Compilation Of Gaius's Lore Pieces

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during my Scourge Leader Tenure

 

 

 

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_IZ3npf-64

 

The sturdiness of the peaks served well, the great perches of the world; overseeing the mainland Anthos cloaked in cloud and frost. The imprints of claws were drawn up and down the peak, leading to a hollowed cavern; the prints iced and preserved whilst the Scarlet Wyrm walked to and fro in throes of angst as commands were throbbed forth alongside it's skull as it became corrupted; the umbra of the Hiistguuls felling upon the Wyrm's mind like a yoke of terrible content. Hearing the deathly whispers, such suited for the chest of man, the Wyrm began to cease it's struggle. Upon opening it's eyelids diagonally, the iris began to glower with blae as it became consumed and under command; it began to take flight upon it's second bidding. Unfurling it's wings like the massive sails upon a frigate, the newly initiated Wyrm took flight to have itself sail o'er the Frigid Peaks of the North;  brushing aside the blizzard-like snows with a new warmth to it's scaly-armoured body.

 

Soaring high over the mountain rim forming the phalanx of crags that which Hanseti rests within, the Wyrm began to feel the mental yoke tug, the Hiistguul commanding it towards Baile. With a dip of it's wings, it began to lower altitude, towering over a marching formation of the Umbra; magi stepping and the Hiistguul peering up with determination and striking the last ounce of fear to inspire the Wyrm to succeed in it's bidding. Bringing it's four legs inward and against it's sleek body; the Wyrm begins to encircle Baile with inspecting eyes; it's maw playfully snapping open and shut until it views people on the ground. Within minutes, arrows begin to stream the air towards it, the Wyrm spiraling downward before lining itself with the road and pouring forth jets of molten fire upon the Roses and Baile-levies. As fire began to engulf the grasses alongside the path, nearing the soldiers, the people began to rush forth through Baile's walls; spilling into the plaza whilst others climbed up the watchtower that the Wyrm decided to perch on.

 

Lowering it's lengthy neck downward towards the plaza, the Scarlet Wyrm gave out an ominous shriek before commencing to unleash a mass of fire onto the town; it's eye catching what it then felt prick it's body. Swiveling it's head to the side of the top balcony of the tower, it's bluish-grey irises stared menacingly at Diedrik Barrow before crashing it's clawed legs through the roof canopy in front of the man as he fell back in fear. Snapping it's maw and clenching Diedrik, the Wyrm leaned back and took flight, spiraling to upright itself before dropping Diedrik from it's mouth to fall upon some of the soldiers below. Upon feeling a man clench onto it's body as it took flight, the Wyrm flew straight for Baile's main hall, stretching itself vertically and scrapping it's scaly body against the building to scrap Lark Steelwall off. Wrapping around the main hall, the Wyrm began to engulf the town in flames; sweeping it's maw left and right as it unleashed it's worst attack.

 

 

Upon hearing the multiple shrieks and rattles across the canyon, near Kralta; the Scarlet Wyrm began to right itself and swoop down through the canyon trying to lose prying eyes upon it. Lifting itself vertically up and over the canyon lip, it began to fly through the streets of Kralta; unleashing molten fire in unison with the Hiistguul's conducting of an aura of fear that spread out across the streets. The multitudes of tenebrous soldiers began to exit the town as chaos was thrown about; the strelts and neighboring allies confused, tortured by the Hiistguul's fright; and stumbling along in a town mistaken as a funeral pyre with the screams of the charred and the visually bathing experience of ashes and brimstone. Men and women were slain, some remained; few were even held captive to witness what may have been omens come true and what their eyes have never beheld.

 

Credit to DeviantArt Accts: Sansyu

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during the Subudai Period in Asulon

 

Varivik

Land of the Kirvel and the Frijot

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eum4a9qFjUk&feature=relmfu

In the lands of Levanthus, bears the peoples calling themselves Frijot. The Subudai Confederacy has split asunder as the Ulfgars sail out at bay at the news of death of Varin Ulfgar. The Ulfgars before Varin's death had requested time and again within the Subudai to base themselves in a sedentary settlement, free from the migratory attitudes of the majority of the Subudai. As Varin Ulfgar proved himself in battles, Sauros Alanbataar knew he would need to prove his appreciation and as such; granted land for their settlement to built upon. Unfortunately, the township of Varivik lost one of their leaders, that being Varin Ulfgar having fallen ill and died of old age; now stands bare.

Frijot is a word derived from Ancient Dervas that represents the identity of free men. Frijot describes how men and women were freely existent without the forceful guidance of a governing force. Rather, the respect towards elders was the driving force of any political structure, looking to those with experience from age and events accumulated over time to guide them in certain aspects. In terms of their culture, simplicity and functionality reigns, they respect other cultures; however they do not participate in the fanciful and the politicking seen in other nations.

What consists of the Frijot Culture?

The Frijot Culture is defined by a deeply 'natural respect' to the woodlands as well as the waters. As evidenced by the location of Varivik, the Frijot inspire to use both wood and water as their means, being both seafaring and building their homes mainly of wooden supports. Whilst the Jahvids who have split from the Subudai to raise the settlement of Agrabah use clay to make the finest potteries, the Frijots of Varivik work with the timber to secure and carve totems, hovels, and effigies in honor of dead soldiers and the different crafts they dedicate themselves towards. The Frijot preferably are loggers and shipwrights, albeit certain groups such as the Kirvel would dedicate themselves to securing precious minerals from the roughen earth around their settlement and due to such; smiths have arosen to introduce unique weapons. Nonetheless, as their culture surrounds functionality, unique respect is given to even fishermen and mages that contribute to the settlement of Varivik.

The Frijot giving respect to elders, look towards elders who speak wisely and unbiased on issues of conflict and suggestibility. As Varin Ulfgar has died, the original Chieftain, Vladivoj Kirvel is now looked upon as the Carnyx Chieftain that concerns himself with the everyday affairs and judicial affairs of the settlement. When problems occur, or conflicts arise, it will be the Carnyx Chief to delegate the process to prove one's innocence and relieve the accused or punish him. The Druzh Chieftain is one who oversees how the settlement expands and dedicates groves for religious worship when he sees fit; usually dedicating them to nature. He oversees the affairs that people remain happy in the settlement and respected as well. Finally, the Gaesa Chieftain is the one who looks out for the defense and warrior espirit d'corps [morale] of the warriors of the Frijot. In general, it is usually amicable to hold a warrior tradition amongst all of the peoples of Varivik, but not in the form of over-aggressiveness, but rather festive traditions and defense of the lands of Levanthus and specifically Varivik.

Some aspects of the culture of the Frijots were adopted from the Subudai, such as the total equality of both man and woman. The ownership of property is viable for both genders as well as the warrior traditions treat that men and women may fight together and challenge each other during festivities. As was the request of Varin Ulfgar in the past when the Subudai began migration from Salvus through Seventis, Varivik remains sedentary and build structures proper to their culture that provide them the ways to achieve the means of exporting goods from their settlement; such as the infamous open-air forge...



...Such is that these structures will serve specific functions and be kept properly in stock and organized. The Frijots also are seafaring, constructing Longships and Curraghs that sit in Ulfgar Bay, allowing them to sail to different locations and setting trade between other lands and peoples. Such is that the Frijots are extremely respectful towards other customs and bide no arrogance within themselves when conversing and interacting with such peoples as the Elves, Dwarves, or Orcs.

What comprises of Varivik?



Varivik was the settlement resting upon the land granted to Varin Ulfgar after the compromise by Sauros Alanbataar agreeing to allow the Ulfgars and Kirvels to free themselves from the migratory ways of the Subudai Tribe Confederacy. In that time, Varin Ulfgar, Delthor Ulfgar, Rocco Ulfgar, and others proved themselves capable warriors in the Battle of Volsung Fort and the Raids on Skravia; especially proving shrewd in the latter with an amphibious assault. With the passing away of Varin Ulfgar of old age and Vladivoj bedridden, Varivik had laid bare for a time; until Sauros and the Subudai rebuilt more in honor of the Ulfgar culture and sought out those interested. Varivik now bustles more and more, growing in population as it surrounds Ulfgar Bay where the Orme Lang floats.

The Orme Lang was one of the remaining Drakkar to stand after the amphibious assaults on Skravia and now assists wayfarers traveling through the lands of Levanthus as it sets sail frequently between the Cloud Temple Docks and Ulfgar Bay. Recognizable by the dragon carved from timber on both bow and stern of the Orme Lang, Varin initiated it's construction in honor of the Black Dragon that he and Sauros encountered and fought at Rienna and the First Subudai Encampment. Translating roughly in Ulfgar to mean 'Sea Serpent', the Orme Lang stands testament to the seafaring ways of the Ulfgar.



Varivik also hosts one of the few open-air forges in Asulon, testifying towards the Frijot's adept smithing practices. Such a fine work of functional art that the Khagan of the Subudai practices his crafting of tabar axes and falxes at this forge, nicknamed by some as the Belly of Drakkar.

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during the Subudai Period in Asulon

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=E0iikstnxfY

A dream was it, to see such a glistening black animal; horned and tripping itself as it rambled towards the camp. It appeared as a bull, with hair much like his own, jet-black and threaded, yet his was covered in sweat and Sauros was freshly bathed. It would seem it worked, toiled to arrive inside the camp, it's actions bared truth to the word it brought within a scroll it had carried; he grasped the horns roughly and gave it a smoothing motion to calm the beast. The thunderstorm rolling with it's many anvils anchoring it as it sprawled the sky of the plains beckoned Sauros to open the scroll. His eyes laid across distorted lettering, but he could make it out as that of the Orcs of Strigzgoi.



Reading it, he lifted his dripping head as rain streamed over his bony cheeks and were waterfalls upon his chest, a smirk of acknowledging arose; a blessing amongst the omens of the bull and the thunder and the grouping rainclouds pouring forth. The Kotansmani walking solemnly stop as such a contradiction to how the weather impressed them was shown and acquired, yet Sauros told them little and clicked his tongue for his steppe horse; beckoning the Jahvids to come with him. After mounting it, bare of no saddle, he trotted from side-to-side as the Jahvids mounted their desert horses and together headed swiftly into desert sands; towards Enismor with tufts of sand being dug from the horseshoes of a many people traveling.

Nearing the walls of Enismor, unfinished and leaving Sauros with a curt nod at the guards, thinking of how with a great many citizens, they've done little for their numbers. His steppe horse trots then relaxes as Sauros swings his left leg over and atop the cobble paths, paining him the texture of a road unkempt as much as the sight of buildings unshapely. To be honest, Sauros has had little patience, his kindness had superseded his anger that he held when he first besieged the unsightly settlement, yet even when freedom was given to Torren and the others; no tree blossomed under said liberties. He crosses the street, towards the port and his eyes gaze and widen at the sight of four Orcs bearing words already with Torren; Sauros frowns slightly after realizing Grom'gok was not among them.





Hearing the grunts, greetings, and calls of delight, neutrality, and curiosity at the sight of him, Sauros walks towards the group conglomerated and notices the Enismorians seemingly suspicious and worried; he turns to face the Orcs with an inquiring visage. The Rex stepped forth, heeding to start the conversation without pleasantries as Sauros bent his knees and sat cross-legged upon the grass and chuckling at the invoking about pleasantries; stating that he cared not to be a princely person as he was but a nomad. Rex Pok began by handing a redrawn map towards Sauros, Sauros shifting his shins forward as he reached out to receive it; quickly scanning over and noticing the lines. He runs his spindly fingers through his thinning goatee as Pok explains to him how the Gorkil land was made of the Northern Rim of Levanthusan lands, Sauros acquires that he knows of the Blackwood Legion and will request their moving south; smiling broadly as Pok acknowledges and agrees. Just before Sauros raised his hand to shoulder-height, wishing to speak of Enismor; Pok turns swiftly towards Torren Strongheart.



















Hearing about how the Orcs agreed to leave Enismor in peace as they were a colony of Oren, Sauros was left jaw-dropped and incredulous at the sort of agreements he never heard of. Torren stumbled with his words, but Sauros's surprise quickly turned to curt anger as he sat there unaware of the dealings Enismor once made. His kindness... was slowly being superseded by his anger as memories of the Subudain Horde standing triumphantly a ways away from Enismor's brittle walls being felled by ballista bolt after ballista bolt; Sauros was encumbered mentally by the distraught secrecy being made naked to him by the Rex. Sauros turns unaware towards Pok as Pok and the other Orcs chime in that Enismor will be subjugated to Orcish rule and that the Subudai will remain safe and undeterred. Sauros shakes his head slowly as Pok names the tribute of "10 Diamonds and 5,000 minas" and is met with protest by Torren; but to no avail.
















Torren looked to Sauros for help in the diplomacy, but Sauros felt betrayed; what good was moving North if his mercy was spent in squalor as he looked about the saddening settlement in it's clutter and misshapen structures and realizing his kindness was abused then and there. Sauros grimaces and refused to look back at Torren, but his anger had not superseded his kindness yet, and he chimed in finally. "Let us klomp, these Enismorians will klomp and attempt to lower the price, if not that, atleast a proof of honor; I too shall participate" and with that, the Rex's tusks shifted as he revealed the Orkish smile, alongside his Shatergoth and other Orcs and ceremoniously agreed and began naming the terms.

What came forth was a travel that the nomads, the Jahvids and Sauros, came to love whilst the other humans loathed as their legs ached. The riding of the Jabbernak was a rough one, the scorpion's plate armor-like scales jostling to keep in a unison around the endoskeleton as he skittered across the desert sands of the War Uzg as they sent forth their passengers to the Arena. After arriving, Sauros neared the railings and lent it his elbows as he admired the sight, chuckling with derision as one of the Enismorians called it 'beautiful' and was met with shouts and yells from the Orcs about the disrespect. Glazing his eyes over the symbols set in the centre, he began to walk down and bumped shoulders with the Orcs agreeing to klomp and parted towards opposite sides of the perfect circle of the Arena. Meeting distant eyes and observing movement, Torren acquired what the best plan was to be; whispering out of earshot from the Orcs as Sauros clicks his tongue in disapproval and surprise that Torren had not understood his comtempt for Torren.





Sauros bent his knees slightly, keeping his felt shoes spry atop the granules of sand as Jarkarll'Lur began to count down in Orkish; Sauros tracing his finely trained memory to remember the numbers 'One.. Two.. Three'. Sprinting lightly across the sands, he connects a fist with one of the Orcs and tries to throw more blows as the Orc stands tall and jabs at Sauros's side and causes him to trip off-balance, he slides a shin to brace himself as he faces sideways and observes Torren getting beaten. In that instant, his kindness was superseded, yet happiness was the result of his anger superseding as he sees Torren fall limp; the Orc snapping his attention back as he swings an entire arm and brushs Sauros off his legs and rolling in the sand. Trying to dodge more fists, he dodges and lifting himself up swiftly, he observes the Orcs grouping as the Enismorians lay panting and unconscious and grimaces. After a few minutes of trying to organizing himself and give a strong show; he was left bruised and laid bare across the sand.

The Orc who had caused him to fall lastly, gave forth a hand and lunged Sauros straight atop his legs and bearing his body's weight in that instance as he was stood up. The Rex stood erect as he motioned Sauros and Torren to come with him; entering the Goi they eventually did. The Rex's Palace stood stoicly, of sandstone and mortar as they entered, the Jahvid's eyes scanned the entirety as they always did amongst fine architecture; cultural architecture appealed to them greatly. As the Rex sat in his throne adorned, Sauros bent his knees greatly, lowering himself so he could feel the sandstone floor; rubbing his fingers and extracting the fine grains as he finally began to sit cross-legged. Torren stood motionless, yet his face bore an image of a pained man, groaning slightly as he tumbled forward and the Jahvids requested them able to carry him out of the Palace; leaving only the Rex, his retinue, and Sauros to themselves.







Sauros hears the final terms being spoken for Enismor, Sauros nodding and trading words of agreement. His anger spoke loudly as he invoked his words that Enismor were as the Orcs said, princely and wishful nobles only by their own testament. In his thoughts, he realized that his mercy had been fully abused, he speaks to the Rex about how he agrees that Enismor will be under the Rex's rule. He speaks of how his own nomads had fled North evading the stereotypes put upon his nomads, how his own were called ignorant, brutes, lackeys and how he desired to ensure his nomads survived and migrated North. Much to his relief, the Orcs sympathized, markedly noting that the Orcs had to face the same stereotypes. There laid across the palace were two people realizing they shared the same stereotypes, the same will to prove it wrong, and the same chagrin that despite every action to prove the stereotypes wrong; it was a fools errand. There... stood Sauros of the Subudai and Rex Pok'Ugluk of the War Uzg, in a peaceful serenity amongst the war-honorable Orcs and the Hordes of the Subudai.













http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lud8HeEMVzg

An understanding between the Subudai and the War Uzg has been formed, Levanthus will shift it's border-lines upon knowledge of true Uruk land-holdings. Enismor as a City-State is given towards the Orcs upon the RP realization that Sauros was being made a victim to secret-information holdings. Didymo is to move south, within the elven week. The Blackwoods are shifting back to their original camp.

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during the Subudai Period in Asulon

 

Walking with feet bare against the wholesome grasses along the untouched plains northwest of Trinskiril, Sauros gathered a few sprigs of incense and lit it rather quickly with the assistance of his torch and slipped it within his bull's reins and began to pick up pace once more. The growing trail of smoke made the tiresome men and women who trudged behind him feel calm, inspiring them to look about and notice the vast girth of the earth and appreciate another day to live amongst the nature. Sauros runs his rough fingers through the fur of his Wolf as he watches it's eyes stare off into the nighttime sky; the crescent moon casting an aura that made them feel more secure and able to spot any offenders. He scans the horizons and finds a hilly enclave to his right and begins to change his footsteps to begin walking in that direction, nearing hour by hour until they arrive.

Pitching tents with the structure sound with laminated wooden poles from the finest oak and being covered with thick leather skins from the weariest bulls and cows, the Subudai once again find rest under the many stars and the singular moon. The bustle of families securing beds and securing the reins of their livestock at a shoddy cattle post calms Sauros; to see his people frolic in the daily life. He constructs a modest fire pit to cook the gatherings of the young hunter-boys and sends dog scouts; teenage boys and girls atop their wolven mounts to swiftly survey the area. The adults sit in the presence of ever-burning incense, husbands and wives laughing and teasing each other as they eat meals. Sauros heads into his tent early this night, to sit on the pondering thought that he may gather much needed sleep.

Welcome Wayfarers, We are the Mighty and Thunderous Subudai!



- The Subudai are a group of families that have collaborated under the leadership of one Sauros Alanbataar; a warrior-herder who has shown great ambition and potential to ensuring the ways of the Subudai is kept in stone and her people never to be wept of blood. With the knowledge that anyone could come our way across the blue waters of yonder, we keep vigilant that our people do not suffer from the greed of any kind. With this ambition in our hearts and our hands strumming our bowstrings with the melody of a dirge of harps, we shall succeed!
- Having sailed from Aegis as she fell, we have ascertained that we live another day, to fight another day. We are Nomadic, we will be moving from land swath to land swath and ensuring that our own families will feed and drink from the securest of sources and that no man or woman suffers from the other wayfarers who will be traversing the same continent as we!

[More Information concerning to Roleplay Guidelines of the Subudai]

~~ Who are the Subudai? ~~

- It is advised to read the Ancient Hanseti's Lore to be able to fully understand the origin of the Subudai. The Subudai originated from one of three families that had arrived in Asulon and chose to separate from the lands of Trinskiril (Modern Day Realm of Hanseti) and head North. Taking on qualities of nomads, respectful of earth and flesh, they chose to become fond of the endless plains of green and lived amongst the valleys and stretching plateaus and rolling plains. The Subudai of modern times as a Tribal Confederation has been revived by Sauros Alanbataar and calling upon those whose blood traces to the Subudai accompanying Gaius Marius back to Aegis; now returned to Asulon are recalled to form once more the Subudai. As said, the Subudai is not a singular tribe with a singular culture, but rather a Tribal Confederation held together by bloodlines, brotherhood, and the shared respect for nature, people, and the admiration of the ways of survival and the existance of this confederation protected by the Subudai collectively.

The sense of admiration to survivalist ideals and the urge to protect the confederation's existance is what allows the predicted variation of cultures between each tribe to collaborate peacefully and in sync. There are shared qualities between the Kotans (Tribes) such as the need to survive, nomadic lifestyles such that they will move from place to place and thus have mobile architecture. The Subudai are capable archers, warriors, hunters, and fishermen, to a lesser extent woodsmen and blacksmiths, whilst to a lesser extent miners. The Subudai are accustomed to having to rely somewhat on woodlands and use minor mining techniques to gather what is needed to utilize stone weaponry and the wood for yurt and tent skeletons. Iron at the beginning of the Confederation is a highly respected and sought after mineral, yet not many Subudai possess the skill with mining nor the luck and iron is salvaged from raids.

[On an OOC note, the Subudai will actually be progressing to a more sedentary, and elaborate civilization. This pace will be relatively slow to start off, but you as a Kotansmani in the future can begin to influence the future of the Subudai. Examples to best illustrate my point is how the Parni went from tribes defeating the Romans at Carrhae to an empire reviving Persian influence as the Sassanian Empire.]

_____________________________________________________________________

~~ Tribal Hegemony ~~

The Subudai as a Confederation of Tribes has an interesting layout for their governing, read below for details.

|| The Khagan ||

The Khagan is the Guide and Leader of the Subudai as a whole, an orator surpreme and wizened from experience and from the oral traditions extended to him. The Khagan being the leader, surprisingly does not have entire and totalitarian power, limited to controlling where the Subudai migrate to and settle, also leading in times of war unless this wartime position needs to be split amongst the Syrmatae to ensure the best guerrilla agility during battles. The Khagan is available to all Kotans for assistance between Kotans (Tribes) or individual Kotansmani (Tribesman) and deals with judicial affairs to ensure no Kotan can appear to unfairly influence the law. The Khagan may also decide to raise caravans, moving numbers of Subudai with livestock and stock to enter nations, towns, or other regions to initiate trade.

To Reiterate
1. Leads the Subudai collectively to migrate and settle whereever they may choose.
2. Lead in battles unless the Khagan decides to pick certain Kotansmani to be in commanding position(s)
3. Deals with judicial issues between Tribes or individual Tribesman.
4. Can raise caravans and draw from the Subudai as a whole.
5. Can override the raising of caravans if he so feels it may conflict with the interests of the Subudai.
6. Can temporarily approve their chosen Kotansmani to be commanders during battles.
7. Allow individual Syrmatae to raise warbands from the population of the Subudai.

|| The Syrmatae ||

The Syrmatae are the Elders and individual Leaders of a specific Kotan (Tribe), relegated many powers albeit only capable of pertaining to the very Kotan that they lead. The Syrmatae are spiritual leaders and must govern fairly their people, they shape the Tribe on how they wish the culture and customs be. They also can raise caravans and draw only from their separate Kotan (Tribe) to lead these caravans, however it must not be against the wishes of the Subudai or the Khagan. They can request to lead warbands on raids, skirmishes, or battles with enemies or those who they wish to raid with the approval of the Khagan. They can decide how the tribal governing is formulated, albeit rarely the Khagan may advise against allowing a certain Kotansmani to be chosen for a position of power within the Kotan. The Syrmatae may be a woman or man.

To Reiterate:
1. Decide how the Tribe's political structure will be.
2. Implements the culture.
3. Can raise caravans, so long as not against the best interests of the Subudai, in which the Khagan will object to.
4. They can raise warbands to raid, skirmish, or do battle with towns or military forces at the approval by the Khagan.
5. The Syrmatae may be either male or female.

|| The Kotan ||

The Kotan or Tribe are individual groups that have a distinct culture and collectively work together internally to ensure each Kotansmani or Tribesman has economic thriving and that they are thriving. Each Kotan may make strides in certain fields, whether philosophical, scientific, politically, militarily, artistically, or any other way. Each Kotan is encouraged to embrace their power to collectively work together to advance a field of knowledge. Each Kotan has utter respect for the flesh of man and dust of earth and each Kotan must respect the Confederacy Canon which contains rules and regulations that are held in terms of accountability against every Kotansmani within the Subudai, while also respecting law brought forth by the Syrmatae. The leader of the Kotan is the Syrmatae and their word reigns supreme, the way of positions and 'gaining them' is at the behest of what the Syrmatae collaborating with their Kotansmani decide.

|| Caravanserai ||

The Caravan is a method of bartering and trading with other nations and regions that they've discovered near their camps. The Caravans will consist of a 'train' or guide who leads livestock to the prospect location for trade accompanied by Subudai flanking the train and guarding it while also carrying supplies and items of value to trade. The Subudai must work hard to keep on the flattest ground to enable them to see further and spot any troublesome intervention of the peaceful Caravans. The Subudai can trade much of what the earn, except that they must not trade weapons or armors, but rather attempt to barter for precious minerals and weapon/armours.

~~ The Subudai's Attitudes and Culture ~~

The Subudai hold in high respect the flesh of man and dust of Earth and do not take any actions leading towards harm to either one. They take great care to not scar the earth and do not kill people without good reasoning, nor do they commit acts of banditry. However, the moral ramifications of their respect for flesh and dust dictate to them an odd compass to their morals. They will help those afflicted by natural disasters, disallowing the earth to harm people, but as well do they have great distaste for those who inflict on the Earth grave consequences. The Subudai highly dislike the fact that some of man choose to expand settlements that deal with obscuring the natural form that the world takes, but realize that some nations choose to be centralize and build cities and towns; yet the Subudai still holds distaste but will respect individuals on the basis that they were raised to unconsciously disrespect the Earth.

The Subudai against their emotions will give respect to nations, especially those who try their best to scale back their effects on nature, so respect for all Elves and Orcs are higher than those given to Dwarves and Humans. The Subudai had committed to pillaging and raiding Salvus settlements due to the proliferation of settlements being planted all over the Ancient Lands of the Subudai. Regimes, guilds, and separatist factions will have to deal with Subudai aggression if they choose to cross paths with the Subudai, such as the Volsung Vikings and the township of Rienna established by one Sting Surion which resulted in the migration of the bull and sheep; causing the Subudai to decline slightly in number from lost of access to tamable livestock.

Overall, the Subudai are nomadic and the Kotans have great respect for the First Khagan, Sauros Alanbataar. The Subudai are steeped in Oral tradition, but glorify those who can write and record histories and stories, one who speaks greatly will have respect alongside the warrior. The act of encouraging cultural and social celebration is praised amongst the Subudai, the oral traditions speaking much of how the nomadic Subudai always thrived on the distinction of each Kotan and respect given. Both men and women are treated equally, both genders are taught at a young age to be capable warriors and hunters, men being treated with a drill-like attitude whilst women are taught to be survival experts and are heralded for being ones who raised the nomadic Subudai from the ground up.

In terms of items of great value, the Subudai are praised in oral traditions for being artistically creative with the paints and inks derived from nature, whether from the cactus or the famed squids that were relied upon to darken wools. Thus different inks and wools are of appreciable value as well as the sheep that provide the wool to be shorn. The Subudai also have learned how to tan leather and thrive off of the bull and cow for meat, milk, and leather. The cuisine of the Subudai is variant, albeit many of the Subudai take to being hunters and rely on the flesh of animals both land and water. Incense (the 'dry bush' block found in deserts) are very sought after as bringing calming peace to the Subudai and they routinely seek deserts for the Incense as well as cacti for their healing practicalities (the needles serve for 'acupuncture' and the juices are rich in vitamins) and the dye when cacti is boiled in water.

Wolves are also held in high esteem as hunter companions (and if mobcontrol is turned on, they will serve as our mounts, allowing the Subudai to act as 'equine archers')

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during the Late Hanseti Period in Aegis

 

Whilst walking the hallowed halls of Konigsberg, you make your way into an unmarked building that is apparently been uninhabited for a good time. Stepping on the creaking wooden slabs that feel warped against your shoes and prick them occasionally with the rare deformed splinter, you enter a separate room to find an old leather chair with the hide worn to a grimy sheen and tufts of hair sprinkled at the base of the chair. The seat is accompanied on it's right by a bookcase filled with a variety of tomes, pamphlets, and books. Atop the bookcase lies a tome worn in it's pages and torn at it's spine, yet so interesting the font of the writing that you take such book and sit firmly upon the crooked chair and begin to read.

In the times of Horen's waking and slumber, in the times in which the Human Ancestor had walked upon Aegis and laughed and played with his three other companion-brothers, in the times in which Aegis's inhabitants were but four and shared fairly the bounties of the World, but that they found mates and propagated the World; mankind was flourishing in the beginning in tranquility. Nonetheless, all was not what it seemed in the years to follow, certain places appeased the Humans as they founded their first villages and towns; simple homes to shield the fragile human from the elements of the world. The very meadows and riverbanks to draw the most important of needs, water, were not as plentiful as it may have seemed. The Histories spoke as if the world was perfect to all, fair and bountiful to each and every individual, but one can simply look past the records of merriment and view in stark reality that all was not as it seemed.

Horen's children once again did what they always sought to do, they propagated and raised families, and these families founded their own and populated more and more. Unfortunately, there were only so many feasible and appraised regions to inhabit to consolidate the success of their blooming families, villages, and towns. Soon, man began to act aggressively towards his own kind to vie for such lush lands, to see that their own has the best of chances to survive and build upon what they had started. Due to said aggression, violent measures were taken and people had been felled to advance the interests of the attackers to gain the greater lands for their own.

One such tribe, the Hanseti had sought the assistance of the wizened 'Wandering Wizard' to allow them a chance to find a land in which they would be persecuted to inhabit. At the time of the request, the four Companion-brothers were engaged in defending against Iblees, a fickle and sinister being. Taking into account the fact that some of the current descendents of Horen had been aggressive and would paint Horen as being a hypocrite for fighting Iblees despite his own kind being warlike, the Wandering Wizard would open what was called 'the Verge' for the Hanseti. Upon the arrival to unknown lands of the Verge, the Hanseti would begin to observe their surroundings. The varied archipelagos would force the Hanseti to form naval tendencies and progress the shipwright they would commit to to allow them easier traversing of the waterways in between the islands.

Producing galley-like structures to ship men and women across the seas would soon after produce one of the most startling discoveries; the continent of Asulon...

 

--

 

Upon finishing the ragged tome, your hand rises aloft the tops of the other books stacked into the bookcase and dust lightly the sediment that lies on the pages of each book. With the already read book in your left hand, you exchange it with a new book in your right hand. Opening the newer book, you begin to read in the unique font once more...

Upon arriving to this much larger swath of land, the Hanseti tribe had begun to spread alongside the shores to find a more feasible area to anchor as they had encountered sheer cliffs at first. Finding shorelines at last, the Hanseti had anchored and after a few days erecting temporary camps, the males had sent themselves out to discover the various features that had come into view upon climbing the sheer cliffs they first encountered. As the Hanseti tribe began to secure their foothold in the mixed environment, between a more fertile land separated from the harsh colds of the Trinskiril arctic. Inevitably as families grew and divided, the Hanseti had once again realized what that they were nearing a repeat of what had happened with the descendants of Horen, that they were competing for space in what little fertile land they held so dearly.

Reaching agreements for the numerous families to begin splitting, in hopes to seek newer lands that would beckon them with it's bounty to sustain; husbands and widows begun stepping forth from the village and sought to travel the continent. Unfortunately, the people who had walked forth were not to return with glad tidings in the number that had originally left. Out of the approximately eight families that had left, only three were to remain alive. One of them would form the Subudai, a nomadic group of clans that had served initially to preserve the Hanseti as mobile defenders in the land of Trinskiril and defenders of the second family that would become the Dervas; a family that would would become useful in the ways of engineering and masonry. The third family would become the inheritors of half the population of the original Hanseti tribe and kept the name. You notice an etched note to the side with an arrow pointing to this sentence 'This was my tribe that I hailed from. -Gaius Marius

Marked in more additional ink 'I had fallen out with the Hanseti not keeping their side of serving to protect what we had brought to the new continent. After chastising my people for such, they attempted to claim that if I wanted to pursue such fickle ambitions as to lead men, that I would have to seek out the old continent wrought of war... and so I did.

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during the Subudai Period in Asulon

 

The Caravan Train stretched a good distance, not so much the fact that many Kotansmani dedicated time to embark on the first of such a respectable event for the Subudai, but the train consisted of many livestock. The Caravan did not endeavor to travel very far, thus Syrmatae Varin and Khagan Sauros decided to have just one other Kotansmani, Lupus, to flank the train. The rays of the sun set a determined grimace upon the faces of the Subudai, yet just as nimble as their knees were their faces ready to smile and open into the Seventis camp with a kind atmosphere. The train traveled fair distance and with each implantation of a footstep against the grainy sands of the desert, the Subudai tried to imagine the reception of such a fruitful venture. It was another powerful show of amiable support towards this Kingdom of Seventis that Sauros hoped would allow the King to see that his people, despite their dislike for the civilized societies and sprawling towns and cities, were willing to reach a platform of understanding and perhaps a reassurance from their King that no new settlements be erected near the plains that the Subudai roam.

Sauros mutters words about the beauty of the desert, how the glowering fields of goldenrod sands make him reminiscence about the green expanses of plains. He glances towards Lupus and Syrmatae Varin as he clucks with disapproval noticing some sheep mislead from the caravan train as they eye the Oasis in the distance, he hobbles over and grabs their collars and pulls them back to the path. Upon hearing Lupus cry out that the Seventis camp is within sight, Sauros and Varin begin to quicken their pace as the sheep and spare chicken scramble to meet the change of step. Entering the camp, Sauros clears his throat to allow his pronunciation to be easier understood and informs the denizens that a caravan arrived. Passing haphazardly through the maze of tents, the three Kotansmani struggling to keep each sheep accounted for. Chuckling as the few chickens lose the Subudai in the tangle of living spaces, they give up hope and return attention to finding a plaza to allow them to see better their inventory of livestock.



The Subudai resort to crying out the items that the caravan train has hauled in, Sauros untying leather straps that hold wool blankets bundled; their inventories falling and scattering to the ground. As Sauros scoots stray goods towards the wool blankets now laid out on the ground in between rows of sheep, the other two notice a few citizenry poking heads out of their relegated tents and standing taut as they notice the strangers. Holding his hands up reassuringly, he speaks more about how they wish to do trade, but to no response. He curses under his breath as people shuffle and even a couple flirt with each other, yet somehow the prospect of gaining a source of food appeals none to them. He states that he brought the livestock with the express wish to allow the denizens to gain another source of food, bringing attention to how the camp lies in a desert and the oasis is too hilly and laden with wood to hold farms; that livestock could graze in the oasis and has to be the logical source of food.



Then, a man of noble status brings himself forth, Sauros eyes him and smiles gently. The man states that he is interested in buying two sheep, obviously to breed and bring the camp a food source; stating that he acknowledges the impossibility of having farms and that he was a man of authority and wishing to do good for his people. After receiving a letter brought forth by a Kotansmani, he sends Varin back to camp as he shepherds the sheep into a group and conducts trade. The man, John Morris, buys a sheep with a fairly scarlet tint to it's wool and a plain-coloured sheep and after the trade of minas and the leather leash to help John Morris handle the sheep; Sauros chuckles as he watches the man struggle to handle the livestock. On his return to the Subudai Camp, he hears word of how a Seventis Captain by the name of Thork attempted to accuse the Subudai of being bandits and leading armored men to the camp; luckily without a bloody opposition.



With this news boiling in his mind, Sauros makes a journey to Sarun. Sauros lifts up his right hand as he nears the city of Sarun, greeting the citizenry and being guided towards Renati. Placing the same hand over his chest, he smiles gently and sits cross-legged onto his flooring. Speaking soothingly after clearing his throat, to allow better pronunciation, begins...

"King Renati, you and I have spoken some lengths and shared ambition of remaining friendly towards each other. Your Captain, I believe his name is Thork; has caused us some trouble at our camp. It was only a few days before this sickly event did we start our first caravan train to the camp of Seventis; along the edges of The Oasis and a few hours from Rienna itself. We brought livestock to sell as well as miscellaneous goods as a sign of friendliness and humane respect towards your people. We noticed how Sarun and this camp was based mainly in the desert and how the oasis was too hilly and laden with timber to support a thriving farm and so livestock seemed the best answer to your obvious woes of feeding your populace. I encountered a man who wrote a letter addressed to me, his name I believe was Jack... Morris? Anyways, he was the man who bought the livestock and the trade was good for our first train to stroll through your settlements. We wish for this idea that we are bandits be banished from the minds of your people if they ever hold such an ill-thought idea, for it is greatly ironic that people who respect the dust of the earth and flesh of man be thought of money-lusting highwaymen."

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during the Subudai Period in Asulon

 

Sauros curses under his breathe as he encounters Brunhylde, knowing the facial features of the Viking even before hearing her voice; he then smiles thinly as he greets her. He walks closer and with his last step of his foot as he places his fist into palm and bows, he acquires the business she brings. Having talked to her before, about how the Volsung had landed at where their fort stands now and her father wanted to head outwards to sea once again; Sauros nods understandably. Sauros throws an almond into his mouth from a leather pouch slung across his waist and smiles with disfigured teeth as he hears her wishes to abandon Volsung Fort, but he returns a frown upon hearing that the father she sought out to meet Sauros was in fact dead. Giving his condolences, he leans forth expecting to hear news of her approval that the fort be dissembled, in which she does confirm. With a smiling slowly creeping upward from his cheek, the creasing of his cheeks and eyes is disrupted as she informs him of Dagmir, the newlywed man to Freja and how he will probably refuse to give up the Fort.

After their conversation and departure, Sauros goes to his yurt and slipping his fingers under the lids of chests, he eventually confiscates an iron-tipped tabar axe and slips his composite bow into his leather holster on his left hip. He scrambles forward and out of the camp, intention being to hunt the javelins around the edges of the desert and the raised dead. Upon passing the Volsung Fort, he notices Freja cowering through some thick grasses; eyeballing Sauros and slowly creeping backwards away from him. Greeting her, he is returned with an uneasy wording that leaves Sauros with a puzzled look on his face. His honest concern dissolves into an agitated feeling as he hears a coarse and slightly drunk Dagmir coming to Freja's side; she quickly withdrawing behind him. Realizing that he was being played to seem that he was mistreating and attempting to flirt with Freja, he looks at Dagmer plainly; no sign of his anger nor any aloof facial expressions showing guilt appearing.

Dagmir and Sauros trade barbs, as Dagmir attempts to show up Sauros as a womanizer, while Sauros explains that he has no need nor any need to cause trouble with the Volsung. The three clambor up towards the gatehouse of the Fort as a rain settles in; creating a dready mood about the three. Remembering that this was the man that Brunhylde informed him to not be to friendly with as he would not allow the Fort to be dissembled, he furrows his brows as Dagmir invites him into the mead hall. Rejecting the offer and rather deciding to sit under the gatehouse, they talk more aggressively. Hearing that supposedly, a Kotansmani had confronted Dagmir and attempted to kill him, Sauros listens in with concern as he tries to think who would do such a thing. Knowing that Delthor Ulfgar was really aggressive, he made a mental note to interrogate Delthor about this accusation, only to erase it as he hears Dagmir contradicts himself as he taunts and makes rude remarks; saying that he killed the man. Sauros acquires about where the body is, so that he may bury it, but is interrupted as Dagmir contradicts himself and says that the man had put a blade to his throat, but had ran off to camp to deal with another situation and was killed there.



Sauros rolls his eyes and informs him that he would return at dawn to continue the discussion, thinking how he would push his agenda and offer to Dagmir. Making their way to their separate homes, Sauros arrives to the camp; a plethora of different tints and shapes of tents and homes. He crosses between the different Kotan's tribal circles and finally arrives to greet Crow and Aldjiron as they awaken. He takes the two Kotansmani by the shoulder, his taller frame enabling him to wrap his arms around the back of their necks, he leads them into his yurt and begins to whisper. Telling them of the past day's event, he beckons them to gather their armor and weapons; that it was time to confront Dagmir aggressively. The simple fact that Dagmir lied about killing his men made his blood boil, each single Kotansmani of the Subudai was as precious as a hundred of a nation's soldiery. If it was a laughing matter to the drunken Viking, then it would become a laughing matter to see the entirety of the wooden palisade of Volsung Fort to burn brightly as a beacon upon a lighthouse across the desert sands. Upon their arrival back to this yurt, ready and excited, he leads them towards the Fort as the sun begins to creep atop the horizon with a glimmering scarlet welcome of dawn.



Aldjiron, Sauros, and Crow slowly creep across the lowered desert floor, keeping keen eye upon the rim of the wooden palisade, ensuring that none saw them as they walked bent-back towards the palisade. Upon pushing their backs against the palisade and sneakily moving towards the closed gate, Sauros whispers and commands the other two Kotansmani to press up against the wall on opposite sides of the gate as he calls out to Dagmir. Standing tall in front of the gate rutting, the expression on his face masking his smirking thoughts, he calls out for Dagmir. All three of the Vikings, Dagmir, Freja, and Brunhylde walk out of the mead hall and towards the gate, Brunhylde yanking the chains that were the pulley system for the gate. Dagmir smirks and claims that he was present as a pretty lass, leaving Sauros confusingly claiming that he was happy that he was thought of as pretty; leaving Dagmir sourly informing that the joke was ruined.

Sauros chuckles uneasily and acquires of the man who tried to attack Dagmir. Dagmir informs him that he was from the Subudai camp, leaving Sauros to acquire which Kotan he was from; informing Dagmir that each Kotan had a tribal circle and that if he could point it out. Stepping back to allow Dagmir room to leave from under the gatehouse and out into viewing the camp; Sauros jokes about how it was a poor maneuver to step out and cries out for the Kotansmani to attack Dagmir. Dagmir in a drunken stupor stumbles and attempts to jump backwards, eying the gate rutting above him and having successfully jumped behind the gate; Brunhylde gladly lets free the chain. Sauros and the other two Kotansmani hop backwards as the gate rutting falls with a thud atop the sands.



Dagmir laughs with a hacking cough as Brunhylde calls the Kotansmani bloodthirsty, as the Kotansmani swear out loud and tells them of how pathetic the fort was atop the desert and their complaints of how it disrupted the nature around it. Sauros lowers his two hands as they lie in the direction of his two Kotansmani, trying to silence their barking of insult to the Vikings; wishing not to degenerate to the ignorance of the Volsung. Sauros looks towards the three Vikings behind their gate with a snarling smirk as he tells them that he will bring fire and brimstone to burn the wooden palisade to ashes, the like that would darken the goldenrod sands of the Sunmoth Desert. With that, the Kotansmani cautiously walk backwards and eventually running towards the camp to gather such supplies. As they retract away from Volsung Fort, Dagmir lets out a yell informing them how the fort is indeed theirs and that he will not oppose them.

After entering the cavern under the Fort and attempting to seek out possible areas they could hide in, the Subudai come back above earth and into the Fort; celebrating the success of confiscation and set to work dissembling and looting the Fort.

[Samson Option 9652]

[it has been my pleasure the Roleplay with a varied group of individuals within the Subudai, you have noticed, but I am an experimental person when it comes to functioning the Subudai. I have heard that some of our members are possibly Brits, Europeans, and Aussies and so I want to appeal to them and give them some good RP as part of the Subudai. I have experimented before with using NPCs to guide players along through quests to great success in Aegis as the Hochmeister of the Teutonic Order. This led to the short-lived 'Ankabut Burrow' that was tested by players such as Cataris, Susitsu, Ever, and Bjorkgarr with great results and a fun and exhilarating experience.

These quests will be building up to more complicated quests as time passes, but for now, I start this thread to inform ONLY Subudai of the quests being offered. Liable to be changed, you will receive an update on this thread about due change. I am also open to players offering quests to do, allow me to know ahead-of-time before placing NPCs and such.]

1. Dahae the Archer:

It seems the Subudai have seen success with mass archery, the composite bow a prized possession and a tool yearned to learn about. The Khagan, Sauros, has issued Dahae to collect donations of quivers filled with arrows as he realizes the need to raise the Horde again in the next few elven days. Donations are requested from each Kotan, the reward is the chance to participate in the Horde, earn your worth amongst your Kotansmani and chance of pillaged loot.



2. Askhkhadar:

[i}The Subudai may not be capable sea-faring people, but having a river delta within their campgrounds allows control of trade and ships that sail through to reach northern settlements. The raiding of Sarun have introduced the Subudai to a mechanism believed to be called a piston, capable of pushing large pillars that rest upon it. Askhkhadar is a thinker, an innovator, having presented the idea of using a piston system to formulate a canal; he requests any piston parts possibly raided or in possession of any Kotansmani. The reward will be good for those participant, helpful in Askhkhadar's endeavors, may the river delta flow always!

Special RP Enabled: -A Piston Chain will be drawn across the mouth of the River Delta-



3. Skyl the Weeping:

When a fellow brother, a fellow Kotansmani goes missing, especially presumed dead, then that man has right to grieve. Skyl has not seen his brother in many days, as each day passes, Skyl realizes the obvious fate of his brother. Having gone down into the Crater Ravine adjacent to the Mongol Kotan Circle, Skyl was confident his brother would have the strength and wisdom to see to not falling to his death. Nevertheless, after many hunts Skyl has gone on, he has returned to no brother within sight on the vast plains. Skyl feels he is unable to venture into the ravine, surely a man so surefooted on the grasses of the Subudai's plains would not be able to venture into the ravine; riddled with broken springs making the ravine stone slippery.

Perhaps a Kotansmani can calm Skyl's nerves and give the final verdict, perhaps his brother is simply trapped at the bottom and unable to climb back upon the surface of the earth. Or... perhaps a fate more ghastly has befallen him, nonetheless, take up bow and axe and carry a great burning torch; the fate of Skyl's brother will be difficult to find.



4. Caravan Scout:

Having picked a good hill to rest upon as he measures out the plains around this hill, a Caravan Scout calls for any Kotansmani able to help him. The Subudai are prized for their caravan trains, a chance to barter, trade, and develop relations with other people, and a good exercise as well. Yet what the Subudai have increasingly found need for is a Caravanserai, a place to gather what they will send on a caravan train. The Scout knows that flat land will be needed and has found some around the hill he stands, good for pitching tents and building pens for the livestock who embark on their journey as well. Help the Caravan Scout and you will get a reward, as well as enabling the Subudai to raise caravan trains from their camp.

