at him, he seemed bigger than the first time she saw him.

"Thank you, knight Kroun. I don’t intend to take much of your time. The croppers are concerned about surviving the wet season."

"Huh? What concern?"

She switched topics quickly. "Are you bigger? Are you growing bigger, I mean? You look bigger, stronger, than last year."

Kroun puffed up his chest, sitting across from her. "Yes, Kroun work hard, grow muscles. War coming, need be ready. Much fighting."

"I hope you are eating well, building up the reserves you’ll need for war."

"Yes, Kroun eat, but would like eat more. Croppers give more food?"

"They could, they always could. But with the blight on the forest, they’ve ranged three times as far as last year, and have gathered half as much."

"Tribute has been a little light, but no half."

"They’ve been giving you their winter stores. They love you and need you to do well in war, but they’re not smart enough to keep enough for themselves. They are going to starve this winter, and next year, there won’t be any food."

"No food? How know blight next year?"

"It won’t matter. If there are only half as many croppers, they’ll be able to gather only half food."

"Work harder."

"Bad winter, too weak, less work. Orcs grow smaller."

Kroun clenched his teeth. "Food tithe to king."

"Yes, Knight Kroun. I’ve told them, and they want to give more. But the forest blight is very bad."

"Bad blight, less food. I tell king." He waited impatiently.

"Thank you, mighty Kroun. Your people depend on your strength and wisdom and love you for both." She stood and bowed her head, then backed toward the door.

Behind her, she could feel his evaluating eyes. He saw more than she gave him credit for.

The First Expansion:
(300 word expansion post)

It has been three months since the capturing of Lake Wood, and Hra’an is aware of the rising restlessness of the Zaangor warriors. They have entertained themselves by duelling with each other and with the slaves, but it is known that such scuffles won’t keep them happy for long. Hra’an declared that the phase of focusing on building up the nation is over, and that New Zaangoria will begin to properly expand its borders. This news is, of course, met with cheers from the battle-hungry Zaangors.

It has been decided that the army will be split into smaller, but still formidable, military units. Each of these units, otherwise known as Hordes, will be responsible for acquiring land outside of the territory that New Zaangoria resides. Each of the Hordes will be led by an Elder, who will act as the commander.

The first expansion attempt is towards the West, as more open grassland is within that region. The Elder of Flesh offered to be the commander of the Horde. His reasoning was that "So I can get first-hand experience of examining any new specimens". Once the Horde gathers at the western border of the Food District, the commander raised his surgical blades and gave a battle cry. "For New Zaangoria! We shall carve up this new land like a freshly killed body!"

As they storm through the grassland, they came upon a camp. Turns out that a few escapees of Lake Wood’s invasion decided that it is still safe to set up a small settlement not far from their old town. It was very easy to drive out them out, and the Zaangors scavaged everything that was left behind. There was not much for the Elder to study, other than a species of rodent that is abundant in the new region.

Week 3: Southern Sun, 76 PI
Post 1: The Festival
(Master of the Guilds)

This was probably the first time the citizens of the new Confederation of the Eleven Marches had reasons to celebrate. Since the Great Recall, things have hung on a reassuring stability, but after the election of the Lady of the Eleven, the lizardfolk and sauhangin uprising and the tribes marching into the Covenant’s Gate, food has been scarce, crime has been rising and now? With the War of Succession, the Confederation is at war in all but the eastern front. Surrounded, starving and with the imperial authority in jail… But the business was going well. The Master of the Guild could not remember a time when business thrived this much. Precious metals and stones flooded into the city markets and the guilds were busy producing all sorts of arts and jewels. The recent wave of refugees provided a good supply of unskilled workforce, leaving the guilds to focus on the fine arts and a surplus of talented trainee candidates. Merchants have started to come from all corners of the empire… well, what used to be the empire, attracted by the new industries. Interestingly, he had noticed that the Confederate jewellery was particularly famous in the League Cities, which could lead to the re-establishment of a long-abandoned trade route. The city started to accumulate the resulting wealth of all this trading activity and was finally ready to celebrate something.
As the Master of Guilds, he had to make sure this was a festival worth of the emperor himself. Southcove’s advance has been stopped and the Marches got a strong foothold on Northcove, effectively taking over control. As a human, the Master was seeing a pattern here, with both Northcove and Covenant’s Gate joining the elven-lead confederacy after being timely rescued by an imposing army marching on their respective capitals. He could also not forget that the Margrave, a noble like himself, was being arrested, suspected of treason. Treason? Against whom? Himself? The Master found it suspicious and wondered what game the tribes were playing… But the business was booming, and food had been brought into the Marches for the first time in a long while. Things could be worse, he thought…

