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 Braving the Storm (RKoR v Tiavain + VC) 
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Post Braving the Storm (RKoR v Tiavain + VC)
ROYAL KNIGHTS OF THE REALM (RKoR) 15 6,635,850 442,390
ISTARI DTIAVAIN (Tiavain) 15 4,362,963 290,864
VLOS DCHATH (VC) 4 2,014,856 503,714
Total: 19 6,377,819 335,675

OOC: Server troubles pretty much crippled our first strike, good luck.

The Sidhe stood atop the highest tower of his keep, laughing into the winds that buffeted him. The storms had been plaguing Maxim the last couple of days, and showed little sign of relenting anytime soon. Yet the Knights were growing restless, their lust for battle with the heathen hordes not in any way subdued by the ferocious storms keeping most indoors. The Sidhe made a careful, determined choice -- they would ride through the winds, through the fierce lashing rain, through the lightning striking carelessly about them, and bring war to enemy lands even through the great storms.

It was a bold move, one similar to many in the Knights' proud history, to risk the advantage of first strike by attacking through such storms, storms that hindered movement at best and threatened the lives of the very armies that marched at all times. Yet they would march onward, for no Knight feared any enemy, not even the fierce forces of Nature herself.

There were enemies out there, whose spies and thieves had been spotted several times before the storms began. An attack would be coming soon if the Knights did not move first, and the Sidhe was not about to let that happen, not on his watch. And so, despite the storms threatening them at every turn, they marched upon those who thought themselves immune to the warfare consuming the isle, those who sought to attack unseen, without chance of retribution. Well, the wars had found them anyway, through the viscious storms and beyond the massed sentries.

The Sidhe watched the progress carefully, the scrying pool atop his tower swirling with images brought from afar. The mighty realms of Vlos d'Chath were visited first, eliminating the greatest concentrated threat before moving on to the larger targets. They were well defended with many fortresses, though the walls were manned only by drow. Much damage was done before the storms forced them back, and into another direction.

The more large city of Istari d'Tiavain was next, and the Knights made bold progress initially before the storms grew so fierce that they were forced back. Some never found their way to the battle at all, and the Sidhe frowned into the waters. The initial strike had gone as well as could be expected, he supposed, all things considered. Yet they still had a long way to go.

_________________
[center]Sorentio Rhicende
Rhyming Magician
Sanctum Officium
1am GMT 27/3/04
[/center]


Last edited by Sorentio on Mon Jun 23, 2003 7:06 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Sun Jun 22, 2003 8:17 pm
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Walking along the dark hallway to the balcony of the mansion, putting his hands on the stone rail. Looking out at the horizon watching the battles of the droben and his very own human's fighting fiercly in the setting sun, almost blinding as he grips the stone rail hard.

The Isonian's my people and my allies will retaliate hard!

Pulling his sword from the sheath putting it in the air, as he looked down seeing his ambush of warriors ready to pounce. As well as the sudden march of Dragons along side many Northmen making a steady march towards the Woods of Selra as he looked on into the blood being shed by the many fighters.

The scouts rushing in and out of the city as are his own he looks back down the hallway summoning his messenger.

Zeon, write a message to Noble Woman Astavia. Tell her the best of wish's in this bloody day of war against the Darden and to be strong towards the Faith of Isonia. And to the rest of the allies as well the same note. And be sure to sign it from me and yourself. We need to bring about this war in a strong manner, to never give up.

Sending Zeon off her turned to the sun going down as I gathered his sword and hung the Isonia and Taivain flags high, he walked back inside taking a knee at the alter of Isonia praying for the strength for his men to carry on and fight strong.

Loki stood from his knee and walked down the darkened hallways of his mansion hearing the wind echo and whislte throughout the hallways, as he walked towards the barracks in town.

_________________
Loki Feargahal(Brother of Aidan and Bran)
[shadow=red]Renegades of Despair
Let the RoD be with you[/shadow]
[glow=orange]Where is Teddy Rubxen?[/glow]


Last edited by Loki Feargahal on Mon Jun 23, 2003 1:07 am, edited 1 time in total.

Sun Jun 22, 2003 9:56 pm
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Valor stood next to the assembled animals. Thousands of them, as far as the eye could see. Dagnik, his master's familiar appeared by his side. He dared not go onto the general's shoulder.

Ummmm, Mr. Valor, I don't want to be intrusive or anything. But where do they...um...end? The imp didn't have incredible eyesight but now that Valor looked at the army, it really didn't look like it ended.

He ushered an advisor over, Split the animals up into three groups, equally divided. I want the enemy to tremble in fear when they see endless hoards of animals tower over their gracious buildings.

He peered against the growing storm. No doubt the Knights would march, Valor had seen enough of the infidel thieves within his comrades borders, it haven't stopped so he was here to make sure it did.

Break through the storm, don't mind the lightning or the winds. We will crush not only the forces of our enemy but we will crush them with the storms hindering our movement and communication.

Marching against the heathen city proved treacherous against the prevailing storm. It didn't let up in the least bit and communicatioins from the forward ranks to the general was strikingly slow.

He clasped a messenger on the shoulder, Ride to Sorentio's armies, tell them we have carried out our orders, the forces of the heathens have been erradicated. We await further orders.

_________________
[center][shadow=orange]Sanctum Officium[/shadow]
[shadow=darkred]1am GMT; 27/3/04[/shadow][/center]


Last edited by Valor on Mon Jun 23, 2003 3:24 am, edited 1 time in total.

Sun Jun 22, 2003 9:56 pm
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The raids had started some time during the evening, as the strong winds blew fiercely and relentless rain continued to fall. It was a miserable night by all acounts, and not even the rain could cheer up the necromancer as various reports were brought her way, via her superior, Archmagus Aeyliea. Iscarianna read them all quickly but thoroughly, noting that the Royal Knights had done well depite the horrible weather. Perhaps the storm had been Tiavain's saving grace this evening, Iscarianna mused to herself. A knock on the door disturbed her from her thoughts.

What is it? she called through the door, irritation obvious in her voice.

More news, m'lady, came the reply, which was followed by heavy breathing. He had obviously ran from where ever the news originated from.

There was a long pause, and the necromancer sighed with annoyance. Come in, come in, she called out. In walked a small, elvish messenger. He rushed over to her, still panting and held out a scroll for her to read.

Iscarianna grabbed the parchments, opened it to find that it was fairly long, and placed it back down on the table. Save me the time of reading this thing and tell me what's going on, she ordered the scribe, sitting up attentively. So far the dark area of town had experienced little damage, but the woman suspected that it was only a matter of time.

As you know, the heathens from Royal Knights of the Realm have attacked the city... He trailed off then, as Iscarianna raised her hand to silence him. With nothing by her expression, she urged him to hurry up, lest he meet a fate like some of the other houses had already met. Anyway, m'lady...word is that they're heading in our direction next. The storm could keep 'em back for a while, but who knows for how long.

Iscarianna nodeed, considering this. Then with another wave of her hand she dismissed the messenger and stood, walking towards the window. Gazing out as the lightning lit up the sky and thunder continued to clap, she felt herself growing more and more frustrated. She had enough going on right now as it was. And now another war. It seemed to never end in this city. She didn't need even more to drive her up the wall. With an angry sigh, Iscarianna turned away from the window and headed down to the front of the University.

She pushed open the doors, feeling the rain pound down on her the second she left the security of the building. The cool rain felt nice on her steaming body, heated by the anger that filled her. She would wait. As long as it took, she would wait. If they were coming, they were not going to get in without a fight. Raising her hands above her head, she joined the palms of her hands together and spread her fingers out to the side. In a deep voice she screamed out the words to her newest spell - Horror Mist - voice barely audible above the roar of the thunder. From her hands emanated a mist that began to slowly spread out around her in a wide circle. Raising her face to the sky she smiled wickedly. Let them come, she thought to herself. Let them come...

