SteppeNomad

That most beautiful elven hero, who despite the haranguing comments, continues to to bring up blessing after blessing for his citystate, and his people! "May all know truly, the way of those Mali'ata, the 'low elves' who break the traditions of our silvered peoples, and bend, willingly, to the likes of serpents!" He beams brightly! "Notice the disgrace in the faces of those Mali'ata, as they seek so badly to push themselves away from what truly hides in their courts" He speaks to others on the streets, offering them articles from the post, and posts past! "The 'Sorority' and their ways provably offer fealty to worms, their craven claims and expansionist agenda, seeking to make war for invented sleights, and to purposefully create slights shows all, the ways of this warhound of a 'prince'. If one could truly call that, to the impure, anyway!"

-Helm of some snow elf prince, a decent prize __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The roaring fire fills the night sky. Together, those broddahs gather, on the shores of a windy river. Though they were Men, and Mali, and Urukhiim, none the less, they were Broddahs. All sons of Enrohk, on this, a day of battle. "Many times, have we strode forth, heavy greaves trod what is before us underfoot." All resounded in acknowledgement. He goes forth, a Mali, ti, though through endless victory had he taken those privileges of Honorary by the tip of his spear. Pouring a libation of wine and oil to the flames and the beast before it is slaughtered, that elf, who wore upon him, that full Panoply of blessed metal, and the striking mask of a terrifying elven ancestor. He held his spear aloft, still worn from the great battle shared. "Know, my brodduhs! Our greatness. Our fine victories and GLORIOUS battles! That these are just the start! For GREATNESS comes, my brothers, and we, great HEROS rise to take it! I, Zozhk'Mau, Son of Kezt, son of Anaxagoras, son of Krug, lay my spear sharpened to take the title of Targoth. Undefeated, are we, those bands who fight besides me. Never have we failed, and every victory, one taken greater! EACH ONE OF US, MAN, MER. We are all champions of our own bloodlines! We are all HORDE!" The scene is a heavy one, as brothers sing and enjoy themselves on that day. The loot, pried from the fallen, prizes TAKEN, in the fields of glorious wagh. -May those who stand before us all bend at the knee and submit, and call us masters and Great Kings -Anaxagoras, Hero-King. Founder of many citystates

Always Further, We Must Pursue, True Life, only in Ascent, grasping ever greater perfection ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ We know truly, the truth of what it is to be 'PURE', and in this knowing, we are ever-further able to reach. Grasping, reaching! With the strength of our minds, our forms our souls, to ever greater BOUNDS of that what is most pure! QUAKE do those, who know little of the blessed paths, for in their ignorance they but only promote the suffering! SO! Lliran! Those who know of the RED VIS and DARK NIGHT, is it not true, that to be pure is to be clean! Llir! To CLEAN is a statement of its own! One achieved not just through excessive repetition, through momentous ritual traditions. So then, lliran, if we may ONLY know what is truly pure, and we must always reach to strive to be ever-polished, why does rot yet fester? If we, who can only be secure in that which is pure is true, then in our power, to pursue, we must! Rot, dear lliran, is something easy to expunge. To cleanse the world of tarnished impurity... It begins with one's own self. To leave no land unclean, impure, unhealthy. Come Lliran, To The Blessed Baths! That temple of pure blues and blessed marble Where beautiful springs surge from the rock, both warm and cool Deep in the silver mountains of Haelun'cihi! So we may earn the purity of our world, at the tip of our spike! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

*A High-Elf Labourer, Hefter of Big Beams, who sweat and toiled along Bortu and Urukhiim brothers, smiles brightly hearing the headline! He replies! "May our weapons bite true and drive the serpents from our isles! May they not subvert our great societies!"

"HIGH-WALLED HAELUN'CIHI! OH how you shine! A bastion of all that is pure and blessed in this vast world!" An elf cheers from the heated baths "May Larihei's vision reign twelve thousand years more!"

