Ancient History: The beginnings of humanity at the dawn of existence was in a primordial kingdom under direct guidance of God. A civilization known as Celesea. God loves his creations and so ensured the Heavenly Kingdom had a wealthy surplus of food and resources to sustain itself. As a consequence humanity began to take its prosperity for granted, and rapidly overpopulates the continent to the point it became unsustainable -- even with God’s help. God takes the food away to encourage humanity to learn to adapt and become self-reliant. Having lost the favor of its creator, the Heavenly Kingdom is determined to survive by whatever means necessary. The Celeseans were soon compelled to spread out across the world to establish colonies as to sustain its massive population. For resources, food and also slaves to sacrifice to God in a bid to win back his favor. As a consequence the Heavenly Kingdom of Celesea transforms into a merciless maritime Empire with no equal, tyrannizing all of creation.
To stop the power of Celesea from oppressing the world, God understood he had to destroy the Empire, that creation could be freed of its yoke. …He had to destroy what he created, and this was the first big blow to his psyche. He unleashed unto Celesea plagues and calamities. Culminating in the spawning of a vicious Race of Locust that attacked the Heavenly Kingdom’s home continent, and devoured every last bit of green, carrying desolation, triggering massive famines across the world and engulfing the Empire in war for survival of apocalyptic proportions. The Empire went down a brutal and grisly end. This wasn't as God willed it, and he was overcome with regret and pity for the humans of Celesea. To stop the Locust Race from wiping out all humanity, God smote the continent in half. The Locust Race was isolated in the East on the ruins of the Empire, and the surviving humans on the west. The two broken landmasses were separated by a wide ocean of God's tears. 'The sea of tears'.
This last event proved to be one divine screw-up too many, and God lost faith in his own ability to salvage creation. He figured it would be better for the world if he were to withdraw altogether, and avoid another cataclysmic screw-up. From four fragments of his own essence he sent down the Four Champions to the western continent of Visandza, to lead and protect the tribes of humanity in his stead. The Champions and the Tribes they championed drove the Divine Locust out of Visandza, and an era of relative peace fell on the western continent. The reign of God was over, the continent was divided by four Barbarian Kingdoms and the Locust were confined to the east, separated by a great sea.
As each Champion lorded over their respective kingdoms as the Four High Kings of Visandza, they established dynasties and spawned various heirs and offspring. More and more Splinters of god were ripped from his essence to became the Royal families of Visandza. And by time God lost so much of himself by relinquishing those splinters that he became powerless, depressed, a ruin of his former self; stopping him from acting in the world altogether. Visandza slowly sank into a dark age. Without the flame of God a growing chill is taking hold of the world, a climate change against which there is little hope of divine intervention. Triggering southwards migration, triggering famine, triggering war. What follows is that the Royal families inevitably turned on each other. Now Visandza is again torn by war at the hands of one expansionist and belligerent barbarian tribe advancing south and east; the glory-seeking Chlotars. The goal of their new King, Cauroman, himself a part of God, is to revive the world to the state of antiquity by restoring power to God. The Chlotars seek to bring about the submission of the other tribes through fire and sword, and sacrifice all other Splinter Dynasties to God in order to quell his dark depression. In the Chlotar pursuit of Empire, hopefully history will not repeat itself.
The Tribes are obsessed with bringing honour, fame and glory to their people through heroic deeds. Years come and pass but bravery will last.
-To get the basics straight: This is a Character Roleplay
-It's a fantasy setting based on the 'Dark Ages'. Modeled after the Barbarian Kingdoms of the early Middle Ages. The humans are expies of Germanic Barbarians and Romans.
-It takes place on a single continent called Visandza.
-Your character is part of one such Barbarian Kingdoms or Roman Rumpstates (mostly Barbarian Kingdoms) of Visandza, and your character will work to further that Kingdom's goals. But how loyal your character is to the King is entirely up to you. You have the freedom to go traitor.
-Your characters are all retainers of the Royal Family. High Positions. This can mean Household guards, Captains, Squires, Stable boys, Shield maidens, Priestesses, the royal standard carrier, a nephew/ distant relative of the King, Princelings… any role placing your character in proximity to the faction royalty. Think of the characters as Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.
-Magic in the D&D sense isn't really a thing, but the supernatural certainly is. Witch magic exists (turning humans into animals, brewing potions, summoning spirits of the dead) There are non-human races outside Visandza, and blessings and curses are very real and functioning things.
-While this is the Advanced Interest check, I am thinking of posting the actual RP in Casual. (Probs with Casual-Advanced in the title) The reason: Making long and detailed posts is fine if you want to, but doing so frequently for months on end just drains too much energy and I’ve seen RPs die that way. Therefore preferably make your posts concise and direct. Avoid dragging out and take it easy. It's fine.
Let's keep it simple!
Name:
Appearance:
Kingdom Allegiance:
Tribe: (Unless Celesean. There are five known tribes; Chlotars(Franks), Lamperts(Lombards), Viigocs(Goths), Eodaens(Angles/Saxons), Radbouds(Frisians).)
Background: Include at least where your character came from and what his profession is, and how this came to be.
MAP OF VISANDZA
Map of the known world
The four great factions of Visandza to pick from:
West: The Glory-Seeking Chlotars
The most famous (or infamous) of the Barbarian kingdoms. The Chlotar people are industrious and belligerent. The Kingdom they built and conquered is united in common purpose; to topple God’s splinter dynasties and sacrifice them to God in order to quell his sadness, and thereby hopefully save the world. Ending God’s chronic depression is the only chance of averting the impending ice age that is driving the tribes to migrate further and further south. As the Chlotar homeland is in the northernmost tip of Visandza, the Chlotars have much to lose if they fail to avert this climate change. Only God can save their ancestral lands now. In the past century the warlording Chlotars have invaded, annexed and absorbed several of their rival tribes during the conquests of King Clodovech. At the moment their Kingdom is fractured; its territory divided between two royal brothers: King Dagobert and King Cauroman. However already they set their sights on the next target for conquest; the ungodly Tautans to the east who the Chlotars have hemmed in during their recent conquests. Though they are but a diversion, for their end-goal is to wipe the God-hating Kingdom of Lampertia off the map for good and all. Depose their vicious King, sacrifice him and his kin to God and install a monarch who is properly Godfearing!
South: The God-Hating Lamperts
It’s all in the name. But obviously not every Lampert hates God -- some Lamperts love God! However they cannot come to the public light with their secretly-held convictions, for the stigma is immense. In the Kingdom of Lampertia the hatred of God is of utmost conformity; those who stray from the norm or show open dissent from God-hating orthodoxy are outcast, shunned, mocked… sometimes lynched. Do not underestimate how serious the Kingdom of Lampertia is on their stance of enmity towards God. Even before the Lampert Tribe conquered the southern peninsula of Amalia, they were rivals of the growing Chlotar confederacy of tribes, who in a time long forgotten exiled their ancestors from the north. It was encroachment of the Divine Locust paired with the allure of seizing the fertile, depopulated lands it left in their wake, that drove the Lamperts to migrate southward. The Lampert people’s beef extends beyond the rival Chlotars and is more directed against God himself. They are not driven by paganism or atheism -- the Lamperts are genuine misotheists. It’s not a matter of religious difference as it is a matter of actual God-hatred. Twenty years ago with the ascension of King Dalgiserius the relations with Chlotaringen has soured further (if that was even possible) and the two powerful Kingdoms are at the brink of a great war the likes Visandza has never seen -- one that could forever alter the continent’s history.
East: The Depraved Tautans
Orgies. There, I said it. Let’s not shy around it. I am only saying what everyone else is already thinking at the mention of the City State of Tautom. Debauchery, decadence, depravity. That is all there is to them. God damn them, and damn God for not smiting these ungodly people. Sure, they have good merchants, skilled artisans, the world’s finest cuisine and cunning alchemists to help further humanity and the like, and surely the capital of worldly pleasures. But their virtues do not make up for their vice, no way. The Tautans will lure you into darkness. Every night at the plaza, they hold festive orgies. And they have a squadron of men skulking the street to defile and debase any newcomer or gullible foreign visitor to their city. To corrupt them into adopting their uncouth perversities and ambiguous practices… Keep your daughters and wives away from the Tautans. And probably your barnyard animals too.
North: The Conniving Eodaens
God is outdated. To the Eodaens anyway. When God is too depressed to be a force in the world, you simply create your own god! As such King Badastan presented his court and people with Xeaxaenot, the Golden Squirrel-demon. All of Eodaland turned to Squirrel-demon worship, and this seems to have revived the slumbering spirit of its people. Those that refused to embrace this new idol, remaining loyal to god, were exiled. Fools don’t understand that squirrels are the future. The Eodaens are actually keeping mostly to themselves as a dormant third power, waiting to exploit and benefit from the impending war between Chlotaringen and Lampertia. Cunning foxes as they are, the Eodaens will most certainly side with the winning-side to reap the benefits. Only a few years ago Eodaland nearly came to war with Chlotaringen, and they are anxious to provoke the numerically superior and battle-tested Chlotar armies on their own. Depending on how well the Chlotars will fare against the Tautans and Lamperts, the conniving Eodaens may side either with them or against them.
‘’The wicked shall be turned into hell, And all the nations that forget God.’’ -Psalm 9:17
Kingdom of the Chlotars, or Chlotaringen
and to some cheekier people the Chlotarian Empire. Capital City: Aaixen
From the Dynasty of the First Champion; King Cauroman of the Faramundian dynasty
A young King burning with ambition. Cauroman is raring to start trouble, as young men so often are. To bring honour to God, his people and ancestors. Now that the wounds have healed from the civil war between his royal father and uncles, there is nothing the mighty Chlotar Kingdom can’t do. They are the mightiest Kingdom Visandza has seen since the fall of the Heavenly Kingdom of antiquity. The time has come to expand its borders and seize new lands. To establish an Empire the likes the world has never seen! And if anyone can see this done, it is King Cauroman. Of all four barbarian kings, beware this one the most. He is more than just the next link in the long Faramundian Dynasty, for Cauroman has been distinguished with the blessing of the Hierophant of Udos, and selected by God specifically to usher in a new era. The establishment of a universal order and the unification of all tribes of humanity. He won’t just live up to the deeds of his ancestors… he will exceed them.
Chlotar Characteristics: Mentality: Chlotars are disciplined, strict , zealous in their worship of God with no patience for fine garments, trinkets or any kind of luxury. They insist on a rigorous military tradition and a simple lifestyle. They are as such by default hostile towards pretty much all their neighbours. The Lamperts for their outright hostility to god, the Tautans for their ultra-decadence and hedonism, and the Eodaens for being honourless schemers embracing false idols. The Chlotarians regard themselves as God’s chosen, and that is probably because they are. They are driven by a prophetic purpose to unite Visandza into a single order, and determined to overcome, persevere and smite down their many enemies. Not just for God’s sake, but for survival’s sake. The Chlotars are convinced firmly that humanity needs God in the age of trials ahead.
