Turn 6
- Location
- Chicago
Ulfyre
200 A.E.
(1) Sorceress of the Riverlands
She is the last of the Welh, the best of them. The long awaited heir and redeemer of the Lehvant. But she not is what they wanted, no. Not what they envisioned when they designed her conception and birth. She is far more. Something different. Something those sorcerers and alchemists could never dream of. And they will hate what she does, if they have any such emotions in death. But she will accomplish what they desired, in her own way.
200 A.E.
(1) Sorceress of the Riverlands
She is the last of the Welh, the best of them. The long awaited heir and redeemer of the Lehvant. But she not is what they wanted, no. Not what they envisioned when they designed her conception and birth. She is far more. Something different. Something those sorcerers and alchemists could never dream of. And they will hate what she does, if they have any such emotions in death. But she will accomplish what they desired, in her own way.
"Veranca!" Bellonie yelled. The iron maiden's voice echoed around the bookshelves that lined the great hall. Hassid scholars paused in their work; some on ladders to reach scrolls, others gathered around tables laden with candles and maps, still others sitting at wooden desks with complex mechanisms that secured books being copied by hand. The head scholar wasn't among them. Bellonie frowned as much as her iron face allowed. "Where is that weasel man..." she muttered. She hovered across the stone floor towards a large pair of double doors. They were cracked slightly, and the sounds of voices drifted through. The undead contraption bumped into the doors, doing her best to nudge them open. Finally she gave up and cracked open her body's metal door. Several withered hands reached out and helped, then retreated back inside the iron maiden. Satisfied, Bellonie hovered through the open door.
"You are inSANE!" a voice yelled. Murmurs of agreement followed it. "To postulate that the creator themself is within the land is to deny the sacrifice and separation of divine creation! AND, if they were in the land, then the gods would have spoken of it at least once!"
Bellonie floated into a spacious auditorium. Scholars, teachers, merchants and other interested parties sat in the benches watching two men face each other behind podiums in the center. The walls were columns, allowing for generous sunlight to stream in and highlight the mosaic patterns on the floor.
"And they DO speak of it!" the second man yelled. He banged on his podium with a fist. "Was it not Eoin themself who stated that the land is the creator and to love it is to love our divine lineage! That is a direct quote!"
"It is not to be taken literally!" the first man yelled back. "Eoin was a being of beauty and poetry, and their literal words are documented in the Book of Statutes, but THAT statement you so readily quote to support your ridiculous theories is one of the 900 verses of love collected in the Teachings of the True Father-Mother!"
"It was the children of creation who decided which was literal and which was allegorical, and it was the children of creation who wrote those books! We are not infallible!"
"Then why not throw out the entire Aeya canon tradition! In truth we can not be sure of ANYTHING with your thinking!"
Bellonie sighed and floated through the benches. She would never get used to the myriad of people and creatures that her master had gathered. Not that it was her place to wonder at such things. The iron maiden had never lived a mortal life, nor had she been an aelf or hob or a monster. All she knew were the memories Lady Fay had given her. Everything else was borne of the souls that inhabited Bellonie's frame.
She often wondered which of the souls had given her a love for music. And a love for stupid, dumb, didn't-even-say-goodbye elves. And a severe impatience for shouting scholars.
"Where is Veranca!" she said All eyes turned to her, even the men at the podiums. There were many fearful expressions, but Bellonie didn't take pleasure or offense at them. She understood her appearance was strange, and her voice unnerving, but in truth she rarely got angry, and she certainly wasn't dangerous. She was who she was, and they were who they were, and all served the master.
"Here," the scholar said. He rose up from one of the benches, brushing at his robe. He was used to Bellonie after having known her for 5 years, and simply walked over and joined the iron maiden where she floated. "Yes? Has Lady Fay summoned me?"
"No," Bellonie said, turning. "Isov needs help."
Veranca frowned and followed. "The wanderer? What does he need help with?"
"Our soldiers are rotting faster than expected. He wants you to do something about it."
Veranca's face paled, and he made the sign with his fingers that the Hassid always did when they didn't want to do something. "Honestly I've told you this a thousand times, I'm unfamiliar with your necromantic practices! We hardly dabbled ourselves, and the things we did discover are wholly different than your methods. I can't be much help to you..."
"You've had five years to familiarize yourself," Bellonie said, floating with the scholar towards a large door. "One would think you didn't want to learn it, which is strange, considering you Hassid void your bowels in protest whenever knowledge is denied to you."
"We've been busy!" Veranca said, gesturing. "Every since we allied ourselves with the river pirates the entire north and east has opened up to us! Not to mention Lady Fay's insistence on her...oh what was the word..."
"Golems."
"Yes golem project! Who ever heard of such a ridiculous thing!"
Bellonie eyed the scholar as they left the bookshelves and halls behind. They were now outside, having exited a massive building of sweeping towers and archways; the Esmur Academy. All around them was the settlement of Esmur, swelled in populated since eight years ago. Now merchants, farmers, and fishers rubbed shoulders with scholars, necromancers, and pirates.
"There were golems in Aeya," Bellonie said, leading Veranca towards a series of towers near the edge of the town.
"There were lots of things in Aeya, that doesn't mean we can replicate them here!"
"Well you'll have to try," Bellonie said. "You've done well enough so far," she paused at the first tower. There were a ring of them, surrounding a dirt yard that reeked of dead flesh and air-filled organs. A large gathering of undead were stood with weapons before Isov.
As always, the wandering poet was surrounded by the ghostly maidens gifted to him by his master. He waved at Bellonie and Veranca, then approached with his entourage. "There you are!" he said, flashing a white smile. "Quickly now, get out those herbs and lotions scholar! I've got warriors that I need you to keep together!"
Verenca sighed. "Yes...I've heard. Let me...take a look at them, then I'll go back and get what I need."
Isov nodded in greeting towards Bellonie. "Thank you for getting him."
"Hm," Bellonie said. "Think nothing of it. I'm going to start preparations for the festival. When you're done here, I expect your help with the organization."
Isov bowed deeply, his luxurious cape sweeping about his expensive boots. "It would be an honor, my beautiful jailer."
"Hm," Bellonie said, then turned and started floating away.
"Festival?" Veranca said, furrowing his brow.
Isov laughed, amused. "Why of course, haven't you heard! We're the new Lehvant, or so they say! Lady Fay is dubbing next Kenday a holiday! The founding of the Kingdom of Welhaysa! You should get out more scholar, the whole of the riverlands has been talking about it for months!"
"Ah," Veranca said, glancing around. "No wonder so many have been traveling here lately. Well...a festival is nice I suppose..."
"Indeed it is," Isov said, putting an arm around the scholar and shepherding him towards the undead. "Now, come and look at these corpses, and tell me what's wrong with them. Their fingers keep popping off and their eyes won't stay in the sockets."
Events and Issues:
[Issue] The river pirates are feuding and the deathtoll is rising. The issue involves succession rights to a powerful clan, with every ambitious pirate leader joining one of the sides for personal gain. Not only does this jeopardize Esmur itself, but peaceful trade and travel all along the river Kline.
[Issue] Large amounts refugees from the north and west are arriving in the Olgatha riverlands to seek the promise of safety. Although there is a good amount of food to be had, there are not enough buildings to shelter them, and crime is increasing. Advisors inform Lady Fay that she must implement some kind of standardized law, or build more shelters.
