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Basileus elysium

The Mizan League
Copost with Kharzor

339 AFT. A few miles north of Belcheer Khan,

Thirty-five thousand Elysium soldiers stood at attention as dawn broke.
“Men, This war has gone on long enough! We sit idle and defend our borders, waiting for the next raid year after year! This time we take the fight to them and finish this once and for all!” Azzem shouted triumphantly brandishing his sword to the sky

“Forge our peace!” The troops chanted back in unison

“Forward, March!” Azzem commanded pointing his sword southward

The sound of horns and drums could be heard in the distance as the Elysium army approached Belcheer Khan,8,000 Kharzor stood strong three banners flew above them along with the Flag of the Kharzor Warherds. One of the Butchers of Mizan the Sinkur herd. Beside them stood the guardians of the South the liberated Jochi Khasar. And finally the Druidic Herd the Khorijin.

Zagor stood in front of his armies and raised his axe “We will not let these cowards take Belcheer Khan,we hold this line for the ancestors and for the herds long lost!”

The Warchief of the Jochi Khasar cracked his barbed whip and laughed “I guess the old Druid was not lying when he said you had stirred trouble here in the north let’s slaughter all who stand in our way!”

As the army approached the city slowly came into view of the Elysian army. Musir Cihangir Demirel looked confused as he scanned the area
“Is this right? I was told this warherd ravaged Mizan? They’re barely half our size” he laughed
“What you were told is true, I saw it with my own eyes. Magic.” Azzem retorts in a grim tone
“It's true, That is the extent of their forces. However some survivors of Mizen claimed to see them using magic to burn down our temples. Akthem confirmed it.” Imineif said with disinterest in his voice.

Growing ever so closer the army pulled into formation bracing for conflict at any second, Azzem atop his horse stood at the front. “Men, some of you were there with me that fateful day five years ago. I promised you that we would show these heathens the might of our army! Today is that day! Forward men, Forge our peace!” Azzem commands once again leading the troops towards the city itself.

As the troops moved into view of the Kharzor the Sinkur’s shamans stepped forward led by the Great Shaman Nolgraz all of them put their hands to the sky smoke,billowing from their fingers as if they were bonfires.

“Let those who would trespass in the land of the Süns be burned by Iru’s Wrath,let those who would chain us be burned to cinders!!!”

Large fireballs launched from the shamans into the Elysium lines. “Magic! Loose formations!” Azzem screams as many of the frontline are struck. “Alfaris, take aim!”
The army spread apart as the Alfaris set their sights, wielding their matchlocks they unleashed volleys in response.

The power of the rifles tore through the Kharzor with a shaman jumping in front of Nolgraz and taking nearly ten shots before falling.

Nolgraz kneeled down beside his comrade “Brother your sacrifice will not go unmatched.” A faint smoke left the dead shamans mouth and entered the Great shamans Hand.

“Let those who would sin against the Süns know nothing but shadow and cinder!” He put his hands out as a line of black flames snaked towards the matchlock line.

Zagor who had been hit looked at his kin “Let show them our strength!” The Kharzor began to charge the ground rumbling with the sound of their war beasts hooves

“Stand unwavered my friends!” Demirel shouts to the troops, “Prove to these savages, we are not to be taken lightly!” Azzem laughs, “Flanks, pincer!”

Holding his sword high and rallying the troops Azzem leads the charge, the army's famous words viable on the back of his armour “Prepare for war, Forge our peace”. Both flanks of roughly ten thousand each began moving to surround the Kharzor warheard.

Imineif sat back watching the action from a distance, “I'm surprised, I thought the matchlocks would do it. Didn't expect this level of magic. Akthem, any thoughts?”
“From my reports, their magic does exceed expectations… yet they’re so outnumbered, why are they still trying to fight?” Akthem said quizzically
“It's either some sort of Gorrin mentality we don't understand, or their hiding something, an ambush, anything.” Imineif replies as if watching some form of sport

As the Sinkur herd met the Elysium lines their war elephants smashed through the lines with the gorrin on top raining javelins from above, Zagor sending fivemen flying with a swing of his axe. The Jochi Khasar Began to send arrows towards the matchlocks with their chief joining Zagor using his barbed iron whip to tear a soldier to shreds.

Nolgraz looked towards Musir Cihangir Demirel as the black fire formed into what looked like a dragon and smashed into him and the troops around him in a massive column of fire. Azzem grimaced at the sight from a few hundred metres away “Dragons, It's always dragons” he sighed “Yfrir bless me in this retribution” he mutters slashing his way through the hordes of Gorrin, the sounds of matchlock shots and weapons colliding filled the air as he fell into a rage.

The Elysium flanks began to wrap around the Kharzor forces, the Amami Topcu within it began to drag cannons into range letting out a barrage

As the barrage hit hundreds of Kharzor went flying the war beast of the Sinkur being torn to shreds by the impact of the cannon fire. Zagor flew into a rage and seeing Azzem in the horde began to charge forward sending any who got in his path flying when he got close to Azzem the man beside him was cut in half by the Great Bull’s Axe as he pointed it towards the Bird King. “I challenge!”, Azzem laughed, facing Zagor head on “No one interfere, this one's mine!” he shouted to his men. He immediately charges the Great Bull dodging the first few of his swings. Realizing a pattern Azzem swings during an opening only to receive a hoof to the stomach. Azzem drops to the floor spitting blood, Zagor kicks the down King again as he rolls onto his back, his armour dented into him. “Up!” Zagor roared. Stumbling to his feet, Azzem smiled wearily. Azzem barely dodges another swing from the Great Bull’s axe, stabbing Zagor’s leg in the process. As Zargor drops to a knee, Azzem pulls a matchlock pistol from one of his greaves pointing it directly at the side of the Great Bull’s head.

The sky turned a Dark Green and a mist began to surround the battleground

“That is enough!” A voice pierced the heavens before large vines grabbed the king and Zagor dividing all of the soldiers and herdsmen.

Out of breath and confused Azzem struggles against the vines to no avail. Imineif stands in a mix of confusion and shock and begins to make his way towards the centre of the battlefield trailed by Akthem.

Between the two men appeared a small white gorrin wielding a staff with a jar of fireflies tied to it

“Now if the both of you are done our real enemy grows stronger on the horizon.” He said with the sky getting ever darker. The Elysium troops stood confused, Imineif finally pushed through the crowds of men to the centre.
“And who might you be?” Imineif demanded

He turned to Imineif “I am an Molgrac the Pale Druid,and I speak for the Süns,if you try to attack me then I shall kill not only your king but the rest of this force or at least a sizable portion.” He said with a chuckle at the end

“Judging by the sky, I'm assuming that isn't just a threat. Even if you were to do so magic such as that would leave you vulnerable. We still have reserve forces stationed in Mizan. Such an act would be suicide on both our parts.Well. Molgrac ,since we are at a standstill, I am Imineif Khafir of Vision and that there is Azzem, my brother the Khafir of Might.” Imineif calmly explains with his hand visible to show no threat.

“As I have stated while you both waste time fighting the Savoset empire has returned and borders your kingdom as we speak,the Süns no the Gods have told me that we must band together against this threat or we shall find ourselves back In chains.”

“Akthem is this true!?” Imineif said with worry in his voice
“My liege we have word that Cajapoya has risen, what he said seems all too likely.” Akthem responded with a grim tone
“If. If what you say is true Molgrac, it is indeed a greater threat to both our nations than our petty squabbles.” Imineif said sternly

“We must band together despite our differences. This is the will of the gods,and history will find us seeing more than just our kin killed but in chains our cultures wiped out once again.” The pale Druid said, releasing Azzem.
“We must prepare our defences brother, remember the tales of the Savoset brutality to our ancestors. This is a dire time” Azzem wheezed
“We will be willing to put aside our differences if we sign an official peace treaty, many of our kin were taken over the years and we wish for those who have survived to be returned.” Imineif said calmly
“The Khorijin agree to these terms.” Molgrac said looking to Nogdok and Zagor

“The Jochi Khasar have no reason to fight these ones if they do not fight us.” Nogdok said releasing the would be victim from his barbed whip

Before Zagor could speak Nolgraz stepped forward “Are the both of you the leaders of the city of Mizan?”

“Mizan is one of our cities, yes. However the Vali that manages the city for us is a man by the name Pacifico. Why is it you ask?” Imineif questions

“I am the Great Shaman Nolgraz those flames were mine but in their light I could see Mizan is a holy city one that a temple to Iru most be built and watched over by his Shamans,so as a stipulation I would like to join your people and build that temple as a representative of the Kharzor.” He said sternly

“Mizan is still under heavy reconstruction, I believe the temple is yet to be built. Mizan worships Yfrir quite fanatically, however if I may suggest- with your help the temple could be built larger than previous, and then split half and half to Yfrir and Iru?” Offered Imineif

“We agree.” He said looking to Zagor who was just released by Molgrac

“I agree.” The Great Bull said walking away taking his herd back to Belcheer Zan

Molgrac looks back to the two Kings “Might I suggest one other stipulation?”
Imineif tilts his head with some suspicion “Oh, and what might that be?”

“We want weaponry that is of this day we still live as if it was the days of the savoset and great herd but to win the coming war we must be armed with what our enemies will use.” He said with a nod

“Hmm Mizanese steel isn't cheap, the Eastern steel community is just getting back on its feet. I suppose with some compensation it shouldn't be impossible”- “What about those, could mow a few hundred Savoset down with a single one” Azzem interrupted pointing at the war elephant still looming over the Elysium soldiers. “Huh, how about it, we’ll supply you with all the weapons and armour you could ever need and you supply us with those war elephants?” Imineif laughed

“Deal.” The pale Druid said with a smile ”now come to Belcheer Khan we can write up an agreement there.”