Visually: Chlotar warriors tend to wear scale armor, iron nasal helmets and a cape or an animal pelt serving as cape. While scale armor is expensive and harder to obtain, even the footman Chlotar is distinguished by an obligatory cape with a basic tunic. Their dress code, even in battle, is rather austere. Chlotar men often have long shoulder-length blond hair and sport long drooping mustaches. In battle the Chlotars are renowned for their throwing axes, which the warriors throw prior to hand-to-hand combat with the aim of splitting shields and disrupting the enemy line. In melee Chlotars commonly employ spatha swords and lances. Like the men, Chlotar women commonly have long hair, always braided and sometimes going as deep as their waistline. Where men wear capes covering only the back, women wear long cloaks covering up their whole bodies. While in ancient times there were such things as Chlotar female warriors (particularly in battle against the Locust), when it came to wars between human tribes that role has mostly eroded -- except for rare cases for the daughters & sisters of chieftains.
Chlotar History: Chlotar history began in the deep north inhabited by a mighty tribe ruled by two brothers; Chlotacher and Lambertar. A legend goes that this particular tribe was struck by an evil disease killing off all its youth. To resolve it, Chlotachar knew the tribe had to turn to God to cure the blight. But Lambertar’s refusal to do so caused the disease to persevere unchallenged. After a heated dispute, the tribe fractured indefinitely. Those loyal to God joining the clan of Chlotachar’s, and those that refused to submit to God joined the clan of Lambertar. When the hateful Lambertar left, the disease was at last lifted from the north.
Chlotachar’s clan was to mark the beginning of what later grew into the Chlotar tribe. Though for long after this they were an insignificant and weakened tribe amongst many. Until the Divine Locust, an evil race bent on annihilating all mankind, was approaching. To shield the fractured peoples of the north, God sent a Champion, a splinter of himself. His name was Pharamond, a mighty warlord tasked to champion the northern tribes and unite them into a confederacy of tribes. And together they repelled the Locust from the north. Following this victory, the confederacy named itself after the tribe that brought the most sacrifices and fought the most valiantly of all; the tribe of Chlotachar. While few of the original clansmen of Chlotachar survived this battle, it marked the beginning of a closely allied barbarian confederacy which collectively named its members ‘the Chlotars’ in honour of their sacrifice.
In a vision, Pharamond was foretold the inevitable doom that awaits the new continent without the revival of a New Heavenly Kingdom to govern it under providence of God. The Celeseans had proven themselves corrupt and evil, now alienated from God. Only the much purer and noble Chlotar peoples could embark on this divine mission. As such Pharamond set the Chlotars on the path of conquest and empire building, inviting Celesean scholars to the north and drawing in neighboring tribes seeking Pharamond’s protection against the spreading Locust. The conquests of Pharamond’s descendent, Clodovech, are responsible for the present borders of the Chlotarian kingdom. It was through belligerent expansion into every direction with scores of impressive victories in battle, primarily at the expense of the Tautans. The Viigoc armies that served Tautom were ultimately disillusioned with their own inept King and saw in Clodovech a True Warrior King they could relate with. As per ancient Chlotarian custom; when the King dies his Kingdom will be divided between each of his sons. Clodovech had four sons, and as such four Chlotarian kingdoms emerged following his death. After two decades of infighting, one of the royal brothers eventually came out on top; King Carlovech, father of Cauroman. Through blood, sweat and tears and various vicious crucibles against his own kin, Carlovech ultimately reestablished the same boundaries that his father’s kingdom had, but at a price. As to not repeat the mistakes of the past, King Carlovech vowed to ensure the transition of power towards his two sons would be one without suicidal infighting. Following a visit to allied King Eathelbehrt of Eodaland, who supported Carlovech’s claim against his three brothers, he was unexpectedly betrayed by the Eodaen host with poison… in an attempt to cripple and divide the Chlotar Kingdom once more. On his deathbed, Carlovech summoned the two princelings Cauroman and Dagobert with the revelation he had been hexed by the treacherous Eodaen King and their pagan magic. And they were to vow on their forebear that they unite to punish the Eodaen King. To avenge their father, the two Chlotar kings marched their armies north to the land bridge dividing Eodaland from mainland-Visandza, where King Cauroman challenged King Eathelbehrt to single combat. There Cauroman slew the Eodaen king and avenged his father, but was mortally injured in the process. Afterwards Eathelbehrt’s brother, Badastan, bought King Dagobert and the Chlotar armies off with a great sum of Eathelbehrt’s gold, jewelry and other possessions, thereby avoiding war. Carlovech was avenged and the dispute was settled… For now. Though suspiciously only Badastan seemed to have benefitted from Carlovech’s death.
After healing in Holy Udos, King Cauroman has recovered while King Dagobert mysteriously fell ill, leaving Cauroman control of the whole of the Chlotar Kingdom. While recovering in Udos, Cauroman heard the plight of the Udosian people and their Hierophant against the aggression of the ruthless Lampert King Dalgiserius and his encroaching hordes… Looting temples, attacking pilgrims and committing all manner of sacrilege against the worshippers of God. The Hierophant fears Dalgiserius is now eyeing Holy Udos itself as to complete the Lampert conquest of the Amalian peninsula. Cauroman pledged her that he would return with his army to defend the Holy City against Dalgiserius. Udos can now find a true ally in King Cauroman, and at present Chlotaringen prepares for war against Lampertia…
Lampert Patrol dispatching a Chlotar interloper
Kingdom of the Lamperts, or Lampertia for short
Capital City: Skadania, with Skadan Castle as royal seat.
From the dynasty of the Second Champion; the reign of King Dalgiserius of the Alboinid dynasty
Dalgiserius hates God. That very three-letter word makes the bile rise in his throat and his teeth to grind. The very mention of God has his skin boiling red with wrath. Every night, King Dalgiserius ascends onto Skadan’s castle roof to curse, challenge and insult God with the spewings of dark heresy, curses of treachery and chants of heretical wizardry. This is in fact routine and comprises the greater part of his daily activity. Beyond the desecration of temples, the iconoclasm of idols and the violent persecution of the faithful, the battle against God is a deeply personal vendetta. For the king stands personally on the roof of the highest tower of his royal castle, (a tower which he had constructed for this purpose, in fact!) raving, ranting and cursing at the overcast skies with a sonorous voice thundering through Skadania, striking the citizenry numb – torn between the wrath of Dalgiserius and the wrath of God, which the folly of their King might any day incur… He keeps at his court a glorified band of warrior-nobles known as the Gastalds, who serve him out of fear. His first and only daughter, Princess Dalgiserata, (named after her father) is the only person that still loves her lord father. For he had not always been this vicious. The Princess works diligently to protect the King from those who seek to bring about his downfall, but especially to protect the king against himself. It is clear to many that the king is growing increasingly erratic, utterly consumed by the hatred of God that spawned in him. Though none, not even his dear daughter, could say what has transpired to make King Dalgiserius the way he is.
Lampert Characteristics: Mentality: Lamperts are known for being a bitter and brooding people keeping mostly to themselves. Mistrusting to all foreigners, each of them more sinister than the other. You will find few Lamperts outside of Lampertia, even when their current King is an absolute vindictive tyrant. Even when the Lamperts have every reason to move away, tribalism and loyalty to blood is so deeply ingrained in their culture that they will not. The Devil-you-know is still preferable than the lordship of a foreign alien. Their most hated rival tribe are the Chlotars. Though out of all the tribes, the Lamperts and Chlotars are the most alike, with both boasting a proud warrior-tradition and shared origins in the distant north. The key difference is that Chlotars are on the offensive, ambitious and ever outward looking, while the Lamperts are on the defensive, paranoid and inward-looking to their own affairs. Fear and suspicion to outsiders paired with hatred for God is what resonates strongly with the Lampert.
Visually: Lampert warriors are distinguished by their unique use of lamellar mail, a military dress code they adopted(robbed) from the Amalian Celeseans. They have no rules concerning facial hair, and as such Lamperts often come sporting long dark beards. The trademark weapon of the Lampert is the Hellbeard, or Halberd pole-axe, and spiked metal clubs, a crude form of mace from their barbarian heritage. Lampert women meanwhile are known for being plump and similarly sturdy as their menfolk, often accompanying them to battlefields as shieldbearers and nurses -- and in rare cases getting involved in the fight themselves. If they wear armor, it’s never lamellar but a hauberk, and even may use goats’ hair to cover their faces with fake beards.
History: Lampert history began in the far north of Visandza, a land said in ancient legend to be ruled by twin chieftains; Lambertar and his brother Chlotachar. After God sent an evil plague to kill the children of Lambertar and many others, Chlotachar scorned them; stating this was punishment from God for their neglect of Him. Then when Chlotachar demanded Lambertar renounce his leadership of the Tribe a brother strife followed. In the end Chlotachar exiled Lambertar and all the others that lost children to God’s plague. The bitter northern exiles joined Lambertar’s migration southwards. The two chiefs and their split clans grew to become the Chlotar Tribe and the Lampert tribe respectively, and both tribes have long since forgotten their common ancestry to become the bitterest of enemies.
A century later, as the Heavenly Kingdom was devastated by the divine locust and the world broke, the Lamperts seized the opportunity to move further south into the depopulated lands of the Celeseans, going as far south as the Rudine mountains. There they built their first permanent settlement; Skadania. It was to be their staging ground from whence to raid the Heavenly Crownlands. But when the Lamperts were themselves cornered by a horde of Divine Locust, God sent the chieftain Alboin to champion the Lamperts, and under his leadership a coalition of Lamperts and Celeseans drove the Locust out of southern Visandza in four victorious battles. To reward the Lampert tribe (and quell their relentless raids), the Heavenly Kingdom ceded them land in northern Amalia, a rich peninsula in the south of Visandza. However Alboin and his followers were not satisfied with the less-fertile and rugged terrain of northern Amalia, and steamrolled southwards to seize the rest of the peninsula as well. The Heavenly Kingdom was too fractured to put up effective resistance and was itself on the verge of collapse. The Lampert conquests in Amalia were to be the foundation of the Kingdom of Lampertia, with Alboin as its first King. The Lampert tribe finally ended their migration and settled down to work the lands and build a new nation. The Champion Alboin founded a royal dynasty that endures to this day; the Alboinids. However the arrival of the Lamperts displaced the Amalian natives, who were themselves driven deeper south in the lands around Udos, where they vow vengeance on their barbarian oppressors...
There’s an oral legend passed from generation to generation in the Lampert tribe, speaking of a final battle with the tribe of Chlotachar where once again humanity will be tested. The outcome of which shall determine the survival of Visandza.
City-state of Tautom, with its oversea possessions colloquially the Kingdom of Baltia
Capital City: Tautom
From the Dynasty of the Third Champion: the reign of King Orso of the Balti dynasty
Universally referred to as simply a King, rather than a High King as the Kings from the other 3 dynasties, for the Balti Dynasty has lost the power and prestige it once held to the expansionist Chlotars. Orso and his fathers believe that in a world without paradise, man must create its own paradise. As such the troubles afflicting the rest of the world, long since overrun by barbarians, should all be shut out. Orso believes the best way to deal with the Chlotars… is to simply ignore them! Those primitive Chlotar party crashers with their fetish for violence and conquest don’t have the navy to seize the Baltian islands, nor the machinery to breach the walls of Tautom! And those perpetually angry Lamperts? What a bunch of hate-filled dumb brutes. And don’t even get Orso started on those pretentious Eodaens, they’re nothing more than a glorified pirates bay. None of their types are welcome in Tautom lest Odovakre’s quest for reviving the Heavenly Kingdom be truly squandered. Within these fortified confines and inconquerable walls of Tautom City, life is paradise. The people of Tautom live worlds apart from the outside world. Forget the rest of Mainland Baltia – Cauroman can have it. Hopefully he is happy with it. The Tautans didn’t need those fertile lush green fields and rolling hills anyway. Meanwhile King Orso will continue to entertain his great seraglio of wives while savoring casks of rich flowing wine imported from the finest plantations of Syrome.