(2) The Elf Lord of the East
I will not be discouraged En. I will not lose faith. Look into my eyes. Listen to my words. Do you see me? Do you hear me? This is an oath I give before you, to one who was once worshiped as a goddess in ages past. I am Renark Yewhold, direct descendant of Liassa and Faeyus, last of my line and ruler of the Greshnere wood. I will not repeat the mistakes of my forefathers. I will not bear their sins or doubts, nor their madness and folly. I founded here a new kingdom and a new line. One that will see all fairy and elf and spirit united under one crown. And you will be there to guide my heir when I am no longer here. Promise me this En. Promise me you will guide my line until we are freed of our past and our madness...
Four Years Ago
Settlement of Esmur, seat of the Riverland Sorceress
I will not be discouraged En. I will not lose faith. Look into my eyes. Listen to my words. Do you see me? Do you hear me? This is an oath I give before you, to one who was once worshiped as a goddess in ages past. I am Renark Yewhold, direct descendant of Liassa and Faeyus, last of my line and ruler of the Greshnere wood. I will not repeat the mistakes of my forefathers. I will not bear their sins or doubts, nor their madness and folly. I founded here a new kingdom and a new line. One that will see all fairy and elf and spirit united under one crown. And you will be there to guide my heir when I am no longer here. Promise me this En. Promise me you will guide my line until we are freed of our past and our madness...
Four Years Ago
Settlement of Esmur, seat of the Riverland Sorceress
"Stop him! He's getting away!"
Tanric ran along the tiled roof, not even bothering to dodge a throwing axe hurled up from the street. The winter elf easily avoided it, bounding from one roof to the other, then a third. He easily put distance between himself and the river pirates, who were the only protection the settlement of Esmur had. And Tanric had killed enough pirates to understand how they hunted.
But he wasn't killing any tonight. The elf didn't feel the need to, nor did he particularly want to. Instead he ran with several tomes tucked under his arm. His destination was the the maze of docks that spread out into the Kline River from Esmur's shores. A small boat was hidden under one of them, and Tanric planned to take it downriver until he reached Greshnere.
He skid along a roof and dropped down into the space between two houses. The sun had set, and the settlement was awash in torchlight, and echoing with angry shouts. Tanric had been careless during his visit to the necromancer settlement. He had spent a good two weeks infiltrating, only to be discovered during one of his forays in the depths of the sorceress's tower. But the elf had managed to talk himself out of it, much to his own surprise, and even went so far as to pass himself off as a Hassid scholar. Thus had another two months passed where he had complete access to a wide variety of scrolls and parchments being collected in Esmur.
His mission had been to secure the most dangerous scrolls and deny the sorceress her foul arts. In the end he had only managed to get one, as well as a few works he had taken personal interest in. Combat styles and such. Nothing of interest to anyone but him. But truly finding what he wanted had proven more difficult than he anticipated. Things were moving to quickly in the settlement, new people, new scrolls, anything and everything was coming to Esmur and being shuffled around constantly.
And then while he was looking, his deception was finally discovered. This time irrevocably, when a child grabbed his hood during a drinking party and pulled it down, revealing his ears. Apparently the Hassid only had a few elves among their number, and they were all quite well-known.
Tanric wasn't one of them.
So now he was running, and dodging pirate arrows and throwing axes, and frowning at the sensation of all the mead he drank. Tanric reached the docks, slipping between fishers and merchants and ferrymen, until he found the one he wanted. He was just about to run along the boards when a figure emerged from the evening crowds. They passed Tanric, then turned and blocked his way onto the dock.
It was Isov, the sorceress's most trusted servant.
The elf narrowed his eyes and put a hand to the knife hidden under his cloak. Isov simply gave him a warm, but sad, smile. Though his skin was pale and grey, his features were still striking, and his eyes filled with many lifetimes.
"Leaving so soon Tansonman?"
Tansonman was the only name Tanric could come up with when he was first discovered. He didn't know how mortals named themselves. He didn't know any mortals before coming to Esmur. Luckily for him, no one batted an eyelid, simply assuming him of Ulaysan birth.
Tanric kept his hand on the hilt of his knife. "I am," he said quietly. "So get out of my way Isov..."
Isov. A dead man. The one who found him in the necromancer's tower. The one, despite all odds, Tanric had actually come to consider a somewhat-almost-possibly-maybe-friend over the eight weeks spent as a Hassid scholar. And that was a strong maybe. In truth Tanric didn't even know what a friend was.
Isov nodded at the tomes under Tanric's arm. "If you wanted to borrow those, you could have just asked."
Tanric stared at him, his expression guarded. He was sure Isov was here to kill him. There was no way he didn't understand what was going on. He was at the drinking party, with all the important people from the Hassid and Esmur and the necromancer's tower. He saw the ears. He knew Tanric had been lying all this time.
"I won't say it again," Tanric said. He drew his knife ever-so-slightly from its scabbard. "Get out of my way Isov."
The dead man stared at him for a few tense moments. The babble and shouts of those on the docks echoed around them. Nobody seemed to notice the exchange. The pirates at least hadn't found them yet.
Isov startled Tanric by stepping to the side. "You know Tansonman, I would have figured the last month we spent as friends would have at least earned me a farewell. I know Bellonie was fond of you too. Moreso than me, I think, though she'd never admit it. She liked your songs."
Tanric shuddered. Isov he tolerated. Bellonie gave him chills. He cleared his throat and started edging along the dock, careful to keep space between himself and the undead poet.
"You said you were going to teach me how to hunt."
"I lied." Tanric said, continuing to back away towards his boat.
"Will you be back?"
The winter elf paused, furrowing his brow. "What? Are you mocking me? If you want to fight, then draw. I can't make sense of you otherwise."
Isov let out a laugh and shook his head. He held up his palms. "No Tanson- actually, have I at least earned your real name?"
Tanric simply scowled.
"Fine," Isov said. "Well, I'm not mocking you, nor do I want to fight. I want to extend to you an invitation, from myself, Bellonie, and the Lady Fay. You are welcome back anytime, without fear. We will welcome you as Hassid or aelf, it matters not."
"That's foolish," Tanric said, confused but still guarding his expression. "I am your enemy. You are my enemy. Is that not obvious? I hate your ways."
"Do you hate me?"
Tanric froze, his mind not comprehending such things as emotions and knowing which were which. "No...? I am not sure."
"Alright then," Isov said. "Well if you can not readily say you hate me, than I can readily say that I consider you a friend. Come back anytime."
Tanric drew his knife and hurled it. It struck Isov in the chest, embedding deep. The dead man didn't even flinch, simply looking down at the knife, then looking back up at the elf. Tanric leapt from the dock into a boat he had stored underneath. He cut the line, then pushed himself into the river. He glared at Isov as he floated away. The poet retrieved something from his cloak and tossed it. Tanric caught it. It was a scroll weighted down by a colored stone.
"A little aelf magic for you there." Isov called.
Tanric's scowl deepened. He turned his back to the poet as the boat floated away. After a moment he turned his head to the side, not willing to look completely over his shoulder. "It's Tanric!" he shouted. "But don't tell anyone or I'll gut you!"
Isov smiled, then waved. "Bye Tanric my friend. Until we meet again."
The elf didn't respond, simply facing forward and picking up a paddle.
He would have to ask En about hatred, and not-hatred. And whatever the hells a "friend" was.
Now
"Tamric?" En said. "Where are you right now?"
The winter elf blinked. Suddenly the sounds of the great feast came rushing back to him. Tamric was sitting at a table, next to his uncle Lord Renark Yewhold, ruler of the Loamweld din'Yew. They were in the great glittering hall of Samiira, and there was a celebration happening. Before the table were a maze of other tables, filled with fairies, elves, dryads, spirits, and animals. Laughter and music joined together, and golden mead flowed freely like rivers.
"En," Tamric said, tearing his gaze away from the festivities. "What is a friend?"
Lord Renark paused his conversation with a massive dryad and turned to the pair. "Is my nephew drunk?"
