The Alliance of Dictators

Despoticania wrote:

"Hm. I spent a fortune just to acquire, let alone analyze, that helmet..." Kane contemplated. "...But ultimately, it didn't help me in any way. And I did make a promise to let you take the items you deemed most important for your research. So very well, Master Ata. You may have it." He then switched from telepathy to his actual voice and called for Jeeves. The cyborg butler arrived in less than a minute, moving deceptively fast with his spider-like metal legs.

"How can I be of assistance, sir?"

"Do we have any artifacts with eldian religious iconography or references to a 'Black Sun'?" Kane asked. "Master Ata wishes to take a closer look at them. I'm almost certain that I've seen a black sun-like symbol in at least some of the artifacts I purchased over the years."

"Sir's memory is as sharp as always", Jeeves said. He then moved around the room, showing Ata the relevant cases. "This flask was recovered from one of the oldest settled caves of Despoticania Prime but is clearly of eldian make, suggesting it was among the spoils of war taken from Blacklight after its destruction." Jeeves pointed at a large flask made of dark gray stone. On its side was a stylized engraving depicting a black sun, and under that old eldian symbols which translated roughly as "sound of the shadow of the sun". The next relevant item was a tattered piece of cloth which had probably been part of a robe or a chasuble. "This piece of cloth was originally in a chest found in 1967 in the countryside surrounding one of the smaller Blacklight Eldian settlements. Clay tablets found in the chest suggested that it was part of the ceremonial vestments of an individual known as the 'Cleaner of Memories'. Mr. Kane's hired specialists believed that the vestments had originally been enchanted, but the enchantment seems to have worn almost completely away over the millennia. Maybe you can still detect some traces of it."

There was also a ceremonial dagger with a Black Sun symbol in its pommel, a religious idol of some forgotten god or saint (a tall, androgynous figure with four arms, each wielding a spear), a chalice meant to hold holy water or some similar substance, a thurible with traces of highly hallucinogenic incense (Jeeves noted that the incense only affected eldians and was capable of inducing a detached dreamlike state with muted emotional reactions) and a series of stone tablets which told another ancient incomplete tale (according to Jeeves, it was about a powerful eldian sorceress who betrayed her people by allying with their enemies and was cursed with immortality without youth as a result; apparently, Kane had found the curse similar enough to his own condition that he had purchased the tablets at an extravagant price.)

With a puff of fluffy black particles, the helmet vanished into thin air, the particles fading away into nothing. Then the lich followed Jeeves, investigating each artifact and 'feeling' their mystical signatures. He paid special attention to the fabric, the chalice, the thurible, and the ceremonial dagger, as they were religious artifacts and the most likely to lend clues about the Black Sun. He took a few moments to read the tale himself before ;using a question to Jeeves. "May I ask where the clay tablets found with the robe fragment is? I mean no insult to Mr. Kane, but I do not completely trust Despoticanian Experts on some matters."

Despoticania wrote:

As soon as Lin made contact with the initiates

[SHE WAS WORTHLESS]

Why would she have to fear what someone like Ata had to say about her choices? Was she not the master of her own fate? Just because Ata had failed to achieve true mastery of the arcane arts, did it mean that she'd have to fail as well? Wasn't knowledge always something precious, somethig to be guarded, cultivated and used, no matter its source...?

[BUT SHE HAD ALREADY MADE HER CHOICE]

But was she really so selfish as to drag three young minds, full of potential, with her down the dark path of ignorance and doom them to...

"S-s-so you t-tink you're some big bad... r-r-reality-breaking anomaly, do you? Y-you know what you... are?" it was Madyra, speakig through muffled sobs. "You are... N-nothing! That's what you are! I'm the real b-b-badass here, and when I've learned to master my powers, I'll come back for you! I'll put you in a bottle and take you to my laboratory where I'll..."

And as before, in response to open defiance and rejection, the anomaly receded. For an instant, it was possible to see and sense beyond the dancing snowflakes and the silent psychic roar of the Whispering Void. It was a beautiful, perfectly ordinary morning outside the bubble of warped reality where the Void had trapped the five travellers: the sun was shining from a clear blue sky and---

[IT HAD ALL BEEN JUST A DREAM]

This was the only reality there ever was. This was the only reality there was ever going to be.

