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No probs, stuff like this happens
Igraine said
Hellis and Crabby, were the two of you working out something, or will we have a Henry post up imminently?
We've sorted something out and I've edited to facilitate it.
Sorry, I seem to have unleashed a shitstorm. I wrote my post true to AH's post and what Raleigh's experience would have been; in the heat of the moment Henry's actions behind him would be unknown and I also didn't want to speak for Henry in how he finished off the Nixie. I did become aware that it may be construed that I ignored Henry so I purposefully put in the bit later on about turning to him for his input on the Lady of Ice. If you still feel I should edit any part, I'm sure we can sort something out. I'll start forewarning at least an hour before posting in the OOC in future to avoid this kind of issue arising again. No hard feelings and sorry if I've upset anyone.
I'm sure it's just puppy fat 
With the combined power of all four legs, Raleigh speared through the Nixie as if she were made of butter. As it turned out, he wasn’t far off.
His antlers drove through the water spirit’s chest, the force launching the knife from her hand and off into the far cave wall with a loud clang. Her body writhed with agony, taking on an appearance entirely devoid of her former beauty, and humanity. A power seemed to be building within her as Raleigh rode her through. He knew it would be some kind of sound attack and he was defenseless. Shit...
A blue blur shot past. Its silver hair flew behind it like the shimmering pennon of a gallant knight. It was Henry, transformed.
With Henry's killing blow, preventing the sonic blast, the Nixie wilted, her china pallor discolouring to the green-brown of stagnant water and her face desiccated like an Egyptian mummy. The Nixie’s body was becoming flaccid as it hemorrhaged water from every pore and shrunk upon Raleigh’s horns as if punctured. Her dying breaths lacked all the enchantment of her magic, the screams reverberating off the walls in a chaotic dissonance. It thrummed in Raleigh’s ears still as he came to a halt, the creature now nothing more than a puddle of murky water on the floor and a thin varnish on his barbs.
He felt no remorse for his actions. He was a protector by, and of, nature and those who held no sanctity for life should be terminated. Their spirits would live on on another plane and be better for it.
Raleigh turned to see if he was further needed. The young vampiress had dealt with the other Nixie he saw, its body slumped against the wall, on which the force of the impact was clear to see. Dr. Kinnon was addressing the wounded shewolf, calling for Atticus’ aid. Raleigh prayed he hadn’t been too late.
He walked to the pool of filth past Henry who too had transformed to assist him and muttered under his breath in an ancient tongue. He blessed the essence of the deceased spirit almost unconsciously, keeping his ears on what was happening with the dying Nixie and werewolf.
Atticus’ interrogation headed his attention. Raleigh had started to move over – knowing he’d only get in the way of the Doctor’s work – when he heard the first response.
“We…were sent by the Lady of Ice…”
Raleigh had to admit he’d never heard of this ‘Lady of Ice’. Was she another werewolf, or a spirit like the Nixie? Why had she targeted Mr. Hoyle’s sister? What were her further motives? He looked to Henry for answers. Perhaps he’d know, being a water spirit like the two villains.
The grilling continued to a point where the Nixie appeared dead. Of course, she wasn’t yet, otherwise she’d be liquid. A final answer came after an agonising silence.
“The mark, we followed the mark.”
‘The mark’? Raleigh pondered.
“The bone moon you used back in Ardgroom. Could that be the mark? Mr. Hoyle, is there anything else they could mean?” Raleigh looked to Reginald, stooped by his sister whom was rapidly fading away.
His antlers drove through the water spirit’s chest, the force launching the knife from her hand and off into the far cave wall with a loud clang. Her body writhed with agony, taking on an appearance entirely devoid of her former beauty, and humanity. A power seemed to be building within her as Raleigh rode her through. He knew it would be some kind of sound attack and he was defenseless. Shit...
A blue blur shot past. Its silver hair flew behind it like the shimmering pennon of a gallant knight. It was Henry, transformed.
With Henry's killing blow, preventing the sonic blast, the Nixie wilted, her china pallor discolouring to the green-brown of stagnant water and her face desiccated like an Egyptian mummy. The Nixie’s body was becoming flaccid as it hemorrhaged water from every pore and shrunk upon Raleigh’s horns as if punctured. Her dying breaths lacked all the enchantment of her magic, the screams reverberating off the walls in a chaotic dissonance. It thrummed in Raleigh’s ears still as he came to a halt, the creature now nothing more than a puddle of murky water on the floor and a thin varnish on his barbs.
He felt no remorse for his actions. He was a protector by, and of, nature and those who held no sanctity for life should be terminated. Their spirits would live on on another plane and be better for it.
