Lady Selune

[Monster Cafe]

If anyone wants a hipster dog spirit, we might be able to work something out.

[Monster Cafe]

You can’t have monstergirls without a me-Mario.

I’m thinking something based off of SCP-1741. Internet spirit?

The Fumes of War

Across the desert, a small convoy mournfully walked. White robes adorned them as they moved, camels plodding their way across the sandy and rocky formations. Behind the main body of the mourners came two more camels, behind them a firmly secured sled, designed to be dragged across the sands without hindering the movement of the beast that carried it. Up a dune, down the other wise, and there it was. Bleached, scuffed and almost buried by the sands, the burial grounds of the Dalahem Sayyid families. Descending off the camels and tying them to the few structures that still stood- dilapidation from the desert was considered right and proper for these burial grounds, a way for the desert to reclaim the dust that it had lost.

The new Sayidd- Ahid bin Mayel, watched as his father was removed from the sled and placed down on the sands. Then, shovels would be brought out. Digging a pit in the desert was difficult, sweltering and dangerous work, with the real threat of dehydration, but luckily it didn't need to be deep. Once the desert had taken the body, it would only bury it deeper and deeper. Taking one of the shovels, Ahid would take the symbolic first load of sand, and then step back as gravediggers did the rest of the work. They were efficient and quick, supplied by an excess of water from some of the mourining women.

Once it was done, it was his job to move the sled into the hole. The shroud stopped him from seeing his father's face as he lowered the corpse into the pit, looking down at it. No words were spoken. The funeral had already occured- only family, the gravediggers and one close friend was here to watch the once great Sayidd be entombed within the sands. Holding the spade in his hand, Ahid once again made a symbolic first gesture by shovelling the sand into the hole, before letting the gravediggers do the rest.

Then, it was done. From the sands had the man come, and now to the sands he had returned. Placing his hands on his mother's wrists, Ahid would gently lead her back to their beasts and place a few minted disks in the hands of the gravediggers, their sweat clear even with the many layers of loose clothing they wore. The convoy would clamber back onto their camels again and slowly leave, plodding back the way they had came.

---

Flint Debenham felt deeply out of place in this strange and very, very hot land. The Dinnin peoples, he had learned through their studies, were not the bunch that normally took to strangers warmly, and although he could see that from the many looks he had recieved, yet the diplomat that had escorted him had seemed nothing but polite. After an initial meeting over tea, the pair had emerged into the streets of Yisslam. To the young Vyiss noble, it was another world. Coloured facewraps, women arguing with vendors underneath canvas canopies, sand beneath his feet... It was all quite different to even how he had arrived in this city.

The train ride across the bridges, then through Bravsaara had already been long enough. Belzarov train services were atrocious- the government couldn't do anything right in that country, so he had taken a car through to Zengrav, where he had then had to procure another car to reach the eastern boarder of the deserts that the Conclave called home.

Finally he had arrived here... And had been promptly informed that they wished to take him further into the country to the city of Dalahem. He was exhausted, but now that he was here a strange sort of energy had infected him, and he had spent no small amount of time in deep conversation with the bearded man that was guiding him to the other end of the city, where they were to experience one of the marvels of the Conclave- regular airflight.

The Royal Air Force was a new beast in Vyissland, so to see planes being used to carry passengers, rather than just the military? Why, it was something truly extraordinary. He had herard that the tickets for such a flight went for almost thirty pounds in Vyissland, so he felt no surprise when he was told that it was normally used only by nobles and businessmen.

"Here we are now." The diplomat would indicate to the airstrip. Around them were proper military planes, but there was only one that they cared about here- the one and only passenger plane in the city at the moment. It was not exactly a beautiful thing, but it was the transportation of the future. A trip that took hours or even days by driving over the sands took much less in a plane. "We're actually slightly late, so we should be boarding now." There was only room for five passengers, which meant that this was where his journey ended. "Another man will meet you on the other end, dressed much like I am, make sure to talk to him, and he will take you to meet Sayidd Ahid."

