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The Empire where the Sun never sets; Current story: The Golden Crusades
Topic Started: Nov 7 2017, 05:08:52 AM (1,115 Views)
Dylan
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Regional Cartographer
This will be a collection of my RPs to show how the Morstaybishlian Empire managed to rise and fall, from its beginnings, to territorial height to its borders today. It will mainly cover certain battles, wars and the like. Unless you're invited by me, this is a closed RP.

RP's completed in green, RP commencing in red, planned RP's in blue.


The Red and Blue Mighty

6 January 1602 AD
Fort Staynes


A collection of middle aged men sat around a worn long table. They were neatly dressed, most in ceremonial red and blue robes, and were enjoying a seasoned Hobsti chicken dish. The men were accompanied by a new figure to the Staynish throne - Lambertus the fifth.
"Sire. I mean this with utmost respect. Your recent ancestors have left quite a remarkable legacy. With that of the likes of Lambertus the third and his children and grandchildren taking over Caltharus and Kormistazm, they've left quite a difficult task for you." the man paused. The King stopped gnawing on a slab of chicken and grimaced in a direction associated with the voice.
"You're suggesting... What?"
"Sire, it's not viable to go south. Ethalria is still a very strong sovereign state with a multitude of allies..."
"Exactly my point!" Lambertus spat in distaste. He began eating away at the chicken that he had almost reduced to the bone.
"Sire, we all think the next best step for this Empire would be... colonisation." the man suggested. Another man took the opportunity to squeeze his part in.
"We cannot allow neighbours to gain an advantage over us in foreign resources and trade. The Kormistazic and Caltharusians have already tried and attempted it. It's time we step up our game and instead of the unrealistic goal of dominating the entire continent, open up to the wider world. We need the resources. The manpower." the more frail man boldly insisted. At this point, it was clear to the King that there was more to this conversation than met the eye. Every single soul agreed with what these men were saying, and in what felt like a blink, everyone was influencing him.
"We wouldn't want history to miss your name, Your Highness."
"This could be the start of something truly magnificent."
"Think of the riches. The gold. The resources. The land."
"Global domination."
"Total annihilation."
"The whole world bowing down to one single man," a pause. "You."
"Your influence written down and taught thousands of years down the line."
"Imagine. Total glory. You-"
The King had enough. "Stop it. You're all dismissed." he bellowed. The men hesitantly looked around at each other but took to his commands. The table of seven other men left the room without argument.

Later that evening, the King sat upright on his bed, alone. His hands covering his ears, and head deep in stress. He kept thinking over the day, and why his table of directors wanted so much from him. All he wanted to do was sit back and relax on the beautiful Lakeside. Obviously that wasn't to be.

10 January 1602 AD
Fort Staynes


A similar sight behold the King. A long table. Food. Seven men. The conversations varied from the food to the last topic of conversation. As the room began more frequently on colonialism, the men once again started to play mind games with the king. To him, it felt like an interrogation.
"I have decided that we will set out boots high and aim for this goal." The king managed to pronounce. His words appeased the table. The men all relaxed and quickly spoke amongst themselves before one of them forwarded their opinion to the king.
"Our navy has mapped out a peninsula in a distant land. The people there are quite... Primitive," he paused. "For the glory of the Empire, that will be our land." he spat, a large grin full of grease climbing up his face. A man closest to the king lightly held his drinking hand and soared it in the air like a flag. Everyone followed and raised their hand with their wine. They all chanted a general roar of agreement. One of them shouted above all others.
"Long live the King!"
The rest followed suit.
"LONG LIVE THE KING!"

5 February 1602 AD
Fort Jubrayn

A pale tall man confidently strode across the docks. He was over dressed, with a large sailors hat. He had his eyes locked onto one man. His name was Francesci Morston, the military overseer. The anonymous man tapped his shoulder and proceeded to hand him a large scroll. The mans hands were gritty but took the note anyway.
"A note from the King." the messenger said, immediately walking out. As the man read the script, his jaw dropped. He spoke aloud to himself.
"One Hundred Ships of the Line!" A million trained soldiers! In two years!" As he looked up, the white thick fog of the sea surrounded him, and he was alone to cast his thoughts.
Edited by Dylan, Jul 10 2018, 03:18:09 PM.



In Office terms:
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Serving under His Majesty, High-King Lambertus VII of the United Kingdom
"In the depths of winter will you find sanative." ~ Lambertus VII
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RP:
Staynes
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Justelvard

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The Oan Isles
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The Red and Blue Mighty
18 February 1602
Nordin's village, Justelvard


The oracle Áthilia woke up in the middle of the night. When her sister looked at her, she was frightened. Although the oracle's eyes were opened and she stood up, she seemed dead and cold. The oracle's sister ran to the chief of the village, Nordin, to tell him of the oracle. He quickly commanded the oracle to be brought to the palace.

As the oracle sat in her entranced state, she spoke, "Nigh cometh the oaken prow, yon over Justel's brow, to hearken war nigh our feet, and bring Justelvard to defeat".

After her solemn and frightening words, she collapsed on the floor. She was carried back to her bed in her her own tent. The chief and the men of the village were left to wonder what the oracle had meant. This was clearly a prophecy that foretold the coming of a war and their eventual defeat.

The nobles were scared, but Nordin encouraged them to be strong, "The words of the the oracle cometh from the rulers of fate and time. They warneth us and bid us prepare. Though the ships of our enemies spread leagues and fathoms, we must stand, for we art the noble people of Justelvard!"

The lords lifted their cups and banged their shields with their swords in agreement. One of them, Dörghold, was not convinced and decided to take his own path. He would rather make a deal with the supposed attacker and save himself than stand against this mighty foe alluded to in Áthilia's prophecy. He sat in silence and pretended that everything was fine. Nordin sent messengers to the other tribes to inform them of the oracle's prophecy.
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The Red and Blue Mighty

6 January 1603 AD
Fort Staynes


What seemed like a lifetime ago wasn't that long ago at all. The same table, the same faces. Lambertus's advisers. They were all slurping wine this time, with a melody being played in the background. A perpetuation of heavy laughter echoed across the room. Wine was going everywhere, even on Lambertus. He didn't care. He seemed to sit there taking it all in. Am I actually in charge here? he thought. A few moments passed and one of the men stopped the noise and confronted the King with an update.
"Sire, it seems in light of our efforts towards our fleets, and with the benefits from Strataric relations, someone from Justelvard wishes to forge a 'deal'."
"And what is this deal?" the king grunted, unmoved.
"He wouldn't reveal anything."
"And where is he now?" the king pushed, his frustration rising. He sipped his own wine and looked around at the mixed facial expressions around the room.
"Bring him in." the man said. With that, the doors opened and two guards escorted the man to the end of the table. Lambertus was sat on the head at the side near the throne. The man was stood by the other head. His arrival sparked lots of interest in the King, correcting his bent over stature in favour for a keen look.
"Please, take a seat," the king said. The man did as requested. One of the guards offered him wine, which he declined. "What is it you want."



Edited by Dylan, Nov 16 2017, 07:01:48 PM.



In Office terms:
Magister
(30/10/16 - 05/09/17)
(04/02/18 - 22/05/18)
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Cartographer(14/11/16 - Present)
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Out of Office terms:
WA Member (14/09/16 - Present)
Citizen of TEP(23/09/16 - Present)







Serving under His Majesty, High-King Lambertus VII of the United Kingdom
"In the depths of winter will you find sanative." ~ Lambertus VII
Posted Image







RP:
Staynes
Caltharus
South Staynes
Justelvard

Vothetria
Lokania
Ziseshouwei
*Countries in Orange are apart of the United KingdomAffiliations:Posted ImagePosted Image


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The Oan Isles
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Magister
The Red and Blue Mighty
6 January 1603 AD
Fort Staynes



Dorghold was nervous. His eyes darted around, as though he was scared that the portraits on the walls were living people condemning him for his betrayal of his people. He pulled out a paper from his satchel and placed it on the table. The paper looked old and worn. Lambertus took it and unfolded it. Although the map was poorly drawn, it gave him all information that he would need for a full scale invasion. It showed the border between Kistelvard and Justelvard. It showed villages, towns, mines, roads, rivers and armouries.

Dorghold explained that he had collected the information over the past year or so. Nordin, one of the chiefs of the tribes, had gone around Justelvard, forming an alliance of tribes in preparation to retaliate against an invasion. The map even showed docks and the positions of ships.

Dorghold sat silently when he was done explaining. The King looked at him suspiciously and asked him why he had done this. Dorghold twiddled his thumbs and looked down. He coughed and admitted that he wanted to take power from Nordin. He looked up and hoped that the King believed him...
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The Red and Blue Mighty

6 January 1603 AD
Fort Staynes


"You will have your power. Thank you for presenting us this information," the King said, with a large smile. He turned to the senior minister and broke out in Jubliakese, which Dorghold didn't understand at all.
"We will trick him into thinking we will give him power." Lambertus said, the other mans smile growing with satisfaction.
Dorghold blankly stared at the monarch, waiting for a response he could understand. The monarch turned his view to the Jussie.
"I must ask you create concern amongst your people. Get close to Nordin over the next few months, then kill him. If you take over his place, when the time is right, you can command your to-be armies to lay down their weapons for Gods Wrath will spare them. You will be the richest noble in Justelvard. Your old peers will hail you as Dorghold the Great for millennia to come. You will be glorified eternally." Lambertus spat. His smile rose, and so did Dorghold's. The King signalled the man to leave after the conversation died.