"He might be," En said.
"I'm not drunk," Tamric said. "I'm being serious."
"Well I need you to be here," En said, patting him on the hand. Tamric took it back, as if En's touch was scalding. The fey creature rolled her eyes. "I'm being serious Tamric. This feast is important. It's a celebration, in honor of your uncle. Who, I might add, has named you heir."
"Hmm yes," a clear, angelic voice said. "About that..."
Tamric, En, and Renark all turned. Fionanna, fairy queen of the Summer Court, fluttered in front of the table. Her gossamer dress trailed down around her, and her wings sparkled in the torchlight around the hall.
"No," Lord Renark said, turning away from her. "I don't want to speak of this."
Queen Fionanna clasped her hands together and beamed at the elf lord. "Oh, but we must! It is all the court has been talking about for weeks now!"
"I am well aware," Lord Renark said. His tone was calm, though it held an edge of impatience. "I'm not taking a queen. Tamric is my heir, therefore the matter is settled."
Queen Fionanna puffed out her cheeks. "You have a entire kingdom of fairy queens and elf maidens! And it is simply improper to go without a queen!"
Renark shot her a raised eyebrow. "You have no king..."
The fairy put a hand to her mouth and giggled. "No, I ate him!" she quickly recovered. "But this and that are different. You are our overking. You must have a queen." she batted her eyelashes. "I would of course volunteer..." she gestured at En. "But even this one would do. Just choose, and do it quickly. This is tradition among our kind."
En's eyes grew wide with surprise, and her cheeks burned red. Tamric glanced at her in confusion, then at his uncle. Renark simply rolled his eyes. "The gods prohibit me from taking a wife other than an elf, and I desire no elf wife." he picked up his goblet and drained it. "Tamric is my heir. This conversation is over."
"Oh posh the gods," Queen Fionanna. Despite her sentiment, she turned and flitted away. "We'll revisit this soooonnn my lord!"
Tamric watched her go, unsure of what had just occurred. En still looked shocked. The winter elf turned to her. "Tell me what a friend is. Explain it so that I can understand it."
The fey creature slowly shook her head, then came back to her senses. "Right," she said, picking up her own goblet and draining it. She wiped her mouth and turned to the winter elf. "Let's dance."
She took his hand and stood. A large gathering was already in the center of the hall, dancing and spinning in joyous glee. "What!" Tamric yelled, resisting. "No! Just tell me what I asked you dumb sprite!"
En ignored him, joining the crowds of dancing fairies, elves, and spirits, and dragging the prince along behind her. All around them, the music swelled. Renark chuckled from where he sat at the table and sipped from his goblet.
Events and Issues:
[Issue] The spring fairy court in Claisi has disappeared without a trace. Rumors abound, and many grow worried. How could such a thing occur? Fear is a very real disease...
[Issue] Many fairy and elf nobles wish for Lord Renark to take a queen. Renark himself has no desire to, but as overking he is duty-bond to listen to the lords under his rule. He has put off the matter successfully so far, but only time will tell how long that will last.
(3) The Wild King of the South
Oh they speak much of the Ogre Prince and the Lord of Mt. Rulaun, but what know ye of the Wild King? There are no 3 Wise Beast Kings without Fengar, a proud and powerful king if there ever was one. His wrath was feared above all else, but he was a brave and clever ruler who won over with words what he couldn't with iron. But what they don't tell you, and what I will impart on you now, is that Fengar the Wild King embodies that of the monster tribe more than any other of the great beasts. For the children of the dark were born hated, as was Fengar in his own father's court. And the children of the dark were banished and shunned, as was Fengar from his tribe. And the children of the dark found their way to a new land, and a new destiny, as did Fengar. And thus was his kingdom formed in the Haden Wood, and though none can name nor remember his father, all in Ulfyre know of the Wild King and his deeds...
King Fengar roared, his voice echoing around the dirt and stone courtyard. He was naked save for a loincloth and a golden band around one of his massive biceps. The monster charged forth, meeting an ogre in the center of the courtyard. The impact of the two large bodies threw the dust on the stone outwards in a circle. Several beast maidens and officials clapped as Fengar grappled with his opponent. The courtyard was lined columns, archways, and a few balconies. In one of the larger ones was Ozymanna, the great serpent. He laid on a bed of giant cushions, curled up next to a wide bowl of wine. Beast maidens fanned him with large fans. The serpent closed his eyes as Fengar roared again and picked up his opponent. The courtyard shook as the ogre was thrown to the ground.
"Guhhh," a voice said, drifting through the balcony. Ozymanna opened his eyes to see Kee'Ah staggering through the entry. The harpy paused to wince and pick a twig from her feathers, then continued on towards the bowl of wine. Ozymanna quickly lifted from the pillows and curled around it.
"Get your own," he said with a teasing smile.
Kee'Ah smacked him with a wing, then clamored over the giant serpent and slid into the wine like a bath. "Ahhh," she said, leaning forward to sip from it. "Much better."
"Why must you insist on drinking my drinks," Ozymanna said. Though his tone was stern, a small smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. As long as he had known Kee'Ah, he could be no more angry at her than he could his own sister. Which, he very much could get angry at siblings, but regardless, he and the harpy were close. Or at least, as close as a refined serpent and a crass bird woman could be.
"Somehow your wine always tastes better," Kee'Ah said, floating atop the bowl with her wings spread out.
"You look like shit."
"I woke up in a bush."
"Hm," Ozymanna said. "You shouldn't get so wild at night. You'll live longer."
Kee'Ah dismissed him with a lazy gesture of her wing. A sheep beast maid named Cleesee entered the balcony carrying several jugs. She scowled upon seeing the harpy. "By all that's sacred Kee'Ah! What have I told you about swimming in master Ozymanna's bowls! You get wine all over the floor and it sticks to your feathers and-"
"Oh gods," Kee'Ah said, covering her face with a wing. "Send the sheep girl away Ozymanna, I can't deal with her shrill voice this early."
"It's almost noon," Ozymanna said, shaking his head with a bemused smile.
King Fengar roared again. This time his bellow filled the courtyard and drew all eyes to him. The monster lifted the ogre above his head, then slammed him down with all his might. The balcony and stone columns shook. The ogre went limp. Fengar clasped his hands and raised them in victory. The onlookers cheered.
"What's that make now," Kee'Ah said, still floating in the bowl of wine. "Ninety victories?"
Ozymanna peered down into the courtyard. "I don't think he's ever lost."
Cleesee approached the bowl, set down the jugs, then picked up a towel and began whipping Kee'Ah with it. "Out out!"
"Damn you!" Kee'Ah said, shielding herself. She flapped out of the bowl and perched on Ozymanna's coiled scales. "You fluffy bitch, know your place!"
"Mhm-hm," Cleesee said, picking feathers out of the wine. "Just stay up there until you dry, master Ozymanna can deal with you."
"Kee'Ah!" Fengar bellowed. He stared up at them from the courtyard, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. Beast servants surrounded him, wiping off his sweat. "And Ozymanna. Good, you're both here. Come down and meet me in my court. I have much to discuss."
Ozymanna uncurled and easily lowered himself down from the balcony into the courtyard. Kee'Ah rode him down, kicking her feet against his body as she would a horse. "Stop that," the serpent muttered.
"Faster!" Kee'Ah exclaimed.
Fengar turned and walked towards a large archway, his servants following. "Listen well," the king said, his deep voice rumbling from his throat. "I've heard word that the deathshrooms are beginning to stir again, and the northern war herds are gathering under a new chieftain. Haden wood needs to be a land of peace. I cannot have these pests in my territories."
