A History of the Covenant Lands [IC Posts]

The nation of Oszeth has a dark history. During the height of the Covenant, the vastness of the Desert Wastes was used as a prison of sorts. Those that broke the Empire’s laws that weren’t fined, jailed, or executed were sent into the Wastes to fend for themselves. Thinking themselves clever, the Empire never thought that the exiles might find a way to survive the perils that awaited them. A great many did perish under the hot sun, never finding water or being baked alive and left as mummies buried beneath the sand. Some even found themselves prey to the natives of the desert, a secretive race of bipedal insects known as the Zitherakk. Those that did survive moved from oasis to oasis, using up its resources before it was swallowed by the dunes.

Gradually, the exiles began to band together in small companies. Utilizing wagons from failed trading convoys or taming Corrathix (large but stupid insects used by the natives) to ride, they moved from place to place, always searching for food and water to survive. It wasn’t until the exile of a certain individual that things began to change for the better. The man wandered the Wastes for months, looking for a place to continue the dark work that got him cast from the upper echelons of the Covenant. One day, he came upon a cave deep in the mountains. The cave was barren, but cool. He was able to rest in peace and collect his thoughts. The man worked his magic within the cave, and soon, a verdant oasis was created within, centered on a bubbling spring of magical water.

The man spent weeks in this cave, shaping it to his will and spreading the reach of his magic. He began to suspect he was not alone in the Wastes, and called out to the leaders of the Exiled, those that drove their bands from place to place to survive the desert. He spoke to them through dreams and mirages and told them of his oasis. He told them to move their people to the mountains, to live without fear of the Zitherakk or the other perils of the Wastes. The leaders were skeptical, not knowing what to think of this new phenomenon. Many thought that the Desert had finally gotten to them, had broken their minds. Those that did not were jealous, and sought to take what the man had created and use it for themselves.

Still, there were those that decide to come to the mountains, to the place marked by bleeding, black stone, and found the cave. The man appeared before the assembled caravans as another mirage, stating that only the Leaders that he had spoken to were permitted to enter his oasis. Only when they had sworn fealty to him would he allow their people to traverse the cavern. Begrudgingly, the leaders agreed, and they left their caravans to eye each other with mistrust. The leaders entered the cave and found, not an oasis, but a paradise. The cavern was spacious and lit with a pale, comforting glow. Soft moss and grasses grew, covering most of the hard stone floor. Trees and other growth filled the area, abundant with plump fruits and herbs, all grown without ever seeing the light of the desert sun. They traveled further into the cave and found the man who had summoned them standing before a pool of water, the glow from it illuminating the cave.

It is not common knowledge as to what was said or decided upon, but all of the leaders swore allegiance to their new king and became the Council of Exiles. They pulled their people together and began to build a city around the Oasis. Vax Kaggath, or the Bleeding City, became the center of life within the Desert Wastes. The Council built a Palace of the mountain’s black stone to protect the entrance of the Oasis, and to hide its bounty from those they deemed unworthy.

The Councilors rule the nation, but defer to the judgement of the Shadow King, as the man is now called. Each Councilor holds dominion of a separate aspect of Oszeth. The military and guard is maintained by Councilor Mordith Pikara, a shrewd-eyed elven man with a mind for tactics and an eye for the finer things. Internal and External Trade is catalogued by Councilor Alsobeth Ravelt, a bony woman with a foul temper. Councilor Erasmuth Krenn, a rotund and surprisingly pleasant man, presides over civic works: maintaining roads, constructing walls, and seeing to the distribution of water and other necessities. Production is kept moving by Councilor Vorkesh, a man with more than a bit of orcish blood in him. He sees over the quarries and Corrathix pens and ensures that they are working at peak efficiency, earning him the secondary title of Vorkesh the Taskmaster. The final seat on the Council is taken by Councilor Salindra Balinar, a secretive and paranoid woman of unknown race who presides over the nation’s intelligence network. Her spies and informants, known as the Shadow’s Web, are sprinkled around the city and the surrounding area, keeping tabs on everyone that resides in or enters the city.

Oszeth, being a kingdom founded by murderers, thieves, and other unsavory characters, has very few written laws. The three laws that everyone follows are written thus:
"Do not interfere with the Shadow King"
"Do not interfere with the Council of Exiles"
"Do not interfere with the Shadow’s Web"
These laws are often interpreted in complex ways, as it is almost impossible for most Oszethites to know the dealings of any of the three’s plans, most notably the Shadow King, as only the Council knows his identity and where he rules from within the Palace walls. Everyone within the city is expected to get along or settle differences on their own. The city’s "nobility" is comprised of those who are clever or strong enough to consistently get their way.

The Geography of Rivellesk

The Rivellese trace their origins to the hardy peoples scattered across the islands of the north. The early migration of a millennia ago had moved settlers outward from the centre of the continent; in every direction they traveled. The more intrepid amongst them went northward, to the very edge of the continent. Some went further, and found dwelling across the various islands we now refer to as the Rivellesk archipelago.

The meeting of tectonic plates where continental shelf abuts with its polar counterpart meant a scattering of over twenty thousand islands across the Zendir Ocean, half of them volcanic in nature. The majority of these islands are thus inhabitable and unreachable, suffering the extremes of both arctic cold, and lava eruptions. These also form a natural barrier, preventing further migration northwards towards the polar circle.

But while temperature and longitude would have determined the furthest islands to have been entirely out of bounds, the nearer ones were not so. The early migrants settled along the entire northern seaboard, in particular around the natural peninsula, a coastline of majestic fjords and cliffs, and made their gradual forays into the hundreds of islands within naval distance. These were still rugged and mountainous, barren and rocky, but were blessed with more reasonable climates, some surprisingly hospitable with their geysers, hot springs and mineral-rich land providing the means for the pioneering nomads to thrive. The five largest islands, Tenczek, Letzhia, Dreji-zil, Ninnorej and Hetvmik became its population centres, due to their proximity to mainland, and their wealth of resources, which the humans soon learnt to harness.

It was natural for the Rivellian peninsula to be the focal point of contact between the islands and mainland. The Rivellese imagined the peninsula as its cartographical centre, from which all its islands radiate, as if they were spokes of a great oceanic wheel. One geological feature made this imagination concrete. The mountain range that ends seawards towards the Zendir Ocean peaks at its highest point where land meets sea, an escarpment of thousands of feet, the waters below futilely crashing and spraying at its base. The Rivellese named the peak, and the subsequent city they built on it, Vodspitz.

It is said that a person standing on the highest tip of Vodspitz, on a clear day, can see all the islands of Rivellesk, right across to the polar icecaps. Vodspitz, or 'Spire of the Ocean', is the northernmost tip of the continent. In later years, when the empire of the Covenant stretched coast to coast, the northerly path of the Old Road took one through, and sometimes over, the mountain range, to end at Vodspitz city itself. In the early years of exploration though, it was the reverse. The migrants had settled comfortably in their islands, but none could look away from the spire. It was as if it was a beacon, a topographical lighthouse which drew their attention, and in some cases, worship as well. It took years to find paths and trails up, generations to establish and take root. It is said the first thing they built was a shrine to the gods of the forbidding north and the gods of the cruel sea. It is said that moment was when the peoples of the islands called themselves the Rivellese.

Hidden from the eyes of the empire the Nation of Dracalis came to be after the death of Firkragg the Scorching Death, a terrible red dragon who ruled over the Kobolds with a strangle hold. The Kobolds suffered greatly under Firkraggs rule, secretly planning rebellion but never having the means to accomplish the task. Until an escaped Kobold Drin Bloodscale returned secretly to the tribe from his travels to the lands of adventurers, bringing with him knowledge of dragons and military tactics; the spark needed to start the rebellion.

The battle last only a few hours but the cost was many, but the dragon was slain by the cliffs of the sea and became the starting point of the new nation and its Capital "Reds End". Not wanting to have his people to be subjugated again, Drin took command of his people and began to militarize his people, appointing generals to look after different aspects of the nation and beginning the construction of the city. Stones where brought from the mountains to build the walls and the bones of Firkragg used to make the Great Dragon Hall the headquarters of high command.

Many years have passed since then and Red Ends stands completed and well manned as the Militarized nation of Dracalis. The people of Dracalis are all trained in combat and tactics as part of the basic curriculum, even if they don't pursue further military advancement. Government is runned by the current "Dragon" Yipp Scarscale, who was appointed by Drin Bloodscale when he retired, and his four Fang Generals. With the city done and the people strong again the Dragon looks to expand Dracalis and open up avenues for further military might.

The Obsidian Empire
Orcs are rotten administrators. As such, they tended to rove in small tribes, reaving and cropping as they go. At some time, they settled into a loose organization, where a knight would provide defence to a village of croppers in exchange for food and other supplies.

Knights are larger orcs, with four arms, and a gently sloped brow. Faster, smarter, and stronger, they are in most ways superior to the smaller two-armed croppers. Not that a cropper is small, far from it. As big as a muscular human, they are intense labourers and are born to serve their larger cousins, in exchange for a guarantee to their freedoms.

While not xenophobic, they do not share power, and even a well armed foreign trader had best heed the primary orc rule, "You kill, you take." Ownership passes to the victor.

Nobody knows from where the Overseer arose. With his collection of Sun Sorcerers, he quickly organized the tribes into a loose state, expanding their overall territory with a series of magically backed attacks. The blend of arcane might and skills as reavers carved out a large portion of the hot jungle as for orcs, and orcs alone.

Building a stone fortress on the last mountain of a chain, Fortress Mountain, the Overseer and his cult of sorcerers rule the Obsidian Empire with none of the disdain for administration as orcs are known for. Instead, by forming a network of guilds, which is really the word orcs use for alliances, and espousing rituals of honour and vendetta, they have turned competing tribes into valued neighbours. Now, the patchwork quilt of quarrelsome tribes has been forged into a latticework of mutual defence pacts hellbent on vengeance.
With their mysterious sorcery and dedicated labour population, the orc nation stands to rise quickly in the Covenant. What stands in their way is their laziness and lack of focus. As such, only the Overseer and his sorcerous cabal keep the orcs united and outward looking. Should anything happen to the central leadership, the orc empire would likely devolve into just another jungle filled with heavily armed and volatile mercenaries.

With the Overseer, however, the orcs singular capacity to accept rule without overthinking any order coupled without a disdain for anything not of the orc, makes them a dangerous faction indeed.

Elven Wars: It is said that the Creator's victory over the Destroyer at the End of Ages changed the world. For the elves, that meant seeing their homeland destroyed into the barren land that is now the eastern desert. Some survivors stayed faithful to Avencia, knowing that with her teachings, their land would eventually heal. Many however, chose to leave and migrate west. And so, during the early days of the empire, 11 elven tribes moved into the Old Lands. Their settling into the human lands brought then into various conflicts and skirmishes that quickly degenerated into full blown wars, threatening the still weakened kingdoms and their fragile alliances. It is said that, in a twist of fate, one of the tribes decided that Avencia abandoned the elves because they continued to bring destruction to the land and disappeared. Seeing their internal division, the realms that would latter form the Covenant, joined forces to face the common invader and slowly managed to gain the upper hand. Surrounded and outnumbered, the tribes eventually lost their strength and retreated to poor and infertile lands. To prevent further invasions, the emerging Covenant built a borderland fortification. This fort was the gate to the covenant lands, and so it became known as the Cavenant's Gate, which became an important trade center of the Empire, under the protection of the Margrave (local governor).

Tribes in the empire: The new elven homeland, being unproductive marshes, forced the tribes to adapt. Claiming that Avencia was dead, killed by the Destroyer himself during the End of Ages, these elves turned to worship the nature spirits. Having little to give the Empire, trade was difficult, even though some minor routes would be used frequently. However, their great military and combat skills and their endurance gained from being raised on the harshest conditions, turned out to be a great asset for the expanding empire. And this was something they could export: mercenaries. These mercenaries were first hired as travel escorts for merchants using the dangerous trade roads between Covenant’s Gate and the tribes. Their loyalty to the contract owner and their magic and archery skills meant that they were noticed by the Margrave, who deployed as security and patrol in dangerous areas. As a reward, the now pacified tribes were integrated into the Covenant, their leaders being promoted as high as councilors to the Margrave himself. After that, their reputation grew so much as to make these mercenaries the most sought-after bodyguards and, even full army regiments were being exported to boost every lord's army at the time the Covenant recalled their men and the empire went silent. To this day, it is still possible to find their mounted archers, blade singers and druids serving under other noble houses.

The rise of the Marches: But change was coming to the tribes. With the weakening of the Covenant, for one reason or another, internal conflict within the marshlands was brewing, and the ambitious new leader chosen by the tribes, known by the title of The Lady of the Eleven, was quick to act. Raising the famous mercenaries regiments, the marshes were fully brought under her control, and she put an end to the trouble before it started. As the lizardfolk and sahuagin refugees moved from the conquered marshes, flooding the gates of the capital, some for the defeated forces formed brigand squads, disrupting the merchant routes. All this destabilised the region and damaged the Margrave position. Offering to help the imperial governor, the elven forces marched into the capital almost unchallenged, to pacify and stabilise the region. Controlling such a central place of the empire’s trade route, staple rights and tolls were immediately put in place, escort mercenaries became almost essential to anyone travelling in the region due to the rising number brigand’s attacks and, with the lack of an efficient imperial army, an extensive protection racket was established to enforce the tenuous claim to the newly formed Eleven Marches Confederation. The Confederation is now using its privileged assess to trade to gain enough wealth to stabilize the unproductive region where it established itself.

The History of Rivellesk

The Rivellian / Slesshelissan Alliance

One of the high points in the history of Rivellesk was the marriage of Baroness Evenna of Hetvmik, to Prince Vodos, third heir to the triton kingdom of Slesshelissa. It captured the imaginations of the country as it was not a politically motivated union nor a marriage of convenience, but one of true love. Before that, the tritons had largely kept to themselves in the depths of the Zendir Ocean, content to let the human kingdoms above rise and decline. The chance meeting of Lodos and his entourage, hunting wayward sahuagin, with the diving explorations of the Hetvmician sea-priests lead by high acolyte Evenna, turned into a fairy tale story of boy and girl, prince and princess. It was recorded that the wedding itself was a mystical wonder. Held on the shores of Hetvmik island, a wondrous globe of airy water enabled both land and ocean dwellers to participate side by side in the ceremony, after which bridge and groom rode off in a whale of majestic size and bearing.

The net result of this of course was the everlasting unity between Rivellesk and Slesshelissa. No treaty was needed, no alliance negotiated by graybeards and politicians. In the ensuing years, the exchanges of cultures and resources saw the island of Hetvmik at the frontier of deep sea exploration, enriched by trade and mining. The phrase ‘slesshed blessed’ came to be a nickname for Hetvmicians who were ‘sea-touched’, ie. displaying some trait or feature or behaviour of triton ancestry. Half-sea elves came to pass. Tritonic magic became commonplace in the everyday lives of the islanders. The Baron himself and subsequent rulers worshipped simultaneously the god of the sea elves and the god of the north.

Recent Events

A week ago, the Jolly Squall, a ship of the line from the capital, from Count Delmark’s own fleet, sunk off the west coast of Hetvmik. While these misfortunes occur from time to time in a seafaring nation, what was curious was the discovery of tritonic magic in the salvage, and no survivors. Although the existence and spread of tritonic magic in Rivellesk is commonplace and should not warrant any undue attention, one of the items recovered was a necklace of water elemental command, a string of rare pearls bearing the insignia of the Slesshelissan queen herself. This artifact was thought to be lost decades ago, in a battle with magma elementals emerging from tectonic shifts. How it came into the possession of the Count, and more interestingly, why it was being transported by cargo ship, remains a mystery. Needless to say, the Slesshelissans are not happy and have cordoned off the shipwreck. And neither is the Baron of Hetvmik, who has sent his own Marczhaal to demand an explanation.

Disaster in the Lower City
Lord Erasthmus Krenn, a short, portly man, stood at the window of his estate, looking off into the distance at the plume of smoke that was climbing into the eastern sky. He had already seen the reports, read over them a few times, and then had a hefty drink. Wiping the sweat from his face, he thought about the ramifications the volcano would have on the families that lived in that portion of the lower city. It sickened him to think of those who may have been harmed by the initial eruption.
He had seen to it already that steps were being taken to evacuate that portion of the city, and to work preventative magics that would steer the smoke and magma from the rest of the citizenry. Many were crying that it was the work of Qhaanh, the great Desert Wyrm, but Erasthmus was much more practical. He knew that the Wastes were dangerous, and that, even here in the mountains, their lives were always one disaster away from being over. No sense in bringing gods into the equation. They had enough to worry about.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but he didn’t have to turn around. "Is it done then? Did they agree to convene?" he calls out to the source
"Yes," he heard. Lady Salindra stalked forward, her steps making little noise, even on the polished marble of Erasthmus’s study. "But they aren’t happy about it." Her voice slithered through his head, like a snake burrowing into the sand. It unnerved him, even frightened him, but he kept it to himself. Weakness was not tolerated in Vax Kaggath, especially from a member of the Council of Exiles.
"Let us be off then," he said, turning to allow her to lead him to the Council chamber.

The Black Palace of Vax Kaggath was a work of art, though the impression it left was not one of wonder, but terror. Standing out over the city, the black marble it was constructed of made the whole thing look like a series of dark, bleeding splinters jutting from the sand. Mainly built with magic, it stood taller than anything around it, except perhaps the mountains that loomed in the sky behind it. The Council Chamber stood in the heart of the Palace, a circular chamber with five thrones orbiting each other. A small alcove was carved into the rock 20 feet above the chamber itself. Said to house a throne for the Shadow King, should he ever decide to take part in the proceedings.
Erasthmus entered behind Salindra, feeling as though he looked clumsy beside her lithe, calculated movements. She strode across the chamber, taking her place in the dark throne directly below the King’s, as she always did. The others turned to look at Erasthmus as he climbed into his seat, a mixture of emotions on their faces.
A bony woman, Lady Alsobeth, was the first to break the silence. "So, Krenn. How do you plan to drain my coffers this time?" she said with disdain. Her body and her voice spoke of youth and beauty, but her time on the council dwarfed that of even Erasthmus’s considerable 30 years.
"Your coffers?" another spoke. His already dark armor was smeared with soot and sand, impressing upon Erasthmus that he had accompanied his troops to help in the disaster. Mordith Pikara had been on the council longer than all but Lady Salindra, and being of elven descent, would likely be in his position by the time they all laid in the earth. "The treasures of Vax Kaggath are not yours to spend on yourself, Alsobeth."
"Figure of speech, Pikara." She waves him off.
Erasthmus takes a deep breath, before speaking. "I believe you are all aware of the situation in the Lower City." He says, looking around to his fellow councilors.
"Aware?!" Shouted a deep voice to his left. The hulking form of Councilor Vorkesh made his throne seem too small for him. Even for those with Orcish blood, he was a large and imposing figure. "I lost a large chunk of my quarry workers to the volcano! I am as aware of the situation as one can get."
Erasthmus nodded solemnly. It was brought to his attention that the eruption had began in one of Vorkesh’s marble quarries. The initial casualties were his, though the smoke and magma that followed also decimated a large portion of the surrounding homes. He also knew that Vorkesh did not care for the lives lost, but for the loss of productivity that the city faced with this development.
"Right." Erasthmus continued, "The volcano beneath the quarry presents a few challenges with the continuation of expansion and development within the city." He did his best not to cringe at the Orc’s exasperated groan. "A number of workers and civilians have been forced to move closer to the city, creating an issue with the amount of space we have available and the cleanliness of the city as a whole."
"What should we care what happens to those dregs?" Alsobeth asks.
"We should care, because the strain may cause unrest within the populace." Erasthmus chides. He hated these meetings. His fellow council members could be so blind to anything that did not bring them more power. "Should the people become too unruly, they could revolt, causing more destruction that might potentially make it into the Inner City. Now may I please get to my point?"
She sniffs indignantly but concedes.
"My plan to combat this has two facets to it. First, we need to deal with the congestion issue faced within the Lower City. I think we need to divert some of our funding into the development of higher quality housing." He holds up a hand to cut off Alsobeth’s rebuttal. "Let’s face it. Allowing the commoners to house themselves in broken down wagons and tents can only get us so far. We can create some simple, multi-leveled houses with cheap sandstone to get a majority off the streets. Not only does this create a more unified city structure, but we can get more people into a smaller space." He looks to Mordith, who is leaning back in his throne, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of the idea.
"If we design the buildings effectively, the streets would be much easier to move troops through if necessary." Erasthmus offers him, to which he nods as if he had already thought of that point. "And, with more people in the city, we have a much higher pool of candidates to conscript," he says, then looks to Vorkesh. "or to bring into the workforce." Vorkesh’s face belies that he is also deep in thought.
"The other facet to my plan is to utilize the force that we have unleashed from below." The councilors snap out of their collective reverie to stare in confusion at Erasthmus. He smiles internally, knowing that he had their full attention now. "While the appearance of volcanic activity was not expected nor intentional, I believe that we can use it to our advantage and launch ourselves into a new era of productivity. Think about it. We have uncovered a large, perpetually burning furnace that requires nothing from us. We know already that the Corrathix’s hide is resistant to heat. We use it already to protect our soldiers."
He pulls a notebook from his coat, producing a few pages with designs and plans scrawled over them. "If we can harness this resistance, even enhance it with some clever enchantments, we could produce a small workforce that can work directly with the molten rock." He passes the pages to a servant standing beside him, who proceeds to go around the room to show each councilor. "As for the quarry. I believe we should convert it into a forge unlike any of us have seen. Let us surround and contain the volcano and use it for our benefit. We can ventilate the gasses it emits and let it escape far from our citizens. We can use the heat to smelt our metal and forge it with magic to capture the heat of the earth within."
Wicked smirks and pleased smiles grow on the faces of each of the councilors, all except Salindra, whose porcelain mask hides her true expression.
"I take it we are in agreement?"

A few hours are spent in discussion as to the exact measure to be taken in both parts of Erasthmus's plan, but the decision remains to go along with it, for now. Erasthmus, feeling rather pleased with himself, begins to leave his chair as the others prepare to leave as well. A quiet cough stops them all in their tracks before they can get far, however. Salindra remains seated patiently, facing them all. "We are not quite finished," she tells them smoothly.
They all bashfully return to their seats, not taking their eyes off the strange masked woman. "There is one more matter that need be discussed," she informs them. "My agents have informed me of a rather unfortunate visitor within the city. A holy man, preaching goodness and law to any who will listen, which are very few." Her annunciation of those two words speaks wonders as to her true feelings on the concepts.
She sits forward slightly in her chair, folding her hands in front of her. "I have instructed a few agents to… deal with the man. The only report that I have gotten back was from an agent who was beaten close to death. It seems our problem is a little more complicated than I first assumed. The man is a Paladin."

The Peoples of Rivellesk

Dwarves

There are no dwarves of Rivellesk.

While the majority of the Rivellese live on the hundreds of habitable islands surrounding the Rivellian peninsula, an increasing number of younger Rivellese have flocked to their capital city, Vodspitz, in anticipation of a different kind of lifestyle, away from sea-based occupations, away from ships, and perhaps most frivolously, away from a diet of fish. To them, Vodspitz represented someplace aspirational, someplace more cosmopolitan (if a city thousands of miles from the Convenant Lands could be said to be cosmopolitan), someplace higher and loftier, both literally and metaphorically. These were singularly human Rivellese, the sea elves naturally had no interest in mainland.

It is at Vodspitz that these young migrants might meet to only dwarves in the whole of Rivellesk. Vodspitz sits on the northernmost tip of the Vodulian mountain range, home to the dwarven kingdom of Kharas-Rad, where the great mithril hall of King Gruendarr is said to lie diametrically opposite of Vodspitz along its north-south axis. The treaty that continues till this day defined everything above sea level to belong to Rivellesk, and everything under the mountain to Kharas-Rad. Except for mutual embassies to house the exchange of envoys, no Rivellese ventures below, no Kharaz dwarf above.

There are dwarves in Rivellesk, but no dwarves of Rivellesk.


The Geography of Rivellesk

The Cleft

The tectonic plates that formed the spires of the Vodulian mountain range, on the highest of which sits Vodspitz, also gave rise to another spectacular geographical feature in the peninsula. Huge gorges and ravines bisect the mountains, some thousands of feet deep, disappearing below into the dwarven kingdom of Kharas-Rad, the most dramatic of which is simply and aptly named the Klyvtahv, or the Cleft, a gorge of mind-blogging length and depth stretching across the mountain spine. The dwarves say Hammerfist needed someplace to rest his axe when he shattered the civilised world in the End of Ages, and that when he picked it up, the blade left a scar so deep it nearly cleaved the continent in two. The pragmatic Rivellese concocted no such legend, but simply found longer routes around the Cleft to travel from their capital to the flatlands in the south.