7 January 1603 AD
Fort Staynes


Lambertus sat on his throne, drinking hobsti wine. He was sat on his throne since the early hours of the morning. His servant walked up to him and handed him a piece of paper similar to that of Dorghold's, but not the same. This time it was generalised, and much nicer to look at.
"Sire," the servant bowed, his head touching the bottom steps leading to the throne. "I've been told to give this to you."
Lambertus grunted. He put his wine down in favour for snatching the paper from the mans hands. He opened it up to reveal a map of the area. This time showing clear borders of the two loosely governed Kingdoms.
The map

"Excellent," he grinned. "All mine."
Edited by Dylan, Nov 25 2017, 06:56:25 PM.



In Office terms:
Magister
(30/10/16 - 05/09/17)
(04/02/18 - 22/05/18)
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Cartographer(14/11/16 - Present)
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Out of Office terms:
WA Member (14/09/16 - Present)
Citizen of TEP(23/09/16 - Present)







Serving under His Majesty, High-King Lambertus VII of the United Kingdom
"In the depths of winter will you find sanative." ~ Lambertus VII
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RP:
Staynes
Caltharus
South Staynes
Justelvard

Vothetria
Lokania
Ziseshouwei
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Dylan
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The Red and Blue Mighty

22 January 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn


There were thousands upon thousands of able men in the shipyards and docks. The noise of smelting, clanking and refining was everywhere. It was almost as if wherever you walked, wherever you tried to hide, you couldn't escape the noise. In just under a year, Francesci Morston had managed to get 32 Ships of the Line completed with the resources he had available.

But that wasn't enough.

The pressure was immense, and it was all on him. If he didn't provide, it would cost him his job. In the last week, he had been frantically biting his fingernails to the point where his fingertips were bleeding.
The King was due an inspection in just under two weeks and the goal set was 50. That's 50 ships in the first year and 50 ships in the second year. With four more ships due completion by that date, he would fall 14 short.
That'd cost him more than his job.
That'd cost him his life.
Francesci was alone, and made sure it stayed that way by bolting his door shut. He just didn't know what to do. The entire operation depended on him.
The pressure was too much.
Francesci, torn between doing the right thing and just wanting it all to be over - screamed in confusion. He didn't understanding why he had to be the one with the hardest job. His screams were drowned out by the noise of the shipyard. Driving him crazy; it was constant and inescapable and stopped his vulgar outcries from being heard.

But maybe that was a good thing.

He sat down once again, this time almost throwing himself into the corner of the room. His rage turned into tears, which crippled his worsening state. 'I'm forty six for god sakes', he thought. A man like himself shouldn't be crying. He stood up and wiped his face with a handkerchief. After a moment, he eventually decided to get some fresh air. Upon opening the door, he bumped into a battered and aged face.
"Francesci, the King's inspection is being put forward to tomorrow."
"Tomo-" Francesci stopped. His calm face once again spurting out his emotions. His face became a contorted cabbage as he scrambled for a reply. Nothing came out. His eyes began to lubricate as he slammed the door shut and paced inside. He snatched his small sheathed dagger from his work surface and ran downstairs. Without thinking, he took it out of its case; which created a beautifully elegant scraping noise as it rubbed against a metal buckle, and frantically undid his torso to reveal his aged, hairy, grotty chest. His eyes met the shine at the top of the blade. For a lengthy few seconds, he stared at it in awe. At this point, his mind completely blank. He knew this was his fate. He closed his eyes, plunging the blade deep underneath his ribs. He gave out a sudden jolt of satisfaction as he twisted the blade around. His eyes rolled back into his skull, his last thoughts being how free he now was.

Edited by Dylan, Jan 13 2018, 06:12:17 PM.



In Office terms:
Magister
(30/10/16 - 05/09/17)
(04/02/18 - 22/05/18)
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Cartographer(14/11/16 - Present)
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Out of Office terms:
WA Member (14/09/16 - Present)
Citizen of TEP(23/09/16 - Present)







Serving under His Majesty, High-King Lambertus VII of the United Kingdom
"In the depths of winter will you find sanative." ~ Lambertus VII
Posted Image







RP:
Staynes
Caltharus
South Staynes
Justelvard

Vothetria
Lokania
Ziseshouwei
*Countries in Orange are apart of the United KingdomAffiliations:Posted ImagePosted Image


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Dylan
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The Red and Blue Mighty

22 January 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn


The worn face returned to Fransesci's house, hoping to let him know that the King had rescheduled once more and was due at the start of February. He knocked over a dozen times, to no reply. He didn't seem bothered. After all, he was always ignored. He decided to walk in without the mans permission, hoping he'd understand the news was important. As he walked around the house, he noticed how much of a mess it was. Paperwork was thrown everywhere, the mans possessions in the same state. He kept walking around, unable to find the man. A little set back by this, he began calling his name. A few seconds paused, and he still didn't get a response. He was told he was never allowed downstairs, but on this occasion, he did anyway. Before he turned the corner, he noticed a pool of blood on the floor.
"What the heck," he said, pacing towards the scene with precaution. He evaluated the room, following the blood. Its trail was gruesome. It looked like there had been a struggle, a murder. The blood stained across the wooden floor to the other side of the door. As he walked towards the door, he noticed it was ajar by a boot.
That boot belonged to Fransesci. He opened it and stared down. The mans face was very pale and reflected his happiness, which seriously confused the man. He didn't bother disturbing the body because he knew he was dead.

3 February 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn


The King arrived in the town by horseback. He was accompanied by several faces that helped him make his decisions. Of course being such a prestigious noble as himself, he did not ride the entire journey on horse. He insisted that his carriage was utilised every night, that way he had some sort of reminder of home. Its interior, whilst very small, was large enough for a bed, and that's pretty much it. But it reminded him of home.

Some elderly peasants had gathered at the gates to the town. They began waving their rags around in some sort of celebration. They'd never seen the King before, and he was hailed as such a godly figure amongst country folk. Their croaky jeers were muffled out by the distant sound of the shipyards.

That's the noise that attracted Lambertus's attention. He opened a tiny window at the side of his carriage and looked out. The carriage was walking down a hill perpendicular to the yard, allowing him to see everything. Out at sea, almost three dozen ships were moored. The mighty Morstaybishlian flag on the sails of every single vessel. That, along with the clear sky and occasional white fluffy cloud made him feel great.

It took about ten minutes to reach the shipyard. An array of workers were huddled together working on something that the king didn't understand. He was looking for a man called Fransesci. Upon news of his death, he frowned. 'What a pity' he thought. Speaking to the newly appointed military overseer, he promised much needed materials that would help the production of the remaining vessels. He also promised the slaves, unbeknown of where he'd get them from.

Whilst the vessel count disappointed him, the soldier count in the last year didn't. The goal was a million trailed soldiers in two years, and in a year, over six hundred and twelve thousand had received their basic training.

'Excellent' he thought, leaving the docks for rest.
Edited by Dylan, Dec 2 2017, 07:02:42 PM.



In Office terms:
Magister
(30/10/16 - 05/09/17)
(04/02/18 - 22/05/18)
Posted Image

Cartographer(14/11/16 - Present)
Posted Image
Out of Office terms:
WA Member (14/09/16 - Present)
Citizen of TEP(23/09/16 - Present)







Serving under His Majesty, High-King Lambertus VII of the United Kingdom
"In the depths of winter will you find sanative." ~ Lambertus VII
Posted Image







RP:
Staynes
Caltharus
South Staynes
Justelvard

Vothetria
Lokania
Ziseshouwei
*Countries in Orange are apart of the United KingdomAffiliations:Posted ImagePosted Image


Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
The Oan Isles
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Magister
The Red and Blue Mighty
12 February 1603 AD
Justel's Brow, Justelvard


Nordin and his men stood on Justel Brow and watched the Morstaybishlian ships. Justel's brow was a promontry on one of the larger and deeper bays. Tens of thousands of soldiers were in their tents just over the hills preparing for an attack: They had been waiting for over a month for the attack that the oracle foretold and their very limited intelligence was able to predict. Several moats and baileys had been erected across the coast. When Nordin saw the first few ships rise above the horizon, he thought that that was all that the Morstaybishlians had.

He ordered the few hundred ships they had built to prepare for an attack with the Morst. They sent a small boat to meet with the Morst's and ask them about their intentions. Perhaps a war could be prevented. Perhaps...
Edited by The Oan Isles, Dec 18 2017, 09:17:35 AM.
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The Red and Blue Mighty

15 February 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn


Ledwin Dinged was a proud level headed man. He was a senior in the Morstaybishlian Navy, gaining the respect from his crew over his years of experience. He had seen countless skirmishes in his almost half-century career, and this would mark his last before retirement.
Ledwin had been appointed by the King to replace the less fortunate in the job. He had just under a year to get 66 more ships of the line through production and ready for war. Luckily for him, the respect he had earn't was on his side. Before, the man in charge of production was a novice, and in his eyes; he was glad he was dead. He had no pity for him.
The King had just come to agreement with some people from a far away land. It came as no surprise a deal was made. The Kings wife was their Princess; third to the throne, for god sake. In exchange for financing the war effort, they would get a portion of the plunder, and a little land for trade. For Ledwin, this was great. Nobody under him would know of the deal, and to come back from being behind in making the ships would soar his seniority and respect high in the sky. The effort was reorganised too. It only required eighty ships of the line and seven hundred thousand soldiers. Perhaps the king had got his figures wrong. Perhaps it was overshot. Perhaps.
To make things better, the mission was given additional funding to have vessels produced in three more towns across the north coast, but that did not stop the gruelling training. Whilst it wasn't the best, the brief sheet explained how every soldier was expected to learn how best to kill their opponent. These ranged from weak points behind armour, to snapping necks. Ledwin had done the same so many years prior, so it did not come as a surprise.

He sat on a fence at the top of the hill, overlooking the movement below.



