When is this getting started?Doc Gnosis said:Apologies, but it's too late for another applicant. Perhaps next time.
The Principalities of Mons Caelos - Status: Future Uncertain
- Thread starter Doc Gnosis
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I'll be getting this started before the week is out; Sunday at the latest.JokerboyJordan said:When is this getting started?Doc Gnosis said:Apologies, but it's too late for another applicant. Perhaps next time.
Thank youDoc Gnosis said:I'll be getting this started before the week is out; Sunday at the latest.JokerboyJordan said:When is this getting started?Doc Gnosis said:Apologies, but it's too late for another applicant. Perhaps next time.
The night was calm in Swampsend. Many of its citizens had retired to their quarters, though many would have preferred that the musty air of the forest not blow into their lands. The day had been long and harsh for many - especially for the numerous slaves who toiled on the wheat fields; the farmers were grateful for the extra hands. However the castle town didn't share that fatigue; fires were lit and smoke billowed from behind the stone walls. Perhaps they're holding a fete. Most thought before closing their eyes.
None outside the walls would have suspected what truly happened within.
The slaves were beaten, worked to the bone, and pushed to desperation. Ancier suffered yet another famine and many refused to be drafted into their army. They left in groups to Mons Caelos hoping for food, shelter, and a better way of living. To their surprise, their new countrymen put them to hard labour immediately. The dream of a better life died as some of the refugees did, and resentment settled in their bellies like their hunger.
Tired of their treatment they rose up and took arms against their masters. Their vast numbers and common ties to Ancier overwhelmed the guards and brought the city to ruin. It took some doing, but the refugees were all in place - in the guards, the castle town, the couriers, every vital location.
Then it happened. Fires spread inside the walls; blood innocent and guilty alike painted the ground; the stench of death and violence cloyed the earthy air; The cacophany of warriors' cries echoed inside;. In the end, the refugees now ruled the remains of Swampsend and the old landlord was quartered and had his head mounted on a pike at the castle's gates. Tharius Fraige - leader of the uprising and new landlord of Swampsend - gave these troops borne from starvation leave to slake the hungers that dwelled in them. He turned his gaze to a wooden desk with only a candle to illuminate the clutter of old envelopes and papers. While most of the refugees sought the nourishment they were denied, Fraige thought ahead; their hold wouldn't last long if they just stood still.
Fraige wasn't literate - he knew that, but it didn't stop him from holding a man who was at knifepoint, and forcing him to write. That man was then stripped of his clothes and thrown from the castle gates; he was a steward to the old lord and had no sympahty from Fraige. Couriers from Fraige left afterward carrying a message to be read throughout all of Mons Caelos.
[HEADING=2]All of Swampsend is under our rule, and we shall not bow down to you. If you raise arms against us, all of Ancier will return your courtesy.
Lord Tharius Fraige[/HEADING]
Lord Tharius Fraige[/HEADING]
*.*.*.*
News of the uprising spread, eventually reaching the eyes of King Darren III in the King's Range. The mountains shook with frenzy in their response, and a call was made out to all the Princes in the land to meet. Rooms were prepared in the palace with every convenience offered. Something had to be done; indecision could not be afforded in such a delicate time.
Or at least that's what Chancellor Dorosh had pressed for; Darren was far too busy with trying to continue the Weldthauptstadt project - the First King's construction project for the entire Range. He focused far more on conscripting slaves and artisans to set them to carve the very mountains into a city than to deal with more worldly affairs. It was only with repeatted demands from the Chancellor did the king push for a moot between Princes.
The king chose the throne room for the moot to remind the Princes of their obligations their predecessors held to long ago; it was in this room where the first Princes were anointed and given their right to rule. It was also the only milestone for Darren's reconstruction; ornate stone carvings adorned the walls and floors, images of albatrosses, warships, and the sea itself meshed with depictions of a endless fields of wheat and pepper. With what Darren thought were reminders of Mons Caelos beginnings - and First King Rurik's - it could convince the Princes to contribute more to the reconstruction.
Dorosh thought otherwise, but it was progress.
"Must I entertain your meeting Chancellor?" Onyx eyes creased in folds of aged skin and brown hair. Darren couldn't care about the discussions; he was aware that he had no real power and couldn't be bothered with playing the political game like his predecessors had. More content was the king in focusing his gaze inward and rebuilding past accolades.
Dorosh in response brought a parchment in the king's face. "This is not the posturings and preenings of landlord politics your Majesty." The words like daggers. "If Ancier has made their move... well you'll learn in this meeting." he cut himself short as his eyes turned to notice a steward in orange who recently entered the room.
The king gestured for the man to approach him, speaking in a whisper. Whatever he said, the tired old face grew sour. He gave one look to Dorosh, but gave no relent. With a sigh the king spoke, 'Have them seated."
One by one the entourage arrived, one staring intently at the King's disinterest. "I trust you all have recieved the message from 'lord' Fraige."
After so much real life piling up, here's the OP to kick things off. I've got some things to explain:
I've redrawn the map to reflect everyone's location as well as other cities. You can also find red borderlines reflecting Principality boundaries, teal borders representing Ancier, and purple for Sul'giat. Dotted lines within Principalities represent provinces in which the Princes officailly rule over.
For anyone playing a Prince - Khedive Rex & Pandalisk - you've been summoned by the king to convene for a course of action. You can move to retaliate, ignore the uprising, or take matters into your own hands; even though you're meeting with other princes, it doesn't stop you from playing your political games among Mons Caelos. Feel free to use the revised map for reference.
As for everyone else, you have no obligation to attend this meeting but you have more freedom to respond in any way you want, from declaring war on Swampsend, your nextdoor neighbor, expand your cities, etc. Look at the power you've gathered and figure for yourself what you want to do with it.
Alright, let's kick off this game, and remember, if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask.
I've redrawn the map to reflect everyone's location as well as other cities. You can also find red borderlines reflecting Principality boundaries, teal borders representing Ancier, and purple for Sul'giat. Dotted lines within Principalities represent provinces in which the Princes officailly rule over.
For anyone playing a Prince - Khedive Rex & Pandalisk - you've been summoned by the king to convene for a course of action. You can move to retaliate, ignore the uprising, or take matters into your own hands; even though you're meeting with other princes, it doesn't stop you from playing your political games among Mons Caelos. Feel free to use the revised map for reference.
As for everyone else, you have no obligation to attend this meeting but you have more freedom to respond in any way you want, from declaring war on Swampsend, your nextdoor neighbor, expand your cities, etc. Look at the power you've gathered and figure for yourself what you want to do with it.
Alright, let's kick off this game, and remember, if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask.
The call of the seabirds fitted perfectly with the crashing tides or the roaring wind. The tempered wood of the ship did not creak or bow down to the water's waves and Cassius was proud of that. He ran his hand on the railing as he walked to the front of the ship where he was greeted with Phyra's dull eyes. It was dark and grey for now but when it incited, they were red and fiery.
He had heard of what had occurred in Swampsend with uprising that had sent a wake-up call to most of Mons Caleos. It would be interesting to see how the Princes would react or what the Castellians would do but for now Cassius wanted to make sure that his clan didn't look weak. Another Griffin was under construction to add to the fleet. The same fleet that patrols Mon Caleos' waters. He had several fast warships roaming the waters because of a possible pirate threat but nothing too worrisome because the waters was his family's domain and no one else.
His ship entered through the Gulf's Teeth and quickly he was on shore where he had business to conduct. Besides the threat of war looming on the horizon, he had his own research to conduct and his workshops were always busy. He was aware of the mighty foundries along the mountains and he knew his disadvantage there. Shipping to his city was expensive so he had to rely on the resources around him or the forests so woodworking was a common profession that he pushed for. In the sawing sounds or the chopping motions he saw the workshops where another ship was underway. Then his barracks where men were more men-at-arms were being trained and housed. His foot soldiers were the regular lot with common arms and armor that were nothing special. He encouraged his men to buy their equipment with the pay he gives them.
"Lord Cassius!" He turned his head to see one of his advisers approach him with a handful of papers at his side. His scribe robes fluttered as the winds blew eastward all of a sudden. "You called for me?"
"Yes, that's right. I need you to right a letter."
"Why, yes m'lord. For whom?"
"All of the landlords."
He had heard of what had occurred in Swampsend with uprising that had sent a wake-up call to most of Mons Caleos. It would be interesting to see how the Princes would react or what the Castellians would do but for now Cassius wanted to make sure that his clan didn't look weak. Another Griffin was under construction to add to the fleet. The same fleet that patrols Mon Caleos' waters. He had several fast warships roaming the waters because of a possible pirate threat but nothing too worrisome because the waters was his family's domain and no one else.
His ship entered through the Gulf's Teeth and quickly he was on shore where he had business to conduct. Besides the threat of war looming on the horizon, he had his own research to conduct and his workshops were always busy. He was aware of the mighty foundries along the mountains and he knew his disadvantage there. Shipping to his city was expensive so he had to rely on the resources around him or the forests so woodworking was a common profession that he pushed for. In the sawing sounds or the chopping motions he saw the workshops where another ship was underway. Then his barracks where men were more men-at-arms were being trained and housed. His foot soldiers were the regular lot with common arms and armor that were nothing special. He encouraged his men to buy their equipment with the pay he gives them.
"Lord Cassius!" He turned his head to see one of his advisers approach him with a handful of papers at his side. His scribe robes fluttered as the winds blew eastward all of a sudden. "You called for me?"
"Yes, that's right. I need you to right a letter."
"Why, yes m'lord. For whom?"
"All of the landlords."
Devan awoke to the early dawn as he did every morning, and breathed in the cool,tangy sea air from his tower overlooking Dalien, his city.