Recent Events

"Are you absolutely certain of this?" Count Delmark pondered over the contents of the latest missive.
"Yes my lord." The messenger confirmed.
"Don’t give him grief Delmark, it’s impossible to be mistaken about an entire dwarven citadel suspended by clockwork and steam, rising from the bowels of the Cleft. Made of stone no less. Why I’d say it’s nothing short of scientific genius!" Thelfstan, younger brother of the Baron of Ninnorej island, and current advisor to the count of Vodspitz, with far too much time on his hands than he knew what to do with, chided. Bored with the trivialities of island governance, he enjoyed the courtly activities of the capital city far more. And also the roast mountain goat.
"But but, then what should we do?"
"Send a garrison to watch the northeastern trade route. Set up patrols along the border and coast. Then move some of our smelting facilities there. If the dwarves make contact, and they will, welcome them to jointly develop the roads. While we try to find out what their intentions are."

Post 1: The New Council
(Confederation's Council)

With her new powers, the lady of the Eleven makes changes to the local council, establishing the tribes as a discrete majority within the local government. As her army marches in the streets of Covenant’s Gate, it is clear that a new Commander of the Guard is needed and the previous is swiftly replaced by a loyal mercenary veteran. Conferring with the Margrave, she additionally creates the new position of Appraiser of Arts, given to a dwarven sympathizer, ensuring that the council looks balanced to the outside, but 4 of the six sits are under the influence of the tribes. The Lady of the Eleven further convinces the Margrave that the current instability in the region is an urgent matter and the Margrave summons the new council for an emergency meeting. On the table are the many problems plaguing the new Confederacy: the influx of refugees, the lack of food from these unfertile lands and the increased brigand activity. All but the new Commander of the Guard attend the meeting as he is preparing to welcome the return of four important mercenary Companies, including the famous Winter’s Ballad Company, returning with news of Barak of House Bremartin defection to join the undead armies of Macara (which turned out to be in violation of the contract terms, releasing the Company from his service).

The Guardian of the Library and the Overseer of the Roads, the original tribal archdruids on the council, explain the current situation: The new influx of refugees puts a great pressure on the already limited food supplies. With no food or shelter, these refugees are being recruited by the brigand groups who are getting more and more confident. Not only they attack those that travel the Imperial Road, reports of one of these groups has taken control, and dared to claim, one of the northern regions, closer to Widowvale’s border: a strategic place to stage further attacks on the caravan’s traveling through the Covenant’s Gate.

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Post 2: A plan for stability
Event: Willowvale approaches the Marches, offering to grant access to their trading network, but what is the price, and is it too high?
(Confederation's Council)

The lands are infertile and the recent instability means that the food stocks are dangerously low. A stable source of food must be secured, but the Guardian of the Library and the Mouth of the Land can’t agree on the approach: the Guardian wants to send his spies to the nearby realms to carefully determine which fertile land is more… exposed, while the Mouth suggests a more peaceful approach, sending a diplomatic mission to the neighbours to secure the needed supplies through the opening of trade routes. The Overseer of the Road intervenes "We have heard reports of that the troubles at the Imperial Road extend as far as Zahad. We must set up new checkpoints to secure key locations along the Imperial Road and boost our patrols to reinforced new and existing trade routes". He concludes that new trade routes and more patrols would promote the mercenary business and maybe the lizardfolk and sahuagin could be put to use for the service of the Eleven Marches, instead of being recruited by criminals.

It was consensual that the brigands must be disbanded by any means necessary. As the Lady of the Eleven, joining as head of the council, summarised "We must bring these brigands to accept the Confederation’s authority with words, coin or sword!", so the Overseer’s suggestion was generally welcomed. The work drafting the orders started immediately:
1) The Wind’s Whisper Company would be dispatched to deal with those brigands that dared claiming part of the Marches’ lands to serve as an example and encourage the others to accept either words or coins.
2) Diplomatic missions were to be sent to Southcove and Northcove ports to establish potential trade treaties and military alliance.
3) A defensive alliance would be proposed to Unilith, who also stands alone in the Old Lands

The discussion is interrupted by a dry, repetitive knock at the doors. "Honorable councilors, would I have permission to interrupt?" one of the guards asks, still behind the closed door. "Please, come in" replies the Margrave, who has been mediating the discussion. "A messenger from Willowvale is her to discuss an important matter with the Margrave himself." All except one of the councilors look at the Margrave waiting for his answer, the Guardian, a key player in the "tribal uprising" looks at the Lady of the Eleven of gauge her reaction. "Bring this messenger in" the Margrave says with authority. Willowvale’s emissary slowly walks in with two of his bodyguards, accessing the Confederation’s council composition, quickly confirming the rumours that the Lady of the Eleven has "walked" into the Coveant's Gate. He raises his hand, showing a sealed scroll "I have a proposition from his honor, the Duke of Willowvale" he moves closer to the Margrave and bows respectfully "It is for your eyes only".

---

Post 3 The Secret Deal
Event: One of the Eleven's premiere mercenary bands is found slaughtered
(Confederation's Council)

The room stays silent even after the Margrave has left the room with the emissary. "We have placed the increased revenue at the guilds’ disposal. These investments will improve industry and manufacturing, further improving the wealth gained the trading activity" the Master of the Guilds breaks the silence, relaying the success of the local investments. Working with the Appraiser of arts, they have raised enough capital from the merchants and their trade activity to promote investments on the city's infrastructures, remodelling the extensive network of markets to make them more efficient and… taxable. The various guilds also welcomed the lower interest loans on their investments. "The boost in production and wealth gained from trade will gives us a trading edge to secure all the supplies we need, including a stable source of food" the Master points out, allying with both the Overseer’s and the Mouth’s previous ideas.

The meeting comes to an abrupt end as the Commander of the Guard burst into the room "The Winter’s Ballad Company did not arrive yet. I’ve sent scouts to meet with them, and…" the Commander struggles to grasp the reality. One of the most veteran company was found slaughtered in the Southcove’s lands. Few survivors made it to the border where the scouts found them. They have been ambushed, but the descriptions were so confusing that it looks like the survivors were in different battles. Arrows flew from the sky, or maybe some dark force followed them, or was it a strange disease? The only thing that seemed consistent was that the Imperial army was present one way or another. This immediately convinced the Guardian to order his network of spies, mages and investigators to join the Commander’s effort to find out how the Winter’s Ballad Company could so easily be defeated and secretly infiltrate the diplomatic mission to Southcove to find what they know about the attack (and gain valuable information for retaliation is needed!).

(Margrave)
Meanwhile, in the Margrave’s meeting chambers, Willowvale’s emissary explains the current situation. Unlike what the Margrave expected, the brigands at their border were not the problem. It seems like their merchant ships are being targeted and they need help securing their maritime routes. Rumors suggest there is increased triton activity on the North sea, and they suspect Windrise’s involvement, possibly through their alliances with Terminus or Southcove. The Margrave considers these words. It is true that the Old Lands have been under pressure after the Imperial army was recalled by the emperor. Since then all attempts to make a decision at the Imperial senate and court have been fruitless, bringing the Empire to a standstill in an already dire situation. "We have hear of your great success stabilising your March my lord. We only ask for some military support until this situation is solved. In return, we will be willing to put our trade routes and mercantile fleet for your use." Even though this sounded like a great deal, with the access to the maritime trade potentially proving fundamental, the request would require Companies of mercenaries to be sent until Willowvale’s situation is solved, weakening the Confederacy. "We are expecting the return of some Companies as we speak. I’m sure we can spare some to help a friend in need" the Margrave says as he closes the deal, using his imperial authority to decide without the council’s approval. He wasn’t aware of the recent loss of the Winter’s Ballad Company and was convinced this deal would open up the trade routes that the councillors were hoping for…

The Lair of the Scorching Death was bare when the first of the Rangers from Dracalis arrived. Nothing but the cold Stone and bones of Firkraggs meals lay inside the Dragons Stone fortress, the hoards of treasure that the tales fortold nowhere to be seen. The Rangers returned to Red's End giving their report to the Dragon Council, much to the disappointment of Dragon Yipp Scarscale. Discussion of what to do with Firkragg's Lair commences with Master of Arms Kri Bloodscale wanting to establish an Outpost to watch over the lands surrounding the mountain. Master of research Clin Darkscale on the other hand believes that the cave could reveal more into dragon biology which could help greatly with the dragon wyrmling that they found running amuck in the troop holes of the shopping district. The Dragon favored General Clin and tasked her with appointing an research and excavation team to research on Dragons and further inspect the Lair of Firkragg.

The Research team escorted by the Rangers made its way to the Mountain lair and began their research into Dragons. Much was learned about the habitual living of the Red Dragon, some fangs and scales were recovered and even a few bones of creatures not native to the area were found. The greatest discovery came deeper into the cave in a cavern vast enough to house a dragon with a ceiling so high the darkness swallows it. Having an innate ability to see in the dark the research team didn’t notice the riches of the cave until a fire was made for the evening meal, the walls the fire was closest to shined brightly with thick veins spidering along the walls. The reason the Rangers never found Firkraggs hoard was because the mountain was his hoard.

The Discover was short lived for the Research Team as the alarm is raised at the entrance and the sound of battle could be heard. Scurgescale a tribe of Golden scales kobolds have slowly overcome there fear of the Dragons cave with the Research teams arrival being the tipping point for the tribe. Wanting the riches of the cave Scurgescale attack in Mass decimating the Ranger squad and most of the Research team. The surviving members make their way down the mountain with haste to Dracalis to deliver the report of the incident. The report from the research team was not taken lightly and the war horns of Dracalis were sounded, summoning forth the massive force of the Dracalis Military. They marched forth at first light, it would be a few days travel to make it to the mountain.

Scurgescale having had sometime and expecting the return of the Dracalians, had built themselves makeshift fortifications at the mouth of the cave, claiming the gold for their own. But the tribal Scurgescale did not take into account the difference between themselves and the more advance Dracalis and their Superior numbers; with Scurgescale war band numbering in the hundreds Dracalis brought thousands to decend on the cave. The battle was over before long and no remorse was given to the defeated. General Kri Bloodscale got her request to build an outpost on the mountain and construction begins to start up a mine in the cave. Dracalis has secured it’s gold and scouting parts have been sent out to find the location of Scurgescale village. From atop the mountain outpost the Dragon looks out across the lands, analyzing and contemplating the future expansion of Dracalis.

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.

The Prophet’s Teachings:

It was a relatively peaceful morning. The slaves are labouring away in the stone quarries and logging camps to continue expanding the city of La’eka Warued. A group of Zaangor youths are laughing as they kick about an orphaned elf teen, while helpless adults look on. Then, the peace is broken as a shout rang out in the streets.

"Listen everyone! Listen, all ye who wishes to hear of the true plans of Zaang! Come down to the Church of Ashen-Zaang if you wish to hear from The Daring Prophet! It’s 3 houses down from the third Elf Shelter!" The young Zaangor cried out his message as he runs throughout the city.

Meanwhile, a gathering crowd forms at the burnt down meeting place. The Daring Prophet watches at her interested listeners as she stands on top of a pile of ruined wood.

"I shall now begin my lesson today! Today’s topic is: what truly happened? I shall start from the very beginning. The world is created by an entity called The Creator. The Creator made the races in this land, but others, such as us Zaangors, are created by Zaang. One of The Creator’s creation is called The First Man. The First Man found evil in the Creator, and he so attempted to fight It.

The epic battle concluded with The First Man being defeated. The Creator put him to sleep, as he was too powerful to completely destroy. The First Man eventually woke up again, and renames himself The Ashen King. He gathered himself a great army to fight again, but the Creator defeated his army with It’s own followers. The Ashen King was put to sleep yet again, and he will too rise again. He learnt his lesson, and that he will try again with not only a greater army, but with a cunning plan he made while hiding in the realm of death.

Now, some of you may not like this next part, but what I say is true! The Ashen King manipulated Kor, the god of war, to kill Zaang. He then convinced Nug, the god of death, to compel us to sacrifice our souls to merge Him with Zaang. He then reincarnated himself into Zaang, thus that is why He, and us, became different. I refuse to call it corruption, more as salvation that he chose us to be part of His great army to destroy the tyrant Creator.

This revelation does not undermine our nation’s fate of being prosperous, in fact it made it all the more concrete! We will join forces with Ashen-Zaang to claim the entire world one day! Perhaps even the realms beyond!"

As the cult of Ashen-Zaang spread, it was bound that one of the Elders begin to lean in on the idea as well. Elder of Cloaks, the spymaster, was particularly fascinated by this theology. When he was appointed to claim the southern lands, his battle cry was: "From the darkness of His ashes, we shall dominate all!"

Week 3: The Whitestone City
A city? A city in the desert?
That has been the rumor on everyone’s minds since the arrival of the strange caravan from the Desert Wastes. For years the caravan had wandered the Wastes, carrying on the traditions of their forefathers that had resisted the call of the Shadow King all those years ago. Long ago had they forgotten their exiled nature, finding joy in wandering the sands and residing in the few Oases they could find.
It was in their search for their next home, so they say, that they came across the dead city. Long had it been abandoned and seemed mostly swallowed by the sands. But parts of the city lay untouched, as if unseen hands took the time to keep their homes swept of debris. The city gleamed in the desert sun, built of white stone and glass. It was open, and flowing, as if built for beauty and not defense. It was the seeming antithesis to the dark city of Vax Kaggath.
As much of a topic as it was in the lower city, it was of greater importance to those within the upper echelons of Oszeth. The first issue they foresaw was they nature of their new guests. While they shared their heritage, they did not share the ideals of the city. The were caring and charitable, even forgiving to those of the city that had taken advantage of their generosity. It was sickening to see, but for the most part, they seemed harmless. It was plain to see that they had no intention of staying in the city, simply stopping by to share stories with their neighbors and stock up on supplies.
The second issue were the rumors. It seemed unlikely that anyone could have survived that long in one spot that far out in the desert. It was even more unlikely that they would be there long enough to build a city. It would need investigated. Mordith was already mobilizing troops to go and search for it, and while they were at it, they would search for other habitable areas within the wastes.

Week 3: In the Mountains of Damnation
It had been only a week, but the renovation of the monastery into a fortified outpost was almost complete. The newly raised dwarves were hard at work, though they could only do so much. They were relatively brainless, but some instinctual aspect of their heritage made them good for the labor. Allisande had converted the central reliquary into his chamber. Not needing to sleep any longer, his room contained a desk, spread with maps and various instruments, as well as a shrine of sorts.
In life, he would have considered himself a devout follower of the Creator, an instrument of divine will. He would still consider himself devout, but his allegiances had been… altered. It was all still dark, the details of his rebirth. He knew that it was the Shadow King that had guided him through the darkness and had pieced it together that it was his magic that brought him back from the dead. But what had killed him. He remembered very little of his time in Vax Kaggath, but it did not matter. He had been shown the path to salvation. Something was coming, and he would do everything in his power to stop it. Starting with this.
He looked over his handiwork, a letter to his old order. He would have to cleanse it before it could be sent. Even the newest of his order would be able to smell the dark magic from within him and that had been hidden in the ink. A compulsion. He wrote to them his location, and bid they bring a large force of their greatest warriors. He knew now that his former master’s ideology was flawed. They were the weapons of the Creator, His divine blade held within the hands of men. But he knew now that their power was not the Creator’s. The power to kill could not come from Him…
He would wait for them, and in the meantime, he would ready himself for their arrival.

Thing were progressing within Oszeth. The Shadow King’s influence spread beneath the sand like roots. Unknown to the populace, they were being prepared for war. A great war that had never ceased from the beginning of all things. A great war that had only seen a split in the power of one side. He who thought He was the victor retreated to lick His wounds while the other side fought among itself to see who the newest challenger would be.
From the highest tower of the Palace, a lone figure scanned the surrounding desert. They knew of the war and were doing their best to prepare for it. Already, they could see the great, black wall of stone taking shape near the slopes of the mountains to the east. The lands of Oszeth would extend beyond it, but its dark heart would be protected by the bleeding stones of Vax Kaggath.

The Climate of Rivellesk

The Road of Red Rime

In some of the harshest Winter Twilight years, parts of the Zendir Ocean freeze over. The only passable routes are those which hug the mainland coastline; the routes between the islands are sometimes all but unnavigable. The main shipping lane is not without its dangers, deep fjords allow for smooth sailing, but proximity to the coast is never a good idea, considering the extensive developments the Rivellians have constructed both above and under the water, together with the tritons.

Last year was one such year. It’s been months past the season of Twilight, yet glaciers of ice continue to clog the northernmost shipping lanes. Ninnorej and Tenczek plows, ships with a rounded bow and ice-floe resistant iron hull plates have been hard at work in their ice-breaking tasks, cutting criss-crossing lines from island to island, which chop the glaciers into more mobile icebergs, which the currents can then move southeasterly into warmer waters. The Slesshelissians have also aided the task from below, using gravity magic to divert deep water currents to doing the same.

Last month, their concerted efforts met with a phenomenon first recorded in the scientific journals of Kresta En von Leithau three centuries ago. It was a solid mass of ice, flat, without elevation, unlike a glacier. It had depth, but was vertical, not wedge-shaped, and extended miles, not feet, downwards. The most notable feature of this ice was that it formed in straight lines, was rock solid, and red. Red ice.

"... this Road of Red Rime extends as far as my magic could see. It seems to have issued from the volcano of flame and frost, an impossible combination of magma and ice, both hot and cold at the same time. It has mass as if it were solid rock, igneous rock, but with the crystalline properties of ice. Shaped as shards, straight, unbreakable by conventional means, it sits over the water, bisects the sea into chords and quadrants. The central shard seems to me like a road, a supernal walkway, wider than the main thoroughfare of the imperial road. It beckons me to go, and I shall not decline…"
- From the papers of Kirste En von Leithau

Duergar Troubles:

There has been a rising issue of Duergar raiders attacking the logging camps and quarries. They have been known to kill the slaves and a few Zaangors before leaving with a few stolen materials. The Elder of Ropes, the primary slavemaster, has been fed up with these attacks, and of course, so is the ruler of the city.

Hra’an believed that a peaceful relationship could be potentially formed with the Duergar, however, the raiders have proven to be a difficult element to stage a diplomatic interaction with, so he decided that the first course of action is to properly take control of the land around the region of the attacks to better defend against the Duergar for now. Eventually, New Zaangoria will find a good opportunity for a talk with the undercity leaders concerning an amicable relationship and put a stop to the attacks, but now is not the right time.

He sent the Elder of Tongues to lead the expansion into the eastern lands. The Elder have nothing much to say of this given duty other than "I hope this won’t take too long, or be too dangerous. But I’ll try to have some of the Duergar captured, for the sake of understanding these barbarians…"

They march forth into the forest to set up patrols around the region near the base of the mountain range. The Zaangors keep watch throughout the day and night. They would even climb and sleep in the trees to hide their positions. Their efforts paid off when a band of Duergar raiders eventually come forth to try their luck in pillaging more supplies. The raiders are cornered and slaughtered. A few was managed to be captured alive, albeit badly bloodied. The Elder met with the captured raiders and attempt to study their language.

It took a while, and a couple of torture and executions to get some results. It was, however, not sufficient enough for basic communication, and so it took one or two more unlucky groups of opportunists to be defeated for the Elder to finally get an idea of common words and phrases they use so as to get a good sense of the motivation of their raids.

The Elder soon sent a messenger to deliver a message to Hra’an. It was about the Duergar knowing that an unknown army, which is the Zaangors, have passed through the passageway of the mountain that was right above the Duergar’s home. The nearby settlement of Lake Wood was found to be invaded by the army, and is now in disarray. The Duergar figured that sending raiding parties is a good idea as the outlying territory is exposed, and that stone and wood are being generated in that region.

With this knowledge, Hra’an decreed that more efficient defences are to be sent up around the outskirts of the city, especially in the border facing the mountain.

Week 2 – Malstar
To say Malstar was confused was an understatement. She’d been given a report this morning that caught her eye from just how unexpected it was. Cows….flowing downstream? Many of them. Immediately, she’d ordered several scouts to follow the river to try and ascertain what happened and who was causing it. Currently, she was walking to the Inistra’s main section.

Entering the room, she immediately began looking for Nali, the Head Researcher. Asking around proved fruitless so she began looking in every single room, entering a rather large room, the test room. As soon as she got in, a net covered her, immobilising her.

On instinct, she wriggled and writhed, fruitlessly attempting to escape, assuming some sort of betrayal. After a few seconds of not being dead, she stopped, looking around with what little she could see. Nothing. The room was empty. That thought lasted about 5 seconds before she heard a familiar laugh from above her.

"Ah, the little mouse has fallen into a trap, the dastardly villain, Nali, has the hero at their mercy, one strike and it’d all be over."

Malstar rolled her eyes and exaggerated a groan "Get this net off me, Nali, or I’ll make you work weekends."

Nali hopped down from the ledge she’d been standing on, dragging a net with her, which she pulled off of Mastar. She reacted to the weekends comment with pretend horror "You wouldn’t dare, this county must truly lost to tyranny if its leader would do that." She then offered her hand to Malstar who took it and got up.

Nali then immediately walked away while dragging the net, expecting Malstar to follow, which she does. "I asked you to solve the livestock in the river and you decide to catch me in a net…please tell me you’ve made progress…"

"What do you think I caught you with, Ella?" Nali smiled and folded up the entire net into a neat pile.

Sighing at the use of her old nickname, Malstar just asked a simple question "A net?" After a few seconds of thinking it over, Mal spoke again "I gave the head researcher a task directly…and she develops a net? A normal net?"

Nali chuckled a little "of course not, Ella, it is an improved net and not just a net." She shows Malstar over to a structure resembling a spit roast cut in half vertically, like a gate. "This is the thing I’ve been working on for the river. It’d stop anything from coming down the river."

Malstar nodded and smiled widely "good job, I’ll get some to the river." She was interrupted however by Nali, who excitedly jumped in front of her.

"I’ve already done that, Ella, they should arrive in half an hour" She was smirking widely "I did good, didn’t I?" She chuckled, almost looking like a puppy.

Malstar nodded and sighed, patting her head a little "Good job, I’ll send you a letter soon, we need to talk about something." With that, she left for her office.

Undala

The Chancellor was sitting with her head in her arms on her desk. This wasn’t uncommon, in fact it was much more common than it should’ve been. She hadn’t been planning for this position, she hadn’t been ready. Malstar was who she’d wanted to be Chancellor...her place was not in administration...

This was interrupted by her secretary knocking and then coming into the room, putting some papers on her desk "You’ll find this interesting, ma’am." Before Undala can even ask her to remember to use her first name in private, she was already gone.

Curious, Undala opened up the file, quickly reading through it. It was a report on the results of a diplomatic mission to a nearby land. She smiled a little to herself "Lucy! I could kiss you right now! You just saved this train wreck of a day!!! Drinks on me after work!"

Undala then made her way to Malstar’s office just as she got back. She saluted Malstar, who immediately sighed and flicked her forehead "No saluting, remember, you are my superior now."

Undala pouted a little as she look at Malstar "but I wanna...." She pretended to be like a child as she then walked into the office as she pulled Malstar with her, who sighed more.

"Dala, please refrain from doing that...it’s hard enough dealing with Nali when she’s not with you."

Undala smirked and nodded "as you wish, Ella. Business it is. I need you to expand the defence of our lands to the west and the east, the local governments have signed a deal with us. They are being incorporated"

Malstar looked surprised but excited, hugging Undala and running to the desk to write an order, giving it to her secretary and giving her orders. She then walks to a closet, getting her armour out "Help me out, Dala, I’m taking command of a legion."

Undala nodded and started putting the armour on her "You will be going? For any particular reason?"

"To see if I can, but we are going to keep it secret and I’m using my own personal guard instead of a normal legion. I can’t have this getting out, I’ll become a target and put our new territory in danger" She sets out once she’s suited up.

Leonus

Leonus was looking over several reports, always at work. "Come in!" He said before the officer had even knocked on the door. A spy came in, passing him a note "truly? Invasion of Lakewood, we must request the Marshal to dispatch a legion at once! It is an isolationist society, we won’t have many more chances to improve their opinions of us."

He then got up and addressed the spy again "after that, dispatch orders to get nearby spies into Lakewood, we need to know what’s happening before we commit troops to a fight."

Next, he went back to his desk, writing and writing in order to document everything currently known about the invasion.

Leslisia

Leslisia got her orders as soon as she got back into the barracks, causing her to sigh. "Nobody unequip anything, we’ve got orders. Outside, 5 minutes." She headed out and, surprisingly, Ordinus wasn’t badgering in her ear about some minor mistake or another. He stood at the head of the column as she inspected it before taking the banner of the legion and starting the march to the South. She knew other legions were going East and West but she had no idea why, seeing as the information was need-to-know.

She wasn’t exactly looking forward to the march. For some generals, it might’ve been the lack of information, not knowing whether this would be a defense or a seige or even knowing much about her own legion. However, for her, it was the fact she had to march next to Ordinus for several days with next to no respite. She often found herself thinking the same thought over and over. How did he manage to anger Malstar so much as to demote him instantly? The answer is almost immediately given to her in the form of some sexist or racist or really just any sort of xenophobic or classist comment.

