The hunt was on. Aeinwaje, as ready as he would ever be, followed the scent of his own blood into the depths of a valley. One thousand kilometers west of the Anchor and it’s budding conflict, Boris took to the task of digging a hole. It was no abyss, but with well placed strikes, his mighty hooves cut a path through Galbar’s crust and deep into the nether regions of the lithosphere.
The lord of rock needed a good time, and what time was better spent than traveling to Galbar’s underplace and smashing the planet’s plates together. For all the mountain boar was worth he had only managed to craft one range upon the lovely planet. And upon that range a curse of bastards and cubes festered. It’s Adler spirit would root them out, as the mountains keeper and guardian, yet he had his reservations. For a warden, Aeinwaje seemed shaken. Whether it originated from his post or something deeper, he did not know, he hadn’t bothered looking into his head. Like Boris himself, he was to fly straight and true as long as what was thought him stuck.
The Boar cleaved a granite rock in two with his tusks and surged forward. He could feel the heat begin to permeate the stone around him, cooking him as if he were baking near Oraelia’s light. He was approaching his destination. With black hooves he decimated stone with uncanny efficiency, digging at it until it became too hot to solidify, almost liquifying under him like red hot tree sap.
Finally he arrived. Directly above him was Toraan’s continental plate and below him, the almost liquid lower lithosphere. For any normal being the pressure and heat would have crushed them into dust. But as for him, he was a mighty boar. The heat only warmed his core and the pressure massaged his backside.
With a testy snort, Boris slapped his back into the massive plate. In response the thing lifted just half a centimeter, it’s massive weight working against the god. With a second grunt he attacked it again, this time shifting it two or three centimeters. The continent rocked, but settled upon the boar’s back. Satisfied, he flexed, and with every ounce of distaste of the deep sea cube god, he charged forward, smashing the continental plate into the adjacent oceanic one.
In an instant Galbar screamed as it was wracked with a terrible quake of epic proportions. The boar would grant her little mercy. With a second charge the west coast of Toraan bulged and exploded, daggers of jutting rock rising from its red innards. The ocean attacked, waves whipping the rising landform without let up. Actuality cracked. And Boris snapped backward along the plate until he was many kilometers away.
Again he struck at the plate, this time granting his body great heat, and the rock bent. Again he struck, and the forest now in the shadow and a newborn mountain bulged. Again he struck, and this time the bulge stretched and began to crack at the the surface, falling away to form ranges and basins. Lifeblood acted on its own accord, sapping the moisture from the haggard forest.
And upon the dry land the great waves of the sea fell, soaking it until it’s very visage turned a bloody red. And it fell upon the mountain range, soaking it until it’s own rock turned as black as midnight.
For nine moments the hull of actuality slowly stilled. And for nine more moments Galbar was still. And when all was done, an angry mountain range, tall and black of rock towered above the ocean. And behind it, a desert, arid and rocky rose to meet it.
Boris snorted. The viscous rock pooling under his belly. The damn things named themselves. What an artist he was.
Boris opts to take a vacation and get back to creating mountains. He slaps some tectonic plates together and forms a mountain range and the western coast of Toraan called the Black Rock Mountains. And in its shadow he creates a desert basin called the Blood Basin. Just cause of its color.
4 MP, 0 DP
>Free - Raise a mountain range named Black Rock. >Free - Create a desert basin called Blood Basin.
As the hull of Actuality cracked and bent against godly machination and Galbar became filled with a great many things, Boris scaled a mighty crag. Albeit not the greatest-this near vertical cliff-face jutting deep in the eastern region of the mountain range he decidedly dubbed the Godeo-it still proved to be quite the task for the ‘terrestrial by choice” lord of stone. Despite this, Boris remained privy to actions of the divine and the active force upon Toraan proper.
To the south his immovable sibling took root and went on the offensive, assaulting nearly the entire continent with the green. To the northeast the ball of fire and hot stuff branded a grassland in her liking, and installed a great many breathing-things there. To the northwest a similar plain spread by will of active force, this one a product of one of the rather doleful entities ruminating within in it. And to the north still a great mountain range crowned an endless tundra. Such was the craftsmanship that Boris considered visiting them himself one day.
As the Boar cleared the crag and came upon a great plateau, he extended his senses far past the edges of Toraan. Underneath his hooves he could feel the collision and subduction of tectonic place, causing great monoliths to rise up out of the Great Blue. And upon them things grew and breathed as the will of the active force exercised its might and creativity.
A deep twinge pulled at the boar’s insides. While he had been content to roll and play in his mountains, none could resist the dogma of purpose. And what was life without purpose?
Looking to the south, he beheld the unfathomable height of the sibling he affectionately named the Big Green, for lack of an actual name. It’s works brought a great many beauties to Toraan, and with it a wealth of undeniable utility. For as much as the boar admired beauty, value lay in its functionality all the same. And for what it was worth, the active force of actuality seemed to agree with his convictions.
Even now it worked upon the Godeo, blessing it with a bounty of grass and flowers to counter it’s snow-capped peaks and tundra-like alpine. And with it came a great many breathing-things, winged and bird-like, strong and built last.
And then, the tegument of actually snapped, and the blood-curdling scream of a creature erring towards damnation reaches the Boar’s ears. It came from the west.
With a snort, Boris flexed and leapt into the sky, clearing hundreds of kilometers in a single bound. He landed heavily and jumped again, this time clearing twice the distance. A moment later he landed on a hillside, young with the first snows of the lower alpines.
At his hooves rested the desecrated corpse of a flying-thing. It’s body battered, lacerated and sloppily devoured beyond recognition, what was left of its exterior had been removed expertly.
The Boar bristled. Then snorted. And like rolling thunder the rage of the mighty mountain came, solid and palpable, and with it the active force of creation drew close, waiting to be molded. Yet he was silent in his fury, for he knew that the creatures' end was a byproduct of his own ire and irresponsibility.
The smell of blood and rot led down the mountain and into a valley m, but he made no move to follow it. The hunt could wait. For a debt he owed to life, in his rage he had wrought a plague upon existence, and he would pay the tithe three times over in remittance, and eviscerate the enemy.
Summoning the lifeblood too him, the boar took what was left of the corpse and reshaped it. And the active force eagerly obeyed, reconstituting bone where much had been destroyed, and sinew was reconstructed, and muscles were synthesized according to the form Boris wrought. Flesh covered over it, and brown fur over that, replacing its matted feathers.
And when all was finished, the Boar and the whole of actuality looked upon what they had created. It was a skinny thing, standing upright on hooved yet possessed hand at the ends of its arms. And affixed atop its head was a mighty crown of antlers, and between them a golden ring shown with the light of the sun, a sign belonging to those of the mountain god’s brood. It’s eyes gleamed with a knowing intelligence.
Boris huffed, and saw that it was good.
”Just as from death you came, death you will bring. I call you Aeinwaje, the First Adler, a spirit of the mountain and the hunt. You I have named my Co-sign, and I have given to you a portion of my power, that you may serve me faithfully for ages unremitting, and root out the stupid fockers who roosts in the Anchor’s bosom and grunch them.”
And the four legged thing called Aeinwaje bowed and projected:
”Just as you will it, so it will be done, lest I lay down my existence to damnation. I swear it.”
Boris grunted, and went on to teach him many things.
First version was better but whatever.
Boris is chilling in his mountain range, recently named the Godeo Mountains. There he ponders and plays for a bit, observing creation and eventually coming to the conclusion that he should join in. He then senses a death and backflips to see what tf is going on. He finds a dead proto-stone bird and knows it’s the doing of his earlier rage. In order to repay the debt, he creates the first hero, Aeinwaje the Adler, and teaches him many things.
4 MP, 0 DP
>1 MP - Create a Hero, the mountain spirit The Adler.
Gibbou sat marveling as the surface of the planet far below began to shatter and crack, great black spots forming all over the surfaces as gorges caved in and began to fill with a dark-blue substance. Her divine eyes caught on occasion what seemed to be long, jelly-like appendages stick out of the liquid surface, but could only focus on them for so long before her gaze was once again drawn to the colossal oceanic forces cover the planet with the great, blue sea. Blinking at the gravity of change affecting the planet so drastically, she almost failed to notice a gentle tremor rocking at her body from the ground where she sat. She averted her eyes from the spectacle below to give her moon a gentle pat.
“N’aaw… Are you having growing pains, honey-bun?”
After a heartfelt goodbye, Oraelia had floated down to the planet to inspect whether the conditions were right for her next creations, so Gibbou sat all alone with her precious, little moon.
Another tremor - this one bordering on an earthquake. The forces caught Gibbou off guard and she lost her balance, flattening out on the surface. She rolled over quickly, confusion and worry coloring her face a sweaty blue.
“Wah-what’s happening?!” she cried out and sent waves of divine power through the moon rock in an attempt to probe it for any anomalies. She felt one, one of immense power and speed.
And it was heading for the surface next to her.
Like an itch being scratched, a bump was produced from the tegument of lunar rock next to her, and the bump swelled into a mighty mountain, casting dust into the ether as the very foundation of the moon seemed to sway against its wrath.
For many moments all was still. And for many more moments, the universe was filled with a deafening [i]Grunt[i].
From the mountain’s peak, a cold breath came and with it came words:
“I come from the blackest depth. I am a Panaceum and a Warden. And I am called, Boris.”
And a thing rose up in the shape of a boar, and the mountain fell away to the depths of the lunar surface, and all was still.
With a quiet huff, the hog reclined on its haunches and gazed into the essence of Actually, then at the existence, albeit with much less intensity.
“Hello.”
Gibbou screamed from the top of her lungs and patted desperately the surface of her moon. “My moon! My--! Ugh!” She cast Boris an annoyed stare. “Hey, couldn’t you have somehow broken out without scratching her up so badly?” The surface was, of course, completely unharmed save for a few minor rifts and traces of molten rock where the mountain had spontaneously erupted. She laid herself flat on the surface and rubbed her cheek against the shadowy sands. “You’ll be okay, sweety, you’ll be okay…”
The boar tapped at the surface with a hoof. ”She is still getting over the breakup. Give her plenty of healing time.”
Gibbou looked back at the boar, sniffed and pushed herself up. “Yeah… Alright, I will. You didn’t have to be so rough on her, though. She’s still so young.” She shifted her gaze to the surface again. “So, uh… When did you appear in there?”
A ponderous gaze took him. Then a snort, a boar’s shrug. ’Ouuurrrrrrrgh...a few moments ago. It was mighty dark.”
Gibbou stared in marvel at the ground, then at their surroundings. “Even darker than here?” she asked as much the emptiness of space as Boris. However, she quickly regained her focus and spun back to face the boar. She extended a pointing hand towards him and said, “Alright, but… Uhm… So, what’s your purpose? My sister said we all had one! Or something along like that!”
”To ward.” he said simply enough, awkwardly searching the void for anyone or thing that might the description of ‘sister’. ”So there are more?”
“To ward, huh…” A moment passed as she processed the word. “Oh! So you’re a guardian, too?! Just like me! Hihihihi!” She clapped her hands eagerly, all anger and defensiveness about the moon seemingly vanished like smoke on the wind. “Yeah! There’re two more of us, not counting you and I! My sister, Oraelia - she’s awesome - and whatever that thing is!” She pointed eagerly at the distant tentacles still ravaging the surface of the world below, digging the seas ever deeper.
Black eyes grew wide as they took in the gruesome scene. The boar lept from his haunches and stamped his back hooves. ”O YOU POOR ROCK YOU!” he cried.
The brunt of his ire pointed towards the writhing god. ”YOU DIRTY FOCKER YOU! YOU DROWN HER!”
Without so much as a windup, the boar drew many gusts of wind towards himself; and granting himself great speed and solidity, exploded into the void with an angry squeal. Gibbou was nearly blown into space by the force and yelled unintelligible curses after the boar as she held onto the lunar surface as hard as she could.
With great speed, he fell towards the world in an instant, and with a mighty buck of his tusks cleaved the ocean hither. And with a great stamp of his front hooves dislodged a gargantuan mass that tour up from the depths with great force. The seas parted in its glory and the world shook violently in its uninterrupted ascension. A monolith of monoliths rose until its wet surface towered above the blue waves and was set perfectly in its place.
