Xarkly

Hello everyone, and welcome to the latest ET Contest. Following an excellent point Seventh made out to me the other day, we should make more contests that promote the world of Atlas rather than real life. We’re happy to bring you this art & writing contest based on the theme of the Months of Atlas. Your artwork or story has to be somehow themed around one of our world’s months, which include … Malin's Welcome The First Seed The Grand Harvest The Sun's Smile The Amber Cold The Deep Cold Snow's Maiden You can interpret these months as a theme in any way you like -- be it the setting, or a seasonal colour palette, etc., so long as it’s a notable feature in your submission. THE RULES To enter, you must submit a piece of artwork or writing which focuses on theme of one of Atlas' months in any way you see fit to interpret. So long as you make a month some kind of notable feature, you can't go wrong. Writing and Art entries are judged as separate. This means that there is a first prize available for writing, and a first prize available for art. You must submit your entry here, on this thread, by midnight of April 14th. Your submission must be original. JUDGING & PRIZES Submissions will be judged by ET Management. 1st Place Prize (for both categories): 2000 Mina || Spawn Parrot Egg || Creative Wizard Tag || Signed Item associated with the month featured in your submission 2nd Place Prize (for both categories): 1000 Mina || Spawn Parrot Egg || Signed Item associated with the month featured in your submission 3rd Place Prize (for both categories): 500 Mina || Signed Item associated with the month featured in your submission ITEM REWARDS If you're a MAdmAn, you're free to enter both contests. With that said, we're looking forward to seeing your talents. Good luck.

Hey everyone. We've finished judging the entries to the writing contest and you can find the winners below. The entries were pretty decent across the board, buuuut we did have to disqualify a couple of good ones because they didn't meet some of the rules (mainly that the event had to have occurred on Atlas). So without further delay, here are the results. Make sure to congratulate the winners, and if you participated at all, there's a unique ET item available for you. If you have any thoughts on ET contests and holiday-themed events, I'd also appreciate your opinions on that. So, dRUMroLL please .... 1st Place 2nd Place 3rd Place Participation Prize For those of you who entered and didn't get picked for a winning slot (like me :c) you can hit me up with a PM in-game or on Discord (Conor#8203) for a participation prize, which iiiiiis this; Future Contests So, just for a little bit of feedback -- are you guys interested in the ET hosting future contests, or holiday themed events in general? Lemme know what you think, leave your opinions or ideas below.

I'm literally writing the post now, sorry for the delay.

If you want some kind of indicator of what I'm hoping to get more of, here's some posts about my event line in the southern wastelands; It's my ambition to get events like these going all around Atlas.

I prefer those longer-term eventlines that really drive character development and I wanna see more of them. We've already got a couple in motion with stuff like the Far Glade and my stuff in the southern wastes, and in particular I'm hoping to start up and coordinate some event lines that explore Atlas' history. We've got a nice mix of ET doing larger-tier story stuff and smaller things, but I'm hoping to encourage ET to take up some bigger projects in the future. Nothing like big massive world-events like Gaz or anything like that, but just like those long term deeper stories that you mentioned that'd focus around a specific group/race/etc. But yeah, I'll be prioritizing quality moreso than pumping as many small events out as possible while maintaining a solid quantity like we've been experiencing up until Feb.