Kurusawa: Week 3

Hiroshi paused outside the Emperor's throne room and checked over his armor. He buffed out a spot with his sleeve. It would not do to be less than perfect when greeting one's lord. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the doors open and entered the room. The room was impressively large, decorated in the delicate, spartan style preferred by the people of Kurasawa. A few paintings hung on the walls, and there was a vase here or there, but by and large, the room was empty.

Two guards, dressed in the ceremonial armor of the samurai stood, one to either side of the door. Across the room, at the opposite end, the Emperor sat, his throne also flanked by samurai. Slightly behind and to the left of the Emperor sat his wife and the remainder of the Imperial Council behind them. Hiroshi approached the throne and bowed deeply and respectfully.

"My lord", he said.

The Emperor waved his hand, indicating that Hiroshi should rise, which he did. "Speak to me, Hiroshi, my most trusted general. Tell me what is happening in my Empire."

Hiroshi cleared his throat. "All is well, Majesty. The people are happy and everything is in order."

"And the expansion?"

"All is in readiness, Majesty. On your command, we will proceed with the invasion of the southeastern province. We anticipate no resistance."

Very well, proceed."

"Yes, Majesty."

Hiroshi bowed deeply again and left the presence of the Emperor. He hurried back to his horse and started the ride back to the front.

The Emperor turned to his council, seeking their opinions. Though he was the ruling hand, he knew the wisdom in seeking the advice of others. They nodded reassuringly, knowing, as did he, that expansion was necessary if the Empire was to thrive. The southeastern province was fertile land, perfect for growing rice and other essentials. It would be a good acquisition.

But still, the Emperor was concerned.

Post 1: The Betrayal
The Commander of the Guard

Marching west was uneventful. Either the Wind's Whisper Company has been successful in fighting off the brigands or the sheer power of the Lady's Dance Company was enough to keep them far away from the old imperial road. They have already met with The Moon's Grace Company before crossing the border with Southcove and now that they arrived at the second meeting point, they had to wait for the Earth's Spear Company to rendezvous from Northcove. Strangely, there had been no sign of Southcove’s army as they freely marched on enemy lands. He noticed that the Lady of the Eleven was getting tense as she noticed one of the scouts returning. She was intrigued by the lack of opposition. "I will meet with the scout, milady" the Commander of the Guard said as he quickly rode to meet his man without waiting for her reply. His mind was on something else and he needed that space away from his army to think about his next move. However, he was thrown off balance by the news. They would not be meeting anyone from Running, as the massive army sent to save the Imperial Senate was ambushed and decimated by none other than Unilith, who have been very quiet up to now! This obviously ruined his plans… There was no time to wait. He rode back with the scout, as calmly has he possibly could, given the situation. With his mind elsewhere, he completely ignoring his companion’s word about the diplomatic mission. As soon as he reached close enough to the Lady, the Commander ispoke with a strange smile "Unilith did Running like they did us before", he takes out his sword, the fine metal reflecting the sun’s light as if signalling an incoming attack. The camp suddenly broke into chaos, as others followed his action. But then it was when it happened… As the Commander was ready to strike down the Lady herself, the ground shook violently…


Post 2: The Earthquake
Event: An earthquake shakes the land. Its epicenter is in the desert to the east.
Overseer of the Roads

After the political earthquake, a real one shook the old lands, but the Overseer of the Roads felt strange about all of this. As an Archdruid, his faith was on the spirits of the lands, but he had never met a spirit that would shake the ground like that. The truth is that, even though the earthquake did cause a lot of damage and deaths, re-building would not take too long. However, it almost felt like a symbolic godly act when the land shook, almost as if the land itself felt the "political earthquake"… "Could Avencia have returned?" he wondered for some moments. The fact is that, the old empire collapsed under the pressure and this was the last drop. The Covenant was no more. After taking Running as if it was candy from a child, Unilith took advantage of the destruction of Windrise by a massive wave consilidade their graps on the Old Eastern Lands. Rumours were quick to spread, blaming the mages from Unilith for the earthquake. But the Overseer felt it was from further away, maybe even from something darker… And now, the news of the Lady of the Eleven’s assassination and the mysterious disappearance of the Mouth of the Land. It seems like there is another earthquake coming, but this time brewing inside the Confederation itself.

The problem was clear, without the Mouth of the Land and with no news from the Commander of the Guard from the west, it was up to him, the Overseer, to re-group and take action. As the Guardian of the Library noticed, the northern ports lost most of their fleet during the earthquake and, with Goldport lands already split by Cloudspire, the North Trade Alliance would not last long. On top of that, it seems like Cloudspire's allies did answer their call for vassalage, swearing allegiance to the new heir. It would be a matter of time until the Old Western Lands would be under one ruler again. But the Foundation, hopeless with its allies in ruins, the rescue army obliterated, and the Imperial Senate shattered by the claim of the throne, was just there for grabbing. It was clear that those lands were spoils for the taking, in a free for all run to gain more land, more power and more leverage in the new political landscape. And so he gathered all the available forces, pushing the recruitment as far as he could and launched a full scale invasion of Foudation, hoping to reach the old capital itself.

Post 3: Peace of ashes
Event: War in the Old Lands has simmered down, and it's mostly cold now. Your position on both coasts, along with your neutrality in the war, has set up the Marches to be a hotbed of espionage and defection.
(The one councillor)

Everything was going much better than he had planned. Since the Archdruid made it to Guardian of the Library, he worked hard to get the elven tribes where they should be: at the Center of the Covenant. The earthquake was godsend and he would be sure to praise the spirits by building a magnificent city to the spirit of the Sun, maker of light and fire, scorcher of earth and the bringer of ash.

All it took was the Margrave’s one mistake: electing him to the council. Presumably taken by Foundation spies, he provided the perfect excuse for retaliation, which the Overseer of the Roads, Archdruid of the Land, successfully carried, claiming most of the Old Senate’s lands before Cloudpire could react. But he saw to it that the Margrave would be nowhere to be found… Strangely, he is yet to receive news from the Commander of the Guard. Having seen the military skill of the Overseer, it was clear that hiring the veteran of the Imperial Council Guard wasn’t a military sound choice, however, he was loyal to his contract and the rumour was that the Lady of the Eleven, Archdruidess of the Moon, was targeted for assassination. He was impatient to hear about what happened…

The Mouth of the Land… Now, that was a stubborn human noble that has always distrusted him. Walking down the Margrave's palace, he could tell that the old man had been right all along, since he was now rotting in the dungeons. Finding where he was hiding the Imperial Senate’s spies just made him a traitor, maybe even a scapegoat Lady’s assassination…. With the Master of the Guilds taken away by the Appraiser of Arts to build his new city he, the Guardian of the Library, stood alone in the Confederate Council, where is quickly declared a state of emergency, declaring himself The One Councillor for the Confederacy of the Eleven Marches, the Convenant’s Gate, Northvale and Foundation or... the Elven Empire as he fancied it in private.

The Wind’s Whisper Company did a good job on those brigands, but he still had some sahuagin and lizarkfolk under his pay. All that was missing now was to send them against the Marches themselves. Those beasts were sure to get themselves killed and take some of the other Archdruids with them… He would not let the unrest brewing after the rumours of the Lady’s demise be a problem.

As he entered the palace's meeting room, he looks at the archage of Unilith and the heir to the Imperial throne. Neutrality payed off very well, with all the spies and defectors running loose at Covenant’s Gate, he knew of both their secrets, and the military prowess shown by the Overseer at the eastern front was a statement that these two couldn’t ignore. A new era was afoot for the Empire, which would now be led by the triumvirate made up by the Magocracy of the West, the Kingdom of the East and, pitting them against each other them, the Central Elven Confederation. Further to the power sharing, Foundation’s lands would be split: Unilith would get Fireheart and the Council lands, Cloudspire would get Foundation’s coastal lands and Stillbourne and the Marches would get Willowvale and Foundation.

The Politics of Rivellesk

The Tsunami

There were three whales atop where the village of Avala used to be. It was a small village at the edge of one of the smaller satellite islands of Hetvmik. Fishermen, and also weavers of fishing nets, made up its small community, no more than sixty or seventy adults in total. A massive tidal wave, nearly fifty feet high, had crashed into the southwestern island coasts of Rivellesk. The Hetvmician sea-priests had detected its impending arrival, but the scale of the tsunami was such that its force could only be mitigated, not prevented. The weather wizards would later go on to explain how the tectonic plate of the western half of the continent as it slips under the Scorching Sea caused a catastrophic seismic shift whose wave shoal hit the Rivellian islands with a magnitude not previously seen before. While many villages have been completely washed away, what is even more concerning is the loss of hundreds of ships and craft of all sizes. Even for hardy sea folk, this was a death toll that people feared to tally. No one wanted to dig under those whales.

Hetvmik and Vodspitz

Marczhaal Vailennor of Hetvmik arrived at Vodspitz castle, face as black as thunder. His initial purpose was already a serious one, one that concerned the honour of Hetvmik, but that purpose was overtaken by a larger crisis that had affected the island folk of all Rivellesk. Count Delmark, aging castellan of Vodspitz, hurried down to his audience chamber to convene a hasty court session even as the mighty Marczhaal stormed into the great hall.

"More than two thousand dead, and twice as many missing. We’ll require Vodspitz’s coffers to open up. And resettlement on the mainland until the affected islands are habitable again."

"Of course, it shall be so." Count Delmark signaled to his seneschal to make the necessary arrangements. The recent expansions mainland afforded the luxury of accommodating the thousands of displaced folk making their way to the peninsula proper. There should be space for all to settle, for now.

"And now, the reason I came in the first place." His mailed fist thumped the oaken table, and opened to reveal a fine luminous, iridescent necklace that looked as if it were made of suspended water droplets. "The Slesshelissan queen’s necklace, recovered from the Jolly Squall." The tension in the court was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

A knife that appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the form of Sir Tarent Cliognier, Knight Commander of the Order of the Spire.

The Factions of Rivellesk

The Knights of the Spire

In the Covenant years, the government of Rivellesk was entirely run by the empire, from its seat in Vodspitz. The count, the military, the bureaucrats formed the court, but invited the chiefs of the various islands to also share a seat in the court, appointing them barons, and treating them as vassals. The sea barons were content with this arrangement. What was slightly less palatable was a subsequent decree. The empire saw it fit to reinforce its militaries all over the continent with its knights. Ennobled by the emperor himself, these knights were to serve as advisers, generals, mediators, sometimes spies, in the lands they were deployed to. Sometimes their stint was a short one of a few years, in others, they stayed their entire lives in those nations, without ever returning home. Notable was their vow of celibacy; they served only one purpose: king and country.

The knights who served Vodspitz were given the name the Order of the Spire (the Ordo Spitz). While they did some good in protecting the lands from the enemies of Rivellesk, they were largely a tolerated nuisance when they tried to make themselves useful on the islands proper. Fully armoured knights had no place in sea battles and trade disputes, nor did their more constraining values sit well with the easy going ways of the island people. The legendary duel, a friendly match, between the Marczhaal of Tenczek and the Knight Commander a century ago. Both men had fought for hours, evenly matched, with no end in sight. The Spire knight had hewn away most of the Marczhaal’s defences, but the legendary constitution of the Tenczek made him indefatigable. Close to striking his final blows, the knight raised his greatsword, and then ground to a halt, immobilised. It seemed that the ocean-magic of marczhaal’s cutlass had rusted the knight’s armoured joints into place, disabling his ability to move.

The lost years saw the withdrawal and disappearance of all the empire’s leaders and forces, including the knights. The Order seemed doomed to be relegated to a page of forgotten Rivellian history. Then two months ago, the Vodspitz’s castle mausoleum saw a terrible commotion. One of the central tombs opened, the sarcophagus within came alive. The priests were summoned, foul necromancy was feared, but the mummy made no hostile moves. Unwrapping itself, the newly revived person of the Knight Commander from a century past, Sir Tarent Cliognier, was found underneath the shroud cloths, with no memory of how he died (if he indeed died, for no wounds nor decay were discovered on his person) nor any explanation for why he should be found within the mausoleum, when all connected to the empire had vanished without a trace.

The Discovery of Malgeri:

Hra'an was taking a walk amongst the skull garden besides his Fort when The Elder of Cloaks sneaked up to him.

"Brother, I would like to offer an advice."

"What is it, Cloaked Brother?"

"With the issue of the Duergar causing trouble, I advice sending out scouts to observe them, and also to explore the further regions. We do not know if there may be similar nations that wish to harass us."

"Yes. Do send your Spies to investigate the outer lands." Hra'an says as he caresses a skull of a fallen Zaangor.

Soon the assistants of The Elder of Cloaks are sent on their way to explore the regions outside, and report back in a couple of days. Soon, there was a discovery of a nation towards the North-West of New Zaangoria.

Further scoutings reveal that it is called Malgeri. It is very well defended, with wooden walls being built in the outer borders, with fully built stone walls further back. The guards that stand watch appears to be of the human race.

Hra'an decided that this nation is also something to be careful of. The way it is set up looks quite formidable. Future diplomacy attempts is to be considered.

As for now, it is decided that a Horde is to hold land nearer to this nation. This is to ensure that any raids from that nation are well defended against, and that more new buildings for the slaves and Zaangors can be built. So the Elder of Thoughts is appointed to lead an army to claim the land towards the North. "Let's soon have a meeting with our lovely neighbours!" was his battle cry.

Soon, the land further in the North-West was taken. The slaves that were brought along were put to work to chop down trees and build wooden walls and ditches with spikes as defence, while also setting the area for future buildings for the slaves and Zaangors.

Notable Peoples of Rivellesk

The Mystery of Ser Tarent Cliognier and the Slesshelissan Queen's Necklace

"Are you insinuating that the Count had something to do with the loss of Queen Lisshilin’s necklace?" Ser Tarent Cliognier challenged. A deadly silence fell over the entire court. Even Court Delmark was speechless.

"I am optimistic that a better explanation of its discovery in The Jolly Squall than the most obvious one exists," answered Marczhaal Vailennor steely.

"Send for the diviners then." Cliognier signaled to one of the court’s functionaries.

"Hetvmik brings her own as well." Vailennor turned. At the entrance of the great hall stood a female triton, accompanied by who appeared to be a human priestess of the Seamother.

"The answer lies in who you are, Ser Tarent," came the liquid voice of the triton seer, a Tidemother, "Or more specifically, who you used to be."

"Please, lead us to the mausoleum." The priestess spoke up on behalf of seer as she led her by the arm for support.

As many as could file into the south chamber of the crypts below the castle followed them down. No one had been into this chamber for decades. The cavernous walls were covered in bas relief depictions of the important personages of the empire. The east chamber was where they had found Cliognier, presumed dead and buried, then revived, a mystery no one had been able to explain thus far.

"Tidemother requests that you open this one." With a mighty heft, Cliognier slid open the slab -

- and found himself staring at the perfected preserved body of the queen of Slesshelissa, her royal necklace of command around her neck.

"A simulacrum. Both the body, and the necklace." The Tidemother spoke a few syllables and touched the corpse, which immediately turned into water, leaving only the burial gown and jewelry behind. She slumped over the bier, as if her magic had been drained out of her, and both her priestess and Vailennor rushed forward to prop her up.

"The real question is, why was the empire making clones of all of us?"

The Shaking Ground:

It was another peaceful day. The Eastern camp is developing nicely. With the new housings and a newly built logging camp, the walls and spiked ditches of the Eastern border have been a good deterrent from further raids by the Duergar.

Suddenly, the ground begins to shake. It started as a slight vibration, which eventually led to sleeping Zaangors to fall off from the trees as it began to turn into an earthquake.

"Aahh!! What is going on?! Zaang, help us! We need to report to Hra’an!" The Zaangors screamed as they try to figure out what is happening and are trying to avoid being crushed by the recently built wooden buildings. A couple of Zaangors try to round up the slaves, while the rest ran up to The Elder of Tongues’ tent to ask about the situation.

"This is preposterous! How do I know what to do about this great shaking! All I can say is pray to Zaang that it ends quick!" He screamed at the gathering crowd.

There was a prayer session outside the tent, and a couple of minutes later, it stopped shaking. "Thank Zaang for the gracious Hope he gives unto us!" Cried the leader of the session.

The news of the sudden earthquake was brought to Hra’an, and he returned a message back to his Advisor. "This is a very troubling event. We too felt the vibrations from the ground. It is discovered that those who are in the Western region does not feel the ground shaking, and so it must be that it is within the Duergar Mountain that is the cause of this. A few Spies have been dispatched to investigate the city within the mountain. Please be ready for any attack by the Duergar, for this is a mysterious enemy."

Two Spies are indeed sent in to investigate. They passed through the Eastern Camp without bothering anyone, and they climbed the mountain before entering into the tunnel where the passage through was. It was remembered that the passage is pretty large, with side passages that are clearly carved with iron supports. The Duergar are still dwarves after all.

The Spies each pick a passage to cover more ground, and in case one of them got trapped. They traveled through the tunnels deeper into the mountain, and they finally arrived at the hollow interior where the city is.

There the Spies found a disturbing revelation. The Duergar are gathered around a collapsed stone statue of a massive Duergar head that is in the middle of the carver city. Some of the Duergar are worshiping it, while some are busy clearing away the rubble. The Spies can't help but feel that the sight is highly suspicious, and quickly reported back the finding.

Hra'an then send a message again to the Elder leader of the Eastern Camp. "It is a disturbing theory that we the Council have come upon. The Duergar is suspected to have not only caused the shaking, but that they are trying to create a giant made out of stone. We believe they are summoning a physical form of their god, but we can't be sure until further investigation can be made. We ask of you to continue hastening the development of the land, and continue your study of the Duergar tongue. May Zaang bless your efforts. - Hra'an."

Week 4: The Quaking Sands
Riots had broken out in the lower city. The damage from the earthquake had been minor, compared to the magnitude of the event itself. The city itself seemed to have been rocked by its foundations. At its worst point, many looked to the Palace, expecting it to crumble and fall. Thankfully, no substantial damage occurred, and even most of the Lower City was spared, thanks to the late Civic Works Councilor’s housing project.
Still, many citizens were left paranoid, and the more zealous among them cried out that it was the work of the Great Desert Wyrm.
"Qhaanh comes for us all!" the doomsayers would warn, stirring up the fears of the people. "For too long we have spat in the face of the Desert King! He comes to wipe his land clean of our blasphemy!"
These impromptu rallies ended in one of two ways: either the crowd would be stirred to action, taking to the streets to violently spread their newfound prophet’s gospel, or they would find it in their hearts to end the poor fool’s life quickly. The latter became more prevalent once the guards stepped in. A good few demonstrations were held in the Inner city, with the ringleaders and doomsayers of the first few rights meeting the ends at the end of a rope.
The council had more pressing things to deal with than the rioting, however. While the city had been left structurally untouched, many of the workcamps near the Oszethite Wall had been swept away in the aftermath. Some of the remaining workers had been sent to the northern province to help uncover the camps and search for any survivors before they became lost to the sands. A few soldiers that could perform basic divination magic had been sent to lead the efforts, helping to uncover supplies and recover lives.
Within a few days, a few camps had been reestablished, though only about half of the initial workers survived the disaster. The Wall was well on its way to completion, stretching from the eastern province through this one to create a blockade between the two mountain ranges.
While things were well underway, the council thought it best if an envoy were sent to the east. This was no ordinary earthquake, and it was thought best if they discovered its origins, so they would know if they must prepare for its return. With construction almost complete, they also thought it prudent to introduce themselves to their neighbors. They would no longer be hiding in the Wastes.

Week 4: The City of Bones

It had been almost a week since we had left the safety of Vax Kaggath in search of the fabled Whitestone City. I travelled alongside the troops, assigned with navigating the Wastes and recording our journey and findings for the Histories of Oszeth. I had spoken extensively with the leaders of the caravan that had witnessed the City’s splendors, and they assured me that if we were to travel to the north-east, we would not be able to miss the white spires the jutted from the sand.
I was beginning to lose hope. Many miles we had crossed and was had yet to see anything among the dunes. The sun beat down on us, and I saw many murderous glares coming from the soldiers. Oddly enough, it was a disaster that gave me the break we needed to find our quarry. A great earthquake shook our camp, sending many of us to the grounds, and a few of us were lost to the shifting of the sands that followed. While the rest of the troops excavated themselves from their camps, I came across something. The sands had parted to reveal a path of wide stones, polished smooth by time.
After an altercation that almost ended with my head being prematurely separated from my person, I was able to point out my findings to the captain. While none of the men had very nice words to say about me, they were appeased that there was now a clear direction to take. It was a day’s march down the desert road that lead us to seeing our first glimpse of the city.
It was breathtaking. High into the air rose four spires of polished white stone, curving inwards towards a central point. They came nowhere close to touching each other, but the impression it gave was like the ribs of some great beast that had been lost to the sands. A soldier nearby said it reminded him of teeth, though I would rather do myself in than meet whatever might have teeth that large and pointy.
The city itself was of the same white stone and seemed as if it were built by someone who was not inclined to plan ahead. Great plazas and high towers were abundant, and walkways appeared wherever they were needed, sometimes hanging in the air to connect one tower to another.
We walked through the streets of the Whitestone City’s outer districts. I could see wonder even on the war-hardened faces of the soldiers. It was not until we reached the city proper that problems began.
Screaming, and then a bustle of activity. The forward scouts had returned, and one of their number was gravely injured. Upon reaching the border of the great spires, an arcane field materialized where he stood, causing him great pain. I did not get to see the man, but I was told that he dies in the infirmary tent not long after he was brought there. The curse of the spire’s became a topic of much discussion. Word was sent, via hawk back to the city for someone who could help us deal with this problem. We set up camp at the outer edges of the city, not wanting anyone to wander to close to the spire’s border.
The next day, I awoke early to a soldier telling me to meet the Captain in his command building. An expert had come to aid us in our problem. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes and the sand from my uniform, I entered and was shocked to see Councilor Ravelt conferring with the Captain. She listened intently to the problem, and after noticing I was there, she and the Captain listened to my reports and opinions about the issue.
I escorted Councilor Ravelt, or should I say, we were escorted by a small group of soldiers, to the border. She spent a good deal of time standing just before the field, muttering to herself and making notes in the sand with a long staff that she had brought with her. After she was satisfied with whatever decision she had made, she called us all to her. She sent the soldiers to collect things for her. Random items, it seemed to me, but she spoke with such authority that none of us dared to question her.
I was the first to return, having been sent to collect an empty inkwell and a stack of pristine paper. Even then, she had already cleared a large area in a nearby courtyard. A lectern had been found, upon which I placed my items. The other soldiers filtered in and I became to put together what was happening.
Taking a knife, she opened her palm, bleeding into the inkwell until it was almost full. Using her "ink" she scrawled things in script I couldn’t decipher unto the paper. Using her staff, she drew a complicated pattern into the sand, laying the parchment at specific points. When she was satisfied, she began to intone something. It was also in a language I did not know, though with what came next, I would not dare inscribe those words if I knew them.
Even in the brightest part of the day, the shadows lengthened around her, coalescing into a great shadowy beast. It twisted and turned upon itself, seeming to have no substance to its form, but it was massive just the same. Its great talons rested on the ground before her, causing the sand to stir as if each hand was a small cyclone. They stared into each other’s eyes for some time, communicating beyond words. Then it took to the skies.
I hope to live many more years, and in those years, I hope to never again see the likes of this creature. It screamed as it twisted in the wind, its maw filled with teeth as red as blood. It turned and circled the spires, eventually smashing itself into the field. We could all see the light from the city’s magic fighting against it, but the evil it contained was too strong, and the once invisible dome that protected the city shattered like glass.
The magic of the spire’s seemed to cause the beast pain too, but Lady Ravelt simply laughed at her triumph, even as her creation began to fade into nonexistence. The city was won, and without combat, but I fear many of us will be having nightmares about this day for months to come. We will soon be exploring the inner city, but for now, we celebrate the founding of Vax Nazrix, the City of Bones.
-Salanio Menelaus the Warrior Poet

Week 4: Within the Halls of Vax Nazrix
Alsobeth stepped casually through the ancient halls of the innermost structure of Vax Nazrix. The city must once have been a great seat of learning, as they pooled much energy into the construction of a grand library. The architecture was a thing of beauty and much of the literature within remained untouched by the elements thanks to the protection of the Spires. The bones of long dead scholars littered some chambers, hinting at the dark fate that befell the city.
After the Council had received the missive from the expedition, the Councilor’s curiosity could not be contained. She worked her magic to step directly into their camp, scaring a watchman nearly out of his skin and setting the troops abuzz with whispers of dark magic. If only they knew.
It wasn’t long after their search of the inner city that they discovered the place to be completely abandoned. And after that, it was only a matter of time before the Grand Witch of Vax Kaggath fell in love with the City of Bones. Naming herself Regent of the city, and surrounding province, she set about making herself at home within the library’s halls. Her first order was to begin excavating the outer city. The sands had done everything in its power to erase the city, but its magic was too strong.
The upper chambers of the tower were well furnished, obviously housing great mages and scholars of the past. She would be happy to continue her studies and experimentation her. It was in one of these chambers that she encountered an unexpected visitor. While he kept himself out of sight, she knew his voice well. He had taught her everything she knew about magic, including the darker arts in which she excelled.
Her skin crawled as the Shadow King spoke. He congratulated her on her victory and her resourcefulness in overcoming the barrier. It was no small feat, what she did, and she had earned the title she had claimed for herself.
She was relieved that he was not here to rebuke her for being so bold. He even seemed pleased. Their conversation turned to her place in Vax Kaggath. She could not very well watch over the treasury from here, and she was far to attached to her new home. Alsobeth agreed that a change would have to be made, but she would not be giving up her place on the Council.
She appointed another, with the King’s blessing, to take her place as the Councilor of Trade and Treasury. A former student of hers, as ruthless and conniving as her master. An elven maiden by the name of Vesrynn. Her discussion concluded with the creation of a new Council seat. Her new home made her the perfect candidate for Councilor of Historical Preservation and Arcane Research.