Raleigh turned to see if he was further needed. The young vampiress had dealt with the other Nixie he saw, its body slumped against the wall, on which the force of the impact was clear to see. Dr. Kinnon was addressing the wounded shewolf, calling for Atticus’ aid. Raleigh prayed he hadn’t been too late.
He walked to the pool of filth past Henry who too had transformed to assist him and muttered under his breath in an ancient tongue. He blessed the essence of the deceased spirit almost unconsciously, keeping his ears on what was happening with the dying Nixie and werewolf.
Atticus’ interrogation headed his attention. Raleigh had started to move over – knowing he’d only get in the way of the Doctor’s work – when he heard the first response.
“We…were sent by the Lady of Ice…”
Raleigh had to admit he’d never heard of this ‘Lady of Ice’. Was she another werewolf, or a spirit like the Nixie? Why had she targeted Mr. Hoyle’s sister? What were her further motives? He looked to Henry for answers. Perhaps he’d know, being a water spirit like the two villains.
The grilling continued to a point where the Nixie appeared dead. Of course, she wasn’t yet, otherwise she’d be liquid. A final answer came after an agonising silence.
“The mark, we followed the mark.”
‘The mark’? Raleigh pondered.
“The bone moon you used back in Ardgroom. Could that be the mark? Mr. Hoyle, is there anything else they could mean?” Raleigh looked to Reginald, stooped by his sister whom was rapidly fading away.
gorgenmast said
Bear in mind that while Veden is geographically in the north, it's only access to the sea is downstream through what is presumably at least a thousand miles of lakes and rivers of sometimes questionable navigability. On top of that, the mouth of these rivers is far in the southeast of the map, which is probably another several thousandish miles from Zivar waters.Now I'd be happy to have your envoys to be sure. Just bear in mind that it's going to take any ship bound for Veden a long time to arrive. But perhaps I can meet them halfwayish with this expedition I've sent downstream.
Ahh, I hadn't taken that into account. It would be impractical of the Zivar to send an envoy such a long way and over questionable waters. I'll discount Veden as a destination then and if you want to have you expeditionary force cross the paths of one of the envoys, feel free.
The North Sea – West of Zivaria
In the great blue, a lone Zivar dove. It dolphin kicked downwards, surging forward its powerful body. The dorsal fin acted as a rudder to maintain direction. Deeper and deeper it swam, down where the filtered light from the sun entered a twilight zone by the seabed. Seaweed and coral danced in the current as crabs and lobsters scuttled around their gardens. Here the Zivar alighted, planting its webbed feet on the sand, sending up a light dust cloud. It expelled the air from its lungs to establish negative buoyancy, the bubbles from its mouth spiraling upwards towards the surface. The elf then walked, fronds licking at its thighs.
Her name was Viza, a princess of Zivaria and the fourth daughter of King Ga’ap. She was sixteen years old, the same age as her three older siblings. They’d all hatched from the same clutch; however Viza was released from the womb a few weeks after her sisters. Only by the human oppressors’ whims were they born. The colony needed more slaves, both for servitude and trade. Zivaria, or Abvor as it was named up to ten years ago, had a great economy in the slave trade. Zivar thralls were shipped off far and wide, from the moors and marshes of the Western Hill Region to the icy climes of the far North. They were good labourers, gladiators, and soldiers; easy to manipulate and possessed of a robust physique. There still existed slave communities of Zivar in certain cities around the world, much to King Ga’ap’s ire.
The ‘Slave King’ as insolents dubbed him, was a guardian and champion of his people. Ruthless and powerful, he was the epitome of the Leviathan faith, the apex of the race. His martial brilliance was testament to the superior intelligence he held over his subjects; only through his guidance and coordination were they able to overthrow the human colonists. He had roused the once-fearsome Zivar from their centuries-long slumber, sparked the fire within their hearts to claim what was rightfully theirs. Viza only wished she’d been old enough to remember the rebellion, human screams tearing through the night, their blood running like rivers down the streets of Jawr. Her loins quivered at the thought. She loved the King, more than as a father.
Oh yes – Viza often had incestuous thoughts of King Ga’ap. It wasn’t uncommon for Zivar to mate within their family, much as other species frowned upon it. Their love wasn’t monogamous; it was won by displays of power and violence and shifted from suitor to suitor as quickly as a strike could be landed. There were no social barriers such as family, race or affluence. To be strong was to reproduce.
Viza hoped that this venture would make her father recognise her abilities, and her. She had been tasked with spearheading the trade envoy initiative, which involved keen supervision and coordination. She’d had to check all the cargo, crews and ships were in order for all four fleets. It was exhausting work and had preoccupied her for months but it didn’t bother her as it would do the King proud. Finally they were on their way, each fleet currently bound for their specified destination.