_________________
[center]Iscarianna Descente - Necromancer
House Antares
@->-->---
~*Istari d'Tiavain*~[/center]


Sun Jun 22, 2003 11:17 pm
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OOC note: I ask politely that RKoR refrain from mentioning individual realms in Istari d'Tiavain. You will be attacking a single city, not numerous kingdoms. Thanks.

IC:

The sounds of war echoed around the city once again - sounds that were begining to grow familiar to the Archmagus. The sounds of futile charges at the city gates, and at her walls - where defenders, perhaps low borne and magicless - stood to turn away their every attack.

In all the years she had been in Tiavain, she could remember only one or two instances when the invaders had managed to breach the walls, and then, when they met the faces of magi coming from every nook and cranny to meet them - well, there was very little left to clean up after.

This is Tiavain - the city of Magic. There were very few people outside its walls who understood the arcane arts better than those of the inner precints. And while not the most powerful of the houses politically, that did not necessarily make Antares a house of low power, comprised of low borne mages who were of little consequence.

No one really knew the full extent of her powers, for one. She stared into the flames of her fireplace in her comfortable office in her own manor, and watched the goings on without the walls. It was disturbing and it made her feel exceptionally excited, for all the blood and ichor, the failing of peoples lives - made her feel altogether too hot.

"Well....it appears the barbarians and their pitiable gods have come once again to the walls of this city. Such a shame - fresh meat such as that is hard to come by and always welcome on my tables..."

She sat up in the leather chair, where she had been going over recent reports of other houses' activities. There was nothing of great note to keep in mind, really, and she set aside the parchments to look at the fresh scrolls detailing theinvading force to all those leaders to whom the duty to defend the city was delegated to. It seemed bothersome to be given such orders - the greater houses of the city did far less of anything towards this cause, it seemed, and left it to the littler people. Outside, the sounds of screaming gave cause to pause, and shudder in the extasy of the sound.

The pause also gave her time to think up one of her wild dreams, and she rose slowly from the chair, and turned to look out the great window that looked over the whole of Tiavain. In a couple places - mostly the evil quarters of the city - flames licked the night sky, giving rise to masive pillars of smoke and embers which would eventually start fires all over the city. Pity to those who got caught in that hellfire, she thoughtm, and dismissed that area for any assistance. This time, she would need Iscarianna. They were going to go dance on the damned walls and show those below the true horror of Antares.

"Jake...fetch the newest of our little troope. We're going hunting for raiders."

_________________
Ordo de Draconas
Save the world, so you don't have to save yourself.
You save the world, so you don't have to look at yourself.


Sun Jun 22, 2003 11:38 pm
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The drow was away from his lands only briefly, but in that absence, hordes from obviously numerous lands invaded his kingdom, and demolished it.

Upon his return, the dark elf immediately made his way through the rubble to building where his scribe kept detailed accounts of every enemy maneuver against his kingdom and messages received. But, strangely, there was not one single piece of parchment within the entire archives, not a single clue.

Furious, he flew out of the rubble on nimble legs.
Someone would pay, and pay dearly, even if it wasn’t the actual transgressors. Moving out of memory, since his detailed maps were also kept in his archives and were missing as well as well, the drow made his way swiftly to one of the largest kingdoms he could remember.

[center]--=~~=--[/center]

Cresting a hill, he found himself on a high cliff overlooking the lands he was seeking—lands which had grown much larger it seemed since he last made his pass through them under the cover of darkness.

Looking down, he saw a very well developed valley, great fortresses all along the perimeter, vast farms, hovels, markets, and even great temples. Tens-of-thousands, perhaps even one-hundred thousand people must live there. A smirk formed on his face as one thought passed through his head…
Lambs for the slaughter.

Raising his arms to the sky, the dark elf’s eyes began to glow red… growing brighter and brighter as he began to speak the words. The sky grew black as the clouds thickened, and then began to glow as the lightning began.

Then he unleashed hell. Great winds blew down the valley, flattening whole forests and blowing away hovels, and peasants, as if they were merely dust. Torrents of rain came down, walls of water began moving down the streams, changing them into hellacious raging waters. Subsequently, the lightning began to scorch the earth. The entire valley was filled with blinding light as the bolts reduced the great fortress to piles of rock as well as striking the people as they ran in terror, men, women, children, no one was spared from the dark elf’s wrath as the flood waters began to turn crimson with the tens of thousands, upon tens of thousands of butchered… not a single soul remained alive.

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[center]I shall destroy you.
The flames will devour you.
The darkness shall take you.[/center]


Sun Jun 22, 2003 11:53 pm
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Watching from a distant hill camped all alone, watching the divine armies of the faithful invade a mighty heathen city.

So much death, so much chaos. The god of chaos would be proud this day. The leaders of the demonic fuming yet again, the lost one else where instead of in the lands of the demons.. Playing in fields far away from home. Ney at home building up mighty armies... When the time comes to return home, perhaps, greater duties will call for now, we sit and watch the glorious battles below.

"Mi, lord we will end up in the land of the guildless and surely destroyed"

"Patience young one, allies lay in the shadows, have no worries my dear."


Mon Jun 23, 2003 12:02 am
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I was frustrated.

The expansive lands of the Dardenians were shut up tightly. Security was becoming increasingly hard to bypass and the Dardenian torture-chambers were breaking too many of my informants. Despite our relatively innocent intentions the bored Dardenians would find any excuse to carve up rich farmlands and send hordes through the peasant-filled suburbs. Fear and greed; that was always their motivation. And therefore the attacks were of little surprise. Of more interesting note however was the vicious tempest that swept across the land. Was the Goddess protecting her own? Or was the Lady Astavia playing with the weather again…

When the worst of the tempest had passed, I quickly surveyed my district. The Goddess had smiled on me; the dwellings were barely disturbed. But I had not much time to do a lot of work.

I activated all my agents working currently within the Realms. But crippling several of the Realms capacities for sorcery had a great toll. So many of my operatives would not make it home. Those that could, received new order

And as predicted, the Dardenian filth came screaming in from the sands. I made sure to finish a light meal much earlier this time. It would not be civilised to have to rush about.

"Indeed my Lady, you were right, they arrived even earlier this time."

"Yes, they are nothing if not predictable, Rizwaan. It has been my experience that leaving their heads wrapped in my best purple silk on their own doorsteps to be…well inspiring."

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Ministry of Stone

~Maxim Code of Conduct~


Mon Jun 23, 2003 4:33 am
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(OOC:I shall have words with any member of RKoR who rp's attacking Tiavain realms, Aeyliea, rather than a single city. I do however ask that your members are also careful about what they rp as hitting, some Knights have rather detailed descriptions of their realms. For example anyone attacking a green. fertile land with a city in Lyssia's realm, would be incorrect in so many ways.)


Hold the line, the sorceress screamed, trying to make herself heard above the howling of the winds as they whipped about the lands of the red desert. These strange storms had shrieked across all the lands of the isle for longer than the passing of a day, at times cutting all the souls of the isle from one another. The people of Culaearien, the red sands, had withstood the storms as they did all other things that assasiled them, silently, accepting that it was the will of Darden. Now though the desert was threatened by twin storms, the original and the forces of the heathens that they had attacked earlier, both as possibly deadly as the other. Don't falter, not now.

In the distance Lyssia could just make out a line of troops heading over the red sands, their numbers surprising her. She had expected to be attacked but not by a foe who could pose such a threat, she had hoped that the presence of the desert would deter many from looking towards Ebony's lands. So much for that idea, she said to herself as she tried to make out which banner now marched against her; those of the city of Tiavain or the Forets of Vlos d'Chath.