Week 4: Changes in Oszeth
Many changes had occurred in Oszeth within the past few days. The finalized construction of the Oszethite Wall was cause for celebration. The great black structure could be seen from the rooftops of Vax Kaggath. Along with that, steady communication and trade had been established with the new city of Vax Nazrix.
The new Councilor of Civic Works had his hands full with managing the workforces necessary to enact his next project. He proposed a road to Vax Naxrix, allowing for safe passage through the Wastes. A conventional road could be lost to the sands, but his road would not. He would carve a tunnel beneath the dunes, leading straight through the stone to each city. The tunnel would be safe from the elements and reinforced to withstand earthquakes greater than the most recent.
With all in favor, construction began, and another project was brought to his attention. With another Councilor added to the mix, the throne room could no longer contain all the members. With Alsobeth in Vax Nazrix, that wasn’t a huge problem, but she would need to be represented somehow.
With more clever ideas, Talak simply moved the thrones around, giving Alsobeth’s old one to Vesrynn, and installed a large mirror of polished stone in place of another throne. This mirror would be enchanted so that Alsobeth could project herself into the Council Chambers and still take part in the various meetings required of her, regardless of her self-proclaimed nobility.
It was also Talak’s pleasure to announce that his labyrinth beneath the city was complete and would now serve as the city’s prison. Those who were not executed were to be released into the subterranean tunnels, where the Councilor’s could magically watch them struggle to survive the treacherous traps and terrible monsters that had been released. The elven sorceress inquired as to the fate of those who stumbled upon the entrance.
Talak believed their fate was punishment enough for not leaving well enough alone.

The Children of Hra'an:

It had been months since The Elder of Visions and Hra'an have slept together. There is already rumours of this, but it is kept very hushed, and even considered to be slander amongst the common Zaangor. As The Priestess developed visible signs of pregnancy, she spends more of her time within her sleeping chamber in the Temple of Zaang to avoid being seen by the gossiping public.

As the new season rolls in, the issue of her child soon birthing cannot be ignored. And thus Hra'an's Spy Master, who secretly returned to the Capital after placing a decoy Spy to act as the Elder, visited him one day to discuss about it.

"How long, Brother, will you continue to ignore the birth of your son?" The Master Rogue asks quietly to Hra'an within the Leader's private chambers.

"I have told her to abort the child, but she refused. I feel she is growing more distant from me. Despite her disobedience to me, I can't bring myself to order a miscarriage to be brought to her. What do you think I ought to do?"

"I propose that you make the child your heir. I understand that you desire for your Advisors to appoint the next leader with the best qualities, but the people admire you, and if you have the child as your heir, your respect will continue on to them."

"No, it must be through an election that the leader is appointed. The people deserve to be led by a capable leader."

"Brother, if you refuse to make the child your heir, they will have revenge in the future. They will your destroy the reputation you have gained from your people. Don't make the Nation fall apart so soon. This is the best way, as assassinating the child will be obvious to our Sister, and she will hate you more."

"Fine, I shall consider your proposal. For now, once the child is born, I request that you take them to a family that you trust can take of them well. Sister have duties to attend to in the Temple, and it will give a bad image if The Priestess has a child running around in the Temple. Sister will be allowed to see her child every once in a while, so use your expertise and help her secretly watch her child at a distance."

Soon enough, the Elder of Visions fell into labour, and it was revealed that a batch of two babies, one male and one female, is born. The Elder of Cloaks did as he was ordered, and secretly brought the babies to a Zaangor couple to take care of them, and he continues to spy to make sure they are doing a good job.

As this was happening, The Elder of Books was sent to lead a Horde to take over the North-Eastern region. "Listen, you psychotic warriors. There may be nothing to fight with other than the usual forest beasts, so don't expect me to give a rousing battle speech or anything. Let's just carry on and claim the forest."

Week 4 - Leslisia

Marching for days with Ordinus was...a nightmare. Constant chatterings that could get him locked up if we were back in Insomnia and just his whole attitude were grating on one's mood. This was nothing compared to what they found as they crested a hill on their final day of marching.

Lakewood, now a well defended city filled with...birds? They were too late, but who were these peoples? They'd scouted all around and never found anything like this race. Now noticing how bad it would be to be seen with a legion in front of a city, Leslisia forces all her troops back with only herself walking forwards with a white flag to signify a wish for a talk, her most trusted subordinate looking out for any shenanigans Ordinus might pull.

Her heart was pounding but she kept her composure. Everything was too much how the Horde were like...a little less...methodical and far more primitive looking, though she resolves that's probably her humanity-based bias. What would she say? Would they just kill her? Do they know what a white flag means? They seemed to keep slaves so they might subject her to that.

Try as she might, she couldn't help her hand from shaking just a little, barely noticeably, as she approaches the city, hoping that she doesn't end up like Lakewood...

Undala

Why were there so many refugees? Even in an invasion, so many people wouldn't run...how bad would it be? Was the entire city destroyed? She couldn't help but have one intrusive thought...Why didn't they stay and fight as we did? We fought for 10 years and they just get it for free? She smacked herself to keep that thought away. We accept everyone...we went through hell but we shouldn't force everyone through it with us...

Instead of stay on this toxic line of thought, Undala instead started crafting orders, using her practiced writing skills that she was working on. Writing had never been her strong suit, neither had words...that was Malstar's job and she'd done so much better during the occupation. But she'd resolved to do better, to live up to Malstar's expectations and keep her creation growing and growing, a way to pay back for the efforts she'd put in for all of them.

Refugee tents outside of the city but away from anything important, away from the industry that would be unhealthy for them. She selected an area and got some guards and a complex of tents to house them. She also started getting the preparations ready for their integration into the Directive, the first big test of the system put in place for this sort of situation...and the first test of the people to accept these new arrivals...how many would react like her first thoughts?

That's a thought for later, she guesses, sending off the orders and then lying down on top of her desk to nap, as she did when she was stressed and overworked...which was always. For now, preparing a separate section of a province for them...to the West of Insomnia...the southern half.

Two legions were already being sent North West, so there should be a lot more space for the population, hopefully that would work, it had to...or people would be suffering in squalor.

Perhaps they should separate another province...the far south could use that, it'd be easier to manage them and develop them as they need specifically, instead of treating them as one big province. She'll do that once she wakes up, for now...napping.

Imala

"Finally! Some work that isn't some idiot getting a detail wrong!" Imala got out of her seat with a bright smile on her face. Development! Choosing her to do things! An invasion, so a new person to set up diplomatic relations with! Granted, they might be hostile but one can only help..." She started rambling, as always. Despite being the most calm and responsible normally, months of no meaningful work had coiled her like a spring, finally unleashed as she started running around the room, collecting supplies before sitting down, smiling.

She started writing orders, activating and reorganising certain divisions, preparing the entire Administra for the influx of work that would likely be coming in and to deal with the current orders from Undala. The practiced act of writing orders and handing them out calmed her down, though it was obvious she was excited.

She worked non-stop for several days, writing so much that every single small detail was written out, only delegating jobs to people who wouldn't be bothered from dealing with everyday work, especially those working on citizenship sections and the mundane departments. However, she did take a few from the citizenship sections to talk to and educate the refugees about the system and helping explain many separate parts of their entire system.

What little protests there were in the department to the refugees were quickly opposed by the rest of the department, sparking a debate and wasting an entire day of work as the staff went through the entire problem with the others and they slowly but surely convinced them of the usefulness of these people after the moral argument failed.

Thankfully for the dissenting opinions, no one went to fetch a guard as much of the debate could've been seen as treasonous and thus the dissenters may have been sent to prison for a while before being demoted a little as punishment.

The Peoples of Rivellesk

Dreji-zil

Haarkon Kelanen, Baron of Dreji-zil, had never set foot on the island which he ruled. There were two reasons for this: the first was that Dreji-zil island was one big volcano. Essentially a volcanic mountain rising out of the sea, it was a wonder why any of the early settlers decided to set up habitation there, much less continue to flourish as a community over the centuries. Igneous soil however, made Dreji-zil the most fertile of all the islands in the Rivellian archipelago. Teeming with flora, and regularly terraced into arable farmland, Dreji-zil crop production outstripped all the other islands combined. Of course, the danger was that, every century or so, the volcano, Mount Drej would erupt, and burn everything to the ground. (‘dreji-zil’ = Drej sleeps, ‘dreji-zan’ = Drej wakes) That didn’t seem to bother its natives very much at all, as the following will elucidate.

The second reason, in Haarkon’s own salty words, were: If the creator wanted us to live on land, he would’ve given us roots instead of feet. The Kelanen lineage all lived on ships. As did fully ninety percent of the Dreji-zilians. They were born, worked, got married, grew old, and passed away on their ship, or family of ships. Each family owned a ship, larger networks of families a small fleet. A new ship was the dowry in marriage, to signify the start of a new life together, much like mainlanders would build a new house or start a new estate. Even children and teenagers had their own smaller canoes, dinghies, the occasional pontoon. A Dreji-zilian is all sea legs. It is said you can tell a Dreji-zilian on land by the way he walked, with a bit of a sway (often mistaken for a swagger), leg stance slightly further apart, as if they expect the ground to shift anytime. It makes them excellent duelists, as they are extremely light-footed and never lose their balance.

In the recent tsunami, the Dreji-zilian fleet was pivotal in relief efforts, and their economy was unaffected. They suffered least because their ships were all out at sea, and their land damage inconsequential. Haarkon’s own galleon ferried the first lot of refugees to the mainland, whereupon he noticed both Thelfstan’s and Vailennor’s anchored in the bay. Now what in the nine trenches are these fuckers up to now?

The Sleeping Stone:

The Duergar Undercity has been placed as a high priority target of Spying. The Spies themselves are good skulkers, but they are not perfect, so when they are caught surrounded by the Duergar, they will kill themselves with their daggers instead of fighting to avoid being captured. Recruitment is a slight issue, but the Spy Master is clever in selecting new assistants.

It did not take too long for the Spies to find another secret of the Duergar. With the aid of the Elder of Tongues, the eavesdropped conversations of the Duergar are deciphered. One of the topics is of great interest.

There are talks of an exploration project, one that leads further deeper into the mountain. There is also a mention of an object known as "The Sleeping Stone".

This object is believed to be an artifact of great significance to the Duergar, as it appears to be the main reason of their explorations, the other being to mine for more valuable minerals.

There has been contention about the nature of the Sleeping Stone amongst the Council members.

"This is an ancient artifact that is meant to awaken their stone god!" Argued the Elder of Books during one of the monthly Council meetings. "The Duergar are known to reproduce by creating realistic statues, what with all the statues found everywhere by the Spies. They would need significant power to create their god, so this sought after artifact sounds to be the key to this."

"How do you know that this is an artifact?" asked the Elder of Meats. "This Sleeping Stone might as well be the name of a mundane mineral that the Duergar is interested to mine."

"This mineral might even be magical." mused the Elder of Thoughts. "It could be even useful to us to reconstruct the spell foci that we had in the Old Kingdom."

"Whatever the Sleeping Stone is, I say we keep an eye on it." The Elder of Visions says softly without making eye contact. "Brother of Tongues should continue the deciphering of their language before we jump to conclusions."

The meeting ended with the meaning of the Sleeping Stone being inconclusive. As this was happening, the claimed land that was nearest to the Malgeri nation, The Northern Hold, is continuing its fortification of the region. Watch towers built into the trees can be found on the northern border.

The Myths of Rivellesk

Crivelln and the Nine Trenches

After Crivelln had claimed the mountain spire (which we now know as Vodspitz) for his people, he next sought to claim the sea in which the islands occupied. With a deep breath, he swam to the depths below. Past wave and current, past fish and shoal, past coral and silt, past rock and bed. Finally he came to what seemed to be an ever-deepening series of canyons, each more unfathomable than the next.

At the first trench, the voice of the sea said, "Give me your sword, for you will not need it." So Crivelln set aside his weapon, and proceeded deeper. And indeed Crivelln found he did not encounter a single enemy.

At the second trench, the voice of the sea said, "Give me your covering, for you will not need it." So Crivelln took off his armour and clothes, and proceeded deeper. And indeed Crivelln found he did not experience bodily harm.

At the third trench, the voice of the sea said, "Give me your hair, for you will not need it." So Crivelln shaved himself completely, and proceeded deeper. And indeed, Crivelln found he did not suffer the cold of the depths.

At the fourth trench, the voice of the sea said, "Give me your voice, for you will not need it." So Crivelln swallowed his tongue, and proceeded deeper. And indeed, Crivelln found he did not need his mouth to express his thoughts.

At the fifth trench, the voice of the sea said, "Give me your ears, for you will not need them." So Crivelln sealed them shut, and proceeded deeper. And indeed, Crivelln found he did not need his ears to hear the ocean sounds.

At the sixth trench, the voice of the sea said, "Give me your eyes, for you will not need them." So Crivelln blinded himself, and proceeded deeper. And indeed, Crivelln found he did not need his eyes to look into the dark depths.

At the seventh trench, the voice of the sea said, "Give me your memories, for you will not need them." So Crivelln forgot his past, and proceeded deeper. And indeed, Crivelln found there was nothing he needed to be burdened with in the first place.

At the eight trench, the voice of the sea said, "Give me your soul, for you will not need it." So Crivelln sold his life, and proceeded deeper. And indeed, Crivelln found there was nothing in the future he needed to take care of, ever.

At the ninth trench, the voice of the sea said, "Give me your heart, for you will not need it." So Crivelln gave up his desire to claim the sea, and proceeded no further. For indeed, Crivelln found there was nothing he needed to claim. No man had gone as far as he had; all of it already belonged to him.

The Captured Traders:

Some of the recently captured slaves from the newly acquired territories have been noticed to be complaining a lot, and demanding about seeing the leader. This usually would be met by further beatings, but it have been pretty constant issue, so the Slaver deployed at the Northern Hold have seeked the Elder of Thoughts for advice.

The Elder figured to finally leave his cabin and visit the upset captives as the Slaver kept bothering him about it.

When The Elder arrives, he gestures for the gagged captive to be allowed to speak.

"Why in the Ashen Realm did your people abducted us?! We have the right to travel on the trade route without being harassed! You bird-headed freaks just suddenly came out of nowhere and started killing my horses and bodyguards! I demand compensation! For this and the abuse your guy with the stick have done to my face!"

The Elder was shocked by the torrent of angry words he did not understand by the fancily dressed human man. He thought that prisoners would normally be fearful and submissive, not furious.

He brings forth a Zaangor that could help with translating between Common and Zaangoran. The Elder contemplated the complaint of the human, and have the translator repeat a message back.

"Hello, my Darling. You are slave now of New Zaangoria. You say you are trader. You use road to walk to cities. This very interesting. I like to know more."

The trader becomes more incensed, and threw insults and some relevant information. The translator requested permission to give the human a scratch across the face, but was denied. The Elder desired to continue to have a civilised interaction.

"Interesting. You, human trader from the Malgeri nation at the North? Do they also hate us Zaangors like you?"

"I can't speak for them, but we know that you are the ones who invaded Lake Wood! The refugees are a pain! They make business look bad! Things were doing well until you guys came along and messed things up!"

"We are growing nation. We came from East from Terrific Ocean. Your empire, called Covenant. It so bad that it destroyed long ago. We come to this land to make new empire. New Zaangoria Empire. And I believe you can help with that."

With that, the trader was brought, along with his assistants, to the nation of The Malgeri Directive. The intention was to form a small group of diplomats to visit the nation in hopes of forming a relation that can allow New Zaangoria to be part of the trade.

The Zaangors accompanying the humans back includes a Fawner(Elder of Thoughts' assistant) as the leader, a translator, and 3 bodyguards that also hold onto the binds of the trader and his men.

While this happens The Elder of Books directed his Horde to claim the land to their west to further reinforce the northern border of New Zaangoria.

"General," the messenger began. "There has been no resistance to our expansion from the people, but there is a hengeyokai that is giving us some issue. She refuses to accept that her lands have been annexed."

A hengeyokai...one of the magical shapeshifters that, while not common, are occasionally seen within the Empire. They almost always meant trouble in one form or another.

"Explain it to her," Hiroshi sighed in response. That was the first thing they would have done. They have already told her that she has no choice in the matter. If it were that simple, you wouldn't be here taking it up with me.

"We've... explained it to her already, sir. She refuses to accept our authority. She has threatened the men with turning them into ducks."

Hiroshi held the bridge of his nose and sighed again. It was never easy.

"I'll go and discuss the matter with her. Ready my horse."

===============================================

Hiroshi approached the small cottage. In front was a small garden with a beautiful koi pond. A woman dressed in a kimono was standing out front, tending the garden. "You've come to force me to submit," she stated flatly, without turning around.

"I've come to tell you that your Emperor claims these lands."

"He's not my Emperor."

"He is everyone's Emperor," Hitoshi replied, his voice even.

"I do not acknowledge his authority."

"It really doesn't matter whether you accept it or not." There was an edge of anger in his voice.

"And it matters not to me if you accept it or not." If she was intimidated, she did not show it. She continued carefully trimming the flowers, still not looking at him.

"If you do not accept the Emperor's authority over you, then I will be forced to..."

"You will execute me?"

Hitoshi said nothing. I had hoped that it would not come to that. Many samurai were quick to unsheath their sword if their honor were insulted, but Hitoshi had not risen to the rank of general by being impulsive.

"I will.. be forced to… move you."

At this, she showed her first hint of emotion, laughing aloud. "You will move me?" she repeated.

"If I must. The Emperor does not wish any issues with your people, but you must understand that He has rightfully annexed these lands. They are now His."

"I will not leave my home. You will have to kill me."

Hitoshi stopped. That was the problem? "You misunderstand. You do not have to leave. The Emperor simply demands that you accept His rule over these lands. You may stay here as long as you wish."

"I do not submit to his rule," she responded, her eyes flashing dangerously.
Hitoshi sighed. "What can I do to help you see this to a peaceful end?"

"You can go away," she said simply.

"That will not happen. Why do you not accept His lawful rule?"

"Because," for the first time, she turned to face Hitoshi. "Your Emperor cares nothing for me or my kind. We are treated as pests. Tolerated, but not welcomed. Even the korobokuru are invited to serve in your Emperor’s armies! Take that message to your Emperor. Until we are recognized as citizens, we will not recognize His rule."

Hitoshi bit back a reply. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. The hengeyokai were treated as second-class citizens within the Empire.

"Perhaps I could take this complaint to His Imperial Majesty," he said at last.

"Perhaps you could. And perhaps if He would hear our voices, He would be our Emperor as well."

"I will take this to Him. I will return with His response."

"And I will be here waiting."

Hitoshi turned his horse and rode off, back to his men. The Emperor will not be pleased, but he would keep his word, mentioning it to his lord.

Post 1: Troubles
Event: Ashenport's name has apparently angered many, both in your land and beyond, and there is pressure on multiple fronts to rename it.
(The One Councilor)

Peace has finally come to the Old Lands. With careful diplomacy, and a well-timed display of force, the elven tribes were placed right at the center of the New Covenant. The Triumvirate was still new and fairly unstable, but so far, all distrust has been put aside to rebuild the land ravaged by the war and the recent earthquake. But with the external calm, the internal noise became more noticeable. Many influential nobles disliked the efficient way the Elves took control of a big part of the Old Lands, including the Old Imperial Capital itself! And, unsurprisingly, not many Elves liked the way he had taken the power and become the One Councilor after the Lady of the Eleven was betrayed. Luckily, most nobles had lost most of their armies in the war and most of the archdruids were still recovering from that last brigand attack. This was far more devastating than anyone could have predicted. Four archdruids lay dead, with two still fighting the last remaining of the beastfolk that plague their Marches. All his enemies were powerless but even so, it was his new city that sparked the riots! Ashenport… The name of one city made him the most hated person in the Old Lands: the elves accused him of heresy, preferring one aspect of nature over all others, abandoning the true spirits of the land for a fake god; the human nobles, revolted by the disrespect shown for the true emperor, who has sacrificed everything just so an elf would make a mockery of his lands. Even Cloudspire used this as an excuse to cut diplomatic ties, impose commercial embargoes and close their borders, standing a thousand feet above everyone, alone as usual. A clear threat to their integrity and the integrity of the Triumvirate they said. Only Unilith seemed to ignore this issue, as the mages were mostly busy with their own things in their leaning tower.

---

Post 2: Stability
(The Overseer of the Roads)

The war was over, but the fight continued, this time, within the Covenant itself. He had shown his military genius by marching all the way to the heart of the Empire and preventing Cloudspire’s interference. Now, as his army was spread thin across the Confederation lands, he rallied the few men he could spare around the old Foundation lands, slowly putting down any remaining opposition and controlling the old loyalist rebellions. Some of those old noble families were not taking the idea of the New Covenant triumvirate very well…

But he also had to oversee the rebuilding of the wartorn provinces, the development of new fortifications and, of course, ensure the road networks remained operational. Peace was a welcomed break as it allowed him to focus on his duties: managing and investing in infrastructures. But there was so much work to be done, that it looked like he was still fighting a war, this time against all the numbers and papers. The logistics were getting too complex with the quick land expansion. It would take some time to recover and re-organize the Confederation, but he could already see the progress and his eyes were fixed on the future. Even the locals became quickly aware that the change was for the best and their new lords would not abandon them to their fate. At then a messenger arrived. "My lord, I bring news from the southern provinces". He was no lord and it felt very strange being called one. "When did an archdruid become a lord?" he wondered about what was happening back at in capital. Rumours of change reached the easternmost borders, but nothing concrete he could make sense of. "Your presence is immediately requested at the new city of Ashenport. Bring as many men as you can spare" the messenger continues, handing him the official request.

"Ashenport… what a strange choice of name…" He thought as he approached the new city, fire burning as high as the sun. He was not comfortable with the idea of a city build to honour one spirit, and it seems the spirits agreed with him. His mission was simple: prevent the growing riots from getting out of hand. Clearly he arrived too late, so he switched priorities: rescue the Appraiser of the Art and the Master of the Guilds, put out the fire and set up some security patrols. "Looks like the port is nothing more than ashes now. Indeed the Guardian of the Library was right. The city was scorched by its sun and it is nothing but ashes now" he though, smiling at the irony.

---

Post 3: Settlement
(The Appraiser of Arts)

Willowvale felt like home to the Appraiser of Arts. Mostly because it was a resource rich mining province, the dwarf would admit. There was something about being surrounded by all that metal and stone cargos that were so frenetically moved around the port. There was also something about the city not being on fire. Ashenport, well, Ash-pot as it was known amongst its opponents after burning down, was saved to a certain degree by the intervention of the Overseer of the Roads. The archdruid of the land proved to be very resourceful and managed to, almost single-handedly, put an end to the internal unrest plaguing the new Confederation. His public projects, security patrols and rebuilding priorities allowed for the commerce and industry to boom once again. These elves knew how to run things, the dwarf could tell. With the fertile lands of Foundation and the large herds of Northvale, food was aplenty. So much so that new textiles and cloths were flowing through the veins of the Confederation, meeting with the elven jewellery in the heart of the new arts centre of the known world: the old capital where the old imperial elite was enjoying the new artistry created by the best artisans in the land. But that was not what brought him to Willovale. "Wood in, stone out" that was the motto on the busy port. Wood and Cloth flooded the seaside marketplace, feeding into the naval industry. A minor port turned into a major industry centre in a matter of months! The ambition of these elves knew no bounds. Now they wanted to move past the Old Lands and settle on the other side of the north sea. The new plans were to officially explore and re-discover the lands to the north, claiming them to the New Covenant once again, but the rumour was that a well-placed fortification could hamper Cloudspire’s merchant fleet, making the Confederacy the prominent trade power of the Old lands.