In Office terms:
Magister
(30/10/16 - 05/09/17)
(04/02/18 - 22/05/18)
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Cartographer(14/11/16 - Present)
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Out of Office terms:
WA Member (14/09/16 - Present)
Citizen of TEP(23/09/16 - Present)







Serving under His Majesty, High-King Lambertus VII of the United Kingdom
"In the depths of winter will you find sanative." ~ Lambertus VII
Posted Image







RP:
Staynes
Caltharus
South Staynes
Justelvard

Vothetria
Lokania
Ziseshouwei
*Countries in Orange are apart of the United KingdomAffiliations:Posted ImagePosted Image


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Dylan
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The Red and Blue Mighty

16 February 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn


A thick grey white fog laid smoothly across the valley. It was a coarse, windless morning. The vast quantities of water vanishing into nihility. For several hours, the waters were completely still. It laid across the world as if a body in a coffin. Until sunrise.

Alarms were cast across the military camps on the outskirts of the city. Three aliens had been captured a few miles offshore. Their language thick and incomprehensible. The thought of them coming from the enemy a growing prospect. The idea instilled fear into everyone. If these people were caught, then how many are there out there that aren't caught...

They were brought under the might of the king and forced to explain their actions. The council could only provide a translator that could not understand all that was said himself. As the conversation came to an end, it was revealed they were on behalf of Justelvard begging for peace. They were cast away. After several long minutes, they were put into a locked cell.

The next day they were released. They were sent to their boat and given a script. It was written in Justelvardic, which surprised the sailors. A tag showed it to be directed to their most exulted.
Edited by Dylan, Jan 13 2018, 05:38:44 PM.



In Office terms:
Magister
(30/10/16 - 05/09/17)
(04/02/18 - 22/05/18)
Posted Image

Cartographer(14/11/16 - Present)
Posted Image
Out of Office terms:
WA Member (14/09/16 - Present)
Citizen of TEP(23/09/16 - Present)







Serving under His Majesty, High-King Lambertus VII of the United Kingdom
"In the depths of winter will you find sanative." ~ Lambertus VII
Posted Image







RP:
Staynes
Caltharus
South Staynes
Justelvard

Vothetria
Lokania
Ziseshouwei
*Countries in Orange are apart of the United KingdomAffiliations:Posted ImagePosted Image


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Strat
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The Red and Blue Mighty

16 February 1603 AD
Fort Staynes


The lady Rozalina Dushkina, wife of Lambertus V and Queen Consort of the Morstaybishlian Empire, sighed softly to herself as she sat on the edge of their marital bed, her feet barely brushing against the wooden floor. Despite being born and raised in the Strataric Empire - well renowned for the hardy, warlike people that it produced - she seemed to be relatively untouched by her heritage. One would describe her beauty as soft, and gentle, like the pale moonlight that crept through the window of the bedroom. Her fingers ran through her messily braided long, black hair as she shifted slightly away from the window, shivering at the slightest gust of February wind due to the loose shift she wore.

Her thoughts, as they often were these days, were focused on Lambertus. The man she’d grown to love after several years of political marriage. The man who could be considered by many to be the most powerful ruler on Urth.

The man who was a figurehead.

The people of Morstaybishlia loved Lambertus, and for good reason. He was a charismatic, handsome individual. His voice carried with a slight ring to it, and he always seemed so brave, so strong.

But, sadly, he wasn’t strong. Lambertus was plagued with a weak will and strong-willed “council.” Though what many called council, Rozalina angrily knew was instead oversight. And she’d seen the effect that being unable to rule his own empire had had on him. She had gone so far as to try and hide his bottles of hobsti after too many nights of smelling it on his breath. She was weary of him not speaking to her when he finally came to bed, no longer gently touching her cheek or rewarding her loyalty and faithfulness to him with at least a kiss. Her own suggestions and political thoughts, of which she had many, meant nothing to him. Certainly not more than the will of the war-mongering council.

When her marriage was agreed upon to seal an important Morstaybishlian council, her heart had rejoiced. While never mistreated, she had tired of Stratarin’s cold ways and constant state of war with neighboring tribes and nations. Finally, this was her chance to escape to a land she’d only heard of in rumors or stories from naval captains.

The truth had become worse than Stratarin. At least the Strataric Tsarina was efficient and effective, unable to be swayed and always ever-so-confident in her decisions. Morstaybishlia had proven itself just as militaristic, only with a head that had not the strength to bear the crown.

Rozalina had begun life a Strataric princess. She suspected that it would end with her as a prisoner of sorts in her own home.[edit_reason]Wrong Lambertus[/edit_reason]
Edited by Strat, Jan 13 2018, 06:10:09 PM.

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17 February 1603
Fort Jubrayn


The boards of the hull of the ship creaked as it was moved gently by the water of the Caven Sea. Boots nervously shuffled on the wooden deck. The sails expanded and contracted gently as the calm breeze pushed against them and changed direction. The messengers stood silently receiving the scroll that the Morstaybishlians gave them.

They were lowered back onto their boat. They grabbed on the rope and were lowered down the starboard side. They rowed back to the shore. They pushed against the water with their ores to propel the boat forward. They pushed against the water, keeping silent. Each one gathered his thoughts and emotions to try and make sense of what was happening and why.

The boat slowed against the sand of the bay. Nordin was waiting. As they hopped out and waded through the warm water, using their strength to push the boat onto the beach, Nordin looked at them. His face gave little away. There was no way to detect what he was thinking or feeling. His sole focus was the message that would reveal the intentions of the Morstaybishlians.

His chest was bare and his animal-hide cape fluttered gently in the breeze. He read the scroll that the messengers brought with them. He read over the surprisingly well-written Justelvardic to derive therefrom the plan that the people on the other side of the sea had with their nation. When he was done, he concluded with a stern look on his face and a puff from his nostrils. He laughed. His voice was carried by the gentle ebbing of the waves.

He turned around and said nothing. His aids and messengers cautiously waited for him to reveal something. He pulled apart the curtains of the tent in which the war council held its meetings and stood at the head of the table. One of the anxiously waiting members of the war council blurred out, "What's going on?"

Nordin paused and looked down, smiling as though he remembered an old joke. He said, "War cometh nigh Justel's brow".[edit_reason]Minor format error[/edit_reason]
Edited by The Oan Isles, Jan 2 2018, 04:41:22 PM.
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It was clear to Nordin that the Morstaybishlians were a dangerous nation of warmongers who would stop at nothing to assimilate smaller nations. With Justelvardian and Kistervardian tribes, clans and city states, being as fragmented as they were, their demise was inevitable. The Morstaybishlians would pick them off one tribe at a time until there was no one left.

With the Chiefs and kings being as slow-witted as they were, it fell upon him to prepare the islands for the coming assault. With their petty squabbles and self centred focus, getting the nations of the islands to agree on unity, or at least a temporary truce to fight off the coming invader was a daunting task - a task for the dauntless.

Over the next few months, Nordin and his retinue went from town to town, village to village, pleading the case for unity. His pleas fell on largely stone ears. He went on horseback, braving the poison-tipped arrows of enemy tribes to get them to realise the threat and resolve that unity was the sole option. With malaria and malnutrition only a breath away, his retinue grew smaller and smaller, weaker and weaker. At this point it was hot and humid and the mosquitoes were unyielding.

Nature remained adamant to keep the fruit that her trees carries and the meat on the bones of her animals, with a human falling as a sacrifice each time. Other Messengers had been sent to handle negotiations themselves, but it was Nordin who did most of the work. His vision and charisma were unique to him. He flashed a mustard smile and threw back grime and dirt covered hair, but the confidence with which he did that earned him enough respect for his unhappy hosts to give him food, water and shelter.

After even more months, running around and barely getting anywhere, the leaders of the nations began to acquiesce to his requests for an alliance and for aid. They were willing to dedicate manpower and materiel to this cause. The danger that the Morstaybishlians posed to the survival of their people. Nordin spoke eerily of their great firespitting lions (canons), moving islands (ships) and intense desire to swallow them whole.

With fear as a weapon, he was able to unite tribes. Former enemies came together and awkwardly tried not to jump at each other. He was able to organise meetings by which the terms of the alliance could be discussed. After much wandering and yelling and begging and persuading, the Chiefs agreed to unite at a meeting held at a promontory on the south coast of the main island, called Justel's Brow (Justelvard). This alliance of Justelvard lent its name to the nation as a whole and catalysed the formation of such an identity, however rudimentary and loose it was.
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1 July 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn


Ledwin Dinged was the most spoken about man in the United Kingdom. His ruthlessness had subverted all ideas that the task laid upon him was impossible. He looked down the valley from his observatory. The scene was chaotic. There wasn't a single field in disuse. As his glare panned from left to right, he saw what only was wanted. Meadows full of roses and bluebells were occupied by the fierce red and blue uniforms that belonged to soldiers. The sound of gunfire from the next field grew a snarl up his face. His eyes panned out to the ocean, his hands on his chin; the white sails of several dozen ships littering the horizon, the pennants flying the Morstaybishlian colours and cannon fire blitzing the waters.

His snarl was the most oblique thing in the room, rightfully setting the precedent. It grew upon the thought of his name being remembered in history as the father of the empire.

Over the next few months, the sea saw more and more ships take refuge. As the days grew, people wondered when they would finally set sail.

3 September 1603 AD
Fort Staynes


Laughter. The long table was strewn with food from far and wide. Lambertus had called for a party, and one that he was sure everyone would remember. The best alcohol was presented as gifts by those who attended, Hobsti; and LOTS of it. Lambertus was very particular with his alcohol, preferring Hobsti over everything else. He was so besieged with it that he was very drunk. His council was mostly present, and it embarrassed them that such a "godly" figure was so utterly pathetic. He was supposed to be the King. The person everyone looked up to, and a disgrace it was.
The council met in secret after the party and discussed the outcome of the invasion without the man's input.
Edited by Dylan, Jan 13 2018, 05:53:30 PM.