The envoys were to be a showcase to the nations of Ordov, Romeq-Intik, Saviana and Graeg displaying the vast arrays of goods the kingdom of Zevaria had to offer. Iron, copper, fish, shellfish, lead, gems, seaweed, steel; the country had a lot to offer. The King had revolutionised all sectors of their industry, introducing zonation of sea territory for designated fisheries and seaweed gardens, better equipment for miners and mapping of the tunnels, and educating the sharper citizens in craft capacities. Production had boomed to provide Zevaria with all it needed and now it was time to expand to other regions. If the initiative was successful, a constant supply train could be secured and Zivaria could benefit too from other regions’ exports.
They hoped the seaweed would become something of a national specialty and evoke interest. The large varieties they had came in all shapes, sizes and colours, some dull and others vibrant, some rare and expensive and others common and cheaper. Many were fried to crispy snacks while others were fresh to be eaten like legumes. They had been tried and tested for human consumption, though forcefully, and the subjects seemed to approve.
The move towards international trade had raised doubts within the country. It contrasted with the warmongering nature of the race and many were anxious their cultural identity would be lost. They’d certainly built this reputation for themselves in the surrounding waters, and the King feared they may become further stigmatised if nothing was done. Trade meant prosperity and influence in the world as the many fools among the Zivar failed to realise. He was not becoming soft. It was all for the greater good of power and conquest.
Viza returned to the task at hand and treaded the seafloor, careful not to step on the abundant crustaceans. Soon, she found what she was looking for. Twisting from a gap between two boulders was a thin bright violet seaweed. Its laminas corkscrewed towards the surface, extending almost five feet from the bed. These radiated out from a singular stipe as thick as a bamboo shoot.
Viza’s hands fastened around its holdfast and yanked the algae from its anchorage. She searched for another for another good half hour to no avail then launched off for the surface, seaweed in hand.
Bursting from the water, Viza took a few minutes to adjust her breathing from gills to lungs and looked around her to find the ships. They sailed in the near distance and she glided gracefully through the surf to join them. Her fingers found the handgrips in the hull of the largest and she hauled herself up – tucking the seaweed under her arm – onto the deck. Her arrival was met with a coarse chuckle.
“You found it, my jreker!” the sailor exclaimed in Zivarian, “I knew it would be growing in these parts!”
“Your instincts were correct, Theth. Put this in storage.” She handed the elf the tall seaweed and he set off graciously below deck. The cog had been salvaged from their colonisers, one of the seafaring vessels that had brought them to their land. It would become a valuable tool to the Zivar if this enterprise was successful.
Viza walked to the bow, water dripping from the loincloth and tight cloth wrapping that concealed her privates and breasts. A tall Zivar and his colleague stood gazing over the waves, ahead of the rest of the flotilla.
“Captain, when do we reach Saviana?”
“We will be there in six hours, my jreker,” the tall figure said, turning his battle-scarred head.
Satisfied, Viza turned towards the cabin, looking out at the vast blue horizon as she strode.
In the great blue, a lone Zivar dove. It dolphin kicked downwards, surging forward its powerful body. The dorsal fin acted as a rudder to maintain direction. Deeper and deeper it swam, down where the filtered light from the sun entered a twilight zone by the seabed. Seaweed and coral danced in the current as crabs and lobsters scuttled around their gardens. Here the Zivar alighted, planting its webbed feet on the sand, sending up a light dust cloud. It expelled the air from its lungs to establish negative buoyancy, the bubbles from its mouth spiraling upwards towards the surface. The elf then walked, fronds licking at its thighs.
Her name was Viza, a princess of Zivaria and the fourth daughter of King Ga’ap. She was sixteen years old, the same age as her three older siblings. They’d all hatched from the same clutch; however Viza was released from the womb a few weeks after her sisters. Only by the human oppressors’ whims were they born. The colony needed more slaves, both for servitude and trade. Zivaria, or Abvor as it was named up to ten years ago, had a great economy in the slave trade. Zivar thralls were shipped off far and wide, from the moors and marshes of the Western Hill Region to the icy climes of the far North. They were good labourers, gladiators, and soldiers; easy to manipulate and possessed of a robust physique. There still existed slave communities of Zivar in certain cities around the world, much to King Ga’ap’s ire.
