[IC] Seats of Power

[VitaVitaAR]

The land of Iliogis was bathed in sunlight, a warm breeze settling to blow across the fertile fields of the Land of the Sun. Farmers set about their daily routine, harvesting the vast amounts of crops that grew in the warm breeze and the light of the sun. Towards the coast, the lands became more developed, until the white stone that composed the Jewel of Iliogis, the capital city of Ilioevnoipolis, rose from the golden fields. The city of the sun spread across the coastline, dotted with ports. Within, Amazons went about their day. There was the forging of weapons, the selling of foods, clothing, and various other goods. Nem were also present in the city, though in smaller numbers, selling wares from the more arid southeast of Iliogis, or purchasing goods from these more fertile lands. Harpies worked deals out with Amazons to construct more... complete homes then they would have otherwise. In all respects the city was bustling with activity.

Tanya Palayen, Champion of Reon, huffed. The streets were crowded. It was annoying. People were staring. That ticked her off too. Just because she was the chosen champion of the Sun Goddess herself didn't mean so many people should stare at her! It annoyed her, it really annoyed her! She just wanted to buy some damn food already, but no, so many stares and questions... Hmph. Well, at least she was serving Reon...

And upon a hill, near the old stone Reon had first appeared on, within the most Grand of the White Temples to the Sun Goddess... sat Reon herself. She was similarly sulky to her chosen champion. This was mostly because the goddess was bored. She wanted to do... something, jeez, she'd settle for talking to an idiot right now... but everyone seemed quite busy and her advice was not necessary at the moment. There was an Amazonian emissary sent to discuss further trade with their allies, but the land of Iliogis was quite peaceful for the moment.

Which was good. That wasn't the boring part, at least.

[DELETED324324]

The city of Nekaheim was being hit with the full heat of the sun, green skins and humans walked about with their day to day business, slaves walked through the streets trying not to spill a drop of water in the buckets they carried, Hawkers tried to sell their wares, and guards took care of their business, but outside the city walls digging ditches was The God of War himself, his shirt, jewelry, and other belongings just a few feet away from him, a shovel in his hand, and sweat dripping off of him from his hard work digging with him was his adviser and long time friend Gor'lak they had been working for sometime before the old Orc chimed in "Targ, why do you insist on doing this type of work?" Targ paused and looked at him "Because the people need to see I'm no different from them." Gor'lak got a confused look on his face and shrugged letting Targ, return to his work.

When the two had finished they were walking back to the keep, when an squat green skinned goblin fell in next to the two "Cogwell." Targ said acknowledging the goblin she looked up at Targ, and launched off on an explanation of something she was inventing that Targ didn't understand nor did he want to understand. It took a little while for Targ and company to get to the keep but when they got there the other advisers were standing huddled together "M'lord welcome back." Yuriah said the usual amount of cheer to see him in her voice the young god just nodded and kept walking, the others falling in behind the two that were following him their footsteps echoing down the hallway until they made it to the war room.

The war room was a large chamber so the ogre Grotz could fit into it with, a large table in the middle of room and it's chairs being the only thing in it, Yukkah of the sand trolls reached into a satchel at his side pulling out a large scroll of paper with a map of the tribes holdings on it "So we are here to discuss the separatists right?" Grotz asked the group the group looked at the ogre Targ chuckled "Well it is the only problem we have right now." He told Grotz "Now..." He continued "We have pushed them out of Eagle Wing Canyon, but our scouts confirmed another section of them planning to strike here in a couple of days." Targ told the group. A mixture of emotions rolled over the councils face emotions like confusion over why they would strike the capital and relief knowing that they are desperate enough to try, Yukkah spoke up after Targ "I think we should strike them before they get here, if we can kill them off before we don't have to rebuild anything." Gor'lak was after the troll "But we are safe here and we have walls we can save man power by defending." The old orc told everyone sparking off an argument "It's going to be a long night." Targ muttered to himself cleaning sand and dirt out from under his finger nails.

[TheSovereignGrave]

The Indigo Palace towered above the surrounding landscape; the ground rocky but blooming with the green of plant life thanks to the life-giving waters of the Ibish River. The great palace of the God Xisuthra stood several hundred feet high, with long staircases leading up the several layers of the stepped structure. The palace's name came from the palace proper, located at the top of the ziggurat and taking up the uppermost layers, for it was painted in brilliant indigo with touches of gold. Xisuthra himself had desired something much simpler for himself, but had been convinced otherwise by his people. Convinced that a God desired a greater abode than any mere King. And beneath this behemoth of a building was a small settlement surrounded by a massive wall of stone. Though the wall surrounded the complex on all sides the eastern border had an additional defense, the width of the Ibish river itself. The town had began as a home for the servants in the palace, but had soon grown beyond that function. Though it was the middle of the day, with the scorching desert sun high above in the sky, people could be seen bustling along the streets of the town as well as hurrying up and down the great stone steps of the palace.

