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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)
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.
Nevgarn and Baccar
Aelythium, Nevgarn, Baccar, and The Pink Seas
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."
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
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.
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”
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.
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.
Rolais, Uyuti, Aelythium, Baccar, and 2 othersBasileus elysium, and The Pink Seas
MAP UPDATED July 5th, 2020
Rolais and 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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