His city, it was still a bit of a surprise, even after all these years, the city was the jewel of the East, the Golden Edge Trading Hub of the Empire, and he was it's caretaker. The thought was still amazing, that he held the lives of this city in his hand, their fears were his own, their hopes and dreams his as well. He stood at his window, looking out over the docks, and seeing a ship arrive bearing the colors of the King,still miles away,but he quickly began getting dressed, it would not do well to have a courier met with a naked Lord.
He dressed in his customary Lord garb, his velvet tunic and trousers, with his silver rings, and his silk cloak, not exactly practical in this proximity to the ocean, but appearances must be kept up. He reached the door before hesitating and going back for his eye patch, a gaudy thing if there ever was one. A pure white velvet, decorated with embroidery and a small sapphire to create the illusion that he still had his left eye.
Arriving at the docks with his bodyguards, one his brother and general of his city's armies, unofficially of course, Tam was the family soldier, and after a short, but distinguished stint in the empire's army, he was offered the position of military advisor of Dalien by Devan. He was given a copy of Swampsends and their self-appointed "Lord" demands, invited the courier into the small palace on the hill and immediately called his advisors to him, waking many of them up and rushing them to the meeting hall. He also sent word to his sister and her husband in the city to join them
"How can we turn this to our advantage, Dalen?" He asked his brother-in-law,"The Swampsends are far out of the way, but we must pass through them to distribute our goods, and I doubt they will entertain royal merchants much now. Not to mention that this will mean war. War does mean profit, but this war will block off land travel, and ships are going to be being commandeered by the crown soon enough."
"My lor-brother,"Dalen had been reminded to call him brother ever since he married the man's sister but was only now just becoming comfortable with it,"We could offer our merchant houses out to the crown, act as if we are supportive of the Swamplands, perhaps offer drugged food to them to make it easier for our armies to overcome them."
"Excellent idea Dalen, but what of the substances needed to mix into the food? Where do we procure them on such short notice?"
The merchant lord changed a faint pink before reverting to normal, "I bypassed your customs officers and they are sitting in a warehouse as we speak, they've only been in there a day or so, fresh from the Golden Edge."
"Dalen, you disappoint me that you would keep this from me, however, since you brought it to my attention, and a way to implement it, I will simply take the spices for the use of Dalien instead of your entire warehouse."
A page sitting silently was waved to Devan, who gave him a letter to take to the merchant's guild, detailing the idea, and requesting any of the spices and drugs to be given freely to the city, and sent a second page with a sealed letter outlining the plan.
He called for a courier, assigned two guards to him and sent a letter to Phyra, outlining the plan yet again for his landlord's benefit.
"Ride hard, and ride fast, we don't want this opportunity to be wasted, child, now go, and may you be followed by the wind."
His city, it was still a bit of a surprise, even after all these years, the city was the jewel of the East, the Golden Edge Trading Hub of the Empire, and he was it's caretaker. The thought was still amazing, that he held the lives of this city in his hand, their fears were his own, their hopes and dreams his as well. He stood at his window, looking out over the docks, and seeing a ship arrive bearing the colors of the King,still miles away,but he quickly began getting dressed, it would not do well to have a courier met with a naked Lord.
He dressed in his customary Lord garb, his velvet tunic and trousers, with his silver rings, and his silk cloak, not exactly practical in this proximity to the ocean, but appearances must be kept up. He reached the door before hesitating and going back for his eye patch, a gaudy thing if there ever was one. A pure white velvet, decorated with embroidery and a small sapphire to create the illusion that he still had his left eye.
Arriving at the docks with his bodyguards, one his brother and general of his city's armies, unofficially of course, Tam was the family soldier, and after a short, but distinguished stint in the empire's army, he was offered the position of military advisor of Dalien by Devan. He was given a copy of Swampsends and their self-appointed "Lord" demands, invited the courier into the small palace on the hill and immediately called his advisors to him, waking many of them up and rushing them to the meeting hall. He also sent word to his sister and her husband in the city to join them
"How can we turn this to our advantage, Dalen?" He asked his brother-in-law,"The Swampsends are far out of the way, but we must pass through them to distribute our goods, and I doubt they will entertain royal merchants much now. Not to mention that this will mean war. War does mean profit, but this war will block off land travel, and ships are going to be being commandeered by the crown soon enough."
"My lor-brother,"Dalen had been reminded to call him brother ever since he married the man's sister but was only now just becoming comfortable with it,"We could offer our merchant houses out to the crown, act as if we are supportive of the Swamplands, perhaps offer drugged food to them to make it easier for our armies to overcome them."
"Excellent idea Dalen, but what of the substances needed to mix into the food? Where do we procure them on such short notice?"
The merchant lord changed a faint pink before reverting to normal, "I bypassed your customs officers and they are sitting in a warehouse as we speak, they've only been in there a day or so, fresh from the Golden Edge."
"Dalen, you disappoint me that you would keep this from me, however, since you brought it to my attention, and a way to implement it, I will simply take the spices for the use of Dalien instead of your entire warehouse."
A page sitting silently was waved to Devan, who gave him a letter to take to the merchant's guild, detailing the idea, and requesting any of the spices and drugs to be given freely to the city, and sent a second page with a sealed letter outlining the plan.
He called for a courier, assigned two guards to him and sent a letter to Phyra, outlining the plan yet again for his landlord's benefit.
"Ride hard, and ride fast, we don't want this opportunity to be wasted, child, now go, and may you be followed by the wind."
It was just before dawn when the report arrived from Meran, a young spy new to Harmellian's service. The wind tugged at the stained paper grasped in his gloved hands, the two stood on a parapet overlooking the lake, the tower in between them and the town below.
" I should have seen this coming, I am getting slow, no man no matter how trodden would pass up the opportunity to revolt if these were to be the benefits." "
"Meran, return to your quarters and inform the guild that we meet in five days to discuss this, no doubt the prince will be asking after us within the week." Harmellian said smoothly, his expression almost blank, the seriousness of the situation creeping into it ever so slightly. Trade over the border had been slowing recently, merchants more reluctant to send weapons or food, the relationship between his people and those of Sul'giat was..... uncomfortable, less and less contact as of recent events. There was no doubt this uprising would lead way to war one way or another, with armies or more likely a war off wills.
Over the following few days Harmellian began issuing orders, setting new policies on the storage of food and the management of their defenses, more soldiers were stationed on the walls and small detachments of guards were sent with any larger shipments or trade caravans. The farmers were told to store their produce within the castle walls instead of in their normal barns, what ever happened the city needed to be on its toes.
The day of the guild meet was upon him and travelling through the town to the guildhall he could see that the townsfolk looked like he felt; on edge. He approached the large circular building, windowless and bleak, he walked up the the main door and slid his key into the keyhole turning it twice with resounding clinks as the mechanism released, the door slid inwards revealing a small well lit room, two armed men sat talking to his left, he shot them a glance silencing them as they stood hastily to bow their heads. Moving through the antechamber he strode into the main room where a stone table surrounded by a few dozen men, some seated some leaning and talking quietly, with one word from a man garbed in black and beige the group went silent and sat, some could not and remained standing behind their fellow guild members.
"I have called you all here to discuss the events of the past week, the fall of Swampsend and most importantly the impending repercussions, an act like this should not and will not be ignored, the prince will with no doubt try and go about this cleanly, they have their reputations to uphold, but the landlord will be more tricky to anticipate, I want men stationed wherever they can be without breaking laws, focus your attentions on Crowsnest, Morkend and Darenthall, this is top priority, you are dismissed." without another word he turned and left the guildhall, returning to his tower, he had preparations of his own to see to.
" I should have seen this coming, I am getting slow, no man no matter how trodden would pass up the opportunity to revolt if these were to be the benefits." "
"Meran, return to your quarters and inform the guild that we meet in five days to discuss this, no doubt the prince will be asking after us within the week." Harmellian said smoothly, his expression almost blank, the seriousness of the situation creeping into it ever so slightly. Trade over the border had been slowing recently, merchants more reluctant to send weapons or food, the relationship between his people and those of Sul'giat was..... uncomfortable, less and less contact as of recent events. There was no doubt this uprising would lead way to war one way or another, with armies or more likely a war off wills.
Over the following few days Harmellian began issuing orders, setting new policies on the storage of food and the management of their defenses, more soldiers were stationed on the walls and small detachments of guards were sent with any larger shipments or trade caravans. The farmers were told to store their produce within the castle walls instead of in their normal barns, what ever happened the city needed to be on its toes.
The day of the guild meet was upon him and travelling through the town to the guildhall he could see that the townsfolk looked like he felt; on edge. He approached the large circular building, windowless and bleak, he walked up the the main door and slid his key into the keyhole turning it twice with resounding clinks as the mechanism released, the door slid inwards revealing a small well lit room, two armed men sat talking to his left, he shot them a glance silencing them as they stood hastily to bow their heads. Moving through the antechamber he strode into the main room where a stone table surrounded by a few dozen men, some seated some leaning and talking quietly, with one word from a man garbed in black and beige the group went silent and sat, some could not and remained standing behind their fellow guild members.
"I have called you all here to discuss the events of the past week, the fall of Swampsend and most importantly the impending repercussions, an act like this should not and will not be ignored, the prince will with no doubt try and go about this cleanly, they have their reputations to uphold, but the landlord will be more tricky to anticipate, I want men stationed wherever they can be without breaking laws, focus your attentions on Crowsnest, Morkend and Darenthall, this is top priority, you are dismissed." without another word he turned and left the guildhall, returning to his tower, he had preparations of his own to see to.