Post 2: The Invitation
Event: Cloudspire tries to pressure the Marches to become a vassal state.
(Mouth of the Land)

The Mouth of the Land has held this position for a long time. He has always distrusted the Guardian of the Library's methods since he was selected by the Margrave, years ago. Being deeply knowledgeable of diplomacy and politics, he was suspicious of the way the Guardian dealt with information, and he understood that he and the Master of the Guilds were the only remains of the human nobility in the council, almost like a memory of times past that have not been forgotten with the change of times. He also knew that both shared the same worries about the internal events in the Confederation. However, his job was to worry about the external events, which took most of his effort. Despite all the unrest brewing within the Confederacy, it was much worse outside.

The full might of the Eleven Marches led by the Earth's Spear Company has finally forced Southvale on the defence. With Northcove military shattered and demoralized, he managed to make an historical deal: Northcove would join Convant’s gate and the Elven Tribes in the Confederacy in an effort create a coordinated effort to stabilize the region. Of course, the view of the Mercenary Companies marching on their capital to relieve the realm from the last invaders was probably more convincing that any words he used. The Master of Guilds has been too busy preparing the celebrations of the Northcove Deal and he hasn’t heard the other news yet. Not only the Sun's Blade is being chased out of Willowvale, with whatever little hold the Confederation had on their allies gone, Cloudspire moved against Goldport as a punishment for their allegiance to the Foundation and the Imperial Senate. Willowvale lies in chaos, besieged by Windrise and Terminus forces and the Invernë alliance is in serious danger of being split in two, preventing reinforcements from arriving anytime soon.

With that show of force, Cloudspire turned its eyes towards the Confederacy "You have been invited to join the reformed empire as a loyal vassal of the true heir of the throne". The letter even came with a first order for the "new imperial servant": prevent Running’s forced from ever reaching Foundation. Everyone knew that once Running’s help reaches Foundation, the war ends. Cloudspire and their alliance would not stand a chance against a coordinated attack from Running, Greewall and Foundation. Now, it seems like the fate of the war was in his hands. The good thing is that the decision could wait for a bit longer, as Running's army still has to travel through Southcove...

Post 3: The Diplomatic Scandal
Event: Foundation spies set up in the Marches, seeing them as a good neutral land to strike at Cloudspire from.
(Lady of the Eleven)

"Spies? Here at the Covenant's Gate?" The Lady of the Eleven was furious. She had hoped that the "Margrave situation" would be solved smoothly to avoid any further diplomatic complications. However, it seems that someone had taken the prisoner away. It also seems like a Foundation spy was caught suspiciously close to the scene. "Haven’t we been dragged into their war already? Aren’t we losing our men to keep Windrise from conquering their northern allies?" the Lady moved back and forth in front of the Guardian of the Library, clearly agitated by the consequences of these findings. She couldn’t figure out why would Foundation even consider rescuing the Margrave. He was accused of plotting in favour of Cloudspire’s supporters, their own enemies, and such a careless action would have serious consequences. With the request to prevent Running’s help from ever getting to Foundation, only mad men would try to test their luck like this. "Where is that spy you caught?" The Guardian looked down and explained that there was an unexpected situation with the spy, who seems to have activated some sort of kill-glyph magic. The Lady was furious, not only the Margrave escaped, the spy killed himself? "What is going on?" she wondered. Everything was happening too fast, and the evidence had a way to disappear… "However, this is a clear provocation from a desperate Senate…" The Guardian started to suggest that the Senate was a lost cause and maybe this would be a good opportunity to join the new heir. It was clear the old emperor would not be coming back anyway, so being on the right side of this war would get the tribes in important places within the new Imperial order. These inheritance issues were complicated, and the tribes mostly ignored them, but the Lady could not remember ever hearing of the grandson of the emperor's brother. Surely he must have been an important noble at the Imperial Court. I could I have missed him?"

It was time she consulted the Mouth of the Land. Being a human noble with vast diplomatic experience, he was the right person to ask about the situation. It turns out, she found, that the Mouth was also concerned about the situation. It did seem like the Foundation was being pushed back, but that only made the rescue mission a more unlikely decision. Why risk losing an ally in a losing war? He agreed it was time for the Confederacy to choose a side, but… he has heard some rumours that something happened on the Council Lands and the wizards lost control of it, falling back to Unilith. Apparently, they found some strange magics but, with the war starting soon after, only the Guardian of the Library would have had access to more… confidential information, that is, until he got some news from the diplomatic mission there. For the Lady there was only one thing that could be done now, and that was to take things into her own hands: she would march with the Commander of the Guard west and meet Running’s reinforcements. The Mouth will quickly and secretly hide anyone from the Foundations Senate’s alliance and keep them safe from interference to find out what they were spying on, where the Margrave is and where did that heir come from!

As the Lady of the Eleven rode west, she reviewed everything that happened since she was elected as the chief Archdruid: Instability in the Marches that her forces dealt with, the quick re-organization of the lizardfolk and sahuagin as dangerous warring brigands, the Margrave’s call for help and her quick consolidation of the Covenant’s Gate Council, the attack on the Winter’s Ballad company and the Margrave’s plot with Southcove, the new heir and Foudation’s spying on them. There was something off about the way this all happened, but she couldn’t put her finger on what...

The Climate and Customs of Rivellesk

The Days of Azure, Iron and Twilight

The Rivellians have their own descriptions for their climate. Situated as they are in the northestmost territories, the Covenant calendar terminology of classifying the seasons with reference to the sun mean very little to these folk, who hardly see the sun for most of the calendar year. Instead, their names are somewhat more figurative. Corresponding to the Covenant periods of Southern Sun, Clouded Sun, and Northern Sun respectively are their more metaphoric labels: Winter Azure, Winter Iron, and Winter Twilight. Or in the words of the Dreji-zilians, kald, bloody kald, and bloody fucking kald.

Winter Azure is the shortest season, balmy days with clearer skies and a north-westerly current keeps temperatures just above freezing. Salt-crusted menfolk who’ve spent too many months on their ships take shore leave, and prance about bare-chested on barren islands, drinking huge qualities of loaathus, a fermented kelp. It is usually the driest they’ve ever been in their lives. They make huge overtures to their island women, usually involving wrestling giant octopi, or swallowing electric eels. If a woman finds this even remotely attractive, they reciprocate by joining in the revels, equally bare-chested, but covering their bodies in raw sea salt. ‘Finding your salt’ is the local expression for finding one’s mate.

Winter Iron is the season of work. The skies are a perpetual grey; the waters always just below freezing. Last slightly longer, a period of three to four months, this is when the major sea harvesting takes place. Not merely a fishing season, Rivellians also mine metals and chemicals from the deep sea beds. Exploration of new deposits, the building of smelting and other production facilities take place in this season. All raw materials come from the sea. The islands themselves are industries of processing and manufacturing. The term cold iron, or kald iyen, both refers to the the wroughting of iron to make equipment and weapons, and also a nautical term, to describe a ship which has lost its means of propulsion.

In Winter Twilight, again as described by the hardy folk, hell freezes over. Temperatures drop to render travel without the aid of magic impossible. No flora nor fauna survive on many of the barren islands, which turn into landscapes of rocky ice. It is the season of introspection, of inwardness, of depth. Literally, some islanders go below the waters, to live in sea communities, alongside the tritons. The sea is often the only life that continues to exist in this season. Their work is now of the magical sort, of spiritual or arcane research. This twilight of dark grey skies lasts nearly half a year.

The myth of Ashen-Zaang:
(600 word expansion post)

It has been known that the slaves would talk behind the backs of their masters. The Zaangors wouldn't care if they do, unless the slave happens to actively disobey, or encourage others to disobey, is when the slaves are put to public execution.

One case of bad talking the Zaangors is when discussing about the nature of Zaang, their god.
An Inspector noticed a group of slaves talking together during their eating period. The Inspector learnt that there is a rumour that a deity known as the Ashen King is Zaang. Turns out that this rumour came about due to the similar stories of both deities. They were killed by a god, and resurrected as a corrupt version of themselves bent on destruction.

The Inspector is greatly fascinated by the comparison, and shared it with other Zaangors. Soon enough, Hra'an is alerted of the growing trend of Ashen-Zaang, the belief that Zaang was the Ashen King using the Zaangors to defeat the deity known simply as The Creator by the locals.

One day, the Elder of Visions came to see Hra'an at his fortress.

"Brother Hra'an, I came to see you to speak about the growing influence of Ashen-Zaang believers. They now have a leader, who constantly came to harass us at the Temple of Zaang."

Hra'an looks worried. "It has became this bad now? We should put a stop to this, but in a manner that won't break out into a rebellion. Please speak to Brother of Thoughts in helping you to peacefully settle the troublemakers."

The cleric then went to see the bard in his tent, accompanied by her attendants. "I would like speak with your master." She says to the assistants that greeted her arrival.

