The World of Elba - IC

[Chenzor]

-Current nations-


-Introduction-

It was a calm morning in all of Elba. The mountains of the south swayed carefully in the falling snow, the Mantor plains hummed harmonically with a morning breeze, and the waves calmly glided up the shores ofThirrmod, Serenia and Sanju'um.
Yes, a calm morning indeed, but as all wise men, mantor, dwarves, giants and every other race as well knows, a calm morning means a rough night, or perhaps evening. "The calm before the storm", sailors murmured as they ventured out to sea before the wind acted up enough to disallow their fishing.
In Khur Mirin, the first hammerstrokes of a dwarven smith echoes throughout their capital. In the plains of the Mantor Tribes, a Mantor farmer drags his goods on a cart along the narrow roads, in Cyperia, the first merchants have just began taking to the streets to peddle their goods, in Serenia an elderly serpent-man jewelcrafter polishes a few gems to sell, in Mezentine an Elban inventor gets a "brilliant" idea while having his breakfast at the table and immediately takes off into his workshop, in Baramul a strong giant snores loudly in his home, the wilderness outside beginning to wake him up, in Sanju'um the first sailors of the three kingdoms go out to prepare their ships for the morning, and in Thirrmod a young man has already gotten up to practice his archery skills.

... And so the story of Elba unfolds.

[Kho]

Thirrmod, Post the First

"I, Garmidion, the Fifth Senzero of this mighty Thirrmodian motherland, welcome each and every one of you, to the Council of the Bow" the Senzero stood in a large circular room, and all the members of the Council sat around a semi-circular table of great size, while the Senzero stood facing them, an imposing, powerful figure, bearded and bald with many scars gained in battles. The Senzero was the strangest of all Thirrmodians, for he alone ever learnt to wield anything but the bow, and the scars he had were caused by swords, gained in the many battles he'd had as a mercenary on the mainland, for that was another part of his training.
"The past week has been a most fruitful week indeed! We have once more held our annual competition, and those worthy of being in the Council, are now in the Council, while those who have lost that privilege are no longer with us" he looked over all of them, his perceptive golden eyes piercing each of theirs.
"And know that anyone of of you can lose this great honour and responsibility should you break the laws and decrees of this most high and valuable position" he turned from the table and looked up at the wall behind him, where paintings of the last four Senzero's were up, each of them different in their own right.
The very first was a woman of great beauty, her eyes were a piercing green, and Garmidion always could not help the shiver which ran down his spine every time he looked at her.
The second Senzero had been a thin wiry man, with eyes which showed great intelligence and cunning, but no malice. He had clearly been a man who knew what to do and how to do it, and the history books and state of Thirrmod even in this day and age were proof of that. The third Senzero had a very ruffled and unkempt look about him, as if the painter had caught him in the middle of the jungle and forced him to sit for a while, he had a certain freedom about him, his eyes looked right though him, as if he was somewhere far off. the fourth Senzero, Garmidions master, was a very intimidating figure, with eyes that glared and nostrils flared, it was a shock that the man did not just walk out of the painting and scold Garmidion for standing around doing nothing but staring.
"These are the faces of the past" the Senzero said, waving towards the four paintings, "a long and glorious past indeed, one...which we must preserve" he turned back around and looked at them all.
"Know that even as we face the future and its challenges, even as we make this nation grow, we must always look back to the past, and learn from, that we may not repeat the mistakes of our forefathers" he allowed a few seconds of silence to pervade the air, allowed the tension to rise, breath to quicken, then he whispered in a low voice.
"This position you're all in...is no game" he rose to his full height, seeming to tower over the table itself, "do not treat it as such."
The silence continued for a while longer before Garmidion finally let out a sigh, and the tension dispersed.
"With these words of mine, I open the first session of this new year, let the Council of the Bow...be once more!" with that he backed away and sat in his elevated throne of sorts against the wall, flanked by the paintings of his predecessors, as if to add to his already great authority and power.