Festooned with embroideries he'd never before been allowed to touch and bearing the honorable seal of a family that was not his own, a humble slave marched into the grandest dining hall in all the nation like a convict burdened in shackles. Algier was uncomfortable. Mostly because Algier was not the Veritable Lord Pacton Thorne who was, honestly, fully expected to strike fear into his opponents or perhaps to undermine them in a brilliant last minute coup or maybe to charm every naysayer, cooing verse so versatile and voluminous that its veracity should never be called to stand for its merits. It didn't matter really. Whatever Pacton Thorne might have done in this situation, Algier was sure he couldn't do it. Every step that carried him farther down the tapestries increased the weight of his anxiety. His laborer's hands would give him away. He wouldn't know what silverware to use or how to hold them to avoid exposure. Didn't they speak a different way in the capital? Wasn't there an accent he was supposed to know?
Questions raced in his mind while blood raced through his neck and shook his core with a ferocity he begged was only psychological and not visible to the king of the entire nation. A man who could end his life now just when it had began. He'd only discovered four days ago that his daughter was alive. He didn't want to die now.
The tapestries ended like Algier's breath, suddenly and inevitably. And in their place stood the king in all of his royal robe accessory staring up into Algier's guilty, guilty eyes.
"... Hmm..." The King said. Algier died two or three times in the pause. Eventually the king nodded and extended his hand. "Why, You must be Lord Thorne in the flesh. Am I right?"
The frantic heat and pictures of death gave way to a coldness like the wind rushing up from depths below, which was appropriate because all Algier could think was that he was falling. He wanted to shout that he wasn't anyone. He wanted to apologize for his presumption and promise to never assume so much liberty in the presence of the king again. He was born and raised a slave. The slaves aren't allowed to touch the pets. And now the soft wrinkled hand of a king was patiently waiting in suspension for his embrace. Algier studied it like mortality.
"... Hmm..." The king said, taking his hand away. Algier returned his gaze to the king and locked it there. He was losing. Losing everything. The king knew. Algier had to speak, had to say something, had to conquer himself. In the absence of Algier's spirit, he might lose his head that night.
"You won't shake your King's hand Pacton?" The king said. Algier could only keep staring. And then a voice much like a stranger's could be heard coming from the spacious meeting hall.
"Its not in my nature sir." The voice was not wavering at all, it was clean and direct and crisp with a note of humble finality. How could it have come from Algier? It was what he might have said to his lord to excuse not sleeping in the slave's bed and instead resting on the oat husks the other slaves discarded; but here it held a force not native to Algier. It belonged.
The King smiled wryly and looked back quickly at a steward. "All great men have their particulars." he said with amused austerity. It was the same voice Lord Thorne, the real Lord Thorne, used to apply to Algier when the Veritable Lord wanted acclaim for having been right all along. The King faced Algier again and squared his shoulders, looking up the tall powerful frame of the man he thought was the highly particular Lord Thorne.
"... Its a pleasure to finally meet you. Would that it was under better circumstances." The King gestured to a chair at a long table. "You are the first Prince to arrive. If you'd like to rest a moment I can have my slaves provide you with whatever you desire. Food? Drink? ...What's the hour again? I don't know your tastes but if it's past noon I have a new shipment of slaves you are welcome to your pick of. This shipment I believe is strictly exotic." The word hung on the air for a moment, its implications were not lost on Algier. He had stopped feeling outrage about that practice when he was a child. Now all he felt was a hollow ringing any time it was mentioned, an echo of a pain he'd learned to live through.
"No thank you sir, u-...a seat would be fine." Little mistakes like that would finish him. you can't tell the King "no thank you sir, unless it please you." Only the slaves say that. Algier locked eyes with the king, looking desperately for any hint that his secret had been revealed. The dignitary merely smiled, hand still extended toward the table. A light bow brought the hand closer and finally Algier stood and stepped toward the far side of the table away from the king. He sat down at the rich mahogany and felt the smoothness of the grain. He'd never touched something so smooth in his life that he didn't have to clean afterwards. The experience was overwhelming.
The King smirked and walked behind the straight backed chair in which Lord Pacton Thorne sat straight backed and intimidating. He leaned down and whispered lightly "I wanted to thank you by the way for handling that affair with Phillip. Although I'm sure you don't know what I'm talking about."
Algier paused for a moment. He felt the air he'd captured push against his chest, held in suspension for too long. Could he have really forgotten to breathe. The moments pause led to a slow exhale of breath followed by a moments return to normal breathing. All Algiers could think to say with his new air and new voice and new power was "... I don't know what you mean sir." It was true.
"Of course you don't." The King said with a smile departing from Algier's chair and returning to his stewart. His back was turned but Algiers could hear a whisper of "You see Lilbernath? Strong, quiet, no-nonsense. I knew he would be that way. The truly great do-ers all cast intimidating figures."
Algier brought his hands together and laid them on the mahogany. He looked toward the end of the table where a slave was polishing the head chair. She was quiet. She was efficient. She was forced to be strong from a life of punishment for being weak. It couldn't be the case that all the great do-ers had the same bearing as all the worthless servants. How could one group be great and one worthless then? And why was he being mistaken for the latter.
Algier breathed once more, just as slowly as the first time. He was swimming with sharks. Every breath should be cherished.
Questions raced in his mind while blood raced through his neck and shook his core with a ferocity he begged was only psychological and not visible to the king of the entire nation. A man who could end his life now just when it had began. He'd only discovered four days ago that his daughter was alive. He didn't want to die now.
The tapestries ended like Algier's breath, suddenly and inevitably. And in their place stood the king in all of his royal robe accessory staring up into Algier's guilty, guilty eyes.
"... Hmm..." The King said. Algier died two or three times in the pause. Eventually the king nodded and extended his hand. "Why, You must be Lord Thorne in the flesh. Am I right?"
The frantic heat and pictures of death gave way to a coldness like the wind rushing up from depths below, which was appropriate because all Algier could think was that he was falling. He wanted to shout that he wasn't anyone. He wanted to apologize for his presumption and promise to never assume so much liberty in the presence of the king again. He was born and raised a slave. The slaves aren't allowed to touch the pets. And now the soft wrinkled hand of a king was patiently waiting in suspension for his embrace. Algier studied it like mortality.
"... Hmm..." The king said, taking his hand away. Algier returned his gaze to the king and locked it there. He was losing. Losing everything. The king knew. Algier had to speak, had to say something, had to conquer himself. In the absence of Algier's spirit, he might lose his head that night.
"You won't shake your King's hand Pacton?" The king said. Algier could only keep staring. And then a voice much like a stranger's could be heard coming from the spacious meeting hall.
"Its not in my nature sir." The voice was not wavering at all, it was clean and direct and crisp with a note of humble finality. How could it have come from Algier? It was what he might have said to his lord to excuse not sleeping in the slave's bed and instead resting on the oat husks the other slaves discarded; but here it held a force not native to Algier. It belonged.
The King smiled wryly and looked back quickly at a steward. "All great men have their particulars." he said with amused austerity. It was the same voice Lord Thorne, the real Lord Thorne, used to apply to Algier when the Veritable Lord wanted acclaim for having been right all along. The King faced Algier again and squared his shoulders, looking up the tall powerful frame of the man he thought was the highly particular Lord Thorne.
"... Its a pleasure to finally meet you. Would that it was under better circumstances." The King gestured to a chair at a long table. "You are the first Prince to arrive. If you'd like to rest a moment I can have my slaves provide you with whatever you desire. Food? Drink? ...What's the hour again? I don't know your tastes but if it's past noon I have a new shipment of slaves you are welcome to your pick of. This shipment I believe is strictly exotic." The word hung on the air for a moment, its implications were not lost on Algier. He had stopped feeling outrage about that practice when he was a child. Now all he felt was a hollow ringing any time it was mentioned, an echo of a pain he'd learned to live through.
"No thank you sir, u-...a seat would be fine." Little mistakes like that would finish him. you can't tell the King "no thank you sir, unless it please you." Only the slaves say that. Algier locked eyes with the king, looking desperately for any hint that his secret had been revealed. The dignitary merely smiled, hand still extended toward the table. A light bow brought the hand closer and finally Algier stood and stepped toward the far side of the table away from the king. He sat down at the rich mahogany and felt the smoothness of the grain. He'd never touched something so smooth in his life that he didn't have to clean afterwards. The experience was overwhelming.
The King smirked and walked behind the straight backed chair in which Lord Pacton Thorne sat straight backed and intimidating. He leaned down and whispered lightly "I wanted to thank you by the way for handling that affair with Phillip. Although I'm sure you don't know what I'm talking about."
Algier paused for a moment. He felt the air he'd captured push against his chest, held in suspension for too long. Could he have really forgotten to breathe. The moments pause led to a slow exhale of breath followed by a moments return to normal breathing. All Algiers could think to say with his new air and new voice and new power was "... I don't know what you mean sir." It was true.
"Of course you don't." The King said with a smile departing from Algier's chair and returning to his stewart. His back was turned but Algiers could hear a whisper of "You see Lilbernath? Strong, quiet, no-nonsense. I knew he would be that way. The truly great do-ers all cast intimidating figures."
Algier brought his hands together and laid them on the mahogany. He looked toward the end of the table where a slave was polishing the head chair. She was quiet. She was efficient. She was forced to be strong from a life of punishment for being weak. It couldn't be the case that all the great do-ers had the same bearing as all the worthless servants. How could one group be great and one worthless then? And why was he being mistaken for the latter.
Algier breathed once more, just as slowly as the first time. He was swimming with sharks. Every breath should be cherished.
Chris watched as his soldiers trained at the barracks. "That's it troops, keep up the good work. Before you know it, you will all be master-at-arms." After that, he headed over to training grounds of his elite troops. No one but the trainers, himself, and the elite troops had access inside these training grounds. He walked over to the sergeant,
"How are my boys doing Raymend?" He asked
"Sir," Raymend said while saluting, " as usual, they are doing excellent. We almost can't train them anymore, they know almost everything. We will have to attack someone for them to get more experience."