"Simple matters really," Ozymanna said. "They will not be hard to root out." His tongue forked out of his mouth as his massive body snaked through the archway. He, Kee'Ah, and the king entered the bone hall of the town of Bathan Rula, the center of Fengar's Kingdom.
"Even still," King Fengar said, wiping his brow with the towel he carried. "I treat nothing that opposes me as minor. If not now, then soon, these woods must be mine."
Kee'Ah slid off Ozymanna and landed next to the serpent. The harpy bowed low. "Just say the word my king, we'll do what needs done!"
"Hm," King Fengar said. He settled into his throne, accepting a goblet from a servant. "Good. Because there are other things that have caught my attention. It will be a long meeting."
Kee'Ah stomach growled. Ozymanna glanced at her with his teasing smile. Fengar rolled his eyes and gestured. Servants came forth with food.
"Now listen carefully," Fengar said, leaning forward in his seat. "And let me tell you once more of the dream I hold for my lands."
Issues and Events:
[Issue] The deathshrooms are stirring. Though they haven't grown aggressive yet, they were witnessed standing along the edge of the herding-way road and mimicking travelers' voices. This is a sign they will soon grow hostile.
[Issue] The settlements of Curyur and Ruthol are feuding. Curyur serves Lord Fengar, but Ruthol does not. Things are starting to turn violent, but there is a chance they can still be resolved with peace and words. The issue is over a wild satyr child who is allegedly invincible, and both tribes claim as their own adopted champion.
(4) The Enchanter of the Western Marsh
Never did I think you would go so far Johade. The others yes, but not you. Fools the lot of you. Unearthing that thing, bringing it out of its tomb. How lucky we were that its kin stayed buried. How many centuries did your forefathers fight them? How many sons were sacrificed to ensure the dead of Ulfyre stayed dead? And after all that time, all that bloodshed, you and the so-called noble protectors of Lehvant undo it all. And for what? For what reason did you dig deep under the new capital and break open the prison crypts? For revenge? For the glory of a kingdom that no longer exists? Leave such deeds to the Welh. You were better than them. You were supposed to be better than them. All of them But you were just as weak in the end. And now you serve a new master. No more Lehvant kings for you Johade, oh no. You and all the remnants hiding in the stinking Brettin Bogs can bend the knee to that thing. And as for me, I am done with Ulfyre. I can not bear to watch others reap what you and your brethren have so thoughtlessly sown...
Five Years Ago
Deep in the Brettin Bogs
The undead shuffled through swampy waters. Their movements sent out gentle waves along the surface of the bog. Black birds took off as the mass of skeletons and rotting flesh neared, only to settle down in the distance and watch. A handful of men rode horses at the head of the column. They were dressed in muddy cloaks and worn leather. Their faces were hardened from years spent in the swamps, and their backs hunched from searching its waters for food. Each of them carried a spear or a bow. They were scouts for the warband, though there was no need to ride ahead of the skeleton warriors. They could see for miles in every direction, and it was only the endless Brettin Bogs. Ahead of them floated a ghostly figure. It sometimes veered to the left, or the right, but also drifted back, as if realizing its mistake. The figure was Johade's Daughter, the banshee.
"Why do you think she floats ahead of us," one of the men muttered. He had two cloves stuck in his nose, to keep back the smell of the dead behind them. The others didn't. They had each gotten used to the smell a long time ago, each in their own way.
"Dunno," another man said with a slight shrug. He was attempting to wax his bowstring while atop his horse, but the jerking motions made it difficult. "Maybe she thinks herself better than us?"
A third man snorted. "Na na, can't you hear? Listen."
The men fell silent. There was no noise from the undead warriors behind them, save the slosh of their bodies through the bog. After a moment the wind picked up, carrying with it soft notes and a lilting tone. The first man furrowed his brow in confusion. "The wight is...singing?"
The third man nodded. "Aye, she does that when she thinks no one is listening."
The others shuddered. "Don liek that," one of them said. "She a' cursing us?"
The others clasped their nose in the sign of the bog prayer.
"I don't think she is," the third man said. He rubbed his chin as he gazed ahead at the banshee. "Perhaps she simply likes to sing..."
"Well she's no good," another man said, spitting from atop his horse. "Cannae even get the tune right."
The others chuckled. "Let her practice!" one called. "Or else we'll suffer more later!" The laughter rose. The undead continued to walk in silence behind the riders.
Ahead of the gathering, Johade's daughter grew quiet as the wind carried the laughter to her. She wasn't sure what they were laughing at, but she was worried it was possibly her. The banshee shook her head. No, that was silly. Nobody just laughed at someone else like that. Johade's Daughter concentrated ahead on the horizon. The swamp went on endlessly. It filled the banshee with a strange meloncholy, but also a longing she couldn't name. As if she were far away from home, and needed to go back.
But that was impossible since she was a banshee, and couldn't remember anything from before she woke up among the reeds and willows. The only way she could make sense of her feelings was to sing. The birds didn't like it, but some of the fish below her in the bog did. They swam after her in small groups, as if listening to her song. When she would stop, they'd slowly disperse. Johade's Daughter liked that. She liked that someone was listening.
"Hagshit," one of the men said, shielding his eyes from the murky sun with his hand. They still rode a ways behind the banshee with the undead. "I see them, the bandits. In the distance, you can make out their fires."
"You think they see us?" Another man said.
"If not yet then soon. One of you go tell the banshee."
The men all shared a look. "You tell the banshee. I don't want to."
"Hell no."
"I absolve myself."
Everyone turned to the youngest man. He made a face. "Damn you all!" he spurred his horse ahead and cantered towards the banshee. "If she curses me," he yelled over his shoulder. "I'll come back and haunt you too!"
Johade's Daughter heard the horse splashing through the swamp and turned. The rider slowed a stone's throw away, unwilling to come any closer. "Hey..." he said, his voice uncertain.
The banshee didn't respond, simply staring and waiting.
"Uh..." the man said, scratching at his neck. "We found them...the bandits..."
Johade's Daughter stared for a few moments longer, than nodded, but more to herself than anyone else. "ok..." she murmured.
"Do...should we..." he gestured with his bow and raised an eyebrow.
The banshee nodded.
"Alright..." the man said. He turned his horse away from her and whistled. The men nodded from where they waited by the undead. One of them took out a horn and blew it. A low, mournful note echoed out across the Brettin Bogs. Suddenly the undead warriors straightened up. They began to tremble. Johade's Daughter floated towards them. They skeletons turned to her, their eyes heating up like coals. The banshee paused, then pointed in the direction of the bandits.
Without a word the undead warriors began sprinting through the waters. The men on horses brought up the rear. The one with the horn blew it again.
Johade's Daughter was left with the youngest rider. She began floating after the warband. "Hey!" the rider said, spurring his horse. "Wait up!"
He fell into trot through the waters next to her. The banshee didn't understand why. Most kept away from her. This one had up until a moment ago. She secretly glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then understood why. The young man was shaking atop his horse. It was clearly his first battle. Johade's Daughter continued floating. The sounds of fighting erupted as the undead clashed with the bandits. The young man began to tremble harder as he rode his horse towards the din. The banshee glanced at him one more time, than began to sing. Together they drew near to the melee. A few minutes later Johade's Daughter released a scream that burst the heads of three bandits. The young man took an arrow to the leg, but managed to trample a foe.
Now
Johade's Daughter floated through the town of Mosshelm. She was accompanied by four mortal warriors, men who had decided to serve her over the years. Among them was a young man, now a man man, she had met in a battle many years past. He walked with a slight limp where he had taken an arrow, but his spear arm was strong, and his eyes good with a bow and arrow.