The Void was once again all over them, but something was different. Was it getting weaker? Instead of using concentrated psychic attacks, it was now probing its victims incoherently, almost like a novice mage trying telepathy for the first time. It was still offering them their heart's desire - it was trying to make its offers feel like they had been its victims' ideas in the first place - but it felt more and more like something desperate that simply wanted to be let in...

Lin was paralyzed from the extra assaults on her mind, she had to focus entirely on keeping it from overwhelming her. She didn't even really hear Maydra, or anything, as she was preoccupied. The Void had no idea what ti was talking about, there were things in other dimensions, horrible beasts that had no business in this plane of reality. The Void was a fool, the Void was a trickster, the Void was a liar.

Dulruni, on the other hand, sensed the shift. "The anchors." he thought. "They draw closer. Perhaps they are lethal to the void." He understood that perhaps his method wouldn't be needed after all. It was also easy to concentrate now that the void was weakening. "This is not an acceptable reality." he thought to himself.

Hyrat wrote:

OOC: Hi, Twilight! Long time no see. How are things?

OOC: Imagine if it turned out to be H*ns

@The New Changeling Empire
"In my humble opinion, High Chieftain, there is entirely too much green around these parts. Some axes would do wonders to make this all look a lot nicer to me."

The orc remarked while incessantly cutting down leaves, branches and lianas, in short, everything green and not solid enough to withstand within his range. Now where the orc kept fuming and hacking things apart, the human with him, High Chieftain Kuulfric Sturmmantel, was quiet, focused and very carefully put aside what was in his path as he trod forward. He was a skilled hunter on the prowl and as such he just whispered:

"Of course Captain, of course. Now be quiet, the beast is near."

The orc captain quieted down very, very quickly at the mention of the beast. They had been trailing it for a while now and every little thing they found in its wake seemed to indicate that it was a great and ferocious beast with sharp fangs and claws and an appetite for meat. It would easily make short work of the two of them...or the rest of their group for that matter. They weren't alone, with a good 50 more Wild Men and Orcs following behind them, making their way through the dense jungle.

Carefully moving aside a giant leaf, Kuulfric finally set sight on the trophy he wanted to collect. It was sitting a good 60 metres away, feasting on some prey it had caught. It was a strange beast, having the magnificent body of a giant lion (not that Kuulfric had ever seen or heard of lions) with a pair of equally oversized batwings and a large scorpion tail. A Manticore. With a smile on his lips, Kuulfric readied his axe. Great honour would be acquired with slaying this beast as well as a wonderful trophy. This maned head with fanged maw would do beautifully on one of his walls. He'd rush in and fight the beast, tooth and nail untill he had finally slain it.

Atleast that was the plan. Untill a rifle barrel was stuck forward past his face and before the unbelieving Kuulfric could say more than: "What? No wait-", the orc captain had fired, the shot literally making the Manticore's head explode with blood splattering everywhere and the mane just uselessly hanging in the air for a bit before falling into itself. Well f###, that much more for a trophy or an exhilarating fight. Furiously Kuulfric turned towards the orc captain who was calmly reloading the round to his high calibre anti tank rifle and shouted:

"What was that supposed to be?!? You just shot it!!! You instantly killed it!!! You god damned murderer! Couldn't you see I was preparing to fight the beast?!?"

The orc captain stared up at him in disbelief before looking forward again and shaking his head, saying:

"The lads were right, you guys really aren't quite right in your head."

Kuulfric didn't take well to that at all and his fist came down just a split second later, knocking the orc captain out and onto the ground. Honestly, the High Chieftain had no idea why exactly he had to deal with this filth the allmighty Overlord had brought with it. It had mentioned something about a cultural exchange and getting familiar with one another but so far these creatures had been anything but pleasant to be around. They were ugly, their drives were so basic and the creatures were so very often needlessly evil. Why the Overlord had created such creatures was beyond him. Gosh, he'd be happy if this particular cultural exchange was over soon. Being around these creatures was sickening.

"Skin the creature and take it apart and prepare the parts for transport. I'll be joining you with that in a moment after the captain wakes up again and we've had another word with each other."

Yes, another word on Wild Men culture and how he and his orcs should behave around them.