Tautan Characteristics: Mentality: Tautans are wanton and free, shamelessly so. Any absolute authority has hitherto failed to bind them. They have no tolerance for tyrants and will defend their personal rights and freedoms -- which King Odovakre had won them -- with a religious zeal. Due to their self-serving nature there is never a lasting unity in the Tautan people. Their quest for a benevolent society is through the happiness of its people… Achieved through worldly pleasures. The only times when Tautans unite, it is in defiance of autocrats, be that from outside or within. This is often perceived as an inherent disloyalty to their own faction’s leadership, but Tautans themselves do not see it as such. Because in times when need is great, surely the Tautans will come together under the King’s banner and fight to the last. Yet whenever there is no apparent immediate threat, they will resume their complacent lifestyles.
Visually: Inside the walls of Tautom, the civilians and warriors alike tend to wear single-piece garments such as loincloths and togas, often a combination of the two. The warriors make sure to oil their abs as to make enemies insecure in their own manliness for not having such a magnificent and athletic bodies. Or at least, that’s the general idea. There is a tendency for Tautan men to shave, particularly on their body, for how else will they make those abs glisten pure in the radiant sun? And if they do have beards they must keep them trimmed. Due to Viigoc influences some of the more sensible in the Tautan garrison still come adorned with more practical chainmail and scalemail, much like the warriors of the barbarian kingdoms. And their assortment of weaponry is a lot more diverse and exotic than anywhere else. Rule of thumb: if it exists, Tautom probably has a pair lying somewhere. In Tautom nakedness isn’t particularly frowned on. In the warrior class the only things that have to be covered up are the face and the junk. And I kid you not when I say there are Viigoc warrior-women wearing chainmail bikinis. They probably understand that the armor is useless and fetishistic, but they presumably do so to make statements of bravado much like the men with the oiled abs do.
History: Originally a rumpstate of the Heavenly Kingdom of Antiquity, the Realm of Baltia was positioned in the east of Visandza with many holdouts and cities along the coast and islands in the Sea of Tears, as a bulwark against the races of Locust. Following the breaking of the world the continent of Visandza was settled by droves of refugees from the Eastern continent, most notably the Viigoc tribe and their King Odovakre, the Third Champion. The Viigocs are a fierce tribe, with a history of alliances and rebellions against the Celeseans, yet during the apocalyptic war against the Locust fighting closely side by side. After the world broke, creating the Western continent of Visandza and the eastern continent of Ostrapathia, the Viigocs were the last humans still remaining in Ostrapathia. Unable to escape, they were doomed to die on their own. But in this hour of need God recognized their strife, and answered by sending the Viigocs the Third Champion; Odovakre. The Heavenly Kingdom promised the stranded Viigocs ships to ferry them across the Sea of Tears to the safety of Visandza. For days the Viigocs awaited sails on the western horizon, but the Celeseans never came. All the while the Divine Locust were creeping in on the stranded Viigocs… The tribe would have given up all hope, but Odovakre inflamed the spirits of the despairing Viigocs to brace manfully for the imminent assault. After seven days of relentless fighting, Odovakre used his Holy Sword, Weihshairus, to slay the Locust King in single combat. After which the Locust assailants relented at last, and the Viigocs lived to see the new dawn. Finally Ships from Visandza arrived, not of the Heavenly Kingdom, but of barbarian sailors from Eodaland and their King, Hengist. The Eodaens ferried Odovakre and the remaining Viigocs across the sea, after which the Viigocs and Eodaens vowed eternal friendship between their tribes.
Arriving in Visandza, Odovakre learned why the Heavenly Kingdom did not fulfill their promise of help; their capital had been annihilated. What the Viigocs found was a ravaged Celesean rumpstate, where the surviving Celesean lords bid Odovakre be their new King. And so the Kingdom of Baltia emerged, and on the ruins of the Heavenly Capital was built the City of Tautom. It was a Kingdom with a Viigoc army and King, and a Celesean government structure and population beholden to the new barbarian overlords. Later when the Lampert hordes migrated southwards to invade the Celesean rumpstates, the Viigocs on the frontier withstood their eastern advance, but were stretched too thin to thwart the Lampert invasion of Amalia.
Overtime the royal Viigoc lineage was bred out through marriages with members of the old Heavenly government, who sought the blood of God’s Champions that ruled Visandza after antiquity. That it may link it to its own ancient dynasties, and the Baltian Kings of today long since embraced a Celesean identity. After three centuries of neglecting their frontier defenses, most of Odovakre’s Kingdom was lost at the hands of the other Barbarian kingdoms. Clodovech, King of the nascent Chlotar Kingdom and grandfather of King Cauroman, invaded Baltia with an army comprising many tribes and barbarian races, and in a disastrous turn of events the bulk of the Viigoc army defected to him. The Kingdom of Baltia lost all its mainland possessions and has been reduced to the confines of its capital city, henceforth mockingly named the City State of Tautom. The southern Kingdom of Amalia suffered much the same fate; having been reduced to the Holy city of Udos. While the Tautans themselves might blame the loss of their continental holdings to the aggression of the Chlotars and the treachery of the Viigocs, the more self-conscious will attribute the downfall of Baltia to the complacency of Odovakre’s descendants and inept leadership of the royal senate. The Tautan people, those that are paying attention to the doom at their doorstep, understand that in these times they will need a hero to save them from their impending annexation or annihilation… And they can certainly not expect to have the same freedoms and way of life under Barbarian rule. What good are their freedoms if they are not willing to protect them?
Kingdom of the Eodaens, or Eodaland for short
Capital City: Cantaware
From the Dynasty of the Fourth Champion to enter the world: King Badastan of the Horsa dynasty
You may have heard rumors that the Usurper-King Badastan worships a Squirrel. To that it must be added that it’s not just any Squirrel but rather a magnificent Golden Squirrel-demon by the name of Xeaxaenot! Also Badastan is not a usurper, you clearly misread that – His Excellency King Badastan Horsa is rightful claimant of the Eodaen throne. But while he has the support of many of the Earls that budged to the worship of his squirrel idol, he was likewise met with opposition loyal to ‘God’. Particularly from the loyalists of his deceased elder brother Aethelberht. In the eye of some Earls, Badastan has unjustly usurped the late King, going so far as to claim that it was Badastan that was responsible for the assassination of Carlovech and by proxy also set up Aethelberht’s demise... As only a Splinter of God can kill another Splinter of God, the number of possible culprits can be counted on one hand. Needless to say Badastan is a bit of a shady figure, and the Earls are not fully unanimous in their support. Aethelberht still has a son, and some of the Earls are secretly vouching for him to take the throne. There is division in the realm of both dynastic and spiritual nature. Though the King’s cunning did spare Eodaland an invasion from King Dagobert by coercing him with a sum of money his henchmen plundered from Aethelberht’s estate, in compensation for Cauroman’s mortal injuries and Carlovech’s death. Badastan has with this act all but consolidated his Kingship over Eodaland. At this point the son of Aethelberht will be powerless to challenge his uncle.
Soon afterwards, however, King Dagobert fell terrible ill… leading some to suspect the Squirrel King’s treachery is once again at work.
Eodaen Characteristics: Mentality: Eodaens are solution oriented, utterly pragmatic, always open to negotiation to settle disputes, seeking compromise, and not nearly as stubborn and single-sighted as all their neighbors. This works to their advantage. Particularly as they do not have the number of manpower in their population to rely on aggressive expansionism alone. But don’t mistake their diplomacy for weakness, or their craftiness for cowardice. Eodaens are adventurous and like to put their sticky paws in the honey of others. By which I mean to say; Eodaens like to be involved in affairs abroad. Wherever there is something to gain, whenever something interesting happens; they want their people to be represented. Eodaen sailors, merchants and sell-swords can be found in every major international hub. Eodaen traveling adventurers tend not to travel in just groups of marauding men, but bring their women and families with them with the purpose of eventually colonizing new lands.
Visually: Eodaen warriors tend to wear long hauberks and cloaks, with their leaders wearing Sutton Hoo helmets. They also have their own brand of blade unlike those on the mainland known as the Seax. Today Eodaens come with squirrel-themed idols and acorn trinkets around their necks and waists. Eodaens associate hair and facial hair with social hierarchy. Only old men, Earls and squirrel-priests may have long beards, whereas young men and warriors either shave or keep their beards short. Mustaches are fine. Eodaen clothes are largely tunics and animal skins, and jackets of sheep wool. They have the same custom of wearing capes and cloaks as the other tribes do, but for Eodaens it’s less a fashion & cultural statement and more out of necessity to stave off the ocean wind.
Eodaen women aren’t known to be pretty. Don’t tell them this. Due to the relatively scarce population of Eodaland (partially due to the climate change that is gripping the northern coasts), the women have assumed some of the work and manual labour the men would normally be doing. This includes sailing, but not soldiering.
History: Long before the world broke, the Eodaens were a collection of tribes that lived at the far northern coast of the world-continent, territories originally tied to the mainland. Following the breaking of the world and the invasion of the Divine Locust, the Eodaen territories were torn from Mainland Visandza to become a group of islands, one of which Eodaland. The Eodaens started out as a sea-faring confederation of tribes that grew to a regional power in the then-newly formed Sea of Tears. There are some related groups and tribes on the Visandzan continent south of their island/peninsula that are culturally aligned to the Eodaens, but never joined their north-sea confederacy, such as the Radbounds of Dorestead. The Fourth Champion that God sent to humanity was Hengist, spawned amongst the Eodaens. He was originally a corsair that defended humanity against the Locust races in alliance with the Viigoc refugees of the east, and helped ship many of them to the safety of Visandza. When the Heavenly Kingdom collapsed, so too did its renowned maritime armada. Hengist shouldered the responsibility of being humanity’s naval power in its stead, absorbing the remnants of the Celesean fleet to keep the Divine Locust contained in the east. Normal human weapons and the archaic spears, seax-swords and arrows of the Eodaens were largely insufficient to deal with the Locust. Hengist knew the greatest weapon to be employed in defense of the new western continent was the secret weapon of the Old Celesean; the Mirror Towers scattered on islets in the Sea of Tears. Thus the Eodaens skillfully manned them to fire light-beams at the Divine Locust until at last they dispersed. To this day, the Eodaens pride themselves as being the defenders of Visandza and the greatest maritime power post-antiquity. However centuries of peace and Locust-dormancy have made them complacent, and the Eodaens of today are hardly as valorous and prestigious as they once were. The majority of the Eodaen navy are nominally of the same ‘fleet’. But in truth, the Eodaen sailors are largely all rogues, having turned to petty piracy and with no qualm seeking employment from foreign lords and different kings across the known world. Their allegiance is no longer to the descendants of King Hengist, but the highest bidder. Eodaen mercenaries and acolytes can be found in just about any corner of the world. More of the Eodaen fleet is pledged to the Celesean Island-state of Syrome than it is to the King of Eodaland. A smaller number of them, particularly those that were exiled for their rejection of the Squirrel-Demon, are in the employ of King Cauroman in laying the foundations for a Chlotar navy.