The thought of the Foretians made her smile bitterly for she had heard rumours of the rules by which they worked. They did not recognise the right to exist of any non-Foret nation? Well then what would they think when they saw the ruins of their lands, destroyed by a group of Dardenites who did not have the `right' to exist. As if any mortal man or woman could make such a bold and sweeping statement, all who existed had the right to it. Besides didn't this war put them in a pretty situation, forcing them to work with another group of heathens who didn't have the right to exist according to them?

Those who marched towards them were Isonian, yes she was sure of that now, could almost see the individual expressions on their faces. Were they angry at the Knights for going after their city? Perhaps but if they had not the sorceress could not help but wonder how much longer it would have been before they would have marched towards these lands anyway. Guilds did not leave others to enjoy great periods of peace in these bitter days, sometimes the ink was barely dry on a peace agreement when the sound of clashing swords was heard once more. It was the way of the isle, unfortunate but maybe it was all that kept it from falling into stagnation.

She pulled her cloak more tightly around her body, pulling the hood up and trusting that it would protect her from the sand-filled winds. The Sidhe sorceress knew that the desert would be difficult to traverse at this time but she also imagined that the forces of the enemy would not wait for more favourable conditions to begin their counter-attack in ernest. Those of the Knights had spent an uneasy day, fearing at any moment that they would see banners of Isonia or Foret flying on the horizon. But the expected invasion had never arrived. The inactivity on the part of the heathens had bought the Knights time, time to prepare an attack of their own, one that would hopefully cripple those who had been seen creeping about the lands of the Dardenites in recent days.

How many times in recent days had the dark-skinned folk of the shadows informed her of spies seen within her lands? How many times had she heard tell of similar things in the lands of her allies? Too many times, far too many times for Lyssia to feel comfortable. She could almost feel the eyes of those who flew the purple and silver banners turning their way, staring deep into the heat-soaked lands of the red desert and coveting them. No these lands won't be yours, not if I can help it, she muttered under her breath, watching as a line of Dardenite pike-men drove back an army flying the banner of Isonia.

Some of the pikemen fell to the ground, blood flowing from their wounds as the Isonians were repelled. But the majority stood, their faces grim, they did not even turn to look upon their fallen allies, men and women that might have been their on flesh and blood. Those that were hurt did not scream, they did not even cry out or whimper, their expressions were as cold and grim as that of their still-standing counterparts. Seperate those who will live from those who will die, she ordered the dark robed priest who stood just behind her. Those who will accept healing are to be taken to the main temple, bind their wounds and get them backon their feet, we'll need every able-bodied soul soon enough.

...who will accept healing...Ah yes there was the problem, the desert tribes were all too willing to give their lives for their God, sometimes they almost seemed to gladly throw them away for one chance to spill heathen blood. Even as the priest moved from fallen warrior to fallen warrior she could see that some of the more greviously wounded were already unsheathing daggers, holding them in trembling hands. But their hands did not tremble through fear, oh no these were not souls that feared death. Indeed they seemed to almost look forward to death, striving towards it so that they might be judged by Darden. Their hands trembled from blood loss at worst, and at best from the joy of the thought that finally they would look upon the face of the Lord of Sorrows.

Those who could still stand were helped to their feet, blade in hand, some holding their free hand to wounds. They staggered towards the front line, the pike-men standing to one side to let them through. Dark gleams lit their eyes as they whispered with one voice `Darden' and forced themselves into the remanants of the heathens forces. Most were cut down before they had the chance to do anything, but some did get through, taking an Isonian into the lands of death with them. Lyssia abhorred these practises of war, but the desert folk would not be swayed, this was how they fought, gladly, eagerly and looking for the chance to slay those of the other Gods with their dying breath.

The wounded who had been unable to make it to their feet for that one last charge, had watched mournfully as their fellows died. But still they took up their blades, readying them to pierce their own hearts rather than let any feel pity for them. The Sidhe woman had to look away as those blades descended, the suicide of the mortally wounded was not something that she could bear.

A young child ran through the storm in her direction, bare feet skillfully avoiding the pools of blood upon the ground. The child was a young girl of no more than maybe nine summers, a runner from one of the outposts no doubt bringing news to the main protion of the army. Reaching the sorceress the child skittered to a halt, bowing her head and touching one hand to her heart. I bring news from the western border, the direction where Lord Darden looks last upon the world before night covers all.

The seriousness of the child would have made Lyssia smile at any other time but not now, not in the midst of war. Speak child, she said, kneeling down by the girl to hear her better. What news do you bring from the western mountains? The western border was the only one marked by a range of high red mountains, as dry as any other place in the desert lands. To the north, south and west the lands were defended by a double ring of fortresses, each in contact with the other through magical and mundane means. Often the forces who attacked the desert tried to make their way through the fortresses, only to find themselves caught and cut down between the first and second rings. Rare was it for anybody to try the western border for invasion.

The mountains were high though it was still theoretically possible to climb them, though surviving that climb was another matter entirely. They stretched for as far as the eye could see, broken only near the middle where it almost seemed as though someone had reached out and knocked down an entire mountain. The valley that was carved out was now guarded by a fortress that clung to the mountains to either side, staring out into the wastelands beyond for anyone foolish enough to try this way to attack. Indeed the western border was difficult to cross, though few saw that the real danger came not from the foretress than spanned the way by rather from the heights themselves. Up there [i[things[/i] lives, ones that were best left alone by any man or woman that walked the isle.

We saw two forces moving towards us, one peeled away south and attacked from that quarter. Lyssia looked at the slain heathens whose bodies still lay before the line of pikemen, well that was one force accounted for.

And the other?

The girl shook her head, We don't know, they made for the mountain-side-

But they never made it through, Lyssia frowned. Had the heathens tried to go over the mountains? No she would have known if they had, even here the whole desert army would have heard if they had tried that. They hadn't moved to the other borders and attacked from there either, they had simply disappeared. Unless they went under the mountain, the sorceress laughed, knowing that that was as impossible as going over them. Perhaps they chose another target?

She gestured for the child to leave and beckoned the captain of the pikemen over, Have the men rest in small groups while the others watch the horizon. This war has only just begun and tonight we will need to attack once more.

_________________
SO - Into darkness...
Hlasta! Quetis Ilfirimain
Elador's Sváss


Last edited by Lyssia on Mon Jun 23, 2003 1:22 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Mon Jun 23, 2003 4:47 am
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The expression on the wraith's face might have been a smile, though it was always difficult to tell with its shifting features. One moment the wretched spirit might seem to have the face of a beautiful maiden, the next it was that of a wrinkled crone. Of course either of those were better than when its face changed to that of a dead and decaying corpse. No one in the lands of Culaearien would go near the creature, and not just because it was wholly disconcerting to see its shifting and often mismatched features.

The ghost's touch was death to any creature that came into contact with it, its bitter chill draining the warmth, the very life from it victim. Rumour had it that the Lord had raised the ghost up from the damned portions of the afterlife, forcing it to serve the Vision-Seeker Ebony. Still other tales said that the ghost had always walked the desert lands but that it had been the human seeress who had bound it to her will. To truth was hidden to all, the origins of the wraith were really not important though to those who came to be wrapped in its frozen embrace.

Now the wraith known as Ivory hunted, drifting over the sands, its insubstantial feet never disturbing the ground, not even touching it. Ragged wisps of its essense danced in all directions as if strips of the ghost itself had come loose and were dancing in the storms that wracked the lands. Its mournful voice was barely audible above the winds as it called to those that hid in the darkness. Those who had come to seek out the secrets of the desert realm would not be returning to their mistress. No one could hide from Ivory forever, Where are you warm ones? The voice was almost like that of a sick or injuried child, one that reached to the heart of those who heard it. Come to Ivory, it not hurt you, not want to hurt you at all. Ivory is just so cold, so very, very cold, needs the warm ones it does.