Special RP Enabled: -Raising Caravan Trains from the Subudai Camp-



5. Surveyor Skunxa:

The strange man is back, chuckling with each scratch of his chunk of graphite against papyrus, this time with another task to dole out. Happy with the Jahvid Kotan for breaking into the watertable in the desert and constructing wells, he has turned his attention to the ballista stolen from the Volsung Vikings. This siege weapon seems capable of throwing bolts, but needs a Kotansmani help observing the mechanism as he tests it, to see how it works. Call it reverse engineering, but your help is greatly needed and a reward is offered for writing him a manual.

Special RP Enabled: -Capability of building Ballistae-



6. Alchemist Hulegui:

Piece written during the Subudai Period in Asulon

 

 

After witnessing Kotansmani Antian use the sticks of explosives to blow the bridge north of Tyr, Sauros feels confident that his interest in Alchemy will come to great use. Noticing the explosive elements of sulfur, he calls for Hulegui to give rewards for sulfur being collected and donated. The alchemical imagination of Sauros does not end there, he also requests for chunks of clay to be donated as well, somewhat rare, but all the more useful. For as Sauros meditates in his yurt, incense wafting in the air, his invention comes to mind all the more solidly. Imagine, clay hollowed into a sphere, with sulfur caking inside, perhaps using dried vines as a fuse. Such clay grenades as they can be referred to would be a terror to those wearing heavy armor, another way for the Subudai Nomads to counteract heavy infantry...

Special RP Enabled: -POSSIBLE RP usage of damage potions-

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during the Subudai Period in Asulon

The banner is held high above Sauros's head as he looks out across the plains from his yurt, observing the Kotansmani gathering in their finest lamellar armors; tabars, falxes, axes, swords, and bows protruding from the huddling masses. The leather-woven head is shaped like a dragon, specifically the Black Dragon that was responsible for much damage throughout Southern Seventis; throughout the head lies flecks of dragonscale whistling as the winds of the plains fall between the ranks of the Subudai. Such is the formation of the Horde, the conglomeration of the nomadic peoples, the Kotansmani, under the command of the Khagan. Holding up his right hand to shoulder length, commanding ominous silence that allows the whistling of the Dragon Banner to chatter with a strange noise, he finally addresses them their aim.

"Tew tha' Nurth an' thaw' East, settul'ments lie abawt', empty as an insawlt' tew' tha' earth it finds a place tew' stand aw'pawn! These settul'ments shawl' stand naw' moor', we wawl' travul' with tha' Horde fur' many miles tew' see thawt' each settul'ment shawl' be buried by fire awn' destrawc'tiun! We shawl' stawnd' vigil aws' jaws'tice is doled awt' fur' thaws' hoo' stand in awr' way!"

With that, Sauros throws up his left arm, the composite bow freshly laminated and gleaming with the last few rays of the sun as it settles; the moon rising from the other direction. The Horde begins to make it's migration northward towards an abandoned Alrasian settlement...







...The Horde drives throughout the land in an easterly direction, fires and collapsing structures paint the horizon red and fill the air with chilling noises. Boria, and an Alrasian Fort also fall to utter destruction as the Horde dance across the plains in vivid lamellar and with much glee and fervor...



The Horde lastly makes their stop at the town of Enismor, quick to retreat into the treeline before nearing. As Sauros spots out guards standing lazily around the entrance, noticing them discussing how they wish they could sleep the rest of the night; he motions for the Horde hiding within the forest to nock arrows to their bows. With a nearly silent whistling that sharply sings in the air towards Enismor, the guards drop to the ground; arrows protruding gruesomely from the faces and necks as blood drains into the soil below.



Noticing the gate rutting having dropped, Sauros grimaces and turns to Delthor Ulfgar and Syrmatae Varin Ulfgar and informs them to whip the oxens into shape and get the ballista within firing range as swiftly as possible. Lupus Vandali, Midori Tengu, and other Kotansmani begin to near the gate and taunt the men within Enismor as loud creaking noises ring alerting that the ballista was surely moving within range. Within a few minutes, Varin calls out to the Kotansmani to retract from the gate as he and Delthor begin to load a large studded bolt into the firing socket of the ballista. With widened eyes, Sauros begins to hop backwards and runs towards the ballista, keeping from walking between the bolt socket and the gatehouse. Having made his way to the ballista's side and with his composite bow at the ready, Varin jumps off of the bow arm of the ballista as Delthor applies the last turn needed to apply torque to the sinewy string and launches a bolt squarely into the gatehouse; shattering it into large shards.



As the last of the stone shards fall to the ground and settle amidst the rubble, the Kotansmani begin to charge; an assemblage of tabar axes, falxes, swords, and bows jostle within the hands of the Kotansmani as they jump atop the rubble and make their way inward and attack the soldiery attempting to defend. Making his way briskly into the settlement with a determined smirk, he can hear the lids of chests being smashed and miscellaneous goods being thrown loosely through windows and into the streets. Watching as Lykos and Antian attack frightened citizenry expecting better chances to defend; he notices a man walking and shuddering at the sight and crying out for explanations. Sauros begins to jog towards the man, Lord Torran Strongheart, as the man nonchalantly is unaware of the person behind him and grabs the collar of his shirt and throws him forcefully onto the ground.









Unlatching his tabar axe, he whacks Torran against the head as he attempts to get up and protest his treatment, with a grimace; Sauros bends his knees and lowers himself to near Torran. Acquiring if Torran wants to see his dream come true, to be able to hold land for his people to live in and a prosperous nation-state, Torran shows a puzzled look; but cannot help but nod. With a grin and a helping hand, he lifts Torran up and into a building alongside Midori Tengu and Dedicant Brahzin. Sitting at sides of the long table drawn out before them as they clambor up the stairs, Sauros begins a discussion; fruitful for Lord Torran himself...

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during the Subudai Period in Asulon

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWYEbz90iYs

The curved horns of the Ulfgars sound out in the vacant air of the calm seas as the Longboat begins to rock, the ripples on the water exponential yet it was one single thought that those around the determined Ulfgars felt; the ***** feeling of having sailed for the first time. This was no lofty Galleon that nary a shake that the waves splashing against could produce, but a Longboat low and close to the waters it skimmed. Sauros Alanbataar holds tight against the railing as he keeps his eyes wandering and sneaking into view the insides of the boat rather than the waves shifting and changing into soulless forms that he could never keep vigil upon for longer than a few seconds as the waves crashed. Varin places a firm hand atop the laminated Drakkar Sigil towards the front of the Longboat and looks down at Sauros and chortles at the sight of his Khagan sickened from the travels; only to have his words muted by the overtone of Delthor, Rocco, and other Ulfgars commanding the foreigners of the seas to keep rowing.

The Ulfgars scramble across the low-lying deck, spitting on and extinguishing the torches lying about as night falls and the light emanating from Skravia becomes apparent. With raspy whispers and guttural hearkening, the Longboat seemingly disappears as it cuts a swath through the mists peeling off of the sea to Skravia's western direction. Sauros tries to raise himself up, but falls upon one knee as his head bobs in various directions as he tries to keep his composure, asking Varin and Delthor where they intended to beach. Pointing towards the South, Sauros falls back into his misshapen seat; unknowingly unable to contain a man of tall height for a human as Sauros lets out a slight sigh of relief as he feels the lurch of the Longboat beaching. Immediately, the Ulfgars begin to jostle the men and women off of the boat and onto the foamy sands of the beach and into a conglomerating formation of no true discipline.

Sauros reaches his left hand towards his stomach, feeling the effects of the rough sailing on his organs as he reaches out and places his free hand atop Varin's shoulder, urging Varin to lead onward. Varin looks with a cocky smirk and barks for the Horde to follow him. An array of soldiers of variant cultures clash as they make their ways through Skravia. Just as swiftly as the men arrived had flames arisen, the streets usually void of much activity bustled alive of the violent kind as the Horde scoured and stripped limb from body as testament to their strength and limb from tree as fire-starter as torches drove into corners of structures and gave light. The Horde was in a dizzying array of chaos and uncontrolled anger and frustration as Skravians began to attempt to fight back, some streets ran with the colors of Skravian guards as they attempted to contain the situations within.

The chaos within the streets, due to lack of control, gave way to a rout called for the safety of the Horde; knowing they had been caught in an ill-tempered action. Sauros and Varin looked at each other as many of the Horde were fleeing and some trying to find back-alleys to ambush the guards, they began to cry out for a retreat; the urban warfare much too confusing in such an unruly fighting fashion. Much of the Ulfgars having carried out numerous pieces of goods, weapons, and armors and dropping them as they made their way past the Khagan and Syrmatae as they watched with caring yet assertive eyes that their words were met and obeyed. As the last litter of warriors began to flee and successfully make their way out, Sauros and Varin begin to pick up their pace and sprint together out of the settlement.

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during the Hanseti Period in Aegis

 

Resting his rugged palms on the fine stone masonry railing in the Konigsberg Citadel, Gaius looks out with dreary eyes at the horizon; noting each tree that stands out in contrast to the reddening sky. Feeling the tearless sting of his eyes as he realizes the inevitable comes swiftly for him that night, he coughs with a worsening tone as his arms buckle in pain. His sight growing hazy, Gaius runs his arthritic fingers through his grey beard and chuckles realizing that he will die. With the sudden twang of noise coming from Gaius, OrdenMarschall Samuel Bealcrest walks authoritatively forward and meets Gaius's eyes and acquires his condition. With a couple of coughs to greet Samuel, he looks wearily at Samuel and informs him to ready his bed and with immediate concern; Samuel leans his head towards Gaius with a questioning look. Throwing his arm halfheartedly across Samuel's shoulderblade, Gaius stands himself fully, not as tall as the elven Samuel.

Walking up a flight of stairs to a finely set bed, Gaius slumps onto it sideways and rolls onto his back with aching pains. As OrdenMarschall Samuel shoos a Sariant away and soon afterwards a congregation of them enter undeterred by Samuel's pressing barks in opposition. Gaius welcomes them with slumped yet opened arms as each of them come in with troubled, concerned, and flabbergasted looks across their faces as they stare monotonously towards their Hochmeister. He beckons them with his worn voice and informs them that he was just a mere mortal and that no man from there on out should consider him invincible for he was far from it... He slips Samuel Bealcrest a series of scrolls and continues his message to his Sariants and Citizens...



I was brought forth from the womb only to inevitably enter once more within a tomb... I am a Simple Man and I will have my Death and die this once, but have seen the Era of a Golden Age of the Teutonic Order and the Realms being set!

With that last summoned shout from his spirit, Gaius slumps into eternal slumber as the heralded chants of a mourning Order prevails the quiet natural noises of the Realm of Hanseti. Thundering hymns of solemn peace exude from each citizen knowledgeable of their different chants that day...









Hochmeister Gaius Marius of the Teutonic Order; King of the Realm of Hanseti has passed away Sabet, 14th of Malin's Welcome, 1343

Hochmeister Gaius Marius has been succeeded by Samuel Bealcrest, a past OrdenMarschall with Mirtok stepping into his OrdenMarschall position.

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during the Teutonic Period in Aegis

 

Slowing to a studdering walk, Gaius slowly sheds off his winged helm to a torrent of sweat beads spraying forth. Calling out to his Sariants to assemble in front of the main gate of the fortress of Nuremburg, Gaius rests his hands roughly upon his knees to catch his breathe. Having ran through the forests to alert his men of the ambush by King Enor's Militia, he gathers his Grosstrappier and instructs him to gather the armour and gathers his OrdenMarschalls to inform them of the numbers had. The Sariants begin to chant furiously at the news of their own brethren being killed out of bloodlust and march out of the gate with the trill of mail skirts impacting one another. Gaius swings his sword in the direction of King's Road and his Sariants keep a steady march onward.

Nearing the King's Road, Gaius lays his hand at his thigh's height and motions them to hide in the forests nearby. Quickly skipping to an enclave hidden underneath the road, Gaius rolls into the enclave and pokes his head out in the direction of Krugmar. Spotting one of the Krughai striding along King's Road, Gaius grapples the masonry of the road when the Orc crosses him above and grips the Orc's foot and sends him sideways crashing into the sand and quickly cups his hand and silences the Orc. Whispering in the Orc's ear that he is the Hochmeister, the Orc immediately loosens up his recoil from the fall and listens as Gaius explains that he needs the Warlord Mogroka to issue the Krughai back to the location they lay and the Orc shakes his head and whispers to hold the Sariants strong within the forest until he comes back. They both depart and Gaius heads back into the forest and lays in wait with his men, analyzing the horizon and who makes their path through the King's Road.

As the moon curves along the tender surface of the night sky, Gaius peers out from the bushes and notices a large group summoning from the south and marching north. Grabbing his OrdenMarschall and pointing towards the large conglomeration and noticing Krughai and another unknown party, they order their Sariants to come out from the dark forests and march towards the road as Gaius speeds up ahead of them and holds out his hand in amnesty and greets in Orcish language, responded correctly giving Gaius relief. As he nears the marching, Ned LudGorkil approaches Gaius and gives word that the Orcs called upon their elven allies, the Wardens and informs that they will be fighting alongside the Teutonic Order. Gaius takes off his winged helm and stands on one foot to observe both of the armies assembling into two columns and instructs his Sariants to ready themselves for combat.

Meeting the Warden Highborn Quazar, Gaius and Ned Lud alongside their Generals discuss their plans and with most agreements being found between each other turn and address their men for battle. Gaius walks in front of his men and tell them that the day has come that Oren shall have due repercussions, if one wishes to act, then they shall be acted upon duly for their efforts in however way it must be returned. Kramaroe being invaded when the Orcs were on their tribal hunts was the most ignorant disrespect and not even the Ascended can stop what shall happen, it is time for AlKhazaar to be razed for such ignorant of actions and let the King answer to his own deeds. Gaius then looks at the other two men, Ned LudGorkil and Quazar and initiates the northern march towards the gates of AlKhazaar.

As the main gate of AlKhazaar emerges from the dawning of the sun, the Warden column marches behind trees and begin to take aim with their elven bows and draw down the number of guards atop the towers and hiding behind parapets, OrdenMarschall Samuel and Viadar point out a fallacy in the iron gates in one section of the walls and with rapid arrow fire, the Orcish and Teutonic column rush forth through the shallow river and swim underneath and into the city. Charging the first row of guards, nervous and teetering on their feet, the Sariants and Orcs swiftly cut them down before noticing a second row of gates had been shut during the quick skirmish and more guards rest behind the secondary walls. Urara'Gorkil and Apollan the Warden draw Ned Lud, Quazar, and Gaius towards a sewer entrance and they formulate a plan to spring two attacks at the same time on the inner city of AlKhazaar.

Rushing with a handful of Wardens and a few Orcs, Gaius presses some of his Sariants led by him into a foul smelling lake near the mountain that AlKhazaar is based around and find a rusted, mottled sewer pipe large enough for them to walk into. Approaching it, Urara'Gorkil, Apollan, Gaius, Draco, and Gralka grab hold on the grimy sewer grating and pull until the feeble wrought iron pops off and sends the people flying backwards into the murk. Entering into the sewers, the men keep quiet so as to not alert the guards above the sewage system and make their way up into a city street and quickly pull themselves up and over and enter a house and Gaius locks the door with a wooden plank. Pulling woolen curtains over the windows, Urara'Gorkil, Ned LudGorkil, Durzio, Gralka, Vardak, and Gaius lean against the walls to peer out of the windows at the passing guards and ensure themselves that they are safely hidden.