This isn't everything yet, but let me know if you're interested in joining based on only this! I plan to actually finish this RP, and I tell you.... we will march on to the bitter end, and otherwise rush to the ending if people start wavering. The story will only be finished when the war in Visandza is resolved.
Libercon - 300AWH (collab between myself and Serp)
The East-Ouroborasian Capital
The heraldry of Kasabi island wade deep into the old land of Ouroborasia, a wartorn scape. Long shadowed vales and dark terrain could be seen in each direction. And with the dusk in the sky, Ouroborasia’s shadow seems only more ominous. Swallowing you in the longer you gaze. Ionut, the guide to this land too warns against the notion of looking at the dark patches within the vales for too long. ‘’For the Witch goddess lives here... Beware Her spell.’’ Though their fleet has taken the river trial that should be far removed from the front, and with little chance of stumbling across Justinian guerilla skirmishers, this does not take away the looming and ever-present sense of dread that perpetuates the Ouroborasian east.
At the bow of the ship stands the heir to the Island Empire, Synogchouta, as he has been informed that soon they are to link up with the Emperor’s Imperial Escort, before entering the waters going directly towards the pier of Xur’vale, the capital city and seat of the Emperor and his eastern government. That very city was once home to the Salt Prince himself when he walked Materia in rebellion against the gods.
‘’Hrm. How much have these lands really changed since Yitizer’s days? It was a bleak, regressive dunghill then, and it is a bleak, regressive cesspit now. O what nuance.’’ Synogchouta mutters to his uncle’s henchman, Bacanoc, who can only raise his shoulders at the very expected pessimism of his superior.
‘’It’s a little bit less of a warzone this year. The fighting is mostly concentrated in pockets to the west, as far I have heard the reports go. Though the fighting that does happen… Well, humanity itself is being lost over there.’’
‘’Ah! Look there! Xur is in sight!’’ Firstmate Tokko exclaims from the helm.
Everyone looks. A city of sharp spires stabbing into the early morning skyline, ominous shadows cast from the great towers across the hill-side city and downward, over the shadowed valley that the river they glide over cuts through.
‘’That is good news! I trust you’ve not developed sea-sickness throughout this long venture, Principe? It is your first time of traveling overwater for days on end, after all.’’ Bacanoc says with a restrained smirk, hoping he did not come across as passive-aggressive, or in any way rubbing him the wrong way. Which he did. ‘’You dare mock me?’’ ‘’There there, I was only kidding, Principe.’’
As the Kasabioi ships approached, the early morning mists drifting with them over the river's surface receded… to be replaced by a yet even thicker, more poignant fog, one that clearly should not be. Hailing from lands similarly plagued by Red Pantheonist sorcery, the Uudhinite envoy could quickly tell it was magic, as the ever-so-slightly purple tinge of the fog gives away its theurgic origins. The Witch’s Miasma.
The Witch’s Miasma obscured most of what should be the docks and lower city, leaving the illusion of only a city of spires and high towers poking out from the fog below.
Only when they were dangerously close could the ship’s crew see the docks. Long platforms of wood reaching over the water, vague shapes of other ships idle besides them, bobbing slowly to the flowing river. Despite its obvious danger, it was not the fog that worried the crew, no, it was the ominous shadow of human-shaped figures. Dozens upon dozens of them, all aligned neatly in row, standing side by side on the wooden platform and stoney river-wall.
Even as the ship aligned closely to the platform, the shadowy figures did not moved. They stood almost completely still, only their faintly glowing pupils in their eyes gradually moved with the slowing ship.
When the ship finally stopped, the shadows in complete and unnatural unison stepped forward. The shadows revealed knights in blackened armour and visors covering faces obscured in total darkness - that is besides the glowing pupils. Among the shadows were courtly men and women dressed in finery, their faces and bodies locked into unnatural military attention.
Behind them even, a less organised mob of shadows had stepped forward in unnatural unison. Large men that were previously carrying cargo. Women with fish-seller smogs. Small children that were just before playing by the dockside. They too had their bodies and faces locked into unnatural attention - though their eyes darted about madly in fear and confusion.
The Principe beholds the Ouroborasians that assembled at the pier, and is visibly unsettled by them. Instinctively he withdrew behind Bacanoc’s broad posture. Then under his breath he speaks to him in Edukar, seeing the ancient language as a sanctuary against unwanted ears. ‘’...What is with these masses? Is this normal on the continent?’’ ‘’I do not know, sir. I’ve never been in the capital. Nor have I been part of such a regal procession.’’ Even he was disturbed by the ominous atmosphere that has come to embrace them since entering this hallowed domain.
Tokko is less disturbed and continues with the matters of the day. ‘’Ship to port! Prepare to unload! We have reached destination!’’
''Welcome good Prince to-'' The frozen lines of onlookers spoke together, all monotone, speaking as if in trance. Rather than finish their sentence, they suddenly held their tongues, returning to neutral expressionlessness.
Distant voices could be heard, a shrill cry of an old, tired man, followed by a woman's laugh.
''Ah, very good'' The crowd spoke, again in monotone though with strange forced smiles. ''The little Prince is finally here. It is good to finally meet my dear Cassi’s Kasaiboian sailor.''
As the voices fell silent again and their faces returned to expressionless stares, a distant and deliberately slow clap could be heard as a feminine figure walked across the wooden platform to the docked ship. The condescendingly slow clap drew closer and eventually faded as a raven haired woman in a flowing black dress approached the ship, followed slowly by a resigned looking man in finery... and what appeared to be two Uudhinite Ghouls.
The Kasabioi flag ship's gangway is lowered towards the pier of Xur’vale. The Metropolitan’s honour guard with their exotic embroidery draping from beneath their platemail, and long plumed helmets, are first on the pier to ward off the droves of potential rabble. Though, unbeknownst to them none of the townsfolk seem to act out of line as though their minds are dulled to submission. They can only guess what witchcraft is at work. Yet all the same, it seems a ceremonial purpose that they uphold their sentry. They are followed by the Doux, descending from the ship to greet formally the Imperial escort. He is also the most fluent speaker of Ouroborasian amongst them.
‘’Ah. It is good indeed to return to dry land. I am Doux Litayyan Miamai. Now; who do I have the pleasure of addressing?’’ He looks towards the woman in black, correctly assuming her to be the orchestrator of this sinister welcome. He lifts his flamboyant hat and proceeds to make a deep bow.
Meanwhile Chouta, very hesitant to get off the ship, is caught off guard by the two Ghouls. ‘’Ghouls… What dark curse has been laid on this day. The one thing I thought to be indigenous only to Uudhin. The one thing I had hoped to not stumble upon. Have the Ouroborasians harnessed their loyalty?’’
''You may know me as the Witch, Ceremenei''. The raven haired woman curtseyed briefly, before standing and bringing an armoured pointer finger to her chin, stroking it slowly. ‘’Which of you fine sailors is the young Synogchouta?’’ The Doux snorts, containing his disdain as he fakes another smile. ‘’The Principe, you mean? Ah, you will see him shortly, my lady.’’ He beckons to one of the plumed guards positioned nigh him. ‘’Find the Principe, will you?’’
Meanwhile Bacanoc smirks again. ‘’It seems this hag is your princess’ mother. Hrm. Good luck, Principe. Be strong.’’ He glances over his shoulder to a shaken Principe. ‘’Must I?’’ He sighs, struggling to regain his composure as he stiffens every muscle and fibre of his body. Sticking forth his chest to appear tall and confident, he marches down the bow and towards the open gangway. He is a young man in a stuffed embellished cloak and a black tunic, a silver bejewelled ring on each of his fingers, and a regal albeit plain diadem on his forehead. This attire paired with his stiffened sinewy physique is how Synogchouta appears before the Witch, followed closely by Bacanoc to watch his back. ‘’I am here, lady… I have come to your lands to uphold the bargain made with my uncle, the Metropolitan Baltaogliac of Daveithai, Despot of the isle of Kasabi.’’ The Principe exclaims defiantly to his mother-in-law-to-be, trying his best to hide his fear under a layer of swagger and toughtalk. ‘’So may I presume to-..uh. Presume.. that you are the Princesses’ mother? Of the Witch named Ceremenei, I have otherwise not been briefed.’’
‘’Oh yesss, My dear Cassi I am sure will tell you all about me. I do apologize for interrupting this fine procession, I am sure Illija could have handled it, but I just had to know which sailor you were. I am sure Cassiopeia will be glad to know how strong you are.’’
‘’I am no---..’’
Completely ignoring any attempt by Synogchouta to respond, the witch turned around and without even saying goodbye walked back towards the stone dockside.
‘’Ilija dear, go help the boy’’ The witch said in passing and back turned to Chouta, referring to the tired man in finery who was apparently walking in a strange hunched position. The man quite visibly groaned in response. Without a second thought, the witch snapped her fingers, and suddenly his body was propelled forward, his legs out straight and angled in front of his body, as if pulling the rest of his body forward as his feet slid and scraped across the wood.
As the other ships comprising the Kasabioi fleet enter the harbour, the Kasabioi on the pier, not least the Principe himself, are mute by the alien spectacle they bear witness to. Out of fear of offending the Lady Witch, they can merely watch, and cautiously wait on their turn to make a move to the Palace. The Doux is the first to speak. ‘’Pardon me -- we have come for an audience with the Emperor. Could you be so kind to show the way through the magnificent city of Xur?’’
The man the witch called Illija, still recovering from having his body hijacked and magically dragged across the platform, cursed lightly between heavy breaths. The Doux was almost certain he heard ‘damn fucking witch’ from the man as he agonisingly stood up straight.
A few moments of uncomfortable silence, and suddenly the wispy mustache and goatee adorned, finery-wearing man took a regal, solemn stance and expression - as if nothing improper had happened at all.
‘’I, Illija Cvijić the Imperial Herald of his Majesty, Emperor Vasilius the First of the noble House of Dragcumir and sole and rightful ruler of the Empire of Ouroborasia, do hereby welcome our most distinguished guests to the sovereign borders of his emperor’s domain.’’ The herald bowed to Synogchouta, who is stunned to silence standing behind Litayyan, who promptly steps out of the way that the crowd of onlookers may observe Princess Cassiopeia’s betrothed. As the herald bowed, so too did the rows of knights and servants. The crowd of fishermen, sailors and other dockworkers did not, now free from the witches whimsical control, instead looking around in confusion yet frozen and silent with fear.
“If the honoured guests would please follow, I will lead the way to the coaches...” ‘’That would be appreciated.’’ The Doux now smiles sincerely, looking towards the Principe reassuringly. ‘’Come now, lord Daveithai. This is only a warm-up to Ouroborasia.’’