Chris chuckled, "Have them fight each other with training swords, and then let them evaluate each other's performance. That will have to do until we actively go to war with someone."
"Sir, yes sir!" Raymend replied. Raymend then walked over to the soldiers, "Alright boys, circle up! Trainers, bring out some practice swords. Today we will have you fight and evaluate each other."
And with that, Chris walked off the grounds, and headed to his keep. When he got there, a messenger was waiting for him. "A message for me?" Chris asked.
"Yes, sir. From Swampsend." The messenger replied. Chris took the message and read it. After reading it, he pocketed the letter, and started marching straight towards his personal assistance's office. He burst through the door and looked straight at his assistant.
"Go tell my advisers to be in my conference hall now." He urged. "Y-yes sir." The assistant stuttered, still a little scared at Chris for bursting through the door. Chris went to his conference hall, which was a small room with a simple wooden table in the middle and four chairs, one on each side, and took his seat. In about fifteen minutes, his advisers were there as well; his military, economic, and political advisers. Camden, his military adviser spoke up first, "Why have you called us here, Chris?"
"I just got word that the slaves at Swampsend have revolted and won." He replied while pulling out the note and passing it around.
"What does this mean for us?" Braden, the political adviser asked.
"I don't know, but with Swampsend being our next door neighbor, it could mean they are going to attack. Chris then looked towards Kyle, his economic adviser and asked, "Do we have enough money in the side treasury to upgrade Markend's walls?"
"uh, no sir. But we are close." Kyle replied. "Damn it. What if we took the gold from the side treasury and took some of the gold from the main treasury. Would that be enough?" Chris asked.
"Yes, sir. However, it will obviously take time, and we don't know if Swampsend is getting ready to mobilize or not." Kyle stated. "I know, but right now I want those walls upgraded. I will not let one of my cities fall when we could have done something about it. Go, hire the workers, and buy the materials needed. Get them working on those walls ASAP."
"Yes, sir!" Kyle replied, and he got up and marched out the door. Camden, I want you to reinforce the garrisons of Markend and Sarbon with a quarter of Darenthall's troops. And tell the workshops to build catapults and send them to both cities. I want any attackers to have to fight for their victory."
"Yes, sir!" Camden replied, and he also set off to follow his orders. Chris turned to his final adviser, Braden. "Send a couple of spies into Swampsend, I want to know what their leadership is up to. Give them a month to report back in." Chris ordered. "Right away, m'lord." Braden replied, and Chris' final adviser walked out the room. It seems war will be upon Mons Caelos soon. I just hope my prediction is wrong. Chris thought to himself.
"How are my boys doing Raymend?" He asked
"Sir," Raymend said while saluting, " as usual, they are doing excellent. We almost can't train them anymore, they know almost everything. We will have to attack someone for them to get more experience."
Chris chuckled, "Have them fight each other with training swords, and then let them evaluate each other's performance. That will have to do until we actively go to war with someone."
"Sir, yes sir!" Raymend replied. Raymend then walked over to the soldiers, "Alright boys, circle up! Trainers, bring out some practice swords. Today we will have you fight and evaluate each other."
And with that, Chris walked off the grounds, and headed to his keep. When he got there, a messenger was waiting for him. "A message for me?" Chris asked.
"Yes, sir. From Swampsend." The messenger replied. Chris took the message and read it. After reading it, he pocketed the letter, and started marching straight towards his personal assistance's office. He burst through the door and looked straight at his assistant.
"Go tell my advisers to be in my conference hall now." He urged. "Y-yes sir." The assistant stuttered, still a little scared at Chris for bursting through the door. Chris went to his conference hall, which was a small room with a simple wooden table in the middle and four chairs, one on each side, and took his seat. In about fifteen minutes, his advisers were there as well; his military, economic, and political advisers. Camden, his military adviser spoke up first, "Why have you called us here, Chris?"
"I just got word that the slaves at Swampsend have revolted and won." He replied while pulling out the note and passing it around.
"What does this mean for us?" Braden, the political adviser asked.
"I don't know, but with Swampsend being our next door neighbor, it could mean they are going to attack. Chris then looked towards Kyle, his economic adviser and asked, "Do we have enough money in the side treasury to upgrade Markend's walls?"
"uh, no sir. But we are close." Kyle replied. "Damn it. What if we took the gold from the side treasury and took some of the gold from the main treasury. Would that be enough?" Chris asked.
"Yes, sir. However, it will obviously take time, and we don't know if Swampsend is getting ready to mobilize or not." Kyle stated. "I know, but right now I want those walls upgraded. I will not let one of my cities fall when we could have done something about it. Go, hire the workers, and buy the materials needed. Get them working on those walls ASAP."
"Yes, sir!" Kyle replied, and he got up and marched out the door. Camden, I want you to reinforce the garrisons of Markend and Sarbon with a quarter of Darenthall's troops. And tell the workshops to build catapults and send them to both cities. I want any attackers to have to fight for their victory."
"Yes, sir!" Camden replied, and he also set off to follow his orders. Chris turned to his final adviser, Braden. "Send a couple of spies into Swampsend, I want to know what their leadership is up to. Give them a month to report back in." Chris ordered. "Right away, m'lord." Braden replied, and Chris' final adviser walked out the room. It seems war will be upon Mons Caelos soon. I just hope my prediction is wrong. Chris thought to himself.
Wilfred sat on his throne, admiring the exotic dancers who had been brought before him, they were dancing the old story of "The Fire From The Sky". His elbow rested on his armrest, his fist under his chin, his eyes were affixed to their every move.
A figure entered the room, walking briskly and seeming out of breath.
"M'lord! Me'lord. The slaves in Swampsend have revolted against their masters, they now have control of the entire town!"
Wilfred rose from his seat and clapped his hands twice in quick succession.
"That is enough ladies, we will absolve the debts of your business on this one occasion. But do not abuse my generosity, if I so much as notice one single coin missing from you, you can be sure that justice will be swift to all..."
He beckoned to the boy and took a goblet of wine from the table in front of him. He took a whiff of the liquid and proceeded to drink it's entirety.
"As you were saying Roderick?" he said as he refilled the goblet.
Roderick approached and showed Wilfred the letter. Wilfred took it and read it almost immediately.
"My lord, the folks of Swampsend now are a possible threat against the city, if they so choose they could launch an attack for our use of slave labour"
Wilfred pondered for a moment, imagining every outcome from such a small rebel army.
"They are of no immediate concern. They could not possible even attempt to siege the city, their numbers are too insignificant, and ours too great. They could not even make it within a mile without our archers leaving each one as a pin cushion"
He took another sip from his wine, his eyes cold and calculating. As if they were seeing right through the world.
"Nevertheless... Swampsend is a strong strategic position against Ancier, if we dare antagonise them..."
He replaced his goblet on the table and whistled to himself the tune the women had danced to.
"Bring me General Barzillay, I need to speak with him"
The boy bowed low and hurried out of the room.
Wilfred sat once again in his throne. It was a false luxury. This "throne" meant nothing. He yearned for more, more than this city, more than this kingdom.
Soon the time would come for him to show the world his hand, and when he did, nothing would ever be the same.
He made haste to his war room, the letter firmly in his hand, to ready himself for the coming storm.
A figure entered the room, walking briskly and seeming out of breath.
"M'lord! Me'lord. The slaves in Swampsend have revolted against their masters, they now have control of the entire town!"
Wilfred rose from his seat and clapped his hands twice in quick succession.
"That is enough ladies, we will absolve the debts of your business on this one occasion. But do not abuse my generosity, if I so much as notice one single coin missing from you, you can be sure that justice will be swift to all..."
He beckoned to the boy and took a goblet of wine from the table in front of him. He took a whiff of the liquid and proceeded to drink it's entirety.
"As you were saying Roderick?" he said as he refilled the goblet.
Roderick approached and showed Wilfred the letter. Wilfred took it and read it almost immediately.
"My lord, the folks of Swampsend now are a possible threat against the city, if they so choose they could launch an attack for our use of slave labour"
Wilfred pondered for a moment, imagining every outcome from such a small rebel army.
"They are of no immediate concern. They could not possible even attempt to siege the city, their numbers are too insignificant, and ours too great. They could not even make it within a mile without our archers leaving each one as a pin cushion"
He took another sip from his wine, his eyes cold and calculating. As if they were seeing right through the world.
"Nevertheless... Swampsend is a strong strategic position against Ancier, if we dare antagonise them..."
He replaced his goblet on the table and whistled to himself the tune the women had danced to.
"Bring me General Barzillay, I need to speak with him"
The boy bowed low and hurried out of the room.
Wilfred sat once again in his throne. It was a false luxury. This "throne" meant nothing. He yearned for more, more than this city, more than this kingdom.
Soon the time would come for him to show the world his hand, and when he did, nothing would ever be the same.
He made haste to his war room, the letter firmly in his hand, to ready himself for the coming storm.
"Swampsend has fallen."
The words were quiet, but sat in the silence, as Shannow sat before his small council. He had elected them since the Princes had grown weak, for the more power he had the more he needed agents to enact his will.
"This may not be such a bad thing." spoke Evans, his marshal, "It will focus the attention of the Princes, and distract other Lords. The moment is ripe for action, I believe."
"More than you would think," replied Arnup, the heavy set merchant who now focused on maximizing the financial strength of Southern Notch, "Swampsend will be fighting for her newly found freedom soon, and she'll need all the supplies she can get. We can make a tidy sum selling on food and arms. Second rate gear, of course, for we want our... allies to get the upper hand in the end, but a long fight will not be to our disadvantage."