For its part the great thing of many tentacles and glowing eyes seemed particularly disinterested. Whatever the thing was that fell from the more bearable of the two orbs haunting the sky was loud but harmless, the mass-that-was-Klaar assured itself. The immense, misshapen beak the swine had dragged from the seafloor was of little consequence and but a minor setback. Besides, surely all it had done was insist that the water level should be raised all the higher? A generous offer by the thing of tusks-and-fur and-fury. Klaar filed away the thought that it would need a proper name, fool-thing marching about so naked in identity.
All that the pig-god heard in response to its insults and cajoling was the clacking of beak, the rushing of waters, and the gnashing of tentacles into easily parted stone.
Back on the newborn continent, a bump of epic proportions rose from its center, and the bump gave way to sharp peaks and deep valleys. Galbar screamed as it birthed a mountain range that cut across its belly and refused to cease in its ascension. And from the center of the great range, three peaks rose in unison, so sharp they attempted to skewer the sky, and atop the center most peak balanced the boar in all his resplendent glory.
”Serves you right you stupid cube. It is the boon of Actuality that you are allowed to persist.” the boar spat from the great height. ”My unblinking glare shines as a walking sun between peaks. So begins my ward, upon this mighty crag I dub The Anchor Of The World, which stands upon the first expanse: Toraan.”
Unbeknownst to him, a great many embryos born from the congealing of divine ire and lifeblood, fell upon Galbar and roosted in dark corners of the great range like thieves in the night. The first enemy awaited birth.
Gibbou relaxes as Klaar flexes and the fledgling universe is crafted when all of a sudden the moons completes gestation and gives birth to a god right then a there. The god is Boris, Lord of Stone and a warden. Gibbou is angered by the minimal damage his birth caused, but Boris is relatively unflinching. They chat for a bit until Boris sees Klaar basically raping Galbar, and in his rage jumps from the moon and crashes into Galbar, raising a continent and a mountain range in one swoop. During his rage though, he unwittingly created creatures who have settled quietly in his mountain range, sleeping.
Boris Start 5MP/0DP
>Free - Created the continent of Toraan. >Free - Created the first mountain range through the center of Toraan. >Free - Created three extremely tall mountains within said mountain range known as The Anchor Of The World. >1 Might (Extraordinary species) - Embryos born from the Boar’s rage mixing with Lifeblood fall upon his mountain range. More later.
ADAMANT LUCIDITY | ASSURANCE | THE WARDEN | BOAR OF STONE
B A S I C M Y T H
N A M E
Boris
G E N D E R
Male
N A T U R E
Primordial
V I S A G E
With eyes as white as snow and hide as hard as granite, the mighty mountains god’s domain form is a sight to behold. With each step the earthquake and the rough cracking of stone against stone is ever prominent. In both size and visage, it is as if Boris is a mountain himself.
Boris’ Galbarian is not so far removed from that of his divine form, although his size is far less reduced. Instead he takes a more approachable form, his hide a warm brown, his body three times the size of any normal boar, and his eyes a deep black. Gold adorns his ears and nose.
A giant without equal, the Avatar of Boris the Boar, Gunfir, is far removed from his patron in likeness. While Boris is the pinnacle of solidarity and calm, Gunfir–standing at about 25 feet talk–errs to the side of pride and showmanship. Gold and copper adorn jewelry his body his massive body and the furs of slaughtered god-beasts warm his back and chest. Coiled around his right arm is a serpent of gold attached to him like a fifth limb.
Bolsters and full of bravado, the giant regularly interacts with mortals, often hailed as the deity of hunter and strength, his feats are a spectacle many come far and wide to witness.
D I V I V E H Y M N S
R E A L M
The Good Place of Digging and Playing
The eternal realm of the mountain god is an endless place of play, constantly carved and dug out by him and his cosigns. From sand, mighty monoliths impossible in height and width are raised. Palaces of mineral, stone and precious metal full the vast space and serve to be constantly improved upon. Mountain jungles, rivers, forests, snow-capped peaks, and the like are scattered across its expanse. The realm’s mighty crags are bathed in a sunless sky that always produces lights, it’s blueness almost unnatural.
D O M A I N
Nature, the realm of living plants, animals, and the environments in which they inhabit all falls under the jurisdiction of this domain. It’s parameters seemingly infinite, it’s patron deities are representatives of its core aspects, some taking up the mantel of the ocean blue, or the expansive green. Boris on the other hand, molds rock under his hooves with each step, and sculpts mountains with the infinite duress off his tusks. He is the bedrock and the foundation upon which nature stands. So is his domain.
P O R T F O L I O
Mountains, bulwarks of stone crafted from chaos is Boris’ alone to command. As a result much of his time is spent crafted mountain to adorn the world, all rich a full of minerals, all of which all under his domain. The very personification of these monoliths, the Lord of Stone may seem cold and unforgiving, yet once nature erodes away his exterior, his many layers are visible; solidarity, Strength, Calm, and Wrath He is a boon to those who can traverse the ranges he carves, and a blessing to those who can settle there. To others, he is certain death.
P E R S O N A L I A
P E R S O N A
Just like there are two sides to every story, there are two sides to every being. Boris’ duality comes in the form of how other perceive him and who he is on a personal level. Furthermore; Boris, akin to many, has three sides of himself. Not truly three distinct personalities, nevertheless, he has three ways of looking at things: contemplative, direct, or dubious.
His emotional set consists of a phlegmatic disposition, generally unemotional and stolidly calm. Which usually leads to assumptions of a depressed, cynical being, but bitterness and hate has yet to taint his soul. He still has an optimistic view of the world, harbors idealistic dreams, and naively believes that some gods can be trusted. Boris maintains no disillusion about the machinations of god nor the state the world may be in, however. But it’s a testament to his integrity and righteousness, how he will remain an honest and a responsible being.
In tenser situations, Boris is: controlled, focused, steady, and conscientious of his surroundings. Every decision is made cautiously and pragmatically; he's vigilant in his efforts and never rarely impulsive. (Despite this he is quick to go out the window when he is personally insulted or made fun of) He strives to apply the same manner of thinking to every facet of his life. This is why he doesn't interfere in every dispute and is content with watching until needed.
When it comes to Boris‘ ability to handle sudden changes and disagreement, his open-mind enables a high degree of adaptability. Because of that, he's able to be tolerant and forgiving of ignorance; whether he's willing to, differs from scenario-to-scenario. But to avoid any interactions outside of his duties, he projects a rough, cold exterior. He even goes as far as exiling himself, which further lends to the mysterious lone wolf persona he has adopted. This facade is obviously a guise however, as evident in his altruistic behavior. Once his icy shell has been broken, his warm nature will shine through and the courteous, cultured individual with a unique sense of humor and charm will be revealed.
ADAMANT LUCIDITY | ASSURANCE | THE WARDEN | BOAR OF STONE
B A S I C M Y T H
N A M E
Boris
G E N D E R
Male
N A T U R E
Primordial
V I S A G E
A giant without equal, the Avatar of Boris the Boar, Gunfir, is far removed from his patron in likeness. While Boris is the pinnacle of solidarity and calm, Gunfir errs to the side of pride and showmanship. Gold and copper adorn jewelry his body his massive body and the furs of slaughtered god-beasts warm his back and chest. Coiled around his right arm is a serpent of gold attached to him like a fifth limp.
Bolsters and full of bravado, the giant regularly interacts with mortals, often hailed as the deity of hunter and strength, his feats are a spectacle many come far and wide to witness.
D I V I V E H Y M N S
R E A L M
The Good Place of Digging and Playing/The Anchor of the World
The Anchor of the World at first glance is mighty. Crags of silver-grey stone stand-out like islands in a sea of pale grass, branch-less trees as black as old blood reach up to heaven at its summit like spears pointed accusingly at the sky. At all three of its peaks, clouds spilt over snow-caps. If any place ever deserved its name, this was it. A mountain among mountains. Indeed large enough to anchor the sky to the world, such is the realm of the mountain god Boris.
Hidden yet felt, the godly realm of Digging and Playing exists in the same space. Within its valleys and in its caves reside the many gilded palaces and play places of Boris’s co-signs, all hidden form mortal view. Despite sharing the same space, the realm’s mighty crags are bathed in a sunless sky that always produces lights, it’s blueness almost unnatural. Minerals of all kind infinitely abound in the domain, growing without hindrance within is unyielding rocky expanse.
For a realm to exist synonymously in the mortal realm, ill-effects abound, the very likes of which are capable of warping a mortals perception of time and tearing apart their sanity. Without a resolve harder then stone one can lose themselves entirely to the mountain, succumbing to age or the deprivation of the body as time stretches on without their knowing. Within the blink of an eye a month may pass, and it’s effects only worsen as one ascends the monolith.
D O M A I N
Nature, the realm of living plants, animals, and the environments in which they inhabit all falls under the jurisdiction of this domain. It’s parameters seemingly infinite, it’s patron deities are representatives of its core aspects, some taking up the mantel of the ocean blue, or the expansive green. Boris on the other hand, molds rock under his hooves with each step, and sculpts mountains with the infinite duress off his tusks. He is the bedrock and the foundation upon which nature stands. So is his domain.
P O R T F O L I O
Mountains, bulwarks of stone and glass crafted from chaos and order is Boris’ alone to command. The very personification of these monoliths, the Lord of Rock may seem cold and unforgiving, yet once nature erodes away his exterior, his many layers are visible. He is a boon to those who can traverse his ranges, and a blessing to those who can settle there. To others, he is certain death.
P E R S O N A L I A
P E R S O N A
Just like there are two sides to every story, there are two sides to every being. Boris’ duality comes in the form of how other perceive him and who he is on a personal level. Furthermore; Boris, akin to many, has three sides of himself. Not truly three distinct personalities, nevertheless, he has three ways of looking at things: contemplative, direct, or dubious.
His emotional set consists of a phlegmatic disposition, generally unemotional and stolidly calm. Which usually leads to assumptions of a depressed, cynical being, but bitterness and hate has yet to taint his soul. He still has an optimistic view of the world, harbors idealistic dreams, and naively believes that some gods can be trusted. Boris maintains no disillusion about the machinations of god nor the state the world may be in, however. But it’s a testament to his integrity and righteousness, how he will remain an honest and a responsible being.
In tenser situations, Boris is: controlled, focused, steady, and conscientious of his surroundings. Every decision is made cautiously and pragmatically; he's vigilant in his efforts and never rarely impulsive. (Despite this he is quick to go out the window when he is personally insulted or made fun of) He strives to apply the same manner of thinking to every facet of his life. This is why he doesn't interfere in every dispute and is content with watching until needed.
When it comes to Boris‘ ability to handle sudden changes and disagreement, his open-mind enables a high degree of adaptability. Because of that, he's able to be tolerant and forgiving of ignorance; whether he's willing to, differs from scenario-to-scenario. But to avoid any interactions outside of his duties, he projects a rough, cold exterior. He even goes as far as exiling himself, which further lends to the mysterious lone wolf persona he has adopted. This facade is obviously a guise however, as evident in his altruistic behavior. Once his icy shell has been broken, his warm nature will shine through and the courteous, cultured individual with a unique sense of humor and charm will be revealed.
Xamari kept her expression neutral. "I didn't quite catch that, Jabu -- my ears tend to ache on chilly mornings."
That was perhaps the most honest thing she had said all morning. Yet despite the chill, Xamari was barefoot, dressed only in a simple frock and a hastily wrapped headscarf. Barely an hour past dawn, the hide-covered floor of her bands tent, which she had swept not two days ago, was still moist with dew, but she never felt cold here. The mansa spells woven within them made sure of that. In any case, it bought her a moment to calm the churning urge to break the boy who sat beside her.
Jabulani, prize pupil of Olumide the Leopard and all four wispy hairs on his sharp chin, smiled. The leopard shawl he wore was still stiff around the shoulders, not yet molded to his frame and clearly chafing at his neck. "I asked you to marry me."