if it aint green it aint clean

Xarkly Hot diggity we got us a brand spanking new Director and an update log with all these hot as sh1t graphics. Alrighty so if you somehow didn't piece it together, I've gone ahead and been appointed Director after SquirtGun bounced, so I'd like to just thank the Administration and the Event Team for their faith and support and I can't wait to get cracking on some serious sh*t. This is a relatively rushed update on my part since I just got the role yesterday, so I've only got a couple of small things to touch on, and Skylez and Seventh will talk about Actor and Builder activity down below. Current Team Roster Featuring Seventh ruining our colour coordination. New Applications We'll be reviewing this starting today hopefullyprobablymaybe so if you've been thinking about applying, get off your arse and do it now, otherwise you'll be waiting for three or four weeks before we review them again. We're especially looking for builders, so if you can build, then apply. OK? OK. FriENDSHIp Writing Contest Results So this one's been a little delayed because of the Director fiasco, but we've picked out the best entries into this contest, and the results should be posted by Sunday evening at the latest. Aaaand that's pretty much all I have to say for now. If you've any questions, ideas, concerns or whatever, feel free to just post here or message me on Discord (Conor#8203) and we can chat. The next update log in April should be far more substantial but for now, read below for Actor and Builder reports from Skylez and SeventhCircle. Skylez Skylez, ET Actor Manager here. Let’s get right into it, I’m sure most of you know what I do; interviewing applicants, reviewing logged events, evaluating actors, so forth and so on. Actor Roster (9 total) Aesopian Papa_Liam Swgrclan AwakenMyLove ScreamingDingo MrBamPow Cave_Creature Shady_Tales Publius This Month The month of February has been our lowest in a long while, likely do to several factors such as a shorter month as well the hiccup of a leaving director mid-month. In total there has been 56 logged events, one of our lowest months in all truths; in January we pulled off 86 events. (Keep in mind there is a few duplicate logs in this number, as for instance two actors may have logged the same event that they both equally worked on.) And the most productive actor this month was ... SeventhCircle Hola folks, Seventh the ET Build Manager here with your monthly update. February was like past months a very solid month we as a team completed 15 builds with ImCookiie pulling in the top slot for contributions! We’re currently running a bit low on builders so if you’ve been thinking about applying I highly recommend you do so! Builders (5 total) DrunkenMutt Elrith/Mordu ImCookie HortonHeardAWho DrFate786 As a final Note I’d like to say goodbye to Atles and Cpt_Noobman who stepped down over the course of the month.

From his office in the Grand Bank of Markev, Ruslan Amador sets down a copy of the declaration, and interlocked his pale, bony fingers. He squinted across the far wall, where a map of Atlas was pinned to the wood. His icy-blue eyes settled on shaded landmass of Marna-Renatus. "Well," he began wistfully, as he picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and began to write in his ledger, "nothing unites people like hate."

Did blue make me look fat

Okay so real quick do you guys actually want a formal system of couping back in LOTC for Atlas and if so, what changes do you think we ought to make to them? The previous version of coup rules created by me and Nazdus can be found here; Leave feedback, thoughts, discussion etc. and make sure to +1 or next Your View will be on RP default.