Stormbeorg wrote:

The pilots had not expected the Stalwarts, or rather, their strength. They proved not only to be lethal killers, but to be equally resistant to their attacks. The very presence of these clearly evil beings shook the Stormborn to their cores; it had been eons since anything like this had been seen - they had finally been caught off-guard. At first the Stormborn welcomed their fearsome new opponents as a worthy challenge, but there was no hope of a fair or honorable fight in this circumstance. The greenskins surrounding them proved too much of a nuisance, and the Stalwarts - despite their strength - took to cowardly notions of numerical superiority. The pilots and their co-pilots were beginning to fall much more rapidly, but they were no fools. Clearing a zone near the edge above where their comrades were entering the fortress, they had moved much of the burning skeletons that remained of their aircraft into makeshift bunkers while simultaneously appropriating what remained of said biplanes' bombs and machineguns in order to maintain a defensive position. They had lost half their number, which was continuing to decline rapidly thanks to the Stalwarts, and were now on the defensive. With their bare hands they picked up their left over aircraft bombs and threw them - effortlessly - as if they were simple grenades, being sure to aim specifically for the Stalwarts; any greenskin casualties from the blasts were simply extra points. Meanwhile, the machinegunners mounted their weapons on the hulls of their former aircraft and began to fire into the Orcs, Goblins, and Stalwarts alike - indiscriminately firing and killing anything in their line of sight. Some had even managed to retrieve some of the unused javelins, which were then hurled with great force through their enemies as they discharged electric shocks and sent bolts flying into nearby enemies; frying their internal organs. At one point a Stalwart got close enough to breach the Stormborn's defenses, only to be have it's cursed armor ripped off by the bare hands of a raging Stormborn pilot - 'killing' the abominable creature in the process. Even still, it was a losing fight. But the Stormborn air crews had together slaughtered four times their number, and vowed not to fall before slaying another four.

Down below the tide had also begun to turn against the Stormborn as the Orc Shocktroopers proved to be far worthier opponents than any other they had met, save for the Stalwarts up top. They were quick, deadly, and surprisingly efficient. Legends told of greenskins whose madness forged not idiocy like their kin but rather a sinister, devious 'intelligence' (if it could even be called that) and the Stormborn half-theorized this was the case for the Shocktroopers. What was initially an unstoppable advance soon ground to a halt as even their ambush tactics had begun to fail them, and the Stormborn stalled. But the Stormborn were survivors; they knew how to adapt. Every time an Orc Shocktrooper did fall, the Stormborn were quick to loot it's weapons for themselves and utilize them against their enemies - creating a far more dreadful foe than the Orc Shocktrooper could ever dream to be. The Orc Shocktroopers were quick, deadly, and efficient... but the Stormborn were quicker, deadlier, and even more efficient. Armed with the terrible weapons of fallen Orc Shocktroopers, the Stormborn began to push the advance again as they proved to be the Shocktroopers' equals if not betters. The other greenskins did not even come into consideration; they were being slaughtered easily before, and now they were being slaughtered again. For every Orc Shocktrooper who fell, a Stormborn warrior picked up his weapons and turned them against his allies - it was if they hadn't died, but rather changed sides. Though casualties had heightened since the arrival of the Shocktroopers, the Stormborn had managed to improvise, adapt, and overcome. Time would tell if the greenskins could do the same.

Captain Bigmek was listening in on the reports a sour expression on his face. The tumour had only been contained temporarily and now it grew at a quicker pace than before. If this kept up, he'd have to concede defeat. And really, he'd rather not but...nobody was sitting there and breathing down his neck. None of the Broken Lords were here, their terrible presence alone already capable of motivating him and his men to peak performance. And ever since the fall of the last Beichtian holdouts his head had also felt so...empty. He felt so unmotivated. He lacked drive. Just what was up with him? He remembered himself fanatically leading troops against the hated Beichtians from the frontline and now he was sitting here in an office, directing his men from afar and entertaining notions of defeat.

But what was to stop him?

The Captain took his guards and led them to another part of the fortress, far away enough from the breach to be sure that there'd be no supermen crawling through its depths. There he entered the lower levels and was never seen again. Meanwhile in the fortress things were going downhill much quicker now. The remainder of the garrison quickly noticed that their reports didn't go to anyone anymore and so their discipline quickly faded away and many took flight, fleeing into deeper parts of the fortress or onto the mainland. Only around the few groups of Stalwarts did the orcs stand fast. The Stalwarts with their eerie presence functioning as motivating anchors. And a cursed blade through the throat for anyone who fled were just additional motivators. These units would keep fighting till the very last man, which in the Stalwarts case could be literally till complete destruction.