The herald once off the platform seemed to become more cautious again, clearly hiding nerves and anxiety. He gestured towards the waiting carriage, painted, gilded carved in royal extravagance. Immediately besides the coach was a purple palanquin, gilded rods and silk covered in occult symbols, only then being lifted by the two ghouls. The Metropolitan’s retinue and guardsmen follow, marching in ranks 2 wide and 10 deep, carrying ornamental scythes over their shoulders to accompany the carriages. Particularly the first one, which was reserved exclusively for the Principe. The Doux and other prominent Kasabioi from the Metropolitan fleet were escorted towards an array of other carriage coaches close behind, while a number of shipmen and guardsmen walk on foot besides them from both left and right. The procession soon takes off, heading through narrow lantern-lit streets with rows of small houses carved from smooth monolithic stone, flanking steep path and stairways heading up and further up, towards the Imperial residence at the highest point of the City. The spires of the Palace up on high loom far over the city and into the murky skies, lurid...
Castle Xur
the Amaranthine Hall, Seat of the Emperor
The throne room, usually filled with light bouncing off the white walls and gilded lining was now dark, save for the slight flickering of unnatural purple light coming from a few torches. The throne sat empty - a grotesque chair with the likeness of monsters, human faces and dragons built into it. Margraf Ostorius Raceanur though knew, the Palace at Xur’value Mare had always been macabre even before the civil war.
Much like himself. Much like everyone in this room and everyone and everything in Ouroborasia too in fact.
He had only just arrived into the throne room and immediately approached the assembled group of men murmuring in the corner of the throne room, the only living beings in this room, the rest of the vast space empty of any audience or crowd. His shadow, that annoying servitor woman finally had disappeared - even that inhuman Turquoise thing would not interrupt this.
As Raceanur stopped walking and stood at attention, the other men’s voices went silent, and they all turned to face him. Some he respected, old soldiers and veterans like himself, weary and weathered down by decades of war with Eudaz, Lamash and now themselves. Some he despised, like that bastard Cosmin, the emperor’s younger brother that was already sneering at him. Others he did not even know why in Ashmedairus were here. That flamboyant Kasabioi admiral for example. By Justinian he annoyed him.
The emperor however, was also present. The man looked older by the day, even though he was only in his fifties, the man looked somehow older than himself. He was also the man Raceanur had sworn allegiance to and served so dutifully for so many years, so he knew even in the presence of these degenerates and madmen, he would be respectful.
He bowed.
“Hail majesty, I have returned from the front bearing word”. He spoke with as strong and clear voice as he could - though it still came out as a dry, and raspy drowl. His old and greasy dark hair obscured his deep wrinkles and scars, his great beard obscured his thin permanently etched frown. All the men knew; even those who despised the old marshal in turn, that this man was the very heart of the Imperial Army of the East.
“Rise, Margraf and speak” The Emperor said.
“Your majesty, it is as the witch said“ Ostorius replied, hesitant to confirm the predictions of that woman. “The Ghouls of Uudhin have made to take the coast of West Ouroborasia. Their advance had been curbed at Iviragne, yet as I speak, they assault the communes in the area east of there.''
“And the result of this, what is your counsel in how this will affect my empire’s west?”
“Your majesty, I am of the opinion that the Ghouls care not for your legal rule or the sanctity of our lands. The lands lost will be made barren, either by the Ghouls or by the fleeing Istvanites”.
“So then the land they take is lost to us?”
“Yes, for now your majesty.” Ostorius told his liege with a degree of resignation and frustration. For Ostorius had always despised the Yitizite Ghouls, and throughout his long career had not only crusaded against Eudaz and Gushawar, but also defended Ouroborasia from Uudhin. It caused Ostorius great and terrible resentment, knowing that the Ghoulish monsters were invading and he could do nothing to stop them, for they were now his ‘allies’.
By the clearly solemn frown and darkened eyes from the emperor, it was clear that the emperor too felt this.
“If those lands should be lost, then so be it. I would be correct to assume that the Ghoulish host will divide the Istvanites attention?”
“Yes your majesty, their numbers are believed in the hundreds of thousands. Though they are stalled after a great battle at Iviragne, it is my opinion, and one I believe you share, that now is the time to strike. The west cannot possibly mobilise its whole army against us when it is being attacked by such a large and destructive force from the south. The ghouls will not merely occupy land but actively destroy it and the people. The Istanvites will have to respond - and so comes our opportunity to destroy them when they are divided.” “Then make it so. Margraf Raceanur, I order you to rally my armies to seize my Empire”.
As soon as the Emperor gave Raceanur the order, he bowed again before turning to walk away. Raceanur knew that this meeting had a larger purpose than merely him reporting what the witch had already said, but he had no desire to attend the first meeting of Cosmin’s son-in-law to be.
“And Raceanur.” The Emperor said, drawing his attention as he slowed his walk away. “I will soon follow, it would only be proper that Istvan be reminded of what he really is”. Raceanur nodded and walked on, glad that the emperor knew he wished to leave before the ‘pleasantries’ begun and allowed him to do so. Upon Raceanur opening the door to leave, the palace herald approached to open the door from the other side.
As Raceanur walked out, he briefly glanced towards the Kasabioi delegation, and who he assumed to be their prince standing in the centre, cloaked and regally embellished.
He looked like a runt.
Raceanur continued, walking down the hall. When he heard the herald declare the runt’s arrival to the palace, Raceanur could only be thankful he avoided more of Cosmin’s politicking.
''Your majesty, the Prince of Kasabi Republic, Synogchouta Daveithai, has arrived'' The Imperial Herald Cvijić declared as he performed a deep bow.
There was a moment of silence.
‘’Bring him in’’. Spoke the Emperor, a deep and tired voice of an old man.
The Palace guards gestured to the Principe to enter the Amaranthine Hall, as they cleared from the carpet leading towards the throne. Synogchouta had to walk in the front of his retinue that the Ouroborasian Emperor may distinguish him. He could, sadly, no longer hide behind his henchman. Taking a deep breath, he trod into the Hall as all eyes were fixed on him. Synogchouta stiffened and stared blankly towards the end of the carpet where the throne was. His face was locked in an unamused frown to maintain a semblance of stoicism and integrity. Though actually it was to hide his anxiety… He was certainly not used being placed in a situation as dire as this. An audience with one of the key players of Materia’s global theatre. Chouta knew and remembered full well that the Emperor is the most powerful Red Pantheonist ruler of our time -- save from only the Gods themselves.
The Principe wanted to speak, but by a lump in his throat he could not. All the while the Emperor was awaiting a response from his foreign guests. As though reading the atmosphere, it was the Doux’s voice to ring through the stone fundaments first -- it was directed at a clerk at the entrance -- loud enough for everyone in the Emperor’s olden hall to overhear. ‘’My compliments to the fair lady Ceremenei for her gracious welcome. Her eagerness to meet us at the instance of portage has been noted . Be sure to send her our blessing.’’ The man spoke with an innocent smile, a very cheeky one. Synogchouta did not pay attention, walking the carpet with small steps until he felt he reached an acceptable proximity to the Emperor, not making eye contact but rather fixing his gaze at the embroidered purple-rose heraldry on the Emperor’s mantle. He abruptly ceases movement and falls to his left knee, lowering his head. ‘’Your majesty...’’ The Principe splutters. Having memorized and hammered on the correct Ouroborasian words, pronunciation and mannerism for months beforehand. ‘’I have come bringing good tidings on behalf of the Metropolitan and all my noble family, your most steadfast, committed allies...’’ The Principe speaks no more. Keeping his head down while he senses the Emperor’s eyes leering into him.
Meanwhile the Kasabioi men and eunuchs in the Principe’s retinue, as befitting of Edukeshan courtesy, carry boxes and embellished chests loaded with gifts of exotic spices, fineries and jewelry, talismans and ornamental weaponry from the mercantile Empire’s connections all across Materia. These items and trinkets together are certainly worth a great stack of gold, the Metropolitan is being very, very generous to the Emperor. He had best appreciate it, Synogchouta thinks. ‘’Rise.’’ Spoke the Emperor finally, seeing that the Principe is not speaking further. ‘’I see you have brought me gifts.’’ The old Emperor speaks, his sullen voice booming in his great hall. But Synogchouta thinks he can sense mild pleasure -- though it is hard to tell with the Emperor’s general grim stoicism. Perhaps the Emperor is trying his best not to smile at the marvelous gesture. Standing up, the Principe patiently replies. ‘’The gifts are not mine alone, but from all great families of Göl Kasabi. I am ever subservient to my people, o Emperor.’’ ‘’Hrm. Your good will to my Court has been noted.’’ Spoke the Ruler of Ouroborasia. A number of Imperial clerks came forward to investigate the many crates and chests, who are elaborate enough that they could well be gifts in and by themselves. Meanwhile the Kasabioi plumed guardsmen and eunuchs that carried the gifts retreat back to the Amaranthine Hall’s grand opening, leaving the Principe all alone as though awaiting a God’s judgement. The Emperor, clearly indifferent or even chafed by pleasantries and formalities, yells towards a collection of servants that gathered behind the columns of the hall’s left wing. ‘’Where is the girl? Send her in, immediately.’’
The servants gave prompt and frightened reply, and looked around to find the Duchess-In-Waiting who was supposed to present herself in vicinity right about now...
The hushed voices of handmaidens are heard behind the columns, and the creaking opening of a door on the far back of the hall, presumably attached to a distant corridor. A group of young women walk in on the summon of the Emperor. Delicately they stream by the columns in Ouroborasian fashion, each of them very pale, almost sickly so, and dressed in dark and elaborate black garments. They look regal enough as though they could each well be princesses. But only one in their midsts truly stands out, a nubile girl dressed in an elaborate mantle covering her regal clothes with various shades of purple, pink and blue, sharply contrasting the unmantled darkness of her servants. That must be the ‘girl’, Cassiopeia.
The group of young women walk in orderly fashion towards the front of the throne. Each of the women makes a quick bow to the Emperor. Than speeding off to make way for the Duchess-in-Waiting. When she presents herself, she makes her bow to the Emperor. ‘’Your majesty.’’ She speaks with a kind and modulated tone. Than she turns to the Principe who is standing from the throne’s opposite. Her funneled sleeves reach out to her dress, tilting them to make curtsey greeting; bending her knee and bowing her head to the Principe. ''It is my pleasure to finally meet you, good Prince.'' She spoke with a smile and again in the same modulated voice. It was then that it strikes Chouta that this is their first meeting. Synogchouta and Cassiopeia finally standing opposite to one another after many months, years even, of correspondence. He is so struck that he completely forgot to respond, locked in the same frown as before -- which only serves to unsettle her. The Doux Litayyan gives Synogchouta a prod and a soft hiss. ‘’Don’t forget your manners.’’ The Principe proceeds to only briefly tilt his regal diadem from his forehead, and a quick nod at the Princess, though without saying anything. Now it is Cassiopeia’s turn to frown at such a poor show of courtly manners. ‘’...Tsk.’’ She quickly turns away and withdraws to her retinue of handmaidens. A bad first impression on the Principe’s part.
‘’There she is.’’ So thunders the Emperor’s voice through the hall. ‘’This would be my niece, Cassiopeia. See to it that you get well acquainted.’’
‘’Yes, your majesty.’’ Speaks Synogchouta, who seems more smitten with the Emperor than with the fair and graceful princess.