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The Winter Revolt -Buzzbuzzbuzzbuzzbuzz _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The days were yet long, on this summered isle, yet a long night draws on. Wrapped in a sheet of mystic winter, out of season, and devastating to the flora and fauna native to those silvered shores. A rare ecosystem found nowhere else, now threatened. Flowers wilted, shrubs shrank, fruit pulled too unripe from vine. And the Loyal Beelot, our Illerir'suikayal held the lowest production since before they were liberated from those barbarians who kept them caged. It was only for the suddenness of this mystic storm that the Labourer's guild of el'Haelun'cihi had made the decision.To call upon all allies of Bee kind. Issuing word to all nations of the Beeliance, that time has come for a Roundup. Brave champions came from far and wide. Lasso and boots and hats in hand. The learned wee-folk of the land, the Halflings arrived already armed with tools of the trade, and Druii and great Krugmenistani philosophers. Even Balianic warriors who arrived from the lands of the south came to lend their strength on this which was looking to be the most difficult of roundups. At once we gathered. A great host of citizen Bee-keepers and now foreign friends, and off we went, following the heel of Pamphilos who first brought back the beelots and, lassos distributed, they ventured forth into the depths of the Great Wildlands. Where the flowers yet bloomed and the one by one, the great Rodeohalflings and Herdsmali returned, Beelot in tow. TAKEN from the places they fled to, and returned they were, to be counted and tagged. -Average 'Aheral Beekeeper It was ONLY through the great efforts of all the Beeautiful allies! From Honeyhill, to the Balianic honeyclub, and Long-standing Norland, and ceremony of the learned Krugmeni Shamans, that every Beelot was bagged and tagged! Though, fearing their escape, a tried and true Apiarial technique employed, one by one they were taken from above to the beetfields below, which remained unclaimed by snow, thanks to the shield of the mountains and the estates of High-walled Haelun'cihi, we roped them there; and as the EVER-LOYAL Beelots began their blessed toil, a deafening drone was heard above... Betrayal! A swarm of the Illerir'Suikayal poured over the hill! With violent intent, these insurgents came upon us! They bumbled with rage and fury as they barreled towards us. With rapidity our bravest citizens rose their arms to defend themselves and the fields! The Beelot swarm crashed upon the elven line, Urukhiim swung axes and slung curses, though the beelots swarmed over the defenders to face our magicians in the rear! Defenders, pierced deep by stingers like daggers, and mouthparts like hedgetrimmers, but quick thinking by our scouts lured away much of the violent swarm to be pacified... And just as the battle was thought to be won, an enormous Bee crashed through the line. -Buzzzzzbuzzz A fiendish JUGGER-BEE! A bee like a bear snapped and pierced and clawed at the defenders, but BRAVE VALAZAER! Slayer of many Beelots, stood 'Thill-to-Beelot. His blade clashed and slashed deflecting its attacks, and by the time the raging blows drove him in that stand, the grave magic crashed into its carapace, and the fiend quickly slain by piercing blade of that brave defender. Fighting even as his leg coursed with venom, and bees nipped his ankles. As soon as the swarm was dispersed, the beelots we held secured returned to full productivity. Through this cold, we can be assured our blessings through the efforts of great friends and greater comrades. Though the sting of betrayal yet courses through us, and our productivity restored, we must ask ourselves. How could this betrayal happen, for we, who give the Beelots nothing but privilege greater than those of the Bees held in other lands, show them nothing but love and defense within our great citystate

"Ay'Krugmenistan!! May The Targoth rise!!!" A hoplite shakes his spear!

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 'Lo! The Savage Wind howl! It batters the branches and freezes our seas! Yet still we urge forth. Suffering not. For just as surely as the winds come, are they dashed by walls of marble. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Those who seek to Lay Low our great citystate; High-Walled Haelun'cihi know clearly. We will not suffer it! Lliran, dear lliran! 'To Disrupt' is hardly what one may call disruption. In this season, one of great bounty, when we pull forth the fresh olive from tree, honey from bee, and and silver sea fish; instead we are met with these warm waters of our splendid isle, cold and freezing. Driving further those fish this season. Our olive harvest remains behind, as trees bare not their silver treasures. Yet! To despair over such circumstance is NOT the way of Mali'thill! May those who come now, to gawk and see what suddenly befell the realm of the High Elves, know that if our seas freeze, and snow shrinks our olives, leaving us without our finest foods, then it will be beets we eat, and whales we hunt. The Mali'thill know only the tune of Maehr'sae Hiylun'ehya and will not suffer less. There are many 'Elves' who claim to hold resilience to cold, to withstand it. That the hardships may strengthen them all their lives, dwelling in such cold and depression. This is the result of such stoic stubbornness of such. Yet, us Mali'thill, the purest of the great Motherland, the truest children of Maehr'sae Hiylun'ehya? We need Not Suffer, That Wrath of Winter. Our Pithoi, charged greatly with vast loads of whale oil, warm from the source for heat lamps, the great Haelun'springs, rising warm from the depths of the isle, ensure even our warm baths; and clever magicians, both Krugmenistani and 'Thill, one up another in the ways of progressing such comfort. Know NO disruption, Suffer Not, That 'Winter' -'Aheral claywork depicting blessings of their silver sea!