Meanwhile across the Strait in the other half of the twin fortress of Shul Printedar, Captain Gagbrush spew an impressive slew of curses and insults about his partner in the other fortress who had apparently abandoned his post. With the radio in the other fortress apparently already unmanned and nobody responding to his hails, he decided to start turning his artillery from the Stormborn assault ships and the assault itself onto the fortress. The Overlord would never have one of its fortresses fall into enemy hands intact. On his command the divisional artillery began opening up and firing at the twin fortress across the Strait.

Veradax wrote:

"Your Master's activities certainly are interesting." Vec noted. "I remember the time where I led the undead armies of Eldisis, those certainly were dark times." He paused as he followed Samhane. "Perhaps I should look into the situation at the straits, it would be interesting to see the state of things there." The plane was in sight, the queer contraption that had no right to be in the sky. It opened automatically at the presence of its master.

"The Overlord does not lead any undead armies though I wouldn't put it beyond the Overlord to do so should the situation require it. And should you ever even dare to try your luck and venture to that place I will personally mobilize some of those newfangled jetfighters to blast you out of the sky with their cannons. The Strait is off limits for everyone untill the conflict over it has been resolved."

At Vec's strange craft, Samhane stopped. It was obvious that she didn't intend to go any further and was simply seeing him off. As the supreme authority below the Overlord in this place, she obviously felt duty-bound to see Vec off. Or to keep him in her sight for the entire duration of his stay in her zone of control.

"Safe travels, Archlich. Tell your superiors of all you saw and heard here today. The Overlord cares greatly about spreading the word about it and its realm."

Lenspheria wrote:

The Amrashkhan took the sword, feeling its weight back on her hand. She lifted the sword, swinging it lazily to get the feel back.

"Sabine. I trust that you're there."

Life reentered Sabine's weary eyes as the Amrashkhan held to the sword. All of the exhaustion that plagued her from the long separation was gone. She felt her wielders power, what she had fasted for. Vigor now flowing through her, her wielder came into full focus. She didn't recognize the shape of her body as she examined it with her gaze. The Emrashkhan was now actually of the opposite gender. But the power she felt was so familiar, nostalgic in a way. It had to be the Emrashkhan, just... different. A grin turned into a joyous smile. The Amrashkhan had turned the ghost of Sabine into a vibrant being by doing something so inconsequential as holding the grip of a sword. The sword was grateful. Although she had been waiting for this reunion for some time, she withstood the urge to pounce on her master in jubilant celebration. Instead, she obediently stood in place, saying but a few words, "I am."

Beichte wrote:

Captain Bigmek was listening in on the reports a sour expression on his face. The tumour had only been contained temporarily and now it grew at a quicker pace than before. If this kept up, he'd have to concede defeat. And really, he'd rather not but...nobody was sitting there and breathing down his neck. None of the Broken Lords were here, their terrible presence alone already capable of motivating him and his men to peak performance. And ever since the fall of the last Beichtian holdouts his head had also felt so...empty. He felt so unmotivated. He lacked drive. Just what was up with him? He remembered himself fanatically leading troops against the hated Beichtians from the frontline and now he was sitting here in an office, directing his men from afar and entertaining notions of defeat.

But what was to stop him?

The Captain took his guards and led them to another part of the fortress, far away enough from the breach to be sure that there'd be no supermen crawling through its depths. There he entered the lower levels and was never seen again. Meanwhile in the fortress things were going downhill much quicker now. The remainder of the garrison quickly noticed that their reports didn't go to anyone anymore and so their discipline quickly faded away and many took flight, fleeing into deeper parts of the fortress or onto the mainland. Only around the few groups of Stalwarts did the orcs stand fast. The Stalwarts with their eerie presence functioning as motivating anchors. And a cursed blade through the throat for anyone who fled were just additional motivators. These units would keep fighting till the very last man, which in the Stalwarts case could be literally till complete destruction.