The first to speak was the white headed Flarius, a man who had been part of the Council for the last thirty years without a break, he was a veteran amongst veterans when it came to the Council, and had heard Garmidions opening speeches many times before, but they never ceased to amaze and inspire awe in him.
"Thirrmod is very stable in this period, our trade is going well, our economy is growing at a sustainable rate, and the people are very happy and inspired, we must now begin to strengthen our weaknesses" he looked around the table, there were a few faces from the previous Council, but many more young faces, in fact, this year had been a great shock as the two youngest Council members in Thirrmods history had risen to the seat, an extremely talented boy of sixteen, and a very skilled woman of eighteen. There success had caused much controversy, and many thought they should not be allowed to join the Council, but intervention from the Senzero had convinced most people that tradition should not be meddled with, and that if they earned it than none could take away their reward.
The boy spoke up, "That is a very broad thing to say, Thirrmod may be doing well, but its weaknesses are many, we cannot solve them all in a year. We must choose one and focus on it-" he was quickly interrupted by an irritated Flarius, who clearly did not take well to a boy who could be his grandchild talking to him in such a manner.
"I know, boy! I was just getting to that" the boy - Zaraxus - was taken aback by this hostile reaction from the older man and decided to sink into his seat and look at the table, fiddling with his hands, clearly offended.
"Our main weakness is our little expansion..." he chuckled suddenly, "sorry, slight mistake, we haven't expanded AT ALL in the last century or so. After uniting all the warring clans in the War of Unification, we've just sat on our butts and done nothing. We MUST change that" Flarius looked around, not to check if anyone was in disagreement with him - they could not be - but just to make sure they were all understanding him, they were all half his age or younger after all they could not be expected to grasp such complex ideas.
"I find your lack of imagination very disconcerting, dear Councillor Flarius" it was Varona, the eighteen year old girl, Flarius's eyes bulged at her words, while Zaraxus looked up in intrigue, surprised to see someone around his age take a stand to the old Councillor.
"Indeed we have not pursued an expansionary policy in a long time, but do you not think that we should strengthen out navy before going on an offensive? It will be a most humiliating thing if our armies were destroyed before they reach land" Flarius's face was slowly turning crimson with anger and embarrassment, "especially if all we have is a few barely sea-worthy vessels, and they are no ships of war, mere merchant ships and troop carriers, completely useless against the far more superior navies of other nations" Varona looked around, and her eyes met those of Zaraxus, whose smile she returned with a subtle one of her own.

"How ludicrous!" Flarius was on his feet, "our navy will naturally strengthen once we have conquered another nation! It is the natural way of the world!" Varona raised an eyebrow at the old man, he had clearly gone slightly senile, even if his archery skills hadn't.
"Please Councillor Flarius, do not be ridiculous, the likelihood of us managing to overcome any nation in our current naval situation are very close to nil, and what's more, we have no reason to go to war, our economical situation calls for further negotiation and trade agreements with other nations, and through THAT, our navy WILL naturally become stronger" Varona too was on her feet, not in anger however, but as a display of authority and fearlessness. Flarius waved her away.
"How pathetic, such a thing would never work, what would a little greenhorn like yourself know? We must pursue an offensive strategy to bring greater riches and power to Thirrmod, we don't need this 'negotiation' or trade with other inferior nations, we are not so weak or so desperate!" the other Councillors sat in relative silence, none wanting to take a side for fear of reproachment from either of the two, Zaraxus clearly did not suffer from their inhibitions however, whether from his young age and naivety, or ability to discern a right choice from a wrong choice, and opportunity from a potential failure.
"Councillor Flarius, I'm afraid that I do not see the logic in your argument, your strategy will only waste precious lives and create enemies out of those who could be friends and potential allies, I believe Councillor Varona is going down a much safer and useful route than your relatively absurd one" Zaraxus too was on his feet, and Flarius was outwardly taken about by the unity of these two youngsters against his idea. However, he waved them away again.
"what do you two know? Have you thirty years of experience under your belts? Have you lived the life of a Councillor for as long as I? No, of course you have not, what would you know about the way this world works?" he looked around him and continued, "our two young friends think we need 'friends' and 'allies' to grow and become powerful! Since when has mighty Thirrmod depended on the good will of others to rise and thrive? NEVER! And we shall never allow such a thing! It would be a taint on our unblemished history! A completely disgusting idea which should never even be considered! Why, I would go so far as declaring both of you traitors and have you hanged for treason for such radical and preposterous ideas!" Flarius's arms were waving around all over the place, spit flying out of his mouth, his angry face getting angrier and angrier.
"And who are you, Councillor, to hang two loyal citizens of Thirrmod, and whats more, two loyal Councillors! Our ideas are neither preposterous nor radical, they are the rule of these times, we either cooperate with others, or we are chucked in the dustbin of history! I prefer the former, and I am certain everyone else does too" she looked into the faces of the other Councillors, and it was clear that their minds were made up.