With the sound a blown horn, Gaius and the rest of the people inside rush downstairs and unsheathe their weapons and kick the door down and scatter into the streets and surprise the guards nearby and swiftly quell any guard defensives and move through the streets. Spotting the rest of the armies rushing through the main street along with his OrdenMarschalls, Gaius tilts his head towards the entrance of the Keep, grins, and rushes towards it. With news that the King fled, the armoured guards fortifying the Keep grew unsettled as a mass of rushing warriors threw themselves into the defending and after hours of constant battle they were whittled away and the cries of victorious virtue rang within the city of AlKhazaar. Gaius, wiping blood from his helm and the curdle of flesh from his blade walked towards the throne, to him now a symbol of arrogance. Accompanied by a Black Axe named Logan, the dwarf withdrew a pickaxe and struck at the diamond shards in the backrest and drew four chunks; gifted to the leaders of the victors. Gaius, Ned LudGorkil, Quazar, and Logan four received these shards in a symbol that his arrogance has been calmed, now he knows the prices paid for the actions grown from haughty ambition.

[Samson Option 9652]

Piece written during the LM Period in Anthos

 

 

The Zil'Maktumi Anthology

 

War of Anthos' Antiquity

 

This is an account pieced together concerning the disappearance of the Zil'Maktum, this is foreshadowing the war between the Zil'Maktumi and the invading Dervas on the continent of Anthos pre-Asulon diaspora.

 

Part I - The Amphibious Breach

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3mw5xMyIIM

 

Outstretched before the three's eyes laid piers of acacia wood, sprigs of frankincense trees formed at the base of each timber thrust upon the sands to keep the platforms upright. The water stretched wide hands past the most landed of the piers. The tide threw itself further and further inland, the robed individuals looked uncertainly at the observation and commented amongst themselves.

"The moon, filling the crescent each cycle, that is what inspires this tide.", the eldest of the three comments as he strokes the length of his beard thoughtfully.
"The fishers owe this to the leviathans that haunt the furthest stretch of ocean, they say that as they grow larger and find the current bringing them closer to land, so does the tide feel the push of their bulk.", the youngest chimes in, an incredulous grin on his face.
"You would think that tidal waves would be scooped against the beach every time a whale has the misfortune of beaching itself then", the third replies with a dour look at his face.

He grabs a gilded plate of silver with a bouquet of fruits resting atop and holds it out inquisitively towards the other two. The eldest raised a hand in mannerly rejection whilst the youngest grabs an apple gingerly and holds it to his mouth and asks, "Yil'Mandabh, are you offended by what I said?". Taking a book out from a nearby bookshelf, Yil'Mandabh nods in the affirmative and notes, "Remember that the Red Ones are the one who farm for us, they picked that apple you seem to take interest in Yil'Andalus. They've chosen the path of labor and don't worry themselves in your intellectual endeavors, respect them". Yil'Andalus looks to Yil'Mandabh slyly, taking a bite from the apple slowly and allowing the juice to run down the creases of his lips before noting, "I do my dear friend, I enjoy what they pick, that is respect enough from me". The wizened man stepped between them, his forearms wrapped around a tome, and breaks the other two's eye contact with each other. The palatial room stood quiet for a few minutes, light inching slightly from left to right betwixt the pillars that opened the room towards to beach and port.

A shout from the docks filled the otherwise empty air, Yil'Andalus huffing slightly as he walked into  another room.  Yil'Mandabh set the plate of fruit down gently and turned towards his older companion, oblivious to the noise from the pier at first. The shouting began to roil and multiply and brought the two still in the alcove to give each other glances of uncertainly. They walked, each step seeming to conjure further cries and their pace slowed as they looked past the pillars blocking their view and towards the ocean. There upon the beach rolled cylinders of slight tidal waves, steam gliding off in tufts. Fishermen began to march inland from the port, looking back in utter hysteria with some shouting frightful warnings. Yil'Mandabh's jaw slowly hung agape as he stared towards the ocean. A hundred yards off the shore, in the algae-tinged ocean, a phalanx of stone began to thrust out of the water. The film of water that grasped the construct ripped asunder under the pressure of the figure slowly marching upward and towards the shore.

Within minutes, the bipedal monolith of stone beached itself. The elderly man in the alcove espied the alien figure, its shoulders the shape of anvils, the towers jutting from its back and held upright. Yil'Mandabh muttered uncertainly, unaware of any justifiable reaction aside from astonishment. Rows of fishermen stood with a fledgling shake of their bodies as the figure cast a shadow over the closest of those who fled the docks. Some fishermen had grabbed bows, some held harpoons, all gazed upward at the stone construct with a look between awe and affront. The congregations looked up and down the form that stood rigid, moments seemingly stretching for minutes as no one made any discernible movement. Then, along the towers that flanked the upper back of the monolith, figures marched along and fitted slots of wood through each arrow-slit of the tower.

Yil'Andalus, having entered the room, slid on his feet a few paces as his body lurched backwards with a look aghast. A collective gasp echoed through the palatial room as the three saw before their eyes bolts flying in various directions from the stone colossus. With very few missing their targets, fishermen all along the beach buckled in a mist of red. Those who were not shot tried with futility to run along the sands towards the inland town. With each cycle of firing from the foreigners inside their construct, some fishermen seemed to kneel in prostration with quarrels sticking out of their backs. The elderly Zil'Maktum stepped back, his breathing uneven as he laid a forearm along Yil'Mandabh's shoulder for support. The elderly man knelt his head and brought it close to Yil'Mandabh's and raised his eyes to meet his before commanding, "You and Yil'Andalus, take our two fastest horses and ride for Tawilkamah. Tell the Augurs of the High Temple that we have an invasion from the sea".

Yil'Mandabh shot a glance of uncertainty, holding a hand out to  the elder for a moment, requesting the elder to follow. Yil'Andalus cursed softly as he looked out towards the shore upon hearing a sound of grinding stone. The construct began to move further inland, its step slow yet sure. "We have to move now Yil'Mandabh, the Seven Skies be damned!", Yil'Andalus yelped, taking further steps back before turning and making a run out of the alcove. Yil'Mandabh felt his stomach tighten as he stepped aside a pillar for a moment and watched the shore. Behind the single colossus making its way inland, what looked like hands scooping water up were merely more of the constructs beaching themselves in a slothful march. Yil'Mandabh sprung on his feet slightly, split between making his way to Tawilkamah and trying to persuade his elder to join his side. Finally, Yil'Mandabh gathered up the lower-most hemming of his robes and jogged out of the alcove.

 

Part II - Urgency at the High Temple

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXfq8BL36o8

 

The horses trotted somberly towards a gape within the canyon. The air hung heavy with a fog of incense as they passed through the gate, tinder and myrrh hung from lanterns all around. A man dressed in a robe of cerulean paced along the path bare-footed, raising one hand to halt the two. Yil'Mandabh crept his fingers along his shrouded face and unfurled the turban, giving his name and allowing the man to grasp the reins of the horses and lead them forward. Tawilkamah, the city of opulence and home of the Triballei, the tribe renown for their intellect and cosmopolitan culture. Tawilkamah's architects organized the city within a stretch of canyon wherein structures either freely stood or masons hewed out palatial homes, bathhouses, and libraries into the canyon walls. The man in cerulean guided the two travelers towards a large ziggurat in which a camaraderie of Magi converged along the path and stared out towards the incoming party. Yil'Mandabh leaned forward, pressing a palm along the neck of his horse for balance as he piqued his interest onto the guide and inquired, "How did you know we were coming?". The guide kept his pace and merely replied, "There was a third in your group at the bay, was there not?".

 

 

[Credit to Keeem]

 

 

The three arrived at the base of the ziggurat's stairs and Yil'Mandabh and Yil'Andalus dismounted. Leaving the guide to attend to the reins, the two began to walk up the steep steps hastily. The first of the Magi to greet the two removed his coif colored cerulean and gave a mannerly nod, welcoming them to the High Temple. A frail elder stepped down each step with caution, before reaching his teetering forearms around Yil'Mandabh's neck and embraced hm tenderly. "He.. sent us word, perhaps out of fear for you two. May he still be alive, what you've seen has shaken all our resolve", the elder croaked as he pulled away his forearms and set them to his side. The elder beamed a winkled smile, taking Yil'Mandabh aback before realizing the elder was staring past him and Yil'Andalus and towards a column of sand and dust raising in the near distance. "Lo', Jugurthu himself, as if riding on winged horses, coming here with such prompt", the other Magis leered towards the incoming riders with a few grumbling discontentment. The horsemen flanked a man dressed in a regalia doused in scarlet and with a leather holster slung over his hip fitted with a composite bow inside.

 

 

Grinning mischieviously, the man dressed in scarlet looked over the faces of the Magi in a pause of tension. Drooping his forearm along his knee, Jugurthu bowed before the elder, "Yil'Jilasi, long it has been since I've seen you. I pray your age has not hampered your vigilance". The elder motioned with a hand for Jugurthu to stand back up and rested his hands on his shoulder-blades and welcomed the horsemen. The procession moved up into the temple atop the ziggurat, the open-air structure draped with carpets of vivid and tantric designs and filled were its contents with the smells of parfum and frankincense heavy as honey spread thin. Yil'Jilasi slowly bent his knees, waving away supportive forearms held out by the Magi before they sat themselves atop pillows of indigo and orange. The horsemen all sat save for Jugurthu, who merely bent at the knees and crossed his forearms as he cocked a brow towards the Magi. Finally, he turned his head towards Yil'Jilasi and looked forward with an inquisitive nature before speaking up.

 

 

"Yil'Jilasi, for the sake of our younger years, you must not kid me. What I have heard is true?"

 

"Our coasts have been struck, the villages of the Red Ones have been turned into wrecks in seas of sand indeed.", Yil'Jilasi leaned his head forward, returning a serious stare.

 

"How am I to know this for certain, were it not for what I have dealt with before. This could be an ambush from those in your ranks", Jugurthu looked grimly at the few Magi who glared coldly back at him.

 

With a hand upraised, Yil'Jilasi darted a commanding glance to either side of himself before continuing. "Rest assured, I do not intend to have the magi and your horsemen fight side by side. In fact, what scouting we have managed to do tells me these invaders intend to strike Tawilkamah directly. I intend, alongside with the Magi here, to defend the canyon and I want you to fight the remnants that we repulse."

 

The temple's interior stood quiet with the looks of quivering and halfheartedness as Jugurthu gave a genuine smile and pointed a finger mockingly at one of the Magi before replying. "Yil'Jilasi, for the love I bore my mother I would not choose to be born in any other time for I would not see these magi flinch and desire to run so quickly. Yil'Jilasi, you have my commitment to this but I urge you to reconsider. Seek the geoturgists up north for this defense. You won't be able to hold this city, but you know this no?"

 

"Even if the geoturgists were recalled from the mountain passes, they may not arrive here in time. Either way, you know me better than I may possibly know myself. I cannot ask for help without going the full length of the tribulation myself. Even if I were to die, I only have three years left of me and living past these invaders seem nigh impossible if all accounts of their deeds thus far are true."

 

Jugurthu's eyes wandered, as if seeking some clue as to the veracity of Yil'Jilasi's insistence. Upon finding the elder serious, he asked, "And what of my men, shall we try and strike these foreigners unawares while they try and enter Tawilkamah?". The elder shook his head, replying, "You needn't worry. I want you to muster all in total and observe what these invaders left for ruin and perhaps we can get a clue as to how to strike them more surely." Jugurthu hung his head for a moment, lifting it back up and nodding. The horsemen stood themselves up, Jugurthu the last one to do so having shook Yil'Jilasi's shoulder with a brotherly tug. Jugurthu and his men gathered themselves together and awaited as Yil'Jilasi made one last request. "Take Yil'Mandabh with you, he may be Magi but you need not worry as I raised him myself". Jugurthu espied Yil'Mandabh,  nodding a slight curtsy before noting, "My will the magi be jealous, I'll be corrupting one of their own!" and motioned for his camaraderie to exit the temple with their guest shortly following.

 

Part III - The Siege of Tawil'kamah

 

 

A light dust wafted through the air as scores of archers jogged along the canyon floor. Yil'Jilasi stood along the palisade with his full company of Magi, swaddled in cerulean cloaks as they scanned their eyes with bated breathes. The horizon of the desert that stretched away from the canyon seemed to undulate in the heat, the mirage effect leaving a few of the Magi jittery as they searched. As if globules of muddy water began to simmer along the mirage's distance, the golems emerged far yonder. Yil'Jilasi looked over at his companions, feeling the stares as they awaited his instructions. The towering sword-staves held upright bristled as more of the Magi felt his penetrating gaze, the companions silencing their breathes and welcomed his words.

"Know, you who have resolve, that we shall hold this canyon. They know where we are and we know where they are, they are the invaders who will have the cumbersome task of marching their stones through the narrows and the rivulets of Tawilkamah. I will assign archer divisions along the wall, we must give the appearance that we'll make our stand here. Us, the Magi, I want you all to take shelter in the facades hewn into the canyon walls. Do not expose yourselves until you can commit to a flank and catch the invaders unaware. Strike no sooner or you will expose the full intent of our maneuver."

Yil'Jilasi arched a brow, quickly calling for the Magi to disperse and take their positions. He gave an exhausted sigh once the last of them stepped down the stairs leading off of the palisade, his head idly turned crooked and observing the constructs slowly marching. Lowly lines, saturated in the mirage, amused Yil'Jilasi as he made his way off the wall and alerted the archer divisions coming up the wall to aim for the soldiers marching on foot. Yil'Jilasi walked over to the left-most canyon wall, running his hand along the smooth sandstone before finding a rock-cut path that led into a library and climbed  the path and withdrew himself from sight.
 

<------------>

 

 

The entourage took to the shadowed sides of sand dunes, the horses whinnying when the sun beamed down upon them through their trek. Jugurthu allowed Yil'Mandabh to ride at his side, the two entrenched in a long conversation for most of the ride.

 

"What is your name young Magi?"

 

"My name is Yil'Mandabh, you are Jugurthu of some renown", frowning slightly at Jugurthu's interjection, "Renown outside your city, despised within".

 

Yil'Mandabh layed an elbow against his horse, turning his body towards Jugurthu and asked sternly, "Why is this, you seem so consumed with it".

 

"The elder that sat atop the pinnacle of your enclave, he is not one of you", Jugurthu looked with amusement, stating, "He merely sits at Tawilkamah as he had to keep the one group of the Zil'Maktum under a close watch. What I oft find humorous is that none of the Magi would stand to hear how he got in his position."

 

"Are you insisting that how he got to rule was through ill-sought motions?"

 

"The Magi would happily whisper that it were through wrong means, but they will casually hand away the blame. Do you think my men and the men at Tawilkamah just decided one day to not take kindly to each other's company? There are reasons, there were events, Yil'Jilasi made peace amongst us."

 

"Yil'Jilasi did indeed gain the support of your tribe, the geoturgists in the north, the Red Ones, but you insist to say that the Magi do not take to him?"

 

"It isn't a matter of if they took to Yil'Jilasi or not, they had no choice", Jugurthu leaned his head and gazed at his companion with frankness before continuing, "Yil'Jilasi and I fought together against the Magi of years past. They practiced what you learn at the High Temple, but also had.. ulterior motives. The tales of sandstorms that consumed have a grain of truth, despite it being a toddler's tale for mothers to warn their children to not fare too far from home. The Magi had an affinity for sowing dissent and creating a hallowed and feared name for themselves to those traveling and would also commit to attacking caravans and convoys."