‘’I hereby bless your union. Not merely as two souls, but as the binding link betwixt two factions. My Empire and your Island.’’ The Emperor raises his scepter and coldly proclaims: ''So shall it be.'' He spoke these words with as little pomp and flair as he is humanly able. It is almost impressive how much indifference a man can show. Yet by his status as Emperor alone, an elevation making him worthy of Gods, his approval carries immense weight.
A feeling of relief encompasses the Kasabioi delegation. The Principe sighs graciously, yet has mixed feelings. For one it means he has done good his part serving his faction, but for another, it means he is now bound to a woman he doesn’t know and probably will not like. ‘’On behalf of all Göl Kasabi and its overseas possessions, we thank you one and all, O Emperor. And shall continue to be your steadfast compatriots.’’ ‘’And I would expect no different, Prince.’’ Grunts the ruler. ‘’Guards; show the visitors of Kasabi to their quarters. They are to be our guests for the night, and doubtlessly must rest from their journey here...’’
Question: does the Avatar have a role in this RP? I mean, much of the setting is based around him so it feels there's something missing without an AVATAR.
The day is unnatural. The skies are never this clear in proximity to Uudhin. The distant sun and red star never so brilliant. The people of Kasabi island speak of a divine omen. For it is common knowledge, at least in the upper commons of the city, that this day the Metropolitan’s selected heir is departing with a treasure fleet at his back. Gifts from all corners of Materia to which the Merchant Despotate has established lasting ties. Accompanied with rows of heavily guarded ships to see to the safe passage to East Ouroborasia. Even the Salt Prince, in his occasional mercy, has bestowed tranquil waves for a safe voyage to the other side of the dark strait of Noirmoro, which separates Uudhin from Ouroborasia. For many this favourable weather should be a welcome sight of better times to come. Yet to the more cynical, it is a dreadful omen of Justinian’s growing power and the impending annihilation of Edukar’s last bastion. For the perpetual and brooding tempest is the norm in Uudhin. Leaning at the railing of the northern pier attached to Göl Kasabi’s upper commons, the young Principe reminisces over what is to come, and dreads it. Synogchouta wears Soghba’s charm around his neck and has his usual wine red mantle covering his sinewy frame against the cold. Black curls cover his forehead. Under his eyes are dark bags from a sleepless and another depressing Uudhin night. Sadly something Edukesh's long exiled tribes are only too familiar with. Cast from grace by the tyrannical usurper gods, to reap the shallow bounty of the most accursed corner in Materia. So they endlessly tell themselves in self-pity. But he woke up from that darkness to the most aberrant morning imaginable. The pure beams of the sun actually gracing their little island empire?
The skies spotless, and peaceful silent laughter from the gulls is heard floating over the still water. Strange. The skies shouldn’t be this shade of colour. The cerulean blue envelops the pier so that its red mosaic tiles too seems as though touched by the celestial plane. There is even such clarity that the northern coast at the other side of the water is visible to the naked eye. The Principe cannot believe his own eyes. He had been idling on this pier many times in his life, but never had the boon of catching a glimpse of Ouroborasia from as far south as Göl Kasabi. Caught in wonderment Chouta’s gaze is fixed on the northern horizon, unable to process what is happening. He has been to that very Ouroborasian coast before, but from this distance and on this day it is totally unrecognisable. In matter of fact; the distant ivory shore cannot be of this world. Those pine trees should not be piercing straight through the sky... The mountains behind them should not be shaped as rows of shiny molar teeth. And the southern harbour did not have those colossal pearl gates barring entry into the dockyard. Despite being at least a hundred miles away, Synogchouta can swear that the glistering gates have words inscribed on them. They are large enough that the Principe swears he can read them. He squints his eyes and leans forward over the railing.
There he stood, and the longer Synogchouta tried to decipher the awfully familiar words of the gate, the more the wind picked up as though responding to his intrigue, gliding rapidly over the water surface. The volume increases and somehow shifts to whispers seemingly carried with them. The speech of the wind smothers the familiar bawking of seagull and seaghoul that the Kasabioi are accustomed to. All sounds from the urban areas behind him likewise fades out by voices not quite human. A language that no other sapient race on Materia should be capable of producing either. For it is the wind that is speaking. ‘’The mist of the sea is an invitation to the great Dark. Embracing the abysmal north star, where the host of all souls gather. Over them, through them, without and within.’’ That is what it says. A voice unmistakably harmonious and inseparable from the noise of the very tempest. This is the language of entities of a greater plane. What all Men are inclined to call Gods. ‘’Who are you?’’
‘’Bring your gift to his viceroy that dwells so deep, so deep down under the northern star. A material pact upheld.’’
‘’Axohaan?’’
‘’Hasten. The destiny of Eudeye’s Tribes, alike with the Olden Refuge and the Deicidal Messengers of Archonnen hang in your balance. A cataclysm to be averted.
He awaits.’’ Then the celestial sky takes the form of a face. A kind face of a man, with a warm and embracing smile. Chouta is completely perplexed. But he snaps out of it when bumping his head against a lantern hanging from a column adjacent to him.
Rubbing the spot where his head was struck, Chouta’s eyes dart back to the sky. There is no face there. How is that even possible? Something as shapeless and infinite as the sky -- yet he could swear he recognised the shape of a human face therein. Then he looks at the Ouroborasian coast to the north. Squinting his eyes he can just narrowly make out a thin strip of land at the far end of the horizon. Which is still incredible and very unusual considering the distance. Yet all the same, over there is not the celestial landscape he previously bore witness to. And those pearl gates are nowhere to be seen. It must have been imagery out of a lucid dream…
The unrestrained exposure of such paradisiacal weather is clearly playing with his head. Understandable perhaps; because an Uudhinite inhabitant is accustomed only to elements dark and raw. Anything that isn’t that is simply overwhelming their psyche? That is what Chouta deduces, anyway. But the scent of salt once more fills his nostrils, a reminder that his God is never far... ‘’Did the Salt Prince send me a vision?’’ The Principe silently mutters to himself. His mind is adrift once more with the waves of the strait, and only ends when a sudden voice ambushes the pier.
‘’The Metropolitan sent me. Saying Yaldbaw has left and that you ought to follow his example. ‘Our family did not prosper through indolence or hesitation.’ He says.’’
Still mentally elsewhere, the Principe hardly gives a visible reaction towards his uncle’s henchman. And so he continues speaking. ‘’Either way, the crew is assembled; ready to leave on your word. Combined with the treasure fleet and the assortments of armed escort, it makes for a mighty fleet in total, I must say. I hope the Ouroborasians won’t mistake it for an invasion. Heh! Hehe.’’
It is Bacanoc Ormaoth, a confidante and henchman of the Daveithai family from about Chouta’s age. One would be hard-pressed to think he too hails from a wealthy family. His outdoors attire consists of weathered old garments and leather, having certainly carried him through much rain and wind over the years. Bacanoc is hardy and fierce built, wide shouldered with prominent cheekbones and short black facial hair around his chin and jaw in contrast to clean-shaven Chouta. He has a square-shaped skull with dark slanted eyes under thick and heavy eyebrows – actually a little bit reminiscent of a gorilla. ...Though one shouldn’t say it to his face. Bacanoc is certainly no handsome or refined man like his friend the Principe, though certainly capable in the primordial art of violence. Which, paired with his loyalty to the Island Despotate, is exactly why the Metropolitan favours him so.
The Principe is visibly frustrated. He had barely time to reflect on the theophany he just experienced before reality has come to seize him as his uncle’s political pawn to curry the Emperor’s favour. He came to this part of the city specifically to be away from the intrigue and nosy henchmen of his uncle. ‘Can’t a man have some peace?’ He thinks to himself. It seems there is no more time to enjoy the view. And he might never get another chance, too. When the Principe fails to give an apt response, Bacanoc speaks up again. ‘’Your rivals are seeing your lack of initiative as a sign of weakness.’’
Chouta raises an unpersuaded eyebrow. ‘’Tsk. Listen here; I don’t like them and they don’t like me. And we both know it. Why should I bother appeasing them? They aren’t going to think better of me whatever I do. What’s the point, pray tell? In matter of fact...’’
He looks away from the dark waves and into Bacanoc’s gorilla vision. ‘’I am not so certain I like you, either. Damn you Ormaoths. How much property and investment have your people done in Solnisata and Drakma at the expense of our Despotate?’’
Bacanoc groans. ‘’... Need I still prove myself? I have lived in Göl Kasabi all my life. I have served your family faithfully more than even my own. I have won the Metropolitan’s trust; why can’t I have yours?’’
‘’Trust isn’t freely given. You may have successfully wrapped my uncle around your little finger, but I am not so easily deceived.’’ The Principe sighs, figuring he is being a tad rough he follows up to his professed distrust:
‘’Though consider my expedition a chance to prove your loyalty.’’ Bacanoc simply nods like a beat dog and turns to leave. It’s as good as any response he has come to expect from the likes of Chouta.
Later that same tranquil morning, Bacanoc walks up to another of the Metropolitan’s Henchmen. This man is at least twice Bacanoc’s age, tall and lanky and stern with a goatee and wearing clean embellished robes, reflecting his status as one of the more powerful of the Kasabioi Patricians. ‘’Doux. Compared to yesterday, the Principe seems to have had a change of heart. Yesterday he was utterly miserable over having to leave his little island paradise. Though when dismissing me he insinuated agreeing with the expedition. What could have persuaded him? Zeal for our Salt Prince?’’
‘’With or without a god, a good night’s sleep performs miracles by itself. The boy had only come to his senses.’’ The Doux replies with a faint smirk, fiddling with his facial hair.
Now having the vague understanding that a lot more is at stake than meets the mortal perception, Chouta scales the gangway of the flagship to be introduced to his loyal subjects. That is to say; his crew that will be accompanying him on this voyage. Synogchouta has made up his mind. He is first met by a man hailing from a human commune on the Uudhinite mainland, places far more sinister than the isolated Göl Kasabi. A beefy and bullnecked man; Tokko of Jeziorze. At the sight of Chouta’s figure entering the ship he speeds towards him and, taking stance and sticking out his chest like a pigeon, he combusts with a salute:
‘’READY TO SET SAIL, PRINCIPE. ANY DAY. I HAVE THE PRIVILEGE OF BEING FIRST-MATE OF YOUR SHIP, PRINCIPE. MAY THE SALT PRINCE GUIDE THE WAY! HE WHO IS RULER OF THE EARTH. LORD OF THE WATERS. MASTER OF UUDHIN AND EDUKESH. PRAISE BE!’’ ‘’Gross. You spit on me.’’ ‘’… MY APOLOGIES, PRINCIPE.’’ ‘’Yea, well, make sure you swallow next time before blurting your swagger.’’
Bacanoc and the Doux now also scale the same gangway of the Metropolitan’s lofty flagship in Chouta’s trail. They, and many other officials, are all part of the envoy deployed to the Imperial Court of Ouroborasia to represent Göl Kasabi and perhaps Uudhin as a whole. ‘’There, Principe. I have taken liberty of finding you this man hailing from the very lands we are about to embark to.’’ The Doux gestures towards his two lionmasked bodyguard – the esteemed Saltenguard – coming onto the deck dragging a gaunt and pale looking man by both arms.
