Oct 21, 2019 12:42 am
END OF WEEK 4
A History of the Covenant Lands [IC Posts]
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Oct 21, 2019 12:57 am
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?
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?
Oct 22, 2019 9:31 am
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 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.
Oct 23, 2019 12:49 pm
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.
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.
Last edited October 25, 2019 1:21 pm
Oct 24, 2019 10:11 am
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.
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.
Last edited October 24, 2019 10:11 am
Oct 25, 2019 2:14 am
"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.
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.
Last edited October 25, 2019 2:16 am
Oct 25, 2019 9:01 am
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!
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!
Last edited October 25, 2019 2:16 pm
Oct 25, 2019 2:08 pm
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.
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.
Oct 27, 2019 12:51 am
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.
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.
[ +- ] The Ancient One
Last edited October 27, 2019 12:52 am
Oct 27, 2019 12:53 am
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.
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.
[ +- ] The Desert Temple
Last edited October 27, 2019 12:53 am
Oct 27, 2019 12:54 am
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.
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.
[ +- ] The Antechamber
Oct 27, 2019 9:55 am
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 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.
Last edited October 27, 2019 9:56 am
Oct 27, 2019 2:03 pm
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.
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.
Oct 30, 2019 8:25 am
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.
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.
Oct 31, 2019 1:04 pm
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...
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…
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.
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...
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…
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.
Oct 31, 2019 2:05 pm
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."
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."
Nov 1, 2019 1:02 pm
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 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."
Nov 2, 2019 7:50 am
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 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.
Last edited November 2, 2019 7:51 am
Rolls
1: north, 2: north-west, 3: west, 4: south west, 5: south - (1d5)
(2) = 2
Nov 2, 2019 3:45 pm
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.
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.
Last edited November 3, 2019 2:19 pm
Nov 3, 2019 2:19 pm
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 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."
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