"Understood, thank you sir." The man would offer a nod to his desert counterpart, before clambering over the side of the plane and into one of the seats. He was then instructed to put on the heavy coat there- swealtering on the ground, but not so much in the air, and strap himself in well. With that done, the rotors would turn, first slowly, but then faster and faster, until at last they had taken off, the wind and sand whipping by them as they ascended off the ground and into the air.

Lady Selune Wishes to RP With You! [Always Looking] [Ignore Post Count (It's All Bumps)]

Whew. A whole month. Time for fresh blood methinks.

☀ THE DEVOURER CYCLE — Act I ☀

Kerenatam Ap Tadhg

Kerenatam is 24 years old. Although the Rhaead consider themselves distinct from the overall Angaturiz peoples, he holds allegiances both to those whom he has been crowned Grand Warlord of, and those that share their blood and sinew with the stones of the mountains and earth of the valley. Tall and built like a warrior, he adorns himself with little that is not practical- his hair cut short to fit under a helmet and his skin bereft of piercings that might tear in combat. A superlative commander and with capable men under his command, Kerenatam is a fearsome foe on the battlefield, whilst also not being entirely useless in discussion. He has a great love for music and woodwork, being proficient in the latter but not the former.

If Kerenatam was a small tribal chief, he would still be young, but not unusually so. For him to be the Grand Warlord of the Rhaead peoples at his age is unheard of- and because of this many believe that it is the destiny of this man to guide the various tribes to greatness under his command. The backing he has from the druids- both in the prophecies they tell of him and his taking of a druid as a wife have done nothing to reduce the myths already swirling around him.

Born to a tired and redheaded mother in the forests of the Rhaead home, his early life was spent not in languid play, but in the harsh realities of life. Despite his father having held a prominent position, his death had left his wife and four children to be expelled from their community, overthrown by an uncle who left them to die. As a child, he spent his time learning how to use a sling, track prey and ride the wild horses that trotted through the scattered trees.

Although his mother worked hard and could teach the young boy much, their lives were still hard. Every failed hunt of his was another day his family went hungry, and in times of desperation he often had to attack from and steal from his own people- unthinkable to most of the Rhaead. When he was caught he would be beaten and shunned, which only served to make his family more desperate as he recovered.

Through these hardships however, a man was forged. In part, this was thanks to the environment, but at the same time something else kindled an ugly flame inside of him. Often, when the family ate well, his mother would tell stories- of what life had been like with her husband and of the fineries that came with such a privileged position. When he finally reached adulthood and left his home he was consumed by a burning desire to overthrow his relative and take back what his family had lost before he was born. Swearing himself to another chieftain’s retinue, he would prove himself rapidly to be a capable leader of men, being trusted with his own group of skirmishers and launching countless raids against his uncle's troops and homes.

Five years later, his spear would drain the lifeblod from his uncle's neck as he finally took back control of his father's tribe, and with his death, his mother and three sisters could return. No longer were they isolated fringes of the society, but instead in the centre, where they could enjoy the life denied to them as they had struggled to survive in the woods. Now at the head of a significant force, and with his previous chieftain having turned from overseer to staunch ally, he would make a visit to the Godswoods, where the oldest trees lived, having started growing since before man had even arrived in the region. There, he met with the druids, who would describe tales of exploits yet to come and victories yet to be won.

It was also here where he met his wife. Perhaps a druid would not be what was expected, but nonetheless the pair would be wed, the rawhide wraps encircling their arms and joining the two together. From there his already rapid rise would turn to a meteoric one, the man coming into his own with ruthless, yet calculated and cunning attacks that left his foes disoriented and overwhelmed, ripe to be picked off one by one. Perhaps if all his foes had come together to overwhelm him they might have succeeded, but instead with every victory his forces would grow larger, bolstered by the conquered tribe's numbers and those of the increasing number of people flocking to his cause.