The banshee didn't mind him, or the guards. She had never spoken to them, not once save for murmured words that were barely audible. But they followed her none the less, convinced she was a good luck charm, or perhaps a ward again evil spirits. Fighting fire with fire, she had once overheard one of them say. They didn't follow her all the time, only when they were bored and restless, and felt like they should strut around. Or she was sent out by the enchanter of the Brettin Bogs. The master of all in Mosshelm.
Johade's Daughter neared the necromancer's tower. Tower was the wrong word, as it was wider than it was tall. A mishmash of old stone buildings from the time of the Lehvant, and wooden structures tacked on without a second thought. Columns of smoke rose up from the tower's many courtyards, proof of necromantic arts within. The banshee had heard the smell was awful, but she had no way of knowing herself.
"Ah HA!" a voice boomed. Johade's Daughter's guards shared a look, then scattered as fast as their pride would allow. They all knew who the voice belonged to. Johade, the dullahan warrior of Mosshelm.
The banshee turned to see the massive suit of armor striding towards her. He walked proudly, somehow cutting a noble figure even without his head. Johade stopped before his daughter and tilted forward, as if peering down at her.
"I have been searching for you. Come! The master awaits."
The banshee simply nodded, her gaze downcast. What could be said about her thoughts and feelings towards this dullahan who had mistaken her for his daughter? Nothing, the banshee was nothing but a wispy wight, and was well-used to this strange play she had been forced to act out for many years. She followed him, floating across the ground towards the necromancer's tower. Once inside, they were met with rushing servants, lit burners, and the sounds of chanting and labored hammering. The pair moved through the halls towards the center. The servants gave them room, none daring to meet their gaze or get in their way.
A stone chamber guarded by an iron door took up the center. On either side of it stood two undead warriors. They turned as Johade and his daughter approached, opening the iron door. Within was only darkness. A raspy breathing echoed around them. The banshee could just make out the shadowy shape of something massive suspended in the air. It was tethered to the walls and corners by a strange thread, oozing with black smoke. The only light spilled in from the hallway beyond the stone chamber.
"Johadeeeeee" a voice whispered. Whispered was wrong actually. The words wormed their way into the banshee's head, causing her to flinch and back away. Johade pushed her forward again with a gauntlet, sternly.
"Master," he said, falling to one knee. Johade's daughter bowed her head.
Whereas before the enchanter seemed amused to walk around as a man, dining and listening as a ruler would to those under him, these latter years he had retreated into his chamber, issuing decrees from inside a cocoon of necromantic arts. Only Johade and a select few others were ever allowed inside. And none knew why the enchanter remained in isolation. None save Johade and his daughter.
In truth the enchanter had no choice. As the bear hibernates, the enchanter needed months of solitude to whisper dark words in the night that no one heard. And then he would emerge. Different. Renewed.
"Speak Johade...what of my lands..."
"Things are going well master," Johade said. "Soon the entire Brettin Bogs will be under your rule."
The dark cocoon didn't respond for a few moments. A noise built up. It took Johade's Daughter a moment to realize it was laughter. "Excellent..." the enchanter said, his words like a rasping breath. "Then listen well, you and your little ghost. I have more orders to give..."
Issues and Events:
[Issue] The stores of herbs and special ingredients needed for necromancy are running low. Though the Brettin Bogs supplies most of it, the amount used is unsustainable with the amount of undead in use. Advisors suggest either turning some farmland into herb plantations, or simply planting more herb gardens.
[Issue] With the largest bandit group in the Brettin Bogs wiped out, others have been rising up to take their place. However they were all wiped out recently. Something is out there, and it hunted down the bandits easily.
(5) The Goblin King of the Western Hills
And what do ye know of hobs and gobs and grims and bogeys? You see them in their markets at the bottom of their hills, but do you truly know of their ways? Hear now of one Ruk Goldtooth, once a slave, now a king. Him and his fast friend Runtun the giant, who wore the same chains as Ruk Goldtooth. Their journey was long and hard, and many sacrifices were made, but that is what you must understand about the goblins. There is no easy life under the earth. No warmth to be found nor fruits to be plucked. Not unless you make the fires and plant the seeds yourself. And Ruk Goldtooth did just that. For he is a smart goblin, and knows his way around a battle
Water hissed. A weed was dropped in a bubbling pot. Two boney fingers stirred the waters, then receded back into the darkness. Three pairs of eyes peered into the pot. Watching. Waiting.
They were hags. Gaunt, but strong with long greasy hair and piercing gazes. Their teeth were sharp, their nails long. One of the hags grunted.
"Smells done."
The second hag shook her head. "No, not yet."
"Hungry." the third hag said. She sniffed and wiped her nose. "Been too long since good stew."
The other two hags nodded in agreement. The pot bubbled.
The first hag stirred the contents again with her nail. "S'been quiet."
"Too quiet," the second hag said.
"Haven't had a good stew in many years," the third hag muttered. "Not enough meat."
"What think you of the rumors?" the first hag said, glancing at the second.
"Cant be true," the second hag said. "Henny is the wildest of us all."
"Craziest," the first hag said.
The third hag sniffed the pot. "Not enough meat makes a watery stew. Who wants watery stew...no one, that's who."
"She wouldn't serve a goblin. King or not."
"She'd eat him, that's what she'd do."
The third hag dipped her finger in and tasted it. "I want to eat."
"GUESSSSS WHOOOOOOOO!" a screeching voice cried. The three hags turned just in time to watch a shape fly through the window. Henny hit the floor inside the hut and rolled to her feet. She wore a wide smile and many furs, as well as a few rings. Feathers were arranged in her hair. The hag threw out her hands and did a little jig. "It's ME! Pretty pretty Henny! Youngest and most prettiest hag sister!"
The three other hags exchanged glances. "Eh..." the first said.
"Hm," the second said.
"Meh," the third said, turning back to the pot.
Henny frowned. "What? Speak happy words! Pretty pretty Henny has returned!"
"You wear warm furs," the first hag said.
"Nice rings," the second muttered.
"Stew's ready," the third said, reaching into the rafters for a hanging ladle.
"Yes yes," Henny said, showing off her rings with a proud smirk. "Pretty pretty Henny looks even prettier now! She eats good food and sleeps in warm beds!"
"Aye?" the first hag said, her voice holding an edge. "Tell us youngest sister, how did you manage such a thing?"
The second hag's voice dripped with condescension "Do tell, we are so eager to hear..."
The third hag tasted the stew with the ladle. "I'll start serving it up." She reached towards the rafters and pulled down four bowls, cradling them in her arms.
"King Goldteeth gave them." Henny said, clutching the rings to herself. "He can give you some too...if you're quick-like and smart-like and don't eat too many goblins..."
"Hmm," the first hag said. "So you serve a goblin king..."
The second hag scowled. "The rumors were true."
The third hag passed out bowls to the first two, then to Henny. "Eat up while it's hot."
"Yes pretty pretty Henny serves a goblin king, what of it! She tells you there is good food and warm beds! Do you not want good food and warm beds?? And nice things!" she held out her hands, her rings twinkling in the firelight. "Pretty things! See??"
The first two hags exchanged glances. The third slurped the contents of her bowl. "Well," the first hag said. "I would never serve a goblin king."
The second hag nodded, narrowing her eyes at Henny. "I would think only a simple-minded nilly-hag would!"
Henny grew angry, puffing out her chest and holding out her claws. "Why you...!"
The third hag held up her bowl and threw it to the ground, shattering it. "I want MEAT damn damn DAMN! MEAT DAMN YOU! I WANT GOOD STEW!"
Henny and the other two hags stared at her. The third hag turned to the first two. "Pack your things! We're going with Henny! I will not eat any more water stew! NO MORE YOU HEAR ME!"