“Of course, please lead the way.” Imineif gestures to the Pale Druid

And so an official treaty was signed, Basileus Elysium established a temple to the Kharzor god Iru within Mizan, with Great Sharman Nolgraz as its head and as the acting Kharzor representative to the Elysium Grand Council. The Kharzor tribes released any Elysium prisoners taken within the five years of conflict. A mutual trade agreement was also signed detailing the trade of Mizanese steel weapons and armour for the Kharzor war elephants. Along with a formal alliance later signed in Mizan officially forming The Mizan League on the 14th of Midyear 339ATF.

The Pink Seas and Kharzor

Southern Harvest part 1
Expansion post 1/5

The Council of elders,10th of Harvests End

It had been a month since the battle of the golden plains,and the signing of the Treaty of Mizan. Zagor has taken the loss hard seeing the signing of the treaty as an unofficial surrender to what he saw as a cowardly race. But the Süns granted an upside to this defeat. A son ya sheen born to the Zor his name was Melgar,and through his divining he was destined to not only be a warrior but one of the chosen of Iru and reclaim the lost Great Gorrin Freehold of the south.

The elders looked to their Zor

One from the Jochi Khasar spoke softly “Zagor this council is being held for the future plans of the Kharzor people,with the signing of the treaty of Mizan we no longer can raid the northern Averni,but as tradition states we must have another raid this year.”

One elder from the Khorijin spoke up “I say we go south again and continue reclaiming lands long lost for the Kharzor the Khorijin and Jochi Khasar has great success in these raids much more in fact then the northern raids,which brought war a death to out people and to the holy city of the Süns.”

Molgrac who had been sitting in the corner watching nodded “I agree we must go south and prepare for a march northwards for the savoset will not waver in their goals to revive the oppressive empire they once ruled.”

A elder from the Sinkur herd spoke boldly “The weaker herds have no pride we must strike north and show the savoset that we are here and we fear not their rotting corpse rising from the ground!”

Zagor raised his hand up for silence. “We will march South and continue our raid and conquest of the Ikhan Golan. That is what the Süns mandate and so I as Zor must obey.”

MAP UPDATED (June 29th, 2020)

Tylos

Tylos Nations

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Tylos Climates


Sokos
Sokos Nations

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Arkonos Map


Read factbook

Intipalla, Baccar, and The xovva

Post self-deleted by The blacklight empire.

Post self-deleted by The blacklight empire.

Post self-deleted by The blacklight empire.

White Plains

Expansion 1/3

The land of Nevgarn, a cold and ungentle place, where the very earth was covered in a sheet of frost and snow. The horse lords dwelled here for thousands of years, reaving the lands of their riches for themselves, and after years of slumber, the riders would mount their steeds once more. They rode west with haste upon their hardened steeds alongside an array of weapons, their swords both curved and straight, axes, spears and not to forget their curved bows. With these weapons and beneath the banner of the khanate, they set out to conquer.

And upon a white horse, leading the thousands of lopexi across the endless fields of ice and snow, was a Nevgarni of brown fur spotted with black around his arms and upper torso. A crown of gold, silver and emerald had been bestowed upon him by the shamans of Dunaeli who dwelled to the northern straights. Ernac rode out to conquer with a bow in hand, not wishing to see the Nevgarni fall to stagnation as his father, Mithraax had let it, and certainly not allowing those around him to plot and pluck the crown from his head at a time of war, just like his brother had allowed during their years of infighting.

The Nevgarni forced their way through their smaller neighbours, taking their women and enslaving their men. They were all chained and linked in cuffs of iron, brought through the endless white fields on their knees as the Nevgarni, their swords now coated in crimson held their leads. The raiders took their cut, being women, slaves, riches plucked from their homes, though during the battles themselves, the riders would argue over the spoils leading to ones death. Such thing was commonplace during these settings, but the khan would look upon the burning villages upon the crest of a hill, columns of smoke would rise in the distance, and a glowing yet sinister smile would come to the lopexi’s face.

Iron and Ice

Expansion 2/3

The white horse lifted its front two legs as its crowned rider pulled back its reins, it flicked dirt and frost forward and came crashing down upon the earth. The crowned lopexi laughed, the khan, Ernac stood atop the white hill watching the chaos beginning to unfold within the small village before him. He swung his sword in the air as the earth quaked behind him, hundreds of riders passed by in an instant, like a flowing river of Nevgarni riders.

Ernac narrowed his eyes, watching the natives running out of the village in the opposite direction of the incoming storm, while others stood at the ready, wielding spears and crudely made swords. The horde of horsemen split, engaging the villagers in a double envelopment, stomping over their tents and wooden huts with the sheer weight of their steeds. The runners were caught by a rain of arrows and the steeds crashing into them.

The khan rode down himself, two riders both holding a banner of a crimson horse on a white field beside him. Ernac travelled to the centre of the village, the survivors were round up, bound in rope.

“Commander, everything went as expected I see.” The khan nudged his steed forward, approaching a white lopexi in chain mail and leather sitting upon a black steed. The commander returned a nod, holding a curved bow in one hand and a straight sword in the other.

“It was rather easy, they had no bloody clue what hit them.” The lopexi smirked in response to the khan. Lopexi horsemen rode past, looting homes, dragging the unfortunate men and women who had fallen victim to the Nevgarni’s attacks through the snow by ropes tied to their wrists.

“Good, very good.” Ernac twisted his head around slowly, his body repeating the movement in quick succession, all while he pulled the reins of his steed to the right as he would turn around. The riders who had joined the khan planted their banners into the earth, Ernac beated his armoured leather chest with a balled fist. “Iron and Ice!”

“Iron and Ice.” The Nevgarni around their khan screamed at the top of their lungs. Ernac kicked the side of his horse, moving it from a slight trot into a full gallop, he rode between the two banners, riding uphill, the white horse kicking dirt back as they moved forward. He would return to camp, two horsemen following close behind.

The Horde’s Return

Expansion 3/3

The sun lay to the east, flickering as it lay just atop the crest of a white hill, a great silence held the land, a common thing in the north, due to its immense size, beasts freely roamed the fringes of distant forests. Creatures such as jackalopes lay in wait for their prey, but as the ground began to shake, they quickly scurried off into the forest. For what was to come was certainly not an earthquake, as thousands of steeds rolled over the crest of the snow white hill. The sun in the east would lay at their backs, blasting rays of light over the horizon’s edge, making out the shadowy figures of a horde of lopexi horsemen onto the snow.

Tents would be pitched at the fringes of the forest, cutting down the naked, white trees, their bare branches covered in frost. The horde's camp was set in the formation of a circle, with a large communal fire in the centre, and another large tent set beside it.

Within it, two Daichin would sit within the presence of their khan. One of the Daichin, the warlord of the White Wastes, a tall lopexi with fiery red fur with black stripes covering his body, he had two braids on either side of his tiger-like head. Another was spotted black with short pale fur, the Daichin of the Frozen Coast was rather lanky in appearance, with long wisps of hair protruding from the chin of his leopard-like face. The former was Octar Veradrak, the latter was Mundzuk Aedrig, and their khan would look down upon them from his throne, a crown lay atop his head. Ernac Ivon had two fingers pressed just below his ears, looking down towards his subjects and a large circular table, displaying a crudely drawn and basic map of the western frontiers of the khanate.

As the men of the horde rejoiced at recent victories against much weaker tribes, the three lords of three great clans would speak in confidence. Octar’s chest lifted as he inhaled a breath of cold air, then moving to speak.

“Khan, tell me, who is to earn this newly conquered land?” The red haired daichin asked, his braids swinging slightly as he moved his head.

“Concerned that you won’t get some more sh*tty tundra, Octar?” Mundzuk chuckled before lifting a small wooden cup of freezing wine to his lips, taking a mouthful before smashing the empty cup against the table and pouring more into it. Octar’s eyes narrowed as Munduk’s mocking words reached his ears, he was about to open his mouth before he was swiftly interrupted by the khan.

“Worry not, your clan will inherit these lands that are conquered, Octar.” Ernac paused, shifting in his throne slightly as his gaze would shift towards the loyal daichin of the Aedrig. “I will take your words into account Mundzuk the next time we go campaigning.”

“Of course, of course, Ernac Khan, I have no need for more land, I have everything I could wish for.” He said, downing another cup of wine and leaning back within his own seat, a jagged and devilish smile displayed across his face.

An Empire Once More III
Expansion 1

Cuexpa let out a thunderous sigh of relief, his massive arms stretching far out into the fiery orange sky, the dawn slowly coming upon their party of horses, their apartment coming into view upon the small yellow grass hill it called home, Cuexpa sliding off his redded courser quicker than his prince’s guard, quickly handing his reign to a small stable boy, two years his older, but two feet shorter. The boy’s face was that of a square, and reminded Cuexpa of the Huaman Crimson Keep he’d seen every day for the past week, it’s walls a cold crimson brick, shorter than most, but thicker than any wall he’d seen in his short lifetime. He’d enjoyed riding beside his prince-grandfather, but his prince rode hard and fast, always happy to leave the “viper’s nest” that was the palace, he’d called it, and the ride always left a thick layer of dust on his crimson faded wool robe strapped to his goldened scaled plate he wore under his wool tunic, dyed a soft red, alike to his lord’s color’s, that of the screaming lopexi, on a sea of crimson red, a long spear grasped tightly in it’s clawed hands. He turned to face his prince’s destrier, a powerful black beast she was, and almost taller than Cuexpa himself, something less than common for him, stroking her long black hair, a smile appeared across his face, before he looked to his prince’s grim worn face, “Another fine day at court.” He grinned, though he knew Talma had despised every second he had to spend listening to each lord ramble on about the new laws and duties each would have to the greater empire they now served. Cuexpa truly enjoyed hearing each speak, but his prince would waste no second to leave once his majesty would grow tired, and call an end of each session, usually near dawn, as was custom of him, Cuexpa had noticed from all his watching.