Shannow nodded. "See to it; prepare an envoy, perhaps even upgrade him to Ambassador. Send Kurtz, and a detachment from the new cavalry battalion."
He was silent, then went on, "See about other Ambassadors too; we could use representatives in other courts. We'll deploy by the navy as far as possible, and by using cavalry escorts they can travel as fast as possible."
Within the day, Members of the Dunain left the notch, heading for the various capitals and centers. Captain Alexander Kurtz rode with a message for the Free City of Swampsend, acknowledging their identity as a city-state and offering a trade agreement, and with the intention of staying on as an Ambassador.
Another Captain headed for the King's Range, though in title he was an Official Petition to the Royal Court, and, across Mon Caelos, various captain's arrived, accompanied by small but fine cavalry squads.
[Please, people, feel free to receive or turn away these men form the South. They are my eyes and ears, and my mouths to speak to you, so this may be important. Also, if you don't acknowledge them, it will simply be that they never gain an audience...]
The words were quiet, but sat in the silence, as Shannow sat before his small council. He had elected them since the Princes had grown weak, for the more power he had the more he needed agents to enact his will.
"This may not be such a bad thing." spoke Evans, his marshal, "It will focus the attention of the Princes, and distract other Lords. The moment is ripe for action, I believe."
"More than you would think," replied Arnup, the heavy set merchant who now focused on maximizing the financial strength of Southern Notch, "Swampsend will be fighting for her newly found freedom soon, and she'll need all the supplies she can get. We can make a tidy sum selling on food and arms. Second rate gear, of course, for we want our... allies to get the upper hand in the end, but a long fight will not be to our disadvantage."
Shannow nodded. "See to it; prepare an envoy, perhaps even upgrade him to Ambassador. Send Kurtz, and a detachment from the new cavalry battalion."
He was silent, then went on, "See about other Ambassadors too; we could use representatives in other courts. We'll deploy by the navy as far as possible, and by using cavalry escorts they can travel as fast as possible."
Within the day, Members of the Dunain left the notch, heading for the various capitals and centers. Captain Alexander Kurtz rode with a message for the Free City of Swampsend, acknowledging their identity as a city-state and offering a trade agreement, and with the intention of staying on as an Ambassador.
Another Captain headed for the King's Range, though in title he was an Official Petition to the Royal Court, and, across Mon Caelos, various captain's arrived, accompanied by small but fine cavalry squads.
[Please, people, feel free to receive or turn away these men form the South. They are my eyes and ears, and my mouths to speak to you, so this may be important. Also, if you don't acknowledge them, it will simply be that they never gain an audience...]
Messengers were sent out post-haste as soon as Cassius received word that a Captain from Lord Shannow had arrived.
It pleased him that Shannow would send a direct line of communication thus cutting out the need for messengers and not only that but also a better secrecy between the planning Landlord. Cassius was at the port overlooking the seas and the readiness of his sailors as they ready themselves. He did not seek conflict always but praised it when necessary and the coming days were to be filled with necessary conflict. Emotions have been to bottled up within Mons Caelos and now he awaits for the cork to explode. He ordered the constant vigilance of his navy but most importantly, Cassius ordered one of his quick warships to the shores of Swampsend.
He walked to the deck of the ship that was to set sail there and greeted them off but Cassius personally took the Captain of the warship, Mendelevium, and looked him straight in his brown eyes.
"Captain, any sort of trouble and you make yourselves scarce. You are strictly to report on what happens, who enters and leaves the province. If you are engaged and there is no option for escape then pursue retaliation with extreme prejudice. Do you understand?" Cassius whispered.
"Yes, m'lord." The hardened man said. "The crew knows Swampsend's shore better than anyone else. What if we see any conflict, m'lord?"
"Do not take part unless you have to and don't make an arse of yourself and get discovered."
"Yes, m'lord."
"Godspeed, Captain Vernilos." Cassius said before he walked off the plank and onto the docks. Next was to see the Captain sent by Shannow. His advisers had told him that they still lay outside the city. Cassius told his men to let the Captain and his entourage in the city.
"Welcome to Phyra. What is the purpose of this visit?" Cassius ask plainly.
This message is not a rally to arms but a call of duty to your senses. It is no doubt that, because of Swampsend, that the wheels of our war machines must turn. The duplicity of the Princes and the Castellians must be watched. Old quarrels are to be accounted for and the stakes must be put up. I do not expect you to keep this message secret for it is something we all know. A fire comes.
It pleased him that Shannow would send a direct line of communication thus cutting out the need for messengers and not only that but also a better secrecy between the planning Landlord. Cassius was at the port overlooking the seas and the readiness of his sailors as they ready themselves. He did not seek conflict always but praised it when necessary and the coming days were to be filled with necessary conflict. Emotions have been to bottled up within Mons Caelos and now he awaits for the cork to explode. He ordered the constant vigilance of his navy but most importantly, Cassius ordered one of his quick warships to the shores of Swampsend.
He walked to the deck of the ship that was to set sail there and greeted them off but Cassius personally took the Captain of the warship, Mendelevium, and looked him straight in his brown eyes.
"Captain, any sort of trouble and you make yourselves scarce. You are strictly to report on what happens, who enters and leaves the province. If you are engaged and there is no option for escape then pursue retaliation with extreme prejudice. Do you understand?" Cassius whispered.
"Yes, m'lord." The hardened man said. "The crew knows Swampsend's shore better than anyone else. What if we see any conflict, m'lord?"
"Do not take part unless you have to and don't make an arse of yourself and get discovered."
"Yes, m'lord."
"Godspeed, Captain Vernilos." Cassius said before he walked off the plank and onto the docks. Next was to see the Captain sent by Shannow. His advisers had told him that they still lay outside the city. Cassius told his men to let the Captain and his entourage in the city.
"Welcome to Phyra. What is the purpose of this visit?" Cassius ask plainly.
The slaves of Swampsend were in a clamour about the arrival of a food caravan; one by one they took the offering with open arms, and hooting happily with food in their bellies. The joy suddenly ended, when Tharius Fraige approached; his face stoic and uncaring at the oasis in front of him. "What's all this then?" The caravanner's relief was dulled by the 'lord's' impassive voice. The cries of food from his compatriots didn't even faze him.
Eventually the head caravanner spoke up, "We're delivering food and provisions from Dalien. Devan Chalette sends Swampsend his regards." He had hope that the gesture may lower the lord's distrust but he saw no shift in demeanour.
"We didn't ask fer this. Leave." That was the only thing he said before turning his gaze to the people. "Don't take anythin' from the cart!" The slaves were outraged; some still took the provisions and a bold few threw two fingers his way before taking the payload. His hand grasped a knife ready to slaughter the caravanners and make a statement from some rebellious individuals - unlike most of the refugees, he knew how to use weapons, and he could use it well - but he spotted some unknowns from the corner of his eye. With a nod to some slave, he ordered them to intercept them and bring them to him.
The fight was quick and ended with the slave forces binding the unknown people and dragging them. Up close, they looked like soldiers and very well armed at that. Fraige had no intention of keeping them alive, he readied his knife and-
"Wait! I know him!"
The iron edge stopped at half an inch from the alien's neck, and Fraige's silver eyes turned to the one who said that: the head caravanner.
He didn't know why he said that, but the caravanner didn't want to see them die; they didn't look like bandits, and certainly not warriors from Ancier. But the declaration now directed Fraige's attention - and the knife - to him.
The caravanner continued. "They were part of my escort guard... Pirates attacked us, and... I thought there were casualties." He raised an arm to wave the guards over to him, but a cold hand clenched his wrist, and a white sliver was right in front of his face.
There was a long pause, as Fraige gazed into him, still keeping the knife close to his forehead. Then, the 'lord' spoke.
"Yer guard's now mine. Leave, or I'll cut that silv'r tongue out."
*.*.*
The extra funds went a long way in building Morkend's walls; they had managed to get all the stone they needed and were close to finished with the new walls. There were still some weak areas to patch up, and a handful of the workers were sure they could salvage the old wood; they weren't sure what to do with it but they figured that it would be a waste to discard them so quickly.
Sadly the lord Gannon's good fortune did not reach the caravan he sent.
The group was intercepted by a roving band; the tattered clothes and caked filth named them as slaves from Swampsend. They saw the two large siege weapons, and fear and desperation kicked in for them; with swords and bludgeons in hand, they struck at the escorts with the intent to kill. The attack was disorgnized and relied solely on numbers to scare them off; against the guards that were with the escort the advantage of numbers vanished with their lives. Three quarters of the Swampsend forces were slaughtered, and the remaining numbers would soon be put to rout. Yet fate had other plans.
One of the escort guards spotted an unknown force from the horizon; soldiers, well armed compared to the slaves in front of them, and the thought of Ancier's standard creeped into mind. The remaining guards split their numbers; one to kill the surviving slaves and and protect noncombatants, while the other turned their swords to the alien squad.
Immediately the newcomers fled, fighting only to hold the guards back, while the others retreated.
The same can't be said for the other contingent of guards. One desperate slave armed with a torch set himself on fire to burn as many as he can before dying, and in his attempt the embers reached a catapult; in seconds, the fires consumed it leaving charred wood and metal remains.
There were still a handful of slaves focusing their efforts on the other siege weapon; if they could destroy both, then their deaths would not have been in vain.
*.*.*
Results were mixed for Harmellian's spies. A contingent made it to Crowsnest with little incident save for getting in a tussle with some armored thugs. They seemed to be carrying arms and armor, but a low comment from the caravanners led to a brawl on the streets. The guards stepped in and promptly held the caravanners under house arrest, despite the leader's cries of 'aiding the war effort against Swampsend.' Harmellian's troops on the other hand got out unscathed save for a distrustful glower from one city guard.