---

Post 4: Accident
Event: The scion of a major house is killed when a bomb being smuggled through the Marches detonates prematurely. Or did it?
(Scion of House Greenvale)

He was young and he didn’t trust The One Councilor, or any elf for that matter. The Confederation was finally at peace with the burning of Ash-pot. That bloody name was like a curse cast on the Old Lands’ nobility. Clearly, it meant that the elves were plotting to remove the human nobles soon… It was too late to rename it Southport. That could please the archdruids, but most lay dead with their lands in ruins. Cloudspire would probably never open their borders again. Those arrogant bastards liked to just "observe" the "lower people" high from their mountain. Always have, always will. But he could not accept that the human nobility was just being bought by all the jewels and riches the elves stole from them. Rumour was that something was happening west, close to Unilith’s border. That would be a great opportunity for him and his men. The new trade agreement providing chemicals and stone in exchange for Unilith’s famous magical enchantments was fragile and they could take advantage of it. Simply put, instability at the border and weak trade routes equaled easy smuggling. And he knew just how to get the right "enchantments" to do some damage to the elven usurpers...

(Lord of House Greenvale)
"My lord, we have received grave news" the messenger enters the room in a strangely abrupt manner. "It is your only son and heir, he.." the messenger puts the scroll on top of the table. As the Lord of House Greenvale reads it, the blood from his face is slowly drained. "An accidental explosion? Why was he even near a warehouse?" The lord considers. "He must have been lured by whoever is smuggling these explosive into the confederacy. Tricked into a trap!". He stood up and quickly ordered for his most trusted advisors to be summoned, leaving his wife inconsolably crying alone at the dinner table. He had spoken against the naming of Ashenport… could this have been payback? He had to move quickly, and he knew exactly where he had to go. The Mouth of the Land had to be rescued!

Rivellesk and its Neighbours

Slesshelissa and Rivellesk

The triton kingdom of Slessshelissa shares a long and peaceful history with the nation of Rivellesk. Their fates, their peoples have been intertwined for as long as they could remember, when the founding father of Rivellesk, Crivelln, laid claim over the seas surrounding the islands. The tritons own name for him translates roughly as ‘Favoured of the Seamother’, for legends have it that it was the Grandmother goddess of the sea herself who guided him to the ocean floor, and engineered the first meeting between human and triton. The same legends describe Crivelln as helping his sworn triton brother, Cossorus, defeat the leviathan monsters of the deep trenches to establish and become the first king of Slesshelissa. The subsequent union of the Slesshelissian prince and the Hetvmician baroness centuries later continued to affirm the united relationship of the two countries.

Tritons work alongside humans in their day to day activities, and share a similar love of fishing, and arcane play. Some tritons actually choose to live on land, on some of the wetter islands, which submerge in high tide, but surface in low tide. Likewise many Rivellians lived in specially magicked habitats during the months of Winter Twilight, when the seas sometimes freeze over, and the islands become inhospitable. Intermarriage is not uncommon, and some say half-tritons are an actual hybrid race.

The Appearance of the Tidemothers

There were five Tidemothers on each of the five main Rivellian islands. Each of them stood in the centre of the haatroszi, or ‘hearth circle’ of the islands. (Except for Dreji-zil, whose island center was a currently dormant volcano. The Tidemother there hovered right above it.) It was post-tsunami, the Rivellians were busy recovering from the devastation, rebuilding efforts were furiously underway while it was still Winter Iron, before the seasons change to make such work impossible. Many of the residents had taken refuge on the mainland, so triton aid was necessary and freely forthcoming. Many of the materials needed came from the ocean, to rebuild better than before.

Each of the Tidemothers, senior triton priestesses in their own right, held a whale-skin parchment in their hands. They stood there, calmly, seemingly waiting for the right time. Simultaneously, although no one could have seen it happen at the exact same moment on all five islands, the center of the haatroszi began to spring forth water, except that, unlike regular fresh water springs, the spray that issued forth had the salty tang of the the ocean depths.

The sea had come to the land, in more ways than one.

Week 5: An Ancient Ally
The Paladin’s journey further into the western mountains was long and grueling, but he no longer tired or had need to stop for food or water, and he no longer felt the cold of the snow he trod through. A missive had been sent from the capital. A letter from the master of Spies, the Lady Salindra. The Shadow King required him to travel to the west to find the lair of an ancient beast. An ally in an ancient war. The Shadow King required its service, and to ensure that he was not refused, a gift was to be sent as well.
It only took a few days travel for the Paladin, but he imagined that any normal man would be pressed to make the journey within a month. On the eve of his fifth day, he found what he was after. A great hole in the mountainside, surrounded by a smattering of rough huts and man-made caves. It seemed others had found the creature as well. The land nearby reeked with the scent of life, causing great hatred to boil within the Paladin.
With minutes he reached the edge of the village, and a horn sounded in alarm. Perfect, he didn’t want to have to hunt them down anyway. The villagers, clothed in ramskin for warmth and carrying crude blades and hammers. They didn’t stand a chance.
The Paladin stood before the great chasm, his blade wet with blood and the village in ruins. The stench of life was replaced with a stench of death that made him feel much more at home. He felt… powerful. Alive! About his shoulders fell a cloak of ash, seemingly stemming from nowhere. It trailed behind him now as he walked. It grew thicker with each man he slew, and with the more blood he spilled.
Satisfied with his work, he walked down the narrow path the men had carved into the gaping maw of the mountain. Deeper and deeper he descended until the light of day no longer reached him. When he reached what seemed to be the heart of the mountain, he found an outcropping of stone, overlooking a chamber so vast that the light of the torches on the makeshift altar before him could not make out its boundaries.
L' nog ya, mgepogor ehye. Y' llll ai n'ghftnah ot uaaahnyth. called to the darkness. He was unsure of the significance of the words he spoke, but Salindra was very specific on what should be said.
Ymg' ah'n'gha ya fhtagn, ahnah ehye. Ai, mgep ymg' ah mgeplllln'gha the voice called from the deep. It rumbled the cavern in which they stood, but he remained unmoving. He was no mortal man and could not feel fear. He could not understand its words, but a softer voice filled his mind. You disturb my slumber, little one. Speak, before you are devoured. it translated. The shadows of the cavern stirred, and the skittering and chirping of a million legs and teeth could be heard beyond the torchlight.
The time for you slumber has past, Ancient One. My master bids you to awaken. Allisande called into the darkness.
Again the voice spoke in its ancient tongue. I serve none but he who called me into the light. Banished, I was, to the dark places of this world, when he was broken by his master’s hand. Only he can save me from the darkness, for the creator’s light is blinding.
I am not to leave without you, great one. My master is not a forgiving one. Allisande tells it.
You bear the mark of Ash. We may serve the same master, but he knows that only he may break my chains.
Allisande shakes his head. If this beast was so great, no chains should be able to hold it back, and why would the King send him here if he knew he couldn’t free him without his help. Wait. The gift.
Pulling the parcel out, he unwraps the gift he was provided. My master says that this may change your mind. He hold up a red gem, glowing with its own light.
The beast groans as it pulls itself into the radiance of the gem. It was great, pale wyrm, its head easily as large as the Palace of Vax Kaggath. Its body squirmed with insectoid appendages and its maw pulsated with jagged teeth. It gazed at the gem, and the cavern shook with its malign laughter. The Master lives, but lies shattered still. He is a clever one, but my chains are broken. I will feel the light of day and the world shall weep at my coming. But not yet, ashen knight. Beneath the earth I stay, for now, but I shall follow the Master’s call.

Week 5: Ghosts of Vax Nazrix
With the completion of the Deeproad and a good portion of the lower city excavated, Vax Nazrix has been becoming a center of learning and research for Oszeth. Already, the great Library of the Whitestone city had been converted to an academy of magic of all types, from more standard practices to other, less savory studies. Those who did not work or study within the academy and did not have some other skill to offer the city, was sent to the mines beneath the city, to excavate the gorgeous gems that had been discovered there.
In the tower of the Academy, Lady Alsobeth Rivelt looked over the reports from the lower city. Those residing there were reporting that they were hearing battle and destruction all around in the dead of night, but no disturbance could be seen upon investigation. A few witches and seers had been sent to validate these claims and reported on an increase in spiritual energy in the reported areas.
So, the city had a few ghosts, it seemed. Within her new position, it was her duty to discover what had left the city in its former state, and these spirits might provide a clue. Another matter called for her attention, however. A report from her scouts. A ruin had been spotted in the southeastern sands. A temple of sorts based on the drawings and descriptions.
Already she had sent some soldiers to investigate and set up a workcamp. The scholar she had sent described a magical force beneath the temple. Something powerful. It was a hunch, but perhaps it would shed some light on what transpired so long ago. In the meantime, she would instruct some witches to take their students into the city. They were to try to communicate with the spirits and banish them once they had gathered information.

Week 5: The Buried Temple
The workers slaved in the desert sun to excavate the Temple from the sands. The soldiers drove them on, harder and harder. On the third day, a team of scholars was able to enter the main antechamber. The interior was remarkably intact, and wondrously constructed. Notes were made of every detail, from bas reliefs to strange carvings in the pillars that held the ceiling aloft. On the fifth day, most of the exterior had been dug out and was already under restorations.
The team found a secret door towards the back of the antechamber, revealing catacombs beneath the temple. Thousands of burial chambers were found and catalogued beneath the sands, and the scholars went ever deeper. Beneath the sands and beneath the tombs, they found another chamber. Just like the antechamber above, but pristine. Water trickled from small fountains at the edges of the room and flowed in shallow canals cut into the floor. It all flowed towards the end of the room, where the secret door was found. It all flowed into a small pool, in the center of which was a glowing shard upon a pedestal of the same white stone the city was made from.
The crystal filled the room with a soft blue light, and many of the scholars found themselves weeping. Those that could control themselves took the stone and stowed it away in a sack to cut the light. The temple rumbled as stones fell from the chamber’s roof. The scholar’s ran for their lives and made it back to the catacombs before the stones could block the exit.
The stone has been sent to Vax Nazrix for further study, along with a number of reports, and the temple remained vastly unharmed, despite no longer having access to the lower chamber. The work continues to return the temple to its former glory, and to open it to the worship of the Oszethite pantheon.

Rivellesk and its Neighbours

The Ancient Treaty

That which the waters cover, Slesshelissa shall have dominion over.

Baroness Thenstella, affectionately known as the Evening Crone of Ninnorej, explained to her council of elders. "The Tidemothers are completely correct in this regard. The ancient treaty between Rivellesk and Slesshelissa is entirely founded on the blood bond between Corossus and Crivelln himself, to ensure the mutual cooperation and unending support that the two nations will always have for the other. It anticipates every potential misfortune or disaster. Were Rivellesk to lose its leaders due to some catastrophe, some unforeseen plague or famine, Slesshelissa would rule the islands, until future human heirs can be groomed to take over. An equivalent axiom exists in our version of the treaty, carved on a crystal of diamond, the size of a person, which sits in the throne room of the triton king. You are all familiar with the centre stone of my diadem, a smaller sapphire representation of that larger diamond. Here, remind us all what it says." Her seneschal shone a prismatic spray of light through the diadem, magically revealing its words on the wall opposite.

Where their feet touch, there the children of Crivelln shall call their domain.

Her council murmured. They were a peaceable people, given to finding solutions rather than raising issues. Discussion immediately began, in order to propose various ways in which this could be handled. The tidal wave had indeed covered their islands with water from without. From their haatroszi, water had issued from within. The tritonic mystics understood this to be a sign, a portent of things to come, and were preparing for any eventuality. Edvaarth, the marczhaal of Ninnorej, stood up, intuitively knowing what had to be done. It was something all Rivellians were equipped for since young, second nature to them. "I shall send word for everyone to prepare their ships."

The Rivellians were leaving their lands behind, either to live on the water, or under it.

The Lady with the White Flag:

A couple of Zaangor guards are doing their usual patrol of the border. They occasionally peered from trees that they can climb, take naps on said trees, or wrestled each other for fun. Suddenly, one of the guards caught sight of something moving in the distance. He called his buddies over and they gawked at the army that is just standing on the nearby hill.

It took awhile for the news to reach the Elder of Thoughts. He was busy rereading a romance story he brought with him when a senior pack leader charged into his lounging room to deliver the troubling news.

When the Elder arrived to the border, an anxious gathering of armed Zaangors are awaiting for his command. Another pack leader told the Elder that an army was on the hill before, but it has retreated. Soon, a human lady with a flag is seen approaching the border.

Everyone found it very odd that a lone human is bravely coming towards the Zaangors. The Elder studies the situation, and comes to a conclusion. "Ah, my dears, it looks like the human wishes to have a talk with us."

An armed translator was sent out to meet with the woman. He points his sword at her and says "You! Human! What you want? You come to speak and not fight? We see your army. Your answer need to be good!"

She kept her back straight and hands visible. "We are from the North. Initially, we came after rumours of invasion and arrived after you finished. We mean no ill will, simply to approach your nation as we were previously unaware of your existence"

He replies. "We are Zaangors! We are the nation of New Zaangoria! We come to this new land for us to return to glory!"

The Elder comes forwards covered in colourful clothes, and is accompanied by a few armed Zaangors. "Aer'tho'tak! Aro yai'eek cala lala croo keeba!" He scolded his translator. (This directly means "Dirt Scraper! Are you making noises like a mad person?!")

The Elder proceeded to tell the translator to be more kinda in his tone to the human, as it is believed to be a great opportunity for them to make use of.

The Elder gestures for the translator to speak a specific message instead. "Sorry, human female. I was nervous, so I reacted rudely. I shall now be the voice of The Elder of Thoughts. My Elder believes that if you wish to come in peace, then this is a good thing. We, the people of New Zaangoria, wish to also be in peace with the other nations. If we can promise not to attack each other, then it is good enough."

The Elder thinks for a moment before telling his translator to speak this message. "My Elder is not the ruler of New Zaangoria, but he has wisdom of knowing how to make it prosperous. If you can tell us what useful things you can offer, we may be able to form a deal."

The woman smiles a little and offers her hand to be courteous "Well, I'm Leslisia Tresmine, general of the second legion of the Malgeri Directive. Though, I am not well-versed in diplomacy. Perhaps I should send for a diplomatic envoy? I can do preliminary things but I can't make any binding promises."

The Elder became excited upon hearing this, and said something back to be translated. "My Elder accepts this suggestion. He looks forwards to have a meeting to discuss about further relationship benefits. But don't try to trick us. My Elder is very open mind, but don't see this as a weakness. If we suspect betrayal, know that we can give back retribution." The translator added the last few sentences, and tries to hide his distrust of the human in front of the Elder.

Leslisia nods and smiles warmly "I will send for one at the earliest convenience then. The Malgeri Directive is a fair realm, I trust that the best person will be sent, perhaps even the head of the Administra, or the chairman if things go well after that."

"That's good to hear. We will await our next peaceful meeting." The Zaangors gave bows before heading back to their encampment.

Meanwhile, the province of the west grasslands are being further developed, with farmlands and stone quarries being set up.

The Stone Dragon:

The nature of what the Sleeping Stone is has not been exactly defined yet, but the majority consensus believes that it is instrumental to the process of Duergar reproduction via sculpting realistic baby statues that becomes real. The work of spying and deciphering is not done yet.

One day, and just as sudden as the earthquake was, smoke began to billow from the mountain, as if it was a volcano all along. The Spies that were sent to investigate brought back disturbing news. A giant stone statue of a dragon is being made in the large cavern of the Duergar City.

The statue is made in great detail, so it is speculated to be ready to be turned alive, just like the process of their babies. Hra'an was alerted of this, and he called in an emergency council meeting.

It is now known that the Duergar is now growing more dangerous, and so a decisive decision has to be made. Shall a sabotage mission be made to destroy the statue to stop the creation of a dragon so close to their nation? Or do they still try to stage a diplomatic meeting with the Duergar that was months in planning?

If they attempt sabotage, it would be an attack on the Duergar, and war between the 2 cities will start. They can try to reason with them, but if it fails, then they are wasting more time to stop the eminent disaster.

After much arguing, Hra'an grimly settled on a decision. The nation of New Zaangoria will now have to wear an assertive face.

A Horde is formed, and it is led by The Elders of Tongues and Thoughts. It has marched through the forest and stopped short of the entrance tunnel into the mountain. A horn is sounded by the Zaangors and armed Duergar emerged. The guards are instructed to bring forth a representative to speak with them.

An elderly Duergar came out, and the Elder of Tongues also make himself seen. "You are Elder, yes? I am Elder of nearby city. I want a talk. We know your dragon statue. We are not happy. We give you choice. Destroy your dragon, or we destroy your city. Give me your answer…" He says in the dwarven/Duergar language.

The outcome of this talk will determine what is done. If they refuse to stop the ritual, an invasion will be made. If they agree the horde will back down and continue developing the province besides the mountain.

Post 1: The Unsetting sun
Event: There is a glow in the western sky beyond Unilith. Rumors spread but none of them agree.
(Lord of House Greenvale)

"Now this would teach those bloody elves their place!" Lord of Greenvale, the new leader of the old nobility uprising, thinks to himself as he watches the Mouth of the Land, a fellow noble that has been strangely accused of treason, brought before him. Taken from under that One Councilor’s nose. "Welcome back brother" he greets the member of the old Margrave’s council. They have never met, of course, since Greenvale was Foundation’s land, but they have heard of each other’s deeds.

It was meant to be dark, but, for the first time, the sun refused to set. He stood up, disturbed by the strange orange glow from the west. Most of the human nobility from the eastern uprising was afraid of what the elven councilor was up to. Was he preparing some retaliatory magic? No human really understood the elven powers and that of their spirits. As we stood there, awake, he considered the discussion with the Mouth of the Land a few days ago. It had been very productive. Clearly, he was a brilliant man who knew a far too much for the elves’ taste. They have found and rescued the missing Foundation and Willowvale diplomats and spies, they found that the Margrave was traded to some Unilith Mages and that, there was some real resistance building up in the west. An unstoppable army lead by a charismatic general that has so far manages to avoid bloodshed. Apparently, all the men bow to this general even before the battle’s start. This even started the hopeful rumour that maybe the strange glow was nothing more than Elven Gate on fire, a new Ash-pot, high flames consuming the old town, burning so bright that it looked like a night sun? The Mouth of the Land suggested marching west, to meet this new rebel general and find out what he wanted. More importantly, he insisted that war should be avoided, as he knew the Lady has been manipulated by the Guardian of the Library, who called himself the One Councilor, and that something else was behind him, something related with the destruction of the Council Lands...

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Post 2: The new settlement
Event: The harvest is very poor this year, and many of the plants that didn't grow are covered with black growth.
(Appraiser of the Arts)

That orange glow to the west was strange. It has been two full moons and it was still there. The harvests were devastated. "Too much light" the farmers would complain. Entire fields barely productive a thing, cattle and herds thinning without anything to eat. Bad harvests happened all the time, but this time, it was worse than bad. And there was something wrong with the land that the peasants were not seeing. It wasn’t just that the plants were not growing, or even that they were dying. They grew just fine at the start. Just as one would expect. And then, the black growth would catch up like a plague. It was as if they were replaced by a shadowy version of themselves. It all started with that orange glow to the west. The traders and peasants grew used to it, despite all the difficulties. They called it either a god’s warning or punishment. Some called it "some magics from those crazy wizards". He had even heard that this was what happened in New Teloch just before the dead rose to kill all nobles. Could the same be happening even in the Old Lands? He couldn’t tell, but it was affecting the food supply, and that was putting a lot of stress on the trade. Luckily, the new settlement has not been as severely affected and the extra production was just enough to feed the people this time. But more land to farm is required and the tension with Terminus, the Covenant dissidents, is escalating quickly. He was the de facto ruler of the North Sea now and he would have to ensure food supply would be available. The tritons helped Terminus before the war, so maybe he could send someone up to Rivellesk to get on the sea-people’s good side and open new trade routes. If things stayed as they were, and the black growth plague was not solved quickly, the Confederation was up to some bad times…

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Post 3: Making of a Lady
(The Lady of the Eleven)

She was born to the tribe of the mistletoe, under a winter storm. She was born small and slim. For a small nomadic tribe that wandered the Eleven Marches in a constant struggle, this was no good. She was born weak and would grow weak, a burden to the tribe that still followed the old ways, moving free as the spirits, according to the signs and clues of nature. However, as her tribe, she would adapt and survive. Unable to compete directly with the strength of her peers, she learned subtler ways of obtaining the same results. Instead of hunting the prey, running after it, surrounding it and killing it, she would approach as silent as the wind and strike true from afar. The strange connection she developed with the spirits of nature, allowed her to have the help of animals and plants, tricking the prey into her traps.

This, of course, was not according to the old ways and so, when the day came for her Rite of Passage, she found herself on her own in a secluded forest. That wouldn’t have stopped her, but someone sabotaged her in order to stop her tricks. As she reached for an arrow, she accidentally triggered an enchantment, turning the wood back into a snake. Bitten by the poisonous creature, her focus was lost as she dove into strange hallucinations. It was during one of these visions that the spirit of the moonlight shone upon her and guided her into a sacred cove, showing her the way to healing, the ancient ritual of the mixing of bloods. There was no way she could succeed in controlling such powerful magics on her own, but she was being followed. As soon as she entered the sacred cove, three wolves smelled her and, with intelligent looking eyes, carefully studied all her movements from the darkness of what was a actually a moonless sky.

---

Post 4: Sun to ashes
(The One Councilor)

He opened the window to see it for himself, as he could not believe that the day was not ending. He knew this could only be bad. As the archudruid of the sun’ he, the One Councilor, was the obvious suspect. Clearly the unruly crowd outside the palace agreed with him. His plan to build a temple to the sun failed and now, the sun wouldn’t set. He pulled the curtains away and was immediately bathed by the faint orange light from the west. He had wondered what sort of power could have done that. Unilith mages wouldn’t bother, would they? There was that one man that was exiled to wander the Wastes. There were rumours of an expanding new nation somewhere that way. Oszeth, he believed is what they called themselves. Bunch of lunatics and criminals apparently, but… could they be involved, he wondered. But seeing the light from the west, that dancing glow that is keeping the night away, changed everything. He looked around his office and then raised his hand, light shining through his fingers. As he looked at it, he could see the skin slowly drying up and darkening as the strange western glow bathed him. Having been the master of all spies and owner of all the information, he understood exactly what was happening, but he never expected he would have been fooled this easily. As his body’s surface layers start to slowly crumble into ashes, he goes back back and sits down. Those bloody wizards had gotten him after all! They were messing with powers they should have kept asleep and disrupting the fine balance that the old emperor had managed to keep...


He was awoken by a loud bang as the door was kicked open. He had no idea how many days and nights have passed. He only hoped he could resist the darkness long enough. As he saw the Lady of the Eleven, the Month of the Land and the Lord of Greenvale storming in, he knew he had succeeded. He could only hope it wasn’t too late now for the things he had set into motion to find their way and annihilate those idiots that cursed him! Looking back at the window, he could see the glow still there. "I wonder where the centenary ram is" he says as he bursts into ashes.

Rivellesk and the Lands

The Continent Arrives

Haarkon Kelanen, Baron of Dreji-zil, sat in his massive, but pragmatically appointed cabin on his ship, Crestfallen, docked at the main port below the Vodspitz. In terms of size, it was the largest port in the entire Rivellian archipelago, a necessary stop for all traffic coming out of the North Sea, or travelling the east-west Zendir Ocean route. While in terms of traffic, the islands themselves saw more business and trade, by offering a variety of harbours for different types and sizes of craft and commerce, who could forget that Vodspitz harbour itself hosted the largest armada ever gathered on the north side of the continent ages ago, in the Covenant years.

It was the topic of the Covenant that amused Haarkon, as a ship from the olden lands, unmistakable in both its provenance and design, docked at port, and from there, a delegation made its way to Vodspitz city itself. The Marches are here. Rivellesk hasn’t seen that much action since the withdrawal. He knew strange things were afoot in Vodspitz castle, but Haarkon conducted himself only at sea, and never set foot on land. He waited for his daily report, and spying the stalwart figure of Vailennor, marczhaal of Hetvmik making his way to him, knew that something had come up that was worth more than the last two weeks of reports put together, more exciting than the last two weeks of discovering various simulacra in the mausoleum.

"I take it you’ve just seen the ship from the Marches arrive, my lord. Rivellesk’s isolationist days will soon be over."

"Aye, let the continentals come. The sea air will do them some good. So, who did they discover today? I’m still waiting for when they unearth my clone."

"It’s Cliognier my lord. They’re all Cliogniers."

Notable Peoples of Rivellesk

The Many Deaths of Ser Tarent Cliognier

The news itself was almost enough to make Haarkon Kelanen, Baron of Dreji-zil, leave his ship and set foot on land for the first time in his life. He was at port, managing the tsunami refugee situation, providing leadership, relief and counsel. He did not expect a turn of events worthy of the darker days of the empire, when it was riven by politicking, subterfuge, manipulation and assassination. He smelled a rat, a century old rat, a remnant of some obscure and fiendish empire scheme.

