Hedonism

The Winds of War: Soldier’s Journal These lands are lived. The grounds are soft, familiar, and running rich with the rain of the marsh. As I write, I see the soft glow of cities and villages yonder; it is warm and alive, though I know this land loves me not. Atop the mount of Gladewynn, nature is all the eye’s treasure. Made almost to seem that there is no civilization. No empires, or kingdoms. Only the old woods and wildlands beyond. How wrong that was. The air is full with the cries of a million men. We’ve ventured into lands thick of legacy, woe, revenge, and dominion. This, a country that breathes the story of Man - and the earth aneath long forgotten. When the standards were risen, my heart stirred with an oddity. I had last answered the call at the summons of my King - to defend a land I now resent. When we had last seen the purple and black banners in battle, they were risen against our kind. Hundreds of years past and times bygone - the tales of that burning city are still told. How times change, and yet the mind remains the same. The battle was vicious for who few died in the enemy’s cause. We set to attack the corpse of a seaside keep on high noon. Imperial soldiers swarmed the countryside, surrounding the rubbled fortress on all fronts save the water. Perimeter guards were set, trebuchets loosed, and the rigidity of siege doctrine set in motion. Then, we were sent in. Military ideology will see fit to send in the mercenaries first, lest they hang on the rear and route at signs of danger. Loss prevention? A test of mettle? The fray rid me of any of these thoughts. I entered the inner depth of that sunken keep, along with various Imperial regiments and what elite the Ichorians had to procure. Smoke, embers, and molten flame slid across the fortress. The Reivers saw fit to claim as many Imperial souls on their journey to hell. In the black of the tunnels beneath, you were only granted vision of your axe’s path; cleaving, surging, and writhing against attacker and defender alike. For what little the battle was, my wounds are grievous - by both body and mind. The Illatian maids are sweet, this much is true. In vain, as no amount of fresh linen or fragrance will shake the copper blood I smell; the death and miasma of the tunnels hangs onto my flesh as a curse. I hear that we will ride for Gladewynn soon. I hope as much. These men are admirable, and their lands are beautiful. But I am not a Man, and this land is not for me. There waits a mountaintop: cold and frigid. A forest, vicious and deep. And in these lands forgotten, aye, a home for me. Signed, Cassius Ithelanen, Warden of the Avchirran ito Gladewynn

Mercer Vallberg af Calais scribes a signature on behalf of the Barony of Vrakai.

good guy, good morales +1

mediocre guy, but great events im sure +1

Hoping to play a rat chef someday. +1

An adolescent is nudged along, dressed in ragged clothing , dirt caked upon his features. He looks upon the construction of Peremont, grimacing as his shoulder is shoved once more in some form of impatient guidance. His next stop: the court of the Serene Prince.

The gates of the Azghari encampment slowly rise, welcoming in the new riders.

The gates of the Azghari encampment slowly rise, welcoming in the new riders. Having accepted one Subudai of yore into their ranks, the Azghari await other famed rides to emerge to accompany them on the steppes.

The gates of the Azghari encampment slowly rise, welcoming in the new rider.

The gates of the Azghari encampment slowly rise, welcoming in the new rider.

The gates of the Azghari encampment slowly rise, welcoming in the new riders.

The gates of the Azghari encampment slowly rise, welcoming in the new riders.

The Azghari Warband “When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, “Come.” I looked, and behold, an ashen horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hell followed with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.” A band of brothers and sisters equal beneath the Eternal blue sky, this band of nomadic peoples are renowned for their passion and fervour - the most proficient horse riders to ever grace Vailor’s many meadows and pastures. Formed by Darius and Cyrus, sons of the great Sasan, the pair of warriors were without parallel; renowned for their hundred-strong harems. Although there exists no ranking for the warband, the strongest leaders are chosen by the entire warband to guide them - holding no position except that as a trusted figure. In this way any man can make his fortune and become great, provided he be worthy. They made their foes flee in horror because their swarthy aspect was fearful, with an intriguing distinguishment in their eyes is seen through the colours of brown, green and blue. Their hardihood is evident in their wild appearance, and they are beings who are cruel to their children on the very day they are born. For they cut the cheeks of the males with a sword, so that before they receive the nourishment of milk they must learn to endure wounds. Hence they grow old beardless and their young men are without comeliness, because a face furrowed by the sword spoils by its scars the natural beauty of a beard. They are short in stature, quick in bodily movement, alert horsemen, broad shouldered, ready in the use of bow and arrow, and have firm-set necks which are ever erect in pride. Though they live in the form of men, they have the cruelty of wild beasts. A travelling band, these nomads are oft on the move and rarely stay in the same place- their swords are sold to the highest bidder. Many kingdoms have competed to hire them, brutal warriors who are known for both their skill in the field and their fortitude when faced with great sieges. Their ranks know no difference between man or woman, any creature except the accursed Kha can serve amidst their ranks provided they can ride. The Azghari do not settle and farm, they are hunters and gatherers - fast moving horsemen that stay for only short times in a single place. Every member is expected to sustain themselves by their own tools, hunting game and slaying prey to feed them. Slavery is accepted by the Azghari, and a man is judged on how many slaves he has taken. For those who are taken in bondage, freedom can only be earned by hard coin or valour shown in the Warband’s service - freeing them to fight as any other rider. For the wealth that is gathered in battle, every man receives an equal portion - the Warband knows no boundaries to brotherhood. The faith of the Azghari is revolved around the deity of ‘Od Tengri’, the unknowable one who knows everything. He is the judge of good and bad, Tengri can bless a person richly, but can also utterly destroy those whom he deems unfit. His actions cannot be predicted. His ways, difficult to know. There exist many other spirits or 'aenguls' besides Tengri. These spirits are diverse. They can be good or bad or of mixed temperament. They can be gods residing in the upper heavenly world, wandering evil spirits from the underworld, spirits of the land, water, stars and planets or spirits of the ancestors. They can be in charge of certain tribes or of certain nations. Under Tengri these spirits all have some limited influence, but it is nearly impossible for normal people to contact them. Only the High Priest of Od Tengri can contact them. Unless Od Tengri contacts them himself. There is no 'one true religion'. Humanity has not reached full enlightenment. Nonetheless Tengri will not leave the guilty unpunished and the virtuous unrewarded. Those upright in spirit and righteous in thought are acceptable to Tengri, even if they followed different religions. Tengri has given different paths for man. Anyone interested in service would do well to inquire with Cyrus (LemonDropzz) or respond here: OOC: Username: Skype: IC: Name: Race: Age: