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ScreamingDingo

The Siege of the Sultanate

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“T’e Dwedmar stand behind t’e Foirewatc’ alliance an’ t’e Caliphate” Marshal Dimlin would state ardently 

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(I’m ready whenever boi, already got ideas for defenses)

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Saeed sharpens his shamshir "******* bring it, lets show them what our steel tastes, even if we lose the city we will not stop, we will not surrender, and we will not end. Allahu akbar!"

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At the edge of the White Mountains, where their jagged alabaster peaks met the sea, Grand King Jorvin Starbreaker leaned against the balcony of his watch-tower, ebon-plated gauntlets clasped tight around the railing as he loomed forward. Across the vast Korvassan straits, the monarch looked out, as dark clouds loomed above the southern subcontinent. The veteran of many conflicts (Despite his comparatively young age for a Dwarf) felt an unfamiliar twang strike a cord with him. Something he was not prone to feeling, and had not felt as often as he had now, since the last otherworldly incursion that threatened the mortal realms.

 

Dread...

 

He was no fool, he was a strategist at heart after all, but it did not take a strategist to realize. Without the runesmiths of yore, the Dwarfen host was particularly vulnerable against these dreaded foes. Axe and hammer cut down any mortal in swift fashion, and it was that Jorvin knew well. But against such a foe as they faced now? He hadn’t an idea how to defeat them. Yet his pride, (what some would call arrogance) shielded others from this fact. He declared his grudge, his intent to return the Hammer of his forefather to the hands of his kin...Yet their foe was unlike one he’d ever faced, doubt crept into his mind for a moment, before being hushed by Dwarven stubbornness.

 

Korvassa would fall, of that he was convinced, for while he respected the southrons, he did not expect them to resist the Legions of Hellscape-realms without some form of divine intervention, and Jorvin did not put much faith in the gods. He also knew that the stream of refugees that poured across the bridge would choke the roads, and make the movement of his throng difficult indeed. Thankfully, Jorvin had already begun preparations for tunnels to be dug. With any luck, and Dwarven ingenuity, they would be finished in time for the warhost to make their stand where he stood now, upon that mighty westward gate.

 

They would come for the skull, he was almost certain, just as certain he was in the fact that it would be a high toll of blood to halt them here, but what other choices did the sons of Urguan have? A gauntleted hand ran over his face, rubbing it tiredly, before shifting down to touch one of the trinkets that hung from his neck. Beside the religious amulet was a locket, bearing the images of his twin daughters within it. Children who he’d conceived in the aftermath of Atlas’s fall. How young and naive he was then, to think that was traumatic. If only his younger self could see him now...

 

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts before turning to a nearby aide, a young Legionaire with a short, scruffy beard. He only wore the occasional scar, meaning he must have only fought in the most recent war or two. Internally, Jorvin scoffed, and wondered if the beardling would survive to see another. 

 

”Ah’re tha’ throngs readeh? Ah’ want ‘least two thousand Dwarfs readeh tae make battle.

 

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”We must hold t’em ‘ere...Ah’ doubt t’ey will give us much more toime tae prepare, ‘es tha’ fortifications underway?”

 

“Brathmordakin give us strength...”

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“The people in Al-Faiz spoke so lowly about Orenian’s ‘throwing away their lives and helping the demons by doing so’ yet if they refuse to leave their city which is guaranteed to fall, then they do the same. I pray that they recognize the hypocrisy and abandon their city, for the demons have no motive for wasting their efforts on an empty city, there city will still be standing for them to return to at a later date.” said Boniface.

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Ioannes sharpened his sword, ready to fight for all he cares about "bring it in, mother*******"

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“Compassionate Mother.. grant us the health to survive this enemy. Fearless Father.. grant us the strength to destroy this enemy..” 

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Prince Yahya Al-Nabeel shakes his head, muttering foreign prayers under his breath as he looked to the sky- drawing his shamshir out from it’s sheath and thrusting it upwards in a mighty cry. “ALLAHU AKBAR!”