The not-Mistress had told it to find anyone in the realm who was not of it, she had told Ivory that all such interlopers were for it alone to have. Such a gift had delighted the spirit, or rather had excited it as much as it was able to. Perhaps once the tormented soul had been able to feel more than need, despair and desire, but if so that was long ago. Now all it knew was the cold of the grave that eternally plagued it, the chill sending it beyond the brink of madness. All the kept it in check and stopped it from slaughtering the tribespeople were the thought that it would be given prey and the fact that the Master would punish it if it touched any of His.

Come love Ivory, it wailed, Come help it, it is so cold, so very cold. It needs to be held, needs to hold you close warm ones, needs to feel your touch. It knew that they were nearby, could almost feel the heat of their bodies as they sought to make it back to their home with the information that they had gathered. They had seen the defenses of the desert, seen its temples and its treasury, now all the spies wanted was to get away from this inhospitable place. And away from the wraith that stalked them.

Ivory rounded the top of a dune and caught the sight of hurried movement just ahead of it. The last of the thieves made the mistake of looking back, his eyes widening as he saw the ghost pick up speed and open its arms to him. He had already seen what Ivory could do, he had already witnessed several of his fellows fall to its touch. You are so warm, it cooed, Spare just a little for Ivory? It needs it so much, it is so cold and you are so warm, won't you make the pain go away? Slack-jawed and frozen with fear the man stopped running, his mind screaming at him to move while his legs felt leaden under the gaze of the wraith. Yes, the ghost hissed in triumph at the sight, Come hold it close warm one, let Ivory hold you, not-Mistress said that you will love Ivory.

The pale strands of the ghost's presence wrapped themselves around the made, pulling him close to the spirit in a strange parody of a lover's embrace. Cold, paralysing cold, spread out from everywhere the ghost touched even as the man's life leeched out to fill the wraith. For a brief moment the chill abated and Ivory knew no pain, the man's live giving it what it no longer had. But it lasted for no more than a few seconds, the cold torture crashing back over the ghost like a wave, causing it to shriek out. The man fell to the ground, his eyes wide in death and his body as rigid as a statue, if any later found the body they would have said that he had died from extreme cold. Such was the way of those that spent the last of their life at Ivory's touch.

Screaming in pain and in rage the ghost set its eyes on the last few Isonian thieves as they desperately tried to make for the border. A bright smile temporarily appeared out of it shifting expression, it knew that the spies wouldnot make it out of the desert. They were a long way as yet from the border and Ivory would touch them all long before they caught sight out of the inner ring of fortresses that marked the edge of Culaearien. These one would never see their city again, though no doubt their mistress who had send them would eventually get their cold, stiffened corpses back to her. Come to Ivory warm ones, love it, hold it tight, go to the Master afterwards and tell Him how good it is being.

_________________
[center]SO
Sing a song of Darden
I'm playing all the right notes...
...Just not necessarily in the right order[/center]


Mon Jun 23, 2003 6:01 am
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As usual Sailors had gone out to sea before the end of the lunar month to trawl the coast for shrimp. The weather was fair, the water was calm. A stiff breeze blew from the souweast. It promised to be a good catch. It was important to return on time as plans had been laid to expand the land holdings and push back the heathns for increased security reasons.

Then the wind started picking up and shrinking to the noreast unexpectedly. This was highly unusual for this time of year and it caught Sailor by surprise. It meant he couldn't be back by the set hour.

Sailor decided to stear away from the coast into open water and then lay ahull to ride it out on the waves.

More than a day went past, before the storm abated and they were able to return under storm sail. Naturaly they arived too late and the heathens had taken the opportunity to use sailor's lands as an easy retalliation target. They would have to pay for this dearly, that he would ensure.

_________________
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Owner of Belle's rolling bar with fishbowl.
Solo: Memories. Foundation: Roling, roling, roling.... Reylan is still an ass.


Last edited by Sail_or on Wed Jun 25, 2003 9:59 am, edited 1 time in total.

Mon Jun 23, 2003 7:15 am
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OOC I looked through VC's charter, but found nothing of interest to war RPs. The note from Tiavain is put on the banner as well, I had seen it in your last war thread, but forgotten about it. /OOC

It was the first time his eyes were allowed to see the famed two monolithes.

Of course, he travelled, he had passed through some countries the last months, but the city was something he had only dreamed of seeing. From his position on one of the higher hills to the south, the dying sun made the city look like a fire, the red and golden desert sands around it, but thousands of dark buildings like black coals in the center. Soon its citizens would sleep, though the rumours said Taivain was never asleep. Even worse than Ran'Kur, its intrigues and schemes are said to continue every hour, with the rivalling houses plotting eachothers demise. He thought it was part of human nature, but naturally, plotting happened in varying degrees. No doubt, the city harboured the greatest plotters of their time.

He smiled. He might doubt it. He had seen the insides of the keeps of Vlos Dchath. Just the night before he had been ordered there, and their inner sancta were interesting, to say the least. They seemed to have a nack for staying unnoticed, but in the meanwhile the keepers did plot the doom of neighbouring countries. Their sentries had been well trained, surely, it was one of those tricks a realm needed while trying to stay unnoticed, or at least, unscouted. It had been tricky...

A single bell chimed thtough the quiet night. He recounted events quickly. There had most certainly not past another sixty minutes since the last full hour. He pivoted on his tows and faced his lieutenant, only the white of his eyes visible now. He whispered a single word. "Alarm?". The white disappeared for a moment as his friend closed his eyes, dreading the inevitable. "Yes". It was all the confirmation he needed. For a moment he cursed himself for his habit to join these missions himself, while Bedewin could handle them fairly to perfectly on his own. He raised two fingers, then pointed to the end of the hallway. Quiet footsteps followed his outstreched arm as two of his man covered their retreat. "Lieutenant, you're with me. Come, quickly." He did well realise his orders were easier said than done. All carried gold from the treasury, money donated to Darden cause, but were thus heavyly laden and instead of sneaking, their heavy footsteps echoed after them as they passed through the keep, heading for the exit.

When they passed another corner they only had a moment to react, the moon betrayed the ambush in front of them by highlighting steel in the dark. He dropped the heavy sack from his shoulders and revealed the two scimitars hidden on his back, as his men did the same with their weaponry. Bedewin already darted forward to catch their attention as he looked for a nearby target. He ducked from a blow and caught a man in the hip while throwing himself against the wall, barely keeping to his feet as he dodged another blow. He brought the rounded tip of his sword up into the other's stomach raising to his full length and coming face to face with his opponent. He felt the others sword brushing alongside his arm, but he had been lucky enough to strike just before him, keeping the strength from the blow. The fight was quickly done, but shouts from all around them in the keep now shattered the relatively calm night. He sheathed the swords, keeping his righthand to his left upper arm. "Bed, Branch!" The leiutenant simply nodded and motioned half the group and moved away to another hall. The order to split was used often and a wellknown maneuver by know. He motioned the others and continued on their way.


The bandage on his left arm was still there, but the hurt had passed with the rising on the sun. Already he was hoping for a quick return to his more moderately climated realm, the days here in the desert were far too hot to his liking, but if it was up to him, the campaign wouldn't last long. Oh no, not too long. He grinned as the last rays from the sun shone over the town. He hoped to make a stop at the university tonight, it was almost as famous as the city itself. It might just be comparable to the library of Amaranth and if so, well worth a visit. Rising from his kneeling he motioned the others towards the city, shrouded in a starcovered dark cloth.

_________________
[center]Daron, Lord of Andenor
Guardian of the Swords - High Protector of the Court
"I could be bound in a nutshell and still count myself King of Infinite Space."
RKoR Peon[/center]


Mon Jun 23, 2003 7:44 am
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Location: The "Grey" Area
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Watching out of the tower in the center of the grey area, I watch as the black area is quickly dismantled, again, and set to fire, again.

Chuckling almost lightly, I shake my head. Malcolm and Milliardo need to set up fire escapes from now on. Seems it's always burning over there.