Talma’s grey eyes lingered onto him for a long silent moment, before turning to their brownish clay apartments that’d come to be their home, while in Utpalta. Talma hated it more than his household guard, who slept under the stable roof. All the guest rooms in the palace, and Crimson Keep were full, and many of the minor prince’s were allowed to stay in the “lavish” apartments usually used by the palace servants and foreign envoys. It had shamed Talma, and Cuexpa had heard him swear he’d have the boy’s head for the insult, but as he’d grown to expect, his prince stood silent next time his majesty had graced his presence. “The boy, who claims the blood of Huaman wastes my time, and takes his duties as Atoani like that of a stunted cripple. He can’t even control his vassals from spewing the dung that comes from half their mouths, and noless joins in!” Talma spat, his face twisted into a ugly frown of disgust. Cuexpa served without question to his prince, and king, but his grandfather spoke truth in some. His grace was lacking in many aspects one would one from a liege in these troubled times. On multiple occasion he’d openly argued with Atoani Xipil of Mantiti over his ruling, and had bedded another prince’s wife, though that was rumor, and he’d only heard that from his uncle, Otoma, the brother of his dead mother while he’d overindulged himself with red wine, from the Isle of Urpa, the small chain of islands off the coast of Yuuana. 

“Watch what you say, Pilli, this isn’t Tampupan, and his grace has ears in every corner. We dare call upon his wrath, not here of all places.” Otoma said softly gesturing to the small courtyard they all sat or stood in, his greyish blue eye alike to Cuexpa’s own, weary from the day’s stoic standing, his high cheeks waning, he’d have been handsome if he hadn’t lost half his face during the war, a long gash cut from the bottom right of his chin, to the very top of his left ear, ending atop his scalp. He’d lost vision in one eye, and later had it removed, after it began to rot, a good top part of his lip had been ripped from the rest, six teeth were lost, his left nostril was pulled straight from his flat nose, and his left ear had been sewn back into place. Cuexpa as a boy had been terrified of the man, but now he only felt woe, he’d lost everything, his family, his home, and even his face, all lost in that damned war. The man never complained though, he only chuckled when someone dared speak of his disfigurement, a grimace grin lining his face, before always reciting what’d he’d done to the man that’d done it.    

Cuexpa nodded in agreement, as he took his grandfather's reign, and handed it off to the stable boy, another guard of the six in company helped his prince down his horse, “Storm is brewing on the waters, best start a fire inside the hall.” He said, addressing one of the guards who stood stretching. The party made their way inside through an old wooden door, nearly rotting, and splintering worse than old walls of Tampupan’s inner Keep back home. A dozen candles pre lit by servants guided the weary men into the “Great Hall”, as it was called, Cuexpa personally guiding Talma to a seat by the fire on the right side of the hall, a large seal skin resting on the cushion. Otoma took a seat to Talma’s left, and another of the six to his right, a savoset known as Wiraq, a veteran and friend of Talma, and a esteemed guest of honor in their household was all he’d been told, but Cuexpa knew the man was more than he seemed. His eyes were the shape of almonds, and red like blood, his lips thin alike to their own majesty, but more grim, more frightening. Cuexpa took a seat by a bench behind the three, along with his two remaining companions, Zinchi and Walpa, both aged soldiers, both in their mid thirties, all loyal retainers of his grandfather, the ladder having served as squire to Cuexpa’s father, and the other Cuexpa couldn’t remember, only knowing he’d done something brave during the siege of Yuuana. Thunder began to roar violently with anger, Tamla sighing as he closed his eyes.

“Huaman’s wrath be before us.” He mumbled, Cuexpa not entirely understanding, but his companions all nodded quietly in agreement. “Eight years today, did you know that Wiraq? Eight miserable years later, and here we are.” He laughed bitterly, Wiraq just sighing sadly.

“Hard to think time moved so fast,” he spoke, glancing back toward Cuexpa, before looking into the fire, “It’s happening again.” He said, the words yet again unclear and vague to him, but the others all nodded once more in agreement. He wanted to ask what, but didn’t want to seem the fool, so he sat silently, watching these men he’d known his whole life.

“Truly?” Otoma asked, quickly being answered with a nod from Wiraq, a slight cold glare in his eye, as if he’d just seen something horrific, perhaps he’d remembered his mother, Cuexpa thought quietly. “Who?” He began again, this time Talma turning to him.

“Who do you think? That man Xipil, and his damned son of his.” Talma grunted, his face more sad than angry. “He came to me today, you know.” The other’s gazed over to their prince, his eyes still on the fire, “He wants me to ride with him.” He laughed, but a deep low sigh slowly took his place. “Told me, me of all people, that it was my chance to regain my honor.” He spat into the burning fire, his companions nodding in approval. “Honor, what do they know of honor, damn them!” He kicked the fire, ash throwing up into the air, as he sat forward, his eyes older and softer than ever.

“What did you say in response, Pilli?” Otoma asked, leaning likewise. Cuexpa, still confused, leaned in as well, hoping if he was closer he could make himself understand what they were saying

“I said yes, damn them!” He yelled, kipping one of the logs in the fire, before sitting back, confusion over his party’s face. “I had no choice, I had to do it.” He sighed, Otoma placing his hand to his shoulder, Talma turning as he felt his touch. “For the ones we lost.” He said quietly, Otoma’s eye stiff with dread.

“By Huaman.” Zinchi mumbled next to Cuexpa, the man dropping his head into his hands, Walpa stood suddenly, as he walked from the room. Cuexpa began to open his mouth, but Wiraq turned, and stood, throwing his hood over his head. 

“Then I shall head towards Yuuna, and take a boat to the Isles of Urpa, and raise the islanders to our cause, before bringing news to Tampupan, before words reach.” He said, placing his hand to the pommel of his sheaved blade. 

Otoma sat in silence, but Talma nodded, standing, “None may know, silence those who may try to stop you, and move by night, avoid the main road, and move through the jungle passing to Yuuana. My man Zinchi will guide you through it safely, if Apu bids mercy.” Talma placed his hand to his shoulder, Wiraq doing so likewise, “Huaman show us all mercy.” Talma whispered, Cuexpa finally understanding what was to transpire.

Nevgarn and Baccar

Intipalla

An Empire Once More IV
Expansion 2

It was early morning, but Anyas had been up since first light, his Grace already raving by the time he, and many of his peers had arrived. It’d been known this would occur, soon after the first day of talks had begun, Anyas had heard the whispers in the shadows, the angry faces in the dark, his Majesty bid no help in stopping this sickness from spreading, but today had been a day even he couldn’t ignore. In the middle of the night, Xipil, the bastard he was, had rode off with half a dozen lord’s in the night, their houseguard trailing behind them, their banner’s raised in rebellion. He’d tried to inform his Majesty, but the young man had none of it, thinking Xipil would not dare try to escape the city, least not before the talks had concluded. Alas it was too late for blame, and the time of war was to soon be upon them. “What of the tribesmen of the Urpa?” Pilli Yawir asked, as he stood over a map of the island, his face flushed with anger. The prince had been one of the few Tampupan Pilli’s to stand with their Huaman Atoani, and he knew his lands would surely be savaged by the time he’d return, if he returned. No doubt he was more upset over the fact he’d not been invited to this plot, but the man was stubborn, and would be a good asset to the war effort, if talks between the two factions truly failed.

To his left was the Pilli Pachitu, a brawny man hailing from a minor realm in Utpalta, but at least his loyalties were true, and had served well for Pisco in the past, even fighting next to Anyas so many years past. “Word from the Yuuanan Pilli Housan, one of the few still loyal to the banner of the Huaman, the Urpani have sided with the damned traitors a fortnight prior, and have already seen them in the dozens arriving to fight for Atoani Xipil.” He said, gesturing broadly to the coast of Yuuana, Anyas sighed aloud, the eyes of the many men in the court eyeing toward him.

“We have seven-thousand men in Utpalta, no?” He asked, Pachitu nodded slowly, as Anyas gestured to the Keep of Attah, ancient, but never having once fallen to attack, even before the Huaman’s had forced the realm into one. “We make way for Attah, mustering new levies as we go, burning any occupied lands we cross, the Pilli’s of Mantiti will need to make their way back to their domains before they begin their march to consolidate. If we hold the Keep, we hold the central crossing to Yuuana’s ports, and Utpalta, as a whole.” He said, measuring the faces of his peers, along with pondering what his Grace was thinking. He sat in his throne brooding, his eyes bagging from the sleepless night, his hand gripped into a tight fist. 

Yawir nodded, though concern filled his eyes, “Attah could well be in the hands of Xipil.” He said, his thin face filled with uneasiness, and his red eyes filled with dread. “We know Pilli Talma has already began his way to Yuuana to meet up with his Urpani forces, as rumor has been heard of his Lopexi guard he brings everywhere, and Xipil went north to Mantiti, both will have passed Attah, both possibly occupying it.” The man was right, but what force that would be holding the Keep would be laughable, and many of the Pilli’s in both parties companies wouldn’t dare spare their men to defend the indefensible. 

“We will take it if so.” Pisco shot up like an arrow, his silk blue robe following closely behind, his eyes fixed on the Keep, “Pilli Pachitu, good man you are, I ask you to take command of my seven-thousand and force march them to the Keep in the morrow at first light.” He ordered, placing his fisted knuckles to the table, already turning to Yawir, before Pachitu could even respond, “Yawir, levy any men you can, find me men to hold swords. Once word reaches the mainland war is upon us, many men will be on our shore. I expect them to be mine, and mine alone. I care not their past creed or ethnicity, damned gorrin can fill my ranks, as long as they’re filled!” He barked, turning to Anyas, his eyes filled with flames, “Leave us, I am to talk with Pilli Anyas alone.” He commanded, the former mentioned men of war running with their tails behind their legs, as Pisco poured himself wine, “Wine?” He asked, soundedly more calm than just prior. “I find drink calms me in these vicious times of treason.” He mumbled taking a seat, gesturing for Anyas to follow suit.