No, you demanded, you soft-footed brat. “Ah, there’s hope for my ears yet.”
“Well?” Jabu said. “What say you?”
“I say thank you…” Xamari set her hands on the table between them. “For this lovely visit.”
“So my proposal?”
“It is a poor one, really.” Xamari tightened a loose fold in her headscarf and propped one barefoot over the other. The ostrich-shell beads of her anklets clacked in the early morning stillness. “I would make an awful wife.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I’ve grown to love the spear rather than men.”
The leopard's boy frowned. “We both stand at the top of our respective classes. You the greatest of Lang’engatshoni’s, while I of Olumide. A child between us would surpass us both. Imagine it.”
“Jabu.” Xamari sighed. “I would sooner burn at the pyers then sire any sort of offspring with you.” She stood, grabbed her red cloak and began walking towards the door. “I am sure that before the day is out the war drums will sound. That will give you time to build an apology worthy of the insult you have laid at my feet this morning.”
“You're making a mistake, Xamari. I pray the fires do not claim you.”
“Anu willing, they won’t.” As the floor changed from hide to the soft grass of the Knucklelands, Xamari kept her shoulders relaxed and her stride loose. Let Jabu sulk, and let his dreams die in that tent. For all his skills, he was still a boy after all, and she had no use for a boy, she had a man waiting for her at the frontlines.
Okonkwo sat pinching his lower lip in thought, overlooking the plains before him. The day was scorching hot, horned lions on the horizon hiding in the shade of the crooked acadia trees. The pygmy warrior had shed his blue cloak and let the sun bake at his black fur and skin. Earth-pigmented fingers rubbed at his chin and occasional hums escaped him. With his other hand, he drew plans in the soil - plans of attack against this foreign horde.
Two days ago, they had seen smoke in the far distance; the fishermen to the south had been eliminated. A raft had come to Tal Eren last night, carrying the exhausted survivors. They spoke of wicked beasts that moved with the maliciousness and recklessness of maddened beasts. To lay a plan for such was no meager task.
“Captain?”
Okonkwo turned with pursed lips. “What is it, Bolade?”
Bolade, one of Okonkwo’s own apprentices and a youth of fifteen, squatted down next to his master and eyed the plans with a smirk. “Wah, the master has been working hard.”
Okonkwo grunted. “Did you have anything to say other than that? You know how this one feels about empty praise.”
“‘Twas not empty, captain, honest!” Bolade defended proudly, “but aye, there has been a summoning for the master. Obaloluwa requests the master’s presence.”
Okonkwo frowned. “What? Is it time?”
“The golden one did not say. However, the golden one stressed that the master should be swift. It’s because--”
Bolade could not even finish the sentence before Okonkwo already had sprinted back to their camp. A small grouping of three low tents made from short sticks suspending a linen sheet roof surrounding the small remains of a fire came into view. From underneath one of the tents climbed an enormous Pygmy, his muscular stature dressed in clothes fashioned from the skin of a black-horned lion. On his face, he wore a mask shapen from bone to look like a lion’s skull, complete with a harvested mane, but with bull horns instead of the black monsters the lions were equipped with. Through the bone mask, Okonkwo could see the golden tint identifying Obaloluwa as a warrior of the Golden Horde.
“Blessings of the War-Father, the River-Father and our Eternal Majesty be upon you, Obaloluwa,” Okonkwo said and bent the knee.
“You come at last, captain Okonkwo,” Obaloluwa replied curtly. “You are to bring your maruns back to camp immediately. There have been sightings to the south - more rafts have been passing by. How are the trenches coming?”
“The warmasons have been working day and night with the mansa, golden one. Ditches and traps have been laid all across the western and southern knucklelands.”
“Your longwalkers bring back anything from the savannah?”
Okonkwo shook his head. “Only tidings of burned villages and families on the run. This one will take my marun out west and--”
“No, you will do no such thing,” Obaloluwa protested and took him by the shoulder. “Have your maruns don shields and thick hide. You are going up front for the battle.”
Okonkwo swallowed. “Th-this one is unworthy of--”
“Of the vanguard?” Obaloluwa let out an echoing cackle, his sharpened fangs coming to light underneath his mask as he threw his head back. “Okonkwo, you belong up front, where your spear-arms can be used the best. Leave your mansa and throwers behind, though - they will be joining Gboyega and her band.”
Okonkwo remained voiceless for a moment before confirming with a, “Understood, golden one.”
Obaloluwa squeezed his shoulder proudly. “Good man. You will be ready within the hour. Tonight, we will end this menace’ threat once and for all.”
With a determined grunt, Okonkwo saluted and ran to gather his warriors.
The dark had cast its shadow over the plains, bereaving it of all the heat of day. Heliopolis cut a blood red streak across the distant horizon and only the distant calls of birds and beasts could be heard throughout the endless plains. Though, that was not entirely true: Sheltered from the open plains behind tall rocks and linen roofs was a tiny light, a flicker of too few torches lighting a meeting of officers and their king.
“Qiang Quan’s legion has made its way to face the threat, Your Majesty,” went Shakale, leader of the Golden Horde. If Obaloluwa was a giant, Shakale was a titan, rivalled only by Anu himself in size among the pygmies. He was one of the Four Tigers, Anu’s personal guard and one of the few to be blessed with Gods’ hands: An additional set of arms growing from underneath the original pair. He had several cuts and scars across his skin and was dressed in the armour of his position: tiger’s hide bracers and ankle bands, knee and elbow protectors, a tunic and loinguard of reinforced leather and a tiger hide cloak. On his head, he wore the head of a six-legged Qiangshanese tiger for a helmet, its eyes replaced with golden nuggets. Through his nose and ears ran several gold rings. “They will make contact at any moment.”
Anu strode to the edge of the tent, parting the fabric and gazing out across the plains, just as he did so long ago when Tal Eren was but a tent much like this one. He might have enjoyed the view — the Kncklelands ever so peaceful in the evening twilight. But an ominous grey shape swelled on the horizon as the horde thundered in the distance.
The ape turned back to his guard. ”Are we ready?”
Shakale nodded stonefaced. “Yes, my king. The mansa and throwers are in position; the vanguard will charge any moment. All that remains is Your Divine presence on the field. The menace will be eradicated before His Majesty’s might.”
”And where would you have your king positioned?” he replied.
Shakale bowed deep. “His Majesty is powerful - His might will be a boon wherever He goes. However, warleader Qiang Quan recommended His Majesty takes the Golden Horde and leads a flanking attack from the forests by the river. A shock and awe assault from the woods is certain to break their lines - if they are even capable of forming one. If not, drawing their attention to the King and his Horde will allow the mansa and throwers to decimate the enemy unchecked.”
Anu nodded. ”This one finds no fault in this plan of action. Any estimates on their numbers?”
Shakale shook his head. “None who have counted have come back alive. This one thinks they far outnumber us.” Two right fists drummed his chest in salute. “Numbers will not be a factor in this battle, however; wild beasts cannot match Talemonese weaponry!” Shakale pulled from behind his back a sheathed dagger which he presented to his king. The sheathe was made of leather, but the leader was blue; along its side were embroidered symbols in stylised Shengshese, all of which seemed to spell out containment enchantments. “This is Dragon’s Tongue, one of the only four of its kind.” He drew the blade and the air immediately grew uncomfortably hot. The blade was molten, or at least appeared to be. Along its short length were written similar characters as on the sheathe, and Shakale’s hand seemed to agonise from holding it for too long. He sheathed it after a moment. “Iyawa the Mansa-Smith has spent the last year spinning mana into the copper. Two months ago, she achieved what no other mortal has managed: a dagger as hot as the day it was forged.”
The big king gauffed. ”Your confidence is to be commended soldier. But a healthy dose of skepticism is always warranted. Even in the face of what seem to be overwhelming odds.” he began, emphasizing his last words as his eyes pointed at mana-forged blade at Shakale’s back. ”We may hold many advantages but numbers, as you speculate, is likely not one of them. And from reports neither is our discipline or coordination. If we are not careful, defeat is possible.”
Shakale grit his sharpened teeth and bowed his helmeted head. “Yes, my king.”
”Nevertheless! We press the advantages we do have. Today we see just how effective this ‘Dragon’s Tongue’ shall be. The menace ends here.”
With renewed vigour, Shakale saluted again and drummed his chest proudly with all four fists. “Yes, my king!”
They gathered the rest of the Golden Horde waiting outside of the base and continued south through the forest. In the distance, they could hear the first of the war cries.
Okonkwo stood at the head of his warband of fourteen warriors, all of which stood merely a step behind him in a horizontal line, hide shields propped up with their left arms and copper pikes held with the right. Foot soldiers were afforded little in terms of armour: leather bracers and ankle bands, loincloths with horse or buffalo hair crests, and linen blankets if the soldier owned any. In his warband, Okonkwo was the only one who donned his azure cloak. The pygmies had all lined up behind the trenches, keeping low in the tall grass while waiting in the dark. It was completely silent.
Next to Okonkwo’s band was Lang’engatshoni’s, a respective twenty-one warriors strong. In similar fashion, the majority of those in Lang’s band lacked armor and only doned the bare minimum. Xamari and Lang on the other hand sported matching blankets, both blood red in angry contrast to the green.
The front line consisted of twenty maruns - a hundred strong - each arranged in bands of three or four. Another hundred strong held the ground behind them, and even further back were the mansa and throwers, of which there, too, were a hundred. The army had been forced to conscript from the other castes to assemble a powerful enough force - these numbered an additional hundred and were in charge of resupply or reinforced any of the other groups.
The air was crisp with anticipation. The wind blew against them and they smelled a bloody rank on it. The enemy was near.
Dark shapes began to move in the tall savannah grass, like the lions stalking their prey. Yet there was something about the way the grass barely rustled or how the glowing red eyes watched with malice as they approached. There were several sets, getting closer by the minute and no one could tell whether they knew what awaited them. The air became palpable with anticipation as the enemy advanced, and then when it seemed they would surely walk over the line, one paused, then another, until all had halted.
One tilted back it’s head and screamed loudly, a terrible ripping sound, as the others pounced forward, poised to attack!
In return, the Pygmies roared their own cries, many pounding their chest and baring their fangs menacingly. The front assumed a heavy stance, sticking forth their spears and hiding behind their large hide shields. The back line stepped forth and reinforced the weak spots in the formation in front, and the mansa began to beat their drums and sing their chants. Throwers tilted their arms back and readied a volley.
“Steady!” Okonkwo thundered. “Remember the Mẹta; remember your oaths! Talemon is your home, the King’s home, and no one harms the King’s home while a Pygmy still walks on Galbar!”
“YUH!”
“By the Gods! They come!" a warrior whispered to his comrades beside him.
"War-Father protect us."
"Eh-o, how are we going to fight them off with our line so thin?!"
Xamari heard the frightened gossip amidst her ranks, but did not say anything, for she herself was afraid as well. She knew she had to say something to reestablish their morale; but nothing could come to her mind.
"What are you doing, lieutenant?" Lang, her master, asked the dismayed Xamari.
"Captain!" Xamari said, surprised by his sudden outburst, "I was…uh I-I-I…"
"Do you not hear your brethren? Their resolve is in question, and you stand here and do nothing? You look to call yourself a leader in the future and you allow this incompetence of morale to exist?!" Lang told her, low enough where only they could hear.
"Apologies Captain! I do not know what came ov—"
"Do not speak. Only see what is done to bolster the nerves of your brothers and sisters."
Xamari instantly spun around and shouted.
"Warriors! Why do you allow fear to swell within your breast?! You are of the Ogun! The pride of the Kingdom! Yes they have numerous beasts, but we are the better warriors and we will prevail!"
“AYE”
The fear in the faces of men and women up and down the line dissolved—they realized that captain’s were right; what did they have to fear from untrained savages? They were doing what they were trained to do, slay the enemies of Talemon; why should they be afraid of their profession? Satisfied by their newfound conviction, Xamari turned to face Lang whose grizzled face betrayed no emotion, but Xamari could feel that he approved of what she said.
“Talemon!”
“YUH!”
“Talemon!”
“YUH!”