"I call for a vote!" Flarius shouted out suddenly, "so that you children may know your place and not try to bring your treasonous ideas to this most honourable place!" he looked around and gestured for people to raise their hands if they agreed with him. No one did.
"Go on then, get your hands up!" he laughed, thinking they were confused about something. Varona shook her head and looked around once more.
"Who thinks that we should not go with Councillor Flarius's ideas, but with those I have put forward?" she asked. The reaction was immediate, with every arm rising in agreement - even that of the Senzero's. Flarius shook his head in disbelief, and without a word, he turned and left. His leaving meant the session had to come to an early close as not all Councillors were present.
"Tis clear that the Council agrees with trade and economic growth" the Senzero said as he got up from his throne, "and that is the policy we shall pursue. This session, has come to a close" and with his words, all Councillors upped and left, many crowding around Varona and asking her about how she was planning to do all these things. She was more than happy to answer.

[TheFusecog]

Ironlord Nodr Grimm massaged his temples. Ontop of the "Zwerge Thron" he sat, soot in his face and hair, eyes blue as the sky on the countryside and the characteristic, slighty bent nose - all in his hands. He was desperate to find a solution. For days had his people cried. For weeks had they complained. But for months they had suffered. Miros needed clean water and food. Nodr looked up and found the engineers he had sent for earlier standing in front of him. Most of them where powerfully built, with muscular structure and bearded faces. Some wore goggles, others eye-patches. Each one was different from the other on the outside, but the insides didn't matter. Nodr had called them for one purpose. "Malun. Your guild has been responsible for building a machine that can cleanse our polluted air. Has there been any progress?" Nodr said with his low, raspy voice. The strongest one of the engineers stepped forth. His face had three burns across the forehead and one on his right cheek. He wore an eye-patch on his left eye and had a dark-brown beard coloured with soot and phosphorous particles. He wore a casual dwarven smith's outfit: a brown apron covered with soot and burns, leather gloves reinforced with wool and pants with pockets for tools and parts.
"I am deeply sorry, Ironlord, but we have yet to create a filtration system that works. We work day and night to rework our last experiment. I can guarantee that will work in no less than a week," said the large dwarf. Nodr stood up and descended the stairs that lead to the throne. He walked right up to the opposite dwarf and looked up at him. Nodr wasn't a particulary tall dwarf, but Malun sure was. Nodr eyed Malun for half a minute and grunted in approval. "You have done well, Malun," he said. The engineers gave a sigh of relief.
But then suddenly Nodr pulled Malun's beard with all his strength and brought the giant dwarf to the floor. Malun squirmed helplessly as Nodr pushed his foot down on Malun's neck to keep him from escaping. Nodr held out a hand and a servant came over with a red-glowing rod of hot iron. ".. But not well enough.. What is the code of the Dwarves..?" Nodr slowly moved the red-hot part of the rod towards Malun's right cheek. Malun tried desperately to muster the words, but the rod was already searing his skin as he opened his mouth. Malun screamed from the immense pain while Nodr smiled satanically. After a quarter of a minute he removed the red-hot iron and pulled the giant dwarf to his knees with all his force. "The Dwarven machine works without end. YOU ARE NOT WORKING!" And with that, Nodr kicked the engineer in the face and left the dwarf on the floor to be attended to by his subordinates.

When the engineers had left, Nodr Grimm walked over to the window facing the city. It had been three years since he had reached his title. Three years since he constructed the Black Forge along with his guild. Nodr had been the master builder and architect of the project. The forge, the biggest in the city, had been completed in two months. It was an underground chamber below the city. The forge itself harnessed thermal energy from deeper down to stay warm and the chamber was always packed with crafters. In the very center of the chamber was the forge. It was a pit filled with rocks. Below the rocks ran a network of pipes that led to the canals of magma deep below the ground. It was said that the air in the forge could kill anyone from the outside - granted that the air on the surface didn't do it first. Nodr smirked to himself. The city's streets were crowded as always. Muscular dwarven males carrying equipment, powerfully built dwarf women working the forges and dwarven children working relentlessly to make something their parents will like. 'This was the nature of the Dwarves,' Nodr had said to himself a thousand times. ".. And so it shall remain," he rumbled to himself.

A dwarf stumbled in the doorway, interrupting Nodr's moment of peace. The dwarf shook with fear as he slowly shuffled closer to Nodr, who was extremely annoyed by the interruption. ".. Reb-rebe-rebbe!" The dwarven scout, judging from his light clothing, had problems speaking. Nodr despised one thing more than anything else: weakness. And this scout had already ruined his moment of peace, so that scout was rapidly increasing his chance of leaving with a dark-brown, almost black burn across his forehead. "Rebellion, Ironlord! Rebellion in the north! Ferroburg has burned down the town hall and killed the Representative of the Dwarven Throne!" the scout finally said before collapsing down to his knees in fear. Nodr's eyes swelled in a mix of dread and rage. Nodr pulled the scout from the ground, holding a firm grip around the writhing scout's neck. ".. Why are they doing this.. Do you know, boy?" Nodr said with a voice that cooled the room down. The scout desperately shook his head and Nodr threw him to the ground to vent his rage. The poor scout lay on the floor, unconcious and with a bleeding nose. Nodr spat and turned back to the window. ".. Summon my general and ready my wagon," he said.