Reading that letter alongside Valazaer, the elf saw the names and tutted! That bronzed sailor noted "Ah, Lliran, her 'partner'" He shuddered at the word "Is the very same Mika who seeks to lay low our silver citystate. I would not trust one who would sooner sell out his own homeland, brave Sutica, in exchange for mere 'riches'" The elf comments! "If he wished to be known well in our citystate, he should have come himself instead of send his 'partner'." Once more the elf shuddered!

That most beautiful sailor, Victorious Hero, He who had driven The Serpent Elite from his splendid isle, as usual worked with his cousins, out hauling the great catch of the day. He peered over the prow of the ship as the net, laden heavy, was pulled aboard. Always does he admire the view, those warm sands and sun, and fresh ocean breeze... Or so he thought. Witnessing the first flake which fell into his hand. "Interference with fishing season, eh?" He looks to the sky. An expression of upturned challenge at the face of such an supernatural weather. "May our spears bite deeply those who seek to despoil our Blessed Holyland!"

"Never before have I met a goblin so PURE! So unbelievably Goblinized!"

ONCE more did those BRAVE HOPLITES. The BEAUTIFUL truly enlightened elves gather for their symposium. They share tales of Kleos and Glory, of their finest moments of the battle, and the war in general! All salt wages have been paid, and wine bought. "I dedicate this VICTORY! To Kezt!" He smiles, that elven Hero Pamphilos. Popping an olive into his mouth. "Well lads? Lets hit the BATHS!"

Blissful, did that handsome sailor smile upon the missive! He sat in the beach of his beautiful homeland! "In such terms do even those princes enslave themselves; and all their people to the servants of Worms no less!" He looks upon it, a brow quirked at the idea, but in casting his net in the water, did his eyes drift to those olive trees nearby. "Larihei! Guide those Mali with reason to great blessings!" He wishes upon them!

A beautiful sailor, from those splendid silver isles beams! Tacking his bee badge to his Chiton! A token of victory! Watching over fields pollinated, and clay pithoi filled of honey all thanks to the Beelot's toil. "May all know truly, their greatness! For only these fine and truly enlightened Valah of the Honey Club, CITIZENS of Balion, are worthy of maintaining the sacred flock! The illerir'suika, and to have them serve as worthy Beelots! With people of such strong culture, ideals, and law, as these learned Valah, may our interactions bare for our great cities great HONEYED BLESSINGS!"

+1! 10/10 need sigils for my pyramid's burial chamber

A Mali'Thill hero grips the anonymous missive and he gulps hard. A sweat drop down his brow. He smiles openly, yet the beautiful elf knows more than enough to dismiss prophecies, much less than those of Larihei's chosen people. Purest of blood, and therefore the most ready to receive her visions...

"May those brave men in the north, who in their stories old of mighty and fierce ancestor heros, hew did they, their destiny by the cruel edge of great axe. May they know their glorious deeds, and pursue those even more legendary!" A Heroic hoplite prepares an amphora of salt, as perhaps this will be the year, they sail north

This is only literally truth. What people forget is the actual conceptual intricacies of spiritual metaphysics

May that blessed league, the truly enlightened people; The Great Horde overtake all!

"To hear plainly, the fine Men of Balian know what is right and just! To throw out the Subversive Serpents, those fiends who do not love you, who do not seek to have your stories told by your children eternally. They would see those you leave behind, enslaved by their master. Like letting a snake enter a chicken coop, To ever let a serpent into your society is to risk the whole." The elf prepares for the journey, an amphora of salt. A fine thing to keep away the evils of those dark forces. "Oh do we know much of removing the serpent from the nest. One can only wish the honorable Valah truth and justice in doing the same!"

An elven hoplite, brave hero of his citystate, and victor against the 'low elven' usurpers, looks to his fellows, those Urukhiim and brave elves who had always fought alongside one another as true brothers. "We go forth, and take simply as we need from the blessings of this world. Noble, are we, the HEROS. Those who heft fine choppahs, and Who carry brazen spears and silver masks. May those of lesser births, and tarnished blood look upon us and weep. And know our great privilege" looks out over the walls of his great Citystate, and the sea beyond! "I dedicate this victory, to Anaxagoras. Dear Ancestor! May we be bold, and the blessings of Larihei and Purity flow forth to all!"