The infiltration on Gannon's province was more mixed; both groups ran into a skirmish between some of the landlord's forces and some unarmed ruffians. They wanted to avoid combat if they could - especially against men as well-trained as Gannon's - but one soldier spotted them and gave chase. Their cover was blown, and one contingent immediately ran back to Harmellian Castle.
The other however evaded Gannon's forces and after a day's travel made it to Darenthall, but not before loosing some arrows against some slaves.
*.*.*
Progress in Phyra was slow. Work on the second Griffin was grinding to a snail's pace from the lack of wood from Benton; their progress led to nearly completing the ship's infrastructure. General research wasn't faring better; there was a particular fish that carried a painful poison in bone-like spines, but there had been no success in harvesting it. Touching the spines was like sticking your fingers in fire, but removing them had no trace of the poison.
Ships carrying Pravo's flag were prevalent in the Golden Edge, in particular focusing heavily on Ostav's coastline. Brennan Ridl, lord of Ostav requested the lord of Pravo - his brother - to withdraw their ships, but it fell on deaf ears. The Prince was away, so turning to him wouldn't help matters. His choice was clear, even though he didn't like it; He called for a scribe to request help from Phyra.
In minutes the courier had left, and now the lord hoped this squabble wouldn't spiral out of control...
*.*.*
Chancellor Dorosh eyed 'The Veritable Lord Pacton Thorne' with much scrutiny. Certainly Darren had managed to get him to speak, which was easier said than done with his own efforts. Perhaps the sudden change in events had caused him to act. Maybe he sought something from the Princes and the King... Regardless of Thorne's intentions, his arrival was a surprise, and in the Chancellor's mind he must be planning something. His tangent was cut off when the steward walked in announcing the arrival of the other princes.
A middle-aged woman draped in teal green entered the hall, the twelve pointed star on her rosewood circlet and necklace marked her for a devout of the Old Religion. And certainly, Prince Kolour Theurge would name herself as such, and certainly would she epouse the worship of spirits beyond her Principality. Her face carried little emotion save for detachment. It made her more neutral and open-minded, but many of the nobility - and her family - would remember her calls for war and subjugation of her neighbour lands. Kolour was inconsistent and few really understood if she was sincere, especially in her interest in Swampsend's uprising and presence to the meeting.
The next Prince arrived, clad in iron and donning a blood red cloak; still keeping his sword in hand. It befit a man as militant, and extremist as Prince Reordan Yarrow of Bolwark. He removed the helmet, revealing a dour frown upon his clean shaven face. In all truth, the man had no intent to join this meet; being so close to the crossroads of Ancier and Sul'giat, there was no room for petty politics and said as much to the courier. Besides, it was clear to him why the King had summoned the Princes; certainly not needing a prompt from the new lord baptised in blood. He had already called for his provinces to send troops for the following campaign against Ancier. Yet through the Chancellor's cajoling the military Prince relented and made for the King's Range.
Adorned in fine leathers and sporting azure blue and purple, the youthful figure exuded wealth, respect, and a smug serious air. As the ruler of the Northern Notch, his Principality was a center for both the pirate menace and great wealth. Most saw Kadrmas as a flaky opportunist, but none had as much ire as Yarrow, as he was the only other one who has a navy patrolling the Edge - notwithstanding the landlords' separate efforts - and was piddling the resources away on a fool's journey beyond the Edge. The militant Prince did not appreciate an armed force separate from his control. It also didn't help that Kadrmas tried leaching ships and crews from him for his on-and-off expeditions, by bribe, persuasion, or outright theft.
Yet, there were still two more Princes absent in Dorosh's memory - unless a civil war broke out in either of their Principalities. But that will be for another time... Most had arrived and they should get to the matter at hand. Dorosh approached King Darren.
"Your majesty, it is time to begin the moot." He whispered in the King's ear. Darren would have wanted more time to speak with Thorne in the hopes to having more slaves for the Range, but suppose he had to get to business.
"I'm sure everyone here has recieved the letter from Swampsend." He announced to the gathering with half of a vigor. "Your Majesty seeks your opinion and a course of action for this slave uprising."
Reordan was the first to speak, annoyance and umbridge furrowed his brows and face into a scowl. "Our choice is obvious, and we certainly need no council to decide! We strike back at Swampsend, and later Ancier!" The words were like the growlings of a bear at a lone hunter. But none of the others were that impressed.
"You presume too much Yarrow." Kolour's solemn voice enunciated to Reordan before focusing her icy green eyes on Darren. "And why, Your Majesty, should this be brought to our attention? If slaves truly overtook Swampsend, it will not be long before they disperse. Besides, the province seems more trouble than its worth."
"Not hungry for more war?" Morgan couldn't help but make that comment - regardless of the glare she garnered; the woman was far too contrary for his - let alone any man's - taste, even for an old fogey.
"And you are Kadrmas? If so, I am quite sure Reordan would enjoy your contribution." Now the serpent moved to Morgan's belly, coiling and all but spitting venom at Kolour's words. And Prince Yarrow did nothing to dampen the matter.
"There's still the matter with some ships you procured from me." "I had already purchased them. Why not put the past behind?" "An entire fleet was lost to the Golden Edge!" "A simple mistake Your Higness. You have my word." "Yeah. Believing you could avoid sailing into the Gulf's Teeth." "How dare you! I-"
"PRINCES!" Dorosh could not stomach the bickering, and therefore spoke for the king; whether Darren minded or not was another matter. "His majesty's word still stands." He wanted to say more, but a low glare from the king silenced his tongue.
"Chancellor, your opinion is not needed here. Either hold your tongue, or leave." With a side glance, the Chancellor relented.
"We still need a decision, your Highnesses."
Eventually the head caravanner spoke up, "We're delivering food and provisions from Dalien. Devan Chalette sends Swampsend his regards." He had hope that the gesture may lower the lord's distrust but he saw no shift in demeanour.
"We didn't ask fer this. Leave." That was the only thing he said before turning his gaze to the people. "Don't take anythin' from the cart!" The slaves were outraged; some still took the provisions and a bold few threw two fingers his way before taking the payload. His hand grasped a knife ready to slaughter the caravanners and make a statement from some rebellious individuals - unlike most of the refugees, he knew how to use weapons, and he could use it well - but he spotted some unknowns from the corner of his eye. With a nod to some slave, he ordered them to intercept them and bring them to him.
The fight was quick and ended with the slave forces binding the unknown people and dragging them. Up close, they looked like soldiers and very well armed at that. Fraige had no intention of keeping them alive, he readied his knife and-
"Wait! I know him!"
The iron edge stopped at half an inch from the alien's neck, and Fraige's silver eyes turned to the one who said that: the head caravanner.
He didn't know why he said that, but the caravanner didn't want to see them die; they didn't look like bandits, and certainly not warriors from Ancier. But the declaration now directed Fraige's attention - and the knife - to him.
The caravanner continued. "They were part of my escort guard... Pirates attacked us, and... I thought there were casualties." He raised an arm to wave the guards over to him, but a cold hand clenched his wrist, and a white sliver was right in front of his face.
There was a long pause, as Fraige gazed into him, still keeping the knife close to his forehead. Then, the 'lord' spoke.
"Yer guard's now mine. Leave, or I'll cut that silv'r tongue out."
*.*.*
The extra funds went a long way in building Morkend's walls; they had managed to get all the stone they needed and were close to finished with the new walls. There were still some weak areas to patch up, and a handful of the workers were sure they could salvage the old wood; they weren't sure what to do with it but they figured that it would be a waste to discard them so quickly.
Sadly the lord Gannon's good fortune did not reach the caravan he sent.
The group was intercepted by a roving band; the tattered clothes and caked filth named them as slaves from Swampsend. They saw the two large siege weapons, and fear and desperation kicked in for them; with swords and bludgeons in hand, they struck at the escorts with the intent to kill. The attack was disorgnized and relied solely on numbers to scare them off; against the guards that were with the escort the advantage of numbers vanished with their lives. Three quarters of the Swampsend forces were slaughtered, and the remaining numbers would soon be put to rout. Yet fate had other plans.
One of the escort guards spotted an unknown force from the horizon; soldiers, well armed compared to the slaves in front of them, and the thought of Ancier's standard creeped into mind. The remaining guards split their numbers; one to kill the surviving slaves and and protect noncombatants, while the other turned their swords to the alien squad.
Immediately the newcomers fled, fighting only to hold the guards back, while the others retreated.
The same can't be said for the other contingent of guards. One desperate slave armed with a torch set himself on fire to burn as many as he can before dying, and in his attempt the embers reached a catapult; in seconds, the fires consumed it leaving charred wood and metal remains.
There were still a handful of slaves focusing their efforts on the other siege weapon; if they could destroy both, then their deaths would not have been in vain.
*.*.*
Results were mixed for Harmellian's spies. A contingent made it to Crowsnest with little incident save for getting in a tussle with some armored thugs. They seemed to be carrying arms and armor, but a low comment from the caravanners led to a brawl on the streets. The guards stepped in and promptly held the caravanners under house arrest, despite the leader's cries of 'aiding the war effort against Swampsend.' Harmellian's troops on the other hand got out unscathed save for a distrustful glower from one city guard.
The infiltration on Gannon's province was more mixed; both groups ran into a skirmish between some of the landlord's forces and some unarmed ruffians. They wanted to avoid combat if they could - especially against men as well-trained as Gannon's - but one soldier spotted them and gave chase. Their cover was blown, and one contingent immediately ran back to Harmellian Castle.
The other however evaded Gannon's forces and after a day's travel made it to Darenthall, but not before loosing some arrows against some slaves.