 

"They accept him though, you mean to tell me they just welcomed him with open arms?"

 

"With the threat of the other tribes converging upon them if they ever gave him trouble, but he also committed certain acts that you may find intriguing and repulsing yet made sense." Jugurthu called out a holler as they crept up and over a sand dune. Before their eyes laid a sea of manes and glittering silver of scale-mail draped across man and horse.
 

<------------>

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=53Efo-S6XI0

 

 

The narrow between the palisade and the interior of Tawilkamah seemed to flood with men as the archers pulled back off of the walls, crying out for those nearest them to retreat quicker. Yil'Jilasi strafed left of a sandstone pillar hewn immaculately into the canyon face, overhearing one of the Magi in his ranks inquire on how many of the invaders were shot dead before the archers pulled back. Yil'Jilasi shot out a forearm to beckon silence as the creak of wood rung out and echoed through the canyon. Suddenly, the palisade splintered and a stone construct took its time to tear asunder a divide. Arms of stone speared through the wood like cloth, tossing shards of wood against the canyon floor. The constructs stepped through, bristling against the palisade and bringing more of the timbers to slam into the ground. Unruly rows of axemen flooded and scattered around each step the constructs took. Atop the constructs rested gaudy thrones of slate, embroidered in gold leaf and sat upon by tattooed foreigners that drew curious glances and observations from the unknown men resting in ambush.

The constructs lumbered forward, ten forming a shifting row that slowly made through way through the winding narrow of the canyon. Axemen gawked above, gazing in wonder at the plethora of rock-cut architecture dug in along the canyon walls, colored scarlet, orange, and goldenrod. The army formed a procession heading towards the High Temple, the first of the construct's marching past the library where Yil'Jilasi hid in. Yil'Jilasi glared at the other Magi leaned against the pillars as one of the towers lurched in view, the arrow-slits glaring through the library inquisitively before the construct moved past. Yil'Jilasi tapped his sword-staff once, taking a deep breathe and cracking a confident smile as he whistled to his soldiers and motioned them to prepare. The procession continued until the invaders made it past the narrows and continued onward towards Tawilkamah. With a forward motion, Yil'Jilasi leaned over the sandstone balcony of the library and pushed himself off and into the air.

The Magi deftly launched themselves into the air, the axemen below turned and pivoted as the ambushers seemed to vanish in a whirl of sand. The Magi seemed to flow like silk in hand, reappearing in various poses and striking, sweeping, thrusting at the axemen below. Yil'Jilasi landed upon the canyon floor before two axemen caught unaware and slid on his knees and brought his sword-staff to buckle them both. The ambush throughout the canyon floor resounded of success as the Magi slew scores and scores of the foot troops, with Magi deftly disappearing and manifesting along the canyon floor and coordinating between each other. The constructs grated against the canyon's cliff faces as they responded to the ambush, taking their arms of stone and scooping and smacking axemen and Magi alike. Yil'Andalus stood before a construct, fully turned and stomping cumbersomely towards him. The construct brought a foot of granite up, over, and atop Yil'Andalus, grains of sands fluttering around the step completed. Yil'Andalus manifested himself atop the construct's knee-cap, creaking with a sheering noise before throwing himself atop the thigh and grabbing onto its waist for support. Glaring upward with sweat stinging his eyes from the exertion, Yil'Andalus waited until the thigh he leaned against shifted forward in a step and leaped forward and warped along the shoulder-blade and grappled the edge.

Yil'Andalus observed the man sitting atop the throne, slowly standing upon seeing Yil'Andalus emerge at his side. The man looked down with a neatly kempt beard, braided with beads of turquoise and conical helm worn. The rider's eyes met his and his hand rubbed against his belt till it met and gripped the handle of his francisca axe. Yil'Andalus hoisted himself atop the shoulder-blade, kicking up a foot and over and rolled himself atop the flat surface. The rider bellowed out in a foreign tongue and tried to bring his axe diagonally downward. The Magi kicked upward and an arc, landing on his feet and holding his sword-staff upright like a pike to catch the axe-head. Twisting his body, the Magi shot a kick at the rider's gut and knocked him off-balance. Seeing the rider land on his back with a thud, the Magi leaned forward and couched his spear as he hopped and pincered the rider between staff and the golem's surface. As the rider expending his dying moment gasping for breathe, the construct began to lurch slowly to the left and slid in a fatal sprawl against the canyon wall leaving Yil'Andalus to scramble up and off the golem before it crashed to its end.

Yil'Andalus dropped down with a crash and roll, observing the other constructs with new intrigue. Before his very eyes, a moment of deja vu froze him as he saw the towers sprouted from the constructs' backs bristle as if with hairs as crossbowmen lined themselves up and took aim. Yil'Jilasi was only a few yards across as he turned his back in a motion while engaged with three axemen and a bolt erupted from his thigh. Landing on his uninjured knee, Yil'Jilasi held his palms inches away from the bolt's head in surprise and agony before having his jaw cleft asunder by one of the axemen. The archers who retreated down into Tawilkamah took new positions along the ziggurat's slope, nocking and aiming at command and told to aim at the crossbowmen. Yil'Jilasi's death was announced amongst the Magi trying to fight, attracting demoralizing pauses. Yil'Andalus looked onward with utter disdain as Magi began to separate themselves from the ambush and flee back through narrow shafts in the canyon. Bolts rained down on those unfortunate enough to not escape in time, Yil'Andalus leaping between manifestations and sank through a shaft wide enough for a man sliding through sideways. Getting towards the end of the shaft, Yil'Andalus eased his head the opposite direction and saw construct and foot soldier pass by the narrow window onwards to Tawilkamah.

 

Part IV - Sieged and Razed

 

[Credits to Blinck]

 

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PSiUMC0aDE

 

 

 

A tide flooded and broke along the gape of the canyon, a wide swath of silver splashed into the rivulet like rain filling the fissures of drought. The horsemen rode gingerly over the remains of a palisade, the wood half-buried in sand and like caltrops to be weaved between. Jugurthu raised his hand ceremoniously, motioning for the riders to his back to canter and slow as their horses leapt and pivoted around corpses familiar and alien. Amongst the bodies holding sword-staves and bows, colored that sun-beaten bronze were bodies of shorter stature and wielding massive axes. Horses sniffed and exhaled gruffly as the sun leeched out the smell of decay in the canyon. The winds had already beached clumps of sand around shards of granite, drawn tattoos of scarlet dimmed along the surface.

A horsemen rode up to Jugurthu's side and leaned out an outstretched finger. Along the narrows, the ziggurat appeared to be shattered with men walking to and fro along the intact base. The riders gathered together in a column and proceeded towards the ruined city. The horsemen were intercepted by a man, riding atop his own horse adorned in studded leather barding and nodding courteously. Jugurthu inquired and the geomancer answered, the two leading the column as they rode further through the ruins smoldered and blown sands blanching the wood and snuffing fires.

"Woest be us, Yil'Jilasi did not call us soon enough Jugurthu. Had we known these terrible beings were at his doorstep, we would have arrived quicker", the man said in monotone.

"Yil'Jilasi intended to defend this with only his retinue. I did not agree with it, but he told me why."

"Worry not, it was as you probably predicted... We caught and killed the Magi we found fleeing. Took three constructs with us as well, they were scattered and my men saw another three and their dozens of these invaders flee due west."

"And he is..", Jugurthu inquired solemnly, only to exhale morosely as the geoturgist responded with news of Yil'Jilasi's death. The two gazed with remorse at a woman crumpled over, dead child in her arms as she returned a stare that unveiled tear-stained cheeks. Around, trashed homes and flattened structures failed to shroud the few survivors in mourning. The column halted as Jugurthu and the geoturgist viewed a gathering around a raised hand of clay. Clenched in the loamy fist was Yil'Jilasi, a gash along his lower jaw pink in flesh and white in teeth and his skin porous with the smoothness of molded clay. Jugurthu slid off his horse, rushing hurriedly towards the scene and muscled his way through the collection of geoturgists observing the grotesque form. The tug on his shoulder sent his hand back and harshly smacking away one of the geoturgists as he called out for an axe. Looking once at the forlorn expression on Yil'Jilasi's bloated and fallen face, he grips the tabar axe firmly and swings at the base of the clay fist.

The squelch of clay as it began to give only drove Jugurthu into a rushed state as he finally brought the fist to slump and drop onto the sand around it. He laid atop it as he began to weep feverishly, the geoturgists either stepping aside to allow the mourning or placing a reassuring hand on Jugurthu's shoulder. Jugurthu's companion finally dismounted and urged the others to dismiss and inspect the rest of the ruins before stepping up and held a hand out to Jugurthu. "Yil'Malki, you said they fled west", Jugurthu inquired as he took the hand and got back onto his feet. Yil'Malki nodded, replying "Yes and I want to ask of you something. I need your men to trail me and a fellow of mine. These monolith men are going to need stone to rebuild what they've lost here. They fled the canyon and I'm wagering that we can catch them at the salt pans. There are some fissures driven in that they may be able to gather what they need from."

 

Part V - Sabotage on the Salt Plains

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_B_TaKzvCcg

 

The faces peered venomously, dressed in gnarled and unkempt hair from top to bottom. The voices resounded a guttural and coarse tone, even the whispers drove the two to wince and recoil. Fires seemed to warm the sweat on their skins into a broth along surly forearms that jolted pickaxes to and fro. Circles of roughshod leather tents formed around limbs of stone freshly jarred from the gut of the domes in the near distance. A palm shot out and pushed the two along as they slowed and stared, their eyes and ears made cumbersome by the foreign sights and sounds. Their chains of rickety iron answering back at the men working and praying, a few laughs and gruff chuckles thrown like thorns before the two captives' feet. The two dressed in scales and colored bronze elicited the irks and wonders of the host along the salt pan dressed in leather and colored alabaster.

The captives arrived at a tent amongst five, pitched round a totemic face carved of sandstone. The face leered with an eternal taunt, drawn lines and curves of glittering red bejeweled the menacing visage. The head and its host of tents stood near the center of the encampment, nestled amongst a circular layout of corresponding body parts and shelters for the strange people. The captor dug his knee into the back of one of the imprisoned, driving him and soon after his companion in a prostrate position. The noise of footsteps and the tinge of salted dust urged the prisoners to look up and upon a scene of arguing. The two looked to each other uncertainly and bowed their heads in meditation. The captors sauntered away sharing less barbs and more cordial words. "Are any of them around?", asked the first and larger. His companion looked around before shaking his head.

The larger of the two slumped, his back arched like that of a vulture grimly awaiting. His breathing ebbed and flowed and slowed into a death-knell rhythm. His companion gazed up at the sky and lowered his eyelids in response. The ground immediately around them began to slowly cake with grey and white flakes that shifted like iron fillings around a magnet. The air parched and the tents around them grew inflexible with coatings of bone white. The grasp of calcium began to stretch, parching the campsites in the distance. The enchanters stood upright around the limbs of stone took little notice and the conversing soldiers turned their attentions towards the outskirts of their encampment.

Wings of horsemen rode around domes and across the salt pans. The large contingent surrounded the encampment, drawing near and unleashing volleys of arrows from composite bows before drawing back. The attack trapped those in the encampment as the calcification staled more and more of the campground. The horsemen withdrew, aghast, as they saw the defenders slow and buckle. Gasps for air and cries of agony repelled the horsemen who rode away from the encampment. The field before them stood a bone yard, calcium atop salt.

Jugurthu yanked on the reins and slowed his advance. Yil'Mandabh looked on in horror as his own horse stepped nonchalantly into a calcified corpse with a ring of broken bone. The campground looked like an ossuary, geometric designs of calcium designed along the ground and the tents that stood upright and fragile. Bodies in different poses and positions held their bony hands upright in eternal prayer. The bodies looked smooth as bone could, their clothes bleached white hid their awkward nakedness. Jugurthu dipped his head and brushed a curled palm against his bearded chin as he came upon the two bodies of the geoturgists sitting on bent knees. The geoturgists sat in grey robes, crusts of calcium patterned along them. Their petrification ate away their flesh, but the strict visage of their skulls held upward gave away a look of dour determination.

 

Part VI - The Debate at the Temple Camp

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9e6szvnYd9I

 

 

The horse stepped over the salt dome and the temple came into view. The five pillars of slate jutted out like calcified wings of dragonflies attached to a base of sandstone. The grey and teal of the pillars stood framed like a series of steles, scenes designed with orange lacquer. Jugurthu led his horse down the decline, his horde lumbering on in approach. The temple hosted their camp for the night, a ring of pitched tents running an untidy circumference around the sandstone base and the ring of dim fires seemed to set the vacuous center of the temple alight like a stage.

Jugurthu found Yil'Mandabh standing still before the five pillars, his head hung low and his body tottering between the balls of his feet and his heel. Despite Jugurthu's slowed approach, Yil'Mandabh turned his head with a look between weariness and contemplation. Jugurthu gaped his mouth open with a light brush of his heel against the ground, but fell silent.

 

"They were fine men those two..."

 

"I do not stand here for them", Yil'Mandabh replied curtly. Jugurthu frowned and tilted his head and looked incredulously at the level plane open and empty.

 

"This... this is a temple to you and your fellows? This empty space? Nary a column to hold a roof up, just..."

 

"Lacking the idols of your riding folk, do you feel worried?"

 

"Worried? No..", Jugurthu recoiled his head, glowering before finishing, "Baffled, you can say that."
 Yil'Mandabh turned his whole body now, folding his arms and heaving his chest up assertively.

 

"You with your many gods and I with my singular? What is it the error in the simpler truth?"

 

"You stand in an open space and tell me that your one to my many is truer? My many have conflict that has spilled out onto our soil and sand, why do you insist on worshiping your singular who has wrought upon us this great evil? This single deity pretends to love us whilst punishing us so?"

 

Yil'Mandabh laid a hand gently on Jugurthu's shoulder and gave a slight shake.

 

"You are the one pretending, for man was never told that he would be loved. He was told that he would exist, merely that. He did not create us to be blindly obedient, but for us to realize what we are composed of..."

 

"Yil'Mandabh, what do you speak of?"

 

"Have you forgotten that most primordial of tales? How man was created?"

 

Jugurthu ushered Yil'Mandabh to follow him and hoisted himself up atop the sandstone base and leaned his back against one of the slate pillars. Yil'Mandabh followed suit and rested for a moment before continuing.

 

"The Creator in an audience of Aenguls and Daemons, the outright obedient of classes of creation, proclaimed his intent of man. Some gaped in awe and some protested in their utmost ignorance as they knew not what 'man' would be. There in front of the audience did the Creator shape a vase of clay and drew out the appendages and the depressions. From the lowliest material did we originate, but like a vase we were meant to contain and encapsulate something. This something was something of the highest possible essence, the breath of our Creator. That breathe moved our every joint, exercised our every motion, and moved our very hearts to beat and yearn."

 

Yil'Mandabh paused and looked at Jugurthu smirking. He placed his hands upon his knees and exhaled. "Is there something funny, I am answering your inquiry Jugurthu", he asked. Jugurthu held out his hand and stretched out his fingers, "So we are made of clay? Such a soft substance, perhaps that is why your fellow Magi were so easy to subjugate", closing his hand into a fist as he replied.

 

"That is why I preferred my men to fight and toil in the sun, they would never give out under pressure like river clay squeezing out through the fingers", Jugurthu beamed an ostentatious grin. Yil'Mandabh leaned slightly and grabbed a shard of slate, a broken chunk from the pillar above and clenched his fist around it and clasped it gently. He looked to Jugurthu frankly and tossed the stone lightly away before remarking: "Perhaps that is also why you yourself and your horsemen have failed against these monoliths."