It was at the age of 22, having been a man for a mere eight years, when he would become the High Warlord. Crowned with a wreath of holly in the Rhaead capital (and the only permeant settlement they had) of Andrelian, he would spend the next two years subjugating the last few tribes that insisted on rebelling.

Yet after all this work, this tireless struggle to unite the Rhead, there now comes a new threat. A ravenous, slaving horde intent on conquering them. Kerenatam will not allow this. He will not allow his work to be tossed aside, his peoples crushed and held in distain as he was when he was a child. He goes to the meeting not to stir up trouble, but to gather support for the cause, with the chants of his blue-painted warriors behind him.

"DEVOURER": Bronze, Blood, Betrayal

Kerenatam Ap Tadhg

Kerenatam is 24 years old. Although the Rhaead consider themselves distinct from the overall Angaturiz peoples, he holds allegiances both to those whom he has been crowned Grand Warlord of, and those that share their blood and sinew with the stones of the mountains and earth of the valley. Tall and built like a warrior, he adorns himself with little that is not practical- his hair cut short to fit under a helmet and his skin bereft of piercings that might tear in combat. A superlative commander and with capable men under his command, Kerenatam is a fearsome foe on the battlefield, whilst also not being entirely useless in discussion. He has a great love for music and woodwork, being proficient in the latter but not the former.

If Kerenatam was a small tribal chief, he would still be young, but not unusually so. For him to be the Grand Warlord of the Rhaead peoples at his age is unheard of- and because of this many believe that it is the destiny of this man to guide the various tribes to greatness under his command. The backing he has from the druids- both in the prophecies they tell of him and his taking of a druid as a wife have done nothing to reduce the myths already swirling around him.

Born to a tired and redheaded mother in the forests of the Rhaead home, his early life was spent not in languid play, but in the harsh realities of life. Despite his father having held a prominent position, his death had left his wife and four children to be expelled from their community, overthrown by an uncle who left them to die. As a child, he spent his time learning how to use a sling, track prey and ride the wild horses that trotted through the scattered trees.

Although his mother worked hard and could teach the young boy much, their lives were still hard. Every failed hunt of his was another day his family went hungry, and in times of desperation he often had to attack from and steal from his own people- unthinkable to most of the Rhaead. When he was caught he would be beaten and shunned, which only served to make his family more desperate as he recovered.

Through these hardships however, a man was forged. In part, this was thanks to the environment, but at the same time something else kindled an ugly flame inside of him. Often, when the family ate well, his mother would tell stories- of what life had been like with her husband and of the fineries that came with such a privileged position. When he finally reached adulthood and left his home he was consumed by a burning desire to overthrow his relative and take back what his family had lost before he was born. Swearing himself to another chieftain’s retinue, he would prove himself rapidly to be a capable leader of men, being trusted with his own group of skirmishers and launching countless raids against his uncle's troops and homes.

Five years later, his spear would drain the lifeblod from his uncle's neck as he finally took back control of his father's tribe, and with his death, his mother and three sisters could return. No longer were they isolated fringes of the society, but instead in the centre, where they could enjoy the life denied to them as they had struggled to survive in the woods. Now at the head of a significant force, and with his previous chieftain having turned from overseer to staunch ally, he would make a visit to the Godswoods, where the oldest trees lived, having started growing since before man had even arrived in the region. There, he met with the druids, who would describe tales of exploits yet to come and victories yet to be won.

It was also here where he met his wife. Perhaps a druid would not be what was expected, but nonetheless the pair would be wed, the rawhide wraps encircling their arms and joining the two together. From there his already rapid rise would turn to a meteoric one, the man coming into his own with ruthless, yet calculated and cunning attacks that left his foes disoriented and overwhelmed, ripe to be picked off one by one. Perhaps if all his foes had come together to overwhelm him they might have succeeded, but instead with every victory his forces would grow larger, bolstered by the conquered tribe's numbers and those of the increasing number of people flocking to his cause.