The ‘Slave King’ as insolents dubbed him, was a guardian and champion of his people. Ruthless and powerful, he was the epitome of the Leviathan faith, the apex of the race. His martial brilliance was testament to the superior intelligence he held over his subjects; only through his guidance and coordination were they able to overthrow the human colonists. He had roused the once-fearsome Zivar from their centuries-long slumber, sparked the fire within their hearts to claim what was rightfully theirs. Viza only wished she’d been old enough to remember the rebellion, human screams tearing through the night, their blood running like rivers down the streets of Jawr. Her loins quivered at the thought. She loved the King, more than as a father.
Oh yes – Viza often had incestuous thoughts of King Ga’ap. It wasn’t uncommon for Zivar to mate within their family, much as other species frowned upon it. Their love wasn’t monogamous; it was won by displays of power and violence and shifted from suitor to suitor as quickly as a strike could be landed. There were no social barriers such as family, race or affluence. To be strong was to reproduce.
Viza hoped that this venture would make her father recognise her abilities, and her. She had been tasked with spearheading the trade envoy initiative, which involved keen supervision and coordination. She’d had to check all the cargo, crews and ships were in order for all four fleets. It was exhausting work and had preoccupied her for months but it didn’t bother her as it would do the King proud. Finally they were on their way, each fleet currently bound for their specified destination.
The envoys were to be a showcase to the nations of Ordov, Romeq-Intik, Saviana and Graeg displaying the vast arrays of goods the kingdom of Zevaria had to offer. Iron, copper, fish, shellfish, lead, gems, seaweed, steel; the country had a lot to offer. The King had revolutionised all sectors of their industry, introducing zonation of sea territory for designated fisheries and seaweed gardens, better equipment for miners and mapping of the tunnels, and educating the sharper citizens in craft capacities. Production had boomed to provide Zevaria with all it needed and now it was time to expand to other regions. If the initiative was successful, a constant supply train could be secured and Zivaria could benefit too from other regions’ exports.
They hoped the seaweed would become something of a national specialty and evoke interest. The large varieties they had came in all shapes, sizes and colours, some dull and others vibrant, some rare and expensive and others common and cheaper. Many were fried to crispy snacks while others were fresh to be eaten like legumes. They had been tried and tested for human consumption, though forcefully, and the subjects seemed to approve.
The move towards international trade had raised doubts within the country. It contrasted with the warmongering nature of the race and many were anxious their cultural identity would be lost. They’d certainly built this reputation for themselves in the surrounding waters, and the King feared they may become further stigmatised if nothing was done. Trade meant prosperity and influence in the world as the many fools among the Zivar failed to realise. He was not becoming soft. It was all for the greater good of power and conquest.
Viza returned to the task at hand and treaded the seafloor, careful not to step on the abundant crustaceans. Soon, she found what she was looking for. Twisting from a gap between two boulders was a thin bright violet seaweed. Its laminas corkscrewed towards the surface, extending almost five feet from the bed. These radiated out from a singular stipe as thick as a bamboo shoot.
Viza’s hands fastened around its holdfast and yanked the algae from its anchorage. She searched for another for another good half hour to no avail then launched off for the surface, seaweed in hand.
Bursting from the water, Viza took a few minutes to adjust her breathing from gills to lungs and looked around her to find the ships. They sailed in the near distance and she glided gracefully through the surf to join them. Her fingers found the handgrips in the hull of the largest and she hauled herself up – tucking the seaweed under her arm – onto the deck. Her arrival was met with a coarse chuckle.
“You found it, my jreker!” the sailor exclaimed in Zivarian, “I knew it would be growing in these parts!”
“Your instincts were correct, Theth. Put this in storage.” She handed the elf the tall seaweed and he set off graciously below deck. The cog had been salvaged from their colonisers, one of the seafaring vessels that had brought them to their land. It would become a valuable tool to the Zivar if this enterprise was successful.
Viza walked to the bow, water dripping from the loincloth and tight cloth wrapping that concealed her privates and breasts. A tall Zivar and his colleague stood gazing over the waves, ahead of the rest of the flotilla.
“Captain, when do we reach Saviana?”
“We will be there in six hours, my jreker,” the tall figure said, turning his battle-scarred head.
Satisfied, Viza turned towards the cabin, looking out at the vast blue horizon as she strode.
Supersporian said
Yes. More trade drama within the Savian court. When it comes to racial tension, don't worry: Elves are always friends
Cool beans. I'm-a comin'! :D
Yeah, I will do. I should have made that point sorry. I'll post in the OOC when they're ready to be received :)
In my upcoming post, trade envoys will be sent to each of the northern nations (Romeq-Intik, Saviana, Graeg and Veden) and Ordov. Feel free to respond to their presence or ignore them entirely. Just wondering who wouldn't mind me personally showing the perspective of one of these envoys in one of your nations. Might make for some fun interaction :)
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