And high above it all, at the very top of the Indigo Palace, sat Xisuthra. Even though he was sitting down as he gazed out over his domain, he would still be taller than most humans thanks to his prodigious height. Next to him was the Lawbringer, the writing on the worn stone tablet constantly shifting and displaying the numerous laws that Xisuthra had laid down in his land. He smiled as he looked out over the lands and water of Ibish; things in his land were all well. The land was at peace as it had been for centuries, and all was well in the land. Xisuthra didn't mind the lack of anything to do, since if he was truly needed that meant something was wrong. But despite that Xisuthra had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was coming. Perhaps it was the nomads from the desert, though they'd shown no signs of becoming more of a threat than they usually were. And he certainly didn't think it was the dwarves of Khazukan Ankor or the amazons of Iliogis; after all, nothing had happened recently to sour relations with them. But still, things would be happening soon. Xisuthra could feel it.

[Dead Cruiser]

The heart of Zarkoum, far from civilized eyes, was abuzz with activity. The air hummed with the heat of nearby volcanoes, and the sound of drums being furiously beaten by enthusiastic Fire Goblins competed with the calls and drones of many bugs, birds and beasts. In the royal encampment of the Dragon King, Crowned-By-Fire, a wide variety of men and beasts and things in between went about their business, bustling between many hide tents and roaring bonfires. Elvish fletchers shaped arrows with obsidian knives. A grey, old Denmother taught a litter of eager cubs to make poultices from chewed herbs. Bragging warriors proudly displayed skull-trophies as they regaled their Clansmen with boastful stories.

However, the busy camp was suddenly stilled and silenced with the arrival of a newcomer. A tall man, clad in war paint, furs and scavenged armor, strode through the camp towards its heart. He was flanked by a pair of Werewolf guards, one keeping an eye on him, the other watching his "pet." The man led along a baloth, a burly beast of scale, horn and aggression. Though this one seemed oddly placated, its eyes dull and unfocused, and many whip scars stretching across its back. It followed the man blindly as he pulled it by a heavy chain wrapped about its neck. As the small party marched into the center of the camp, the many Clanfolk and other inhabitants stared at them with tense, inscrutable expressions.

They eventually reached the tent at the center of the camp, only different in being slightly larger than most. Leaving the baloth's chain with one of the Werewolves, the man was led by the other into the tent. A small fire burned at the center of the tent, and an unkempt, dark-haired man sat nearby it on a bearskin, staring intensely into the flames.

"Dragon King, I have brought Gorusk, Chief of the Fleshripper Clan." The Werewolf introduced the visitor.

Crowned-By-Fire only nodded slowly, gaze not wavering from the fire. Grouse, unsure of how to proceed, crossed his arms and stared curiously at the legendary God-Chief of the Fireblood Clans. He then looked to the Werewolf for any advice on how to proceed, but found no help his the stoic, muzzled face.

"Gorusk..." Crowned-By-Fire spoke, rising slowly from his seat. "You have come to me with your desire to join my Clan of Clans. Tell me, what is it that you hope to gain by pledging yourself and your people to me?" The Dragon King stood eye to eye with the large man, though his gaze was ablaze with divine flame.

Gorusk paused, but then spoke surely, "I hope to crush the oppressors of my people, and teach them to live as hunted beasts as we have."

Crowned-By-Fire studied this "Chief." His size hinted at the Were-beast blood somewhere in his ancestry, though it was likely well diluted. His mismatched armor outed him as a scavenger of downed knights and other such warriors. His Clan was likely little more than a bunch of bandits from the borderlands of Zarkoum. People turned to depravity by poverty and social stigma; sad products of the sickness of the world.

"If you seek to overthrow tyrants, you cannot be a tyrant, yourself. Do you vow to forsake slavery and corruption, the tools of our enemy?"

Gorusk tilted his head, "Of course, we discussed this before by messenger. This was why you granted me audience, remember?"

Moving past him, Crowned-By-Fire again muttered, "Yes, of course...." He walked out of the tent, Gorusk and his escort following close behind.

Gesturing to the chained baloth, Gorusk proclaimed proudly, "My tribute, as agreed: the finest beast in my hunting pack."

Crowned-By-Fire's gaze sharpened as he admired the creature, running his hand along its scars and brushing against the chain around its neck. With a tug, the chain shattered into pieces on the jungle floor. The baloth stirred, but barely moved.