The beasts remained undeterred as they ran, building up speed. Muscles bulged and tensed, tails whipped behind them with sharp edges, their sleek figures coursing through the grass like silent fire. Their crimson eyes were full of hate and their sharp teeth bared to the world. Upon the threshold of the frontline, they attacked.
The hide shields of the front line were tough, but ravenous teeth bit and tore at them with great efficiency. Many were tumbled backwards by the sheer force of the assault. Pikes were driven into the mad beasts with great vengeance for the first who fell.
“VOLLEY!” boomed the command from the backline and a hundred javelins took to the air, boosted by mansa songs. The wind seemed to carry them like sticks on a stream, and each and every one found their marks perfectly. The smoke of magical plants rose thick in the backline, for the mansa could not lose focus for a second - all the throwers relied on their mana to throw their javelins far enough.
Okonkwo had already lost his shield to a particularly rapid spawn. He was reduced to his pike alone, with which he impaled whatever came at him. Behind him, Bolade and the rest of his maruns did their best to adapt to the fighting reckless fighting style of their foes. Luckily for the Pygmies, however, fighting wild beasts was all they ever did.
Further down the line the fighting was just as brutal. The initial shock of impact from the ravenous horde pushing the Talemonese shieldwall back.
“Hold! Hold!” Xamari shouted.
“Push them back! Do not give ground!” Lang bellowed in tow.
With the first rank being assaulted by tooth and nail, the second and third rank took initiative and pushed their shields against the backs of those in front of them, effectively halting the involuntary loss of ground. The beasts struck at the first rank with biter ferocity wanting desperately to tear the simians limb from limb, yet they were finding it increasingly difficult to find any opening in the wall of hide.
Xamari was fighting off one beast who was repeatedly raking its claws against her shield. Every time the beast brought its arms up to swipe, Xamari would simply raise her shield up to block the blow. After six consecutive blocks, Xamari moved in and bashed the thing back with her shield. The spawn quickly regained its footing and seething with primal anger, renewed its blind charge. Xamari fully extended her right arm and thrust her spear through the roof of the charging monster’s mouth and entered what she could only hope was the brain. Using her shield she pushed the barbarian's dead body back as she withdrew her spear and faced the three that replaced it.
A few of the spawn retreated a distance away behind their frantically clawing siblings. Then with bursts of speed they sprinted at the frontline and when they came upon their brethren, they jumped over them with powerful limbs.
“Backline! To arms!” Okonkwo commanded. The hind maruns, ready to pounce if their front brethren fell, scrambled to weapons and took up the fight against the jumpers. At all cost, they had to protect the throwers and casters. Another volley of one hundred javelins soared across the field, finding their marks with unrivaled precision thanks to the mansa. Unfortunately, the front lines began to struggle immensely without the support of the replacement from behind.
“Captain! Our reinforcements are in danger!” Bolade bellowed as his spear pierced the chest of a squealing spawn.
“Focus on the front, Bolade! They cannot break us! They will not!”
Okonkwo and his maruns formed a phalanx and began to push back, trusting in the reach of their spears.
As the fighting turned fierce, on the right flank of the line, a warrior of sixteen floods witnessed one of his sisters fall dead due to a spawn. Immediately he broke formation and ventured out to avenge his comrade's death, but he did not get far as he was run through in the stomach by a clawed hand that easily penetrated his body and came out his back. The boy quickly fell to his knees in shock with the arm still in his body, but only for the moment, as he quickly rose to his feet and targeted the beast without a weapon, judging that it was the thing who had fatally skewered him. Awkwardly walked up with the thing still in his body and stabbed his attacker in his throat. He knew he was going to die, but at least he earned the satisfaction of slaying his own killer. He then swayed backwards into the ranks of his brethren and collapsed in front of them and quickly died.
As the Spawns numbers began to thin, another call was issued. A painfully loud sound, like something scraping a rock over and over again. It was then that the horns of the spawn began to hum with crackling scarlet energy. And upon the frontlines, they shot their lightning into the apemen.
This magical strike immediately seared to death six shieldbearers standing a put too close to one another. Others fell to the ground with terrible burns and were dragged to the back lines. Heads turned to face the sources of the foul spells, taking attention away from the enemies. More careless recruits fell as a result. The front line was reinforced by the backline, but lightning was not something they could defend against. From the far back, Okonkwo heard the voice of M’Bani, the first of the mansa, calling for different songs:
“Mansa! Voice of Nature!” ge bellowed above the clash.
The mansa raised their hands and totems and began to chant in unison, weaving mana as a single body until the tapestry of ether was so thick it could be felt by those in the frontline. M’Bani extended his arm, high, preparing to give the signal.
“Mansa! Loose!”
The tapastry coalesced, hardened, and broke into wave of compressed air that slammed into the spawn line. The blastwave stunned some of the warriors too close to it, unfortunately, but these were brought back through the lines.
The spawn stumbled and fell, stunned as the mighty blast was let loose. Many were flung backwards and became concussed as a result. A few more got back to their feet but their motions and agility was misaligned. They made easy targets. The Pygmies wasted not a second. Maruns upon maruns moved forward with pikes aimed downwards, stabbing downwards into every spawn their eyes fell upon. It was like hunting sleeping goats.
Lang struck down spawn after spawn with brutal efficiency. He had already slain four alone despite the ringing in his ears. Sparing a glance behind him he caught sight of his ever thinning band, replaced with new faces from the back lines. He drew his face into a snarl and cut through another beast. This was no time to mourn, victory neared.
“We’re wiping them out!” Okonkwo shouted as he ripped his pike out of another carcass.
Upon the black horizon, a scarlet band of lightning briefly illuminated the area as it shot up into the sky. The lightning had been large enough to strike the heavens and it was followed by hundreds more, painting the approaching Spawn crimson. There were hundreds of them, each varying in size and running at full speed. They would be upon them within minutes.
“By Narzhak! Reinforcements! Reform the ranks!” Okonkwo commanded. Immediately, the pygmies began retreating back to the rest of the army, but a number had strayed too far and would not make it. The mansa and throwers tried their best to hold them off with enhanced spears, but the mana manipulation was taking its toll on the magicians - neither they would last much longer.
Yet before the spawns could reach the pygmy line and obliterate it, the rhythmic beating of drums washed over the battlefield, emanating from the southern jungles. Three beats later, the earth shook. Two beats followed, and the jungles bent and screamed. One beat later, and the gilded warriors of the Golden Horde poured from the treeline, the divine berserkers screaming a battle cry that shook the sky. At their head, was the king of Talemon himself, lead the charge with the Skyscythe in all its magnificent glory.
To the north a secondary force followed, charging at the spawn with similar vigor, cutting across the plains to smash into the right flank a few moments after Anu collided with the left.
Bodies were torn asunder as the god-king ripped spawns apart with the force of his unstoppable charge alone. With a swing of only his blade he cleaved six spawns in two and with a thrust skewered four. The midnight colored polearm drinking up the blood of the dead as Anu carved his way through the force.
If it all deterred by the new arrivals, the spawn did not show. Instead they continued their vicious assault upon their foes and loosed lightning after lightning bolt of their dark power. With a signaling cry, the larger of the Spawn began to challenge the golden horde members themselves with their biting teeth and sharp claws. Every part of their body a lethal weapon.
Shakale met the sharp horns of a spawn with a pair of powerful hands, clutching the bone tightly to immobilise the beast. Then, with the two additional arms given to him by the King’s Wine, he drew forth Dragon’s Tongue and cut through the black spawn skin like it was soft butter. His upper arms tossed aside the carcass and pulled out a pair of dagger-axes from harnesses on his back. With a screaming warcry, he massacred his way across the field.
Obaloluwa saw his superior and grit his teeth with competitive ire. While he had not been granted God’s arms himself, he would not be outmatched by his commander any day. His lance strikes were accurate and vicious, like the needle of a crazed hornet.
Okonkwo and his warriors saw the attack from the flank and felt their broken hearts renew. At last, their fallen would be properly avenged! The captain stuck his spear in the air and sounded his own warcry, echoed by his maruns as they charged right back into the fray.
With a soundless grunt, Anu methodically cut through the ranks of the spawn. With a single swing of his SkySythe he cleaved three in two while he battered another three into vapor with the hook of his chain. There was no stopping the king on his warpath.
As blood began to soak the ground a new sound echoed across the plains. A loud metallic screaming, followed by the largest strike of scarlet yet. In the briefest of flashes, something large was approaching. Its shape the same as its children and it heralded larger spawn that were slower than their kin but mightier in all regards.
The Mother had come.
Shakale blinked at the distant wraith. He turned to his king and shouted, “My king! A monster has arrived!”
”LOINS!” the big king roared over the cacophony of battle. Another set of drums joined the chaotic thrum of war, this one beset by a palpable shift in the air, one akin to that of the mansa when weaving a spell, though this one many times stronger.
Anu raised his Skyscythe into the sky, rallying his forces to the makeshift banner while battering spawn into vapor with his hook. Then from the clouds above came an arc of lightning that ripped dozens apart in an instant. The ape afforded himself an iota of satisfaction, reinforcements had come.
With a cry that rattled heads the sky parted to reveal a dragon wreathed in terrifying arcs of electricity, its gold scales glinting in the blue light. Ikarus dove, sending arcs deep into enemy lines as it bolted for the Mother.
Reinvigorated by the mana-god’s presence the Mansa resumed their bombardment while war drums beat rhythmically to the sound of marching pygmy singing songs of victory, signaling the coming of fresh Talemonese men and women.
The lesser spawn shrieked and growled, before the Mother let out a call, a shrill note beset by rage. The spawn were swept into a frenzy of motion. The larger spawn, those that had come with their Queen, joined the fray with their terrible arms, full of sharp claws. The Mother looked to the sky, to see the Golden Dragon, but she did not hesitate. Instead, she ran to meet it, with speed unseen in her children. With a jump, she launched herself into the air with her powerful hind legs, aiming her maw to rip out the Dragon’s throat.
Glory would be his this day. Weaving mana, Ikarus summoned a flame as bright as Heliopolis, gathering it in his throat to turn the bastard spawn queen to cinder as they clashed in the sky. There was a great crash in the air as they began to plummet, teeth meeting scales and claws meeting skin. Tearing, and biting with vicious intent. Ikarus bellowed in pain, only then realizing the folly of his action, as the ball of flames exploded in his throat. A great heatwave fell from the sky as the two titanic figures fell to the earth in wreathes of flame. The fire consumed everything in its path, sparing neither warrior or spawn.
When the smoke cleared, and the fire spent across the field, what remained was a grizzly sight. Golden ichor splattered the ground as Ikarus’ throat was torn open by the explosion, his body half charred and dying. The reaper mother, fared better, but her burns were severe. Half her face was but burnt flesh, skin, and bone, and the damage went down her right side for a ways.
She stood wearily, before collapsing in a heap before her spent foe. Instinctively, her spawn began to shield her with their bodies.
Shakale uncovered his eyes, which he had shielded from the explosion. He drew a gasp. “My king! The dragon!”
But the massive war king had already gone, heaving his chained hook across the battlefield with godly accuracy and vaprosing the shield of spawn hiding the Mother’s battered body. With a terrible bellow he yanked the chain back and the hook sunk deep into its belly while he used the moment to leap to her.
He landed heavily, his golden eyes discs of fury as he wasted not a moment sinking the spear point of Skyscythe deep into the spawn queen’s shoulder, pinning her to the ground. Spawn attempted to overwhelm him but the demigod’s rage acted as a palpable force. Mana gold in color coiled like a snake, weaving together until the force of the earth could be felt upon the shoulders of all those around him, commanding many without great strength to flatten themselves to the ground.
”Surrender!” the ape roared, his voice a force of nature.
Against the might of Anu, the Reaper Mother was powerless with her wounds. She struggled vainly, and then seeing that it was hopeless in the end, she faltered and yielded. Her spawn’s demeanor shifted, and those who had not knelt, did so begrudgingly.
Breathing heavily, the big king claimed his blade from the Spawn Queen’s shoulder and raised it wordlessly to the air. For a moment he was silent, eyeing the kneeling reapers angrily, then he let out a loud roar, one that shook the plains with its might. Victory was Talemon’s.