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7 September 1603
Nordin's village


Fear did many strange things to people. They behaved uncharacteristically. The people of Justelvard were afraid of the coming invasion. Although Nordin had successfully assuaged them of their fears by reinforcing the strength of their armies, he turned to a higher power.

The people of Nordin's village were gathered around the head of a small hill. They looked at Nordin carry a small little child. The child's mother looked at him without batting an eye. She knew how desperate the situation was, and how heavy the price to solicit the gods' help was.

He held the crying babe above his head and spoke to the people who quietly and attentively listen to his words: "We must ask the gods for help. The great oracle of the gods, Àthilia, spoke to them and gave them an answer of the price that the people of our land must pay for their help: the blood of a babe".

The people simply stared as the baby wailed. It was cold and terrified. It would not have to endure this for much longer. Nordin brought the baby down and placed it on the altar. Àthilia stood behind the altar and seemed to enter a trance as her assistant beat a drum.

With a croaky whispery voice, she said, in her entranced state, "Gods of Thunder and Lightening, of War and Peace, of Victory and Conquest, we ask you to accept this babe as payment for your help! We need you to save us from our attackers. Help us! Help US! HELP US!"

As her voice got louder, the baby screamed and screamed until it was instantly silenced. The people patiently waited for a sign that the gods had heard what they had asked for. The clouds seemed to come together. They let out a light drizzle and then stopped. The people jumped and whooped for joy, that the gods had, as far as they were concerned, accepted their little gift.

They had a party later that evening. They slaughtered boars, goats and birds, roasting them on the spit. RETCONNED.

08 September 1603

Garbage, torn clothes, broken pottery and discarded animal bones were scattered throughout the village. The slaves worked to clean everything up. They tried to gather themselves from the lascivious euphoria that their masters had been inebriated by at their expense. Their sullen faces quietly and diligently got the work of getting things back to normal.

Nordin was in his war council. His top generals gathered around the table, gladly taking orders from their leader. There was nothing like a party to get a man into shape and instill him with some optimism. Life wasn't perfect, but living under the Morstaybishlians was worse than any hell their limited vocabulary could describe.

Thousands of men and hundreds of ships were to be prepared for the invasion. All the available resources of the land were to be dedicated to the war effort. With divine intervention, manpower and a powerful arsenal on their side, they felt powerful and unbeatable.

While a war with Morstaybishlia was imminent, they knew beyond a shadow of doubt that they would remain standing and they would never be conquered.
Edited by The Oan Isles, Jan 31 2018, 09:11:12 AM.
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19 September 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn


His eyes blazed across the sun soaked waters. His feet planted firmly on the hard oak planks. The man was well shaved, and had excellently maintained side burns, which ran down his jaw, on par with his lips; highly sported by other men in his position. His face was aged and slender; his cheekbones protruding. He was well known across his field; his tall, black tricorn hat defined with a red-white-blue around the rims.
His smile rose, and it was dry. His eyes glared back at the orange sun, casting a shadow on everything. His ship was at the pinnacle of the cluster, holding to over fifty first rate ships of the line, some recent additions from Lambertupol. Of course, that wasn't the height of His Majesties Royal Navy, but it was a majority.

The man stared into the horizon, thinking ahead. Without making a sound upon his approach, a privateer addressed him. The man turned around with hesitation, but relaxed upon his sight. The privateer presented a wooden tray with several small wooden bowls of fruit.
"Admiral Pennisine, Hobsti?"
The Admiral was quite famished, evidently shown by the rise of his eyelids.
"Why thank you." Pennisine picked a few berries, gently rolling into the centre of his palms. He dismissed the privateer and continued to set his eyes on the horizon.

20 September 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn


The fifty two first rate ships of the line and their many dozens of frigates and smaller vessels sat calm in the bay of Jubrayn. Most of them had been stationed there all of their lives. Today they set sail, and to many, a maiden voyage. But not to war - to their next destination. They were commanded by Flag Admiral Pennisine, a naval veteran. Many were sure that, under his command, the war was already won.
The sea was too large of a journey in one trip, so they had to use the Necraties as a half way point.

The Necraties was the first step in being a colonial empire. Along with its fellow neighbour, Frorkstolm Island; helped surged the Staynish to that 'status' in 1444. Albeit now, it was under a different governance. The Morstaybishlian Empire. The largest Empire the world has yet seen; two of the giant Auroran Empires becoming one under the legendary Lambertus the third in 1515, and getting much larger in the 70s after its assimilation of the Kormistazic Empire.
That reminded everyone what their mission was for.
The largest Empire the world has yet seen, getting larger.

Hail to Morstaybishlia, for glory lie in their wake.

22 September 1603 AD
Fallace Bay, Perdaé, the Necraties Islands


The port was beautiful. The townspeople nice, and culture here was different, but distinctly similar. Music was a great tempo to this place. There was not a second without the sound of a country guitar.
The ships were all inside Fallace Bay, the largest in the Necraties. When Staynish settlers arrived here 159 years ago, they saw this place had potential. And, 159 years later, is exactly the kind of thing they envisioned. The Bay sat at the mouth of Fricticia, the most northeastern island. Perdaé, it's capital, was a monumental success. It allowed the Staynish, now Morstaybishlian navies to dominate the sea. From here, the entire sea was under control of the Morsts. Trade was vital through these routes, spanning Morst influence tenfold.
But they weren't the only competition.
Whilst the Justelvardic and Kistelvardic communities were far too idiotic to worry about, East Malaysia and the Caven Empire weren't. The Morsts came close to war with the Caven Empire on several occasions, fighting mind games to see who had the most dominant navies. It was obvious whilst the Morsts were thought to be the biggest, the Caven Empire wasn't to be underestimated. The council was surprised that East Malaysia or Caven didn't take over Justelvard, perhaps they were afraid. Regardless, Morst influence spanned a majority western portion of the sea, but Caven influence spanned a large area of the eastern part of the sea. With Justelvard and Kistelvard under the UK as its first 'proper' oversea territory, Lambertus the fifth and his council hope that the balance of power would tip.

With everything in place, people wondered what came next. Wait, or war.
Edited by Dylan, Jul 12 2018, 03:55:55 AM.



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7 September 1603
Nordin's village


One of Nordin's closest friends and confidantes was Dorghold. He had gone missing several months back. He was found on the beach looking sick and emaciated. Bones jutted from other his skin. He was weak and struggled to move.

With intense work by the oracle Àthilia they managed to revive him. He was treated with all manner of herbs and concoctions and other incredible things Àthilia could cook up in her cauldron. After an intense treatment regiment, he was brought back from the bear-dead. He was one of the few people who survived the dubious healing methods at the time, which were a greater danger than illness.

Dorghold and Nordin spoke often at night with Dorghold resting in bed. Dorghold revealed incredible "secrets" to Nordin. This information would aid them in attack. He spoke of how standing in direct line of the fire-spitting lions (canons) and shooting arrows into their mouths (openings) would kill (disable) them.

He also spoke of how the pilots of the moving islands (ships) of the sea people (the Morstaybishlians) could be confused by smoke. He recommended sending strong and brave young men (foolish self-sacrificing idiots) to burn their ships and themselves.

To the overly confident Nordin this made perfect sense. Of course no one else in the history of the world had ever thought to stand in front of a canon shooting cannonballs at you as a way to stop them. His battle strategy was clear: go in head first and slaughter the lot. Makes sense.
Edited by The Oan Isles, Jan 17 2018, 08:34:56 AM.
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31 August 1603 AD
Redrugus Royal Palace, Redrugus


Rozhalina Dushkina paced around her personal quarters in a somewhat less serene manner than usual, slowly affixing herself with jewelry as she did so. While she knew it was foolish to expect much different, the Queen Consort of the Morstaybishlian Empire couldn’t help but feel a slight, almost girlish excitement. At long last, she had managed to persuade Lambertus to a family picnic of sorts. Finally.
Rozhalina’s pace slowed somewhat as she recalled her previous attempts at convincing her husband to spend some time together. In every last one, he’d callously brushed his own wife aside each time in the name of politics.
Her smile twitched slightly as she reflected on this, clasping a fine necklace around her neck. It had been a wedding gift from a Strataric duke, as she recalled. Stratarin. Oh, how she had missed it recently. Her needs had never been so neglected in the land of her forefathers. A proud people, led by a proud tsar. But, alas, her fate was now intertwined with a foreign land and an ineffective king.
She rebuked herself mentally for thinking of him as such, shaking her head before attaching two earrings to her ear. Rozhalina loved her husband dearly, as was a wife’s responsibility. His recent devotion to work and how easily manipulated he was had simply started to take their toll.
She glanced towards her bed. Her cold, solitary bed. As Lambertus had been so absent recently, she’d taken leave of their shared quarters and secluded herself in her own. Though she doubted he noticed. Sighing, she took a moment to sit down at its foot.

After a minute or several just thinking, Rozhalina stirred, stood, and held her chin high. Despite all that had happened recently, this was her time. This was their time.

And she would not let it go to waste.

29 August 1603 AD
Kensington State House, 15 miles from Redrugus


For heaven's sake, she does not let up.” Lambertus whispered, to nobody. This was the third time this month that she had sent him a letter about seeing each other, let alone how many she has written over the time of his absence. Regardless, it was too many to count. After finishing reading the over-embroidering letter, his eyes set at rest over the two words at the bottom.
Your wife
His eyes were fixed on those two words. It had been so long since he had seen her and talked to her, for that matter. His face uncontrollably maneuvering into sadness. He knew he had been neglecting her for a very, very long time.
But he had no other choice.
He knew that at this rate, if he spent too much longer neglecting his wife, she might leave him.
The thought of it kept knocking at him. He knew that after six months, it was the right thing to do. He hadn’t even seen his children since then, more of a reason to deny his council of a pathetic meeting. He felt a pledge of duty to his country, but also a conflicting pledge to his family; to his wife, to his children.
Running a country was ridiculously hard. Nobody could understand how much work needed to be put into it. Especially when you have all of these pressures.
Lambertus sighed.
She wanted to see him in two days time, a ‘picnic’, as they say, in the Aurdan Forest.