"As we agreed, yes. We also agreed that you would forsake slavery. I can forgive the truly repentant, but let us see if your victim is as merciful."

The gaze of the Dragon King met that of the baloth, and the creative's dull gaze was suddenly replaced with a sharp clarity. It lurched, whipping its head around to search the camp. Its vision locked onto Gorusk, and the baloth was upon him before he could react. With a mighty snap of its jaws and a sickening crunch, Gorusk was made half a man. The baloth lumbered off into the jungle, busily chewing, and the bloody remains of the man were set upon by hungry Werewolf cubs.

Crowned-By-Fire watched the baloth retreat as he issued orders to hid nearby subordinates, "Send a soulmender to the Fleshripper territory to liberate our new Clansmen. Any human survivors are to join our vanguard forces."

A female Weredragon of middling age strode up to Crowned-By-Fire, dressed in woven reeds and carrying a ceremonial staff. Golden flowers were tucked into her thick, black hair, matching her yellow, reptilian eyes.

"Are you well, Dragon King?" She asked in soothing tones. "You seemed distracted."

He regarded her carefully, with almost equal reverence that she held toward him. "War is a distracting matter, Clutchmother. My thoughts are quite thinly divided. The day of judgement draws close."

Smells-Of-Lilies gave him a motherly smile, "Perhaps putting your enemies to your axe would ease your stresses for a time?"

He returned her smile, "Perhaps, but business must come before pleasure."

[The Nexerus]

There was nowhere in all creation that could match the coldness and bleakness of the Glacinus Ice Fields. Its northern stretches were a place without life and without death. Absolute and utter nothingness prevailed in the Ice Fields, as if they had been untouched by Melkaia's dying breath. Indeed, most of them had been. Before Melkaia's arrival to the planet, the Ice Fields had been entirely lifeless, and with his sacrifice to bestow unto the world the gift of divinity, only a single falling star, a lone and isolated shard of Melkaia's raw power, fell into the sheets of the ice. That lonely spark began a blaze that led to the birth of a god, a divine power the antithesis of a more literal fire, that would come to rule undisputed over the lonely land in which it found itself. Krustaliem was born, the god of the Isolated and the Cold. Within each god's nature, though, regardless of temperament, was a desire to expand his domain. It was for that reason that when Krustaliem first drew life, his breath, at first without his knowing, made the land colder.

Evalaine Ashtur, Commander of the South Patrol of Glacinus, said
To all peoples in knowledge of the land and people of Glacinus, the Glacii, defenders of Glacinus, issue an urgent request. It is not often that the Glacii interfere in the affairs of the south. It is in our nature and the nature of our faith to avoid such instances. At times, though, it is necessary for us to make requests of the nations of the south, so as to continue our survival as a people. This is the most dire of such times.

Krustaliem, the God of Glacinus, stirs in the north. His movements make the winds colder and the ice harder, and it is usually only once a year, in the season of winter, that he stirs in such a way. His pattern has broken, though, and he now stirs out of tune, and louder than ever before. Borea, our great capital, has frozen solid. Many of our people, the most suited of all of creation's life for the cold of the north, have fallen to this new winter. We have no choice but to find ourselves a refuge, a place to life that is habitable, as our homeland once was. Our people are not organized as you southerners are, and so we have not fled in the fashion that would best allow us to survive. Equal portions of our people make the journey to each nation in the land. By the time this letter has arrived, many of our people will be at your borders, seeking refuge. We are not your allies, and we are not your enemies. We do not wish to aid you, or to harm you. We desire only to continue to live. Please... help us do so.

Perhaps in time we may travel back north, and discover the cause of Krustaliem's great wake from inactivity. But now, we must only endeavour to live.

[VitaVitaAR]

The note reached the Council of the Amazons. The discussion, in relative terms, was not a long one. There was little reason to doubt the truth of the message, and Reon herself, in spite of her animosity towards the frozen North(less because of those there, and more because it was all dark and cold and unpleasant), recommended that the refugees be allowed entrance into Iliogis. It was certainly a somewhat exciting turn of events, much, much different from what had occurred recently. And it was hardly harmful. Indeed, the Council felt that it would not be difficult to support a small population of refugees in Iliogis.

And so, a flight of harpies was dispatched to locate the Glacii, reporting their location to a team of Amazons assembled to greet them. The choice for the team leader was natural, in Reon's mind.

Tanya Palayen grumbled as she road atop her unicorn mount. The horse-like creature was sturdy, with a white coat, but it was still... this whole thing was irritating. And worse, she had to actually talk to them. Sure, she had no problem with the Glacii themselves, but having to introduce herself and everything was just going to be a complete pain. And yet still, the paladin and her team of Amazons road onward. They would find the Glacii soon, that was for certain.