The first two, wide-eyed, slowly nodded. "Yes elder sister," the first muttered.
The second turned and began gathering jars. "fine fine..."
Henny turned to the third hag and grinned. The hag glared back at her. "Better be gooooooddddddd meat Henny. Good meat."
"Yes!" Henny sang back. "Good meat for all!"
Many miles away, Ruk Goldtooth shivered in his chair. He sat across from Runtun, playing knuckle bones with gold jewels for the bets. The giant noticed his longtime friend's movements and frowned. "Something wrong Ruk?"
"Hm," the goblin king said, scratching his face. "Dunno. Just got a feeling like my headaches were about to grow."
The giant nodded thoughtfully. "You should have a healer look at you."
"Maybe," the goblin king said. He grabbed his tankard and took a swig. "Or maybe I just need to keep drinking."
Runtun snorted, then threw his knucklebone. "You need to start winning is what you need to do. I'm about to take all your jewels."
It was Ruk's turn to snort. He gestured behind him at a pile of gold and jewels. "What do I care. Plenty more where that came from..."
The two both cheered their tankards together, then drained them. All around them, goblins, giants, and trolls drank and boasted.
Events and Issues:
[Issue] The digging between the Yulda Valley and the Ogre Prince's domain has dislodged creatures from the deeps of the earth. They wander aimlessly towards the Yulda Valley and Goldtooth's kingdom. If not dealt with, they will surely cause problems. But there is also potential in harmlessly subduing such beasts.
[Issue] Goblin, giant, and troll gangs have begun to form in the iron and stone mines Ruk Goldtooth supplies with workers. They are turning violent, and disrupting work. Apparently there is a vibrant black market for what lies in the ground. They must be dealt with eventually, before their activities grow too blatant.
(6) The Northern Ogre Prince
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Ah, the second of the 3 Wise Beast Kings, the Ogre Prince. Oh, he was a clever one, that ruler. Quick to smell a good deal and even quicker to bring down the hammer on anything that displeased him. Funny, the legacy of the monster tribes. Shunned, hated, but they endured. And in Ulfyre, they prospered. For all know of the 3 Wise Beast Kings, and the kingdoms they built. Strong, powerful. But none quite as like the Ogre Prince. He saw things that others didn't, thought in ways his enemies could not. And there is nothing more terrofying than an intelligent ogre...
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Ah, the second of the 3 Wise Beast Kings, the Ogre Prince. Oh, he was a clever one, that ruler. Quick to smell a good deal and even quicker to bring down the hammer on anything that displeased him. Funny, the legacy of the monster tribes. Shunned, hated, but they endured. And in Ulfyre, they prospered. For all know of the 3 Wise Beast Kings, and the kingdoms they built. Strong, powerful. But none quite as like the Ogre Prince. He saw things that others didn't, thought in ways his enemies could not. And there is nothing more terrofying than an intelligent ogre...
"Saya," the ogre prince said. He sat atop his throne, in a bone hall laden with gleaming weapons and other metalcraft. Sitting at tables all around the hall were harpies, ogres, beastmen, and other monsters. They sang and drank and boasted as several hearth roared.
Saya the sphinx lay curled up near the Ogre Prince's throne. She rested atop several pillows. Raga snored on the steps to the throne surrounded by empty tankards. He and his fellow warriors had drank themselves into a stupor earlier, and now slept it off throughout the hall. The sphinx rose from her pillow and preened herself, then turned her piercing gaze towards the ogre.
"Very well my prince," she said. "What would you like to hear?"
The ogre prince inspected the contents of his goblet, peering at the bottom. He held it out for a servant to refill. "Tell me an old story. A good one. With brave warriors and great battle."
"Hmm," Saya said. Her tail flicked behind her. "I've told you all my tales of monster glory and conquest. Perhaps an older one will do?"
"Hm?" The ogre prince said.
"I could tell you of the first monster. the three-faced moon eater."
The ogre prince thought for a few moments, then gave a slight shrug. "Very well. I do not know this one."
Saya smiled. "Few do. In the beginning, so it was said, the two-in-one, the judge and comforter, Yay-Yey, declared that none should bear children outside their tribe. For it was Yay-Yey who weighed the joy of a mother for her child against the sadness when she lost them. And it was Yay-Yey who listened to their tears on the wind and comforted their broken hearts. And it Yay-Yey who's heavenly abode housed the spirits of children born between tribes and who died in childbirth. So declared the two-in-one, that none should bear children outside their tribe and send any more tears or spirits their way."
The ogre prince frowned. "Speak plainly Saya. I have had much to drink and do not have the ear to dicipher your flowery words."
The sphinx's smile remained. "In the beginning the gods said that elf shall lie with elf, and dwarf, dwarf, and mortal, mortal, for the union of anything beyond that led to grief and anguish. But though the children of creation were warned, it was one of the gods who erred. They sired offspring with a great being, a creature born between the nameless place and the world, and their child was both terrifying and beautiful. And this child, proud of itself, wild and free, went about the ten lands and greeted all it saw. And it convinced some of the mortal tribes to seek out any that would have their heart, in defiance of Yay-Yey. And thus the monster tribe was born."
The ogre prince's frown turned into a scowl. "Are you saying I exist because a man fucked a goat? I've heard that joke before, and it was only ever funny the first time..."
Saya laughed, covering her mouth with a paw. "It is a little different than that my king. For in truth none of the unions survived, as Yay-Yey had known they would not, but the offspring of the god and the being of the earth was undaunted. So they say it ate a moon, and using the power it received, ensured that some monsters could be born. And it was hated by all the tribes and gods for its actions, and hunted down and killed. But its actions could not be undone, and the monster tribe grew."
"The moon-eater..." the ogre prince said. "Yes, now it makes sense."
Reega woke up with a start. "Wha! Whasshappening!" he sat up, looked around, then vomited on the steps.
The ogre prince only gave him a passing glance, then turned back to Saya. "Hmph, it was a decent story. Now let me tell you one. Once, in a land called Aeya, powerful monsters lived in dark woods and holes in the ground. They were guests in the land, and had been told they could not leave their trees or holes, but they could eat any who ventured into their territory. All the other tribes were given similar rules, but only the monster tribe obeyed Eoin the foster-god. And they obeyed and they obeyed and they were hunted and killed and hated. And would you like to know what happened when paradise was swept up by water and storm?"
Saya smiled again. "Do tell."
The ogre prince smashed the armrest of his throne with a fist. "We came out of our forests and holes and joined together! And then all who preyed on us were preyed on in turn! And we made the lands from Aeya to Ulfyre and beyond run red with blood!" he beat his fist again. "THAT is the greatness of the monster tribe. Despised, but obedient. Unleashed, freed, and then made kings!"
Saya bowed her head in reverence. "A noble fate my king."
"Indeed," the ogre prince, settling back in his throne. He sipped from his goblet. "I grow bored. Reega, go wrestle someone."
The ogre leapt up, as if stung by a nettle, and grinned his toothy grin. "Just wait my king! I'll rip some pigfucker APART!"
He ran off into the crowd of monsters, than began grabbing and throwing satyrs. The ogre prince smiled. "Saya. Tell me another story. A better one this time..."
Events and Issues:
[Issue] The rich iron and stone industry has drawn in raiders and warbands. The roads from the mines to the Ogre Prince's kingdom are starting to grow dangerous. Strength or diplomacy will be needed to secure them once more.
[Issue] The safety and security of the Ogre Prince's kingdom is drawing in large groups seeking to settle there. This is causing some unrest as well as a shortage of food. Eventually the problem will need to be addressed, but for now all are cowed by the elite warband that serves the kingdom.