The court of Vodspitz was in an uproar. Investigations were underway from that last relevation - that a clone of the Slesshelissan queen was found in the Vodspitz mausoleum, something which made no sense, since the triton queen was alive and well in her underwater kingdom. That mystery first came to light when the first discovery of a clone, that of Ser Tarent Cliognier, shocked the entire court. Count Delmark, castellan of Vodspitz, had immediately ordered a mass disinterment of all the graves since the incident of the queen’s clone. Clerics were summoned, religious rites were performed, magic wielders stood at the ready.

They returned to the chamber when Cliognier had been exhumed, and started their grisly work. Sixteen coffins were opened, one at a time, sixteen burial cloths unwrapped, at each instance, a exact body of Cliognier was found. The triton Tidemother, who had arrived to inspect the queen’s body, performed the same ritual with the first Cliognier body. Unlike the triton clone which turned into water, the human clone turned to dust. The Tidemother continued to do so for the next four, before falling unconscious herself, the magic all drained out of her.

"The tritons will have to be informed. Cliognier has put himself under arrest, until the truth is discovered. If it can be discovered. Something about ensuring the safety of the realm." Summarised Vailennor as he sat in the Haarkon’s cabin over a cask of loaathus, or fermented kelp, while Haarkon nursed his pipe, deep in thought.

"I’ve sent word out to the other barons. Let’s see what Letzhia has to say about this."

The Stone Dragon Awakes:

The two of them argued back and forth. The Elder of Tongues is trying his best to avoid the war, but he knew he has no other choice when Duergar spokesperson started calling for the military to come up. "Fine be it that way then! Sound the horn of war!"

As the horn was sounded, the two speakers slip behind their soldiers as the two sides clash. The Elders of Tongues and Thoughts do their part as they cast enchantment spells to disorganise a couple of the enemy soldiers. As for Duergars, they use their powers to enlarge themselves to do battle against the agile Zaangors.

The Zaangors are pushing back well, until they come to the smaller tunnels that lead to the city. The large-sized Duergar are successful at keeping the defense of the tunnels as they could sacrifice themselves to clog up the entrances. The Zaangor, however, are not discouraged, as they kept hacking being able to climb their way through the large dead bodies. The Elders try to lead the Zaangors into a single tunnel, in order to aggressively make advancements despite that they would kept getting stabbed by javelins whenever they emerge on the other side.

The Elders continued their magical support, and soon enough, the Duergars had to pull back to form a last defensive position in the city. When that happens, the mountain begins to shake, and loose rocks fell from the ceiling, occasionally crushing a few victims. With a thunderous roar, and the ceasing of the earthquake, there is only one conclusion for what happened, the dragon has awakened.

The Zaangors soon enough was able to defeat the remaining Duergar with their swarming numbers, and the civilians quickly accepted surrender. It took a long time and many deaths, but the city is finally under control of the Zaangors. Immediate enslavement of the Duergar took place, and the city was quickly made to be part of New Zaangoria’s rule under the leadership of the Elder of Tongues.

As for the Stone Dragon, it turns out to have erupted from the mountain and flew off in the North-West direction.

The Geography of Rivellesk

Letzhia, the Left Land

The wild magics that interplay between polar north, the Zendir Ocean, and the furthest lands of Rivellesk give rise to many phenomena hard to catalogue even by the most dedicated of sages. Kirste-En von Leithau, who famously declared that all science was merely magic explained by sceptics, investigator of the Road of Red Rime and the Necklace of Argent Orbs, author of the Astrological Complications of Grandfather North and Grandmother Deep, was also the first to conduct a field study of Letzhia. The word she used to describe the phenomenon was a word nobody understood - tessellation.

A person traveling from the ocean and disembarking on a regular landmass, such as an island, will perceive their journey’s direction as coming from ‘outside’ the island, and, proceeding in the same orientation, will continue to consider themselves as ‘entering’ the island, moving inward. A person traveling to Letzhia encounters the opposite. The vast ocean appears to them as if it were ‘inside’ of Letzhia, akin to a mere lake or pond. Continuing in the same bearing will give them the impression that Letzhia is an endless land of infinite depth. Circumscribing the island by sailing around it reveals it to be an island of comparable size to the other main Rivellian islands. Bigger on the inside than the outside, was Kirste-En’s simple explanation to the layman, the visitor bewildered by the wild magic phenomena that permeated the island. The only descriptor not attributable to the great sage was its common nomenclature, a reference to its peculiarity. Letzhia, the Left Land.

Rivellesk and its Neighbours

The Fish Arrive

The Rivellian islanders, men, women, children, were all at sea on their ships. Where the ships were insufficient to accommodate, they made new homes on the mainland, as the borders of Rivellesk expanded to provide both food and shelter for them. This was a result of not just the epic tsunami that washed over all the islands, but more so the honoring of the ancient treaty between Rivellesk and Slesshelissa, which gave the triton kingdom dominion over all the lands that the water covered. Five Tidemothers sat in the islands’ hearth circles, or haatroszi, not so much in governance, but as the physical representation of the treaty’s requirement. The lands continued to be covered in water, as if under a low lying flood. Triton work crews went about the daily business normally and previously attended to by the human natives who used to live on the lands. Some agriculture suffered from the waters, and so did livestock. But these were not major industries, sea-based husbandry had been their core dealings anyway, and a strange phenomenon began to sweep across the islands. Fish were beaching themselves. Or at least they were presumed to be ‘beaching’. The fact of the matter was that the fish saw no difference from their movements in the sea, and over the lands that were now covered in water. Larger sea creatures found their way up the rivers as well, their journeys unimpeded by previously shallower waters. Anemone and kelp began to grow where grass used to be. An entirely new ecosystem was in the making, the results of a permanent rising of the sea-levels.

In Letzhia itself, the waters seemed to flow outwards, from the center of the island to the ocean, or more accurately, inwards towards its deepest point, the center of the hearth. On that mystic isle, the regular rules did not apply. Water flowed upwards, things grew from old to young, the island itself seemed out of phase, existing both in this dimension and another. And deepest within the center, buried in the dark waters, sat the Baron of Letzhia, Fend, sometimes human, sometimes orca, who lies there dreaming, who rules via his vast psychic presence, who is beloved by all his subjects. The Tidemother who sat on the haatrosz of Letzhia for the past week did not know it yet, but she was pregnant, both in body and in spirit, from the fecundity of Fend.

"Word comes from Haarkon Kelanen." The Tidemother intoned to her triton servants. "The cycle of water and ash will begin soon."

The Release of the Traders:The province, now known as the North Trade Road, will continue its development.

The Food Shortage:

During this period, the food supply is noticeable getting lesser. This concern is brought up to leaders of the nation, and so the topic is brought up in their fortnightly meetings.

"You should know that we are doing our best in The Hunting Lands to hunt for game." The Elder of Books says. "I visited the place myself, and just as Librarian Hoonona told me, they are not reproducing fast enough to replace the ones that we caught. From my wisdom, I instructed them to hunt less for the beast population to recover, so our source of food must come from elsewhere."

"We have also efficiently hunted the rodents in the region west of La’eka Warued." The Elder of Flesh mentioned. "I don’t know if they are getting scarcer or not, but I do know that they are not filling enough for the effort of catching them. I propose that we use the slave population and make them as one of our food sources. Especially the dwarves. These cousins of the wretched Duergar would make good meat due to their dense muscles."

"I think we should not eat our slaves." Argued The Elder of Thoughts. "They will be even more upset. Our slavers are already busy as it is to keep them in line. Especially with that little uprising incident a while back. I won’t get into detail too much, but they did manage to kill a few of us before we bring them down in time. I say we focus on building more farms and fisheries. We can have the Western grasslands to start forming more irrigation to make more land capable of farming. And we should also set the slaves to fish for us in the forest rivers. We can trust our slavers to do the job well."

"That is a good idea, we could also have our traders buy more food as well. I'll let my assistants know to go and focus on buying plenty of supplies on their next trip to Malgeri." The Elder of Metals said.

Hra’an agrees to the suggestion of The Elder of Thoughts.

"Alright, I’ll set my assistants to reorganise the work of the slaves." The Elder of Ropes says. "My children will make sure that the slaves will do the best of their old talents, fishing and farming."

With that, the army of 99 slavers got to work to corral the slaves into the new projects. This meant that the grassland is developed to allow for more farmlands.

The Rise of Two Cities:

As the invasion of the Duergar City is over, two cities quickly sprang within a short period of time. The invaded city is renamed to Du'nugia, which translates to "Country of the dead Duergar." For the Zaangors that are stationed to establish order within the new territory, it feels to them like they are in another world. The idea of having a city underground is very fantastical to them, that they can't help but marvel at the environment when they have the time.

The slaves are made to clear away the bodies and fallen debris. Then, they are made to construct more housings and chambers within the mountain city. A giant statue commemorating the battle victory for the Zaangors is being under construction.

As for the second created city, its name is Tirait Taw, which is the Zaangor's pronunciation of "Trade Toll". It is located at the first province of the trade route that comes down from The Malgeri Directive. It has quickly developed into a trading hub. Colourful banners are hung everywhere and stalls made from wood is set up all over the place. The Elder of Thoughts have now upgraded his home into a stone Palace, mimicking the stone fortress in the capital that has become the home of Hra'an and the meeting place for the Council.

At that city, a ring of wood spikes mark the border, with plenty of guards keeping watch. Some of the slaves, in exchange for being treated better, are made to be the watch guard instead of a Zaangor. There is a large centre area dedicated to the selling of slaves. If anyone is interested to buy slaves, the Zaangors are happy to sell them off. The sale of the fish, known as Sad Fins by the Zaangors, or "Sadafeens", are reserved only for outside buyers. Those who disobeyed and consume the fish are given public floggings. Also, as promised from the meetings with the Malgeri representatives, harming or stealing from the visitors are forbidden. Due to this, each visitor will have to pay a fee be allowed entry into the nation.

And so, Tirait Taw continues to develop speedily.

The Conquest of The Forge:

As everyone was busy with organising the conquered city, there is still the matter of the other passages that lead deeper into the mountain. The decision, as made by the Elder of Tongues, was to regroup and send down an army to take over the passages that lead to the South.

The military organisation of New Zaangoria has a do over. A unit of Zaangors and slave pages, who are the slaves who are trusted to become a soldier, are called a Mob. A Horde, which is collection of Mobs that have a specific invasion target region. A Horde must be lead by atleast one Elder or by the Great Leader Hra'an himself. Each Mob in turn are divided by 81 smaller units, called Nanos.

The Horde that is directed by The Master Linguist will contain 2 Mobs. They gathered at the city before marching down the tunnels. They try their best to travel softly if possible, while keeping an eye out for traps. Soon, they are met with a small ambush set up by the Duergar escapees of the invasion. The ambush is easily crushed, and the remainders flee further into the south.

The Horde soon come into another huge chamber. This one has clear signs of intense mining efforts. This section of the mountain has been quickly secured down by the many Nano teams splitting off whenever a branch in the tunnels is found.

At the end of each dead ends, the Nonas are able to find strange yellow crystal formations. Also, document scrolls written by the Duergar are presented to The Linguist and his assistants to study. It was discovered that the crystals are the Sleeping Stones that the Duergar were busy looking for. A better translation is Dream Stones, due to the magical properties of these crystals. When The Linguist casts a spell holding a crystal, it gets used up and becomes clear, and the caster does not feel any drain of his mana.

With the discovery of this new resource, the city of Du'nugia is devoted to the mining of Dream Stones.

News of Light and Lust:

Concern about the light coming from the southwestern horizon grows more and more as it seems to keep continue being alight for several nights now. It had appeared suddenly days ago, but it was merely treated as an odd spectacle by the public. But now, there is worry that this is another dangerous issue, especially with having witnessed the unnatural earthquakes created by the Duergar civilisation. There are rumours of another hostile nation to the Southwest that possesses a superweapon that causes the unending bright light.

This issue is dealt with the sending of Spies to investigate. Two Spies are sent over, and they are accompanied with 9 Scouts each.

As the results are awaited, there is another issue of the Elders being too power indulgent, specifically the Elder of Thoughts, who has earned the nickname of Lord of Lust. The Lord has created a haram for himself. It consists of both his Fawner assistants and human and Elven consorts. His sex slaves have been seen to be paraded naked throughout the city each day. His home is named the Love Palace, and it became a controversial symbol of admiration and degeneracy.

This behaviour would have been a mere embarrassment if it weren't for the fact that The Lord have been found intentionally withholding the redistribution of food his traders have bought to the rest of the Zaangorian Empire. The final straw was when he sent a Fawner to represent him during a recent Council meeting.

When the threat of having his position replaced being backed by Hra'an, The Bardic Lord have finally accepted the agreement of having his leadership of Tirait Taw being split between two other Inspectors, the close assistants of The Linguist. The three of them will be main authorities, and the Inspectors will each report back all recent developments that happened in the city.

Post 0: The Outcast

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Post 1: The seamen

(Count of Riev)
The diplomatic mission arrived to Vodspitz, by boat of course. They were welcomed at the port mostly with curiosity as many in Rivellesk have never actually seen an elf. The Emperor left too long ago, many weren’t even alive yet! After the proper introductions, side eyeing and suspicions, they were lead to Seaspire to meet the Count of Riev.

"As you may have heard, the Confederacy of the Eleven Marches has recently emerged as a central power from the recent civil war" The emissary starts, as the locals find all the mentions to the empire, covenant and the courtly intrigues slightly amusing. For sure they also noticed the Covenant died ages ago, even in the Old Lands no? These elves were sent to find and secure a food source through trade. Even through Rivellesk was hit by a giant wave, it’s sea resources were plenty and proved an attractive place for food, since something called the Western Glow and a Dark Plague started ruining the land dweller’s crops.

There was also that issue with the clones… some sort of old imperial plot that the elves didn’t seem aware of. Maybe sending some ambassadors to infiltrate the Old Lands could be useful in cracking the strange case of the "Cliognier's omnipresence". But could they be trusted? "We have noticed that you have recently experienced some land shortages…" Now, these bloody people from the old lands were as sharp as ever weren’t they? They even mention the growing tension in the Scorching Sea and how a military campaign against some backstabbing noble or whatnot may provide new lands for the Rivellesk people to relocate to. Such an alliance could easily control all the seas of the north (and maybe beyond) and this could be an opportunity to end Rivellesk’s isolation…

He had to think about this interesting proposal "I’ll consult the Barons of the Sea and get back to you. In the meantime, make yourselves at home"

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Post 2: Ash copied
Event: Hearing rumors from Rivellesk about doppelgangers, some feel it would be prudent to find out if the same is happening at home. What do you discover?

(Ilphas-el, Archdruid of the Land and The Overseer of the Road)
The mission to the northern seas was the first time the Confederacy looked away from the old lands. Little choice did they have, caught between the superpower of Cloudspire and the magic power of Unilith. Turned out that there was much to learn away from these lands, including much about what was going on in the Old Lands. The Appraiser of the Arts had done a good job as the Mouth of the Land recovered from his incarceration. The dwarf new were to strike gold! At first, it seemed a minor curiosity, a small detail from a long time ago. However, those last words of the Guardian of the Library, the self styled One Councillor, haunted his sleep. "What happened to the centennial ram?" a strange question to ask as one crumbled to ash for sure... Then the rumours from Rivellesk, the research notes and the old imperial documents that they have found in the Guardian's possession. There was a pattern, an old ritual that pointed to the attempt to create something. Spells developed by the mages of old that were refined by the mages of Unilith. The same spells that lead to the fall of the Council Lands. Was there a connection between the risen Ash King, the Stasis Barrier and the Immortal ram? And what was it? It all pointed to this mockery of the creation himself, being tested on Cloudspire!

(Alea'ana, Archdruid of Moon and The Lady of the Eleven)
It would take time to find out all the details but it was clear that the isolation of Cloudspire was dangerous. In that restricted area, an experiment of some kind was going on. But what could it be? It wasn’t like those simulacra the seamen rumoured about in the north. And it wasn’t an ash copy as the Guardian was... it was something more real, a shadow over the new heir. She had been right from the start! But the treason of the Captain of the Guard, prevented only by the spirit's intervention as they shook the earth, had prevented her from searching deeper. She had stood at the border of Unilith's lands, betrayed. The new heir came out of nowhere and took over most of the Old Covenant, just like that, almost unchallenged! As she looked at the inquisitors, the new human task force under the Lord of House Greenvale, she knew things were about to change. Even the highest levels of human nobility had been infiltrated and the proof was those two ash copies crumbling in front of her... At least the Confederacy was working as one now, united under the shadow of what was to come...

---

Post 3: Dark sun
Event: Travellers from the desert describe a new sun standing on the low plain.

(Zamath, The Mouth of the Land)
With all the new discoveries, it was clear that Unilith was up to something, something probably worse that anyone could even imagined. As far as he could tell, they could be trying to weaken the Stasis Barrier! Who would be crazy to even think such a thing? He hoped he was wrong, but something in his gut told him he should prepare for the worse... The same thing that told him something was wrong with the Guardian of the Library.

Of course, the elven spy network was masterfully set in place by the late Guardian. His expertise paid very well when the Ab Tajir, the Trader of Soul, set foot in the Old Lands. A scoundrel of the worst kind that one! Exiled from the Old Covenant, he must have thought the civil war would exonerate him from his crimes! However, his new evil magics were of interest to the Archmage of the leaning tower in Unilith and his newfound position was of interest to the Confederacy. With him on the inside, it was a matter of time before they found out what was going, but so far they only had a glimpse of the nature of the unsetting sun... a giant ball of fire floating above the low plains of the red waste beyond the iron mountains, and the strange prophet called the Shadow King that destroys purity and creates corruption. Could he be behind the those old events from Teloch?

Dark forces were in the rise on the far west, The weaken Stasis Barrier, The Unsetting Sun, the Undead Marching over Teloch's lands and now, this Shadow King. But it was just on the other side of the sea that the danger was to come first. The growing tension with Terminus reached its limits and they made a move. Their reason nothing more than petty complaints about the elven supremacy, but their men fought like madmen as if possessed by some crazed magic. The attack was held back, but driving those armies back proved to be a long task. As it turned out, Terminus had sent an army of ash, each man slain blowing into tiny hot embers and then reforming and rising as undead once again. Thankfully, the spirits of the land were helpful, their wind blowing them and their waters cleaning them... This was a war that would take its time...

---

Post 4: Making of a Lady

(The Lady of the Eleven)
Of course, the ancient ritual didn’t work as she saw it in her delusional visions. A young untrained elf stood no chance to complete the mixing of bloods and in her state, she could barely tell what was her mind’s creation and what she was actually experiencing. The words from the ancient tomes she was reading flew out to become images and signs, dancing lights and fading realities. All the while, the three wolves stood still, studying her. A stupid child they though obviously, as wondered what her idea was. To their surprise, she showed a truly deep connection to the spirits of the land.

She woke up in a dark cave, alone. She had very vague and confusing memories, the Rite of Passage, the moon, howling in the distance, distorted images and scripts. She couldn’t tell where she was or how she got there. A chill ran down her spine. She felt the physiological reaction, but her mind was unshaken. No fear, no feelings. The cave felt cold and she quickly stood up, and surge to find a heat source taking over her. She felt agile, quick and more perceptive. But there was something wrong. Her skin felt tougher, her legs moved differently and her eyes saw much more. She ran through the one tunnel in the cave and quickly found the heat source she was looking for, a small fire light at the centre of the larger cave. The little heat she could feel at the distance felt like water after a day under the desert’s scorching sun. She never felt like that before. "So you survived? Come, join me" a voice echoed on the cold stones from the immobile bulk of a man standing by the fireplace. She walked carefully, distrustfully, with movements far too calculating. And then she saw it. In the dark, she hadn’t noticed, but with the weak light from the fire shining on her, she was terrified. She was shedding her skin, under it only scales remained...

Blocked Roads and Spreading Faith:

The two Inspectors sent to maintain order in Tirait Taw have made it such that nobody is allowed to be naked in public, including the slaves on sale. However, the orgies in his Palace is tolerated, as well as the use of Consorts to modestly accompany visitors. As things calmed down a little, bad news come soon after. There has been reports of the trading route, also known as The Imperial Road by the locals, has experienced multiple blockages from landslides. There are many given reasons for it, from heavy rain the other day, to the earthquakes the Duergar had made that loosen the soil a lot. Whatever the cause is, the Zaangor empire now has to deal with this turn of events.

Teams of slaves and slavers are sent to clear out the rubble, but it would take several days. This is due to the limited workers that are allowed, as many slaves work in resource gathering and construction. This is likely an excuse, as the Imperial Road is not of high importance to the nation, only as a benefit of getting supplies that are needed incase of future food shortages. This, is also a subtle manner to punish the Lust Lord for his slovenly attitude.

In other news, the Church of Ashen-Zaang is gaining more and more popularity. What was once a collapsed home, is now rebuilt into a stone building that is almost as impressive as the Stone Temple Complex that is dedicated to the original faith. The Church is still lead by The Daring Prophet, whose teachings has enamoured the Elders of Cloaks and Metal.

The Spy Master is only able to subtly spread his belief through his followers, who in turn spread it through the use of their coded language, with lots of mentions of "ash", "sleeping" "awakening", and "rebelling" in their Thieves' Cant. As for the Master Smith, he has made lots of trinkets with symbolism of Ashen-Zaang, and sold them to his people and the Visitors.

All in all, the capital city continues its development.

The Crown of Fire:

The discovery of the Dream Stones is a significant development for the nation. It has become highly valuable, and it is well guarded to keep from being stolen. Knowledge of its existence so far was only spread as rumour amongst the populace, where it might as well be myth.

The use of the Dream Stones is quickly being tested and experimented with. It is in limited quantity, and so focus is mainly on inventing a way for the crystals to be efficiently carried and used in combat by spell casters. And thus, the Spell Staves were invented. The steps to construct them was thus as follows:
1) Crush the Spell Stones into powder.
2) Place the powder into a casting mold with the shape of a rod.
3) Pour molten iron into the mold.
4) Retrieve the created Dream Steel.
5) Add a Dream Stone cluster on one end and weld it.
6) You have created a Spell Staff.
The way it works is that the user's contact on the Dream Steel body creates a connection throughout the weapon. When they recite a spell, the Staff will be the source of power and channeler for them. And so it makes the spell casters in an army to be more powerful as they have improved magic stamina. However, the Staves have a limit, and after battle it is unlikely to be useable.

The Master Linguist have created a top secret project known simply as The Fire. The Council, Hra'an, and a trusted few know of its existence. The Fire is about the creation of a magical artifact that could be wielded as a powerful weapon for war, and a symbol of pride for all of Zaangor-kind.

This project was led by the Elders of Metals, Books and Tongues. They each contribute in their own way to the design of the artifact known as The Crown of Fire. It is a special headwear that can only be comfortably worn by a Zaangor due to the horns on their heads. This Crown has many Dream Stones attached to it, giving the appearance of a crystal fire. The wearer would be able to cast spells as if they are a sorcerer, even though they originally don't have the ability to use magic in the first place.

The intended user was the Ruler over New Zaangoria. Hra'an would wear this on the day he would have to engage in battle once more. And it's a fitting appearance for a mighty Emperor-to-be.

Meanwhile, The Elder of Books have fashioned himself as the Arch-Librarian. His castle is the library that is built into the tree known as The Huntress. His kingdom is the Hunting Grounds, and he develops it into a preserve to recover the animal population for the sake of future hunting.

The Stolen Crown:

The Crown of Fire is placed in an isolated chamber that is heavily guarded by Zaangor soldiers. This artifact is highly important and costly. If too many people know of it, there is a very high risk of theft. As for the functionality of the Crown, it is tested well enough by both expendable Zaangors and slaves. The Zaangors that was unable to cast spells with Dream Stone normally are able to do so with the Crown as if they are a formidable sorcerer all along. The slaves are able to have some success, but due to the shape of the Crown, there are connection problems, and so weak spells are at most able to be performed by them. This is as intended.

One day, when the Crown was to be retrieved again for more experiments, it was discovered to have disappeared from its pedestal. The entire region was immediately placed under high alert, and 4 Inspectors, along with their master, are dispatched to investigate.

As Du'nugia and the Mines was placed under lock down, The Linguist did his job to figure out what happened. There is a new small tunnel that was in the chamber that was not there before. As he travelled along it, it leads into the other tunnels. The tunnel lead back to the main chambers of the Mines on one end, and the other end seem to lead to a blocked up cave in. The Linguist ordered for the blockage to be cleared, and the rest of the tunnel surprisingly led outside on the other end of the mountain. He theorised that the thief must have sneaked in and out through this way.