 

Part VII - The Battle at the Wells of Dhalhara

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q_LxwbpDuvE

 

 

The sun had already ascended overhead and the sands felt charred under the feet of some of the cavalrymen who already dismounted. A procession of horses formed around a few sunken wells, sand lapping at the granite lips of each individual hole. Jugurthu and Yil'Mandabh walked between the triad of wells and ordered each of the cavalrymen to present arms and handed out light rations. They neared one hole in which a man had lurched himself waist-deep into the well and barked about the lack of a bucket to dip and draw water with. Yil'Mandabh casually leaned himself over and saw nothing but a dim hole save for what seemed to be a glitter at the bottom. Leaning back, he saw a pocket where sand had been moved along the frame of the well and noticed a low gleam of scarlet. The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened and he shot a look of forlorn towards Jugurthu, but by then, his assessment came to life.

 

The loud cries of horses rang out as the sand beneath them began to shift. Jugurthu threw himself atop his own horse and righted himself with finesse, grabbing Yil'Mandabh by the collar and dragged him. The first few steps felt like the sureness of flat ground, but by the time Yil'Mandabh managed to seat himself sloppily atop the horse, they were galloping upward. Yil'Mandabh righted himself and looked to his left to see a shoulder-blade of stone jutting out with horses and men scattering in the shadow of the giant. Jugurthu clicked his tongue with reassurance and brought his horse to climb the length of the monolith's raising arm, leading his horse to gingerly maneuver along the narrowness of a stone finger before the two felt the sudden pull of gravity.

 

The fall felt soft, sand pillowed underneath the bodies of the two. Overhead, their steed kicked out and brayed in terror as it hung helplessly with a length of its reins looped around a finger of the monolith's upraised hand. Jugurthu and Yil'Mandabh began hoisting each other up, their own legs frenzied and shaking as they ran. The hand collapsed against the sand behind them, the screams of man and animal muzzled under stone and sand. The men began to mount on whatever horse came their way, even mounting two upon one, and galloped in disorder from the scene. Aside from the faint cry of an injured person, the bands of horsemen left a wallowing monolith trying to gain traction underneath a shifting graveyard of flesh and bone.

 

The remainder of the horde had gathered a kilometer away before halting. Jugurthu rode his horse around the survivors with Yil'Mandabh in tow. The monolith stood in the distance, mirage drew lines of heat across its miniscule form, but it grew closer. Jugurthu let out a huff and sunk his cheeks as he glared into each individuals' eyes, finally announcing his intent.

 

"There you have it! They've a cunning that we have never seen. They'll have their spoils after they are done with you lot. They'll have your women, those sly dogs. They'll flatten them in bed and they'll flatten your progeny so you won't have a name to be remembered by when and if you choose to let them have their spoils. A thief has sleight-of-hand, but his hand is ultimately weak in strength. What is a thief without his hand anyways? We will have these romancers of stone drawn and quartered, four horses to pluck them apart!"

 

The cavalry began to line themselves, reaching behind them as Jugurthu encouraged them. Each of the riders worked between themselves to link chains coiled in their saddlebags and threw their links behind them. Jugurthu led his own horse to the end of their line and drew his sabre, twirling it once and reeling it forward. The formation of cavalry cantered forward in a neat fashion. Within minutes, the monolith came into full view and stomped towards the horde. Jugurthu yelled out and twirled his sabre for a second time, the formation split with the wings moving further apart whilst the center pulled back slightly while moving forward in unison to form a crescent. The monolith seemed to stop in its tracks, swaying to and fro slowly in confusion.

 

The riders on each wing passed the monolith, riding away in a diagonal direction and drawing chains of iron attached to their harnesses up and out of the sand. The crescent soon split asunder with horses going opposite ways around the monolith, dodging or slowing as fists of stone pounded with futility and without aim. The monolith began to turn, stepping to position itself in the direction that the horses went only to catch itself along the iron chains. The monolith had turned half-way before collapsing into the sands below.

 

Shouts bellowed out from the frame of the monolith, its contorted frame shattered in some places and sunken in others. One Dervas sprung out of a cracked capsule running along one of the shoulder-blades, but unable to do so much as take a few steps before an arrow struck him dead. The horde returned and began to ride around the full length of the collapsed monoliths, shooting feverishly from their composite bows at any Dervas that surfaced from the wreck.

 

Part VIII - Yil'Irfaun - the Gnostic Aengul

 

 

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FtR3q4NQHsI

 

 

"Therein the audience, I alone exclaimed in ecstasy to find that you would be fashioned. You are higher and lower than us and our congregation of deathly loyal. You are the epitome of opposites, manufactured with wholeness. You have been separated from your Creator and this span between the opposites of divine and profane gives you a myriad of directions to pursue. In this span was 'good' and 'evil' created, your options laid out before you. Your base encasement doth pull you at random, some feeling to be sly, some sinister, some charitable, the clay is malleable and is the lowliest of materials. You have in you  the divine in form of breathe, the spirit that yearns to unite with that one who blew.

I shall be your companion so long as you truly yearn for unity and can bear separation. I shall annihilate your vase and allow your breathe to traverse immaterially. Yet you shall bear the woe of not being united eternally for the Creator must conjure that and not I, so pick your footing wisely for I must bring you back forth."

 

Yil'Mandabh rocked slightly, his legs aching from standing. His head hung low as he meditated atop the sand dune. A few feet away laid the slain Dervas, sweat turned dark as it mixed with the blood of wounds and the sand intermixed. The twists and faces of granite had already begun to be dressed in bars of sand that the winds had kicked up and against the bloodless corpse of a machine. A few men, oblivious of the ceremony taking place, walked between bodies and began looting. The riders uncuffed torcs from the arms of the Dervas, pulling away ornate beads cinched into the unkempt beards of the dead.

The stars began to flicker aflame and the sky threw on a cerulean cloak. Yil'Mandabh lifted his head upwards as he felt the heat of corpse-fires dress him warmly and the colors contrast his reflection to the sky, orange against blue. The stillness of the flames against his face broke into haphazard patterns, he turned his head to see a motley dance round around one of the corpse fires. The riders hiked up their cavalry-dresses and bore the stolen torcs around their ankles, kicking up their feet and stomping as they sung gutturally all the while. Out of the corner of his eye, Yil'Mandabh caught sight of Jugurthu stepping up and aside the Magi.

"I've let them celebrate tonight, for I fear they will have much grief in these coming days", Jugurthu folded his hands behind his back as he watched the ceremony with amusement.

"What do you mean?"

"The geoturgists we found at Tawilkamah, they told me that three of these stone-men escaped their sally forth from the north. There is one...", Jugurthu nodded away at the collapsed stone in the new distance.

"Have we any idea where the other two went?"

"No, but I have my predictions.", Jugurthu's jaw straightened and clenched and his neck stiffened at the end of his remark.

"I.. I must ask you to forgive me if I ever led you to distrust me. After what my fellows had done, fleeing as they did at Tawilkamah"

Jugurthu leered at Yil'Mandabh for a moment. "Riddle me this will you?", Yil'Mandabh returned the leer with his own exasperated sigh before Jugurthu spoke again.

"Does your creator allow you and your lot to do this disappearing and appearing after they made good on their weakness of heart and their cowardly intent?"

"Our creator has no hand in our conduct, our abilities. Mayhaps that is where you derived your idols from, this pantheon of powers assigned to every element imaginable. The Creator had a host of strictly obedient who would serve him and would regulate the elements in His name. Your idols are not so different, you've merely deified these servants of His."

"So this servant of His, what is this servant's name?"

"This servant has many names to whomever the servant presents himself, but he is a lover of Man for sure. The Magi have always called him Yil'Irfaun, That which is of a greater knowledge. He is named this for he was the only servant of the Creator who rejoiced of our intended existence.", Yil'Mandabh beamed brightly.

 

Part IX - The Ruination of the Zil'Maktum

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQOGG3Sl5lE

 

 

The day before seemed to have drained the energy from the riders. The column trudged on, hunchbacked atop their horses, as they round their way between sand dunes. The winds blew heavy in the morning and all the riders rode obscured by the swaths of indigo scarves they had wrapped around their faces. Their travels carried on cumbersomely till the evening where they began to break into gallops as they neared a dim valley.

 

Jugurthu caught wind of the grief in some of the riders' voices riding in the vanguard. The valley they approached appeared dull and lacking any radiance. Yil'Mandabh rode to keep lockstep with Jugurthu in front but lost sight of him when the column broke out and began to ride hard and spilled into a valley of smoldering ruins. Yil'Mandabh pulled his reins hard and cut through and away from the dissolving column to make his way along a ridge trashed with splintered wood and the base of a watchtower still intact. He brought his horse to climb the slight incline to the watchtower and tied his horse down before dismounting, he watched as the riders rode down into the shambled valley and heard the cries of lamenting and weeping as they fell upon the strewn dead of wives, concubines, and children.

 

The stars in the sky anchored in a color deeper than the scarves shrouding the mourning horsemen seemed to reflect the fires burning both flesh of the dead and wood of the collapsed. Pillars shot out around the fires like exposed molten metal, but no hammer smashed them from the hands of the victorious, yet defeated men languishing about their pitched tents and shacks. A horseman approached in the distance, Jugurthu called out to Yil'Mandabh. The two convened around the wrecked watch-tower, their own fire coughing embers around the beams of the remainder. The two drew their cloaks below them and laid out along the lonely ridge.

 

"My fears came true o' Yil'Mandabh, what does your Creator say of this?", Jugurthu asked curtly before taking a bite of a jerky in hand.

 

"They say the hand of the Divine smashes apart what dilapidated states we've construed amongst ourselves so that we may re-align ourselves."

 

"Even the women and children aye? We, us Men, we've created our pitiful ways and means, but the lady and the child are merely our own victims of our damnable ways"

 

"Thus he strikes away at the clay that he originally molded, twice have we been struck. Our own men have died and they, the women and children, have been taken to inflict us a truly pertinent message.", Yil'Mandabh replied with sureness.

 

"Our city is in ruin, we only have the citadel in the Mountains to flee to. Do you believe the geoturgists will take us in?"

 

"They'll need the manpower, but what then after that? Let us say we defeat the last one or two of these monoliths... We are truly struck away from the face of time, this world, and the plane of existence. We all relied in the Red Ones, the workers to supply us and their villages and towns have all been smashed asunder when the stone-men marched ashore. Tawilkamah has been laid waste to, no craftsmen or architects to build our civilization back the way it was. Without a people to farm as the Red Ones had, fish as they had, how then shall we feed ourselves? You may hunt for game, but scarcity has stole the beast from our deserts."

 

"If we are doomed, what then? Where will you go o' Yil'Mandabh?"

 

"I may go beyond the Mountains, past where the geoturgists assert themselves in defense of our now-dead civilization and see what truly lies past where even the Vallei'feta and the Vorkuuzh reside. Jugurthu, take your cavalry and pledge them to aid the geoturgists. Pledge them to defend the last vestiges of our way"

 

Jugurthu bit the last of his jerky and chewed it roughly. He looked along the valley to find his wailers crying and beating themselves in self-flagellation. He leaned his head and stared at Yil'Mandabh. "Do you believe they will follow me in this state, in our fallen disgrace, perhaps your Creator has indeed struck us asunder", Jugurthu stated plainly.

 

"If he struck you, you would be truly annihilated. We will ride together for Mur Hakil and you will enlist with the geoturgists. As for me, my yearning is merely to repent my self and seek serenity therein and beyond."

 

"They mourn and you compose yourself, you have not fled like those Magi at Tawilkamah. I have yet to really know you Yil'Mandabh, but I will do as you say. We will depart from here in the morn.", Jugurthu let out an exhausted sigh and laid himself out to sleep.

 

Part X - Mur Hakil Shattered

The guardsman wrestled with himself, his eyes flickering slightly as he stood all by his lonesome along the stretch of wall that spanned along Mur Hakil. The citadel of the geoturgists, the singular bastion that laid across the tallest peaks of the mountain range north of the Ul'Jakary desert, had been aroused by the latest reports and encounters with the stone-men. The watch along the mountain range had expanded until a man occupied the watch-post every hour of the day. The crescent moon mirrored what light beamed in the midnight sky, but the guard still swayed with each breeze that nestled his worn body. His head snapped alert as he searched the night sky, a sudden darkness poured a shadow along the parapets of the wall.

 

Letting out a shaken cry, the man buckled as something crashed atop the wall next to him. The convulsions of shock along the wall threw him forward and half-way over the parapet, his knees buckling from the shrapnel of stone ricocheting against the back of his legs. Within minutes, the monolith swung a hand against his back and shot him down to the base of the mountain below with chunks of masonry flung along with the guard. The citadel awoke with parts of the roof being collapsed, geoturgists began to file outside from different pathways and engaged the single monolith. Pillars of quartz and granite shot out of the mountain, punching at the form of the runic colossus. The towering shoulder-blades of the giant housed crossbowmen taking aim and returning fire as their vehicle swayed in the night.

 

The second of the colossus flew inbound, lunging atop some of the geoturgists who sallied out of the citadel. The construct twisted its upper body and crouched to fit its body against the largest of the citadel's gates. The construct shook slightly as stones unraveled around the front of its body to reveal a funnel that belched a wave of heat, the innards glowing red and orange. Within moments, the funnel sprayed molten fire that shifted like burning gel into the citadel and spilled into the corridors leading down. The few geoturgists caught between the two colossi looked about with panic as the agonizing screams of their burning comrades erupted from the citadel itself.

 

A stream of sand poured along the wall and out from the wrecked portion, rippling violently at the base of the first colossus's feet. Pillars sprung out and struck the body with increasing force and brought it to fall backwards and down the mountain. The second colossus grabbed pieces of rubble and threw them behind it, but the rubble simply broke apart against a triangular shield of granite shelves conjured by the remaining geoturgists. The geoturgists stepped apart and faced the second colossus and watched as pebbles began to scatter away from the shoulder-blades, rows of small holes uncovered.

 

The sound of whistling inhalation drew the err of a few of the defending soldiers. As they engaged with conjured stone and sand, a bellowing screech blared out that echoed within the valleys below. The noise threw the geoturgists off-balance, a few of them stumbling off of the wall or into the path of the marching colossus trumpeting air out of its runic towers. The last geoturgist had encapsulated himself in stone, the noise blocked until the trumpeting ended. Dissipating his conjured material, the colossus grasped him firmly and raised him level with the Dervas Lord controlling him upon a perch on its body. The two stared at each other, the geoturgist bloodied and sweating while the Dervas rider leered with a face lined with glowing runes.

 

The Dervas goaded the geoturgist in a foreign tongue, snarling as two flexed forearms of stone pummeled the Colossus in its shoulders. The construct shook and the two towers flanking its spine snapped and the crossbowmen nestled inside them fell with the broken stone. The Dervas Lord clenched his fist and the construct did the same, the geoturgist crying out in pain as his bones began to snap. The geoturgist yelped and upchucked blood, but something flew out of his mouth and struck the Dervas in the throat. An arrowhead stuck out of the back of the Runelord's throat and the colossus swayed backwards as its master did, the crushed geoturgist flying away from the destroyed citadel along with his enemy. The two tumbled down the mountain, dust and blood smothering together as both Zil'Maktumi and Dervas laid dead after rolling to the base of a acacia tree.