Watching as the white section of town is basicly left alone, alone with my own section, I almost frown. Almost.

So, we are of little conquence huh?

Since they won't come to me this time, I suppose I will go to them.

Looking at the stone door that was from the last heathen raid, I mutter lightly. I hadn't even had time to go through and remove those enchantments yet. Well, I obviously can't stay up here the entire time, even though it would be a relaxing change. Looking out the window, I sigh lightly, and muttering the hover incantation, I climb up on the rail of the wind, smelling the fire smoke and blood strongly now that I am standing in the wind. Looking down again, I mutter about inconveinces, and steping calmly off the many hundred feet drop, I almost fly towards the ground, slowing down and finally coming to a stop about two feet above the ground. Looking around, I see only a few stunned students that had just watched thier master fall from his tower.

Laughing lightly, I wave my hand towards the entrance of the Mansion, and floating towards the city streets, I slowly slide my scimitar back into it's sheath. This might take me a bit, to find me someone to show what the balance of justice is all about. After all, to be neutral is to be the justice makers, and it seems justice needed to be handed out to a few heathen raiders. Again.

_________________
[glow=red]The Ultimate Ruler of House Tarrant[/glow]
[glow=green]Master of all Enchantments and Enchanted Items[/glow]
[glow=yellow]Instructor and Teacher of the Neutral Arts[/glow]
[glow=silver]Lord of the Neutral Area of the city of Tiavain[/glow]


Mon Jun 23, 2003 2:04 pm
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Sharaf had mustered his best troops, since they had rested from their previous battle it seemed prudent to allow them to stretch their legs.

From his vantage point he surveyed the City, it shone brightly with fires yet he knew that there was fight aplenty left.

When the first charge careared down the hill they met light resistance the Generals shouting that this night would be easy....then the flaming bolts came down.

Men don't faulter, they are heavily fortified let not the lack warriors confuse you, be strong and brave

The fire rained down and the fighting continued, on that night the sky seemed almost ablaze and as Sharaf counted his losses he realised that it had been an expensive night for all concerned.

Call the men back, we have caused much damage, let us rest until these winds die down

_________________
One dark day in the middle of the night
2 dead men got up to fight
back to back they faced each other
drew their swords and shot each other.


Mon Jun 23, 2003 2:06 pm
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Judiama came back from a check of her herd grazing on the small stretch of grass bordering the desert to find her home in ruins. Attacking marauders had demolished every stone, every stick, and every citizen they could find.

Only the armies and the land had survived, here on the edge of the city. Without the money, the shelter or the magic to support the fighters they were sent away... hopefully to be recalled another day. The land was allowed to return to the desert from which it had been claimed. Barren again.

Time to go support other citizens in need, if any could be found. Judiama's house, WingRider, was supposed to protect the city.

They had failed so far this time. Time to save what could be saved.

_____________________________

--< Citizen of Tiavain >--
House WingRider


Mon Jun 23, 2003 9:56 pm
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As the last light of the sun faded a small group on horse-back could be seen making their way towards the city of Tiavain. They moved as easly as ones accustomed to the desert, like people who considered it home. Many times had they fought in green pastures and rocky mountains, finally though they had found an enemy who fought in the sands. Some in their homelands had been horrified to hear of a heathen settlement in the deserts of the isle, thinking it a taint on a landscape that was best suited to teach suffering and pain. But when they heard that it was no mere settlement but a city, they knew the truth, this place was not at all like their own homelands. No cities rose from the red sands of Culaearien, little was permemant in that place.

All but one of the riders wore loose dark clothes and peered into every shadow and patch of shade as if they thought that an enemy might jump out at them at any time. In the dusk light they would occansionally raise their heads enough to reveal their faces, a horror to most, their skin looked as though they had been burnt by a thousand years under the full glare of the sun. Their horses varied in colour from black as midnight's shadow to the red-brown of long-dried blood. Each one's mane was plaited with strips of cloth and there was not a scrap of metal within their reins or saddles to give away their movements. These were a people meant for sneaking and they knew their business well enough.

The last of their company was different though, wearing an old dark blue cloak that fell about her form and riding a dark grey mare. The horse seemed skittish and nervous, almost as if it were afraid of the one riding it, as if it could feel what human senses were deadened to. She rode with her head bowed, never looking at the city or even her surroundings, trusting completely to those who rode with her to notice any danger. When they were no more than a couple of miles from the city the woman suddenly spoke, Here will do, we need go no nearer.

The group dismounted, three of the figures tending to the horses while all but the blue-cloaked women spread out to make sure the area was safe. Lyssia pushed back the hood on her cloak and finally looked at the vast city of Tiavain, her grey eyes gazing on this place that was the home of all manner of magicks. She could make out here and there where her allies were readying themselves to attack its structures once more. And in the city itself she could make out red glows here and there as a multitude of fires were set to hinder the Isonians' defenses and abilities to counter against the Knights.

A city of mages and necromancers, of summoners and enchanters, of all the powers that oculd be imagined. A city built up from the monoliths that was rumoured had been revealed to them in their search for new regions of power to give strength to their spells. The Sidhe woman smiled to herself at the thought, feeling the magic of her blood course through her veins. What need had she for nodes and sources of magic when it flowed within her blood passed down from the earliest years of existance when the Sidhe had first walked. Still she understood that others relied on magic that worked by other means and the presence of the city had interested her. Perhaps in friendlier times she might even have the chance to walk its streets and see the wonders that were supposed to be within.

Lyssia felt the Sidhe Art soar in its eagerness to be used and looked again towards the city. Perhaps not, she muttered, after all if she was successful in her actions tonight...well not all welcomed those who had harmed them into their lairs. Not unless they had ulterior motives of course.

Well then, let us see how your city stands up to Sidhe sorcery, shall we?, she asked of the night winds, knowing that none save those who watched the area around her would hear her words. The priesthood of the Vison-Seeker's lands had refused to let her get anywhere near the enemy without some kind of guard to watchher back. They had already lost Ebony to her death-like sleep and Silus to some unknown foe, they were not willing to lose the only remaining figurehead that they had left. But rather than agree to take any soldiers away from the defenses of the red desert Lyssia had taken only the smallest group of those who excelled in working in darkness and silence. She didn't need to make herself obvious to those within the city by taking fully armed men with her, all she needed were those who could slit the throat of anyone who tried to disturb her.

Closing her eyes she reached deep within her soul, to the darkest depth where magic lived within her. The motes of bright magic seemed to bubble in her veins, willing to be used, demanding to be used by this daughter of the Art. For too long it had remained still and silent now in the dusk of a dead day it would take form in the world and fulfil a purpose once more. She raised her hands to either side of her body, feeling the potential of the magic build, sensing how it rushed and roared through her blood as it sought to make itself real. Now it was just an idea, an imagining, its form shaped by her mind and commanded by her will, but soon it would be real, a physical force to lash out at the Isonian city.

She coud feel the city ahead of her, could sense the areas which had already been struck by the Knights. And Lyssia could also feel those sections where the Isonians still fought back, the regions where the city still stood relatively untouched by the war. She bought her hands slowly towards one another till there was a gap of no more than a foot between them. Sparks of magic danced along her fingers and hands, leaping from one to the other and bridging the gap. Clouds grew thick and heavy in the sky above her, circling around as if they were a pack of hungry scavenger birds. The air was harsh with static and felt as though it was becoming tougher by the moment to breath. As if offering a gift to the city, she turned her hands till the palms faced upwards and extended her arms towards the walls.

All at once the clouds above her fled on howling storm winds towards the city of Tiavain, the sound fortelling the deaths of many a soul. The clouds unleashed their watery burdens upon the city below, forcing stone and wood alike to give way beneath their touch. What might have taken hundreds of years to errode under normal rain was destroyed in mere moments by the sorcerous deluge that hit areas of the city. Defenseive structures crumbled, homes and temples alike crashed to the ground, unable to withstand the pounding of the most unnatural rain.