Anyas frowned, as he sat, nervous, something he wasn’t keen on, “My Grace, what am I to hear that those fine men were not permitted?” He asked, in his consul voice, the one he’d used to edge his way to power every day of his life. 

Pisco looked miserable, his dress was clumsy and drab, his robe not matching his brown tunic, and his blacks gloves were torn from over work, an odd look for the usual well dressed man he’d come to know since his birth. “I trust you, I do not trust them.” The way he said it held bitterness, but his face showed not. “I heed your words in these waning hours, before first blood is spilled. What great wisdom can you share, that others haven’t already.” He said in a tone that made Anyas nearly stand and slap the fool, but Anyas knew better, and only smiled with a nod.

“Perhaps being gentler, smarter too.” He boldly said, crossing his legs, as he reached to pour his own wine, “I’d told you this would happen, child, and yet you bed the wrong women, and insulted the wrong men, and as one who’d think before doing could’ve imagined, this would happen.” As he spoke Pisco face soured with anger, but dare not stir any further. He knew he was right, and Anyas already knew he was right to begin with. “What we can do now is fight, as we’ve done in the past, take Xipil’s head, and any who follow, and place them on spikes, as we’ve aforementioned done in the past, or do you forget? I seldom remember the man who salted Yuuana, and beheaded Atoani Urpi, a man who didn’t bark orders at his few remaining supporters. I remember an Atoani, who strided through a room, sword in his right hand, the usurper’s head in his left.” Anyas let the words ring across the stone walls, before sighing, “I know that man sits before me, but drink and women have polluted you worse than your father, I fear, and many whisper behind your back you look more of your mother than father.”

Pisco threw his glass across the room, the fragments landing across the floor in a thousand glittered mess, “Do not speak of her, and watch your tone fool, before I take your head as well.” Anyas smiled at the fire he’d restarted, he needed that passion if Anyas was to ever see his wife’s breasts again, before this war’s end. “I’ve had enough of your insolence, I’m sending you to Tampupan, to hold it in my name.” He said, as he took another glass of wine, Anyas only filling with dread.

“You jest…” Is all he could manage, as he held his head in dread, “Tampupan is completely under the influence of Pilli Talma, Atoani, sending me, or anyone for that matter would be certain death.” He mumbled, his former confidence fading.

Pisco smirked a smirk of victory, before sipping his wine from his new glass, “You are Protector and Pilli of Tampupan, no?” He chuckled, knowing he’d given Anyas an impossible task. “You have friends in Tampupan, I am sure you will make due, and take heed I will send a personal guard of three-hundred to defend you.”

“Three-hundred wouldn’t even be enough to take the outer wall of Tampupan, not to mention the second, and third.” He said in disbelief. He’d spent so long in service to this boy, and now would die in the place he’d taken in his name. “I shall go within the fortnight.” He mumbled, knowing he’d need time to prepare himself, or more so his goodbye letters.

“On the morrow, Pilli Patchitu will see you to your boat, before heading out himself with our forces. Worry not my friend, your things have already begun to be packed, and I’ve made sure the cabin of your vessel shall be big enough for your books. I know you enjoy them so.” Pisco smiled a sly smile. He was dismissing him, he knew it, but couldn’t show weakness, not now or ever. He’d survive; he swore it.

Anyas stood, slightly shook, but bowed his head, before dismissing himself, the sounds of Pisco’s laughter filling his ears, as the eyes of his peers followed him out of the court.

A Changing of the Guard?

Huo was fuming after his encounter with Kaeleirai, and it didn't help matters when one of his subordinates finally got around to giving him the message from Gailoet about the bomb that had been detonated on Minister Aedai's property. It made them positively worse when he found out that Gaileot had sent watchmen over to investigate without him and that she'd then gone there herself. In a rage, he tore out of the guardhouse and headed to Aedai's residence in a fury.

He arrived to find Gailoet preparing to leave. Several boxes were being packed up by the guard to be taken as evidence. He stormed up to her, red in the face. "Gailoet! How dare you leave me out of an operation related to my case?"

Gailoet tilted her head. "Sir?"

"I'll ask again. Why did you take lead on this when it's my case?"

Normally, Gailoet would have ignored this, or politely demurred. Huo was very nearly famous for his rants, his diatribes, his rages. But this time, as Gailoet tried to search for an answer, the sheet absurdity of it hit her. As she opened her mouth to speak, completely content to say something that would end her career, it became clear that she wasn't the only one who found the situation untenable. From behind her a voice called out, strident... and displeased.

It was Minister Aedai. "Guardsman Huo! I came to the guardhouse to make a report of the crime. You were not there. This guardswoman sent officers of the watch immediately to investigate, and I personally heard her leave instructions for a message to be given to you for you to come. That was hours ago. Should my case not be investigated because you have more important things to do than to find out who tried to kill me?"

Now Huo was at a loss. He was being castigated by one of his heroes right in front of someone he considered a subordinate. "But-- But Minister, I was investigating that already! The Pheonix Party was--"

"I. Don't. Care. Hou, if you want to handle every investigation that comes into your guardhouse, that's your right, but it is my right as a citizen of this city and of this nation, to have my case investigated promptly. You were not here. Gailoet was. She has boxes of evidence she's gathered with her men. For you. Get out of here and go do your job."

Rolais

A Reinvestigation of Several Things

Gailoet and Hou traveled back to the guardhouse mostly in silence. The boxes of evidence she and the other guards had packed at Aedei's residence were brought in and spread out over a table. Hou really didn't know what to make of any of it, and he was already rather shaken anyway. After a long silence, and looked over at Gailoet. Catching her eye, he asked, "What did you see here that was important?"

Gailoet shook her head. "To be honest with you, Hou, I'm not sure. This is all the pieces of the bomb we could find, plus remnants of the objects closest to it. I was thinking if we could puzzle it together, maybe we'd see something we missed."

Hou nodded. For now, all the fight was out of him. He'd been put down hard by both the leader of the people he hated more than anything and one of his personal political heroes. "Where do we start?"

For the next three hours, and through the late meal, Gailoet and Hou sat at the table, piecing the bomb together. Finally, as the chime sang for the new day, they gazed down to see their finished work. It was charred, broken, and missing pieces, but it very much could have been an almost identical twin to the bomb they found in the warehouse. Still, something about it bugged Gailoet. Hou could see that she wasn't satisfied, and resisted the urge to ask her why. if he was being honest with himself, he'd hired her on for her ability to piece things together, to arrive at accurate intuitional conclusions, and to work hard. He'd forgotten that since she wasn't in his camp in the current political climate. Was it really his fault that things had gone badly today? When had he changed, he wondered.

While he sat there thinking, Gailoet suddenly sat up straight. "Hou, is this a special type of cord?" She held up the burnt remnants of the bomb's fuse.

Hou frowned. "I... It looks just like normal rope. Why?"

Gailoet pursed her lips. "It's all of a piece. At first, I assumed that the bombs were all identically made, and that the fuse was lengthened for this one somehow. But that's not the case. This fuse is all of a piece," she repeated. "That means each bomb was custom fitted for its job. How fast do you think this cord burns? There's a good five feet of it here."

Hou nodded. He thought he saw where she was going with this. "For it to burn through completely, probably a while. But it would burn along the rope, or up it quite quickly. Probably something like ten seconds a foot?"

Gailoet tilted her head. "That's what I thought. So whoever planted this at the Minister's house had almost a minute to get clear. It wasn't a big bomb, so that was probably enough. But that means that the foot-and-a-half cord that was cut for the missing bomb is going to give someone fifteen seconds to get away. I don't think they mean to get away at all."

Hou was suddenly alert. "Someone's planning to blow themselves up?"

Gailoet nodded once. "That's what I think. We need to check everyone going into that building tonight."

Rolais and The Pink Seas

Basileus elysium

A threat from the past

Grand Council Room, Dort Sutun, Drakkulesti.

The shadows of hanging firepits danced around the room flickering off the gilded mosaics adorning the walls. The skeletal dragon hung casting its enlarged shadow onto the ceiling whilst the smell of incense permeated the room. Wisps of silver and grey danced down from the thuribles around the room, hanging in suspense just above the floor obscuring its view. The eighteen council members sat around the ornate table.

“Before we begin this meeting, I would formally like to welcome the newest edition to our council and representative of our new allies to the south. Great Sharman Nolgraz” Imineif gestures to the robed Gorrin followed by a small round of applause. “Now, unlike unusual Azzem will be heading this meeting as there are some important news that needs to be discussed.” Imineif sat.

Azzem rose from his seat “As you know, we are no longer at war with the Kharzor and as Imineif said they are now our allies. Molgrac, the Pale druid of the Kharzor relayed some disturbing information. The Savoset empire is rebuilding.” An audible gasp could be heard from around the other council members “For that reason we put aside our differences and have joined forces for mutual protection. As for our information on the Savoset I would like to hand this over to Imir.”

The Minister of Subterfuge unravelled a scroll and cleared his throat “What we currently know is that the Savoset Empire is somewhat fractured. Their emperor is one by the name of Suri Cachi. The head of the Savoset Empire is Cajapoya, Im sure many of you here know of that name so I will skip over their history however they are back, and the other Savoset nations have recognised it as legitimate.” Imir looked somewhat pale in his delivery, the rest of the council sat in silence.

Basileus elysium

A threat from the past Pt.2

The air felt thick with tension in the room, even Azzem and Imineif sat with grim expressions at the news being delivered. Imir took a second to unravel more information “From our networks we have come to the understanding that despite the crowning of an emperor, the other Savoset nations have varying degrees of autonomy and all of them retaining full control of their state. Two of them are of particular interest to us the first, Khumasa. Nomadic Savoset, right on our border, they will either prove to be one of the Cajapoyans biggest liabilities or their lap dog.”