 

Expansion on Yil'Irfan / Tipheret: the Aengul of Annihilation

"Therein the audience, I alone exclaimed in ecstasy to find that you would be fashioned. You are higher and lower than us and our congregation of deathly loyal. You are the epitome of opposites, manufactured with wholeness. You have been separated from your Creator and this span between the opposites of divine and profane gives you a myriad of directions to pursue. In this span was 'good' and 'evil' created, your options laid out before you. Your base encasement doth pull you at random, some feeling to be sly, some sinister, some charitable, the clay is malleable and is the lowliest of materials. You have in you  the divine in form of breathe, the spirit that yearns to unite with that one who blew.

 

I shall be your companion so long as you truly yearn for unity and can bear separation. I shall annihilate your vase and allow your breathe to traverse immaterially. Yet you shall bear the woe of not being united eternally for the Creator must conjure that and not I, so pick your footing wisely for I must bring you back forth."

 

 

 

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYg0AhKHGVk

 

 

They say the Aenguls have an agenda when they tamper with the realm of mortals. What lofty goal hath Yil'Irfaun except to embrace those who realize their dual nature. Yil'Irfaun revealed himself to the Zil'Maktumi initially as they delved into the ideal of gnosis while dabbling in the high culture of philosophy at Tawilkamah. The idea of a hidden knowledge outside the realm of the senses, one unassailable by the intellect, rose amongst the minds of an ascetic class of Maktumi known as the Magi. The reflection upon the myths concerning Creation allowed the Magi to argue on behalf of a spiritual-physical dichotomy concerning the four brothers and their descendants, including themselves.The dichotomy splits man into two parts: his physical embodiment defined as a lantern and his spiritual contents or soul defined as a light.

 

The basis for this dichotomy is found in the earliest account of the Creation as described by the Wandering Wizard: "The first mortal being to be created was a man. This man was sculptured with clay and water, but left hollow. Soulless, God's creation lay there for the other immortal beings to see. The Aengul and The Daemon, the two spirits created before the mortal beings and before the creation of Aegis. Not much is known about these two spirit races, but hopefully in the future we may know more. God then blew his own breath of existance into the hollow shell and the Man lived." The gnostics, not only the Magi, argued that this machination between the Divine and profane man instilled in man a particle or 'spark' of the Divine.

 

The Zil'Maktumi took this theory further in fleshing out the host of Aenguls and Daemons present to see man's creation declared and had. They say that the Creator only received one rejoicing Aengul whilst Iblees is said to have argued against the creation, but ultimately concurred as the Creator made the AenguDaemons out of utter devotion and strict, undeterred obedience. The Zil'Maktumi argued that man had been manufactured to have the willing choice of acknowledging their Creator or denying them, a tale and life of love and union or ignorance and separation. The Zil'Maktumi through their asceticism learned to yearn for union and patiently accept separation.

 

The Aengul they meditated upon and found is one of obscure description. The Magi claimed only to hear the Aengul, a thundering and monotonous voice, but never had laid eyes on it. The Aengul itself warned them that seeing this Aengul would cause them to rupture and expire in the blink of an eye, it held such majesty. Rather, the Magi inquired for a means to experience separation and union to aid them against their foes and that they received. The Magi developed a method of quick contemplation with the Aengul they would eventually call Yil'Irfaun or That which has greater or hidden knowledge that would allow them to dissipate and reappear in nearby locations. They would train this skill to allow them quicker reflexes and reactions that enabled them to earn a fearsome reputation on the battlefield and as cunning assassins.

This skill of teleportation enabled increasingly decadent Magi to assert dominance over the Tursadae or Red Ones, a tribe of laborers that had villages scattered along the shores of the Ul'Jakari Desert. This dominance over the working class Zil'Maktum ushered in an era of high culture, but also decadence and indolence in the Magi capital of Tawilkamah. The Magi eventually earned the disdain of the Urodae, a tribe who initially stood as the guardians of the Zil'Maktum lands and acclaimed for their cavalry tradition. The Battle at Tekamas saw the Urodae crush and imprison a majority of the Magi and made Tawilkamah a petty city-state and vassal under the Urodae. The fact that the Magi still held connections to Yil'Irfaun despite their increasingly arrogant and indolent nature aroused the confusion of some of the thinkers of the Zil'Maktumi at the time.

 

The Aengul Yil'Irfaun, or recorded as Tipheret in some obscure non-Zil'Maktumi sources, appeared to have its own goal overarching the entirety of its engagement with the Magi. The gnostic Aengul appeared to have wanted to play at its own desire of creation and refined its skill at creating matter. The annihilation of the physical self and the repetitive task of replicating the physical self seemed to be its means of training its creative energy. Yil'Irfaun is accused by few heretical Zil'Maktum as being a demiurge, a figure that is lesser than the Creator, but seeks to try and mock the capabilities of the Creator.

 

Part XI - The Portal to Aegis

 

 

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LwqZIIVTrkk

 

 

 

He ran in a hurried pace and kept his head straight forward. Sand kicked up under his sandals as he slackened his arms holding shield and spear. The dune below his feet began to kick up, slabs of clay grabbing at the pads of his feet as he jerkily threw himself ahead. Another slab shot itself up above and ahead of the man's shoulder, slamming downward and threshing his body onto the ground. He tried to crawl, but to no avail. Within minutes, clay had enmeshed itself along his body and entombed him.

 

The second scout sat in horror ten yards away and finally threw himself back atop his horse. He sat himself backwards on his steed and began to conjure sand to blow away the tracks that would be imprinted as he fled the scene. The man traveled miles across dune, crag, and mountain peak till he reached a plateau. The expanse of flats bustled with the camp of a great many horsemen and geoturgists. He arrived with the news, that the Dervas had lost pursuit of their host, but began laying in ambush if the Zil'Maktumi tried to sally out from their place to antagonize the monoliths.

 

While the camp bustled in vibrant noise of shouting matches and soldiers arguing whether to try and harass the Dervas, the Magi stood in rows spaced equidistant from each other in a field. They stood with their hands on their sides and their heads lowered, doddering again in meditation. A single man stood before them all, admonishing them quietly.

 

"It is upon us to save our people. You all have fled to your final stand, but we shant have to face the monoliths. We must escape this wretched continent and upon this raised platform shall we dedicate a space for our most lauded Friend of the Divine. We must concentrate our prayers to his artisan Hand and shape us what we fled through once before."

 

The man drew his indigo shawl around his head and draped them over his shoulders. His eyes pierced the gaze of the other Magi. He bent down and broke some frankincense strewn on the ground, he broke the plant apart into a wide bowl and set it alight. He stood himself back up and raised his hands with the palms upraised and continued his words.

 

"Irfan, you have annihilated our egos and our physical selves on countless occasions. You have trained thou artisan Hand with the clay that we have been made of, but this request is unlike all others. Erect us a portal like that the Wandering Wizard ushered us through so that we may escape, your loyal adherents must evacuate. Thou hast the power, for you are the Fashioner, the Mason, but you desire a higher challenge."

 

A most ominous noise erupted behind the praying Magi, the pebbles and stones laying beneath the feet of the congregation rolled out from under them and towards the noise. Dust blew towards the noise as the sounds of stones smacking together and lightning crackling sounded amid the praying Magi.

 

"Irfan, fashion for us a portal and we shall remain reverent and shant gaze upon your Awesome form."

 

One of the Magi in the congregation opened his eyes, seeing a slurry of sand and rocks gliding around and past his feet. His heart quickened, his eyes slowly creeping upward. The moment he gazed past another Magi's shoulder and towards the intriguing scene, he erupted into dust with the sound of a thunderclap. His robes fell to the floor, his bodily form nonexistent.

 

"Irfan, reprimand the fools amongst your flocks and bring them nonexistence with punishing annihilation."

 

"Irfan, I thank thee for undertaking the challenge and you shall be praised a thousandfold"

 

The noise finally stopped, the dusty fog around them settling to the ground and the earthen movement ceasing. The Magi slowly looked up, arrogantly, upon the congregation who stood in awe with mouths agape. He drew his shawl tighter and turned, two upraised pillars of granite and encrusted with crystal geodes towered over him. The aura of the portal, indicative of its activation, reflected like a flame in the lead Magi's turquoise eyes.

 

 

 

 

"Magi, collect those dancing and frolicking hordesmen and those shaken geoturgists. . we have our escape", the lead Magi turned authoritatively and shooed his congregation to dissolve and collect their companions and their supplies. Within hours, a column stretched from the mouth of the portal. The head Magi, Yil'Sirri, had everyone feast before entering. Yil'Sirri headed the column, staring into the cerulean aqueous that was the portal's aura. He stared up into the night sky and saw the stars before stepping forward.

 

He felt nothing, the aura simply bathing him in its strange color but no effect otherwise. He did feel sadness as the stars evaded him as he entered through the new portal and saw nothing but red sand and ash flows buffeting in the blood-red and orange sky, no stars, sun, nor moon to guide him. He looked down below with dread and felt a warm tinge beneath his sandals and saw scorched earth and magma-like soil deposits at random spots in the field before him. He felt something bump into him and he turned with the shrill of goosebumps along his neck only to find the Zil'Maktum entering behind him.

 

Nothing seemed familiar, Aegis had been torn of its old memories of prehistoric meadows and flowing rivers. Nothing looked like refuge beside a distant structure that leered down upon the migrants. A wickedly Gothic castle nestled itself atop a plateau like a dragon perched.

[Samson Option 9652]

 

 

'A painted scene of the Parley at the Sleeping Troll Inn'

'Betwixt the Lord-Regent of Urguan and Lord Marshal de Sola'

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUN_2tfxsxg&list=PLx4oI5JUoRmQKx2txF9hIfSYrlMdKQnXr&index=6

 

 

Fingers brushed alongside the chests of Raevir, Kaldonian, and the various swath of soldiers armed in chain-mail and tempered plate armor. Men made their prayers as the fog unsettled along the hilly boundaries outside of the town of Vekaro as the horizon became bordered with the bodies of Dwarves, Orcs, and Sariants. A singular figure marched in heavy plate with a winged helm, spoken of as the infamous Hochmeister as Raevirs huddled together along the walls muttering the old tales of their founding figures of Kralta and yonder. The soldiers stood sideways along the walls and began to nock arrows with caution as the Hochmeister came to his halt nearest the gatehouse of Vekaro. The raised hand of Decurion Albrecht Horen fortified the resolve of the archers and held their arms at attention and unwavering with bows held taut.

 

Holding his hands behind the cusp of his back, the Hochmeister looked up with sunlight ricocheting from his winged helm of the infamous Teutonic Order. The soldiers of the Imperium closed their eyes in unison, lifting their head up as the Hochmeister called a loud challenge in defiance to the diplomatic attempt to end the war pushed by Vibius de Sola, Albrecht Horen, and Bertram Brunswick merely thirty minutes before. Dust rose over the walls of Vekaro as soldiers began to take their positions as the Decurions of the Imperium's Army walked betwixt groups of men and ordered them quietly to arrange themselves per a proper skirmish. Arrows whistled over the parapets of the palisades as men formed up in their cohorts and presented arms. Randall Maplewood, Theodosius Visconti, and Ser Rosencrantz made their way down from the palisade and presented information that indicated that the combined militias of the Dwarves, Orcs, and Teutons stretched themselves around the northernmost half of Vekaro in an attempt at setting up perimeters for a possible siege.

 

Despite the former tidiness of the ranks formed by the soldiers, heads turned and salutes swung about as Emperor Peter Chivay came through Vekaro. As if by heavenly ordainment, the sun set about brighter with the morale triumph due to the acknowledgement of Peter Chivay's commitment to his soldiers. The Emperor and the Marshal both pushed themselves along the wall, harking orders that split the army in twain. Vibius de Sola ordered the eastern division to take for the sally gate and smack in between the Dwarfish and Orcish lines whilst the main division opened the gatehouse and flooded out to sweep the Orcish lines from the other flank. Within minutes, the calls and cries of men rang out as both divisions executed commands and engaged the combined armies of the Teutonic Order, Dwarves, and Gul Orc Clan. The eastern division clashed with the Sariants and left the field betwixt Vekaro and Tahn'siol littered with upraised winged helms in the old fashion of the Blackmonts. The main division provided the theoretical hammer to the eastern division's anvil by means of cutting off many of the Dwarves and the Gul Orcs from their escape with only a scant few escaping the battle routed.

 

The battle saw few escaping with the cohorts in pursuit. Raevirs rushed with freshly assembled siege ladders and pressed them hard against the walls of Old Indigo and cut down a good remainder of those defeated prior.

 

Proof that Oren attempted diplomacy:

 

 

 

[Samson Option 9652]

During Anthos

 

"Quick, quick! Make for the woodlands!"

 

Yanetian slides nimbly through the intertwining branches of the pine tree-line that he was sitting in, Benedict Aves having found him earlier and decided to participate alongside him. It was the first encounter of companionship between Arbiter Yanetian Thoruntor and a Sentinel; a Commander to be more proper in Benedict's light. Yanetian had bolted in a different direction, the first and obvious manner to assist in breaking up the streaming line of knights in White Rose tabards who came forth to respond to the sighting of covert agents. After twenty minutes of rushing through the forests, Yanetian takes a swift glance over his shoulder; noticing no one immediately on his trail. Taking shelter by pushing himself through the bristly needles of a pine tree and recollecting his breathe, he watches two White Roses race past his tree; oblivious of it's guest.

 

His entire body eases on a bed of smashed needles as he leans into the pine tree, leaving a minute to pass to ensure no White Roses intervene with him as he pushes himself away and back towards the Fortress of the White Rose. He starts out with a light jog, leaving himself to breathe fully and capable of taking in his surroundings, the thought of Benedict and the possible fates quicken his pace. As the fortress comes into sight, Yanetian makes his way into the fortress through means meant in stealth. Upon sighting the inner citadel, he scales the walls and enters the upper-most level, realizing it an unfinished piece of architecture and able to spot to the bottom floor. Upon looking down, he spots Thomas Chivay as he walks about and observes indescribable details that Yanetian could not view; he snaps out of the wishing-well view as he notices Chivay walking into the plaza of the Citadel.

 

Sliding on his feet as he takes into account possible and safe paths to the ground of the Citadel, he keeps Chivay in view and notices him entering a tower; Yanetian takes the chance to reach the ground and bolts lightly to the tower. He slows as he nears the door, leaning his head to look into the tower hollow and notices Thomas Chivay standing about and facing opposite the door. Making his steps lighter, arcing his foot so that the heel sticks upward and allowing him precise steps, he slowly unslings a crossbow that he had confiscated from a checkpoint earlier and sluggishly cranks the tension and readies a bolt. Hearing the door begin to open, a smirk of satisfaction draws itself upon Yanetian's jaw; he lifts the crossbow up as Thomas Chivay walks out.

 

There was no word, but merely the blinking of eyes. There was nothing left to say as the bolt entered the cranium of Thomas Chivay, but there was plenty reason to investigate his person for keys, for the currency. As he did such, as blood pooled about they caved head of the Chivay; another walks into the Citadel. With the crossbow expended, Yanetian reaches for his belt and withdraws his falx with an amused look on his face. With the boost of confidence, his mind crescents as he observes Peter Chivay meticulously, his spirit high. The Elves would unite with the greatest boost of morale of all, news of the assassination of the leader of the White Roses; but what would come next would have been demoralizing if the account was ever able to be recounted. As Peter began to cuss as Yanetian came closer, a freshly wielded sword now in Peter's hand, the clashing of mail against marching legs became prominent as a line of White Rose knights enter the Citadel. Upon the arrival of the many knights, a reversal of smirks and dismay took place as Yanetian took into his account his fate. Perhaps as Humans do in sagas and stories, he would rush forth to clash swords with Peter Chivay and meet his fate with falx in hand.