Cracking his knuckles, a tanned athlete approaches the Iron Temple. Preparing himself for the greatest battle of his life. All to bring the best beverage to the citystate!

There are certain techniques involved with the slaying of serpents Directly Following The Events of The Battle of Bronze and Horn, the Brave Heros of the band, and the warriors that followed them into glorious battle, paid their wages and just-dos of salt and wine. Know finely the fruits of their labour. Greatly do their panoplies grow more elaborate, their legends more vast. In the coming days, gathered together they had from the islands and the lands of their youths and the nations which grant them best privileges. For it was recent, that Worldly Pamphilos, son of Iphigenia, had heard word in the far off tabernacle of The Lectorate. There, behind the Never Broken, Walls of Great Du-Loc, had gathered. In their lengthy discussions, the father spoke to that young Hero, who stood alongside the truest patriots of that Polis, and granted the rights entitled to any citizen. He told of a beast, child of Akezo and Kinul, a serpent of great might and power, a great and terrible Basilisk. The Ender of Men. Inheritor of the Coldwyrms which guarded a great treasure that the Lectorate sought. Their mystery cult revealed to them many secrets of the mundane and esoteric. Through learnings protected through deep initiation, they understood, as the wizened enlightened people of the world do, that no such Mythic Creature could be defeated by but an army of men, for the killing of mere men is that what those such beasts, spawned of the realm, do. Instead of the ways of the squad of mere fighters or mercenaries, mustered for a cause or paycheck, who's ways are not in promotion of victory, but mere success, they chose the ways of the Band of Heros. Individuals, great warriors, famed across the lands for their great deeds! UNBREAKABLE in battle morale. Their spirit and determination, unflinching. For they know they will be paid their salt's wage. Their true prize, the Undying KLEOS of the legends! The last thing a serpent will see after a HERO gets a hold of it. Wise are the lectorate, their Mystery Cult a wellspring of thought and actions. So, knowing Pamphilos called upon the sacred promises of the lads, and together they came forth, polishing their tools of war, and their skills, for that lightless battle that was to come. The bravest of the heros were those who strode into the darkness of those icy caverns, lead by the likes of a machine. The very metal hoplite, the machine lad who would come later to be known as Periander of Du-Loc, Son of Danzen. A metallic Adonis of gold and laurels, wreathed in toga and the finest oils. His halberd a mere feather in his hand. Besides him stood BRAVE Ulagula'Ugluk, the Goliath of the Phalanx, his Aegis, the blessed layered bronze of Daskur in one hand, and his spear in the other. The pair nearly matched in height, and each one stronger than the last! And oh did brave Pamphilos beam, standing besides them. His blades of cruel bronze, edges hammered and honed for this. Not yet, had he cast his cuirass, so all that protected the son of Halkyone were his greaves and that Legendary Silver Shield. Atop his head, his brazen helm, a crest of blue horsehair nearly reached the heights of the other two besides him. The three entered that tavern, behind them, came forth the other elven skirmishers. Magicians and missile throwers of the band, and the young and swift Kax'ayla! Green to the lads, a noble Kha of the phalanx. Keen of eye, and great of heart, ready to sling of the potions and bottles that the Lectorate had prepared. Then, that phalanx began to enter into the howling cavern. It opened up wide, an ominous blue glow emenating from the outcroppings in the middle. The treasure the lectorate had called for. Before continuing onward, the mechanical hoplite set his commands, and the warriors prepared. Wide reaching Ulagula, First of The Kruggers, stood his ground in the center. His towershield, a wall protected on his sides by spikes of cruel and unrepentant bronze. Their hearts filled with furies as the lads prepared their skirmishing positions on the stones and ice above, and finally, the lectorate had completed their own preparations. As though every spirit had served in the favor of those intrepid hero's it burst forth, a shower of icy wind and cracking ice! The beast, larger than they could have imagined, suffused the cavern with but some of the mass of its coils! Each scale, as large as Bronze-clad Ulagula's towershield! In that instant, volley after volley of the lectorate's alchemical concoctions were hurled by those heros and the Knights of Flame, but what resounded above all, was the howitzer that they had brought into the cave. Their secret weapon against it! Or so we thought. The first shot had the effect of but merely dazing The Big Blue. The bottles shattered upon it, concussions and flames and ice. All to little effect. Except for a spear launched by a great Ulagula!. Which had pierced the brittle ice of a frost encrusted scale. The brave Kha slinger prepared his vials! In the moment of its emergence, the Great Beast of The