Cheers erupted from the warriors who saw their king’s gesture; the rest joined in posthaste. Qiang Quan and Shakale both came jogging over to his side, both caked in a number of different substances. They both fell down to their knees and kowtowed.
“Greatest king upon this world,” Shakale saluted facing the ground. “With You at our side, victory was never a doubt.” Qiang Quan hummed agreement.
Anu shook his head. ”I alone couldn’t taken this horde. Without your stalwart defense and valent offensive, Talemon would have fell. On this day, you are all heroes.”
Tears welled up in the eyes of the warriors, who were all slowly gathering around their king to pay salute. Many had fallen - that much was clear. It would take years to recover from this assault - they would be weak for a long time.
On the other hand, Anu’s warriors had been tested, and most of them had proven that the armies of Talemon will not give into despair in the face of such a tsunami of evil. Their scars would forever stand as reminders to improve, so that scars will forever remain just scars and never mortal wounds. Mourning would come too, naturally - they would have to burn this many corpses, for they had not the soil to bury them all. Talemon, however, would weep as one - for in the great span of things, they were one, and theirs was the greatest kingdom on Galbar.
Shakale eyed the spawn queen and spat. “My King - the great Ikarus has been collected and will be cleaned and embalmed as any great hero of this nation would be. What will you have us do to… That?”
The king glanced at the wonder reaper. ”She will be dragged back to the capital for the people to see. Paraded up and down its streets, an oad to our triumph here today. Then, she will know her fate.”
“A sound plan, my King,” Shakale praised and pointed to a section of the warband. “Find whatever vines, ropes and bindings can hold this wicked beast and wrap it as tightly as you can. She may have lost the will to fight now, but any broken beast may regain its fervour.”
The warriors bowed curtly and sprinted off. They passed by Okonkwo, who was mending his Bolade’s wounds. The claws had cut deep into the leg, and the young lad was on the verges of passing out. The warrior had already received thread and a bone needle, with which he did his best to suture the wound. Bolade would not die - not in his first battle. Okonkwo prayed for as much, anyway.
Back next to Anu, Qiang Quan approached the King from the side and kowtowed. “My King… A word?”
A heavy thump sounded as Anu planted Skyscythe in the soil. ”Speak.”
Qiang Quan’s lip quivered slightly. “This servant and its colleagues have been summoned… Back to His Lordship’s ship.”
Golden irises flared in the Servant's direction. ”What?! Why?!”
Qiang Quan’s forehead dug deeper into the soil. Shakale and some others of the Golden Horde had heard the king’s outburst and approached. “My king, is everything well?”
“His Lordship sent a messenger in the night. It arrived from the east before the battle and shared the His Lordship’s command with Zhu Rongyuan: His Lordship Shengshi has… Has decided to collect the servants still loyal to him and descend into Fengshui Fuyou… For how long, this servant cannot say.”
The big king growled in protest. ”There is still yet much to do. To have my council leave this early would set us back greatly.” Anu paused for a moment, then sighed. ”But his word is law. I cannot leave my people at our most vulnerable to seek him out and find answers. I make a pilgrimage to Biashara. You are free to go, Cherished Qiang.”
Qiang Quan remained kowtowing, the grind of gritting teeth ripping through the air below. In one quick motion, he sat up in a seiza position and stared straight ahead. “My king! Allow this servant to end its life while still in Your service!”
’So you would rather die than obey your creators call?”
Qiang Quan’s face hardened. “This servant would rather die with its honour as a loyal subject of its King than to abandon both Him and His people to live out its days aboard His Lordship’s vessel.”
Anu’s nose flared and his muscles tensed for a moment. Golden disks of fire burned into the kowtowing Servant, but they quickly softened. ”Qiang.” he let out a breath then his features hardened again. ”I order you to refuse the call of my father, and remain in my service. I will take on the consequences, come what may.”
Qiang Quan gasped. “M-my King! You cannot! Please, this servant is mortal and insignificant - with a thought, His Lordship could both end it and recreate it. However, if His Majesty was to disobey… His Lordship would make the consequences severe, for both His Majesty and His people.”
”Come what may, Qiang. You are one of us, a Talemonese, not a servant of my father. Therefore you are no longer of his ilk and are under my command. Now come, Talemon requires your service.” Qiang Quan sniffed, his body mimicking the tears of other species. Though yet again, he shook his head. “This servant cannot allow itself to survive if it means His Lordship will torment the rest of Talemon.” The warrior’s eyes remained unchanged, save for the tears welling up within them. “This servant will die in its King’s service, or leave to join its maker. It refuses to live at the cost of its king’s honour or its people’s safety. His Majesty truly is a son of Shengshi, with such unbreakable will and care for His people. Yet… Nothing His Majesty can say or do will shake this servant’s resolve.”
Rivers of gold burned in silent fury. ”Then go, and return when your maker wills it.” he spat.
With a huff the king ripped Skyscythe out of the ground and lifted into the air. ”ROUND UP! WE LEAVE FOR HOME IMMEDIATELY!” he bellowed, and marched towards the capital.
Qiang Quan remained kneeling in the sand as the army returned due east. With shame filling his every fibre, he slowly rose up and began making his way to the south - towards Nanhe.
Anu start: 5MP/4FP 3FP: Create artifact: Using his divine blood, Anu created the King’s Wine. This is a liquid that all aspirants to the Golden Horde are required to drink to become a member. Upon consumption, the divine blood of Anu tests the consumer’s will, strength and spirit, promptly killing those that it finds unworthy. Those that pass, however, are granted golden eyes and stronger physique, while those that are the purest of will and spirit and entirely devoted to Anu’s mission, grow an extra pair of arms referred to as Gods’ arms. These can be controlled as normal arms would.
War comes to the Monkeys and a great battle ensues. A main force tackles the spawn horde in a frontal assault for a time until its numbers are too great to bare and reinforcements are called in the from of the King and his Golden Horde. The Spawn Queen appears and engages in battle with Ikarus, but both are fatally injured in the attack. Anu finishes off the queen and the day is one, but not without the death of Ikarus the demigod of mana. Before the Talemonese return home, Anu is made aware of the call for all Servants to return to their lord. Anu is angered and ultimately shirks Qiang off and bids him to return.
With the expert help of Pygmy hands, it had not taken long to fill the storage houses of the Dreamer city. Like machines, the dutiful simians had dug clay out of the ground and brought it up to the Industrial Square atop the great turtle beast. In return for their services, as promised, the Dreamers had revealed to the Pygmies the art of claycraft, showing them how to build and work the draft furnaces that had been constructed atop Chuanwang’s shell. The Pygmy apprentices diligently absorbed the knowledge of their Dreamer teachers and began work on similar projects in Tal Eren as soon as the Dreamers had left. It took a number of determined attempts, but after a number of weeks, draft furnaces were filling up the western part of the city, and thick, black smoke oozed out of the tall furnace chimneys. The pottery was scrappy at first, but experiment after experiment yielded better and better ceramics. Soon, the water from Beihe could be trapped in clay pots and stored in houses so that the workers could focus on their tasks for longer periods of time instead of having to run down to the river all the time to drink. More furnaces were built, more effort put into the work. Different types of clay were brought into the projects with varying and differing results. The ceaseless furnaces of Tal Eren burned day and night, sending columns of gray rising over the plains and jungle as if the Fire Giants had returned.
And, one day, it seemed that greater forces had conspired to complete the impression. The tremors of immense footsteps coursed through the soil before even anything more than a large blot had appeared on the southward horizon. They grew stronger as it advanced, gripping the very walls of houses and workshops. Tools rattled on their shelves, water spilled from basins, the swine in the fields sniffed the air restlessly and squealed their welcome to the air.
In mere minutes, the distant blot had become a gigantic shadow like a walking mountain. Little more passed before its outlines became clearer - the masses of enormous jagged iron plates, the titanic limbs, the blank-faced head with four flaming eyes. On the metallic enormity’s shoulder, maybe sprawled, maybe coiled, was a colossal, outlandish monstrosity. Its contours stayed blurry even as those of its master were clearly in sight, with one limb appearing to be a clawed paw one moment and a writhing tentacle another. The monster reached into gaps in the preternatural armour with what were either tongues or proboscises, draining something out of them.
When Narzhak stopped before the last rows of new, still incomplete furnaces, he loomed over the city in its entirety. His shoulders darkened the Heliopolis, casting a spell of untimely dusk on roofs and fields, only broken by the prying light of his eyes. He clapped his hands, and the crash was that of a hundred thunders striking at once.
The great ape was there, bearing the brunt of the roar without flinching. He bowed, his locks kissing the earth. ”Father, a thousand greetings.”
”Good to see you,” the god nodded, his voice rolling far around. ”Even better, you haven’t been wasting time.” He gestured towards the city’s core. The creature on his shoulder shifted and oozed as the motion pushed it up.
”It would be unbecoming of a godspawn to wallow about, father. I work to bring life the words I uttered in the plains of my birth.”
”And drive them to build the body, I see,” a row of houses were thrown into shadow by a pointing finger far larger than the sum of them, ”Good thought, that. Don’t let a body lie around unused. Is this place of yours any good yet?”
Anu nodded. ”Nearly. It is growing rapidly and with time its full might will be brought to bare, all things go well.”
”Full might? It’s early to talk about that yet.” Narzhak raised an arm to lay an open hand on the beast’s back. ”Tell me this. How wide does your vision go?”
”Beyond the horizons, father.”
”That’s vague, but I couldn’t tell you what’s over half of them myself,” iron fingers tapped together like bells tolling, ”What’s more, width alone won’t do it. You’ll need control. How deep will you go with that?”
”An empire unhindered by landmasses or oceans, a world order, to be specific.” he breathed. ”As for how deep I will go, I will go as deep as is warranted. I empathize towards sentiant-kind and wish to raise them from the mud and I will have nothing less than pristine.”
”Hrm. You’ve got the right idea.” The tolling grew more distant as Narzhak tapped the side of his head. ”Show me how strongly you hold them now.”
A nod and a small hand-gesture called the warriors nearest to him. They assembled immediately, kowtowing before both divines. As one voice, they greeted, “A thousand blessings to the War-Father and His Majesty!” and awaited their commands.
”Rise and take up arms.” he ordered smoothly.
They rose as one, too, spun on their heels and jogged for the palace barracks. Before the two gods truly had time to wait, they returned with wooden spears and stood at attention.
”Turn your blades upon my father, and impale him.” he deadpanned.
The warriors seemed momentarily hesitant, whether from the blasphemy or the logistics of such a task. However, the one in the back swiftly let out a wild, guttural howl and charged forward towards the giant’s boot. The others followed swiftly, insane discipline overtaking their senses.
The great ape intoned above the symphony of ringing iron and warcries. ”If their king commands it, they fight a god.”
Narzhak’s eyes widened curiously as they looked straight down at the swarming figures. A grumbling rose from deep in his throat, soon growing into a low chuckle that made the ground quiver and shook the ranks of his assailants. His finger turned down on the pygmies, and he rumbled ”At ease!” in a voice that was, it seemed, more command than sound.
Amidst a nod, his gaze slid back along the ground to Anu. ”You know how to handle them. My son.” His laugh surged back up, not without pride. ”There is, still, one thing that’s trouble for chains of command like yours. You’re one, and they? Hundreds now, and if you go as far as you say, thousands of times that. Only a handful can hear you at once.”
The pygmies returned to their kings side, shaken yet determined. ”Yes, distance has a habit of making the King feel less like a king. But we intend to set up a chain of command and bureaucracy, they will hear their king.”
”That’ll help, but it won’t be absolute.” Iron fingers grit together again. ”It will be just mortals driving each other, and leave them without safeguards-” the gigantic hand straightened itself and cut a line in the air, ”-there’ll be rough spots on the way. More when you start getting ones without your mark, and you’re going to. You’ll need something else.” Two eyes of the four jumped around the roofs and fields. ”Have them clear us a good place.”
The ape nodded, glancing at his guard. ” Section off some land nearby.”