[Dead Cruiser]

On the northern shores of Zarkoum, the outcast Glacene struggled immensely. Blown off course and then shipwrecked by a sudden storm, those that survived the jagged rocks and furious currents found themselvesred washed ashore in an alien and inhospitable land. Leon Metar, a priest of Glacinus for a mere three years, had been appointed leader of what remained of the refugees. The ship's captain had died in the wreck, and much of the higher Glacii soon after. If Krustaliem had been seeking to punish the Glacii for some unknown slight, Leon thought that they could not have met a more suitable fate.

The mere climate of this hellish land had already claimed a third of their number; the young, old, and sickly quickly perished from the heat alone. Pure water was difficult to procure, and Leon feared that dehydration would soon claim many more of them. There had been some short ventures into the thick jungle that bordered the beach, in search of food, survivors or civilization, but pitifully few returned. Thick, fresh branches were burned constantly, filling the air with noxious smoke. Many were made sick by it, but it was a nessecary measure after a child had been sucked dry by a mosquito the size of a dove. Aside from the phantom threats in the jungle, the Glacene had not yet encountered what could be interpreted as "people" since being cast away onto this brutal land, but Leon knew better than to relax himself. There were moments when he felt strongly like he was being watched, not only from the foliage but from the crashing waves as well. Those moments increased in frequency with each passing day.

On their eleventh night spent on the sands of that fateful beach, Leon nervously awoke from his already fitful sleep. He felt an overwhelming sense of dread, as though a terrible pressure was pushing down on him. Though he could not say why, he turned his attention to the nearby sea, and from the blackness of the ocean, all of his fears were realized. Great lumbering shapes emerged from the water, stalking onto the shore. From the fire's light he couldn't make out much at that distance, but he could see teeth, claws, and soulless, black eyes.

He wanted to get up, yell, scream, run, wake the others, nut he found himself frozen in fear. The pressure of the dread in his heart was pinning him to the ground. As the monsters finally descended upon the Glacene, Leon watched the nightmare unfold. With great, the washing jaws they tore apart his fellow survivors. They were torn limb from limb and devoured, their blood staining the sand a deep, dark red. The sound of ripping flesh and the cries of painful death filled the night, and Leon felt truly powerless.

Now closer to tthe fires, he could more clearly see these terrible beasts. They resembled fish that walked like men; unholy mockeries of nature that served no purpose but to kill and eat. As the survivors dwindled in number, too stunned to fight back, Leon laid limp, hoping to play dead and be overlooked. The sounds of carnage died down over time, and Leon dared to open his eyes to survey the scene. He immediately regretted it. Staring down at him was another fish-man, with an expression of what Leon almost perceived to be curiosity.

"A coward among the defilers?" It spoke in a shrill, yet guttural voice, "I'll savor you most."

As its massive jaws closed around him, Leon had a strange thought. Perhaps he was already dead; surely there could be no hell greater than this.

[DELETED324324]

When the survivors of the Glacinus made it to the gates of Nevahiem all Targ could think about was keep them out, so his people didn't question him about other outsiders but when he saw the shape the people from the ice fields were in after traveling across the desert Targ and the Council of five reached a unanimous vote that the Glacii would stay in the city in their own district and be allowed the norms of their everyday life and with that the group was let in with only one thing asked from the council, that request was to vote in a representative who would take a seat on the council and meet with them to make sure the Glacii were happy in Nevahiem.

Among other things Targ did for the Glacii was make sure they had plenty of shade and their own well it took what's left of the group a long time to get used to the desert heat he also gave them clothes they would need to survive it, Targ also sent out his finest wolf riders to find any other survivors who might be lost or enslaved by other clans in the desert so they could be brought to the capital, but one thing weighed heavily one the minds of Targ's people Targ had told them they were the only ones in the world Targ was so strict with outsiders that most were turned away upon entry to the clan lands, the only ones who knew about outsiders were the Razor Finn clan the only orcish sea fairing clan in the holding and they were in open rebellion against Targ, the leading clan in the separatist movement which at the time weighed heavily on Targ's mind and he was currently planning on what to do with them.

Eventually he settled on a preemptive strike on the Separatist's, using the fact that the could be holding more Glacii prisoner so he rallied a warband of his finest to travel behind the wolfish scouts to find the Separatist camp and destroy it before it could become a problem for Nevahiem and Targ could gain his peoples trust once again.

Events

• Targ and his people have let the Glacii in with open arms but his people begin to question


• Targ has sent wolf riders to round up any Glacii that got lost or enslaved in the desert


• And finally Targ is going to launch a preemptive strike against the Separatist's