Mountain's coils had smashed apart a stone. It crumbled to earth, almost to break the beautiful form of Swift Footed pamphilos. In his defenses, the fate of Heros had shown him well, and as he pulled the cord on his mighty shield, he wielded it to bat away the boulder which came upon him! His life saved, but now, that shield and the magic that held it, ceased its function. Seeing clearly the strategies to employ, the Lectorate and the acolytes of their cult prepared the Howitzer, blessed gift of Kannon, at the word of a wide-seeing elven skirmisher, the lads hucked their ice, which shattered with a great crash when the projectile now hurtled at it once more. Prompting the Battlecharge of Ulagula. The Ugluk Bullrush. His heavy shield, more than enough to defend him, or so we thought. Dent after dent did it sustain, charging through those coils, but still it held. Carrying Ulagula to that wound, his savage charge thrust his spear with a throwing action, depositing it to the buttspike into the behemoth of a creature. Roars filled the cave, and ice fell from the roof in chunks. The phalanx deflected this until the Big Blue had fully tunneled into the walls. Unbroken, and unafraid, the Phalanx found their positions uncertain. They reformed ranks, while the lectorate acolytes protected their holy idol to Kannon, and the magicians prepared their largest spells. Suddenly, the head of that monster, cursed by Akezo crashed from the tunnel, into the ranks of skirmishers and magicians! The cries of the hero's were heard in the ears of their fellows as they were swallowed whole and cut by razor teeth! Oh what greatness! What legendary death! But now! To avenge those mythic lives! -Never forget the strategy The fight raged on, and defended did the warriors stay, their ranks holding, and the beast's damages growing. It fell through the cavern, its bulk upon the warriors as it pushed past them to engage the Howitzer crew, but, those heros of the frontline, wealthy beyond measure, wear proudly the gift of health. Olive oil, the great healer. Its slickness allowed the warriors to escape being crushed! But same could not be said of young Kax! The Kha, wary of putting oil in his fur, had gone in without the blessed protection! And his legs, crushed deeply under weight of beast. Great Periander, and Bronze-clad Ulagula hopped from the top of the iceflow, to engage the creature directly! A leap from the heavy orcish hero toppled the creature in time for it to receive that final blow! And Blow it did! SERPENT slayers, the lads! The Big Blue, a beast of a primordial time which haunted the region, at last fell to blade and bronze. At last, the Lectorate may take their prize. Or could they? -These lads, proficient in serpent slaying, know how to combat their subversive ways Know it widely, and know it well. The greed of dwarves unimaginable. For they had come to claim rare metals, and drops of the beast, of the legendary Big Blue, but not alone did these dwarves come. They came with a most foreboding number of all. The Treacherous fairyboys. Known far and wide as a great warband, they and their collaborators fight both sides so as to extract wealth, and to terrorize the very lands that give them succor. But, Far-seeing fathers, those of the lectorate, predicted and anticipated this. For this is why they chose to hire the unbreakable Hero's of the band, and the auxillaries who held a grapeshot canon at the surface for this situation. Instantly, were fairies blown to pieces. Those within the cave, were sprung upon by the hammers of lector steel, and spears of cruel bronze. Immediately, did one of them explode into ash and dust. Of course, such men would harbor the serpent men themselves! Turning to face the last of them, and cut down they were. All for the act of loot-goblining. Clearly, their warband a shadow of a glorious past. Finely rewarded these Heros were, their bags laden with treasures, and the promises of legendary weapons that flowed from the mouths of the kind cultists, those mystics of flame, they emerged to the surface, intent to return home to sacrifice a bull for their community and the fallen of the battle. May their deeds be echoed in all time. Though... In the air they say something else... A beast that broke the clouds with a single wingbeat. Large enough to pick up an elephant in each talon... It's feathers like the mid day sky, and its call like screaming thunder. Thats when they saw it. Another legend to face. The Bigger Blue

"FINALLY! Now THIS is what I am after!" An avid fan of the public baths prepares his symposiast's platters! Each one painted with scenes of beautiful elf life! Like happy elven children sitting atop a giraffe to pick olives, while joyful comrades rope the Beelots to pressing them into oil! "I'm sure none will have platters that could compare!"

Upon seeing the missive within the capital, a certain sailor sheds but only the tears of victory. "There goes a true Patriot! One who had performed his just and governed function, as he had promised, and with above expected results. A champion of 'Thill, no less! There goes my Hero!" Further words are shared around symposium that very 'eve! "Watch him as he goes..."