The other bizarre evidence found was that there is a trail of ash left behind upon closer inspection. It is believed to be from the torch the thief carries. One Inspector suggested that he heard rumours of clones made from ash amongst the Visitors, but this is rejected as being too outlandish.

The final verdict was that the escaped Duergar were somehow knowledgeable of the Project, and was able to dig a tunnel to steal The Crown. The Project is to be put on hold indefinitely.

The Mines continue to be fully mapped and additional chambers are being constructed as part of ongoing developments.

Post 1: Making of a Lady

(Alea'ana, Archdruiddess of Moon and The Lady of the Eleven)
"You have woken!" the echoing voice of the man by the fire booms through the cave. "Do not fear your new self". Even though the memories of how she got here are still a bit hazy to this day, a mixture of what she felt and saw and what she was told happened, she remembers the moment she sat down with this man very clearly. It was the moment she became a druid. That man was none the other than the Archdruid of the Sun, the great Zet’arin himself. With him were two reptiles who turned out to be the druid of the tribe of the snake and the mercenary commander of the late Wind’s Fangs company. They had seen her through her ordeal and, curious about her attunement with the land, decided to intervene and control the wild and ancient magics she was summoning in her delusional state. The outcome, they left for the spirits to decide. She had just undergone the mystical ritual of the mixing of the blood, when one joins with the land by taking a facet of its strength and form. It wasn’t uncommon amongst the druidic elves, but it required long training and preparation as it was very dangerous and… lethal. But she survived, the spirits spared her for some reason and now, daughter of the mistletoe, she mixed with the serpent: a leaf bathed in venom. She was taken by the tribe of the snake tribe and trained under their druid and served under their commander in faraway courts, as an elven mercenary for the nobles of the Covenant and the Empire. But then, she had to return. The Covenant was in danger and she was deployed to the far western shores and deserts to fight the frightful enemy. The elves fought well, as everybody else, but it was a pointless war and many died. During the retreat, she proved her skill by regrouping the demoralized mercenaries and bringing them safe back home, away from the emperor’s ultimate plan… The fall of the Covenant would prove to be a tough time for her people, but her actions and that one time she met with Zet’arin would change everything for her…

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Post 2: The little statue
Event: Your nation's most valuable artifact has been stolen. There are either signs that it may have been perpetrated by clones, or that an extensive series of tunnels was used. Or both.

(Zamath, The Mouth of the Land)
Even though the elves had turned away from Avencia (or maybe was she that left them?), they hadn’t completely abandoned her. Most had forgotten it, but, through tradition and rituals, the elven tribes of the Eleven Marches had kept the last vestiges of the legendary elven homeland hidden and secured. This was a statue of Avencia herself, a small keepsake from the times before the End of Ages. Under the constant protection by the eleven archdruids, this small piece of ancient art was made undetectable and unreachable by powerful ancient rites and spells. However, as it would turn out, Zet’arin’s quest to control the Marches lead to the sudden dead of almost half of the archdruids, including himself, the Archdruid of the Sun. This was unprecedented and would prove a great blow to the elves down the line. Losing one or two Archdruids would have no effect, the Seal was kept secure with redundant magic. However, the slaughter that occurred, weakened it to the point that others could divine the location the small statue. And so it was that it was stolen…

It was now down to him, who had inherited the entire spy network from that cursed Zet’arin, the previous Guardian of the Library, to find out what happened. It didn’t take long, relatively speaking, as humans had little knowledge of these elven secrets, to find that a number of tunnel exits had been opened close to the Sacred Tree of Life, which held the statue of Avencia within itself in a space that used to be outside space. This was one of those weird elven legends where the spirits of the land did some magics and a tree grew out of it, but it was too esoteric for him to have a full grasp of what they were talking about. Importantly, the tress was supposed to have held the World together after the devastation of the End of Ages through the lost Goddess’ powers and somehow healed the land back to its former state.

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Post 3: Roads of rumble
Event: A series of landslides has rendered the Imperial Road impassable in several places.

(Alea'ana, Archdruiddess of Moon and The Lady of the Eleven)
This was a nightmare! After all the Confederation had been through, the civil war, the One Councillor’s scheming and the Ash Armies of Terminus, this happens! It was as if all the spirits of the land were angry and violently turning against the elves. Maybe they were… Didn’t someone just cut the Sacred Tree of Live and stole the essence of Avencia? Most elves believed that the Goddess had abandoned them, but, as far as she was concerned, she preferred the old tales of the Goddess sacrifice to heal the world and the spirits arising from her leaked powers and will.

She had always respected that human, Zamath. He was a good one and he was fully committed to finding whoever took the statue. The thief failed to realise that the archdruids were connect to the Sacred Tree and their abhorrent act was immediately noticed. Zamath’s spies were dispatched so quickly that they almost got them in the tunnels beneath the earth. To their horror, all five of them looked like Zet’arin, the late Guardian of the library. How was this possible? Before they got any further, the tunnels collapse, only a few managed to get out in time…

This desperate tactic started a chain reaction, revealing the horrifying extend of the underground tunnel network as the land twisted and waved due to tunnels’ caving in. Scars spread throughout the Old lands and beyond, leaving roads of rumble across the land. Worse even, these land movements triggered landslides from the mountains, cutting off a great extension of the Imperial road.

But, thinking a bit better, maybe the spirits were not angry, but helping in subtle ways... As it turned out, all the new roads of ruins seem to be lead to Cloudspire. The diplomatic mission sent to the emerging realm of Valseria were forced back and re-routed by sea. It was now of utmost importance to get the emerging power on their side, as she felt the shadow of the Cloudspire’s mountains stretching out to reach her…

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Post 4: Port Terminus

(Durwar, The Appraiser of arts)
He was but a simple merchant who happened to be responsible for evaluating the goods moving through the capital’s markets. Being sent north to Willowvale changed that. Having overseen the development of shipbuilding industry, he was sent to the Northlands, almost as a representative of the Confederation overseeing the colonization. And he was happy with that. What he wasn’t happy with was having his axe slashing thought ash and good men, elves and dwarves dying against the unstoppable tide of Terminus’ armies. They managed to just hold them back, but pursuing the leave over bands of enemies while preventing new attacks was an impossible task.

As such, he had never been happier than the moment the Overseer of the Roads, Ilphas-el, showed up. The presence of someone with such a stellar military reputation was enough to boost the men’s morale and re-double the war effort. When he saw that the Overseer brought some newly developed technology with him, he even forgot about the strangeness of the ash warriors and their constant coming back to life. The Ilphas-el took two of the best mercenary companies, The Moon's Grace and the Sun’s Blade and equipped the reformed The Winter's Ballad with those marvellous guns! He felt like the Confederacy would stand against everything, and indestructible might with no equal. The magic and the engineering those elves were capable of was truly astonishing.

Unfortunately, he was not a dwarf made for war, but a dwarf of trade, so he had to stay behind as The Overseer of the Roads lead the great army of the Eleven Marches against one of the most important provinces of Terminus, their port city. The dwarf knew that nothing would stop a force like that under a leadership like that! Anyway, after all that excitement, he was back to his regular routine: track down any remains of Terminus forces still in the Northlands

Crusades and Rising Cities:

The issue of the stolen Crown of Fire is still not fully resolved. It is decided that the best way to vent frustration at the loss of such an important artifact is to seek out and punish the surviving Duergar that are still hiding deeper within the mountain.

The Linguist mustered his forces once again, and with the blessings of Hra'an, to continue the Crusade of the Forge. The Forge of which is the name given by both the slaves and the Duergar to the mountain range.

He gathered 4 Mobs in his Horde this time, and sounded the war horn to advance deeper into the southern passages. The Slave Soldiers also somberly joined in the cheer. The Spell Staves, the newly developed weapons, will not be used. Hra'an encouraged saving up stock in case of future battles. Specifically, with any neighbours that may have unpleasant surprises.

The march goes smoothly, until they encounter a series of tunnels that are oddly sticky. Eventually, the path is blocked by walls of webbing, which are easily cut down. This is not a good sign, and soon the ones that are responsible for the webs ambushed the Horde as they enter into a huge cavern. Giant spiders rained upon their ranks in large numbers. Once the waves of giant spiders are slain, the Horde quickly spread out to destroy any nests and eggs they find.

In time, they have secured another large region of the mountain's underground network. Everyone went to work to set up a small military base, with the help of the construction slaves.

Meanwhile, a new city sprang up to the far South. It is called Tiki-Luet, or Sandy Grass in Common. It is ruled over by the Spy Master's proxy, otherwise known as the Unseen King. This settlement have grown into a city of its own due to its ability to fish from the giant lake they call The Fiery Sea. It's also their culture which marks them as being unique. The King recognises that Ashen-Zaang is their god, and have made a banner depicting a bird skull that rains ash. So far, this city manages to be dutiful to the Capital.

A day in Tiki-Luet:

White birds squawk as they dive around over the giant lake that beats against the sandy shore in soft rhythms. They twirled around each other in either courtship or fighting over food. The fishermen stare out at the inland sea. They take this brief moment to relax as their nets are cast over their small boats. A human and dwarf can be heard making small talk amongst the dozen boats floating aimlessly. These folks appreciate the little freedoms that they have under their feathered tyrants.

"How is your daughter? Is she still healthy?" asks a human man.

"She is doing fine. It's good that we can feed ourselves decently this month. As for my brother, he is still going on a hunger strike. I worry that he will get in bad trouble…" the dwarven woman replied.

In the distance, the raucous laughter of Zaangors can be heard. They are having a boat race with each other. Apparently, attacking each other with oars is an accepted rule.

On the shoreline, the other friends of the racers cheered on. Insults in their language gets thrown around in creative fashions. They eventually ended up brawling each other when an insult gets too sharp.

The fight gets broken up by a Zaangor guard and his Elven slave assistants. The young adult Zaangors stopped fighting and began making a game with themselves to mock the Elves instead.

Further away from the shoreline, the eyes of a bored Scout watch the scene. He is lying on top of a community shack, taking in the breeze on the hot sunny day. He looks to the fat stone castle that sits amongst the lower buildings. The Unseen Fortress. It is an ironic name as it is clearly visible due to its size and with all the banners draped down its windows.

It is evening again, and as everyone stopped their work for the day, a loud shouting could be heard from amongst the sandy streets of the city. A Zaangor, dressed in a black cloak, stands preaching on a crate. He speaks of The Ashen King, the spirit that Zaang is keeping host of. His message is confusing and grim sounding. Talks of Ash Rains and dark armies. Apparently this is something that he predicted the nation will witness and "become as one" as well. The reactions of all the listeners are very mixed. Eventually, his sermon ends, and everyone went away entertained.

And thus, another day ends in Tiki-Luet.

The Highway Wars part 1:

Everything is seemingly going well. The road is fully cleared. Trade returns to normal for Tirait Taw. However, another hit of bad luck soon happens. There is a recent report of a trade caravan being robbed on the Imperial Road. It happened outside the territory of New Zaangoria, and so the Zaangors able to make the case that it is not their responsibility to handle it.

There are suspicions that the robbery, which resulted in the death of everyone, is orchestrated by the Zaangors. And so Scouts are dispatched to investigate. It turns out that there are no clear signs it was an attack by Zaangors, as there are no clawed footprints. However, the footprints of the attackers are found, and they are large and heavy. The suspects are, troublingly, the Duergar.

The news of Duergar going about and attacking traders is not good for both nations. In particular, the Zaangorian Empire. There is the concern of the remaining Duergar still capable of being a thorn in the nation's side, and so Hra'an's approval of wiping out the Duergar menace is met with cheers by the military residing in the mountain. Of course, the Duergar slaves are told that they will be kept alive as long as they don't make trouble, and that anyone who surrenders will be allowed to be taken in as new slaves.

The Horde is gathered again. This time, they stand ready within the newly set up military base. From the map being drawn up, so as to navigate the mountain's caves, it turns out that the newly claimed region is steered to the Southwest, rather than straight south as expected. But this matters not, as the more land of the Duergar that is conquered, the better. And thus the war horn is sounded again...

The Highway Wars part 2:

Minutes into the march, the passages begin to slope further downwards. Soon, they enter into a large carved tunnel. After a while of deciphering the writings on the walls, it is revealed that this is a highway that the Duergar uses. This discovery is a bad sign, as it can be inferred that the civilisation of the Duergar is bigger than originally thought.

With a moment of explaining to his huge army, the Masters of Language and Smithing both commanded the charge of storming into the direction of the next city.

Half an hour passes as the Horde march along the Highway, and it was then when they see the distant glint of the Duergar's eyes reflecting the light of the torches carried by the slaves. Suddenly there was an explosion and the tunnel caved in. Turns out the Duergar are prepared for the invasion of their city, and explosives were hidden within the Highway's walls.

"Everyone! Don't back down! We are Zaangors! We can conquer all!" The Master Smith yelled as he brandished his custom made warhammer that has a Dreamstone attached. He began hammering away the fallen stone, and soon the others did the same with the pickaxes they brought for an occasion such as this.

Soon, an opening is cleared through the boulders, but on the other side, the furious glares of the Duergar is the first thing that is seen. With a roar of battle, the Duergar attempts to enlarge himself, but he was beaten back with a smiting swing of the Smith's hammer.

The two sides finally clashed, with Zaangors relying on their sheer numbers to overwhelm the giant enemy. The battle line went back and forth, as each side put pressure to achieve their objective of either repelling or advancing into the enemy.

The fight lasted for hours, and soon both sides felt the strain of battle. However, neither wants to back down, for the Zaangors are fueled by hatred, while the Duergar knows that if they fail, another of their city falls to the foreign birdmen.

Post 1: Making of a Lady

(Alea'ana, Archdruiddess of Moon and The Lady of the Eleven)
After the Covenant started to crumble, she became a beacon of hope in uncertain times.
Those tribes who suffered the most came into her united leadership, trying to find someone, or maybe something, that could keep them safe and lead them through the expected invasion. The good news was that the invasion never came but Alea'ana didn’t rest and her lessons as a druid and a warrior were reflected in her leadership. The cold blooded logic from her snake blood shone as strategic development were undertaken, the companies restructured and trained as her mistletoe blood and druid experience allowed her to build long lasting relationships with the tribes and the spirits of the land. Rallied by the need of survival and lead by the young druiddess, the elves soon became a significant power within the Old Lands, both military and economic. Working under lphas-el, Archdruid of the Land, the elven mercenaries were even more desirable in these uncertain times and the influx of coin was put to communal use and development of the lands and crafts. Roads were built and markets created, so goods could come in and used to develop the Marches. It was clear she would be an Archdruidess someday, but it was still a surprise when she was promoted to that position, after the previous Archdruid of the Moon step down and left into an exile back to the long lost east. There was some sort of disagreement between the Archdruids and her predecessor was suddenly taken by some old racial nostalgia about the old elven lands… Stranger still was her quick election to Lady of the Eleven just as the Margrave was noticing the elves as important allies within his realm. The formation of the Confederation's Council was an important milestone and she and lphas-el were to join the council. This was until she was elected and the head of the elven tribes and Zet’arin took her place as she had to deal with the growing unrest from the Lizardfolk and Sahuagin who feared their swamps would be destroyed…

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Post 2: Out of the Den

(Coya, the raider)
He ran and he ran until his skin was safe outside, under the burning sun. What was happening? First the earth shakes, then the sun doesn’t set and now the ground collapses? The small tunnels he called his den were completely destroyed! All those hours or hard raiding, pillaging and robbing were for nothing. And now, even the imperial road was blocked! The fall of the Covenant was a tragedy, less merchants, people fleeing from the trading post, the roads were just a horror… how could one live of others like this? What would he do now? The desert sands stretched to infinity and he had nothing. But wasn’t he a survivor? Surviving it is! Nothing like a good plan he thought to himself as he started his long wandering through its vast emptiness.

Maybe it was some smell carried by the faintest of winds, or maybe a small sound only he could make out, but someone, he managed to find out some old desert ruins. Not that there weren’t a lot of ruins in that area. He has even heard rumours of an entire nation to some forest from where the sun rises that was built by adventurers pillaging ruins! Maybe he should have joined them when he still had a chance… But would they accept one such as him? A creature of the sands? Probably not… those civilized humanoids never liked his people that much. But here was a new place to explore. If he was lucky, it would have plenty of treasures buried and food… Oh how starved he was! Can you believe how little is there to hunt in this desert? What does one have to do to find food in this place? Suddenly he hears steps. Someone else is here! He grabs his knife and moves silently until a… elf? Yes, an elf is just there, standing in front of him.
"Oh! Blessed Avencia! If it isn’t one of the Coyotl People! Just what I needed!" He was found! And, unknown to him, his life would change...

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Post3: His dark writing
Event: You catch up with the thieves who stole the artifact. They do not have it anymore, and refuse to speak (or perhaps they actually can't) of who hired them, but they have correspondence in a strange dwarven writing that doesn't follow normal dwarven syntax.

(Durwar, The Appraiser of arts)
Trapped. Ahah! The dwarf was in a good mood and that meant there would be beer aplenty! The thieves were so desperate not to be caught that they fell on their own trap. After the collapse of the tunnels, the three thieves that survived were forced out in the open. Clearly, they were not expecting the widespread damage that they caused. But once they set foot above ground, they had no where to hide and it was a matter of time before they were all caught. Three Zet’arins were now in the catacombs under high security. Theses ones did not dissolve into ash apparently! Everyone was very impresses to find, empirically and reproducibly, that they bleed. However, their blood is a green paste of strange magical properties. Clearly something to study if we’re to understand what is going on. But, since they are not talking, there will be plenty of more samples for the intellectual mages to experiment with. They are so stubborn, that Lutr, the Head Inquisitor and Lord of the House Greenvale, is considering the possibility they are under some form of muting enchantment. Maybe they are, maybe they’re not. But it was the other finding he was just being informed that was bothering him… It appears that the thieves were found in possession of what could only be instructions. But this correspondence was in a strange language made of symbols that could be dwarven, but the sentence structure was senseless. He had a quick glance at the writings and his face became sombre. He turns to the messenger to speak "Ay boy. This is either some sort of code in dwarven that we need to break or… and I hope I’m wrong… something darker from old dwarven legends…" he says as he remembers his grandmother’s tales about some evil dwarves that were expelled to the underworld long ago, after the End of Times...

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Post3: Peace for our time
Event: Clouspire is furious with the loss of Terminus port. The war stops in a tense truce as the marches find more about the imperial heir

(Zari, The Master of the Guilds)
The north see was fully under the Confederacy’s control. With the triton alliance, they were now the undisputable trade power in the region. These make the guilds very happy. The horrors of the war and the tales of undead meant little to the businessmen in the cities. Materials were many and plenty, there was more work than craftsmen and training was barely meeting the demands. The guilds hadn’t been this busy for years! The flow of coin and resources, the big investments and the development of framing, industry and crafts was widespread through the realm. It was so, that the guilds even created a clearing house, where finances were arranged to facilitate the booming economy. War was good, and those Terminus traitors were getting what they deserved. So it was to be expected that Cloudspire’s interference would cause an outrage amongst the guilds.

Of course it was up to him to navigate the political traps and try to find a way to keep the guilds happy, while avowing the complete obliteration of the Confederacy. The council agreed on a simple plan. Terminus aggression could be overlooked, but those ash armies were trouble. Prolonging the war would let the Confederacy determine exactly what happened there, which seemed to be exactly what Cloudspire was trying to hide. They couldn’t seriously think the retaliation was unprovoked, could they? Anyway, diplomatic missions were sent to Rivellesk, the League Cities and Valseria, hoping to form an alliance that could consolidate peace in the area once and for all. The armies would be raised, and the mercenary companies mobilised. Total war was coming and the Confederacy would be prepared this time. Spies were sent to weaken Terminus positions and identify the best strategies. Spies were sent to find dissidents in Cloudspire and undermine the heir’s authority. And the frontiers with Cloudspire developed. The Confederacy could take the two of them, but they would be exposed to the unpredictable Unilith, unless they found some allies. For now, they retreated and waited, they appeased their enemies, knowing fully well that war was inevitable. But today, it was peace for our time...

The Highway Wars part 3:

Suddenly, the Duergar started running back. Then, there was an explosion further down the tunnel. Turns out that they decided to sacrifice some of their own soldiers to create another cave in to have their last stand in their city.

The ones that are still trapped with the Zaangors fought their best, but they were soon cut down. The Linguist called for a break in the fighting, as ordered everyone to send back away the bodies to clear space.

Then, everyone is instructed to sleep. They will camp at the cave in, with the more energetic ones to stand guard in front. The 8 hours past, and the fight continues. The Master Smith lead the charge again at hacking away the collapsed stone. Halfway through, another round of explosives is triggered on the other side. This caused the rocks to crush back those who are digging their way through.

The Master Smith was not defeated yet, and so he continued to excavate. Then, as he made an opening, bright light can be seen. At once, everything seems to slow down as a deafening roar followed by a blinding beam blasted through the rocks to obliterate those who were near the blockage. Everyone was in a panic as a giant never-before-seen weapon is now facing them down.

The gargantuan weapon begins to slowly hum louder and glow brighter. The Linguist, who witnessed the weapon's attack, knew that it is now recharging, and commanded everyone to start charging at the weapon. He called for vengeance for the slain Elder, which reinvigorated the soldiers.

The final clash with the remainder of the Duergar military was fought in the city. The weapon, which was nearly ready to fire again, was swiftly disabled by the furious Horde. The stored energy was released in a massive explosion, but that did not deterred the Zaangors. They hacked and slashed, until finally, no more Duergar came to face them.

It turns out that the city has been abandoned, but not without most of its valuables taken. A few unarmed Duergar was found during the city sweep and they were promptly taken as slaves. The Zaangors have taken heavy losses this day, but their wrath is still burning bright…

Rise of the Duergar part 1:

It was never to be expected. It was always believed that the Zaangors, especially with the efforts of The Commander Linguist and the late Smith Hero, will be the ones to be proudly crushing the Duergar with ease. But now, the real truth reels its ugly head upon the Capital.

Out of the ground, the Duergar rises with their true fearsome armies. The dark dwarves set out to lay waste to all that they see. Perhaps it's as if the Zaangors' karma came to bite back at them. However, their will is not lost just because their enemy has literally entered into their homes. They are all willing to fight back, along with the slaves that have yielded to their rule.

Within the Throne Room of the Stone Fortress of Councils, the mighty ruler Hra'an stands with his men side by side, fighting against the risen menace. This is the first time that he had to fight in a long time, but his talent with the blade is not yet lost.

With running around the enlarged dwarves, he swiftly slice off their limbs, leaving them screaming surprised agony before being finished off by the Fortress Guards. "Stay with me! New Zaangoria shall not fall this day! It shall not fall ever!" Hra'an shouts as he and his guards cleared the room.

Everyone cheered on, and they storm into the next room that is strewn with the bodies of Elven servants. The grim, but proud looks of the Duergar soldiers all turn to fierce rage as they clash with guards. The invaders could not stand a chance, especially with the fearsome display of swordsmanship that is dealt by Hra'an. It goes on like this, with each room being diligently cleared of all the attackers.

In one of the rooms, Gribrak of the Keepers is found battling against a Duergar sergeant by himself. He is the leader of the Council Fortress's guardforce. His loyal men all lay around his feet dead while Gribrak is fighting against the equally furious enemy squad leader. Hra'an came in and swiftly beheaded the Duergar, which leads to Gribrak falling to his knees in thanks. Hra'an offers his hand to his citizen. "Let's hurry on. There is still much to save."

The Rise of the Duergar part 2:

Before the Duergar's invasion, Gribrak is an apprentice of the late Master Smith. He alone is responsible for the creation of thousands of armour and weapons of the Zaangorian Horde. He eventually became one the Keepers, the trusted leaders responsible for the security of precious materials of the empire. He has recently gave most of the responsibility to his fellow assistants to handle his old duties, and took on the new one of leading the Fortress Guards, the sole defenders of Hra'an's proud palace.

When the attack began, he roused his men from the barracks of the Fortress. He dons his heavy armour and hammer, taking on the image of his slain Elder. He was able to bring the guards to meet for themselves a noble end. And now, standing before The Ruler of the Empire, he is now given a new reward for his bravery. From the hands of the dead Duergar squad leader, Hra'an gives to Gribrak an enchanted warhammer. After this brief ceremony, Hra'an, alongside his newly empowered guard captain, leads the command to continue to purge the Fortress clean.

When they scoured through the upper levels, and checked that the rest of the servants are safe, they returned to the ground floor. They saw for themselves a new batch of Duergars pouring in through the large double doors of the Fortress's entrance. Amongst the new squad of attackers, there is a Duergar that is much bigger than the rest. It wields warpicks in both hands, and has a beard adorned in skulls. When he spoke, Hra'an understood, for he also have picked up the Duergar's tongue.

"I am Hremadahl! The war general of The Duergars! And I came to feast upon your flesh, Bird King!"

This time, it's Gribrak who leads the battle cry. "My soldiers shall slay the fiends of the ground, my Lord! The giant too shall shrink beneath our feet when we end their unworthy lives!"