"The Dwarven machine has no room - for rusty parts."

[Chenzor]

( Holy shit those posts are monstrously huge. Also Pirate and Fuse asked me why I made the dwarven lands so huge - well it's because I imagined it being like 80% mountains anyway, and not even dwarves can live in ALL of them. So imagine them only having so much land because the mountains take up so much space. )

"Seventeen years..." a large man mumbled, walking through a mighty hallway. With large decorated columns from the floor up to the arching ceiling, which was covered with paintings of mythical creatures, kings, gods and knights.
Robe-dressed servants who passed the hall stayed and bowed for the man as he walked straight down the hall. The man himself had medium-long black hair with a few strains of gray and white indicating his age, the same thing going on with his beard, a few inches long but covering his entire chin and cheeks. His armor was polished shining bright, with emblems of blue backgrounds and a black cross, his long cape of the same design reaching the floor behind him, kissing his heels every now and then.
His steps grew heavier, his pace picking up.
He at last came to a large door which he pushed open with his brute strength. The gates flung open and revealed a large room of the same design as the hallway. On the other end of the large room, eight people sat around a table, looking up at him as he entered the room, some even rising from their seats in surprise. Four guardsmen reacted as the door was flung open, and closed in on Ganelon from behind as he walked towards the table of the eight, with the same heavy pace.

At last, he let out his mighty voice. "Seventeen years!" he shouted. "Seventeen years and we've held peace! Seventeen years and you have all been plotting and scheming, replacing Kings and Queens as you go, and at last devoiding the Kingdom of any King whatsoever!"
He stopped as he reached the two steppes leading up to the elevated floor where the table and the eight were located. "Seventeen years was I the hand of King Tychus Marbrand, and now with his death you deny his heir the throne, and instead put only yourselves at power. You greedy, power-hungry vermin!" his voice roared. "What kind of ruler makes it his first bill to double a Kingdom's military standing?! Are you trying to strangle the people with your economical strains?!"
The man, the former hand of King Tychus Marbrand, was named Ganelon Wyrmire, Lord of Farlight which is Cyperia's biggest harbor-city in the east, although not it's capital. Currently he is standing before the Council, or the Senate, the Eight who now rules the nation. This mighty hall was once the throne-room, located in Cyperia's Capital of Gloria.
The Eight were needlessly to say surprised and shocked with Ganelon's sudden appearance and outbursts that interrupted their meeting. One of the Eight, sitting on the former throne in the middle of the table, spoke without standing up. "Lord Wyrmire, your presence here is unwanted. How dare you interrupt the council in the middle of session?" he said. He was an elderly man with a crooked back and a long white beard, his head almost completely bald. He wasn't fat but neither was he thin. A walking-cane rested against the table by his right.
"Spare me your nonsense, Dragus!" Ganelon responded. "You deny the heir the throne and take power for yourself, and now you even have the nerve to sit on his throne! Tychus was ten times the man any of you will ever be!"
Dragus shook his head, while another of the Eight, who already stood up, spoke. "Lord Wyrmire, if we required your services we'd ask for you - seeing as you are still Lord Commander of most of the Kingdom's armies. But you are Hand of the King no longer, and thus you no longer have the right to tread these halls. Guards, escort Lord Wyrmire out of here." he said and the four guardsmen who had followed Ganelon ever since he entered grabbed his arms. Shaking loose, Ganelon hissed the words "Let go of me you mindless drones! I can walk by myself."
They did let go, but they kept a closer eye on him and still followed him out as he turned and left. Before he took the last step out of the big door, however, he turned back against the Eight. "Mark my words, Dragus, when the time comes when you will fail as council - which you will - I will be there, and I will uphold the rights which you have in your disgusting greed taken away." he said, and exited the room, walking back through the halls of which he came.

As Ganelon had left, the council sat back down and shook their heads. Some rubbed their temples, others just looked down into the table. "He is a real pain, that Ganelon." Dragus spoke. "He has more honor than any man in Cyperia, I'd say." another senator said. "Yes but that doesn't mean he can come in here and hurl wild accusations!" a third one said. "No but how would you look at this, if you were in his position? He doesn't understand - we did this because we had do. If he hates us for it, so be it... You all know we've done this for the good of the Kingdom. The current heir cannot rule, he is merely a boy of 20, a spoiled child." Dragus said in response, and most of the Eight nodded in agreement.