”At once, your Majesty!” they barked in unison, melting into the city. Little time passed before a single pygmy returned to kotow before the gods again. ”His Majesty, War-Father, a plot just south had been made available.”
”Good. Father?”
”Let’s.” Narzhak stepped southward - or, rather, did a partial about-face, keeping his feet close together to avoid stepping on the fringe buildings. His gaze sought and swept appraisingly over the stretch of bare land the messenger had spoken of, then he lifted a hand in a grasping motion towards the sky.
Mirroring his gesture, the earth at the center of the plot trembled and rose, pushed up by a shape forcing its way to the surface. A sharp ridge of dark grey rock, veined with spiked iron bands, broke the soil, gaining in height and width by the moment. Soon it was the top of an enormous arch, stretching to both sides until it almost filled the entirety of the field’s breadth, before swerving down in lateral pillars that grew and grew.
When the tremors finally stopped, an imposing, not to say menacing structure towered over the southern quarters of the city. A vast archway of stone inlaid with metal, many times as tall as the largest of the simple houses surrounding it and broader yet, cast a long shadow beside Narzhak’s own. Its sides rose in a smooth stretched semicircle and met seamlessly in an even rounded apex. It was as if a single pillar, so thick and sturdy that Anu himself could not have encompassed it in an embrace if even he had been a dozen times his size, had been bent with the flexibility of a fine steel blade and planted with its ends in the ground.
What was most singular about the structure, however, was its inner side. All along the interior of its span, large spines of rock and iron jutted out like centuries-old stalactites. Each of them was perfectly aligned towards the centerpoint of the arch. Together, they gave it an uncanny semblance of a gigantic disembodied mouth full of pointed teeth, a similitude that immediately leapt into one’s eye and was impossible to shake off.
”Something like this.” The god concluded his thought, and pointed at the ground near one of the archway’s feet. ”Take that.” Indeed, lying on the ground near the pillar’s base was a fragment of stone, similar to the tooth-like formations, but only about as large as a spear and ringed with a spiralling design of metal bands. It was uncertain whether it had been there before Narzhak had spoken.
Visibly awed the demigod marched quickly to retrieve the thing, taking it up in his hands to eye it's design with rivers of fire. ”Father, what is this?” he breathed.
”That’s what I was talking about.” Narzhak’s hand hovered over the top of the structure. ”It eats the spirit of disobedience. Some other things come off with it, too, so be careful about going through here.” A hook sprouted from an iron fingertip and slid under the gateway. ”Anything that does will think of nothing but following orders, as long as it breathes. Hold that piece, and you’ll be the one giving them. It can’t follow the borders of your reign anywhere,” he gestured towards the horizon, ”but maybe it’ll be a reminder that this place is the first in it.”
For a moment the ape was silent, glued to the superstructure that now dominated his city. The ramifications of his father's words where quicker to take hold. ”Father, a thousand blessings. To receive such a gift, I'm unable to fathom the amount of thanks.”
”You don’t have to.” The god’s massive head swayed sideways. The creature on his shoulder pushed what looked vaguely like a molluscoid eye on a stalk and dangled it towards the ground. ”All you need to do to show them is use it, well and often. Feed it timely, or it will hunger and speak too loud for our good.”
”Yes, Father.” the ape huffed, laying a hand on the cold metal structure. ”This one will wield it effectively.”
”That’s all it will need.” Narzhak turned an eye sidewards, gazing towards the buckling eastern horizon. ”You won’t be lacking heads on which to try it. Someone left things a throw that way some years ago, elaborate, but they know how to kill. You will find them, sooner or later.”
The ape followed his father's gaze but only found the city dominating his field of vision, nevertheless the titian’s words remained with him. ”An enemy to the east.” he murmured. ”If they attack Talemon they will know no mercy.”
”No use for that, but there’s more to such things." Iron fingertips tapped against each other with the sound of hills collapsing onto enormous gongs. ”A conflict is always an opportunity, more than anything else. Don’t waste this one."
”Word of wisdom this one will not forget.”
The Pygmy help the Dreamers fill their storehouses and as promised they teach them claycraft in return. The Pygmies take this and run with it, immediately setting forth to master the craft. Industrial mode activated. Narz pulls up and is proud of his son and his work so far. He questions Anu’s vision and it is clear that it’s still an idea and not yet a solid doctrine. Concerned about his son's ability to manage an empire on a global scale, he tests his control on a small scale, which he readily passes. In order to help his son when things scale up, he creates the Mouth of Broken Will, a giant ark that does the zombification of the living thing. Anu is more than appreciative. Narzhak is sure to tell his some of one last thing, a threat to the east that will come for his people in due time. Anu is confident they’ll be ready.
Narzhak
Starting: 8 MP, 4 FP
3 FP spent on the Mouth of Broken Will, a monument within Talemon. Any living being that passes under its arch has its mind stunted and shattered, losing all ability for higher thought if it ever had any. Victims of the Mouth retain basic instincts of self-sustenance and the ability to understand, or learn to, simple speech. Most importantly, they are filled with the urge to obey the dictates of the bearer of the Mouth’s keystone and those invested with authority by them. (5/5 MP total spent towards Subjugation portfolio.)
High in the sky’s sapphire vaults, hunting birds hung almost motionless in the distance, held aloft by the strengthening westerly wind as their sharp eyes scanned the branches far below for an unwary prey seeking to satisfy a long winter’s hunger on the new green of the Kalgrunic timberland. Their wings were silent on the spring breeze as they effortlessly rode the thermals rising more strongly now, with Heliopolis nearing its perihelion.
Easily seen, but ignored by the high-flying raptors was a herd of plains deer grazing hungrily on the new grass of the south. They too gladly filled their bellies with the tender and supple blades of new grass that pushed its way out of the hard ground and winter debris to gather in the sunlight. They had enough gnawing the bark of northern trees to fill hungry bellies during the deepest of winter’s cold embrace. They swiftly ate, knowing that this brief respite, this window of peace would soon close, as it often did in nature.
The herd’s lead buck, a broad-shouldered male with spring velvet still covering his new season rack, gave a start when a low snapping sound echoed over the plain. With vigilance meaning survival to the deer, any unusual sound found its way quickly to their attention. As had this sound; head up and ears pricked forward, big brown eyes swept first in one direction, then another, searching out the low, almost inaudible sound’s source.
Ears tuned to subtleties of sound that would escape creatures not so dependent on caution, the stag felt his body tense as he finally recognized the sound, now grown loud enough to be felt through the thick stuff of their hooves. It was the sound of Men, of hunters, come to reap a deadly harvest from the flesh of the stag’s charges.
The stag didn’t hesitate from that point; swinging his magnificent head around, he bounded for the trees northward, his herd hard in his shadow.
With his back to the south, the stag’s sharp eyes didn’t see the dark shadows flitting through a large grove nearby. Even if he had though, even his vision would’ve been hard-pressed to make out the forms behind the shadows. But it would hear the shrill whistle it made, piercing the air as sharply as any arrow could as the herd dissolved into the forest.
Ever graceful the Stag and it’s herd struck out deep into the timberland, not bothering to consider the warble and its possible implications. All knew to swiftly seek shelter when Men were about. Especially in these days of turmoil amongst nature and the two-legged dwellers.
After what seemed like an eternity the Stag finally slowed to a crawl, the city of bark parting into a natural glade. With dangers of Men far behind the herd, the buck resigned himself to the comforts of the clearing, lowering its massive rack to graze upon the bounty of green and sweetgrass afforded them. To bask in nature’s blessed windows of peace and escape the greed of Men was their existence.
The little peace afforded to the buck and his herd blunted their ever-sharp senses as they missed the shadows filtering silently within the forest's border. Then the nearest passed through a column of sunshine that had managed to penetrate the new growth forming the grove’s canopy and, for the briefest of moments, it was revealed.
It was a man, bent low over the back of a bush. His face was hardened and chiseled by long months exposed to the elements and by days of trial and travail spent striving against nature. Even harder still were his eyes; chips of stone as they stared ahead, fixed on a distant goal, his battle-hardened body draped about with furs and a tunic of dull and plain colors: browns, grays, and blacks. That clothing showed the signs of heavy wear and travel, his fur cloak still damp from the last snow the man had traveled through.
In an eyeblink, the man was joined by a score of others; silent as ghosts, dangerous as a pack of wolves. Bent low, the dark company pressed for the edge of the grove, marked by a splash of sunlight in front of them.
Then, with an explosion of sound and motion, they burst out of the grove to pound recklessly across the ground, clods of sod flying in their wake. Revealed in the light, the company numbered twenty souls and the smell of death lay close to them, both man and animal.
Panic set in, the Stag was quick to attempt a retreat, but a second company burst from the rear.
Surrounded.
Then the hard-eyed man set upon him, stone-tipped spear effortlessly striking like a scorpion’s stinger until it sawed through flesh like butter.
The pain came like a sudden squall out at sea, a searing fiery burst pulsating at the jugular, intensifying with each dragging turn, jarring and brutal. A spear shaft jutted out the Stag’s neck. With each staggering step the pain amplified, the bloody muscle quivering and his consciousness ebbing.
All around the buck, his cadre were put to the blade, slaughtered with brutal efficiency. Not one escaped. Finally, legs gave out, bring the massive buck to the ground. Black mists swirled at the edges of his mind as his murderer approached, affording him a final glimpse of the man’s visage.
Handsome in the way only Vallamir were, the slender hunter was pale and intense, with a face chiseled by an artisan's hand from stone and eyes of brilliant sapphire. Locks of golden hair tinged with streaks of white-capped his skull in a topknot, to keep them from blurring his view of the world and hindering the sensitivity of his pointed ears.
With grim determination and the slightest hint of satisfaction dancing across the man’s face, the Stag was drawn into sweet oblivion as it’s wooden companion piece was dislodged from its neck with a sickening 'crunch'.
The wiry man knelt before the majestic creature, planting his weapon hard in the dirt between then. ”Rest in the flames, wee’ king. For’ from the cycle you came and to the cycle you return.”
Oath still hot on his lips, the blonde Valla drew a stone dagger from the folds of his furs and deftly set about dressing the kill. All about the glade Valla were abuzz with activity, a number went about cutting into their kills as well, expertly opening up the carcass and removing entrails, careful not to puncture certain organs and risk tainting the meat, while others materialized from the forest shadows, producing flat sleds made of Kalgrunic wood and twine with logs of stark white wood stacked atop them.
A team of two Valla dragged one of the pallets over to the blonde man. One of them, a wiry Vallamir with his cobalt blue hair in a neatly trimmed topknot and eyes a bright green, flashed him a wicked smile, sharp canines on full display.
“Steady now, Lugo, you vibrate wit tha song of tha wild!”
The one referred to as Lugo swung electric blue eyes the Valla’s way, wiping clean his blade on the hollow belly of the buck.
”Come naw Arth, ta have been part o' something so magnificent, how could’a man not?” His normally strong and assured cavalier throaty with his wonder.
The second Vallamir, easily as tall as the blonde hunter, was powerfully built for one of her kind. Her loose huntsman's garb doing nothing to hide muscular arms and legs, a deep chest and jutting breasts. Yet, despite her size and obvious power, the brown-haired valla woman moved with the grace of a hunting cat, her brown eyes still darting this way and that, even though the prey lay dead all around them.
“Aye aye, both o’ya burnin daylight. Permafrost ain’t wait for any ol’valla. Help me wit tha blessed thing.”
A smile dancing on his face, Lugo stepped back to allow Arth and Udele through. Quickly they hoisted the stag up and onto the sled with a heavy thump. Then with leafy twine they strapped the carcass down and took the white logs they had brought with and stuffed it full with the timber. Cut from the arms of the Brumal Tree so common in their homeland, the logs were naturally cold to the touch, imbued with the deep and intense chill of the Permafrost.
“Frost me solid, ol’bastard weights bout’a father ice bear. Master Hunter blesses tha tribe.” Udele breathed heavily, stretching to pop the knots in her back.
”Aye, tha lowlands bounty is plentiful.”
Arth tied the heart and the liver in a bundle of brumal before looking up. “Lowlands ain’ our place. Should be hunt’n Kalmar’s bounty in our own lands.”