‘’An Ouroborasian in origin. Justinian. It seems he wishes to atone for his ancestor’s crimes by being so courteous as to accompany our exalted mission.’’
Pretty rich coming from an Axohar -- Synogchouta would think, but he is preoccupied observing the poor man that is being presented to him. He is dropped to the floor, landing on both knees and remains there. With a shrill voice the Ouroborasian speaks.
‘’Ionut Luizaraad… I am Ionut Luizaraad and I am no Justinian. Nevermore. I heard your family was searching for a native Ouroborasian speaker to aid you… with a tour. But those Lionmask guys brandished their scythes at the sight of me before I could even think of applying.’’
‘’No surprise there – just look at you.’’ The Principe responds. ‘’You’re filthy.’’ Ionut ignores the comment, seeming to agree.
‘’My understanding of the eastern territories of Ouroborasia is subpar, but I will do my utmost best, lord.’’ Not fully convinced, the Principe turns to the Doux once more.
‘’Litayyan, where did you find this man?’’
‘’It is as he says; my escort detained him.’’ The Doux answers with a bark, whose real name is apparently Litayyan. He follows up: ‘’In the past few days I had my men distribute warranties through the suburbs of Göl Kasabi, with the urgent request for Ouroborasian-speaking volunteers. But it was on short notice, and this man seems to be the best option so far. I trust you will agree we can make due with him. Do not let his impoverished looks deceive you – he has more aptitude than meets the eye… The name of Luizaraad was in fact a decently well-off noble house in Ouroborasia, at least prior to the Civil War.’’ Ionut casts his gaze down to his knees, reminiscing the sad fate of his home and family. He does not comment.
‘’Is that so? Yet you forget the only family name with any semblance of weight on this vessel would be Daveithai. And so a Daveithai will be the judge of that.’’
‘’Naturally, o Principe.’’
Chouta steps towards Ionut, gesturing to the Saltenguard to lift him up to his feet, so that they can see properly eye to eye. ‘’Seeing there is little else to pick from, I accept your enrolment in our little expedition. Consider yourself employed. Though first things first; I insist you dress properly and clean yourself up. Just think; what would the Emperor think if he saw some plebe as part of our sacred envoy? Litayyan! See to it he is given a fresh set of garments. Not for free, though. The Ouroborasian is to pay off his debt through the toils expected of him.’’
‘’Principally, o Principe.’’
As the fleet departed from the harbour, Synogchouta could briefly catch a glimpse of the Metropolitan's own formidable posture. Frankly Chouta had not expected his uncle cared enough to make an appearance at all. But as befits him, he merely came to see them off and not to bless their journey or bid them goodbye or whichever he ought to. The reason Chouta could recognize the Metropolitan at all was by the elaborate retinue of scythes suddenly entering the pier, and the coloured, over the top plume of the Metropolitan's hat sticking out above his henchmen. So it came to pass that the fleet of Synogchouta Daveithai, comprising of at least ten ships and loaded with gifts, spices and armed escorts, leaves the harbour of Göl Kasabi under clear skies and with the winds in their back. With such favourable weather it should not take longer than a few days of crossing Noirmoro strait and trailing the inland rivers. And though it is too late to regret his decision now, a clinging pain falls unto the young heir as he sees his island home, which he has ever loved, fade away into the south… And far to the south he can already tell dark clouds pulling from mainland Uudhin to cover Kasabi island once more in ominous Axohar tempests. But this is as it should be.
(Unfinished. Had to edit the post after Goldeagle's posts were retconned.)
Mainland southwestern Ouroborasia, the Battle of Iviragne
Ostrob - 300 AWH
The Ghoulish march
The windswept plains of Ouroborasia are beset by dark clouds, their bleak and dominating presence in the sky engulfing the light and casting there the shadow of Uudhin... From afar the demon hordes moved in, holding aloft the hellish braziers and standards to represent the celestial Prince who made them. Sauntering, dragging, clawing, crawling in their myriads of unsightly and ghastly manifestations. Not quite animal, not quite man, and not quite natural even by the contorted standards of Materia. Their clamouring is heard far and wide as the spawn to the fore beat harsh drums, slam sinister gongs and blow on crude, screeching trumpets.
Tactician Kè; a commander of the Ghouls of Ouroborasia, who has been bred with the wit and guile to trample his enemies, addresses the rows of other prominent Ghouls that had gathered to him. Each of them look diverse enough that one would be hard-pressed to think they belong to the same vile race. They are the Tacticians Ghirjûn, Jauka, Eiyzayun and Glûstremm, standing before him. Each of them stoutly built, about the size of an adult man or longer, and of a superiour breed. Kè alone is the one that lacks any physical presence for he outwardly appears unseemingly sickly and gaunt, a plucked bird with an exposed ribcage and limp appendages of a man.
Kè speaks and hisses with harshly guttural sounds.
''Ioïnro kauteran ihzan dûrxa taan, lôhrung ranz... Axoa Uudhi deikûr sîy reiyharx ung.'' Eiyzayun retorts. ''Ghaok taan lôhrunga razi âth Ourokûra...?'' And the other three seem to agree with him more than Kè, leaving the Ghoul tactician flustered and angry. Scolding at them. ''Tâk ath, ung Axoa deikûr Uudhi taan Uudhin! Cáarath! Baoth! Parokôk!''
''Axoa kâthar! Axoa dûyvil! Axoa kâthar! Axoa dûyvil! Axoa kâthar!'' The tacticians all cry in a hellish choir.
The other Ghouls that march and encircle the city of Iviragne seem to overhear and respond as if by instinct to the cry of Kè, and now screech the same choir in unison. Their tens of thousands of cries produce such a deafening wave of sound that the inhabitants of the city and the garrison manning the wall dread dearly what is to come. In the face of this multitude of foes and the hellish tumult they create, Justinian's voice is smothered utterly; reduced to the nothingness. For years Ouroborasia has been a dark and forsaken land, far removed and forgotten by the Pale Star of the West. Only the Red Stars of the Axohar Cohort grace the soil now. The lands where hope and daylight die.
Eventually from the northern hills resound the horns of the Human Opposition. And not a moment too soon. They are a fearsome Ouroborasian faction of warriors known as the Order of Rosemary. With speed they came to the defence of Iviragne to break the Ghoulish advance. They are led by general Krojan the Lumani, an esteemed Rosarian officer. Clad fully in crimson platemail from spiked-helmet to red sabaton, and always atop a mighty black stallion. The soldiers of the Order of Rosemary are perhaps the finest and most elite troops West Ouroborasia has to offer. Most battles of this Civil War that involved their banner resulted in Justinian victories. Even their horses seem to be of a larger and stronger breed than those employed by regular Ouroborasian cavalry. They would not give up their homes and lands without a fight. Absolutely and under no condition not...
''Form ranks, and face the scum of the Red Pantheon!'' He roars from under his helmet with a thundering voice as he points his scabbard down the hills, where a thick layer of grey covers the valley with speckles stretching far into the southern hills. It is a layer that they will and must not tolerate. ''SIR! HOO!-HA!'' The forces nigh him gave response. The Order of Rosemary wastes nor reserves even a second to launch their offensive. They are trained to lash out at anything anti-Justinian wherever they may perceive it, and with no quarter. With a fistful of steel and fire they charge down the hills screaming like maniacs. Infantry in the centre, cavalry at the sides. A red wave dawning onto the grey one. Beasts against monsters. They know what is at stake -- their homes, their property, their sovereignty, their faith. But one thing they are less concerned about are their own lives; these warriors are fierce and do not fear death, never expecting to leave a battlefield alive or in one piece to begin with. Justinian will deliver them. With the aura of Krojan the Lumani at the helm of the army, they are committed to victory.
A depiction of Hell presents before the walls of Iviragne. The ghastly ghouls facing away from the city walls, the very vast majority of them unmounted and small creatures, were trampled by horses while the Gauntlet's infantry with their signature spiked maces strike out at the malformed heads and frames of the frontlining Axospawn. The Ouroborasians struck hard, and mowed down many foes in the very first clash. However it appears Kè and the Ghoul tacticians deliberately placed their most worthless spawn at the edges of the legion to absorb the blow.
''ITLÛ RA CÁARATH OUROKÛRATH.'' hoarse shrieks came from the back of the ghoul army.
Serpentine warriors rush to the fore with long lances and stakes. With inhuman precision they aim the narrow and rigid ends straight into each chink and gap in the Gauntlet's breastplates. They begin the process of driving the Ouroborasians back, and some that are not paying attention are outright impaled by the deed of those creatures. This gives the maimed and dying Ghouls that were engaged previously the opportunity to retreat to safety behind the Serpentine cover. Some of them with missing and hewn legs crawling vainfully away from the Rosarians. As the Serpentine infantry go about their bloody and precise work, one very strong Ghoul holds a long stake on which he preternaturally impaled three dying Ouroborasians at once. He lifts it towards the dark clouds, the blood stained and bungling bodies of those three men hanging from it like a standard, bent on demoralizing the enemy by depicting classical Ghoul malice. The Ouroborasians are hardly demoralized however. In fact, one of those hanging three men not yet dead begins screaming at the top of his lungs. ‘’JUSTICE BE DONE! JUSTICE BE DONE! JUSTICE BE DONE!’’ As he in vain holds the stake that pierces through his abdomen, trying to break it and free himself from it. But, from on high a sharp rock crashes into his helmet; fracturing his skull. At last dealing to him the killing blow, and releasing him from the anxieties of this world. A flying fishghoul cast the rock at the poor man’s head for sport.
Drifting along the ominous clouds, more of those very same winged fish-like demons descend down to glide over the valley of Iviragne, each holding a heavy, sharply chiselled rock. ‘’SCHRATTÔR RA!’’ One of them gurgles at his fellows, and they each drop the rocks into the valley, before retreating back into the clouds. A next line of flying Ghouls take their place, also holding rocks and casting them into the red formations. This is undoubtly part of tactician Kè’s machinations. On the ground, meanwhile, the heavy impact of the rocks is tremendous enough that the uniform Rosarian helmet is not enough to protect their heads. Some of them are crushed by the heavy rock’s ridiculous velocity. Other humans orientate themselves to the skies and raise up their metal-coated shields, on which the rocks leave a large dent and a harsh 'CLANG!', yet otherwise do their job in keeping the wielder alive.
Krojan yells at the heavens in fury. ‘’Is that it?! Is that all you got?!’’ Before motioning to the Rosarian huntsmen that stand in long rows behind him. ‘’Shoot those curs down to the earth! Fire at will!’’ The huntsmen raise their crossbows, their arrows ignited by a fiery spell attuned to the string, and open fire at the winged fish creatures that dance among the clouds. Unfortunately many are simply way too high up for the projectiles to reach them. Some, through a miracle or Justinian’s direct intervention do leave their mark however, and a few of those flying Ghouls tumble down to crash onto the crimson battlefield among the Ouroborasian ranks.