Azzem interjected “For this reason, our first votes for today is the reinforcement of our eastern border. Ferik Zakariyya, Gillio, and Santi the cities you represent are on the front line. Mizan especially, our first vote shall be of this; the creation of outpost, forts and gatehouses along our border against Khumasa.” Azzem spoke as he circled the meeting table handing out detail plans for construction. “Of course, this would mean a significant garrison on said border.” Azzem stood back at his seat and gave the members some time to consider the proposal.

“All those in favour of such an effort, raise.” The eligible sixteen councilmen rose. “Settled. We shall reinforce our eastern border. The second vote shall be that for southern expansion. Despite Mizans southern defences, the Kharzor proved it was not in fact impenetrable. A push for southern expansion through the use of the Agricultural Society would not only cover this issue but also bring us closer to our southern allies and give us the chance to build a sizeable garrison down there.” Once again Azzem began to hand out the draw up plans by the Legislative proposal branch.

“All of those in favour?” thirteen councilmen rose. “Those against?” the remaining three stood. “So it is settled, the allocation of farmers to the south will begin, Servilias?”

The minister for agriculture nods “Yes Azzem, plans are already set, just waiting on my word.”
“Good. Imir, you may carry on.” Azzem asserted

“The second nation, only came into our sights a few days ago. Intipalla, our sources are shaky on the actual situation there. For those who don’t know, Intipalla are off the eastern coast directly east from us. We have reports that some within their nation do not fully support their subservience to the empire. Xipil is one such figure”

Rolais

Basileus elysium

A threat from the past Pt.3

“Xipil, from what we know is a moderate. While yes, they still support the empire it seems they want more autonomy. Tensions are building and it is believed this could boil to the point of a full-blown civil war.” Imir laid down his scroll.

Azzem scanned the room “For that reason, I have had a proposal drawn up on the intervention within this civil war if it occurs. This could be either, as simple as supplying them with weapons or even actual interventionism sending our troops to fight in their war.” The room felt uncomfortable at the suggestion.

Imineif slowly rose, “So what you’re suggesting, just to be clear, based on shaky and uncertain evidence you want us to agree to send resources or troops to fight a battle which may not even occur and, in the end, will still leave Intipalla within the empire?” Imineif gave a quizzical look.

“We would gain an ally in Xipil and his supporters as well as set a precedent for how other Savoset should view their relations with the empire.” Azzem retorted
“You set a dangerous precedent for our intervention into other races affairs is what it would do.” Laughed Imineif.

Azzems feathers ruffled, his fist clenched “We can’t allow the Savosets to reform their empire. We need to take every possible weakness they have and strike.” He said with malice in his voice.

The Minister of war, Al-Djinn, intervened “I must agree with Imineif on this, we lost many good men in our war with the Kharzor. Those who fended of their raids and fought at Belcheer Khan are already questioning why we even fought the war now we are the Kharzor’s allies. Sending troops or resources to a war that has little effect on us here would only worsen moral. Not to mention such a gambit paints a target on our back for the Empire possibly even leading to another war.”

“Fine” Azzem snarled, “We still have to vote on the topic, all in favour please stand?” Four of the council stood, Azzem shook his head “All those against.” The remaining eleven stood “So be it, Intervention in Intipalla if civil war breaks is rejected.” He exhaled.

“Is there anything else to be discussed?” A council member chimed.

The Minister of agriculture rose quickly “Uh, yes, I would like to officially notify the council that the construction of the new city has been going exceedingly well as of late and it is expected to be officially dubbed a city by next month.” Pilinio fumbled with his words as he searched for his plans. “Ah! Here” He frantically waved a few sheets of paper and began handing them out. “It’s a small lumbering town on the coast between here and Peyan Musir called Emyrldiaya. I would like to formally invite the council to its opening, me and the City planning board have had an interesting time with the logistics.” Pilinio smiled awkwardly.

“Thank you Pilino. Well if that is all, this meeting is adjourned.” Imineif sighed.

Eisenhorn's Campaign

339 ATF. It is a cold morning in The Astrals, the winds blow fair, but cold, the trees sway, giving way to their eerie sounds of will-o-wisps, and beating hooves join in the echoing sounds of the highland forests. Denver Eisenhorn, riding his armored steed, wearing his intricately designed armor, with his helm studded with stag horns on its side, marches into edge of the cliff, taking in the view that the high mountain offers. The sight is beautiful, the sun rising just some angle from his direction, the bay reflecting it’s shiny waters into the face of the slope, followed by the long shadow of The Black Spire. His company leads with few horses, only enough to bring the carts that carry essential items that cannot be carried by his skirmishers, then a little bit more horses, for contingencies. He only intends to secure the rest of the mountains while his master, The Xovva, takes care of its summits however, he is not alone in this endeavor. Along with him is the eccentric man clad head-to-toe in metal armor, cloaked in heavy cloth, and bearing a helm with only eye slits, named Senenzia, he arrives into the scene with his smaller contingent of skirmishers, traveling on foot.

“Are you done admiring the view, Eisenhorn?” Senenzia unintentionally, and conspicuously approaches Eisenhorn with the question, his voice echoing through the metals of his headgear.

Eisenhorn, somewhat lost in his sight seeing of the horizon is caught surprised by the frank directness of his fellow, and career rival to boot. “Yes, Senenzia.” He replies with a reluctant tone, while heaving a deep breath.

“Good.” Senenzia briefly banters in return, smiling underneath the metal of his helm. Then he returns to his skirmishers, feeling a small sense of victory over his career rival.

Both Denver’s, and Senenzia’s companies gathered in orderly formation, each group of men behind their respective leaders. The plan for today’s territorial expansion is straightforward, and simple, as they hope. Denver will complete the territorial occupation of The Astrals, and Senenzia to survey the outlying areas, and to occupy any territory that remains to be taken.

“Well...” Eisenhorn utters, straightening his posture as he looks over his men, to Senenzia, “This is certainly different, don’t you think?”

“Indeed...” Senenzia replies back, his tone is laced with a sense of achievement, “But it’s not just different... It’s so much better.”

Eisenhorn smiles underneath his helm, remembering the words from his rival.

The two never did truly like each other, but they never did hate each other either.

Senenzia's Meditations

The hike on foot towards the other side of the mountain took time on Senenzia’s small company, traveling around the high peaks, through the sides of the mountain with its tall trees, steep slopes, and tight passageways that only goats would ever succeed to climb. The weather is far harsher, the winds are colder, far faster, and despite the season, there’s a fresh pile of white powder, that made their feet sink down into the snow, and yet there are trees breaking through the passing clouds, small flocks of birds fly and chirp in the nasty frigid winds. It was high noon when they finally reached a vantage point.

Despite the terrible environment, the view of the horizon is astounding, Senenzia steps forwards to the cliff edge, the view of the Solstice Sea across his vision, and right below him, the clouds, vegetation, and critters running amok even if it is sparse, and far dispersed. He kneels down to the soft pile of snow, and snaps a fingers, gesturing his men to bring to him the maps he had brought for the journey.

While the maps are being retrieved, Senenzia’s men made camp, taking initiative in their actions, Senenzia turns his head around to witness the commotion of his men pitching tents, lightning fires, and hearing his men scuffle, and scurry about as they comply to first order to simply have his maps on his hands. He chuckles, “I have educated them well.” He thought to himself. As he waits for his maps, he continues to kneel against the soft snow, breathing in and out the cold air of The Astrals, then his eyes close, and his mind immediately runs into a trance state. His mind now wanders into the aether, as he believes.

Then his focus is cut short, and his wandering in the aether, one of his men approaches him with courtesy, subtly sliding the maps on his knees, “Master Senenzia, your maps.”

His eyes open, and his mind returns to reality. “Excellent.” He compliments his subordinate with gratitude, “Just make sure that the camps can be just as easily dismantled as it is set up.”

The man who handed the map to Senenzia nodded, and then leaves promptly.

Senenzia spreads the map over his lap, gently spreading each corner of the vellum parchment made from cow hide, and it’s hand-drawn, and stenciled illustration of the Sokos continent. It was the map that he had bought in Kostua Sol before completely joining The Circle of The Xovva, and vowed his loyalty to them. It his only lasting memory of his home, before truly departing for a higher cause.

Senenzia notices that the parcel of land they are claiming for The Xovva is uncontested, but already touching borders with the Jong-Yai Commonwealth. He ponders on this potential predicament, “We’re merely a fledgling empire, and here we are making headway like there’s no tomorrow.” Senenzia thought to himself, “And lessons will tell that the Uyuti are not to be trifled so lightly, they did once occupy these mountains, as historical texts, though conflicting, would indicate.” He takes a deep breath, a small puff of mist blows through the perforations in his helmet where his mouth is as he breathes out. “Yet we must be strong, come what may. The Astrals have our stars, and here we shall make ourselves as The Constellations allow it. It’d be a further insult to move westward, but perhaps it’s something that should give them pause, The Perenials have the ancient Imperial Highways, and we can take that into advantage.”
He takes his last few words in mind as he packs up his map, stands from where he kneels, and faces his men. His soldiers stopped in their actions, with tents set up, fires lit, and men to their posts. The weather is cold, and fast approaching despite the day merely the sun still high in the sky. He turns around once again to the horizon, the Solstice Sea still shining, and just by it, the lands of the Uyuti.

“Finish the camp, men.” Senenzia commands his skirmishers, “The coming night will be harsh without the warm sun, then we march by daybreak... Dismissed!”

There’s something more to Senenzia’s command than just avoiding to march out into the cold night, he wishes to the nightly horizon, the stars, and the lands of The Commonwealth when its dark, perhaps then he can make a judgment on how to proceed further.