Edit: (Also woo, 1700 posts. )

[Rubberball]

Zianni sat carefully at his engraved Mahogany desk, posed above a three-legged chair, hoping to whoever was up there that it didn't break. It's intricate legs were designed to hold a person up with the minimal strength required, it was a popular chair. He didn't know why. Sighing, he used an engraved pair of pliers to remove small pieces of debris from his favorite gears. Thick sheets of paper were sprawled all over the desk and he barely glanced at them nowadays. Too many problems, too many things to do. It was a shame, that the entire Mezetine race relied on the Royal family. He didn't find himself special or anything, he was the same as everyone. The only thing different, was that his parents had won the Royal Tournament when Corvan the Third died with no heirs. Which left him here, sitting at his desk, and procrastinating. It was funny how some things worked out, you never really thought about it, but then it just hits you in the face. A well-timed knock on door broke him out of his thoughts, his balance, and sent him toppling to the marble floor. He looked at his reflection in the floor and frowned. His features had lately become more rugged than usual, perhaps this was the pain of being King? The door was opened regardless of his command and his Royal Advisor, Vance Heghen stepped in. They both made eye-contact for perhaps a few seconds, both confused about what was happening, and an awkward silence pursued.

Vance walked further into the room, patting down his stained silk clothing. Multiple cases of crime had him around the country, taking names, and imprisoning conspirators. He smiled at Zianni and decided to break the silence. "While I do enjoy these fun games I'd much rather get to the reports, Zianni. Err, your Majesty. The reports from Delek are in, would you like to review them with me? Or shall we place them on the, "Desk"."

He pushed himself off the ground with the help of Vance's arm and righted himself back on the three-pronged chair. He sat for a few seconds and threw the chair into the wall. It easily shattered against the wall, breaking down into small splinters. Merits of having a good job, being able to break chairs whenever you want. Good stress relief. "Ah, the reports... I'll read them now. Without you of course, I've prolonged work for much too long." He looked guilty at his gears on the desk and back at Vance. "More importantly, I need a new chair and an apology letter sent to the Craftsman guild. Oh my, it seems I've accidentally broken their new famed three-prong chair."

Taking the papers from Vance, he shooed his adviser away and settled down on his desk. Swinging his legs as he read the reports, well glanced over them.

Various Dwarf attacks on the Caravans?

"This is rather unexpected, I always thought we had good relations. Perhaps I was wrong in trusting Caravan Routes in their way. Hrm, they might be rogue dwarves though. It would be wrong to pin blame on an entire race for a few's crimes. Find out what you can, Vance. I'll leave it up to you, considering you'll be heading over there as a diplomat correct? I need you to write up a trade agreement with the Dwarves about obtaining precious minerals for us." He glanced at the doorway and frowned. "Seriously, I need you over there. Keep in mind, we don't really know the location of any of their cities, and as far as we know there might be multiple groups. In fact, while you're there either ask for a map or a list of the many "nations" there. It's important information."

His adviser stepped back into the room, obviously waiting behind the door for his orders. "Very well, Your Majesty. I'm already packed and I'll be leaving say this evening. Also, I'd advise keeping the Caravans heading through the original route. It may damage our relations to suddenly retract the route schedules. Many anticipate our wares for their expertise, I'm sure the Dwarves can relate with our fancies."

Zianni nodded, "Plus, I rather not waste the messengers. I have a deal with them, where they'll take my letters to the lovely girls down at the parlor for only three." He flexed his fingers in the sunlight, trying to look cool as he bragged.

Vance raised his eyebrow at the king as if worried, "Three, what? Oh dear god, are the Royal Messengers scamming you? I swear to god if I find Raven, I'll kill him."

Zianni frowned at him, "That's the standa- Oh god damn it, those lying birds! Agreed, when WE find Raven... No small feat, mind you. We're going to tie him to a water-wheel and dunk him into the water for a week." He threw another chair into the wall for good measure. "And remember the chair. Make that a lot of chairs, in fact buy out an antique store for me. Only the chairs thought, not those crappy trinkets."

Vance left the room smiling at himself, the King sure was a lucky man.