31 August 1603 AD
Aurdan Forest, near Redrugus


Rozhalina had left early. She wanted to be there first so that she wouldn’t look bad. After all, she had been ‘pestering’ him for all this time.
Regardless, it was the duty of her husband to see her wife at least once in a while. She sat on a large wool rug that was neatly placed across an opening in the woods. Food of many assortments were strewn across its surface, covered by cloths with royal regalia. Her children were playing in the background. Together, they had three. Florence, who was a beautiful teenage girl that embraced a strawberry blonde elegance, Lambertus, who was ten, and little Redrugus, who was six. The two brothers were clashing their wooden sticks in a dance-like rhythm across the frost-felled woods. The woodlands was strictly private. Nobody else was allowed in, which of course aroused the curiosity of the peasants but also allowed the wildlife to fluctuate. It was beautiful in here. Whilst the winter killed off many colours, the white frost that stuck to every surface and the sunlight that pierced the canopy made it feel like a time once lost.

Rozhalina met Lambertus’s eyes as he walked towards her. He was not accompanied by anyone, which really surprised her. She stood up and smiled at the man. She gave a curtsy, her curling smile looking at him. She was excited to see him. They embraced in a hug, but she felt as if he didn’t mean it. She looked up at him as their eyes locked.
“Is everything okay?”
I’m fine.” he grunted. As he looked at her, all he could feel was sadness. He felt as if he had abandoned her, and he hated that, but he had so much to do and felt as if he couldn’t partition his time.
“You don’t look it.” Rozhalina frowned. Lambertus put his hand on her neck and kissed her on the forehead.
My wife, my beautiful wife. Let us forget the last six months.
He ushered her back to the rug and they sat down. Forgetting was the last thing Rozhalina wanted. She wanted to know why. Why did he leave her for so long without a single word. It annoyed her, and that lust for knowledge built up inside her, but she did not show him.
When they sat down, his children saw him. All three of them ran up to him showing an array of nicknames. They all clenched their grips around his body as they hugged him. Like his wife, his children hadn’t seen him in a long time either. His arms outstretched and held Florence and his sons equally. He felt a flight relief, but at the same time his vacancy from them made him feel distant.
He told them to go and play some more so that Rozhalina and himself could catch up. They did as they were told, resuming their battles. Florence went her separate way, remaining somewhat close to her parents. Rozhalina saw that Lambertus felt distant. She knew that the only way to get him back was to start on his ground.
“How is the war effort?” she questioned. He looked reluctant to answer as she didn’t know about any of it, but did so anyway.
It’s okay.” A pause. A long eery pause. Rozhalina smiled and poured two glasses of hobsti wine.
“I assume you have got most of the preparations underway?” she asked. A pause. She looked at Lambertus, enticing him to reply.
Yes yes. It’s getting there.
Rozhalina passed him his poured wine. He took it with rigid posture. To him, he felt almost uncomfortable. To Rozhalina, he was rude.
“Are you in Redrugus for now?” she asked.
For a few weeks, yes.
Rozhalina was studying him. It was obvious something was out of place but she had no idea where to look. She didn’t know what was bothering him. For several minutes the conversation ensued with questions from Rozhalina and blank answers from the King. During this time, her built up anger to his ignorance had fermented.
“Why did you not visit your home for so long?”
I had more important things to do, my love.
That was it. She had had enough.
“Will you just talk to me!” she screamed. She tried to remain calm. Her fury of being put aside, labelled as ‘second in line of importance’ by her own husband, her supposed lover, had been unleashed. Lambertus stared at her. He looked scared, and said nothing.
“You leave me and your own children for half a year! You come back after all of this time neglecting us and say you have more important things?! Six months?! Your family is supposed to come first!”
I did what I must. Without my efforts, we would not be royalt…” Rozhalina interrupted.
“I don’t care about that! All I care about is my children and you and your absence puts it to shame! You abandoned me and it feels like that’s exactly what you’re going to do again. What this time? Ten months? A year and a half! Quite frankly I wouldn’t miss you if you did just that.”
Lambertus just sat there. He was expecting it. His posture had diminished into nothing. He looked down at the floor as the silence sat like a thick fog. In this time, Rozhalina had stood up. She did not undermine or disrespect the king, she wanted that respect herself.
“Do what you’ve got to do. Don’t see us for another year. I don’t care.” she slurred. Tears began formulating in her eyes. Lambertus went to stand up to comfort her but she pushed him away and turned around to avoid him looking at her eyes. She grasped her things and her children and walked off into the distance.
Lambertus slouched back onto the floor. He had been finished, and put in his rightful place. He just sat there, gazing at the bodies as they walked further and further into the distance.

Rozhalina was crying. Her children did not hear much of the conversation besides their mother shouting at their father. The four made their way back to the castle. Rozhalina’s tears rolled down her face with no resistance. Her face was a mess. Her children had no idea what it was about, but they tried to comfort her.
Rozhalina paced into her personal quarters much to her disgust of what had just occurred. She slumped on her bed. She had not made any noise until now. She let loose her feelings and a soft whimper climbed out. She laid there, crying for a very, very long time.
Edited by Dylan, Jan 24 2018, 07:10:01 AM.



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31 August 1603 AD
Royal Redrugus Palace, Redrugus


Lambertus had made a stop at the castle to take off his royal attire. He was in his quarters, the aged marble surroundings engulfed him, tingled with his emotions, making him nervous.
He loved his wife, he truly did, yet he felt if he walked through the doors to meet her, it would result in something worse than earlier.
All he wanted was for everything to be okay.
He was seriously troubled. He spoke to no man, no woman. His quarters were not that far from his wife's. After a lot of determination, he sought to see her for reconciliation. He walked down the marbled corridors. The palace was lifeless.
Perhaps the lifelessness was not a good thing.
Lambertus recalled old tales that depicted a calm before the storm. He made the connection; the calm of the castle, followed by his wife - the storm. At that very moment, his pace had made it to the door. It was a towering monument; the aged, dark brown colour seeping out. He placed his hand over the door, his fist clenching and his arm reclining. He paused for a moment to rid himself of his torment. He resumed his focus. But something stopped him.
He heard weeping from inside. He himself teared. He felt as if he did this, and it was all his fault.
Well it was.
His arm lowered back down to his side, and his head drooped down. He hated himself. He wanted his wife by his side and he knew that she wasn't, because of him. He felt if he were to walk in, it would get worse; she would be more distant than ever and he hated that. That idea dwelled in his mind for ages. Every time his thought got deeper, her weeping got louder. It all got too much too quickly. Lambertus sighed and walked off.

Rozhalina's tears had soaked the duvet she had crawled inside. The bit that was wet felt like a rag. She didn't understand why her husband thought the way he did.
'more important things to do'
"How could he say that," she quietly wept, "his woman that he hasn't seen for six months and she's not even important!" she cried. She silently wept for many minutes under her duvet. She just kept playing over the sigh he made in the woods. The sigh of dismissal. That sigh hurt, it was his way of saying 'you're not important', which is what he said. Rozhalina kept weeping, not understanding why her life was like this.
Then it sounded more realistic than ever. It sounded as if it was near her. Taunting her. Her soft weeping grew louder.

31 August 1603 AD
Audesky beach, near Redrugus


The mighty sovereign had slumped into a pile of misery at the end of a beach. He had removed his royal attire and only wore a brown doublet. When he walked to the beach, he walked past many peasants who didn't bat an eye. That made him think - what would it be like if he was normal? If he was just a random nobody that walked through the streets, never attracting attention from crowds of people, and had a life of no significance. He thought to himself on the beach that it would be dear. Perhaps that is what should have happened all along. Perhaps he should have been birthed as an unimportant nobody that served no purpose. Maybe he would've preferred that. Maybe.
He sat there for many hours, consolidating his wild imagination. When he walked on that beach, he hated himself. He did not understand why the world was against him, why everyone was against him, why his family was against him. He had not any time to think over his thoughts, and the many hours gone by served that purpose; to fill the gaps, to fill the questions, and most importantly to answer them. As the dying embers of the askew, orange sun set; he left the beach a different man.



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The Red and Blue Mighty

31 August 1603 AD
Redrugus


It was dark. It took Lambertus a while to get home, loosing his way. He resorted to using the stars to navigate when they became visible. Redrugus has streetlights, but too few and far spread to interrupt his passion.
Lambertus had learnt to navigate the stars as a child during his fathers reign. It was his father who taught him when they got once got lost in the Kormistazic highlands during a crusade, but with the help from the stars, they escaped.
The memories brought a warmth to Lambertus's heart.
As his eyes gazed upon the royal palace, he smiled. He smiled at the thought of his wife. Such a beautiful woman who deserved better, and tonight, she would get that.
He walked around the building until he accessed a small hatch. Looking around to see nobody in sight, he produced a thin bronze key from his trousers and twisted it until the mechanism unlocked. He carefully opened the hatch, lighting a small torch that was placed on the inside of the wall. Climbing in, he closed the hatch and locked it from inside. He smiled. He had never had to do that in his life. Bathing in self satisfaction he strode down the dark corridor towards the dungeon light.

The corridor was dimly lit with candle lights. The upper dungeon was a whole lot different to the lower. It felt warm and homely.
Lambertus felt anxious but kept his newly-found posture as he walked past a guard on shift. The guard gave a hint of confusion, probably wondering how the King was missing - and then walking up from the dungeon, but his eyes remained fixed on the wall.
The carpet he walked on was a rich, luscious red. Its elegance extended all the way down the corridor. The deeper into the palace he walked, the more lit it was - until it got to a point where the rooms were lit evenly. After gently pacing through the corridor for what felt like an hour; Lambertus stumbled across his quarters. The area where he slept in. The room where his wife slept in. He stood there in awe. Thoughts raced through his mind, his anxious state perplexed. Upon hearing his wife sing a gentle melody, he opened the door.