*.*.*
Progress in Phyra was slow. Work on the second Griffin was grinding to a snail's pace from the lack of wood from Benton; their progress led to nearly completing the ship's infrastructure. General research wasn't faring better; there was a particular fish that carried a painful poison in bone-like spines, but there had been no success in harvesting it. Touching the spines was like sticking your fingers in fire, but removing them had no trace of the poison.
Ships carrying Pravo's flag were prevalent in the Golden Edge, in particular focusing heavily on Ostav's coastline. Brennan Ridl, lord of Ostav requested the lord of Pravo - his brother - to withdraw their ships, but it fell on deaf ears. The Prince was away, so turning to him wouldn't help matters. His choice was clear, even though he didn't like it; He called for a scribe to request help from Phyra.
In minutes the courier had left, and now the lord hoped this squabble wouldn't spiral out of control...
*.*.*
Chancellor Dorosh eyed 'The Veritable Lord Pacton Thorne' with much scrutiny. Certainly Darren had managed to get him to speak, which was easier said than done with his own efforts. Perhaps the sudden change in events had caused him to act. Maybe he sought something from the Princes and the King... Regardless of Thorne's intentions, his arrival was a surprise, and in the Chancellor's mind he must be planning something. His tangent was cut off when the steward walked in announcing the arrival of the other princes.
A middle-aged woman draped in teal green entered the hall, the twelve pointed star on her rosewood circlet and necklace marked her for a devout of the Old Religion. And certainly, Prince Kolour Theurge would name herself as such, and certainly would she epouse the worship of spirits beyond her Principality. Her face carried little emotion save for detachment. It made her more neutral and open-minded, but many of the nobility - and her family - would remember her calls for war and subjugation of her neighbour lands. Kolour was inconsistent and few really understood if she was sincere, especially in her interest in Swampsend's uprising and presence to the meeting.
The next Prince arrived, clad in iron and donning a blood red cloak; still keeping his sword in hand. It befit a man as militant, and extremist as Prince Reordan Yarrow of Bolwark. He removed the helmet, revealing a dour frown upon his clean shaven face. In all truth, the man had no intent to join this meet; being so close to the crossroads of Ancier and Sul'giat, there was no room for petty politics and said as much to the courier. Besides, it was clear to him why the King had summoned the Princes; certainly not needing a prompt from the new lord baptised in blood. He had already called for his provinces to send troops for the following campaign against Ancier. Yet through the Chancellor's cajoling the military Prince relented and made for the King's Range.
Adorned in fine leathers and sporting azure blue and purple, the youthful figure exuded wealth, respect, and a smug serious air. As the ruler of the Northern Notch, his Principality was a center for both the pirate menace and great wealth. Most saw Kadrmas as a flaky opportunist, but none had as much ire as Yarrow, as he was the only other one who has a navy patrolling the Edge - notwithstanding the landlords' separate efforts - and was piddling the resources away on a fool's journey beyond the Edge. The militant Prince did not appreciate an armed force separate from his control. It also didn't help that Kadrmas tried leaching ships and crews from him for his on-and-off expeditions, by bribe, persuasion, or outright theft.
Yet, there were still two more Princes absent in Dorosh's memory - unless a civil war broke out in either of their Principalities. But that will be for another time... Most had arrived and they should get to the matter at hand. Dorosh approached King Darren.
"Your majesty, it is time to begin the moot." He whispered in the King's ear. Darren would have wanted more time to speak with Thorne in the hopes to having more slaves for the Range, but suppose he had to get to business.
"I'm sure everyone here has recieved the letter from Swampsend." He announced to the gathering with half of a vigor. "Your Majesty seeks your opinion and a course of action for this slave uprising."
Reordan was the first to speak, annoyance and umbridge furrowed his brows and face into a scowl. "Our choice is obvious, and we certainly need no council to decide! We strike back at Swampsend, and later Ancier!" The words were like the growlings of a bear at a lone hunter. But none of the others were that impressed.
"You presume too much Yarrow." Kolour's solemn voice enunciated to Reordan before focusing her icy green eyes on Darren. "And why, Your Majesty, should this be brought to our attention? If slaves truly overtook Swampsend, it will not be long before they disperse. Besides, the province seems more trouble than its worth."
"Not hungry for more war?" Morgan couldn't help but make that comment - regardless of the glare she garnered; the woman was far too contrary for his - let alone any man's - taste, even for an old fogey.
"And you are Kadrmas? If so, I am quite sure Reordan would enjoy your contribution." Now the serpent moved to Morgan's belly, coiling and all but spitting venom at Kolour's words. And Prince Yarrow did nothing to dampen the matter.
"There's still the matter with some ships you procured from me." "I had already purchased them. Why not put the past behind?" "An entire fleet was lost to the Golden Edge!" "A simple mistake Your Higness. You have my word." "Yeah. Believing you could avoid sailing into the Gulf's Teeth." "How dare you! I-"
"PRINCES!" Dorosh could not stomach the bickering, and therefore spoke for the king; whether Darren minded or not was another matter. "His majesty's word still stands." He wanted to say more, but a low glare from the king silenced his tongue.
"Chancellor, your opinion is not needed here. Either hold your tongue, or leave." With a side glance, the Chancellor relented.
"We still need a decision, your Highnesses."
I'm basing actions using the WoD dice roll system. Successes in your actions are determined by rolling five ten-sided dice against a set number; said number represents the difficulty of an action - which will go up or down during the course of the game. The more successes you have in a dice roll, the more effective your success is.
Most actions will just count the number of successes in a roll and run with the result in the RPG. In tasks like building, research, or a task that takes time, a number of accumulated successes will be needed to complete your action.
If you don't get any successes, the action fails; something happens in which your attempts will be negated. If you roll no successes but get a 1, your action botches; it will not only fail, but your actions will cripple you either in the short term or long term.
Most actions will just count the number of successes in a roll and run with the result in the RPG. In tasks like building, research, or a task that takes time, a number of accumulated successes will be needed to complete your action.
If you don't get any successes, the action fails; something happens in which your attempts will be negated. If you roll no successes but get a 1, your action botches; it will not only fail, but your actions will cripple you either in the short term or long term.
So... First action was interesting to say the least. For the short of it, here's what happened:
Grim327, you're damn near finished with your stone wall, and could very well make improvements on it. However your groups sending the catapults have not fared as well; you botched on one, while the other was a failure; but you can still accomplish your original task. As for you're infiltrators to Swampsend, they barely got in, but they're hired muscle and not particularly respected.
ThreeWords, your ambassador and convoy got arrested in Crowsnest; your escort got into a fight and are paying the price.
The Clown, you've successfully infiltrated Darenthall and Crowsnest, while your crew to Morkend was mistaken for Ancier troops and sent packing; no casualties yet. Also, Your fortifying of Harmellian is going well, but not complete; you need a few more successes.
Redryhno, your drugged goods caravan made it, and certainly the slaves have had their share before Fraige turned them around.
Mr.Ivebeenframed, research has been going slow, and that goes double for constructing your next Griffin. You have one thing you can more actively research, but that doesn't mean you can't look for more things to research.
Khedive Rex, you have made no real actions, but that was an interesting entry.
Jokerboy Jordan, same goes for you.
Anyway, those were the results of your actions, and we're now on a new 'turn.'
Grim327, you're damn near finished with your stone wall, and could very well make improvements on it. However your groups sending the catapults have not fared as well; you botched on one, while the other was a failure; but you can still accomplish your original task. As for you're infiltrators to Swampsend, they barely got in, but they're hired muscle and not particularly respected.
ThreeWords, your ambassador and convoy got arrested in Crowsnest; your escort got into a fight and are paying the price.
The Clown, you've successfully infiltrated Darenthall and Crowsnest, while your crew to Morkend was mistaken for Ancier troops and sent packing; no casualties yet. Also, Your fortifying of Harmellian is going well, but not complete; you need a few more successes.
Redryhno, your drugged goods caravan made it, and certainly the slaves have had their share before Fraige turned them around.
Mr.Ivebeenframed, research has been going slow, and that goes double for constructing your next Griffin. You have one thing you can more actively research, but that doesn't mean you can't look for more things to research.
Khedive Rex, you have made no real actions, but that was an interesting entry.
Jokerboy Jordan, same goes for you.
Anyway, those were the results of your actions, and we're now on a new 'turn.'
The spies settled in, spreading out through the two cities, staying in inns. Meanwhile Harmellian's merchants bought granite and grain.
It was almost sunset when Shannow's men arrived at the castle gate, workers were preparing to install the granite slide-gate, sweat dripped down their faces, they stepped aside as the horses came by, the iron grates slid upwards with the clank of chains and the men passed through.
Harmellian sat in his quarters at the top of the castle tower, writing orders, he looked up as Shannow's men entered through the door escorted by three leather-armoured guild members. "I do believe you were sent by the landlord Shannow, rooms will be found for you in the inn, but first I ask, what is your business here?" Harmellian pronounces, placing the quill in it's pot.
It was almost sunset when Shannow's men arrived at the castle gate, workers were preparing to install the granite slide-gate, sweat dripped down their faces, they stepped aside as the horses came by, the iron grates slid upwards with the clank of chains and the men passed through.
Harmellian sat in his quarters at the top of the castle tower, writing orders, he looked up as Shannow's men entered through the door escorted by three leather-armoured guild members. "I do believe you were sent by the landlord Shannow, rooms will be found for you in the inn, but first I ask, what is your business here?" Harmellian pronounces, placing the quill in it's pot.
Devan received the report that his caravans had done what was needed of them before being turned back.
He donned his normal clothing and began sending out orders to the merchant houses to begin buying grain,iron, and anything that would be needed by the army's daily functions, cornering that market would give him a substantial platform from which to launch his bid for the crown.
He began the training and recruitment of the city guard, every man and woman between 15 and 50 was to learn the basics of city defense in the case that the southerners made it this far north or the Golden Edge peoples decided to make a move.