As suddenly as it had started the storms stopped and Lyssia stepped back to guage the success of her handiwork. It will do, she pronouced, already pulling up her hood once more and making her way towards where her mount waited. Now she could only hope that the rest of the Knights would be able to use the magical destruction to advance further.

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SO - Into darkness...
Hlasta! Quetis Ilfirimain
Elador's Sváss


Tue Jun 24, 2003 5:09 am
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Sitting atop his stead. The old warrior surveyed the armies marching below the hills he held. Carefully he watched the tactics of the Leaders of this new guild he was in.

Nodding to himself he saw the battle go in the favor of those he followed. He mused to himself that he had chosen well. The leaders strategies and tactics were sound. He would have no problem adapting to their way of warring.

Just a little more time and he would be able to increase his own lands as he had done before. Again he became more somber as old memories flooded his mind again.


Tue Jun 24, 2003 10:08 pm
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Location: Melbourne, Australia.
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The news from fellow knights was on balance encouraging. Sailors troops had also been able for the second day in a row to do some reasonable damage. After the first onslaught by the enemy, enough of his barracks were still standing to house a strong anough force.

His ship hadn't suffered too much damage during the storm and was now in readiness for a nautical assault, something most heathens were not used to.

_________________
Consul of Viri Militari
Master builder extrordinair
Owner of Belle's rolling bar with fishbowl.
Solo: Memories. Foundation: Roling, roling, roling.... Reylan is still an ass.


Wed Jun 25, 2003 7:44 am
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She paced up and down the length of the open square, taking care to avoid the deep hole in the centre that looked like nothing moe than a dried up well. Maybe at one time that was all it had been but time changed and now it was used to keep something far more dangerous than water in its depths. Any thief foolish enough to lean in and try to poison that `well' would find another poison coursing through their own veins. A low hissing sound from the depths seemed to agree with her thoughts, confirming the presence of what lurked within.

Hours had passed since she had sent out the forces of the red desert, watching them march away in total silence towards their enemy. They had gone forth to attack the same forces of Tiavain who had retaliated against them on the first night of hostilities between their respective guilds. Though that night the Isonians had been repelled Lyssia hoped that the warriors of Culaearien would not suffer the same ill luck tonight. The warriors were as well armed and armoured as the lands could afford, each soul blessed and sent onwards with the words of the priests ringing in their ears. Even if their attack was crushed these men were ready to die to stop the Isonians from harming their allies again.

The one who had sent out his forces against the red desert and who had struck with deadly force against other Knights was about to find himself at odds with the sorceress. The city of Tiavain might house all manner of sorcerers and magicians but she had already proved that magic could harm them. And tonight she would call on the Art once more to strike against her foes, but not with storms and battering rains this time. No this time shewould use that oldest of lessons that her mentor had taught her, the secret of illusion. While her armies were vast her magic would make them appear even more so, driving fear into the hearts of the bravest defender. Four times the army's actual number would appear to march towards the city, throwing themselves at its most highly defended section.

The walls would fall, Lyssia would permit no failure.

A messenger ran towards her, informing the Sidhe woman that the warriors were in place, all they required now was her aid. She nodded in reply, closing her eyes and searching out the army's position, taking the face of each soldier and painting it on each illusion that she called up. As one man the illusions turned and marched towards Tiavain, their thoughts those of Lyssia, each one controlled by her will. However before they had even reached the walls of the city their was a cry and a hurried fury of action as hidden Isonian fighters sprang from either side. The forces of Tiavain sought to slaughter the desert people before they had a chance to attack the major portion of the city.

In her mind Lyssia watched, smiling to herself, as the determined looks on the faces of those set in ambush turned to shock. Each time they struck out against the supposed army of the red desert their foe simply vanished, disappearing back to that ethereal place where the sorceress's magic came from. Not until the last of the illusions had been banished did they realise their mistake, not till then did they turn and see the real army bearing down upon them, the curved blades of their swords catching what little light shone down from the moons above. Murder was the intent of the desert tribesmen, they would not forgo their chance to offer up the blood of the heathens to their God.

The sorceress opened her eyes, no longer wishing to see what was occuring outside the city of Tiavain. She knew already that the men who had waited in ambush would be destroyed and that another section of their home would soon follow them. Sorentio had made it clear that the defenders in that part of the city would not be able to withstand an attack from her. More lands would come under the control of the fanatics tonight, there was no mortal magic in the world which could stop that. Men and women both would fall under the blades of Ebony's zealots as they moved without sound or battlecry through their target. Never had Lyssia seen anything quite so unnerving as that army, their silence seeming to betray the presence of a confidence that had made many an opposition run from them.

Now the remaining question is, how will these Isonians react?, she asked herself as she returned to pacing the settlement's centre. Will they continue to fight on against such odds as their brethern the Ronin did? Or will they instead seek peace and set their minds to rebuilding? And what of the Foretians, the clan known as Vlos d'Chath? They are an unknown, one that guards its secrets jealously and yet seeks to discover all the hidden things of those of Isonia and Darden. A dangerous game they play, one where their scouts have led them to this war. To seek out hidden knowledge is all well and good but a soul must be careful to conceal themselves if they are not to find the wrath of another coming down upon them. That was the mistake that both the Isonians and Foretians had made, they had sought out the Dardenite realms of the Knights, prying and peering to their heart's content. Unfortunately they had not covered their tracks as well as they should have done and now their people suffered for that mistake.

Many miles away the forces that she commanded in Ebony's name clashed and killed those of Tiavain. Secrecy and hiding in shadows were done with, now it was outright war between them and would be so till one side or the other sued for peace. Perhaps next time, for their was always a next time in the isle, the Isonians and Foretians would be more careful of where they peered. Or would at the very least learn to cover their trail more carefully.

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SO - Into darkness...
Hlasta! Quetis Ilfirimain
Elador's Sváss


Wed Jun 25, 2003 7:54 am
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It was quiet.
Every where she turned there was silence now.
The moon in the sky was bright, illuminating the land she stood on. Her sharp eyes could now take in the entirety of her land at one time. After all it wasn't like there was alot to see anymore. Just the few acres they had left her after their armies came sweeping through like a storm in the night.

She bent to touch the earth, her pale fingers sifting through it listlessly as her thoughts turned inward. Her violet eyes flashed stormily, the only sign of temper she outwardly gave.



Heathens, infidels, thieves, dirty nasty ignorant ....peasants had done this to her land. Ust'dan! She scowled to herself.

She stood straight up with a suddenness that would have shocked anyone watching her. Her fingers clenched around the earth, and then she opened her slim hand and let it trickle slowly through her fingers.


She paused , pushing aside her anger at losing something that was hers and only hers! Her sharp elven ears picked up a sound, maybe a half mile away from her and she turned toward it and then she smiled mirthlessly and faded silently into the background. Allurriae knew who it was, it was one of those damn insignificant fools she called asassins. No more would she allow incompetent fools to work for her.

She paused in the shadows of a fertile tree, thinking to herself wryly that it was probalby the only tree in her whole lands that lived after the slaughter that had occured within her borders. Her fingers reached out touching a leaf softly and she muttered to herself.

She would take care of this minor problem, and then she'd move on to the larger ones she seemed to have. Her land, she could rebuild, she could train more assassins. Maybe this time, she could find someone worthy of learning from her. Maybe the new theives she trained wouldn't get caught every time they ventured into heathens land. She vowed that these thieves would be able to successfully scout. As it was, she relied solely on her sorcerers to fight back in this war.

She waited , she could hear him clumping along through the night already. Her small white teeth worried her lower lip as her thoughts whirled in her mind. Her anger, always a vicious thing, was well controlled. Oh but, he would pay, just as soon as he walked by her, he would pay with his life.

The drow matron reached to her leg, and slipped the silver dagger into her fingers, and then slowly, she smiled.

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Wed Jun 25, 2003 1:21 pm
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Attacks upon the city had raged on for more rises of Intop than Astavia cared to count. Raids and full scale attacks were beginning to be considered a normal part of life for those who dwelt within Tiavain's walls.

They were a nuisance.

They had disrupted Astavia's routine, especially at night and she longed for the days when Tiavain had been simply an unknown mark on a map. A destination of few, for who would wish to cross a cruel desert simply to enter a metropolis so like many others...

But that was it, was it not?... Tiavain was not like most other cities...

A crack of thunder boomed and rolled across the city, carried upon the strong winds which had blown constantly since these attacks had begun.

No.

Astavia had learned that it was not Tiavain's uniqueness which gave so many cause to attack. It was not the monoliths. It was simply the existence of the temples to Isonia which had been erected within the city walls.

Astavia was no holy paladin. She did not go to temple to worship. She knew little of the goddess Isonia and did not particularly care to learn more. Astavia was a woman of magic and science, not faith... She cared little which temples the citizens of Tiavain worshipped at, but apparently this was not an opinion shared by many.

She knew, of course of The Holy Wars, of the gods, Darden and Foret. She cared nothing for them either. She did care that their followers dared to intrude upon her city and disrupt her life.

It was inconvenient.

Areas of the city had been cordoned off. Areas where the walls had been turned to rubble or been breached. The banners of the attackers were proudly pounded into the ground and that area of the city claimed for... well... for whoever it was who happened to be attacking Tiavain... It did not matter.

It was amusing, this jubilancy of the hailing conquerors and now that she could no longer walk the dunes freely, Astavia made it a point of riding through the city before dawn each morning. It had become a common sight to those awake at that time to see her litter borne along the major thoroughfares to allow her to take note of the 'land' within the city which some had claimed as their own.

She wondered if they would actually settle there, when these attacks were finished, build a home, start a business....And, Astavia wondered if they realized that they would be controlled by the laws of the city if they did so and by the laws of the Houses who controlled the area of 'land' they so proudly claimed. The Houses who would assimilate them once their allies had left... She wondered if they really knew how this city could and would become a part of them and they a part of it. There was no choice. It was either that or be destroyed. And she wondered if they realized that next they knew, they would be fighting off the next raiders, by the shoulder of the very ones they now fought against...

Religion did not matter here, for all the outer world thought it did...Here, in Tiavain, it was a matter of the least importance. Here, goodness and evil were of much more import, and it saddened Astavia that more people in Tonan did not realise just how important the balance of good and evil, chaos and order was in the grand scheme of things.

Astavia realised too, for she heard things whilst out on her morning ramblings, that many were surprised that a city of Istari did not wield more power against their attackers. They did not understand. The use of magic was special...it was not to be used lightly...some ranks within the city were actually forbidden by law to practise magic without permission of the Council, for one spell, could alter so much...so much that many did not see...the wisdom of the Istari far surpassed the wisdom of many.

There was much power within the city. More than any would ever realise, but it was not the Istari's purpose to use this power to conquer the world...well not all of them ..there were those who would, if given the opportunity...The more evil of the Istari... So far the Istari managed to keep those evil intents within their walls, where it could hopefully be controlled and balanced by the good and the neutral...

Anything could throw that balance off however..even these wars, for it distracted the Istari and gave those of ambition chance to put into action their plans...

That concerned Astavia, far more than the raids... Would that they would end, so that the machinations of the Houses could be thwarted or aided as the case may be.

There were other things which could change the balance within Tiavain...other beings... powerful beings...

Astavia sensed one such. Her call had been upon the winds, the winds which Astavia knew and communed with everyday, seeing them, following them, shifting their patterns, feeling their kiss.

Her...for it was a sorceress...one of great power...one who should be within Tiavain's walls... a residential area of the city had rocked with the impact of her spell which had travelled from afar, so far that a sorceress of lesser power would not have been able to release such lasting energy...the spell would have fizzled into nothingness by the time it had reached Tiavain.

When this was done, this sorceress must be sought out and brought to Tiavain.

Lightening crackled across the sky as Astavia leaned upon a balustrade, into the storm and sent a whisper upon the wind...

"Lysssssssssssssssssssssiaaaaa"

_________________
[center][glow=white]Alt of Ms Evernight 2003/2004
ISTARI D'TIAVAIN
[/glow]

My stave predicts my path, white on winter white,
cold as bones left in the ashes of abandoned fire rings
[/center]


Last edited by Astavia Dovanucci on Wed Jun 25, 2003 8:23 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Wed Jun 25, 2003 4:54 pm
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Few had seen him since the early days of the war. Even fewer had known what trespassed in the beleagered mansion Risetti.

True it still stood. Yet the signs of destructions could be seen on the outer walls. The signs of fires lit to damage the power of black sorcery were all over evident.

The outer state seemed truly sory. Yet the fundements still stood.

Oh he had kept hidden the first day. After the raiders had come. Burning destroying. Almost getting to the chambers of shadows. Miliardo had closed the doors of Mansion Risetti to all onlookers. Even the eyes from the other mages of the city had been averted. Not that in such times it had been such great feat.

In darkness he had clothed the mansion. Using every trick not to be noticed.

To all eyes indeed mansion Risetti was diserted. Some who did not know the Patriarch of Risetti might even have guessed he had fled in terror. And those who knew him. Well had other things to think about.

In the darkness he had called upon the dark roots of his power. Sealing a compact with the seventh lord of the fourth layer of the hell. To drain from his power. While at the same time restoring the sanctum and powerlines of the room of shadows.

The surprise had been truly complete he thought. As the biggest of houses of Rkor had received a leashing from the dark black sorcery. As night was thrown over these heathen lands. And death was permited to roam and bring destruction.

Yet Miliardo could not claim hapiness. Nor joy. For it had not been enough. As the lands had not been fully brought under the heel of darkness. No satisfaction could be felt. That he had taken on the most mighty of mighty and brought havoc to lands thought holy and untouchable didnt cheer him up either.

For to him. The damage. As much as it had, had been to little. Yet he did not despair. Death came to all in the end. And in death they would meet again. This he knew was the prime rule of the world. And for this one event he could wait still indeed.

That he promised himself. One day. He would meet lord Jacen again. And that day darkness would rise again. To taint all and every one.

_________________
[center]Risetti Lord of Demons and Necromancy
Patriarch of house Risetti of Astari d'Tiavain
[/center]


Wed Jun 25, 2003 5:17 pm
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Stablehand
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Location: Pain
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Silently he stood atop the massive fortress-temple that had been built for Darden. Quietly surveying his surroundings he watched as the breathing of the storm die down. The animals were mobilized, poised and ready to avert any attack thrust into their grasp. But the heathens didn't do what the general expected.

For the temples of Darden for were stronger then that of the combined forces of the heathens but they still managed to direct their powerful sorcery against his fortified lands. Bringing down Master Jacen's buildings by the hundreds. The animals for useless against the attacks, they couldn't be sent away to harass the lands from the sorcerer. They stood obidiently in the new storm of the enemy.

These heathens were too smart, they knew that a front attack wouldn't scratch the Master Jacen's borders. Sorcery could though, and it hurt. Homes were leveled before the fleeting eyes of their owners as they scrambled away from lightning raining from death clouds above.

Valor swept into the war room. Peering deep into the heart of everyone in the room. Where is the scum advisor for my realm? The man stood quivering in the corner but obidiently raised a shaking hand.

I-I am, sir.

He strolled over the man. Shattering any boundary that the man's mind placed against the raging inferno beneath his superior's countenance. How did you let the temples of... He gazed over the scout report in his hand. Milliardo build up to such a gaping amount. He stood rigidly in front of the man but turned his head to peer across the room to everyone. How did ANY of you allow this Milliardo to build up enough temples to rival that of our own. I have a scout reported right here that he had more temples then most of their city COMBINED! He voice boomed throughout the enclosed chamber, echoing could be heard down the hall but the guards ignored it.