[Kho]

Thirrmod, Post the Second

The two ships were old and barely seaworthy, one was practically falling apart due to age, while the other was in desperate need of repair. Perhaps they had been miracles of human ability back in their day, but now they were nothing but a disgrace, mostly on Thirrmods clear inability to build ships which were of any good. Yes they could build boats, yes they could build small vessels, but they could not build truly magnificent ships which could carry a decent amount of resources or men. It was something which greatly worried Varona who stood on the docks with the rest of the Council of the Bow, excluding Council Flarius who had refused to come along and give the two diplomats a good send-off, he had insisted on remaining int the meeting room and wait for them, something which the Senzero had been greatly annoyed with as he walked out with the other Councillors. Varona looked at Zaraxus who was standing next to her, uncertainty was clear in her eyes, she was not sure if the missions of these two diplomats were in any way viable. Zaraxus gave her a reassuring smile, it did not help much.
The two diplomats were looking doubtfully at the two ships, it was clear that they did not think that they would be able to carry them, but they were the biggest ships in the Thirrmodian navy, even if they were not the most well-off. The two ships had two groups of two hundred Thirrmodian soldiers each, most were to go to the mainland and offer their services as mercenaries, but a few were there to guard their respective diplomats. The Senzero stepped forward and looked down at the two men, towering over both of them.

"Brave Thirrmodians, yours is a mission of great importance, both of you hold the key to Thirrmods growth in your hands. You must both use your skills and abilities to persuade these nations to give us what we need, in return for our Thirrmodian bows and Thirrmodian warriors. May the fortunes be with you, the seas carry you, the winds guide you and the earth destroy all who seek to hinder you. May your bow arms be strong and arrows strike true, and your words open gates for Thirrmod and all who follow you!" the two diplomats bowed deeply after the Senzero had finished speaking.
"We will do our utmost, Senzero, we will not disappoint. In the gods we put our faith, then in you, then ourselves" the Senzero nodded to them and backed away. Councillor Varona looked around, the others were looking at her expectantly. She gulped and stepped forward. She looked at the two men. The first was fairly young with long black hair tied into a pony tail, he wore short robes and had his bow and quiver slung over his back. The second was older, with medium length white hair and a medium sized beard, he too wore short robes and had his bow and quiver over his shoulder. She stood there for a few moment, looking from one to the other before finally turning to the younger of the two.

"Your mission is simple, you must travel to Mezetine and speak to their king, tell him that we would like fifty Elbans of good education and magical ability to become citizens of Thirrmod and make their permanent residence in our land. In return, he will have our guaranteed friendship and alliance, free trade with us, and of course, access to Thirrmodian archers and bows, the best in the world" the man knew the difficulty of the task, it would be very difficult to persuade anyone to allow his citizens to leave for another land, but that didn't mean that it was impossible.
"Let him know that their well-being is guaranteed, they will be cared for by every Thirrmodian, and will live in peace and luxury" Varona told the young diplomat. He bowed deeply.
"Your wish is my command, Councillor" she smiled at him and turned to the older and more experienced diplomat.
"You must travel to Cyperia and request that they give us blueprints for modern ships, both merchant and war vessels. Let them know that in return our trade with them will be more beneficial, especially for them, and that they will also receive our warriors" she pointed at the men on the ship he would be taking, "to fight for them until the next Annual Bow Tournament" the older man nodded in understanding.
"May you both be strong and successful in this endeavor, and remember, wisely and slow, for they stumble that run fast" the two men gave a final bow before turning around, and each walked up the plank and onto his respective ship.

The Council, along with with the Senzero, watched as the two ships prepared to sail, the men on board running around and making sure that all was right. Finally, the anchor was lifted, the sails unfurled, and the ships began to make their way out of the large harbour and out to sea. For a while after the group stood there, knowing that the missions of those two diplomats held Thirrmods future in their power, all they could do now was hope for the best.

The group finally turned away and made their way to the small house they were staying at while in the large port city of Thaarmodiyala (Thaar-Mod-Ee-Yay-La) on the western coast of Thirrmod, far from the capital city Lonrrow which was situated in the south east of Thirrmod.
As they made their way into the large meeting room, Councillor Flarius greeted them.
"What in the world took you so long! I've been waiting here for nearly two hours! I was hoping we'd not have to stay another night, but now there is no other choice!" the other Councillors seemed greatly shocked at this sudden outburst, and the Senzero was clearly not in the mood for Flarius' remarks.
"Watch your tongue fool! You stand here in presence of your equals and superiors! Do you dare raise your voice at us!? What is this? You are a saucy and impudent little man! If ever you raise your voice at us, or at anyone, in a show of such disrespect again, you can be certain that your career as a Councillor, and your life, will be over!" with that, the Senzero turned away, his face not hiding his clear fury and anger, and stormed out of the large meeting room. The sound of his door being closed was surprisingly quiet, and all could not help but feel relieved that he had not taken his fury out on the door, perhaps he himself had known that if he had done so there would have been no door remaining after.