Lugo felt his jaw clench in response at the slight yet said nothing, choosing instead to clean the blood off his spear tip and set off into the forest.
“Oi oi.” Arth called in vain, quick to fall in step with him. “Come now you know I’m not wrong. Help me here Udele.”
A ghost at their backs, Udele had quietly taken to dragging the kill through the forest, as had the rest of the company. Like wraiths they moved through the forest towards the icy chill of the Permafrost.
“I’m not one fer beatin’a dead doe, but Arth has a point. We all do.” she affirmed, her powerful brows furrowing with concern.
Lugo sniffed. He had been the one to lead the Exodus north, his natural charisma making him an obvious leader of Men. With Arth by his side, they fought their way to and settled in frigid frontier they called the Yataul–a name taken from the first of the dead on their journey–picking up dozens of brethren along the way. With time the Yataul gained a second name as the permanent sting of the white barked forest and icy plains set itself deep in the bones of its denizens: the Permafrost.
”What tha people say is war, Udele.”
“Be that such a’bad thing?” Arth countered. “Ain’t it tha Frostfire actin’ outta turn? Instead of unitin’, chasing us and tha other outta tha hunting grounds. Game gettin’ scarce.”
Udele spoke up. “Tha other tribes have called tha Iceni to convine on matters, Lugo. Tha people is expecting’ you to go. Wi’oot to do something bout this and quickly. ‘Fore our children face they pyers.”
”So wi’set our brothers and sister to burn?!” he counterd as sharply as a spearhead. ”I’m no bricka’ice Udele, I know what’s on tha line here. I just fear what Drephin and tha Frostfire willin’ to do to keep they selfish grasp on the Yataul. What they doin’ this for?”
“Frost what tha motive is!” Arth bit back. “Who knows with that ol’bastard Drephin?”
“Wi do what we need to do to survive, you’oot to know that better then anyone.” Udele breathed. Lugo set his lips in a hardline, a painful memory resurfacing like bile rushing up the throat.
A quiet settled between the trio, and with time the soft patter of crushed grass became the hard crunch of angry ice, the Kalgrunic timberland melting into the brumalwood of the Yataul. Here frozen fruit grew on the trees and everything exuded a bone-chilling cold, and here did the most daring and hardened of the Vallamir settle, seeking safety from the lowland predators. Yet they found only an enemy within themselves. A greedy Valla leading an even greedier cadre of kinslayer.
Soon the soft firelight of the Iceni longhouse pryers came into view, beacons signaling the end of their hours' long journey. As they reached the edge of the village the company split, those dragged sleds veered towards the storehouse while the bulk made for the main house.
Arth placed a knowing hand of Lugo’s shoulder. “Aye, and tenday away be the summit, make sacrifice and send prayers to Kalmar, we trust you not lead us toward oblivion.”
With that he left for the heat of the mainhouse, the jovial sounds of lore Valla singing the tales of the Exodus and the feats of the Iceborn, the warrior men and women who sacrificed themselves to protect the newborn travelers.
Lugo stood alone, the last vestiges of warmth leaving the place where Arth placed his hand, exposing it to the endless cold of the Permafrost.
In the Kalgrunic woodlands, a company of Vallamir expertly ambush a herd of deer, cutting them down with brutal efficiency. The killer of a great Stag is a Valla known as Lugo, who quickly begins to skin and dress his kill. (these are a valla who have acquired stone tools themselves). Other Vallamir appear with sleds packed full of Brumalwood. (adding wiki page soon, for now, look at frigid forest page) Two valla approach Lugo, a male name Arth and a female named Udele. They joke for a bit before stuffing the kill full of brumalwood and putting the stag on the sled and leaving for their icy home, known and the Yatual/Permafrost. It turns out, that these Valla apart of a clan called the Iceni, who traveled here during an event know and the Exodus, (vallamir birth and travel) led by Lugo and a company of warriors who became known as the Iceborn. The Iceni aren’t the only ones who inhabit the Permafrost. This place is also shared with a number of other clans, one in which has taken up arms against the others and has begun to aggressively push the valla from hunting in the Permafrost, keeping the hunting lands for themselves. This tribe is known as the Frostfire, led by Drephin. In a few days, the tribes will meet to seek a solution to this, and many whispers of war, something that Lugo seems to fear.
With a low growl, a portal tore into being high above Sheol proper, space visibly bending around the man-high torrid that marked the portal’s outer boundary with reality while a line of glyphs ceaselessly congealed and deliquesced at its border. In the silent chaos, a figure swiftly stepped across the threshold, not bothering to look over its shoulder and watch the tear sow itself shut almost as quickly as it appeared.
With the brilliant light of the gateway no longer back-lighting its silhouetted figure, it faded to normality, swiftly resolving into a familiar form.
”-Dilatory.-” rasped a foul voice belonging to the master of the foul sea of unholy miasma, it’s ever writhing form and disgusting eye solely focused on the intruder for but a moment.
Ummum, seemingly unperturbed bowed before his sovereign.
” several aberrations drew my attention away, Maker.”
”-Unsatisfactory.-” THE ABHORRENT hummed, it’s massive tentacles now moving to interact with the massive moon only second next to it in size.
Divine cords of energy sawed at the surface of the sphere, the thing seemingly screaming as its skin was rent into pieces, rending black-chiton apart to reveal seas of soft liquid flesh glowing brighter than its counterpart gnawing at Galbar.
From above Ummum silently looked on, his mind working to grasp the complexities of his Maker’s work. Not unlike the landmasses of Galbar which rose above its blue seas, so did the masses of obsidian-chiton stand stalwart against the oceans of purple anti-matter.
So Maker intends for the child-bed of the infestation to serve as its habitat, quaint. the program mused quietly.
”-Status, Objective J01.-”
”near completion, Maker. an acceptable position was set upon the greatest of Galbarian landmass’, upon northernmost coast, experimentation can begin when ready.”
The blur of tentacles slowed to a crawl and then ceasing altogether. ”-Satisfactory. Render FIRST WEAPONS blueprints.”
”affirmative, rendering.” the program buzzed. Without much effort a rough three-dimensional rendering of various life-forms and accompanying glyphs in lime-green displayed in the palm of its hand, eyes synthesized from godflesh naturally quick to analyze the data presented.
”manifestation equation results within set reality parameters. construction based on previous manifestation primary models with additional updates are set. The FIRST WEAPONS ready for production. Instructions are as-is:“
להפעיל סינתיסייזרים חלבונים להפעיל את תהליך ההמרה בניית ביומסה יציאת כוח שד אמיתית העלה מלא נסיכים בשר בשר אלוהים מקוון
As the program spoke in the foul language of old there was a shift, and then a torrent of motion as Anzillu aggregated the entirety of its mass at a single point above an especially luminescent body of ARCHON. Negative energy rent reality too and fro as the great eye of the bastard dilated and glyphs burned into existence around it. With a scream a singularity of divine machination congealed at the DEMON’s end; a black orb of miasma so dense it threatened to drive the very program who shared its makeup to madness.
-“לזרוע“- THE ABHORRENT chanted with a finality that threatened to finally rip reality asunder as the black orb dropped from its grasp and pulled existence down into the depths of the fleshy factory.
Flesh writhed beneath the waves of liquid ARCHON, sinew amassing and synthesizing according to the FIRST SEED’s blueprints. The divine miasma produced cast a wretched shadow across Ummum’s senses, yet if it was affected, it showed no sign. No, it only watched in silence as SHEOL screamed in distress, the birth pangs of the factory shaking the very foundations of Galber until finally, the abyss produced its offspring.
One by one the bastard progeny of godflesh rose out the tumult of undoing, six perfect spheres of white repugnant tissue that thrummed with the energy of the DEMON.
Then they bore themselves naked.
Like a child taking its first steps the brood slowly took on different shapes, flesh folding and expanding, bones snapping and crunching sickeningly, and muscle tissue and raw energy exploding and reforming until twisted perfection they achieved. Their wails chilled Ummum to the bone and their visage only served to vomit mortal reaction upon him, THE ABHORRENT was utterly still.
-”Flesh of my flesh. Blood of my blood. לכבוש.”- the bastard hummed, a glyph appearing at words end, thus manifesting a halo of pure blue energy upon the tops of each child, crowning each kings and queens with their unholy existence and snapping them out of their pain fueled delirium and into silence.
THE ABHORRENT shifted towards Ummum. -”carry out Primary Objective. First Weapons at Ummum Progam’s disposal, SECOND SEED under manifestation. Infestation to occur within one cycle.”
”understood, Maker.” the program paused. ”same as the last.”
It glanced at the DEMON but the space it occupied was empty, in its place an enormous obsidian eye resided, without motion but still ever watching an orbiting, like a moon above a planet.
The program rubbed the thin flesh on his chin--a developing habit--and turned its attention to the First Weapons. Their visages varied, from multi-tentacled and multi-winged to humanoid, utterly featureless or multi-eyed and even beyond comprehension.
A sneer formed on the program’s lips, the First Weapons, heralds of the infestation and masters of the DEMON’s Lesser. Even now the Lesser were vomited from the seas of Sheol and onto its black beaches, craven of various forms, from giant to ant.
They disgusted the program.
And THE HANDLER left the newborns to damnation.
-Summary Sequence- >Ummum opens Sheol Gateway on northeast Atokhekwoi. 7 MP >THE ABHORRENT creates FIRST WEAPONS. The 6 Princes or FIRST WEAPONS are the first Demons to be born and are the strongest of them. 3 MP >Anzillu enters hibernation and leaves Ummum to proceed with the Primary Objective. >Ummum had other plans and leaves the Princes to their own devices. -Might Expenditure- Previous Balance: >14 Might Points | 8 Free Points Expenditures: >High Demon Race (Halo’d Demons) FIRST WEAPONS: 3 Might Points
extraordinary sentient species/domain discount
>Demonic Ecosystem: 2 Might Points
create an ecosystem
>Sphere Gateway: 7 Might Points
gateway
Current Balance: >2 Might Points | 8 Free Points
Demon Wiki coming soon/Quick post to set up demons.
The jungle fronds in the distance swayed in the midday breeze. Heliopolis baked against the fur of the sweaty pygmies as their buoyant gait carried them across the yellow savannah of the Knucklelands. They were only ten at the moment, yet even that was roughly ten percent of their whole population. They were armed with sharpened sticks roughly as long as they were tall, and carried them in one hand as they jogged through swathes of golden grass, occasionally mixing up their two-legged jog with a four-limbed gait, though this made it difficult to hold the spear properly.
Leading the warriors was Qiang Quan, himself armed with his own wooden spear, and the great ape Anu, his knuckles thundering against the dry top soil. In the tall grass, a wild boar escaped the pack with several wary snorts. Qiang shot it a glance.
“Your Majesty,” he opened, “it would seem these lands are richer in game than the central Knucklelands - it may be preferable to hunt here from now on.”
Golden disks spared the surrounding plains a cursory glance. He could smell the difference in population here. ”Good observation, see it so and mark out this territory as hunting-grounds.” he breathed. How long will it remain so before we must travel farther yet?
Qiang ordered a pygmy to stab his spear into the soil by his foot, and ripped off a ribbon of white from his admittedly worn gi. He tied it to the top of the spear and watched it dance in the wind for a second before turning to scout the fields some more. “That was the second boar this servant has seen today - it reckons there may be a small number around, though how many is difficult to estimate. I will return with the warband later to survey further, Your Majesty.”
”A small number? Pyres burn me, we cannot sustain this hunter-gatherer lifestyle for much longer, not with our numbers.” the ape growled, his thoughts flowing freely.
“A sound statement, Your Majesty - His Lordship’s aid has accelerated the glorious transformation into a society built on the farm; however, a consistent source of meats and fats will still be necessary. While the boar is perfect for this, hunting it to extinction will help no one.” He hummed. “Let us hope the wise master Zhu Rongyuan has furthered his fishing project research.”