Rozhalina had been in their room for ages. She had recovered from her sadness a short while after. She had lit several candles across the room, having no idea whether Lambertus was to come home. She was worried for him. Despite his apparent egotistical demeanour, she wanted him to be safe. She knew that, if he wasn't, she would not only loose her husband, she would be embroiled in unwanted attention for months. She sat on their bed, unbeknown that her husband was on his way home. For many minutes, she had been sat at her bedside braiding her dark, thick hair, wearing her soft white nightgown. Her face filled a substantial smile as she hummed her favourite melody. The room felt warm with the soft candle light. She turned around to see her husband, the man whom she'd been disheartened by. Regardless of what he had done, she smiled. He smiled back, closing the door with his hands behind his back. He walked over to her and kissed her forehead. He produced a primrose that he had plucked from the gardens and placed it in her soft hands. He held her shoulder as she stood up, a tear rolled down his face as he embraced her presence. He smiled, his soul produced to her for her to see. She returned the smile. He walked over to the main candle and doused it out. He returned to his woman. She kept her smile, putting her arms around his neck. They caressed each other with scattered patterns and in their pace, climbed into bed.
Edited by Dylan, Jul 12 2018, 03:57:06 AM.



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The Red and Blue Mighty

1st January 1604 AD
Fallace Bay, Perdaé, the Necraties Islands


Months had passed. The ships had been equipped with cannonballs, food, water and other essentials. The wait was not expected, a change of plan had been ordered, but following the same principles.
Admiral Pennisine was at the helm of the invasion. He was the man in charge of everything. He was standing on the flagship of His Majesty's Royal Navy. HMS Fragmentine, the largest and most destructive ship that sailed the seas.
The sails were set high. The rather obnoxious cluster of white in the bay overpowered everything else that surrounded it. They stuck out like a sore thumb. Pennisine's smile was enormous. Its coarse complexity unrevealing. Many would question what he was smiling at. To some, it was obvious. His devotion to the King. His devotion to country. His loyalty. His power. He controlled the largest fleet in the world. He was, in some respects, the single most powerful man under the King in the world.
The vessels began to slowly move. Anchors lifted and flags erected. Jeers soared into the air as they departed. Perdaé jeered.

The flags were red, blue and white today.
Edited by Dylan, Jun 29 2018, 12:30:29 PM.



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The Red and Blue Mighty

2nd January 1604 AD
Caven Sea


It was such a calm, beautiful day. The water laid still, the waves slopping occasionally. In the distance there was clusters of grey clouds; but they had parted to clear a path for the prodigious fleet. Nothing dared get in its way for it assimilated all. Even the clouds were 'scared'.

As the ships made their elegance known by sailing ever closer to their enemy, a ginormous albatross matched the elegance. It perched at the end of the bowsprit, looking out at the ever shrinking expanse of the blue ocean. The bird shook violently, ridding water from itself. It stretched its wings out. Some may say it was showing off but in reality it was completely obnoxious. One thing was for sure, its wings were massive, almost stretching eleven foot. Several privateers stopped and stared in awe, only to be shouted at.

2nd January 1604 AD
Justel's Brow, Justelvard


It had been such a long time since the oracle had predicted the attack. The many days of sitting around and waiting had irreversible effects. Many had died from a sweeping plague. The men that were previously bloodthirsty quite literally had blood pouring from their mouths. Pits were dug and mass burials ensued. After separating the livestock from the armies, the deaths slowed down, but were still happening. The result gave way to a mental drought. People were tired of sitting and doing nothing but getting ill and dying. People were depressed and crime was more commonplace.
A lone Jussie was perched on the pebbly beach. The camp was a two minute walk behind him. Everyone was tired and sleepy, even the lookout. Suddenly, over a hundred black lines emerged from the horizon. The Jussie wasn't suspicious at first, but it was what followed. The ginormous sails. The ocean was once a dark blue, and now it had a line of white. The line kept on going as he looked from one side of the horizon to the other. His jaw dropped. The man ran back with large staggering steps, shouting for the alarms to ring.

Some men were ready but most were afraid. Many men had gotten used to the idea that the invasion was never to be. Now that it had arrived it pushed many off guard. The soldiers flung themselves into position. As the ships got closer, the men readied. They were told what to do, and they were told that the sea people were stupid. Smoke confused them, that's what they said.
Their boats had been laden with hay. The brittle dry grass had been purposely left to succumb to its present state; ready to be ignited. Ready to confuse.
After the camps were evacuated, they were set on fire. The men were told that the sea people would be confused by the idea of smoke coming from afar, from a place they couldn't see. They would be scared and make mistakes. That's what they were told.
They sent their boats to confront the colossus force. The hundreds of shanty contraptions were erected to collide with the sea people and burn them.

Pennisine snarled. The size difference between the Empire and these savages were finally pronounced. You could quite literally stack four of their ridiculous contraptions on top of each other and they still wouldn't match the size of Pennisine's ship. Pennisine relayed that twenty vessels would split off from the rest to begin the assault. HMS Fragmentine was one of them. They all made their way forward. As the ships closed their distances apart, the Morsts turned port side.
Suddenly, all of the Justelvardic ships began to burn. It was strange, but Pennisine was quick to understand their strategy, albeit quite idiotic.
"FIRE AT WILL!" he bellowed. The order was relayed from crows nest to crows nest, starting the bombardment. The little vessels were picked off quickly. It wasn't difficult. They had set themselves on fire too early and the cannon fire only made sinking easier.
"Young fools, only now at the end do you understand." Pennisine gnarled. Justelvardic soldiers were screaming ablaze, jumping into the water. All of the boats had been destroyed, smoke smeared in malevolent clots on the waters surface.
Screaming soldiers begging for mercy were strewn everywhere. They tried to find refuge with the Morsts, but Pennisine had made it very clear.
There was going to be no prisoners.
Soldiers on deck pointed their new contraptions at the stragglers. Pennisine's face dropped to an abnormal coldness as he commanded their deaths. The soldiers fired and the crying stopped.
The invasion of Justelvard had begun.
Edited by Dylan, Mar 16 2018, 07:20:26 AM.



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The Red and Blue Mighty

2nd January 1604 AD
Justel's Brow, Justelvard


The crying stopped. There was a brief few moments of silence, the ringing of the guns had muffled and the smoke from the muzzles seeped into the air. The moment felt like minutes but were actually seconds. It was so tense, but the tides of war favoured the Morsts. The response the Morsts gave struck very deep into the Justels' hearts. A brief realisation of what was undoubtedly to come.
Nordin was not phased. He stood over all at the brow of his hill; the brow of his country. He was so convinced that it was just luck that he ordered a full offensive.
"I want ALL of our ships to bombard their back line! We will engage the near cluster with our long range arrows! Get around their sides and aim down the fire spitting lions' throats."
Clantin, Nordin's brother nodded. He ran down the hill with another man.
The message relayed from person to person until it was clearly delivered. Nordin's entire fleet went to engage the thirty vessels at the back, leaving the docks and preparing for their untimely deaths.

Dorghold knew that this was the opportunity. He was assigned command of over two fifths of the entire defending force, and with a majority of Nordins' fleet engaging the enemy, he knew he would never get a better chance. He nodded at Jraz, his brother, who had assumed the rank below him. He walked out of his tent to the direction of Nordin. The battle had commanded most of his men, leaving him alone. Nordin was merely a foot from the edge. Dorghold smiled as he embraced the glory of the holy Morstaybishlian Empire. The hatred he had for Nordin flowed through him. The coarse exhaling he produced caught Nordins attention. Nordin smile quickly turned agape with horror. He could not understand what he was doing. He wheezed and stared directly into Dorghold's eyes.
"Why, brother?" he spluttered.
"Business."
Dorghold removed the dagger from Nordins' chest and kicked his limp body down the cliff.
­
Clantin came to a halt. He thought it was an earthquake but he was wrong. Merely inches from his shoulder his brother passed. The lifeless body contorted down the steep slope, breaking branches, shrubs and itself. Of what was a once recognisable Nordin was now a shattered and crunched scrap. Clantin was in utter disbelief. The other man he ran with was Nordin's son, and he wept by his side as the body came to a stop. Clantin was filled with hatred. He shielded the young man as an explosion rippled the side of the hill next to him, and with that he looked to where Nordin had fallen.
Dorghold.
The man perched at the ledge on the top of the hill, his right hand rubbing a few blades of grass. The man stood up and grunted. He unsheathed his long sword and raised it above his head. The man screamed and to Clantin's horror he could just about make out what he said.
For Morstaybishlia!
Clantin swore. A few more explosions ripped apart the longbows that were clamped on the hills, scattering them. The screams of dying men screeched across the sky. Word spread quickly that Nordin had died and several dozen men had surrounded his body. Suddenly, hundreds of soldiers ran down the hill Clantin had come from. They were screaming with ferocity, anger and hatred. Word quickly spread that Dorghold had killed him. The two fronts met in a culling. Men fell to the floor as swords slashed at limbs. People hacked at those they loved, and many had no idea who was who. Clantin killed a man before studying the battlefield. His newly appointed army was at a severe loss.
"Retreat!" he called. What few dozen men were left ran down onto the beach for that was the only place they could run. As Clantin followed he looked out to sea. The dozens of floating islands had tore down their boats once again. Fire, screaming and death was everywhere. Smoke plagued the sky.