The Councillors looked at each, then at Flarius who had gone pale in fear, his hands were trembling, and he looked on the verge of tears. Without a word he ran out of the room. Nobody got in his way, and as pitiful as he was, nobody felt sorrow for him, he had shown in the last few days how incompetent and reactionary he was, all were in agreement that the Council of the Bow would be better off without Councillor Flarius. The Councillors sat and spoke for a while, it had become clear that there were two main powers in the Council, one was Councillor Flarius, who none truly followed, and the other were the two young Councillors, Varona and Zaraxus, who had unconsciously taken lead of the Council. It wasn't so much because they had forced themselves upon the others, but rather that the rest of the Council seemed to be fine with these two fairly sensible and wise young people taken control, it made their job much easier, and left them to do other things, such as managing local problems, judicial issues and other things to do with keeping Thirrmod at its present level, in preparation for Varona and Zaraxus's plans for growth.
Once the small unofficial meeting was done, each Councillor rose and left, for tomorrow they traveled back to Lonrrow, and so they needed their rest.

Only Zaraxus and Varona remained.
"Do you think they will succeed?" Varona asked the younger man. He looked at her for a while, thinking of how to answer.
"I think that it does not matter if we are successful or not. As unwise as Councillor Flarius may be, he is right when he says that Thirrmod is not so week as to be unable to grow on its own. Building ships? It is only a matter of experimentation. Having Elbans who can enchant our already powerful bows? We can surely achieve that level of power through other methods. The success of these two missions will only speed up our growth, their failure will only slow it down slightly" Varona nodded as he spoke.
"Your words ring true dear Zaraxus, Thirrmod will not fall should diplomacy and trade fail, we have never been ones to bend under the strain of advancement" with that, they both rose and departed for their respective rooms, the next few weeks will bring great change to Thirrmod, whether the diplomats of Cyperia and Mezetine succeeded or not.

[TheFusecog]

"FIRE!" shouted the dwarven artillery general Fjirrn Cohre. The dwarven cannons made a glorious choir of destruction as they blasted the dwarven resistance with massive lead boulders. The useless barricades built by the rebels were like feather compared to the weaponry of the capital. The dwarven Riot Batallion had been travelling from the capital for a week, feeding only on the army provisions and what water they could find on the road. The soldiers were sick of the maggoty bread they got served and wanted better food. Nodr had dismissed the request immediately. He sat in the camp, watching soldiers run back and forth with ammunition or prisoners. Two soldiers came up to Nodr with a bleeding, half-naked dwarf woman. She stood shorter than the two guards and Nodr, but she looked proud and strong. Nodr stood up and hit her across the face. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?! WHY REBEL AGAINST THE DWARVEN THRONE?!" he shouted at her. The dwarf woman looked at Nodr with burning hatred in her eyes and spat him in his soot-covered face. She said nothing after, for Nodr has already cleaved her from forehead to waist with his monstrous axe. The soldiers quickly pulled the corpse to a nearby mass grave. Nodr looked to his general and snarled. "Bring me their leader. Unharmed. I want to know why they're rebelling." The tall dwarven general known as Morrd Skodn nodded and took the bulk of the force to the ruins of the once-beautiful dwarven city of Ferroburg. (( The dwarven host is about 5000 soldiers armed with crossbows and axes, 1000 steam engine supply wagons and 100 siegeweapons, mainly cannons. ))

"THIS REBELLION WAS STUPID, TICHMOR!" said Leochni. Tichmor sat in a wooden chair with his face in his hands. From above they heard their beautiful city being smashed to pieces by the capital weaponry. ".. Not only did you doom us.. YOU ARE DOWN HERE WHILE YOUR FOLLOWERS DIE FOR YOU!" Leochni was a smaller and skinnier dwarf than Tichmor, but was known to make a lot of noise. He had been Tichmor's best friend since childhood, but now Tichmor had gone too far. The food wagons from the capital had demanded more every year and the farmers could not keep up with the food consumption of Miros. Tichmor's idea had sounded so good at the time. If they killed off the emissary of the capital, the wagons could no longer come to Ferroburg for food. If they had only remembered who sat on the "Zwerge Thron". ".. I.. I.. I'm sorry, Leochni.. But none of us knew the wrath of the Ironlord.. The monster cannot be frightened by the birds from the countryside! We need help from the outside!" said Tichmor with hope in his voice. Leochni silenced himself at the thought. Maybe.. Maybe mercenaries could save them after all! Leochni took his friend's hand and pulled him to a secret exit in the wall. "This will take us further north.. To the Mantor Lands."

The dwarven soldiers were like heartless animals. Child, woman, old.. They didn't care. If you bled, you would be shot. If you were weak, you would be shot. If you fought for you life, you would only delay you inevitable death. The dwarven machine marched over corpse after corpse, axes and crossbows ready to kill more. The city was purged of all rebels in a single day and raided of all supplies in a single night.