Others of those flying beasts were drifting closer over the battlefield, and seemingly for no purpose. Close enough that some of the Rosarian infantry attempted to use their long pikes to pry them from the air, which the creatures dodged gracefully. What Krojan did not know, however, is that the flying Ghouls are actually looking for him, or one like him. Kè specifically instructed them to find and eliminate the enemy commander and deal his army the decisive and fatal blow. ‘’Master Lumani! Look there! Watch out!’’ ‘’BAOTH OUROKÛRA DEIKÛR!’’ General Krojan hears the unholy language of Axospawn from perilously close-by. He looks up. One of the flying Ghouls has indeed found him, and is now descending fast on him with high speed. Before Krojan knew what was happening he was tackled off his horse. ‘’GRAH!’’ He exclaims as the fish-like creature was using its long penetrating claws to grasp onto him, leaving dents in his armour and trying to bite at his throat. The defiant general held his sword unsheathed at all times, and used the pommel to beat it away. But the creature is tenacious, and uses its claws to sink ever deeper through the chinks of his mail, and ever more frantically continues to chatter its jaws lined with many long teeth for a bite at the general’s exposed neck. So instead, Krojan gives it steel! While holding the malformed head and jaws away from him with one hand, he used the other to drive his blade through its gaping mouth, felling it. The creature splutters and gurgles angrily, before loosening its grip and falling off. Its lifeless carcass rolls down the hill towards the backs of the fighting men.
A wicked cacophony consumes all the land. The shrill voices of dying humans, the screeching and taunts of Ghouls, the clatter of steel, the neighing of injured horses -- and whichever unsightly creatures Ghouls sometimes ride on.
A messenger runs up towards the general, who is being pulled back on his feet by his honour guard. ‘’Master Lumani, the deployed Saints have arrived from Holy Sacrosanctia itself.’’ ‘’…Than our victory is still in reach. Bid them come forward to engage the demons pelting our men. Pronto!’’ ‘’Yes sir!’’
Overhead, rays of light emerging from the Pale Star darted through the sky with such velocity that they seemed as though bolts of lightning. The glimpse of them was enough for those on the mortal coil of battle to understand that this was a divine intervention, and Uudhin’s officers knew it too as they frustratingly clenched their teeth. The winged Ghouls that twirled in circles in the sky lost momentum. Realising just what foe was upon them, they immediately routed at the very sight as though this had been instilled into their very nature. A few of them however flew straight at them in a gambit of self-sacrifice and buy the other aerial flanks time for an orderly retreat. But the Saints would have none of it. The angelic Man charging at the front of the Sacrosanctian Squad yelled sonorously at the top of his lungs: ‘’Have at them and cast them down!’’ As he pointed his silver sword at the first bulging-eyed fish creature that that dashed towards him. The metal of the blade combusts into an intense flame that surpasses the boundaries of its sacred steel and bursts straight towards the opposing Ghoul, who was still many meters away. The ensuing flames obliterated the creature, as well as the one flying directly at its hind. Eagles draped in light versus gaunt vultures emerging from night’s refuge in a desperate bid to scavenge on Justinian land. The swords of Justice itself has caught up to them at last. EAGLES OF LIGHT AGAINST BATS OF NIGHT. FRIGHTENED AND UNADDAPTED. NOW WISHING ONLY TO WITHDRAW BACK TO THEIR CAVES. ---Describe the majesty of the Saints flying-- ---Describe the leader of the Saints-- The leader of the Saint’s squadron is a formidable man, bald shaven and of a divinely inspired athletic posture. His name is Zenun, and his wings are perhaps the most radiant of them all. Reacting promptly to Krojan’s command, Zenun shouts: ‘’ !!!!! ’’ As he lifts his flaming sword to ready the charge.
Down the hill, additional fresh Serpentine units point to them their pikes to intercept the new attacking wave. Both the Ghoul formation and the Rosarian infantry previously engaging them have been badly bloodied at this point, and fatigue is setting in. Though to the mind of the Ghoul tacticians; seeing that the Serpentine unit has been successfully the last time, surely they will be so again. However as Zenun charges, the tattoos on his face and body begin to flare up as if responding to his zeal and fiery temper. The marks covering his body shine so radiantly that the light passes through his breastplate and clothing and into the opposing army. And not just Zenun; the other Executioners too seem to bring back Justinian’s light to Ouroborasia… surprisingly literally. Both the Ouroborasians and the Ghouls are astonished, as something as this certainly has not happened prior. The serpentine phalanx is blinded; they try to concentrate for the interception but to no avail. Thus the Executioners easily bypass their pikes and slam their maces into their skulls. The Executioners break through the pike formation, and any Ghoul that tries to fight back is blinded. Some try to block their attacks – to no avail. Or even land a blow of their own? The creatures can’t even see them. One by one they falter to the sound of Zenun’s inane laughter. It appears the man himself is not even aware what is happening to him, or why the Ghouls can resist him so poorly. But Zenun is already too far gone either way. Tactician Eiyzayun who oversees the Serpentine unit is dumbfounded to their magic or stratagem. He hisses in frustration to his cohort. Yet he too is blinded. ‘’Ourokûrath itlu deibaoth…. Xajtan! Xajtan pûrgatora!’’ His cohort comprising of tall carp-headed Ghouls are ordered to engage the radiant Executioners. However the creatures feel reluctant to enter a battle where the enemy can’t even be perceived to their bulging fishy eyes. They are only coerced to attack when Eiyzayun starts whipping them with an iron chain. They dashed off into the bright light to their unseen fate. Eiyzayun tries to see them off, but the nauseous light caused him to turn away. Only a moment later the light will come for him, too. The tactician was too distracted to see a Sacrosanctian Saint descending down at him, with burning sword held forwards. Eiyzayun is struck through where his lungs are – or would have been if his creation had not been marred by a Red God’s disdain for mortals. With purifying flame consuming his tarnished soul, he lets loose a terrible and humiliated shriek of fury, before Eidzayun is no more. His death causes a major opening in the Ghoulish legion. The commissars of Eiyzayun’s battalions each react differently to the strange radiant tattoos of the Executioners, as well as the death of their commander. The Ghouls waver. With some of them already breaking off from the main force as others make a desperate suicide charge to wear the enemy down. Even the winged fishghoul among the clouds, who continue to hail down heavy rocks, can only do so much to silence Zenun’s rampage.
General Krojan, re-adjusting himself back in the saddle of his black steed, notices the discord in the Uudhinite legion in response to the presence of the Saints, and calls for the next push. ‘’ADVANCE! Break through and obliterate!’’ ‘’HOO-HA!’’ The heavy Rosarian warriors respond with manly deeds, smashing deeper into the lightly armoured Ghoul infantry. Many Ghouls at this point are already withdrawing towards the southern hills and swamps.
Meanwhile Tactician Kè is taking matters into his own hands by rallying the warriors under him to reform, and brace for a second charge. The fighting is still fierce and ongoing, the Ghouls being defiant to maintain the blockade on Iviragne. However their forces are losing ground fast. He recalls the troops encircling the walls of Iviragne to first deal with the Order of Rosemary on the field. Kè orders the Ghoulish archery to open constant fire into the radiant light and quell whatever rage goes amok in there, while sending a Flying ghoul away to relay a message to the other legions for back-up. He is determined to salvage the battle from the clutches of disgrace. However something happens he did not anticipate; the garrison of Iviragne found the nerve to leave their posts and stations on the walls and instead come storming out of the gates, exposing themselves yet catching the Ghouls completely off guard! Even more fanatical men in red armour carrying red flags, swords and spiked maces to deal with. The demon horde is now beset from two sides; the front and the rear. And the burning white light stemming from the Executioner’s white marks is still not showing any sign of wearing off, even the other Ouroborasians have to steer clear of them. Kè’s dreams of domination are in tatters.
Begrudgingly he admits there is no more salvaging this battle for Uudhin. He screams at his nearby runners, a number of small Ghoul creatures with rodent like heads, but instead of hair covered in a layer of bristled feathers with proportionally very long and thin legs resembling human legs, though longer and thinner. ‘’*WITHDRAW! WITHDRAW! TELL ALL TACTICIANS TO WITHDRAW!’’ (In Ghoul) The runners each respond with a mangled chirp and dive towards every direction, evading arrows and hail of fire as they navigate across the battlefield to relay Kè’s command to the commissars and tacticians. Thus he calls for the full withdrawal of the Salten legion, effectively also lifting the siege of the city (which had barely begun at that point)… yet not before he yells at his enemies a menacing threat. Particularly directed at that self-righteous and pretentious Krojan and his wild little baboon Zenun.
‘’Axoa Uudhi deikûr…’’ OUROBORA-APOSTATES.. YOU HAVE WON THE BATTLE – YOU WILL NEVER WIN THE WAR.’’
Those were the last words he spoke before his oversized rat-mount rode off into the southern marshes, disappearing from sight. A good chunk of the army, frantically hastening off after him.
The Ghouls were defeated, the march of the Demon Hordes on Ouroborasian soil, thwarted. Those that remained were either fighting to the death or in the process of routing, while the Rosarians clean the field. Those Ghouls that are too injured to desert the premises in time are shown no quarter for their crimes against the Ouroborasian Empire.
Euphoria fills the air as the bright light of the Executioners finally subsides, as though recognising the dispersion of the enemy. They have fulfilled their task, and may well have been the cause of this victory. Though a halfwit as Zenun deserving the credit for the Red Gauntet’s triumph is certainly not something General Krojan would tribute him with. That light – could it have been Justinian himself? The general lifts his sword to the sky in triumph, exclaiming: ‘’O almighty Justinian, you who cannot be assailed, who cannot be deceived, to thee we give praise for delivering us!’’ The Rosarians, as well as the garrison and militia of Iviragne cheer to the sky in unison. ‘’JUSTICE BE DONE!’’
But the skies above are still dark and overcast. A running messenger runs towards Krojan. ‘’General Lumani! Grim tidings, master. The Ghouls… The Ghouls…’’ ‘’Are slain and dead. This is a blow from which they will not soon recover.’’ The general answers with a harsh monotone voice.
‘’Your forces prevailed, yet not all divisions of the Order of Rosemary incurred Justinian’s favour as much as you did, o master. The cities of Fushaz, Mogilashi, Ballkuq and Bozhigrat have fallen to them. Unspeakable cruelties are being inflicted on our brethren and countrymen, o master…’’
As it turned out, the Lumani division of the Order of Rosemary could respond only to one incursion at a time. Kè’s final threat proved correct; Krojan had won only a single battle this day. Hardly could his division deter the great entirety of the Uudhinite invasion. Yet the Ouroborasian civil war has hardened Krojan enough to be accustomed to such grim setbacks. The initial shock for him lasted only a second, if even that. After minimal silence he gives prompt response. ‘’Then our work is not done. One by one we will retake the communes we lost. Scribe!’’ ‘’Sir.’’ ‘’Send a missive to Grandmaster Rozarosu of our victory here. Request he approve the reinforcing of Iviragne’s garrison forces. Smoke out any Red Pantheon collaborators inside the city’s confines, too. In the meantime we will march to relieve the city of Fushaz, then Mogilashi, then Ballkuq and yes, then Bozhigrat. We will free them all from the clutches of the false gods. One by one. Sword by sword. So long the eye of the Pale Star is on us, we will never waver. By the Justinian’s own hallowed blade, mark my words.’’ ‘’Yes sir. Indeed so sir.’’
Do you even have to ask that? I am currently working on two at the same time. Progress is slow because I am depending on some other players for information.
Member
Cyclone
Archetype Zero