(7) The Eastern King Under the Hill
Lord Of The Rings - Song of Durin | Cello Cover
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There are many tales of the children of the earth and their woes. This is not one of them. Ubrim Steelshout was a good dwarf, a wise dwarf, a descendant of tragedy, as all were after the exodus. But he was taught hope and good sense, and prospered greatly for it. He was not so desperate as his kin to return to the earth and hide from the troubles of the world, and thus he did not suffer the fate of many of his brethren, trapped below and gripped by bloodlust and fear. And because of this, one could say that Ubrim Steelshout was among the first of the legendary dwarven forefathers. One who led many out of the earth and back into the world. And their descedants are greatful for it, as surely as they live and breath.
Lord Ubrim Steelshout gazed out from the battlements of his keep in the center of Stelius. It was a dull day, with an overcast sky and a wind that rose and fell. Banners flapped and the sound of metalwork echoed off stones. The dwarven lord watched as three dwarves and two trolls were led in chains to a raised wooden gallow. A small crowd had gathered before it to watch. Five nooses, two of them extra-large, swayed in the wind.
Snullywatch stood behind the dwarven lord, chewing on sugar grass. Gus stood next to the keep, his size allow his head to be level with the battlement. Ubrim exhaled, then took out a pipe and began to load it. A nearby servant rushed to assist, but the dwarf waved her away. "Be off with you, I can do it myself."
Snullywatch sniffed and approached the battlements. He stared at the dwarves and trolls being led up to the gallows. "Bad business this. What madness leads them to act in the way they do, killing and reaving out there in the hills."
"Madness," Ubrim said, puffing on his pipe. "No, that is the lot of the elves and fairies. We kin of the earth are shamed beyond that. Those down there gave into fear, which is a bedfellow of hate, and that led to bloodshed. And though they commited such acts outside my law, they will still be judged under it."
Gus snorted, his tail whipping behind. He was clearly bored.
"Yes yes," Ubrim said. "Patience my old friend. This will be done soon."
The stools were kicked out from under the prisoners, and four necks broke. The fifth, one of the trolls, dangled there. Snullywatch rolled his eyes. "Too stupid to know he was supposed to die."
"Guess we'll have to wait a bit longer," Ubrim said, puffing on his pipe.
Gus snorted a second time. He ambled over, forcing the crowd of onlookers to part before him. The giant ox stopped in front of the gallows and nudged the hanging troll with a hoof. The troll struggled in the noose. Gus frowned, then turned around and kicked him. The force of the impact turned the troll to a bloody pulp. Bits of guts splattered the tannery behind the gallows. The crowd stared, wide-eyed. After a beat they erupted in cheers. Gus bowed his head, then ambled back over to the battlements.
Ubrim shook his head. "Well, at least justice was done for those whose loved ones were murdered."
"Cruely murdered," Snullywatch said with a frown. "Bad business that."
"Hm, but let us speak of other things now."
Gus and Snullywatch gathered closer. Lord Ubrim gestured out at the horizon.
"My explorers have returned, with interesting news."
"Hm?" Gus said, chewing on something only he knew the identity of.
"Ruins." Ubrim said.
"Ruins?" Snullywatch said, furrowing his brow.
"To the north and west, and likely elsewhere. This land is littered with them, but only if you know what to look for."
"Hm," Gus said dismissively.
"Nay," Ubrim said, gesturing at the giant ox. "These ruins are different. Ancient. Before the glory of Aeya, or perhaps part of it. But dangerous too."
"Interesting," Snullywatch said, rubbing his chin.
Gus raised an eyebrow, then nodded in agreement. He quickly went back to chewing.
Issues and Events
[Event] Ancient ruins have been discovered in the north and west. They promise riches untold, but also great danger. Exploring either locations will require careful planning and extensive logistics.
[Issue] The lands surrounding Stelius are best by banditry and murder, perpetrated by bands of dwarves and trolls. Order must be brougt somehow, before merchants start avoiding the area.
(8) The Horned King of the Southern Crag
Story Of The Dark Crystal
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Ah, the 3rd Wise Beast King, Haraltain, king of the mountain, lord of the cave, ruler over all of beak and feather. And many more. Few can understand the mind of such a tazaan. For where others toiled and died, Haraltain saw opprotunity and promise. What had he seen? How had he been reared? To know what he knew, and to believe what he believed. And lo did the monster tribes prosper under him. Yes, truely the 3rd of the Wise Beast Kings, but not the least in the slightest. Above all else, he organized his kingdom like a feteraht board, and his pieces grew great in number through the years.
Heccafet stared out over the great gathering of tazaan lords. It was the same meeting they held every month, where all could come and voice their compalints. The spider woman was alone, neither the king nor Druug with her. The only others on the stone stage built into the cave were a few kingly officials, as well as tazaan scribes. The spider woman raised her hands, signaling for silence.
"Where's the king," one of the tazaan said. "I don't want to speak with his pet." His edged voice drew out murmurs of agreement.
"Normally I would humor your words," Heccafet said. "But not today. The king's feastday is coming up, and much must be done in preperation. So for now, speak, and I will listen."
The tazaan lords exchanged glances. "Very well," one of them said. "Then listen well eight-legs. I've got a lot to say..."
Several Days Later
The massive cavern roared with voices. Ale sloshed from cups while beads and other precious stones were hurled down. Two harpies tore through the air, racing around a course set up near the ceiling of the cavern. Below, tazaan, cyclops, saytrs and harpies cheered and drank and celebrated. It was the feastday of King Haraltain. A time for drinking and paying tribute to all he had achieved.
The king himself sat in a stone alcove in the wall of the cavern. Gaurds stood outside it, and within were cushions, servants, and sweet smelling fruits. Druug stood on one side of the king's chair, scratching at his gut. Heccafet, the other side. She was adorned in jewels and trinkets, and glittered in the light of the cavern. But this was nothing compared to King Haraltain. The tazaan ruler wore the spoils of a hundred tributes and tithes. All that had been offered to him by those seeking the refuge of mount Rulaun, as well as the gifts of the tribes under his rule.
The crowd roared as the harpies made another lap. They were neck and neck, and excitment was boiling over. King Haraltain nodded, satisfied with the mood. Drugg sniffed at his fingers, then brushed them off on his loincloth. "My king," he said, his low voice echoing around the alcove.
The tazaan ruler glanced at the cyclops. "What is it."
"You bid me wait to give you news, but I tire of watching bird women flap around. Surely you already know who will win."
"Hm," King Haraltain said, conceeding the point with a slight nod of his beak. "It'll be Tinny. It always is. Go ahead then, speak Druug."
"I explored as you asked, and found something that might interest you."
"Oh?" King Haraltain said, accepting a salted piece of meat from a servant. "A present on my feastday? You are wise Druug, to give gifts to a king. Speak then, let's hear it."
"I found nothing to the south. But word reached me of ruins to the north, in the golden valley."
"And?"
"I found them to be true."
"I could of told you that," Heccafet said. Two tazaan maidens balanced on her back, massaging the giant spider and brushing her with perfume brushes. "Anyone who has lived in Ruluan for long knows of the old cities in the golden valley. The mortal cities. Lehvanna, or whatever they called themselves."
"Then speak up next time," Druug rumbled. He turned back to Haraltain. "I could easily explore them."
"No you couldn't," Heccafet said. "They are dangerous, make no mistake of that. The mortals of the golden valley were tricky, and wise in their own way. They will have left something to ward off interlopers."
The crowd roared. Everyone looked out of the alcove to see the harpy Tinny losing to the other. Haraltain arched an eyebrow and gestured at Druug. "You owe me ten blue beads. If I had been watching she would have won."
"Hm," Druug grunted.