Post 1: Into the darkness

(Coya, the raider)
He had hoped for buried treasures and plenty of food when he saw the ruins. Well, treasures and food he got. What he didn’t expect was a massive secret tunnel network with armies of cursed dwarves marching and a crazy elf with his godly granddaughter. She was his granddaughter, right? What else could she be?

So, starting with the crazy elf right? The one that though finding him was a much-needed blessing… Anyway, turns out this old elf is, or was, some sort of powerful spirit mage, or land, or whatever… magic was not his thing. He was more the poison arrow to the knee type of guy. Good news! This old fella knew where food was, and if it wasn’t there, he knew how to make it be there. Now that is the sort of friend you want to have! Anyway, the nutjob was convinced there was something old and powerful going on in the world and that coming to the middle of nowhere, walking under to scorching sun to find the ruins of some old legendary elven city was the only way to go about it. If Coya knew what was to come, he would have taken that druid more seriously. As soon as he starts settling into the good life, having something like a house and plenty of food, some cursed dwarf shows up! And then another and another. Apparently, there were tunnels and tunnels, never-ending tunnels stretching to the heart of the world (or at least it felt like that when he explored them) under the ruined city. And, of course the nutjob’s worry was if these were made before or after whatever historical tragedy he was into, not the hostile hordes of dwarves pouring out of the ground!

That was when he saw her. The old man called her Avencia. She was pale with light blue tones, giving off the stage feeling that she could actually be frozen. And she was brutal and cold, like a winter storm. He could still hear the panic shouts has she alone dispatched those dwarves: quickly, coldly and precisely! How could a little girl do that?

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Post 2: The Duergar War
Event: CRISIS: In the Shrouded Sun of 78 PI, the duergar rose from their caverns and tunnels to fight the surface world. Mining and invasions from many sources had long been a source of contention for the underdwellers, and with a new leader, the Waking King, leading them, they finally decided to strike back at the soft surface dwellers.

(Durwar, The Appraiser of arts)
They were prepared, even though not expecting the new crisis that rouse from under their feet. They knew was war coming, but expected it you rain down the mountains instead of bursting from the underground. The armies had been mobilized, the supply lines established, and the military drills done. Everyone was ready, the border with Terminus and Cloudspire constantly patrolled, the inevitable skirmishes between scouts and the network of spies intensively working to gain advantage for the inevitable war. Turns out, the enemy came from the still standing tunnels. His grandmother was right all along. The Duergar, that lost race of dwarves as real, and now it was everywhere in the Old Lands, waging war under the banner of Waking King, whoever that was.

Given their preparations, all they had to do was move the armies to face this unexpected threat. They were everywhere, so there was no need to keep the borders defended, as Cloudspire would also be busy. The Earth's Spear company would free Southport, The Moon's Grace company march into Elven’s Gate and The Lady's Dance stay and hold on to Foundation. But things were not so easy… Elven’s Gate was retaken as the duergar were taken by surprise, Foundation on the other hand, was dragging as the remains of the duergar forces turned to attrition war. Southport was a disaster, with the elven forces being ambushed and forced to retreat.

But he knew it was a matter of time until the reinforcement arrived at the Confederation lands would be rid of these enemies, their tunnels found, and the fortifications set up to keep them at bay. Now, it was time for the Northlands to move. The duergar didn’t strike the Confederation's lands north of the sea, but Terminus was hit hard… The men were ready to march under Ilphas-el, the Overseer of the Roads, and finally, so was he. This would be a liberation war, completely justified and would put an end to those rebels in the north.

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Post 3: The Flying horror
Event: CRISIS: At the same time as they struck from underneath, their massive stone dragon, the size of a small village, rained destruction of fire and molten stone from the sky.

(Alea'ana, Archdruiddess of Moon, The Lady of the Eleven and speaker for the Confederation)
As she stood at the gate of the Old Covenant’s capital, she knew the duergar would be worse than expected. Their network of tunnels would be a nightmare to go through. Her initial attempt was successful at destroying the enemy forces, their organisation completely ruined, but they kept on raiding her forces, keeping them on their toes. She regrouped and held her position waiting for the return of the Moon's Grace company to mount a final attack. Their work at Elven’s Gate was flawless, catching the duergar off guard. With the recent cave in of their massive tunnel network, they had little place to run and the human nobility could keep the peace in the capital.

However, the damage to the tunnels was not as extensive in the Foundation and even the second attack with the combined might of the Moon's Grace and the The Lady's Dance companies was not enough to destroy all the tunnels and put and end to the duergar raids. And news from the south weren’t great either… The Earth's Spear Company was forced into retreat by a massive flying creature that rained fire from the skies. They regrouped, but she had to finish her job here quickly before that beast returned and finished up its work, leaving nothing but ashes and corpses left in Southport.

How would they face such a creature of destruction? Maybe the answer was in Zet’arin’s notes, but the dwarves would have to be expelled to the caves they came from, fortifications erected to quickly find and destroy and further incursions front the underworld, patrol and scouting established to find and claim any open tunnels and, of course, rebuilding what the war destroyed. She had a lot to think about… Lutr, Lord of House Greenvale and Head Inquisitor, would be a good choice to set up the patrols. Maybe Zamath, the Mouth of the Land, would be free to research the notes? Not much diplomacy going on with this crisis…

Once again, she was having doubts as she contemplated the huge amount of work to be done before that flying beast returned …

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Post 4: Sea of ashes
Event: CRISIS: The first series of attacks in this war were not recognized as such, for they used emissaries and mercenaries to do their bidding. But once they had stripped the surface kingdoms of their most powerful artifacts, they rose from the caves and tunnels along the Imperial Highway and struck at the capitals of Terminus, Malgeri, New Zaangoria, Valthiria, Cloudspire, The Marches, and Unilth.

(Ab Tajir, The Soul Trader and Spy mage for the Confederation)
The Covenant sent him to die in the desert for his crimes. He survived. Then he was supposed to have been killed in Oszeth for his ambition. He survived. Then he was caught by those who condemned him and sent to the snake pit called Unilith. He still survived. And now, he is a valuable member of the mage spies under Zamath, The Mouth of the Land and the Voice from the shadows. Turns out one the great elven druids was up to no good with some magics that only lowlifes like himself could decipher. So now he just sits down comfortably reading his notes in the nice seaside house, the soft sea breeze blowing, the cold winter sun shining, the relaxing sound of the waves softly crashing. And the remains of the military rushing round in panic. The so-called Confederation of the Old Lands was in a state of total war apparently. Something about legendary little dark man popping out of the earth or something. Clearly one of those old discriminations he was a victim of. These old timers never learned! But this time, it wasn’t him, so we couldn’t care less. He was doing well and he was going to enjoy it until the next time he’s meant to die comes along.

Having left Durwar, The Appraiser of arts and recently appointed Keeper of the North, lphas-el, Archdruid of the Land and The Overseer of the Roads, the hero of the Foundation wars, tries to cross the north sea with whatever forces he could spare to join Alea'ana, Archdruid of Moon, The Lady of the Eleven and speaker for the Confederation of the Old Lands. Man, these elves really like their titles… Anyway, they had some beef with some old Covenant traitors up north and used the war as an excuse to finish them off. With that sorted and the northern lands secured, they moved south to help with the war effort. Some sort of an army of giant dwarves (whatever that might even mean!) was settling nicely in Southport, previously called Ashport by the same elven traitor that wrote the notes he was reading. Maybe that was a clue? More importantly, the grumpy elves weren’t happy about it. Things didn’t turn out very well, as the fleet was mysterious sunk in what was supposed to be an easy crossing of safe waters. He looked into the horizon. It was a clear day and he could make out some land at the end of the massive sea, the blue waters turned grey from the ashes that rose from the bottom of the ocean… If only the soldiers would do their search and rescue missions a bit more quiet...

Rise of the Duergar part 3:

Hra'an recalls his past. The days of when he was the son of the old Kingdom's Military Head. These memories are what gives him strength for the battle ahead. In his mind's eye, he sees himself facing his father in a duel. A duel to test if he is worthy to take over his father.

The two were facing each other on a long dusty road. Along the road, are the many ranks of cunning warriors and talented mages of the army. They all gathered to watch the fateful fight. This fight is special. For those who wishes to become an heir of the position of the Lord of War, has to prove that they can win a fight against the current one. And Old Zaangoria is a meritocratic system, not one that tolerates Nepotism. Hra'an's father have decided that this very moment where fate shall be decided in its truest form… through the worthiness of the individual in their circumstance.

There is no announcement when the fight begins. Hra'an is the one who takes the first step. He runs up all the way to the middle point, but his father have yet to budge. A few steps more, and his father's blade suddenly flashes in blinding light. What happened was that he simply raised his weapon to reflect the sun into his son's eyes. This was enough to cause Hra'an to stumble, and have a blade struck down to deflect his away. Hra'an still holds his own in both hands, and leaps away, while his vision is still afflicted.

He knows his speed is his advantage against his father, and so uses it to keep his distance. By the time his eyes clear, he realises that his father was not running after him, instead, he is still standing in his original position.

Hra'an loses his recollection for a moment when a huge warpick narrowly misses his head. He continues to meditate in the chaos of battle, and he eventually goes back into the fight with his father…

Rise of the Duergar part 4:

The scene comes back on. Hra'an rushing his opponent with determination and energy. Again and again, him and his father clashed, and it almost seems that his father is stalling, focusing on defense while his son spends his pent up energy. Finally, his father made an offensive maneuver, which gave Hra'an a cut in his side. As the pain shot through his body, he senses becomes sharper as adrenaline washes over him.

Instead of keeping his distance, Hra'an now closes in for the decisive blow. It's now either one of them loses the fight, no more games. He makes a leap, raising his greatsword overhead but this is just a fake out. With a twist of his body, he sends his taloned feet at his father's head. Tumbling back to the ground, he turns around, preparing to receive another slash on his body, but none came. His father is grasping his face, blood pouring out. His father drops his sword and declares defeat as he demands for a medic to tend to his ruined eye.

Then, there was applause all around. The cheering faces of his new loyal soldiers turns into ones he now has with him in the Fortress. The Duergar general is dead, but he is but one of the many still rampaging about in the New Empire.

Stepping upon the General's head, which had shrunken to normal, Hra'an declares once again that Zaang shall live on in the might and glory of His sons. The group of soldiers, still in the frenzy of battle, marches on to lay waste to the grey skinned invaders. As night falls, they eventually secured the territory of the Capital where most of the Zaangors live. But before they can redeem the lands around the lake, they had to set up camp, and especially defenses.

In the following days ahead, even more Duergar blood shall be shed…

Post 1: The spark
Event: The duergar are scouting out the land around Shady Sands, and some fear it will be their next target.

(Coya, the raider)
He had very little time to meet this Avencia girl as more and more scouting parties were coming out of the endless tunnels. It seems like those cursed dwarves were looking for something in the desert. The crazy old elf kept saying it was his granddaughter they were looking for and how I should keep her protected because he felt some call. He never trusted the gods to keep in safe, and this religious old elf just proved him right. Religious people do all sorts of crazy stuff just to feel their gods. More often than not, they turn up dead... or completely nuts like this one! As far as anyone could tell, the call had something to do with a mistletoe and wolves and then something or another that cut a tree recently. A tree? Someone cut down a tree? He felt sorry for the old elf as he was clearly suffering from some sort of dementia, most likely magically induced. That’s why he never did magics. They tend to backfire, emphasis on the fire! Anyway, clearly that girl didn’t need any help. Hadn’t she just routed an entire scouting party of dwarves? And not just any dwarves, these were some big dwarves, heavily armoured tough guys with shiny weapons that could be thrown with stunning precision. She was a little girl. Could be older than early teens. Witchcraft!

Now, the smart thing to do would be to run. And he was pretty good at that by the way! However, the old elf kept going on and on about how the cursed ones would bring the statue to them, because they needed Avencia’s spark. The girl was cold as ice, definitely no spark there! For some strange reason, he resisted his instinct to run away and find a safer place. Was it because the old man could create food? Did he get attached to these people? Poor little girl, he couldn’t leave her just with this crazy elf, right? So he did the second best thing he knew how to do: band some scoundrels, raiders and low lives together and organize trapping raids to teach those dwarves a lesson!

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Post 2: War for the Old Lands
Event: The duergar have achieved something that they wanted, although what it is is not yet clear. They're not withdrawing yet, but they're not raiding anymore, so it will take less posts to clear them away.

(Ilphas-el, Archdruid of the Land and The Overseer of the Roads)
The northern army was demoralized, after being caught in the sea of ashes. Those duergar were cannier than expected. The Terminus campaign when smoothly, but it was a manoeuvre for the Dwarven armies to sink invade northern port and block their way back. He looks into the lands he had left, but there was only one way to go now: south into the Old Lands. That’s where the Confederation armies were massing for a final assault to liberate their lands from this surprise invader. Elven Gate and Foundation were already under their control. Once all the companies met, Southport would stand no chance. He briefly wondered why the duergar were entrenching at that place, the same place Zet’arin, the Guardian of the library, had built when he though the Lady was killed by his hired assassin. Ashmen in Elven’s Gate, Ash armies in Terminus, ashes in the sea and ashes from the sky… Ashport. The name came to his mind. What was the meaning of all of this? He briefly met Ab Tajir, The Soul Trader, but he couldn’t bring himself to trust that double crossing selfish low-life. Maybe he could decipher the notes, maybe he was just leading them in circles. He would be sure to come back for him once his armies had time to rest.

The vision of the Confederacy army was a sight to behold. He could only imagine the fear that sight stroke on their enemies’ hearts. Southport was standing still in front of them. The siege was expected to be long, so they were settling in for camping and raiding. He had sent some spies and scouts to check the area and find weaknesses to the duergar defences. They would move by sea with their news warships. The dwarves were surrounded as underground engineering teams had been deployed to find and barricade all tunnels, destroying any that couldn’t be used in the siege. Then the messenger came from the Lady herself. She was going to move in as the scouts found an open and empty city. They were welcomed by the loyal subjects of the confederation, who described that the duergar left as soon as they completed a colossal statue to some dark dwarven god, who they called the Ash Guardian…

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Post 3: War effort

(Zari, The Master of the Guilds)
He saw the armies leave Elven’s Gate, marching south, leaving them in the hands of the Inquisitors, who still struggled to root all the ash cursed from the capital. Lutr, Lord of House Greenvale was an efficient Head Inquisitor, driven by the mysterious circumstances of his son and heir’s death, he was sure to root all ash curse from the Confederacy. Interestingly, there have been no reports of clones in the Old Lands, unlike those from the northern seamen. Lutr still though it was related, but it was difficult to tell exactly how.

However, in these were dark times, the merchants were grew restless, which impacted on the flow of coin. The Confederacy had managed to keep their interests and investments fairly safe through all the wars and catastrophes but now, the enemy snuck unseen right into the heart of the Old Lands. Elven’s Gate was untouched, but would it be that way next time? The war effort was expensive. It did bring investment opportunities for the guilds, but with more and more elves and humans joining the ranks of the mercenary companies, looking for a quick way to make a fortune, the main problem the guilds were facing was the lacking workforce to keep the industry working efficiently. The shipyards needed men to produce enough warships, the sulphur and saltpepper refineries were struggling to maintain the supply of chemicals and those new gun factories were barely able to support the required production. There was demand, but the offer was very limited. The Suhagin and Lizard-folk refugees from previous years were now trained and were easily employed as town guards, bodyguards and move the goods, but that didn’t free enough fingers for the more delicate and dangerous works.

But they were a rich nation now, and money attracts people. With the new diplomatic ties and the recent catastrophes, they were sure to get more trade and more migrants, and with it, hands to work.

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Post 4: The trap!
Event: However, they have launched the stone colossus against you. It stands two-hundred feet tall, and it walks over the land, crushing everything underfoot.

(Ara, Commander of Northern Light Company)
Northport was theirs again. The Northlands were finally free from both the ash armies of Terminus and the cursed armies of duergar. For him, it was a matter of maintaining peace and restoring the land. The new company needed to grow and ensure the North was under the Convenant rule again. Of course, the new triumvirate that the Covenant became was an unstable mess with little diplomatic efforts going. With all that was going one, it was clear that the three powers of the Old Lands were retreating into themselves. This meant that the de facto ruler of Terminus and the north was now the Confederacy, despite all opposition from Cloudspire. The future of these lands was uncertain, but for now, the big players were too busy to notice them. As he expected the Riverlesk support to arrive, he was surprised by the crazy lone boat that sailed from Willowvale. He heard the man was crazy, but to see Ab Tajir, The Soul Trader, getting off that boat! Why would he risk crossing the sea of ashes? "There’s some paperwork I need to check now that Terminus is ours" that is all he said, before leaving to the old Terminus capital. But before leaving, he left a note, a worrisome note. Southport was reconquered, but duergar left a massive statue there, one that was quickly research and investigated. At first, nothing was found except that it must have been a gift to the dwarven dark god know as the Ash Guardian. But it was built in front of the temple, in a strangely symmetric location. The entire elven army stood still as night fell and the unsetting sun shone brighter. The light evolved the statue as it started to move, ashes blown from it in every direction. A colossus standing two-hundred feet tall was set free in a port of ashes crushing everything under his feet. They had just played into their trap...

The Rise of the Duergar part 5:

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. Yet, Hra'an is not making quick progress with the reclamation of his Nation. By now, it can best be assumed that the rest of the New Empire is already in ruins, with spare soldiers and Elders making a last stand.

One thing that is noticed is that by now, the Duergar is attempting to settle down and organise their plunder, instead of alright destruction. This is good, as it makes it much easier to rid them whenever they are found as they did not fully expect a formidable growing army trying to retake their lands.

Soon, the Vengeance Horde worms their way into the western farmlands. And what they found there is nothing but ash and bloodshed. Footprints in the scorched fields point to a grim deadly culprit. A dragon. The Stone Dragon. It has finally come to lay waste to the Zaangor nation, and Hra’an along with his men are hungry to hunt down this foul beast.

Attempts to investigate the leftover of the crop fields have shown that to track down the dragon will be hard as it is able to fly. However, the Horde will not back down, and they continue on their march. Nanos of the Horde will split off to cover more ground, and if one of them is facing a particularly tough fight, they will withdraw and regroup before facing the enemy once more.

This method retaking the land is effective, and in particular, the army that Hra’an is in is more capable of fighting as not only are they motivated, but that Hra’an is also a great strategist. In time, groups of Nanos have caught sight of the stone dragon’s rampage, and reported back to Hra’an of it’s spotted locations. The dragon is still very mobile, and so it took a while longer before better intel is received of where it might strike next...

The Rise of the Duergar part 6:

Then, word came to Hra'an as he sits upon his throne made of Duergar bones. A Zaangor Nano leader reported that the dragon is circling back to the reclaimed territory that passes over the Imperial Road. Hra'an has a limited window of opportunity to send his army to draw the dragon's attention, and to slay it once and fall all.

With Gribrak the Guard Captain and Eryma, a surviving Maiden of The Cleric, by Hra'an's side, the Horde marches on to face their mighty foe.

For the case of Maiden Eryma, the loyal bodyguard of the Elder of Visions, she was found when Hra'an retook the Temple Complex and the streets surrounding it. The Maiden was the only survivor of the Duergar infested temple ruins. She was hiding from them as the Complex is like a little maze, and that in addition with collapsed sections of the building, it is much each to hide and pretend to be dead when the Duergar are around. She explains that her Mistress has fled from the city as the Duergar came in through the basement of the Temple. The other Maidens dressed her as a commoner and hopefully have successfully escaped. For now, Eryma is capable of performing healing to the wounded soldiers.

And thus, as the tide of the blue bird warrriors marches on down the blood-spilt path that is the Imperial Road, the dragon gets closer in its approach. The stone dragon merely is picking off survivors, and when it lands and stalks the forests near the road, its ears picks up the sound of screams. Not screams of terror, but that of the unbridled rage of hundreds of Zaangors. Swords clashes against scales. Claws strike through moderately tough armour. And the chants of magic intended to harm and heal. Soon, the vicious battle concluded with the stone dragon, who is too proud to even flee from a fight, is slowly crippled until being fully slain.

"Those that are created from the dirt, are still only dirt! Crush the Duergar till they no longer rise!" Hra'an cheers as he stands atop the dead dragon's head.

Rise of the Duergar part 7:

With the death of the Stone Dragon, there is another death that is not desired. Gribrak the Guard Captain is killed by the Dragon’s fiery breath. Hra’an gave a short honourable praise for his Captain, and directed for the Horde to make camp for the next battle.

The next couple of days are mainly attempts to take control of the still unreclaimed lands. Upon arrival to Tirait Taw, it is in ruins like the rest of the nation. The Duergar there have no interests in the decadent lifestyle that the city offers, instead, seeing it as pointless and noisy. Burning piles of bodies and debris are everywhere as the Dark Dwarves are hanging around and having fun with torturing the surrendered survivors. They do this more out of twisted justice than outright sadism.

When the city is taken over, the corpse of The Elder of Thoughts can be found. He is strung up above the ground from his Palace by its colourful, but bloodstained ribbons and banners. His body is brutally battered and stabbed. This is a somber scene of the once flourishing city.

The Horde marches on towards the Hunting Grounds. It is a miserable sight. Beautifully carved buildings are now blackened and in ruins. There is a group of Zaangor fighters still holding a stand against the skirmishes of the Duergar. The Arch Librarian is the leader of the Final Stand in his uncompleted city. The use of bows and arrows is very useful in fending off the Duergar, who are too proud to try using ranged weapons.

The Horde rushes in and crush the skirmish camp, thus freeing and redeeming the land back into the hands of the Zaangor. The Elder of Books thank his leader gratefully, and wishes to seek his approval of a personal matter. When the two of them step out of the makeshift tent, Hra'an declares something rather odd. He says that the Arch Librarian wishes to become a woman, and that everyone is to consider her as such. Her clothes is still a Burgundy dress, and with a couple of braiding of her feathery "hair", she confidently joins her leader's side as the royal witch.

Rise of the Duergar part 8:

The bulk of the Horde then heads down to the South. Their next step is the reconquering of the mountain range. This is the next step that makes the soldiers shudder at. The caves is the domain of the Duergar, and that it is probably their priority to take back for themselves.

They make their camp outside the cave entrance in front of the tunnel that is the highway through the mountain and which is also the entrance into the underground city of Du'nugia. There is scouts seen at the tunnels watching the camp, and so the Horde knew that the enemy is aware of their eminent attack.

The next day, the Horde wakes up to wage a battle that they are all too familiar with. They funnel into the tunnels that leads down into the city. One of the Zaangors that was in front tripped on a wire, and it causes not only the tunnel that he is in, but the whole branching network to blow up and collapse onto the screaming soldiers.

As Hra'an was calling for a retreat, a wave of enlarged Duergar clashes into the flanks of the Horde. Turns out that they now have the bizarre ability to suddenly form tunnels through solid rock near instantly. The Horde beats back against the ambush, forcing the Duergar back down into the tunnels with the aid of magic bolts and transmutation magic from the Arch Librarian.

It was grueling, but eventually, the fight poured into the large caverns. And the Duergar was defeated once more. With a search of the city, it turns out that the Duergar slaves have been freed and not much destruction is caused. However, the statue of the Elder of Metal was being chipped away at. Looking at the statue's proud form standing in the city square gave the soldiers more motivation to keep fighting...

Rise of the Duergar part 9:

The Horde splits into two. One under Hra’an, the other under The Witch. While The Admirable Leader marches onwards to reclaim the rest of the mountain’s underground, The Transgendent leads her army to the Duergar infested Imperial Road.

They camp at the Capital first before the morning comes when they begin their storming of the West. The Witch makes sure she and her army are well prepared. Wielding a Spell Stave on one hand and her Wizard’s Tome in the other, she orders her swordsmen and archers to charge at the enemy’s base.

As they let fly the arrows into the fortified Duergar camp, the Duergar also leap down from the wooden walls and make frantic charges to the rows of advancing Zaangor Infantry. The din of clashing swords and armour rang around the forested road as the Zaangors continue their push to cut down the enemy.

The Witch raises her stave and with a few enchanted words, the enemy is hit with the might of her magics. She sends blasts of wind to push back the enemy, or super hot flame to send the enemy screaming in burning terror. As the frontline reaches close enough to the base’s wall, she causes a large hole to be formed in the wall, letting her soldiers in to handle the rest inside.

Inside, they met another Duergar General. This time, he doesn’t bother to boast or make threats. Instead, this one simply gave a guttural shout before charging forwards to knock aside all the Zaangors who are in his way. The final battle was intense as this beast of a warlord crushes his adversaries with ease due to his towering size and ferocious fighting style. But in time, as arrows pierce and blades cut, the General begins to get worn down. And, with a final charge left in her Stave, The Witch torches his head in infernal fire. The Duergar is finally defeated, and everyone celebrated the victory over the Duergar’s failed attempt to take over the surface...