It was at the age of 22, having been a man for a mere eight years, when he would become the High Warlord. Crowned with a wreath of holly in the Rhaead capital (and the only permeant settlement they had) of Andrelian, he would spend the next two years subjugating the last few tribes that insisted on rebelling.

Yet after all this work, this tireless struggle to unite the Rhead, there now comes a new threat. A ravenous, slaving horde intent on conquering them. Kerenatam will not allow this. He will not allow his work to be tossed aside, his peoples crushed and held in distain as he was when he was a child. He goes to the meeting not to stir up trouble, but to gather support for the cause, with the chants of his blue-painted warriors behind him.

The Fumes of War

The Nation Sheet

The Conclave of the Sands

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Geography:

|Geographical Location of Country:| East of Zengrav.
|Country Size:| 437,072 square km.
|Cities:| Whilst most of the land in the Conclave is desert, there are a few important settlements. The most important is the capital- Salaghen, built over one of the few major sources of water in the country, as an artificial island. More than 23% of the total population lives in Salaghen, and it's the home to the Conclave itself, as well as the wealthiest of all the cities. It is one of the few places that agriculture can be carried out, and is near the Hazhen mountain range, providing it with valuable resources to mine. The city itself is a curious sight to behold, what with the fact that it is essentially located atop a river, its towers and buildings seemingly jutting out of the water itself.

Another important city is the floating city of Dalahem. Located in the clouds, and entirely held aloft by Helium, it's a vital trade city, with balloons to get up from the ground, and is the hub of Conclave air forces. It's much easier, after all, to get aircraft into the air when they start there. Whilst all kinds of trade goods flow through Dalahem, until recently oil was strictly banned. The changing from hydrogen to helium has prevented this, and now flammable materials too, can be traded in Dalahem's gently bobbing streets. Not that most foreigners get to go there, of course.

Finally, there is the border city of Yisslam. Yisslam is a fairly 'open' city, as far as the Conclave are open, what with the fact that it's the only city where Zengravi and Conclave people mix on a daily basis. That being said, there's still extreme levels of suspicion and prejudice, not helped by Zengrav insisting that they have claims to Conclave land.

|Natural Resources:| Mostly oil, along with a few rare spices, and metals like aluminium, titanium, gold, silver and more. Unfortunately, apart from oil, spices, and a minority of the precious metals (along with aluminium, which is used instead of steel throughout the Conclave,) very little is properly exploited.

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People & Culture:

|Population:| 22 million people.
|Demographics:| 99% of those living in Conclave are Conclave natives, known as the Dinnen- Chosen People. However there are three distinct ethnic groups. These are the darker skinned Yavshin who are a mostly mountain-dwelling folk, and have lived in the Hazhen mountain range historically. Now, they mostly populate the capital and the surrounding area, numbering around 8 million.

Secondly, are the slightly lighter skinned Bahgrevin peoples, the most numerous. Numbering 10 million, they are found throughout the entire country, and make up the majority of the ground forces of the Conclave. This is purely coincidental, although it is a curious little fact.

Finally, numbering 4 million, are the Alhavin peoples. The majority in Dalahem, they're a generally taller and thinner breed when compared to the Yavshin and Bahgrevin. One thing that all the ethnicities tend to have dark hair, and tanned skins. Blue and brown eyes are common, but grey is also quite often to see. Men normally have stubble, or shaven faces, which is both due to ethnicity (as as a whole, the Dinnin do not grow large amounts of facial hair,) and cultural reasons.

|Government:| The Conclave, is, shockingly, run by the Conclave. A collection of figures that are in charge of the country, they elect from themselves, a leader of the country every five years, or when the old one dies or is incompetent. Whilst the leader- known as the Mirza, is in charge of the country and makes all major decisions, it is the Conclave responsible for the majority of daily governance, and as such is the most important force in the land. The Conclave is also the religious body of the country, and within the Conclave, there is little distinction between religion and politics.