Avendal, the Smoke Drake =|= "Did you hear that?" "Ay?" From where he stood on the Santegian watchtower, Gonzo lowered his poleaxe and squinted across at Eli. "Hear what?" Hoisting his crossbow up with a skeptical look marring the square face beneath his helmet, Eli stomped over to the walls before he scanned the scenic plains of farms and grassland beyond the city. "That ... roar." With a narrowed brow, he looked back to Gonzo. "You didn't hear anything?" "Not a fuckin' thing, besides my belly rumbling," Gonzo grunted, before he frowned and prodded his stomach, prompting it to growl. "There ain't nothing out there, Eli." Eli bit his lip. Across the green horizon, sparsely-placed trees swayed in the soft sea wind, and he could see distant farmers toil in their ploughed fields, and rivers shimmer like molten sapphire as they flowed into the city's canals. He could have sworn he had heard a distant roar, unlike that of any beast he had heard before. When he could see nothing but the peaceful Santegian countryside he had come to love, Eli only grunted and shouldered his crossbow before he marched back towards Gonzo. "Aye, you might be right," he grumbled, though his tone lacked conviction, "maybe I'm just hungry." "No doubt about it," Gonzo chortled. "Only another hour now, and --" He suddenly cut off. Eli shot his compatriot a scowl. "What, Gonzo?" Gonzo held a finger up. "Shhh. Listen." Immediately, Eli fell silent, and tried to listen over the buzz of the city behind him and the soft whistling of the wind. And then ... "Oh, yep, there it is," Gonzo snickered as he farted. "You hear that, Eli?" "Prick," Eli grunted, before he spat at his feet and began to storm off. "Wait, Eli, hang on, look at --" "Off yourself, Gonzo." "No, Eli, quick, look--!" "Gonzo, I will beat --" Eli turned just in time to see the fireball smash into the watchtower. The next thing he knew, he was burning; burning, and falling, until he felt himself crash into the water of the moat amidst a shower of fallen stone. He thrashed as he felt his chainmail pull himself down, and watched as shards of stone continued to rain down into the water all around him. His throat ached for air, until he finally grappled onto the muddied riverbank and pulled his head above the surface. He gasped as fresh air rushed into his lungs; his muddied gloves dug into the riverbank as he tried to pull himself further up. He suddenly froze as a sharp fragment of stone shot into the mud just an inch from his neck. The scent of thick smoke rushed into his nostrils, nearly choking him anew, when he noticed the thick wreath of smoke that enshrouded the stone. Then, as the water drained from his ears, he heard the sounds. The screams, the roar, the burning. With a thick lump in his throat, Eli turned, and looked towards Santegia. The city burned. The ramparts and rooftops sent thick columns of pitch-black smoke into the sky as they burned with voracious fires. The watchtower upon which Eli had stood only moments ago had been reduced to a smoking stub, with the remaining stone turned glowing red under the immense heat. "G-Gonzo," he stammered as he tried to clamber to his feet. His eyes turned back to the moat in the hope that his comrade had fallen into the water too, but panic seized him when he saw that most of the water had been clogged by clumps of the burning watchtower. The few guardsmen he did see were floating corpses, their bodies twisted and burnt black. With his teeth chattering from the chill of the water, Eli fumbled to pull free his arming sword from his belt before he thrust it into the mud and pulled himself out of the riverbank. He was not a second too slow; a clump of burning stone smashed into the spot he had been lying in only seconds before. "BALLISTAE! GET TO THE BALLISTAE! ANOTHER BOLT, GO, GO, GO! IT'S BY THE BRIDGE!" As Eli staggered forwards, he heard the mechanical groan of a ballista as a thick bolt was flung through the air. Eli glanced up and tried to trace its path, but that quickly proved impossible: all around him, the sky had been clogged with thick smoke that nearly robbed Eli of all breath. He could distinguish blurry figures moving along the watchtowers as more ballistae sung their dull chorus and fired bolts through the smoky air, but the only thing Eli could properly make out was the fire: the endless sea of fire around him. As if he had lost control of his body, Eli suddenly sank to his knees as the smoke stung his throat. "What devilry is this?" he whispered as he tried to blink through the smoke-induced tears. His answer came in the form of a roar. From the veil of smoke, fire drew near him. The dim light of that fire outlined a long, serpentine head, mounted with a singular, misshapen horn. Narrow red eyes stared down at Eli, and the smoke briefly parted as massive black wings swept it aside with the force of a gale. For one, brief terrifying moment, Eli had a full view of the jet-black Drake, with smoke pouring from its flaming mouth. For a moment, he even thought he saw a figure clambering on its back, but it was then that he shut his eyes. His time had come; he accepted that. He felt the heat grew as the Drake growled, and the flames spilled out of its mouth ... "SKRAAH!" Eli's eyes suddenly shot open as the shriek of pain replaced the roar of fire. Blood began to drip down like, as heavy as rain, and he watched as the Drake's long, serpentine tail suddenly fell through the smoke, and landed with a massive thud just half a dozen feet from where Eli had fallen to his knees in despair. The bolt of a ballista, caked in dark blood, speared through the tail where it had been separated from the Drake's body. Burning droplets of blood sizzled against Eli's helmet as he looked up, only to find the tailless Drake writhing in the sky, depositing its would-be rider as it vanished towards the trees. A horde of men ran past Eli towards the Drake, weapons drawn and crossbows loaded, but Eli could only stare at Santegia, and listen to the shrieks as men burned in the Drake's fire. All he could hear were the screams. All he could see was the smoke. =|=

wow yeah i'm pretty pretty great yeah

can i pay in friendship

Hey, I can do this for you. My discord is Conor#8203

"A thriving economy! Military outposts along our borders! A fair charter of laws! This is what I will give you!" "VOTE RUSLAN AMADOR!"