He donned his normal clothing and began sending out orders to the merchant houses to begin buying grain,iron, and anything that would be needed by the army's daily functions, cornering that market would give him a substantial platform from which to launch his bid for the crown.
He began the training and recruitment of the city guard, every man and woman between 15 and 50 was to learn the basics of city defense in the case that the southerners made it this far north or the Golden Edge peoples decided to make a move.
Roderick returned with General Barzillay in tow, the two both knelt and bowed their heads.
"How can I be of service m'Lord?" he said.
Wilfred turned to address the General directly.
"Arise"
The General rose from his position, and clasped his fist to his chest.
"You have heard of the predicament in Swampsend of course. This issue can not be left alone. If the slaves were to gather power from the outlying towns, as well as possibly convert others to their cause, we could have a full scale rebellion on our hands"
Wilfred strode past the general, and plucked an apple from the table.
"I need you to organize a strategy to completely obliterate the resistance. The attack must be swift and merciless, these rebels must be made an example of."
He took a large bite of the apple, the crunch was audible enough to cause the general to flinch. He was not a man to be intimidated, but Wilfred's presence made him so.
"It will be done my liege. What of the town itself? What of it's strategic value, or resources?"
Wilfred pondered this as he chewed, slowly walking back to his thrown before taking a seat.
"Burn it to the ground"
General Barzillay bowed once more.
"As you command"
As he walked to the exit, Wilfred called out.
"And General... Order those at the outpost to hasten construction of the War Machines, and see if the metallurgists have anything new to report"
"How can I be of service m'Lord?" he said.
Wilfred turned to address the General directly.
"Arise"
The General rose from his position, and clasped his fist to his chest.
"You have heard of the predicament in Swampsend of course. This issue can not be left alone. If the slaves were to gather power from the outlying towns, as well as possibly convert others to their cause, we could have a full scale rebellion on our hands"
Wilfred strode past the general, and plucked an apple from the table.
"I need you to organize a strategy to completely obliterate the resistance. The attack must be swift and merciless, these rebels must be made an example of."
He took a large bite of the apple, the crunch was audible enough to cause the general to flinch. He was not a man to be intimidated, but Wilfred's presence made him so.
"It will be done my liege. What of the town itself? What of it's strategic value, or resources?"
Wilfred pondered this as he chewed, slowly walking back to his thrown before taking a seat.
"Burn it to the ground"
General Barzillay bowed once more.
"As you command"
As he walked to the exit, Wilfred called out.
"And General... Order those at the outpost to hasten construction of the War Machines, and see if the metallurgists have anything new to report"
"No word from Kurtz." Again, it was Evans' quiet, blunt statement that began the meeting. "We can only assume he has been intercepted, or even killed. Swampsend have, therefore, declined our offer of peace, and thus have expedited their own demise. My advice now would be to focus on the attack: the lack of response implies they are declining support without distinction, and without it they cannot hope to last for long. Our greatest profit now lies in seizing as much meat as we can from the city's carcass."
Shannow was silent, brooding. His eyes flickered as he thought, then he spoke. "Kurtz may yet live; he is resourceful, and I trust that he will try to further our cause as far as he can. Depending, of course, on how badly he has been treated, he may either continue to attempt his mission of diplomacy. If he has been badly treated, and his observations show that war is inevitable, he will likely try to escape, and cause some trouble in the meantime."
Another pause; Shannow's face creased into a frown as he framed his plans.
"If it is to be war, we will be ready. Prepare the cavalry battalions; I want them armed and ready to deploy into disputed territory at a moment notice. They must be equipped with sword, lance and bow, and ready to cause as much trouble as possible. Evans, see to it."
To Arnup; "Should the other envoys arrive safely, there should be trade agreements secured soon. I want the fleets ready to shift as much freight as possible, but the primary target is knowledge; this war will require information of every kind. have the sailors scout out the towns they visit, and learn the rumors of foreign lands."
Finally, he turned to a strange man, hunched despite his youth. The man's name was Venable, and he was responsible for the pursuit of knowledge with regards to natural philosophy; he called himself a scientist. "If Kurtz is dead, Venable, I will require terrible vengeance. Delve into your arcane matters, and find me a way to lay waste to Swampsend with fire. You have proven your worth before, but do this for m and you will be well rewarded."
"Welcome to Phyra. What is the purpose of this visit?"
"MiLord Cassius, we come bearing offers of trade, and mutual cooperation in this time of strife."
The man speaking was call Donal, and though short he bowed low before the Lord. "My master knows that you are not one to sit cowardly in your castles, but he fears for you if you were to venture forth without the finest of equipment. It is widely held that the forges of Derasa produce the finest military wares, and we are eager to share them with you, and for no harsh price."
"In return for the low prices that pass between friends, we would ask only to have a house int his city as an embassy, and to have our shipbuilders learn form your own in the ways of the sea. What say you to this settlement?"
---
To the tower of Harmellian came Captain Jorge, a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, golden hair. He wore the armour of the Dunain with casual ease, and his fierce appearance was softened by the grace of his movements.
"Greetings to you, Master of this Castle. It has come to the attention of my master that you have recently assumed control of this town, and he wonders if you might seek to do more. You and he are both ambitious, it seems, and it would appear that you share a common enemy to the west. If you so wish, I am here to examine the capabilities you have to further a campaign, and represent my master in your court."
"Will you accept my presence, sir, and with it my master's hand?"
Shannow was silent, brooding. His eyes flickered as he thought, then he spoke. "Kurtz may yet live; he is resourceful, and I trust that he will try to further our cause as far as he can. Depending, of course, on how badly he has been treated, he may either continue to attempt his mission of diplomacy. If he has been badly treated, and his observations show that war is inevitable, he will likely try to escape, and cause some trouble in the meantime."
Another pause; Shannow's face creased into a frown as he framed his plans.
"If it is to be war, we will be ready. Prepare the cavalry battalions; I want them armed and ready to deploy into disputed territory at a moment notice. They must be equipped with sword, lance and bow, and ready to cause as much trouble as possible. Evans, see to it."
To Arnup; "Should the other envoys arrive safely, there should be trade agreements secured soon. I want the fleets ready to shift as much freight as possible, but the primary target is knowledge; this war will require information of every kind. have the sailors scout out the towns they visit, and learn the rumors of foreign lands."
Finally, he turned to a strange man, hunched despite his youth. The man's name was Venable, and he was responsible for the pursuit of knowledge with regards to natural philosophy; he called himself a scientist. "If Kurtz is dead, Venable, I will require terrible vengeance. Delve into your arcane matters, and find me a way to lay waste to Swampsend with fire. You have proven your worth before, but do this for m and you will be well rewarded."
Ok, so I don't know if Kurtz lives, but I've tried to lay out what he'd do if he had survived. The second and third parts, regarding cavalry and reconnaissance, are sort of obvious, and the last part is a hope to gain access to gunpowdwer. I don't need guns, just things that go boom.
"Welcome to Phyra. What is the purpose of this visit?"
"MiLord Cassius, we come bearing offers of trade, and mutual cooperation in this time of strife."
The man speaking was call Donal, and though short he bowed low before the Lord. "My master knows that you are not one to sit cowardly in your castles, but he fears for you if you were to venture forth without the finest of equipment. It is widely held that the forges of Derasa produce the finest military wares, and we are eager to share them with you, and for no harsh price."
"In return for the low prices that pass between friends, we would ask only to have a house int his city as an embassy, and to have our shipbuilders learn form your own in the ways of the sea. What say you to this settlement?"
---
To the tower of Harmellian came Captain Jorge, a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, golden hair. He wore the armour of the Dunain with casual ease, and his fierce appearance was softened by the grace of his movements.
"Greetings to you, Master of this Castle. It has come to the attention of my master that you have recently assumed control of this town, and he wonders if you might seek to do more. You and he are both ambitious, it seems, and it would appear that you share a common enemy to the west. If you so wish, I am here to examine the capabilities you have to further a campaign, and represent my master in your court."
"Will you accept my presence, sir, and with it my master's hand?"
"Yes, I shall," Harmellian said, standing to greet the man, shaking his hand he remarked "I have no enemies, only opportunities," he smirked and returned to his seat, his cloak fluttering causing his papers to rustle. Sitting back in his chair he examined the golden haired man, and wondered after this master of his, he would very much like to meet him, he had heard tales of the fortress in the mountains, seemed like a challenge to him, whether it should have been or not.
"I plan to further a campaign yes, but of its nature I am not yet decided." he said, tapping his heel on the desk.
"For now I intend to let people think I am their puppet, we share a prince and so close it would be pointless to try and deceive you, I do not yet intend to strike at swampsend, I myself took this castle by similar means although more..... cleanly." The tapping stopped and he sat forwards.
"Which is why I don't have nations plotting my demise."
"I plan to further a campaign yes, but of its nature I am not yet decided." he said, tapping his heel on the desk.
"For now I intend to let people think I am their puppet, we share a prince and so close it would be pointless to try and deceive you, I do not yet intend to strike at swampsend, I myself took this castle by similar means although more..... cleanly." The tapping stopped and he sat forwards.
"Which is why I don't have nations plotting my demise."
Did Harmellian just say all that in one breath? It's got enough clauses to be at least three long sentences, but right now it just looks like a list of ideas.
I'm sorry to be a Grammar Nazi, but punctuation other than commas might do you some good...
I'm sorry to be a Grammar Nazi, but punctuation other than commas might do you some good...
Jorge bowed to the Castellian, and smiled. "Of course, there will be no written treaty; Lord Shannow understands the need for secrecy, and to deny our Prince his evidence. For now, I would assess the state of your Castle, and discover what resources you would bring to a plan of conquest. With your permission, I will go about that business."