Nodr smiled at the chaos. ".. The Dwarven Machine has been fixed. Now it will keep working 'til the end."

[Pirate]

"Ahoo, ahoo" the horns sounded throughout the Southern Mantor Plains, young men were taking arms, towers were being armed, patrols organised and hosts assembled. Word of the Dwarven war had reached the Chiefs. It was no full mobilisation, enough men were left to tilt the fields, but the force assembled at the Dwarven border was all these same not small.

At the holy Ting upon the central plains, the Chiefs' Council, filled as ever with fearful old men, there was little dispute in making the decision of partial mobilisation in the south. A matter of dispute was, however, the role of the "regiment" in this, Krangor's 200 warriors. The Northern Chiefs were worried about the military build up in Cyperia, and therefore wanted to keep the "regiment" either in the North or in the Central Plains, at least until they were actually attacked somewhere. But Krangor himself presented the southern case to the council, and spoke well of the South's wide frontier and therefore great vulnerability to attack, in contrast to the small land way from Cyperia to Mantor lands and the brutality of the Dwarves. In the end, the council decided in his favour, with a bare majority.

As he left the council, Krangor came upon his 200 warriors outside, standing line by line before him. Dressed in chain mail and leather, carrying large spiked axes and halberds and with spears hanging upon their backs. Most of them had scars from fighting as mercenaries in foreign lands, and indeed the band mimicked what they had learned there. This was to be the Mantor tribes' first "Regiment". "Assemble column!" Krangor shouted, and the men assembled on the road, facing south. He moved himself to its front "Forward march!" and march they did, to defend their brethren in the south.

A youngling sat with his friends around a campfire in the massive camp that housed the 5000 strong Southern Host. He was excited, confident, fearful all at the same time as he drank with his mates. The host was assembled at the largest pass from Dwarven to Mantor lands, and they had patrols going from the camp to scout along and across the border. The only things he and his friends had really been told was that they roughly equalled the Dwarven forces and that they should meet any dwarf with suspicion and hostility. Although perhaps not violence, unless it can't be stopped.

[TheFusecog]

Tichmor and Leochni emerged from a cave among the mountains. Around them were plains of green and gold, scattered trees and tall creatures plowing the dirt. "We're here. Now we must find people willing to fight for us," Tichmor said as he approached a nearby mantor. Tichmor's heavy accented Common Tongue must've confused the mantor, for it looked at the dwarves with suspicion. A sound was heard from the cave behind the dwarves and thinking it was the sound of a chasing dwarf squad, Leochni drew his blade. The mantor spotted Leochni's longsword and must've mistakenly believed Leochni to mean him harm. The mantor let go of the farming tools and charged at Tichmor, lifting him up and tossing the dwarf to the ground. The dwarven armor took most of the damage, but Tichmor was still knocked unconscious. Leochni didn't pull his sword out in time before the giant gave him a solid kick in the stomach and sent him flying back into the cave. Much of the pain was again absorbed by the extremely powerful armor, but Leochni felt his eye-lids getting heavier and, he too, fell out of consciousness.

General Morrd Skodn sniffed the air. It was reeking of carbon, sulphure and destruction. He smiled demonically to himself. General Morrd Skodn had always been an evil dwarf. He was the ultimate mercenary, taking orders from none other than the highest bidder and never listened to moral or ethics. He killed everything from children to old. With his other-worldly monster of a warhammer he had taken the lives of hundreds through his life. He wore the obsidian-black armor of the dwarves decorated with gold to show his rank. The Military were one of the most productive sections in the Dwarven society, always working on new weapons, testing weapons or keeping the peace. Morrd didn't have a single burn on his face. He had never failed his work. If someone asked him to kill, he would. He halted the force following him when they came up to a bleeding dwarven child on top of a pile of rubble who was still breathing, though faintly. Morrd slowly ascended the pile of debris on which the child lay. The child's arm has been pierced by a crossbow bolt and had dug a deep wound in the arm. The child looked up into the demonic grin of the general. The child didn't even have a chance to cry before the hammer went straight through its head and deep into the pile of debris. The dwarven force didn't even attempt to stop their general. They knew that they would share the child's fate if they did. The general pulled out his hammer and picked up the headless corpse of the child and lifted it high up in the air. "These peasants tried to rebel against the state. Now they will know what will happen to them if they should try a second time," he said with his voice of ice. A soldier handed the general a spear and the general shot it straight through the child's spine and stuck the butt end of the spear in the debris. The body of the child now served as a mark. A mark that the Dwarfs were no longer passive.

The Dwarven Machine - has awoken.