The xovva

Tensions Abound

It’s been some hours since Senenzia, and his company have packed up their camp, and have since moved onward to the next area for occupation. Senenzia has decided to continue in the campaign, referring to the night he spent observing the nightly horizon of The Commonwealth, seeing the light of their cities, some villages, and, what he can surmises as, nightly convoys, or travelers. He still takes caution in his decision.

The weather has changed favorably since they traveled, the vegetation is much thicker, and the wildlife frolic even more, though the pathways remained dangerously similar, causing for their travel to take most of their time rather than just spanning the area, at least the horses haven’t shivered as much as they have nearly losing a horse from the harsh weather.

Senenzia leads the march, and through trees, rocks, and wild animals, often turning his head around to survey his company. They’ve lost one man to the cold, the man’s tent buried in deep snow in the morning.

The noise of the trees, the animals, and the insects echo through this side of the mountain, made even more deafening by the coming roar of waterfalls, and its rushing movements of the rapids, but then the sounds of nature is becomes overwhelmed by the sound of chattering creatures. Senenzia gestures his hand into a balled fist raised high, ordering his men to stay still, and listen. Shortly after, one of Senenzia’s skirmishers clinks the metal on his wrists, Senenzia’s head turns, and the man points downward, gesturing to him where the sound comes from. Senenzia looks towards the direction his skirmisher pointed towards, and gestures his hands to tell his men to stay low.

After much small twitches, and spanning, Senenzia sets his eyes upon two Uyutahns, on horseback, trotting onwards on a path. The distance between them is far but close enough for him to recognize the horned bipedals, and the foliage between his company, and the two creatures is dense enough to cover him, and his company in foliage, leaves, and debris but his view still remains clear. Senenzia continues to look, seeing the two Uyutahns trot, and chatter, speaking in their language, and their eyes darting around, keeping their horses on the path. The Uyutahns wear clothes, but nothing that tell of armor or nobility, Senenzia eye’s pan around for anything telling, such as weapons, seals, badges, or anything that they can be recognized for, but nothing comes up other than satchels, and rolls mounted upon the rear of their steeds.

“Mountaineers... Campers... Spelunkers...” Senenzia thought to himself, as he watches the two continue onward but then their cover is broken, one of their horses neigh, and twitch their head around, causing sounds to come from their place. The horse is immediately hushed into silence, and their cart kept still, but the sound is on its way, and it did reach the ears of the Uyutahns below.

Senenzia focuses his gaze upon the two Uyutahns on their horses. They have stopped, and silenced, their heads turning around finding the source of the sound, the distance between the two parties is still relatively far, but the eyes of the other can recognize what is seen on the other end, and the two Uyutahns finally wise up. Their eyes focusing upon the distance, directed at Senenzia. He gestures his hand, telling his men to rise from cover, and rise they did.

Clad in their gambesons, chesplates, and facehelms, Senenzia’s men stand steady, and true, then Senenzia stands last, letting the two horseriders well who the leader of the company is. He snaps his finger, and opens his hand.

“The Banner!” He yells, then one of his men rushes to the cart, pulling out a long object wrapped in heavy cloth. Senenzia takes the time in undoing the ties, and unfurling the cloth, he wants to make sure that the message is clear. The Uyutahns remains, an analogous expressive mixture of shock, and fear is present on their faces as they watch Senenzia.

When the last knot is undone, and the last fold opened, a strong breeze breathes through their area, and the banner of The Xovva is revealed. Senenzia drove the stake against the ground with a strong force that it stands straight with just one try. The breeze rolls open the banner with little effort revealing to the Uyutahns the Star-Shield crest of the empire.

“These mountains are Xovvan lands now.” Senenzia says with conviction, his posture unwavering. “What is the purpose of your presence?” He asks.

“Mountaineers...” One of the Uyutahn says in fluent Kostuan.

Senenzia nods, the winds slowly die down. He cannot tell whether the two individuals mean what they say, but in his mind, he’d rather not risk inconvenience for his master, and his new home. He packs the banner, wraps it in the same cloth, and ties the knots. One of his men retrieves the banner from him, and puts it back in the cart.

Senenzia gestures with his fingers, commanding his men to march ahead of him. He waits for the last soldier of his formation to move past him, and as he waits, he watches the two Uyutahns on horseback, giving them a stoic stare.

Many hours have passed since the encounter, the company has moved on, and Senenzia leads from the back as they head back to Xovvaran by taking the long routes, surveying the new land as they go. There was no untoward incidence between the two parties, but Senenzia couldn’t shake off the feeling that something has gone awry.

Danger by the River

Eisenhorn wastes no time, and makes headway progress in surveying, and claiming the land, his company is modestly sized, and their horses struggle against the terrain of the mountain, but so far they have fared well. They march through slopes, angled banks, and dense forestry, slowly descending down to the river below.

“March onward, my men. The Xovva rewards the dedicated.” Eisenhorn chants gallantly as he leads his company across the mountains. Some of his men grunt in dismay, annoyed by the genuine pompousness of their leader.

Eisenhorn, and his company continues onward at the same pace, the scenery of the mountain changing as they survey the land. He argues to some of his men whether the area would be good for its wood, its local wildlife, or its small patches of coal. Others argue of other ideas during the travel, some do it while marching, others take it to the carts while resting their feet, bruised and numb from all the walking, and mountainous terrain.

“The wood seems strong here...” One of his men says to his leader, “Tall, wide, thick... Great for construction.”

“We have a surplus of iron in Xovvaran.” Eisenhorn replies, “The smiths, the engineers, and the architects should find a way to utilize all of that before we even give them the idea to use the trees of these lands.”

“Ships then...” Muses another.

“We’re quite far from the waters... And we don’t need large logs to create small boats.” Eisenhorn looks at the other, his voice emphasizing the word ‘large’ in his sentence.

“And the beasties?” Asks the one who remarked about the large trees earlier.

“Magnificent, Exquisite, and Dangerous.” Eisenhorn counted the adjectives with his fingers, “But higher the risk, higher the reward.”
These kinds of conversations, along with far more casual ones, go on, in between marches, and surveys, as to help pass the time, in a productive manner. Heated arguments would spring up here, and there, but Eisenhorn takes it lightly, he trusts his men are vigilant enough to brook no threat.

More hours pass, peacefully, and the scenery remains the same, the sounds of nature still resounding in the areas they tread, but the smell changes drastically. The smell of pinewood, and petrichor are replaced by the smell of decay as the company nears the river below.

“Master Eisenhorn...” One of his men says to him in hush tones, “Do you not notice the change in the winds?”

“I do... The smell is foul... Dreadful even.” Eisenhorn answers the question, fully aware that the scent of the winds have changed.
The smell grows stronger the closer they marched, then just a few more distances, with the river on sight. Everyone saw what the source of the smell was.

Bodies piled high, some are fresh, but the rest are dead rotten with bones exposed and flies scurrying about.

Eisenhorn turns his head around the area, spanning, and sighting for signs of trouble, but there is not. No birds picking the rotten carcasses. No wolves eating through the pile of exposed flesh. No bear coming close to partake into the bones, and meat. “Ready yourselves!” He yells to his company as he draws his blade. The rest of his men follows as Eisenhorn commands, some draw their swords, and axes, while others fielded their bows, and arrows. “Formations!” Eisenhorn yells again, and his company follows suit, their archers and carts in the middle, while their swords, and axes to the fore. Eisenhorn marches onward, slowly, with his men following right behind, maintaining formation still as they near the river.

Eisenhorn breathes in, the wind surging through the holes on his helm, the air cold, and smells of death, and his eyes taking in the still surroundings, he sees no sign of struggle, no tracks, and no marker to tell. He convenes to the thought that whatever has happened here has happened many days before.

“Break!” He yells to his men.

The company would spend a night by the river, Eisenhorn arranging for the disposal of the deathly pile, as the rest made camp, and the others stand guard. There was no talk among his men, even to Eisenhorn, the smell of corpses overpowered any sense or inclination for socialization. It took until morning for the bodies to be dealt with, only then did any of his men started talking again, only then did they move onward to the next patch of the mountain.

The Old Fortress

Midday, the air remains cold, but in some patches where the light shines through, it is warm. Eisenhorn’s men made speculation as to how, and what has caused for the pile of bones, and bodies to sprawl next to a river, some say it’s the spirits of the land, others claim to be savages, practicing their savage cultures, and then the few tell of ill magic that spreads throughout the land. Such stories would make most men quiver, shake, and lose focus, but not for Eisenhorn’s men, such discussions keep them on their toes, and focused, and that Eisenhorn likes the sound of civil chatter in his campaigns.

Eisenhorn’s company takes the path just by the river’s opening, then going further upward, and westward. Here more waters down the slope can be heard, the smell of trees become stronger, and the pungent smell of animal excrement starts to overpower the horrid smell of rotting carcass from the night before, a respectably preferred at the moment.

“What is that?” A man among Eisenhorn’s company remarked the facade of the mountainside over yonder, one by one heads turned, then the commotion caught up to Eisenhorn himself. The march pauses, as every eye takes a breathtaking view of the horizon.

A fortress, carved by the side of the mountains. No flags, and no posts.

Silence returns, every man in the company turn their heads to Eisenhorn, seemingly awaiting for his command.

“Master Eisenhorn, what is your decision?” One of his men asks Eisenhorn.

Eisenhorn breathed deeply, contemplating on his decision. “We are taking The Astrals for all Xovvans after all.” He thought to himself, “It is why I am not alone... Our men, and Senenzia, and his.”

It has been a long time since he has lain eyes to an actual fortress, let alone, besiege it, and hee doesn’t trust the hollow illusion shown by the structure.

“It could be a trap.” He muses in his head.

He still could not forget about the pile of bodies by the river a night ago. In his mind, he thinks that this fortress could be the hideout of the savages that had done it. They could be outnumbered, or outmatched. Him, and his men are armed, but he is unsure if all of them are capable to fight a strong fight. He has never felt so unprepared.