The Battle of the Waste "Hold." Atop the snow-capped cliffs of the Yatl Wasteland, black and white banners billowed in the howling southern wind. It was beneath these proud and ancient banners, streaming and snapping proudly in the gale, that a line of black figures marred the otherwise pure white hills. The Vaeyl Order, clad in their painted bronze platemail, stood silently, like an army of statues that had been painted onto a canvas. At the front of their lines, the First Banner awaited on their Cold Bears, their lances pointed skywards and gleaming in the pale morning sun. Behind the Bear Riders, the armoured infantry of the Second Banner had drawn their swords, and now clasped the hilt with both hands while the tips rested in the trodden snow. What remained of the Third Banner flanked the sides of the infantry, mounted on their Yatl Hunting Spiders, with their flawbows nocked and their quivers loaded, and finally, at the foot of the palisades of the Order's camp atop the hill, the mages of the Fourth Banner stood with their slender staffs held in both hands. All Four Banners watched as the army of humans and elves accumulated at the bottom of the hill, with their colourful tabards and mismatched shields. Unlike the specters of the Vaeyl, the banners at the bottom of the hill were many and varied. Marna, Haense, the Dominion of Malin. From beneath the colourful array of the invaders banners, a rousing chorus of shouts and cheers rose. The Vaeyl Order answered only with silence. "The Order will advance at a march." The Grandmaster hardly needed to raise his voice, and nor did his commanders as they echoed the Order. In one synchronized motion, the mass of Ordermen advanced. The bears let out low growls of anticipation as their riders prompted them into a walk forward, and the clanging of bronze plate echoed like a drum as the Second Banner infantry followed behind them. The Hunting Spiders clicked and hissed as they ferried the Third Banner forward, though the mages of the Fourth Banner remained atop the hill. Already, the invader forces began to amble towards the hill as eager warriors sought the honour the first kill. Their steel forms clambered along the heavy snows of the hillside, as the Order continued its slow march. "The Order will hold," rang the Grandmaster's voice, and immediately the specters resumed their motionless vigil as the riders tugged the reins of their bears and the infantry planted the swords into the snow once more. The invaders, however, did not slow, as more splintered from the main army and hurtled after the glory-seekers who continued to climb the hill. The battle cries of the invading Descendants rang like a shrill chorus as they neared the specters, and already vainglorious arrows sank into the snow just a few dozen feet from the Order's vanguard of Bear Riders. Suddenly, an arrow whizzed through one of the Order's tall black-and-white banners, leaving a gaping gash in the cloth. It was then that the specters averted their gaze from the advancing invaders, and beheld their shredded standard. Bows creaked in unison as the archers of the Third Banner tugged back on their bowstrongs, and the bears began to growl restlessly. From atop his bear, the Grandmaster slowly looked back down to the advancing descendant invaders. He let out a shaky breath in the form of frosty mist, and was surprised to find that his hand was shaking as he tried to hold his lance straight. As the shouts of the descendants grew louder, he glanced over his shoulder, to the army rallied behind him. It was the army that had followed him into undeath; it was the army that had sworn their souls to protect Atlas; it was the army that had given everything to stand alongside him now, beneath those black and white banners. There was no need for inspiring words or passionate speeches. The Grandmaster only inclined his head in a soft nod towards his Ordermen, before he looked back to the advancing enemy. This was their land -- they would not lose now, not to these foreign invaders. "The First Banner will charge." With a resonating roar, the bears charged as the riders of the First Banner dug their heels in. The white Cold Bears lumbered forth as their riders lower their lances, and crashed into the descendants in a shower of blood and snow. Within seconds, patriotic cries turned to harrowing screams as bears mauled into the invaders, while the specters' lances pinned them to the ground. The descendants were quick to retaliate as they flooded over the First Banner like a steel wave, driving spears through the thick layers of fat and fur the bears and dragging the riders down from their saddles. Arrows plucked riders down mid-charge and left bears rampaging through the ranks, smashing through the iron legion as descendants before it was eventually brought to a bloody halt. Soldiers clambered over their corpses, before leaping at the riders and bears who remained standing. Before the first hour had passed, the once pure-white snows of the Yatl Wasteland were awash with crimson rivers of blood and grey piles of corpses. The Grandmaster's hands began to shake once more as he watched invaders clamber atop bears whilst using their weapons as climbing tools, before the riders were thrown down into a sea of spears and swords. "The Second Banner will charge," he called, with more vigour in his voice than intended. With swords raised, a specter in plumed helmet took the lead and the heavy boots of the Second Banner thundered as they swept into the chaotic sprawl of the invader army. "The Third Banner will draw." "Draw!" echoed the command as bronze arrows glinted in the warmthless sun. The Hunting Spiders tapped their sharp legs impatiently as their riders took aim. "Fire." "Fire!" The once clear, blue sky was stained black as a stormcloud of arrows took flight, and yielded an applause of screams as they descended on the ranks of the invader army as the Second Banner engaged their front. Minutes turned to hours, as commands turned to howls as the Third Banner continued their volleys and the Second Banner waded through the enemy ranks, only to be repelled further up the hill. Eventually, the Grandmaster glanced back to where the Fourth Banner stood silently atop the hill. He inclined his head, and they raised their staffs. A moment later, four bolts of energy shot from behind the remaining lines of the Order, and into the ground near where the fighting was thickest. Descendants recoiled in alarm as the earth began to shift, and boulders conjoined until four beings of solid stone had joined the battle. Their stony heads twitched, and they launched themselves at the descendants. Time was forgotten as catapults dappled the field red with burning pitch and corpses piled as high as hills. The Grandmaster did not know when he had given the command, but the Third Banner had leapt forward on their Hunting Spiders and sped around the battlefield, their mounts deftly scaling both corpses and hills, as their rides loosed arrows into straggling invaders. But it was not enough. As the Order's ranks thinned, the descendants began to push once more. "Grandmaster," urged the voice of a nearby specter. "They are too many. We should retreat." The Grandmaster did not answer. Instead, he glanced around, to the faithful few dozen warriors that remained by his side. He inclined his head, and found that his vision was blurred by tears. At first, he was not quite sure whether they were tears of joy or despair. He could hear the descendants closing in, with their blood-curdled cries and hoarse lungs. He did not need to say any words to those who remained; he only nodded, and drew his sword. He could not remember charging into the oncoming wave of invaders, nor could he remember fighting. He did not remember the sword that buckled his breastplate and speared through his heart. He did not remember dying. He only remembered the peace, and the dream he had ravished for so long. By the time he fell into that blissful dream, it was not the black-and-white banners of the Vaeyl Order that flew over the fringes of the Yatl Wasteland, but the gold-and-black of Haense. It was not the wind that heralded the starry night of the Grand Harvest, but the victory cries of the descendant alliance. The shattered remnants of the Vaeyl Order retreating south