Pennisine snarled.
"The rats have entered the trap. Fire."
The ships opened hell onto the beaches. The explosions obliterated the sand, sending it flying. The final few men surrendered. Pennisine had convincingly won.
"Gather the longboats. We meet with Dorghold."

A few stragglers had managed to run from the battle. Frightened and disorientated, they headed for Surrot, their last hope. The man was in league with Nordin and commanded several huge armies. Perhaps he was the true protector of Justelvard.
Edited by Dylan, Jul 10 2018, 12:37:01 PM.



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Justelvard

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The Red and Blue Mighty

5th January 1604 AD
Mount Surraine, Justelvard


The few men who had struggled to escape the clutches of their home invaders made their way through the countryside. Day by day they continued, travelling as fast as they can to relay the message. As the days went by, their numbers dwindled.
Three days after their loss, they stumbled to the gates of Surrot's castle. Being hastily taken inside, they were fed, nurtured and watered. The men were let to rest for the night to regain some strength for the morning summoning.

The morning after, the men, of which there was four out of the twelve that had fled the battle, were taken to the Lords Chamber to inform Surrot of their ultimate failure. The four men bowed under the throne of the lord and his council. One man, obviously their leader, began pleading for the sake of the land, hoping that Surrot would intervene and cast the villains away.
"Your lordship, we beg of you. This land is forsaken by our own men. This is our most desperate hour. Help us your lordship Surrot, you're our only hope!"
"SILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLENCE!" Surrot thwarted, violently dribbling everywhere. "ANDDDDDDDD WHYYYYYYY SHOULD I HELP YOU?"
"After the invaders take control of the coast, they will come here and take control of you."
"NO, I don't think so. They don't know about us here."
"You and Nordin's army form a symbolic circle. What happens to one of you will affect the other. You must understand this!"
"We wish nothing in your things, and we do not care about th..."
Before he could continue, the floor violently shook. Screaming in many pitches broke out. The faces in the chamber looked around each other in a mixture of confusion and horror. Another explosion rippled and tonnes of stones crashed onto the ceiling. Surrot's most trusted commander wailed, holding his chest as he opened the door. He crumpled to the ground, his hand clasped around a small hole.
"WHAT IN THE DEVIL," Surrot screamed. "ORDER YOUR MEN TO ATTACK!" He screeched at one of his men. The four men who had escaped the previous battle looked more horrified than ever. The plague that killed their friends had come for them.

Outside, the Morst invaders had followed the men. It took them a while to catch up, hauling heavy artillery through the landscape. They had set up an offensive flanking manoeuvre, and the attack on the fortress was in full swing. The fortress was meant to keep invaders at bay, having defences for soldiers, not cannons. They had no idea how to cope. Soldiers were forced out of the castle to intercept the fire breathing lions. The lions obliterated most of the incoming men, and those who made it relatively close to the cannons were picked off by riflemen and swordsmen. Surrot and his men were not prepared. They thought days, weeks, not hours. Movement in the castle had subsided and the Morsts dispatched of those remaining inside. Surrot had survived and was hiding in his quarters. He was dragged out and forced onto his knee before Pennisine.
Pennisine spat onto the floor in front of him. Surrot went to run but was manhandled back into place.
Pennisine grabbed his chin and stared him in the eyes. The Admiral's jaw locked.
"The stragglers were running for you? You were their salvation, their last hope?" He paused. "I expected better."
He let go of the mans chin, letting it drop in defeat. Pennisine walked off.
"Shoot him." He ordered.
A moment later, a loud gunshot howled through the air.

It was a bellowing defeat that struck deep into the lands. Justelvard was defeated. The message spread quickly to small settlements across the country. The lands were ruled by a different kind now, and it would take a long time to get used to.



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The Golden Crusades

18th October 1522 AD
Redrugil Royal Palace, Fort Redrugus


A ball was organised for the Kings family and friends. Over fifty people had been invited, and all of them had arrived. Being for the King's 27th birthday, it was courteous. An assortment of the finest quiches and roasted meats from lands afar were laid on china of the highest grade. An orchestra was situated in a corner of the room playing only the best renaissance music of the time. The band played with a harpsichord and an array of beautifully crafted woodwind instruments. An entire table was dedicated to the Kings wines and champagnes, which he boasted to many akin. In fact, he did so for good reason. He brewed them all himself.
Many faces in the room was those that he remembered from a time long gone. Childhood memories with these people. He remembered a time where he would run miles away from the palace into the great forests with his cousins. Those young boys now were married and had for their own children of that age. Slev the third smiled.
The music changed, signalling the start of the dance. His eyes met his wife's, who was across the room. They walked across the centre as they embraced each other. Over a dozen other coupled did the same, and the group began a very uniformed ball room dance. When the dance was over, the room cheered. It was mainly the children who were watching, but it was in awe. They clapped as their senior family members returned to their sides. When the music returned to usual, it signalled the start of drinking. Slev and his wife, Rosetta, popped open the first champagne bottle. It was over two decades old, and made by his mother, an equally enthusiastic brewer. He learnt a lot of brewing lessons from her when his father wasn't home. The respective crowd around the two cheered, and popped their own champagne bottles. Glasses were swigged increasingly more uncannily as the night went on.
The King had a yearning for gold. He constantly ordered expeditions on the hunt for new, untouched deposits. He loved its intense shine once it was refined and polished. He had it everywhere. Chandeliers, chairs, tables, his throne, slabs on the floor, even his candle holders were made out of it. He wanted to be known for the most expensively decorated palace in the lands. One of the people leading the most southerly gold expedition was his younger brother Lambertus.
A well dressed man excused himself as he interrupted a conservation the King was having with his wife and friends.
"Your Majesty. I am sorry to interrupt but I bear news from your brother."
"Is it of urgency? the King asked.
"It is worth your time, my lord."
The King smiled. "Well in that case we shall discuss this temporarily in private," a pause. "My beautiful lady, my honourable friends, I will be back in short due time."
The man escorted the King out of the chamber. He paused, delving into his pocket to unearth a sealed letter. In silence, he handed it over to the King. Slev took his time in delicately removing the wax seal. He opened up the paper to reveal his brothers handwriting.

Dearest Slev,

I write from you an excellent report I have gathered. My team has been following traces of gold upstream, revealing to a colossal gold deposit. It sits several miles southeast of our border and is under juvenile control by a Kormistazic outpost. We have been scouting them for many months, revealing a continuous trafficking of gold to Fort Montekaan. It would be in our strategic interests to eliminate this outpost. The Kormistazic Empire has no secondary outposts for hundreds of miles. This elimination would tenfold boost our might into the continent and pass the control of gold to us. A report on Fort Montekaan was made a year ago. Their walls and infrastructure are fragile and old. It is an easy advance for us.

I look forward to discussing this with you in the coming weeks.

Lambertus Edrudus


After carefully reading the notes, Slev returned his gaze at the man. He nodded and they returned to their previous endeavours.

Laughter and music soared across the sleeping city all through the night.
Edited by Dylan, Jul 13 2018, 04:00:54 AM.



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The Golden Crusades

19th October 1522 AD
Redrugil Royal Palace, Fort Redrugus


The guests had departed at a late evening hour and the palace dwellers had gone to bed. The morning after the ball was tiresome. It was around eleven in the morning. Slev and his wife had finally woken up and gotten dressed, ready for breakfast; something only the rich man got and the peasants dreamed of. It consisted of a roasted swan dressed in hobstiberry juice with sweet peas, Pax Fruites and other garden vegetables. One could only sit and admire the expanse of the royal gardens. Flowers of all imaginable colours were sat in uniformed columns surrounding a grande waterfall monument. It was so serene that it gathered attention from all across the land. Everyone wanted to see the pink and red flowers in June.
The royal family and their associates that had stayed were eagerly tucking into the bird. Amongst them was his younger sisters Agaila and Primessa, and at 23 and 22, they were only just emerging into adults in the eyes of the King.
"Sisters, I want you both to know that I am going to be gone for a while. I embark to rally with your brother Lambertus on our most southerly border. It is merely an unchallenged expedition for gold."
The sisters courteously nodded.
"When will you return?" Primessa asked.
"Ah. I plan to stay in the country for many months, returning in due time during the early fall of next year. Don't worry though, it won't be the last time I see you!" the King joked.
"We shall have an autumn ball for your return, brother!" Agaila exclaimed.
"What an excellent idea from my beautiful sister!" Slev clapped and Agaila smiled. "To that, a toast!"
At the snap of the King's fingers, a servant emerged from the corner of the room, refilling the four wine glasses with none other than hobsti wine. He quickly scurried away to his post, not making a sound.
Rosetta raised her glass. "For good fortune."
"For good health." Primessa raised hers.
Agaila smiled, raising her glass. "For your return, brother!"
Slev was the last to raise his. He took the kind words in, raising his.
"For Gold."



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The Golden Crusades

25th October 1522 AD
Redrugil Palace Grounds, Fort Redrugus


After a long week of official work, the country was geared up. A legion of three thousand men had been summoned from the area and awaited their journey on the outskirts of the city. The evening before, Slev had his things packed by his servants. He slowly made his way out of the palace, trying to be subtle. He had said his goodbyes to his family, but he knew that without him, and regardless of his goodbyes, Rosetta would be hit the hardest. She was a beautiful woman and had stuck by his side throughout the years of being together. He made his way out of the grounds, passing through two layers of guarded gates before he got to the road. His horse was standing there, held uniformly by a stable boy. His scruffy hair was rest assured by his somewhat smart dress.
"Thank you, boy." the King nodded. He climbed onto his horse and nodded. The boy let go of the reins and the horse began a trot.
"Stop!" a voice called. Slev slowed the horse to a stop, patting its neck to keep it calm. He gazed over his shoulder to his wife. He whistled the stable boy, who ran to hold the horse. He dismounted and walked over to her.
"I love you." she spoke. He comforted her, holding her neck.
"I will be only a year, my love."
"I am going to miss your company." she said in sadness.
"I will return a rich man, riches only the most beautiful woman will be entitled to." He paused and she gave a half smile. "I love you." he kissed her on the forehead and slowly returned to his horse. He mounted it again, waving to his wife as the horse set off.