Meanwhile across the Strait in the other half of the twin fortress of Shul Printedar, Captain Gagbrush spew an impressive slew of curses and insults about his partner in the other fortress who had apparently abandoned his post. With the radio in the other fortress apparently already unmanned and nobody responding to his hails, he decided to start turning his artillery from the Stormborn assault ships and the assault itself onto the fortress. The Overlord would never have one of its fortresses fall into enemy hands intact. On his command the divisional artillery began opening up and firing at the twin fortress across the Strait."

The massive drop in morale from the combined fleeting of the Orc Commander plus the allied friendly-fire artillery barrage had finally broken the enemy lines, and the Stormborn were now unimpeded. Their formerly hateful slaughter had turned joyous, the wicked smiles and laughter of madmen filling every corridor as they cut down greenskins in the dozens. The sight of the routing, cowardly enemy had their own morale soaring to it's pinnacle as they chased them down wherever they fled - save for deeper into the tunnel systems that seemed to go miles underneath the fortress. The Stormborn were not interested in chasing the greenskins throughout the country, and so preferred to collapse the caves entirely to prevent their return. This de-structuring of the tunnel system continued everywhere they could; the underground routes that didn't lead directly from the breach to the surface we being filled-in with as much debris as possible. In this regard the artillery barrage above them assisted in their efforts of burying the other tunnels, speeding up the process so that the Stormborns' ranks could continue to drive for the surface and finish off the last of the garrison that was being kept in line by the wicked Stalwarts.

The initial impression of the Stalwarts as worthy foes diminished when it became clear that they could dish out more punishment than they could take, and what was initially welcome as a worthy challenge proved to be little more than another bothersome nuisance to be rid of. The only fact that earned the Stalwart's the specific and continous attention of the Stormborn was their ability to anchor the otherwise morale-shattered greenskins to the fight; it seemed the greenskins feared the Stalwarts more than the Stormborn. This mistake would soon be corrected as the Stormborn doubled down their projected force on the Stalwarts, reducing their number substantially and with rapid pace. As the Stalwarts collapsed, the greenskin lines would surely follow soon.

There was no disputing that victory was inevitable now; the Stormborn relishing in the slaughter while the greenskins routed made it expressly clear. But there were still nuisances to deal with, such as the artillery coming from the second tower. The Stormborn seemed disinterested in the state of the fortifications, seeing the artillery as more of a direct threat to be dealt with accordingly. Heard had largely bypassed the fighting his men had been engaged in, though every now and then he claimed the lives of a squad of greenskins and the occasional Stalwart as he made his way to the very top of the fortress to look at the opposing tower. He watched it for a brief moment before looking up to the sky - to the storm above. For a moment he did nothing as unnaturally strong winds surrounded him and protected him from any incoming projectiles, be they artillery rounds or otherwise. He waited there on the rooftop for a good long while before looking to the northeast - to home - where from flashes of lightning could be seen and the distant sound of thunder could be heard. But these sights and sounds did not come from the sky above him, but from the air in front of him. As the flashes grew brighter and the sounds louder, it became clear where they were coming from: a large, black object approaching Shul Printedar at a great speed. Not a plane, but a... bird? Yes, a giant black bird the size of an elephant whose eyes were as white as snow and talons as sharp as steel swords. For the most part this... 'thunderbird'... seemed to glide through the air, but with every occasional flap of it's wings came a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder emanating from the creature. A distinct caw came from the creature as it drew closer, and Heard - still on the rooftop - ran towards it before jumping off the fortress entirely and landing directly on the avian's back.

The creature soared with grace as it circled the fortress before diving for the second tower where the Orc artillery was coming from, Heard jumping off at the last minute and slamming his enchanted warhammer onto the top of the tower; the imbued magics focusing on the point of impact and creating a massive shock-wave of such strength that it easily shattered the ground beneath it and the walls holding it up as it sent any unfortunate being hurling through the air and any war machine being tossed about and trashed to the point of disuse. The effects did not travel very far, but where they did travel left an unmistakable mark of power. As Heard surveyed the carnage and destruction around him, he waved at the great thunderbird as it flew away cawing in acknowledgement. As the Stormborn finally finished clearing the first tower they began to focus their attention on the second, moving with force and fury toward total victory. Heard himself made it his mission to clear any surviving artillery crews to clear the way for his men, while the mortar crews and snipers down in the river re-focused their attacks on the second tower.

One tower had fallen; only one now remained.