“Master Eisenhorn?” The same man dotes at their overthinking leader.

Eisenhorn snaps back into reality, shaking his head as if slightly startled. The soldier takes note of this.

“We march forward...” Eisenhorn replies. “These mountains will belong to The Xovva, and so shall be that fortress.” He continues, his voice laced with strength, and purpose, but it is done out of impulse for in truth, he’d rather not continue. It has been too long since, and he knows so little about the fortress he is about to enter in.

But he has proceed, or else his men will doubt him, and he would fail his leader, The Xovva.

“Hail, Xovva!” Eisenhorn cries.

“Hail, Xovva!” His men reply in unison.

And the march continues, sounds of metal, hoof, and idle chatter echo on throughout with Denver Eisenhorn leading the march. His heart is heavy, however, as his mind reels back to the mistake that he had done just a few campaigns before he had joined The Circle of The Xovva. The mistake that cost him much of his soldiers, his reputation, and even almost his life.

“Why am I doing this?” Eisenhorn questions himself, doubting his decision, “This isn’t the sane thing to do...”

Eisenhorn would continue to ponder in doubt, and reluctance as he leads the march. The closer he got to the fortress. The harder the feeling hit, and the more he felt disturbed, sweat pouring out from his skin, and his heart pounding harder than his ears could perceive sound. Then he sensation died down, as Eisenhorn hears a familiar, and deadpan tone.

“Eisenhorn?”

He hears the voice of Senenzia, muffled against the metal of the helm. The hollow, and near-dead tone of the man. His rival, the whet that sharpens his metal edge, the master siege-maker. His heart comes to a calm, and his doubt washed away.

Little does Eisenhorn realized that his company has reached the gate of the fortress, with Senenzia arriving just the same time coming from the other side.

“Are you alright?” Senenzia asks Eisenhorn.

“I am now.” Eisenhorn replies.

Senenzia’s head rears, surprised at the words of Eisenhorn, the relieved tone in which the doubting man responded to him leaves him thinking as he is used to Eisenhorn’s characteristic, and trademark arrogance.

Both men looked upwards, eying the opened entrance of the fortress from top to bottom. The light doesn’t go through as far inside.

“After you?” Senenzia remarks with a slightly insulting tone to Eisenhorn, well aware of the man’s skill as a siege-breaker.

Eisenhorn scoffs, but deep down this small moment with Senenzia lifts the weight he cast on himself. It is why he tolerates Senenzia.

“Sure.” Eisenhorn answers Senenzia with his arrogance, “Onward, my men.” He commands as he trots his horse inside the fortifications.

Both companies spent a day and a half inside the fortress, their respective commanders tasking their men to scour, and search the structure for things of value, and anything else in between. In the end, they would have more questions to ask than answer as they make their way back to Xovvaran in peace, if ball-busting insults, and conversations can be considered peaceful.

Golden Rule, Golden Winds
Jolly music played across every street of the city. Drinks of cheap Kvass sold out in the taverns as the people of Szlachecka celebrated the šermukšdiena. The yearly opening day of the gathering of the Diet when all the lords and nobles came together to debate and reason for the future of the walled city. The main street was drowned in red fabrics. Bundles of branches filled with bright red Rowan berries were tied on poles along the streets. Maidens received Rowan crowns from suitors or loved ones. Young batchelors wore Rowan leaves in their hats while those that were already promised to another wore a bundle of the red berries instead. To honor the earthy mother and the occasion people drank the traditional Susz. A beverage made from Rowan berries that tasted queer and only increased the thirst for the meady kvass.
Lutes and drums sang and in the pristine grand hall of the Diet had the noble lords gathered to friendly banter. Though men of fine wine they today all nursed the earthly mother’s drink as were tradition.Though some were brittle from age and others were equipped with impressive guts for fine eating no noble could be found that didn’t wear a saber nor lacked spurs on their boots.
These were the magnates of Szlachecka. Great men of wealth and power, rich merchants, traders, business owners and entrepreneurs. Men of the scale and the coin but also men that carried their Ussari legacy with great pride. They were the descendants of legends, their ancestors heroes of war, slayers of elves, enforces of the Cinder Throne and master of horse. In the ages of old their tribe had rode for the sunburst banner and their walled city had been their reward. The days of empire were long gone but their legacy remained as did the new calling of the Szlacheckans that honored that legacy. To be warriors in a garden.

The noble magnates where gathered on either side of the Diet grand hall and a wide central line leading up to the center stage were kept clear. The stage and seat of the Speaker of the Diet had been moved aside for the opening ceremony that would hold no formal meeting until tomorrow. In its place were a big rowan tree of venerable age. Generations ago it had been cut by the rots, had its branches and bark removed and treated with sacred oils. The ceremonial tree which had been carried out to center stage had a big hollowed out gap in its center. Its wood was carved with ancient runes and images of the matronly visage.

The murmur of the nobles talking died down as young men came riding in through the main hall. It was a reoccuring ceremony in which every year the youngest son of any noble family that had reached adult age since the last year partook. In his finest and noblest clothes and armour riding upon the family’s finest horse. Every boy now man joined with his peers in a horse carried procession. This year they were twenty one and the boys were draped in mantels with their family colors. They dismounted before the sacred tree and the two men that stood before it. The titular ruler of Szlachecka, His Serene Viceroy Vaclav Malachi and Javor Tichonov, the Royal Priest of the Sun.

The young men dismounted from their horses as page boys took the reins. Lining up next to one another they kneeled before the Serene Viceroy who walked to the rightmost man and touched his shoulder in allowance to rise. The young man stood up and walked over to the priest who waited by the hollowed tree.

The young man faced the priest who nodded and pointed with an open hand at the hole in the tree. Inside it rested innumerable small totems. thumb sized human effigys carved from rowan tree. The young man raised his hands and removed a necklace that he had carried containing the same type of carved human effigy. He held the totem with both his hands and ushered a quiet prayer before laying it to rest within the womb of the tree.

“With the Sun as our witness, let the earthly mother bestow her grace and guard upon this totem until they day you return to her embrace.” spoke the priest as the man was lead away and a second took his place as the ceremony repeated itself.

*********************************************************************************************************

Once every young man had gone through the rite the ceremony was over and the nobles of the Diet took up their talks once more. The affected fathers gathered their sons and presented them as men to their fellow peers. Talks were had and jokes were shared.

The Serene Viceroy Vaclav Malachi found himself in a lively discussion together with three of the nobles and their sons over the young mens’ future prospects. Vaclav was a tall man with a flat nose inherited from his father and an olive complexion courtesy of his Kostuan mother.

“...and that’s how I ended up with a rose-shaped burn mark on my arse!” exclaimed Javor the priest as the crowd erupted in tearfilled laughter. The young man next to him bent over and chipping for air between laughs.

“Your highness, a moment of your time please.” asked a familiar voice from behind Vaclav. The Serene Viceroy took his farewell and turned to joined the newcomer as they made their way through the masses.

The Royal Seneschal Paeris Faekrana was a thin man with a hawkish face. His eyes were dark sunken in pits and his lips were such thin lines of flesh that they forever ruined any expression of warmth or joy that the man may have tried to put on. His hair was long and flowing below his shoulders, unintentionally hiding a pair of ears that had had their tips cut off. Paeris was a rock of a man. The holder of both power and responsibilities but he had once started out as a Kostuan slave elf and his maligned ears were reminders of a cruel owner. As a freed slave he had risen to greatness within the walled city and outside of his stately responsibilities he himself owned and managed a number of enterprises.

“What’s the trouble, Paeris? I doubt you interrupted me for my wonderful company.” Vaclav asked jokingly.

The Seneschal showed teeth but spoke in a calm manner. “Two golden sails have been spotted on the horizon. We’ve identified them as the Mistral and the Valiant, your highness.”

Vaclav slowed his steps. His face blank in surprise. “My son? My son has come home?”
“Given his writing from last year it would appear so, your highness.”
“Take me to the docks! I need to see him.”
“Naturally, your highness.”

*********************************************************************************************************
The rich trade docks protected by Szlachecka’s natural harbour were a buzz of activity. Ships and traders from all over the world were loading and unloading goods and supplies. Colors and smells mixed with every race known to man. Dwarven smiths, Dsen bodyguards, elven craftsmen and monsu traders. New and former slaves both man and elf. Dahakarian mercenaries competing in feats of strength. Vaclav even though that he saw an Aithéros before the moving crowd obscured his line of sight. With their lavish clothes Paeris and he stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd but the four guards that followed them kept people at a respectable enough distance.

Paeris words rang true as by the time they had reached the docks two ships were being prepared for entry into the harbour. Their saffron colored sails marked them as of Szlacheckan make and Vaclav recognized them as the the Mistral and the Valiant. His mind filled with expectant joy upon realising that the ships were indeed those two. Last he had seen them were five years ago when his eldest son had joined the crew of the Mistral to seek out new lands and trade partners on Tylos. It was a perilous journey but his strong and brave Dariusz had laughed at the adventure of it. Returning ships of different origins had brought Vaclav letters from his son over the years. The last one he had received was from almost one year ago and it had foretold that Dariusz intended to return home with envoys from the foreign continent.

As the ships were brought in Vaclav and his entourage made short work of the way to the pier where the Mistral were prepared to moor. Though sheer grit an unamused dock worker kept the royal entourage from getting in the way as his comrades took care of the heavy mooring lines.

“Let the men do their work, father!” echoed a brisk voice from the ship and Vaclav looked up to see his eldest by the ship railing. “They’ll have the gangway down in a moment!”

Vaclav had hardly calmed himself from the spike of joy of seeing his son again before the gangway indeed connected the ship with land and Dariusz stood before him. The courtesy title of Prince was an apt title for the Serene Viceroy’s eldest son. Dariusz Malachi was the spitting image of his father though taller and more wide shouldered as well as twenty years younger. They grabbed ones forearms in the old Kostuan greeting but it quickly broke into a warm hug between father and son.