|Ruler:| Whilst the Conclave is made up of 231 hereditary roles, the current Mirza, and the one that has been in power for the past nineteen years, is Mirza Hamaen Faghiri the IInd, blessed be unto him.

|Volksgeist:| To the Dinnin people, they are an end to themselves. The Zengrav who occupied their country, and found themselves bled dry, they learnt this. To the outsiders that find themselves looking at stony-faced people, mouths hidden behind loose-fitted cloth, know this. Invaders who find themselves rapidly occupied with rifle fire from seemingly nowhere, their troops being blown to cinders from above, and their opponents slinking into the sand, know this.

Within the Conclave itself, people are conservative. The ways of the past are tried and tested, and to foolishly discard all of them in order to move for high-minded ideas like democracy and fascism is foolish. With no love lost for either the democratic nations, and very little respect for what they see as the Zengravi-lead Iron Pact, they prefer to strike out, charting their own course, all by themselves.

Within the Conclave, one can find men and women working on their own. Traditionally, tribe leadership and preisthood were roles for women, and as such, they hold high political and religious respect within the country, but this is tempered by the fact that men are still the economic and military powerhouses.

|Religion:| The majority religion in the Conclave, and, indeed, the only official religion is that of the Hazzan. The Hazzan is a single deity that appears in multiple different forms, with the Hazzan itself being the most important of all of them. Following any other religion inside the Conclave, unless one is a foreigner, is heresy, and is punishable by execution in the most extreme of cases. Whilst traditionally this was done via hanging, now it is normally done via firing squad.

Within Hazzan, there is only one appropriate burial- that of the sands. Families, or at least those with any major wealth, will have burial grounds deep into the desert, where family members will be interred in order to naturally be mummified. Alternatively, cremation has been gaining popularity within the Conclave, especially with soldiers, since it means remains can be returned home far more easily.

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|History:|

Give me something meaty to work with here.

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|Armed Forces:|

The Dinnin way of war is an odd one. Air superiority is their most precious tactic, but when it comes to ground combat, they are very much not slouches. Despite being less developed with their infantry weapons, their knowledge of their own country, and resilience to the harsh climes means that those attempting to invade the Conclave can expect to be met with a stiff fight.

Arms within the Conclave are still out of date when compared to a lot of the modern world. Curious features include imported Corax semi-automatic pistols, valgaron submachineguns that were intended to be sent to Zengrav, but were intercepted, and Conclave-made rifles and shotguns.

Most ground troops in the Conclave are formed into Tawsilad groups- which translates into 'long hunters,' literally, but is really more appropriately translated as 'skirmishers.' Armed with the traditional, four-shot, long-barrelled bolt action rifle, named after an old Mirza- The Najaat Rifle. The Najaat has an extremely long effective range, but fires slowly, and each shot must be reloaded individually. The Najaat comes with a wooden stock, and a loose-fitting canvas cover for the barrel. Additionally, many Najaats come with the Al-Hiram x7 optical scope, which, once again, comes with its own cover.

However, the true strength of the Conclave lies not with its skirmishers on the ground, but instead with its airforce.

Be prepared to write a lot. I’m leaving this fairly open to what you guys want to do, but I want at LEAST infantry arms, premiere vehicles, navy/airforce details, military uniforms, organisational structure, etc, etc, etc. This is an RP heavily based around combat, after all.

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|People of Interest:|

POV characters. A short description as well. Feel free to update this as you want to.

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Lady Selune Wishes to RP With You! [Always Looking] [Ignore Post Count (It's All Bumps)]

.

Lady Selune Wishes to RP With You! [Always Looking] [Ignore Post Count (It's All Bumps)]

bump.

"DEVOURER": Bronze, Blood, Betrayal

I was brought here with the mention of celts.

The druids await the knowledge you bequeath.