"I wish to speak of something else," Heccafet said. "The mountain is growing too crowded. Too many seek its shelter. We must do something about that."
"So carve more tunnels," Druug said.
"Or perhaps look outside the mountain," Heccafet countered.
"We'll find something."
Heccafet shook her head. "No, I've been meeting with the tazaan lords. During the last great gathering, too many complained. The tunnels are growing dangerous. Monsters are dissapearing in the night. It cannot go on."
King Haraltain raised a finger, silencing them both. "Later, I've been looking forward to this race. We'll discuss ruins and expansion afterwards."
Druug and Heccafet nodded, then turned to stare out of the alcove. In the cavern, a gryphon and sphinx prepared to race.
Issues and Events:
[Event] Ruins have been discovered north of Rulaun. They likely hold Lehvant treasures, but are also likely boobytrapped. Caution must be used when exploring them.
[Issue] Rulaun is growing overcrowded with tribes seeking a home there. Banditry is rising, and the tazaan lords under Haraltain are beginning to complain. Order must be brought, or the issue addressed in some other way.
(9) The Northern Horse Lord
LE_MYSTERE_DES_VOIX_BULGARES_VOL.1 - PILENTSE PEE
THE MYSTERY OF THE BULGARIAN VOICES VOLUME 1
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"Dance like the river otter with its fish when in the company of friends- but remember the otter has its own fangs that caught its own fish to begin with."
Old Khavalian Proverb.
Ah Khavalia. Like a falcon without a nest, that tribe. Driven from the north to settle in Ulfyre, they grew strong again after losing their homeland. They learned from their mistakes, and prepared for the tide that would sweep in from beyond their borders. Yes, Khavalia had found its nest. And it would never let go of what it had gained again.
Old Khavalian Proverb.
Ah Khavalia. Like a falcon without a nest, that tribe. Driven from the north to settle in Ulfyre, they grew strong again after losing their homeland. They learned from their mistakes, and prepared for the tide that would sweep in from beyond their borders. Yes, Khavalia had found its nest. And it would never let go of what it had gained again.
Four Years Ago
The fortified settlement of Panem, along the Yunifer river.
The fortified settlement of Panem, along the Yunifer river.
Smoke clouded the sky. It rose in great columns from the burning bonfires that littered the field. Men screamed and horses whinied. Arrows whisked through the air. A group of Khavalian riders burst through a burning bonfire and ran down a group of fleeing warriors. Their screams joined the air with the others. The bonfires crackled and collapsed in on themselves, sending up new plumes of smoke.
Princess Kayala stood in the middle of a field of corpses. Her armor was dented, her helmet barely holding to her head. In her bloodstained hand she held a bloodstained sword. Her gaze was fixed to the sky, where the smoke gathered. Her expression was calm, though her face was as smeared as the rest of her skin. One of the corpses nearby shifted. A man groaned, then lifted himself from the ground. A moment later, a spear struck him and pinned him back to the earth. The Khavalian warrior who held it drove it in further, then twisted the weapon to ensure the man was dead. The warrior looked back up at Kayala.
"Princess."
She blinked, then turned away from the sky. "What is it."
"We're almost done here."
The princess didn't respond for a moment. Her eyes cleared, and she returned to the present. She turned to the warrior, as if seeing him for the first time, then nodded with a small smile. "Excellent. Let us return to my father and tell him the good news. He will be proud."
Now
A mighty ship, long with a carved prow, slipped through the waters of the river Lieg. Sigrid Falcun stood near the front, his hand resting on the wooden railing. His eyes followed the horizon, waiting for the town of Aelita to appear. It would mean he was home, after four long years of waging war. Behind his ship were six others. They all held warriors, as did his. Jutten mercenaries and Khavalian warriors. Vetrans of many battles. Proven in both valor and skill. There was room for the horses as well. They were just as important.
Segrid exhaled and rotated his shoulder. He felt an old spear wound, but chose to ignore it. Nothing could dampen his readiness to arrive at Aelita. It was not his true home. No, that lay north, in other lands. But he had come to accept it as the new captial of his king. It would do. They were rebuilding, after all.
The first of the towers came into view. Framed against a great mountain, the settlement was bustling with merchant ships and pack animals. Sigrid could make that much out already. Their ships neared, and horns went up in the settlement. Sigrid signaled one of his warriors. They blew their own horn, answering back. Now Aelita would know he had returned.
The docks were filled with onlookers and warriors as the ships neared. They cheered and called out, eager to hear news of the battles and conquests. Sigrid waved to them, then threw a rope towards the men waiting on the docks. They caught it and quickly secured the rope to the moorings. Each of the seven ships was docked, then the warriors spilled out. Handshakes, hand clasps, hugs, cheers, boasts. Sigrid enjoyed himself as he waded through the crowds. His warriors followed behind him.
Beyond it was Aelita proper. Merchants stood at stalls bartering with and yelling at customers. Oxen and horses crowded the dirt roads. The smell of leather and spilt ale was everywhere. Sigrid smiled.
He was home.
A collection of warriors marched towards him from the keep. They all wore fine colored cloaks, shiny mail, and plumes upon their helms. Sigrid came to a stop and studied them. His smile grew. "Morden, is that you you old daft badger?"
One of the warriors, a shorter man with broad shoulders and a generous white mustache, smiled back. "Aye it's me you dammed sellsword. Come to collect you and bring you proper-like to the king. Pomp and ceremony, as they like it."
"As they like it," Sigrid said, nodding in agreement. "Well, you didn't have to come far. I was heading to you." he fell into step beside the warrior. Together the two groups headed for the keep. "How is he, the blood-thirty tyrant?"
Morden laughed. "Still thirsty of course. Eager to make these lands home. He'll have much to say to you Sigrid Falcun. I don't imagine you'll be here long before he sends you back out to battle and glory."
"I should like a good meal and bath first. Haven't had either in almost a year."
"And you'll have it," Morden said, clapping him on the back. "After your audience of course."
"Of course."
The two fell into silence as they neared the keep. All around them the settlement seethed with activity. The air filled with noise.
"How is she?" Sigrid said, breaking the silence as they walked.
"Who," Morden said, his voice low.
"You know who. Princess Kayala. I haven't seen her in a few years. Is she still sewing and dancing and charming the merchants of Khavalia to ruin?"
Morden shook his head, his voice dropping even lower. "No Segrid...not at all..."
"Hm?" the mercenary captain said, glancing at his old friend.
"Her father sent her out. To lay claim to the lands near the east. A little after you left. She changed out there. Battles happened. Hard ones, battles that required a clever mind. And she proved adept at it. She no longer dances. Not without a sword in her hand."
Sigrid fell silent. The climbed the steps towards the keep, where two warriors held open the doors. "I see..." Sigrid said. "So she has truely become a Khavalian then..."
Morden paused on the steps and turned to Sigrid, resting a hand on the captain's shoulder. "Prepare yourself. A few more things than just our lovely princess have changed. I spoke truely when I said our king is thirsty. He sees bountiful land, and a need for a stern hand to rule it. And the wealth is starting to flow as it did in the old land."
"Gods help us all," Sigrid said. He nodded, grasping Morden's shoulder as Morden grasped his. "Very well, I understand. Take me to the king."
Events and Issues
[Issue] The merchants of Khavalia desire the gold and precious stones of the Yulda Valley Kings. They've petitioned the king to establish a trade agreement with the goblin kingdom, and secure safe passage to and from the Yulda Valley.
[Issue] Various groups are migrating towards Khavalia for the promise of safety and strong trade. Their arrival however is draining the kingdom's food stocks, and many are going hungry. The merchants have urged the king to seek out another kingdom that grows abundant food and establish a trade deal with them, as well as securing safe passage.
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