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“Oh Maln, il’kaean ito llyuthera..”               “Oh Father, fight with us now..”

 

 

In the Talus Grove, far from the smouldering dunes and the burning plains of Korvassa, there were no drums, but the hammering of steel against an anvil. No monstrous hordes amassing, but the figures of varying shapes and sizes donned in steel or bronze. No colossi and no Titan, save for the Mother Tree Elanwéya.

 


“erneh kaean’leh ihnsilan orne lomereh..”              “May our spears never break..”

 

 

An assembled party stood before the Autumn Druid, as she held a bowl of thick paint in her right hand as deep and red as blood, while the left delved into it to collect a slick. There she then painted the helm of a sapling Drui, Attuned only within the past few years, with the markings of a stag’s antlers.

 

 

“kaean’leh mahnihiian oerne parioeh..”                    “Our shields never fail..”

 

 

Moving along to the next, a Hierophant as tall and strong as she, then paints her helm with antlers of their patron as well. As Nivndil continues down the line, she belts out her prayer in the ancient tongue of her people.

 

 

“Hiylunan’ehya orne ullreh..”                       “And our spirits never falter..”

 

 

Next she comes upon a pale Dedicant, clad in lustrous bronze lamellar and a full foot taller, offering a sharp nod with hawkish features as she paints their helm as well. Soon she moves on to the next in line, a bronze clad Dedicant of the Farfolk..

 

 

“il’cerun kaean ahera..”                     “Bless us with strength..”

 

“il’Sirame kaean ahera..”                                                   “Bless us with honour..”

 

“il’taliiyna kaean ahera..”                                                                                        “Bless us with blood!”

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The moon was etched in the sky; lit forth the church in it’s silver light. A man of fir; garbed in green, unspent youth, aqua eyes and hair of pale gold. The foreigner twisted under the window lit by silver and star. He screamed and shifted, as blood pooled from his eyelids. And from his heart, rancid devils slid. 

 

Devils in the sands. Devils in the stars. Devils in his heart. The God had heard them. The pious would answer. The pious would scream. Brandish their souls and cast themselves to hell, if that were what it took, to rid the World of Ciphrang.

 

Aesh Dea, yr Kastafir’ei. Aesh barog; eireish olt’ hat Geish. Ilt, Aemesh. 

 

The GOD will have it’s way. There is no other way. 

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Princess Esmae Bint Saqr Al-Nabeel had collected her things, glancing once more about her lab to be sure she had everything, pacing forward on quiet feet. Her fingers ran lovingly over her collection of books, sadness in her gaze as she looked upon her home. The shouting of men sounded in the background, preparing, always and with one last look, she packed away her last book, turning to her volunteered aid and sending them a strained smile. ”Let us go, Rafiqi. Some others will be meeting us, we’ll be going about the city once more for a night of fun.” The group of friends eventually gathered, moving about the city and talking about their memories there, history and laughing at times over the simplest of things. As the time drew to a close, she’d wish the city farewell.

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11 hours ago, ibraheemc2000 said:

Saeed sharpens his shamshir "******* bring it, lets show them what our steel tastes, even if we lose the city we will not stop, we will not surrender, and we will not end. Allahu akbar!"

An elf by the name of Avas lofts up his scimitar and nods in agreement, screaming “Allahu Akbar!” at the top of his lungs. He would not deign to allow these demons to conquer the city without a bit of resistance! 

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A Monk balances himself upon his staff, Returning from a short patrol across the perimeters of the sandy dunes. He lets out a pained sigh as he  processes the situation at hand ,staring  off to the sky. Then he turned his gaze to the city of Al-Faiz, bowing his head  to the city “They are seeming to be the first one to lose there home to this vile invasion, they are noble people as well a fierce on the battle field. they shall slay many demons before there walls fall, and this one shall make sure that his students and other monks of his order are ready to stand next to them.one cannot hold the burdens of the world, but many can. My only hope is that others answer the call to battle” he spoke softly, turning away to return to his training

 

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