Cheers roared the streets the King trotted. As he entered the city and came closer to his legion, he was escorted by a dozen guards. He smiled to the commoners as they waved and tried to shower him in gifts.
A while later, his horse was standing besides many. He had a lengthy conversation about their strength and supplies with his second in command. Afterwards, the legion of two hundred and fifty horses and three thousand men began their trek. Slev's second in command was a veteran strategic genius, helping Slev's father Lambertus in his mighty conquest of Caltharus just seven years ago. If it was anyone to trust in the planning and outcome of this battle, it would be him.
"Sire, we head south south east to the village of Harrow to rally and plan with your brother, Lambertus?" the man asked.
"Yes. You are right." the King said. "And from Harrow, we launch the offensive. Montekaan doesn't have a scouting network that far up the valley, so we are using it as a measure of surprise."
"I see. I have been told what you and Lambertus aim to do. We obliterate Montekaan and assume control of the wider area, severing the supply chain to the gold mines, allowing for a clean, easy swoop." He hesitated, calculating stuff the King wouldn't understand. "With the element of surprise and the tactical advantage it gives, as well as the timing between cycles, we should assume control of Montekaan with little resistance. The cycles occur every half year. The gold is collected by Montekaan's troops and taken to the Kormistazic capitol, leaving the fort barely with a leg to stand when they encounter us."
The two men laughed. It was going to be as easy as that.
Edited by Dylan, Jul 12 2018, 03:56:43 AM.



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"In the depths of winter will you find sanative." ~ Lambertus VII
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Dylan
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Regional Cartographer
The Golden Crusades

20th December 1522 AD
Rally Point, Zate Marsh, Harrow


The legion paced onwards. Their armour, more sophisticated than ever before, continued to make an annoying clanking sound. The legion was enormous. Not only did the legion resemble a migrating ant colony, it even had the soldier ant equivalent; trebuchets. Whilst old, these colossus machines were a marvellous creation, that were either admired across the world in the field of battle or hated. Their bulky weight were hauled behind. The trebuchet's were the wrecking ball - they were going to be the main way into the fortress, and they were being relied on for this attack.
Slev had made the choice for the trebuchet's in the beginning of the assembly process. It was either those, or cannons. The problem with cannons were their expense. The Empire did not have the time or money to have them assembled, so naturally, trebuchet's would have to do. The only problem with the trebuchet's would be their weight and their rate of fire.

It was early in the morning, and the village of Harrow was blistered by the soaring sun. Farm stock that went without shade were agitated and required lots of water. The ground there was strange. It had been raining heavily the past few weeks, and with the soaring sun, gave the squelching ground a sort of hard surface. Stick your foot inside, and your boot is filthy. Rest your foot on top, and the underside of your foot is fine. As a result of this, all of the troops were covered in mud from the ankle down. As they squelched onward, they met the gaze of the villagers. Being so far from the capital, their allegiance with the Morsts were little. The village folk grunted, gormlessly continuing with their days. Usually, this village was rife with noise, but today, it was as if they were disturbed, as if something had disturbed them.
The King, normally accustomed to warm welcomes, received none. Nobody cared whether they were under Morstaybishlian or Kormistazic rule.
After several hours, the legion had set up camp at the designated rally point at Zate Marsh. Tents were erected, horses were tied to their posts and the men were able to relax for the rest of the day and overnight. After all, they had marched from Redrugus to the border, stopping only a few hours a day for rest. It would be tomorrow that they set off to Fort Montekaan, tomorrow where their victory would lie.
Edited by Dylan, Jul 12 2018, 03:54:58 AM.



In Office terms:
Magister
(30/10/16 - 05/09/17)
(04/02/18 - 22/05/18)
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Cartographer(14/11/16 - Present)
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Out of Office terms:
WA Member (14/09/16 - Present)
Citizen of TEP(23/09/16 - Present)







Serving under His Majesty, High-King Lambertus VII of the United Kingdom
"In the depths of winter will you find sanative." ~ Lambertus VII
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RP:
Staynes
Caltharus
South Staynes
Justelvard

Vothetria
Lokania
Ziseshouwei
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Pagistar
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Mayor McCheese
The Golden Crusades

20th December 1522 AD
Harrow Village


After thanking and paying the farmers wife for his room for the night, Kaledus decided to take one look around the Village of Harrow before continuing his trading journey to Soltan. His late arrival the other day meant he couldn't properly explore the quaint, historic impasse between the two great empires. After purchasing a delicious sweet roll from the bakery and haggling for several bargain antiques that would fetch a small sum in the city, the ground began to rumble with the trudging of heavy footsteps. Passing the village was the unmistakable red and blue of Morstaybishlian infantry, bearing crossbows and hand-cannons, dragging behind them behemoth siege weaponry. Their silvery armour bore evidence of a long trek through the shallow marshes to the north, and the villagefolk stared at them with glum, apathetic awe.

"Thats some army, where might they be going?" Kaledus asked a butcher who was staring at the legion as well.

"It's a treacherous path," replied the butcher. "But Fort Montekaan lies about about 50 miles up the marsh valley."

"Looks like they're planning some kind of attack."

"Sure does, and if I'm not mistaken that's the young new Morst king riding that there stallion."

"He's mad, If the marsh doesn't kill him the emperors men and Montekaans walls will." said Kaledus. "I'd better get going now though, I have a caravan to lead."

"Nice talking to you sir, so long."

Mounting his mules, Kaledus set off with his caravan in tow. However, instead of heading west down toward the coastal road, he veered north and into a tight mountain passage that only traders knew of that led parallel to the horrid marsh. Even with their antiquated siege equipment, a surprise attack would leave Fort Montakaan weakened and perhaps even defeated. It would tire the mules, but he could reach the fort city before sundown and warn them of the coming invasion. Pausing only for short rests and lunch, eventually the valley widened and levelled out, the thick, old walls of Fort Montekaan coming into sight.
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~ Leon Jolva, President of the Democratic States of Axdel ~
External Links (WIP):

~Axdel on Nswiki
~Armed forces on Nswiki
~Faethalria on Nswiki
~Mawawa on Nswiki


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The Golden Crusades

20th December 1522 AD
Montekaan Fortress, Fort Montekaan city, Kormistazic Empire


Muttering verses from the Kairos tome under his breath, Lord Delphus Faithful knelt peacefully in the fortresses Kozam shrine. It was quaint compared to the great cathedral in the city center, but the hand-carved, ornate olive wood trimming combined with the old stone tablets depicting the story of creation brought him a greater calm than the monolithic walls and the imposing figures frozen in the stained-glass windows. He placed several vividly coloured wildflowers he'd picked earlier into a stylised golden vase, filled with earthy water fresh from the bogs. He said his final words of worship, and then turned to leave the shrine. Walking out, he found a soldier patiently waiting for him, clad in the newest shiny plate armour.

"My Lord, I have urgent news." Said the soldier.

"You may speak," replied Faithful. "What is it you have to say?"

"A merchant from the north has arrived at the fort bearing warnings of invasion. General Klaus has requested you meet with him and for your input on the situation."

"Sek above!" he said, shocked. "Take me to him right away!"

Briskly, the soldier led Delphus outside, into the courtyard of the inner Fortress, the city sprawling beyond the recently rebuilt walls and the farmland extending out beyond it. There was a cart drawn by two mules in the center, with a tanned man stood alongside them as well as several soldiers and General Klaus. The mules looked exhausted, and were feasting on hay laid by the soldiers.

"My lord, thank you dearly for coming," said Klaus as he arrived. "This humble trader arrived not ten minutes ago, and bears grave news."

"So I've heard," said Faithful. "What is it that you saw merchant? Tell us everything."

Pausing for a moment to compose himself, the tanned man began talking. "I was in the village of Harrow 50 miles down the north valley this morning, when a Morstaybishlian legion passed through. There were at least several thousand men, carrying hand-cannons and towing old trebuchets behind them. I left as soon as they passed, taking a faster, less travelled route in the narrow valleys, which brought me here."

"Gods..." replied the Lord, pausing for a second. "You're a hasty traveller, what's your name merchant?"

"I go by Kaledus my Lord."

"Is this the truth you are telling? That the Morsts are coming to invade fort Montekaan?"

"Yes my Lord, I promise whole heartedly."

"Dusk approaches fast, and my scouts report they are not yet up the valley, so they must have set up camp for the night," interjected Klaus. "But, Mr Kaledus, did you say the Morsts had trebuchet with them? Did you see any bombards?"

"I did sir general, and I did not see a single bombard, only a few small cannon."

"Then we need not fear!" Klaus laughed. "The walls of the inner fortress and much of the outer city walls have been recently rebuilt, thick and stout, to defend against cannon and bombards. Our numbers may be low at the moment, but they have already lost with their antiquated siege weapons."

"Ah, I have just recalled something!" Kaledus perked up in remembrance. "The village locals said they could see the king himself among the soldiers. I do not know what he looks like myself so I cannot say for certain, but that is what they said."

At this point, Faithful himself burst into booming laughter. "HAH HAH HAH! The King is mad! He has commanded his men to their dooms!"

"They could arrive as early as tomorrow my lord," said Klaus. "Shall we recall all patrols to defensive positions in the walls?"

"No, don't," replied Faithful, smiling. "They do not know that we are aware of their approach. I have something else in mind for them..."
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~ Leon Jolva, President of the Democratic States of Axdel ~
External Links (WIP):

~Axdel on Nswiki
~Armed forces on Nswiki
~Faethalria on Nswiki
~Mawawa on Nswiki


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