"What is troubling you now, dear Sister? Is it about your relationship with our Great Brother again?" The Elder muses while he reads an erotic literature that he brought from the old kingdom.

"No, it's about the Ashen-Zaang issue. Hra'an wishes for you to aid me in handling the issue." She answered in a serious tone.

"Oh, I also had a feeling it's about that. If it was about the former, I would be more delighted in helping. But enough chatter, let's go see them now."

The two of them went to the Temple followed by their own assistants. When they arrive, a gathering commotion of Zaangors was seen. There is one particular Zaangors that stood out as the one shouting to the masses. She was standing on the stone steps and pointing accusingly at the acolytes that were having a difficult time trying to handle the Mob.

"You people have yet to answer me! What does your master say about our revelation? Has she tried to speak with Zaang about this? What does her visions tell her?" She demanded.

"We have told you she is too busy at the moment! Please leave now or… Elder of Visions! You're back!"

The bardic Elder strolled up besides the acolytes. "Hello, fellow children of Zaang! You all must have lots of questions! Do give them to me, as I'll be representing as your dear Cleric for you!"

After an hour of public discussion, the end result was that mob leader, who is now known as "The Daring Prophet", will be allowed to carry on preaching about her radicalised theology, as long as she or her followers does not interfere with the orthodox organisation. If she or her people continued making trouble, they shall immediately be branded as traitors of New Zaangoria and be hunted down. The Daring Prophet agreed to the deal, and so she settled on using an unused burnt down house to be her Church of Ashen-Zaang.

Meanwhile, a Horde led by the cleaver-wielding Elder of Meats is sent to take over the northern lands to claim more of the river. "For more fish, and other delicious meats!" Was his battle cry.

The Cities of Rivellesk

The Founding of Vodklivt

Thelfstan had never been so drunk in his life. But then again, neither had Clangor Clangellan, soon to be ex-warden of the Shale-less Citadel, although the dwarf didn’t know it at the time. The undermountain kingdom of Kharas-Rad had raised a mechanical fortress from the depths of the Vodulian mountain range, suspended by an artifice of clockwork, standing in the middle of the open canyon known as the Cleft. The unspoken mutual understanding between Rivellesk and Kharas-Rad was broken as a result of this, and Count Delmark of Rivellesk had the canyon surrounded with his forces, led by Thelfstan von Leithau of Ninnorej. The dwarf general had blustered that it was on Thelfstan to choose ‘the easy way or the hard way’. Naturally, the wily von Leithau chose the easy way.

"I don’t think a war has ever been conducted over alcohol before." Clangor smashed another stein on the granite flooring as he upended its contents down his gullet. That was half a barrel of dark dwarven ale each. They were about to move on to dwarven brandy next.

"Well you chose personal combat, so I got to choose the weapons. I chose drink." Thelfstan belched a burp that echoed up the vast central hall of the citadel, all the way up the main tower, to reverberate around the surrounding mountain range. The acoustics were such that to his soldiers encamped outside, it sounded like some balrog or dragon had awoken from its slumber.

"King Gruendarr is still miffed that Thelfenia spurned his offer of marriage. He thought it was a romantic compliment when he waxed lyrical over the hairs on her upper lip."

"My sister does not have hairs on her upper lip, nor anywhere else on her body, except for her lustrous raven black von Leithau hair." The contents of the first cask began to take effect on Thelfstan, as his head began to spin in the potent mixture inside his belly. Mother always said never to mix drinks. "No reason to invade Rivellesk over his bruised ego."

Clangor began to drool brandy down his beard. "So what do you want me to tell the king? I can’t go back empty handed."

"Tell him he can keep the citadel up here. It’ll be the first Kharas-Rad city on the surface. Everything in the Cleft still belongs to him, but all the surrounding mountain continues to be Rivellesk."

"But-but then he’d just be the lord of empty air." Their table now began to groan and buckle from the repeated hammering of stone goblets on it.

"Tell him his is king over the overmountain skies and all therein. That’s worth something. Oh, and tell him Thelfenia will manage the city on his behalf. She lived down below for the longest time, she’ll know his laws and customs and can manage Vodklivt better than any dwarf."

"What did you just call this citadel?" Someone’s bladder gave up its contents, but it was hard to tell who it was. Every puddle below them was a beautiful golden yellow.

"Shar-Nor is such an ugly name for the surface. We’re calling it Vodklivt. You’ll get used to the consonants once the hangover wears off." With that, Thelfstan’s head thudded onto the table, but not before Clangor’s eyes glazed over first. And thus the first war between Rivellesk and Kharas-Rad concluded as quickly as it started with no loss of men, only dignity.