“My boy,” Vaclav hissed into Dariusz’s neck. “My boy...”
“It’s good to be home father.” replied the prince as he held his father tight.
Vaclav took a step back looking at his son. “Your mother will be delighted to see you. You must have much to tell of your vogues.”

Dariusz gave a lopsided smile. “Too much to tell it all I’m afraid. I’d need years to tell the tale! I’ve seen so much, experienced so much, and met so many people, father. I return with guests. Honored envoyes from great nations and more, father.”

Behind Dariusz came multiple people from the different races of Tylos disembarking over the gangway. Feathered Arvenian, blue skinned Savoset and hoofed Gorrin. “Let me introduce them, father.” Dariusz said as the Tylosians came on steady ground after the long voyage.
“This is Ersen Aytac, a minister of Basileus Elysium, this is Huacli Tli of the league of Baccar, and this is Muna Gin of the commonwealth of the Pink Seas.” Dariusz continued, facing his fellow travelers that he had gotten to know over the joyrne and spoke directly to them. “Friends, my father, His Serene Highness Vaclav Malachi of Szlachecka.”

Vaclav greeted the pristine fellowship and swelled with pride for his son. He hadn’t dared hope that the journey would had been such a success. The possible ties with such nations could mean innumerable trade opportunities for Szlachecka. Curious and intrigued he soon joined in conversation with the Tylosians about the journey and their wants. Ensuring that the finest accommodations would be made available for their stay as long as anyone wished it to be. He asked of Tylos, of things he knew, of things he thought he knew and of things he didn’t understand. Vaclav was an elected monarch and speaking with his peers was a natural to him as breathing. A skill, not unlike that of his son, the Tylosians were soon to realise.

In the midst of the increasingly relaxed conversations Dariusz himself appeared to vanish. When Vaclav finally noticed he saw his son behind them by the gangway. Together with a pack of Gorrin. Tall and dark furred men looked around cautiously as the Szlacheckan prince seemed deep in hushed conversation with a female Gorrin.

“Dariusz, son, are you forgetting the introductions?” he asked taking a few steps towards his son. Once closer he could see the gorrin more clearly and Vaclav was already astounded by the vast difference in appearance he saw in the handful of corrin present. Some were like monsters out of a nightmare, more goat and beast than man while others had far more humanoid facial features though still queer. The female Gorrin beside his son was one such. Her face had a strange off puttingly human shape, but still with curved horns, furry ears, thick hooves and a body that seemed mostly covered in a dark brown fur. Her eyes were a dark subdued yellow that he couldn’t read.

Dariusz faced him, his smile uncertain for the briefest of moments before he spoke with reinforced vigor. “Father, this is Turakina Alagh Yid, my wife.”

The Serene Viceroy Vaclav Malachi of Szlachecka thought himself having misheard. Or being late from waking up from the dream. Whichever solved his ills first.

Rolais, Uyuti, Aelythium, Baccar, and 2 othersBasileus elysium, and The Pink Seas

MAP UPDATED July 5th, 2020

Tylos

Tylos Nations

Tylos Counties

Tylos Resources

Tylos Climates


Sokos
Sokos Nations

Sokos Counties

Sokos Resources

Sokos Climates

Arkonos Map


Read factbook

Rolais and The confederation of holy roman empire

The confederation of holy roman empire

The map has an Imperator Rome vibe to it

Aelythium and The xovva

A Call for Aid
Citadel Thronecourt, Xovva Citadel, Xovvaran

In the place where The Xovva sits, where the aura of his eminence spreads, imposing his rule throughout the mountain they now command, Mortigan and his men arrive eager to implore their leader’s attention to their plight. The Xovva stands in the center, both in shock, and in awe seeing the area just recently completed, The Tenet of The Earth, Baristol, and Orias await for his reaction.

“This is not something I’d return to, some days after a long journey, and a fight.” The Xovva says with reluctance, and heaving breaths, genuinely unfamiliar to the magnanimity, and craftsmanship of the room.

“Is there something wrong?” Baristol muses, scoffing before he uttered his words.

“Nothing...” The Xovva replies, “I am... Simply, estranged... I’ve so long under wood, and brick, in the estate of my mother’s noble name in Rolais. The stone, steel, and precious metals, the nerve to chisel granite, and bedrock... I am simply unfamiliar... Forgive me if I have insulted your efforts, Baristol... What you’ve done here is truly beautiful... And I have yet to embrace this aesthetic.”

The Xovva removes his mask, and smiles to the master craftsman, Baristol, “I guess your unique heritage shows.” He humors.

Baristol chuckles, “I must admit... Being raised, and taught by dwarves is a strange story to tell... And even harder to believe when heard...” The burly man pats down his thick leather apron, “Though should you concern durability, do not fret... I have taken every calculation, and consideration in building against, and through the mountain, if the ground shakes, then we the foundations will simply ride through the motions.”

The Tenet of The Earth pats Baristol’s back, “This is why I entrusted him this task... I have seen his work before during our travels before we had discovered you, your eminence.” She glances towards Baristol, nodding to him briefly before returning her view to The Xovva.

“Say... What of-” As The Xovva is about to ask a question, he is interrupted by the abrupt noise of the Thronecourt doors opening, with rushed footsteps coming through.

“Please... Sir, Mortigan... The Xovva cannot be disturbed at the moment.” The worried, and stuttering tone of Xovvaran’s Seneschal, Artiers, heard as he follows the pace of Mortigan as he walks toward to The Xovva.

“I can ask for his forgiveness later...” Mortigan briefly replies to Artiers, his tone annoyed to the postulated pestering of the Seneschal since his arrival to the Citadel.

The Xovva turns around to the aggravated chatter, and the three take attention. His face is ridden with curiosity, as he sees the two men walk towards him, then kneel as they near his presence.

“Forgive me, My Xovva.” Seneschal Artiers says with repentant worry. “But I have insisted to Mortigan to be patient until you are done within the Thronecourt.”

“And forgive me for my intrusion.” Mortigan says with strength, and regret. “But I bring grim news...”

The Xovva glances to both men, “I don’t recall telling you that I should be left undisturbed in the Thronecourt, Seneschal Artiers.” He says to the kneeling Artiers.

Artier’s eyes widened, “I simply have taken initiative, your eminence, I thought that you need to inspect this chamber to your own accord.” He reasons.

“Senenschal Artiers... Mortigan... Stand.” And the two men stand as The Xovva shakes his head slowly, uttering commanding words, “Artiers, you are the Seneschal of Xovvaran, you are it’s keeper, and caretaker, in my absence, or whether I am indisposed. You do not think for me. If anyone is in dire need of my presence, then bring them to me.” The young leader lectures to the uptight man, “It is... As discussed... Our duties, and purpose...”

Artiers nods, closing his eyes as he does so. “Pardon me for breaching, your eminence.”

“You are forgiven.” The Xovva replies with a kind tone. “And you are dismissed.”

With diligent obedience, Senenschal Artiers turns around and leaves the Thronecourt.

The Xovva points his finger to the other man before him, the man that Seneschal Artiers referred to as Mortigan, “Mortigan... From Rowan’s Dragoons, yes?”

Mortigan nods once, and stiffly. “What is this grim news you speak of?” The Xovva follows with a question.

Mortigan postures himself, “As The Dragoons made our way down the mountain, we encountered a pile of bodies... Their blood draining into the waters just by... It was of human bodies, and pigs.” Orias narrowed his eyes, intently listening into Mortigan’s words. “The bodies were disposed of... A day later we encountered a group of wildsmen going upwards to the mountains, along with a group of captives, mostly of which were women...” The Xovva glances to Orias. “We clashed against the wildsmen, and won. The captives they had tell stories of barbarians raiding their city of Breacher’s Reach, of it’s people... The city itself is in terrible conditions as it smelled of dirt, and disease.”

“And of Rowan Accelgant?” The Xovva inquires to Mortigan.

“He holds the city of Breacher’s Reach under his protection. He has ordered me to return to Xovvaran, and request for aid.” Mortigan briefly replies.

“We just fought wildsmen just the other day.” Orias remarks on Mortigan’s narration. “Nearly killed one of my men... A few more arrows would have done the job.”

The Xovva fixes his eyes to Mortigan, “And you are here to request for aid?” He says with a serious tone.

Mortigan nods his head as a response.

“Then what do you need?” The Xovva follows with another question.

“Engineers, Laborers, and Architects.” Mortigan replies formally, his eyes and posture set straight. “And Missionaries, if possible. The infrastructure of Breacher’s Reach is dilapidated, and its people sickly, smell of plague, and reek of despair.”

The Xovva turns his head to the direction of The Tenet of The Earth, non-verbally expressing if she has anything to say in the matter.
“I will have to deliberate with the rest of The Tenets if we should send our Sisters to help but I guarantee that you will have our Aides, in your return to Breacher’s Reach.” The Tenet of The Earth promises to Mortigan.

“And I guarantee your laborers, Mortigan.” The Xovva says as he return to Mortigan’s direction, “I will still need counsel as which of the craftsmen to send with you in your return, but you will have an answer by sundown... Until then, you, and your men can rest, resupply, and set your courses.”

Mortigan bows his head in respect, and understanding of his leaders’ verdicts, “I expect it to be so, hopefully... Thank you for taking time on our concerns, your eminence.” With that Mortigan leaves, the room, then the Citadel, returning to his men awaiting for the help that is promised.

What was supposed to be a day for The Xovva to inspect the beauty of his Thronecourt has turned into a day that he his role as a leader is demanded, and deep within himself, he prefers this. His time growing up, and drilled in lessons, and exercises has made him into a steadfast lad, disciplined, and dutiful as he is creative, and perceptive. He has no time to adore art, and beauty when something as critical as this moment comes up.

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