Anu let out a puff of hot air though his nose. ”Indeed, in the meantime though, the boar mustn’t die out. They can’t be that far off from mortals in a way, give them food, shelter and a mate, and they multiply. Surely we can cultivate and harvest them just like crops.” he mused
The warrior rubbed his face in thought. “Perhaps - they may not be quite accustomed to a cage at first, though. Unlike mortals which can be told, lowly beasts are not intelligent enough to understand orders… However, in time, these servants’ research will likely encompass this feat as well, Your Majesty.”
”The things will learn, adapt, or die, they’ll understand that well enough. Make it so.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” the servant said with a bow. Ahead of them the Knucklelands came to an abrupt, verdant end as the Nanhese jungle filled the horizon. Qiang Quan sucked in a breath through his nose, spun about and stopped facing the pygmy warband, which also abruptly came to a somewhat disorganised halt. The warrior surveyed the recruits; these had been selected among all of the King’s subjects for their bulk, endurance, ferocity and obedience - they were His Majesty’s finest.
Or, well, they were about to verify whether that was true.
“Warriors, hear me - we have arrived at the training grounds. Before we go inside, the ten of you will make yourselves familiar with your companions - know their names, know their strengths, know their weaknesses. Familiarise yourselves with where you can aid them, and where you can surpass them. Form units of two and two and commence two rounds of wrestling per unit. Begin.”
The pygmies did as requested - they lined up into two rows of five, each pair facing each other. They put down their spears, assumed starting positions and then begun to wrestle each other to the ground. Qiang Quan kept a keen eye on every spar, hawken orbs looking for flourishing talent among the warriors.
“Any thoughts, Your Majesty?”
Slits of gold scrutinized each and every pygmy pair in action, picking out both flaw and strength. [color=MistyRose]”A fine selection of candidates, Qiang. They seem capable.”[color]
Qiang Quan nodded in agreement and stepped over to one pair in particular. The winning pygmy, a large, bulky adult, had its opponent, a lesser youngster, pinned down with both his arms locked in a grip on his back. To finalise the fight, the adult simulated a powerful strike to the back of the head before releasing the youngster, who squirmed free with a frustrated groan. Qiang Quan hummed in approval and turned to the adult. “You, victor - what is your name?”
The pygmy scrambled to his feet, picking up his spear on the way up. He knocked his heels together, straightened his back and lifted his chin, eyes locked in a forward-facing gaze. “This one is named Okonkwo, warleader.”
Qiang Quan inspected the pygmy’s pose, noting that his arms could be a little more firmly pointed to the ground. Still, it was a minor flaw in an overall solid salute. His eyes flickered to the youngster, who rubbed his sore joints self-pityingly. “You did well, Okonkwo - few times have I seen one win so overwhelmingly in such a short span of time.” He clapped the stalwart pygmy on the shoulder. “See to it that the youngster is taught how to wrestle as you do.”
An affirmative snort escaped the pygmy’s nostrils as he nodded. “It shall be done, warleader.” Okonkwo then turned around to school the youngster about his techniques and methods. Qiang Quan smiled proudly and went back to Anu. There, he thundered, “Attention,” and all the pygmies broke out of their stances to stand up. The servant eyed the ten, of which some were bruised and some were bloody. He nodded approvingly. “It is good that you are not soft on one another - combat is anything but soft.” He pointed to the woods. “Today, you will be hunting frog monkeys. For this exercise, you will be divided into two teams of five, forming a marun. In a marun, three spearmen will respectively take the frontline and the side flanks, supported by two spear-throwers in the back who can also protect the hind flank. This formation is essential when fighting in dense woods, for the ability to cover every flank is crucial in environments where the enemy can ambush you out of nowhere. All clear so far?”
The pygmies nodded with varying degrees of enthusiasm and understanding. Qiang Quan turned to Anu. “Has His Majesty got anything to add?”
For a moment the ape was quiet, scrutinizing the cadre with eyes as bright as Heliopolis itself. “My cherished warriors,” Anu said finally. The power in his voice rang out like the drawing of a blade. He paused, as if giving us a moment to test ourselves against its keen edge. “On this day we all test whether or not Talemon will prevail. Know this, that the strength of this nation is in it’s people and their principles. Vision, Might, and Guile. Hold these true, and prove Talemon worthy of subjecting this wild world.”
The warriors gulped and collapsed into kowtows from the sheer awesomeness radiating off the Ivory King. Qiang Quan picked one of the closest up by the arm. "An understandable reaction, warriors," he said, "but forces in the field cannot afford to be shaken to their knees. The appropriate answer to His Majesty will be to pound the butt of your spears into the ground as you bellow a resounding 'AYE!', is that clear?" He looked towards the horizon - heliopolis had passed its zenith. "We will practice it after the training. Now, divide into your maruns and hunt a trophy for your King."
The ten quickly parted into two groups, vanguarded by three with two tight grips about their spears for thrusting and blocking, supported from behind by two with loose underhand grips for throwing. The throwers picked up an additional stick or rock from the ground as the groups entered the forest.
Qiang Quan nodded approvingly, though hummed in thought at the additional sticks and stones. He turned to Anu and said, "This servant will devise a harness of some kind for the throwers to store spears and stones in."
If there ever was such a thing as impenetrable dense, the Nanhe's jungles would nearly qualify. A lack of fauna and an oversaturation of flora left the woods almost completely impassable for the warriors, millennia of unbroken branches and vines clogging up nearly every potential path. The maruns found themselves utterly lost for a brief minute, a feeling that sparked fright among the younger guard at the fate of warriors who couldn't even find their way in a forest.
Echoes of rustling branches quaked through the air and ground. A thunderous growl rumbled as some of the pygmies spotted a massive beast, its size and bulk nearly rivalling their King's. It had grey, moss-grown skin, a collection of odd, tentacle-like growths sprouting from its lower back, and a gape large enough to swallow a Pygmy whole. It broke through a vine wall, its brutish, gigantuan form frightening the soldiers into their stances. However, as the beast passed them, it paid them no mind. It merely stomped lethargically past them over to a tall shoot of bamboo, grabbed it by the trunk and snapped it off as if the bamboo was a biscuit. It then sat down and began to gnaw on the leaves, eyeing nothing in particular.
The warriors shrugged at one another - a path was open now, at least, and so they passed deeper into the primordial forest.
The air was thick and greasy, nearly to the point where every breath felt like it had to be chewed before drawn. Here, however, behind the outer wall of trees and brambles, the jungle opened up into a vast, endless hall roofed by mammoth trees and floored by thick, brown swathes of detritus and soil. The ground felt to many of the pygmies like it was moving - twisting. The insect life developed here over the millennia was far from rich, but it, like most other things in the jungle, was quite densely packed.
A number of ooks from no particular direction stopped the groups' advance. In the distance foliage, quivering beams of light revealed animalistic activities in the branches. The groups proceeded hunched over, using the cover of nearly shrubberies and massive wood ear mushrooms to approach their targets.
However, as they came closer, the ooking stopped. The warriors sucked in collective breaths. The branches above quivered softly, deafening out the faint, suspicious ooks sounded from its agitators. A young warrior adjusted his pose and stepped on a small twig.
The rustling above stopped. It was as if the jungle had frozen it time - not a single sound could be heard.
"EEEEEEE!" came a sudden squeal from the tree tops, backed up by several more like it and a deafening, menacing beat of fists against trunk. The warriors huddled closer together and pointed their spears in all five directions, frantically looking up above. A squeal grew particularly loud and the youngster who had lost to Okonkwo before suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a long, hard, slimey foot. The youngster was immediately beaten to the ground and above him stood a furiously territorial frog monkey, its huge mouth agape with warcries. Okonkwo, who was in the vanguard, veered around and sent several thrusts at the frog monkey to scare it off, but while it did retreat some paces, it seemed rabidly aggressive. The rest of the marun gathered up behind Okonkwo and attempted to surround the slowly recovering youngster with a four-way phalanx.
The other marun didn't fare much better. Three frog monkeys had collapsed onto the vanguard and were keeping them busy. Meanwhile, the spear throwers were holding off a single, but particularly ferocious one from behind.
In an attempt to better their odds a particularly lean warrior awkwardly took the offensive. Narrow slits studied the wildly jumping forms of the monkey’s threatening their weak defense, mind working to find some semblance of an opening. Hastily he thrust his spear at an agile beast only to rend the space it previously occupied, it deftly weaving left out of harm's way.
His spear steadied as his body filled with quicksilver fire and the words of his king; might, vision, and guile. On the ground the monkey’s were to quick to catch, but maybe in the air they could turn the tide. With determination renewed the warrior feinted a blow at one of the beasts feet, forcing it up and into the air where in one smooth motion he stepped forward and thrust his spear into its exposed abdomen, running it though.
Blood exploded upon the pygmy but the other marun had not been blind, they too saw the technique of the warrior and sought to replicate it themselves with the same deft and ruthlessness. Using feints and quick strikes, they swiftly began to confuse and rout the monkeys, several of them falling before the flurries of spears. The youngster had recovered, and the marun was at full strength once more, aligning their attack pattern after their peer.
Okonkwo took the lead, constantly stabbing forth in a gatling rhythm with his flank warriors. The frog monkey up front couldn’t seem to keep up, and the second it turned to flee, it was impaled upon Okonkwo’s spear. The pygmy bellowed a triumphant call, cheered on by his marun.
Bodies began to pile up as the meticulous slaughter went on. The lean pygmy put monkey to his spear with a cold precision that only came with practice and aptitude. His brethren could do no more than follow his lead, his warcry a rally as their formation acted as a spearhead cutting into the ranks of the monkeys.
The frog monkeys, fearing the potential wipe-out of their whole pack at this rate, let out frightened squeals and ran for the trees. The spear throwers took the opportunities to pick off a pair with some well-aimed javelins.
Then, as the final frog monkey crashed into the soil beneath the tree, the jungle once more fell silent. Okonkwo grinned at the rest of his marun, who all grinned back and lifted their spears into the air. “GLORY TO THE KING!” they boomed as one. Okonkwo eyed the various winds to make certain there were no more threats, then went over to the lean warrior of the other marun and bowed deep.
“You fight with the might of our King and the skill of our warleader. What is your name, warrior?”
“Lang’engatshoni is this ones name, but many call me Lang. What is yours warbrother?”
"This one is called Okonkwo. Truly, it is an honour to hunt alongside one of your calibre. It would honour this one more to offer you a share of his ration once we return to our King and warleader." The bulky Pygmy bowed his head once again.
Lang returned the gesture, smiling wide enough to reveal white fangs. “Who would I be to refuse your generosity. We return with victory as our spoils.”
Okonkwo pointed his spear at the monkey carcasses. “We return in victory with spoils to prove it, this one says! Come, each will carry what they can. The warleader will was us to present the monkeys to the King.” He himself picked up one of the frog monkeys by a leg and hoisted it onto his back, soon aided a little by the young lad from his marun.
Belabored slightly by fatigue, Lang hoisted himself up a carcass and slung it across his back, the cold feeling of blood dripping down his hair garnering no reaction. “To our King.”
Anu and Qiang Quan are taking the first professional warriors of the Pygmies out for a training sessh in the jungle. On the way, they spot some boars and say they gotta domesticate those fuckers some time, and its teased that the boars have grown scarce and that Zhu’s working on a system back home that’ll help agriculture and meat production.
Then they come upon the jungle and the warriors’ mission is made clear: They are to kill frog monkeys for training and work on a formation known as the marun, which consist of five warriors where three hold the front line and two in the back support with throwing spears and cover the hind flank.
The warriors go into the jungle, search about, find that the jungle’s fucking impenetrable. A farmer ape helps them out by breaking down the vine wall keeping them out of the jungle’s heart, but once they’re inside, they hear frog monkeys. They get discovered and fight a bit, and while the fight seems tough in the beginning, two individuals lead the charge: Okonkwo and Lang’engatshoni. So impressed is Okonkwo with Lang’s performance that he offers him part of his ration back home. The post ends with the pygmies picking up the carcasses and heading home.
Siwen: the King’s Council: 2 +1 Funtime with friends +1 role minoris +1 role majoris End: 5
Member
Lord Zee
Double Capybara
Cyclone
ChronoBovino
Vec