The general took a deep breath. I want this Milliardo destroyed, I want our Nubash's face peering down into his trembling eyes as they end his life. And I want you to come with me, he moved over to the failure of a scum commander. You will be cleaning the waste from the depths of the tiolet for the rest of your life. I will not permit a failure to run the ranks of thousands of my precious Shakes.

Valor stormed out of the room, slamming the large wooden door behind him. The war room stood in silence for a few moments. The general's wrath was unmeasurable at this point. It would take days to rebuild the damage done by one's incompetence. The few moments passed as one of the lead advisors took control of the situation and laid the ground work for the destruction of the infidel.

They had infuriated a monster, and the monster wouldn't stop until his prey lay motionless inside his teeth.

_________________
[center][shadow=orange]Sanctum Officium[/shadow]
[shadow=darkred]1am GMT; 27/3/04[/shadow][/center]


Thu Jun 26, 2003 1:03 am
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Pseudo-Voodoo Sidhe
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Location: Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow
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She watched as the priests went about their work, offering up the lands of the Isonians to Darden. It was a process that she had seen much of this age, the offering of far-flung lands that the red desert could not reach and directly claim as its own. Even the creeping sands of Culaearien had a limit to their power, while they might reach out and turn neighbouring lands to red dust they could not do so to places much further away. So though they had taken much from the Forets of Vlos d'Chath and the Istari Isonians the land was too far from their grasp to be kept easily. But still there were uses for it, ways that it could be used to gain the supposed blessings of the God of Sorrows.

The pale-skinned priests knelt over a map of the desert lands, one that had been inked upon the tanned hide of some herd beast long ago. The map was almost bare, only the mountains to the west, the central settlement and the double-line of fortresses to the east, south and north were marked upon it. In the desert the sands shifted as often as the tribes did, there were few things that were settled enough to be measured and marked.

One of the priests dangled a length of cord over the map, the end of it weighed down by a heavy red stone. From within his cowl the man muttered a prayer to Darden, speaking of how the people had fought and died, of how they had pushed back those who had come for them, and of how they had reaped bloody vengence upon those heathens who had attacked the weakest of the Knights. The largest of the realms flying the banner of the Royal Knights had for the most part been able to shrug off the attacks of their enemies but their smaller allies had been battered time and again. It had fallen to those vaster realms to take back what had been wrenched from the grip of their fellows. Often the desert people had struck out, in quiet fury and complete faith. Yet it was not lost on the sorceress that had the Istari persisted in their initial strike against her on the very first night of the war then the red sands would have fallen to nothingness. It seems that luck favoured us more than a little, she said to herslef, trying not to raise her voice loud enough to disturb the priests.

The cord and its stone moved, whether by the wind or the priest she did not know, pointing to a northern section of the desert. She knew that area well enough, a place ravaged by daily sandstorms that were so feirce that none but the bravest ever tried to travel that way. It is done, the priest intoned, Praise be to Darden in His wisdom. The lands that were taken from the heathen have been delivered into His hands, forever from our reach. In return He shall quieten the sand storms of the north so that the tribes may flourish there. Lyssia nodded, knowing that at some point she would have to select men and women from the existing tribes to go forth and populate that area, ones that might suceed enough to be worthy of being considered a new tribe.

Five tribes called the lands of Culaearien home, five peoples who came together to form one whole population. The south lands were held by the Voralphian, the 'Burnt Souls', the ones whose skin was as dark as if they had been roasted alive and yet survived. To the east walked the Alcmenelian, the 'Warders of Dawn', fierce warriors who held the mountains to their backs and looked only out to the heathen lands. The western desert was claimed by the Himmetian, the 'Mountain Shadows' the ones who lived in the darkness cast by the high rocky hills that protected that border. Those who lived in the central settlement and were sworn to watch over it with their lives were of the tribes now as the Nibinbrethian, the 'Guardians of Noon'.

Some would claim that there were only four tribes, that the fifth, the ones called Mithglínian, were no more than a myth to frighten the children. But when the name of the 'Shadow Dancers' was spoken in company it could be noted that even the most brave of the desert folk would still look towards the peaks of the mountains in fear. Perhaps it was not so much that they disliked those of the Mithglínian that made them deny their existance, but rather that if they existed then so did that which they guarded against.

And none wanted that to be real, even if it did stop anyone from marching over the moutainds.

But still she need not think of them now, and matters of a new northern tribe could wait till she spoke to the leaders of the four low-land tribes. Lyssia had other more important matters to attend to, for all its great army still she feared that the lands were not safe from intruders. The sorceress did not care that heathens might seek to take the lands from the people, but rather that their armies would make it to the central settlment, even to the temple itself. She did not wish any to enter that temple, not while Ebony still lay sleeping and still on its altar. No not till the seeress awoke would Lyssia feel happy about letting any others in there.

The Sidhe turned her back on the priests, knowing that they would be there a while as yet, praising and possibly preaching the word of Darden. She didn't need to listen to that right now, not when she could still see the faces of those who had thrown themselves into battle in order to die. Sometimes I fear that You do not care at all for Your people, she muttered leaving the temple and beginning the walk to the outskirts where the army waited encamped.

The wind picked up about her, whispering a single word in a voice she did not recognise, ...Lysssssssssssssssssssssiaaaaa... At the sound of her own name she paused, eyes peering into the shadows to see who had called her. But there were none there, everyone within the red desert were too caught up in their own business to be loitering around disturbing the Sidhe woman.

Lossandrea?, she asked, but the voice of the shadow soul imprisoned in her mind was silent.

Trickster God, what game do you now play? But there was not even the sound of laughter on the breeze to mock her.

Kara?, Lyssia asked without hope, knowing that her once-companion was far from the desert.

She looked towards the path that would take her to the army's position, knowing that that way lay an afternoon of discussion on the hostilities and no doubt Darden. then her gaze turned another way, a way that also lead to the edge of the desert settlement, but one where she would be alone. Without further thought she took the second path, if any were planning to trouble her with whispered words then she would listen to them alone in the middle of the red sands.

_________________
SO - Into darkness...
Hlasta! Quetis Ilfirimain
Elador's Sváss


Thu Jun 26, 2003 6:53 am
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Stablehand
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Joined: Thu Jun 05, 2003 9:28 pm
Posts: 168
Post 
Astavia had bidden her scryers to search for the one called Lyssia.

It gave her something to do during thenext two long cycles of Intop, through which the battles raged on. Battles which she refused to take part in, for the most part. She had no army. She had never needed one. As long as the battles remained distant from her House, she would not raise a hand against those who attacked Tiavain.

Her House provided the healers for those injured in battle. The desert saw sandstorms and walls of wind. That was enough, for now.

The city would survive. It would be rebuilt within days, it always was. Magic did have it's uses.

So, she made this sorceress, Lyssia, her new past time.

It was not enough to know that Lyssia had great power. It was not enough to know her name. To bring her to Tiavain, she must know more. Her life...where and how she lived. Her loves, her hates, her weaknesses, her strengths.

For two rises of Intop, the scryers searched, watched and listened. The historians and scribes of the city were called upon to search the histories of the land for mention of one named Lyssia and to send reports back to her.

On the third rise of Intop, she stood upon the west wall of the city. The breeze was gentle, giving the message she sent upon it, a lilting quality.

"Lyssia...Oh hearer of the whispers...Ebony sleeps..Tiavain knows..."

The words were few, but enough to inspire curiousity.

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[center][glow=white]Alt of Ms Evernight 2003/2004
ISTARI D'TIAVAIN
[/glow]

My stave predicts my path, white on winter white,
cold as bones left in the ashes of abandoned fire rings
[/center]


Fri Jun 27, 2003 5:21 pm
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