The Vaeyl Order camp at the border of the Yatl Wasteland and the Haensetian Sleetfells As Lord Arcanist Haevolt, Commander of the Vaeyl Order's Fourth Banner, strode through the sea of tents, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind. The southerly wind had picked up and send the Vaeyl banners streaming from their flagpoles like black-white flames, but Haevolt did not feel the deathly chill it carried. If there was one thing he missed of the times before he swore his Oath and became the being teethering between life and undeath he now was, it was the feel of the mundane; the unruly breath of the wind, the kiss of a winter's night and the embrace of a summer's day. Now he, like the rest of the Order, felt only the strongest of sensations - which, inconveniently, seemed to be exclusively pain. He missed sitting by a fire and eating too, but as he looked between the vast expanse of old canvas tents he could still see fires ringed by his comrades in their black-and-white painted bronze plate. They did not needed neither heat nor food, Haevolt knew, but they took comfort in it nonetheless. Haevolt could understand that; there was a certain loneliness to immortality. Though the occasional Orderman bowed his head to Haevolt and muttered a greeting as the Lord Arcanist passed, the mood in the camp was largely a sour one. The dull din of chatter was almost muted by the whistle of the wind and the infrequent roar of a Cold Bear as a Rider of the First Banner prepared for battle. Haevolt knew that the poor mood was in part his fault; it was his plan that had led to the deaths of Darkhos and Charo, commanders of the First and Third Banner, though they did not know that -- nor did they know that their deaths had been necessary for the overall success of the Order's attack on the northern invaders. Despite his resolve, he still felt ... doubt eat away at the back of his mind. It was something he had not felt in a long time -- certainly not since he had taken his Oath and joined the Order. As Haevolt approached top of the camp, where the speared palisades rose to overlook the Wick Woods and the Sleetfells, he felt as if that doubt was growing. Sucking in a steeling breath, he gripped the banner of the rickety wooden staircase and climbed to the top of the walls. When Haevolt found just two figures clad in white and black overlooking the land to the north, his eyes instinctively searched for the two missing Commanders before a painful pang of guilt in his chest reminded the Lord Arcanist that Darkhos and Charo were dead -- truly dead, this time, and beyond the aide of the Oathstone. He joined their silent vigil, and took his place at the duo's side and stared to the north. It was serenely peaceful from up here, he noticed: the pines of the Wick Woods swayed softly in the chilling wind beneath a deep blue sky dappled with arrays of bright stars that flooded the world with a silvery light and made the distant lakes and rivers shimmer like molten silver. The roars of Cold Bears echoed through the night as Riders patrolled the borders of their camp that were so recently breached, and those roars were carried by the wind as it swept through the swathes of forest land, prompting the trees to sigh and sing melodically. "After all these decades," Haevolt found himself muttering despite himself, "it still looks beautiful." For a moment, the Lord Arcanist thought no one would respond, before the figure with the plumed helmet, to Haevolt's far right, stirred. "It will be more beautiful still when it is freed of invaders," came Lord Marshal Serris' jagged voice. Though a woman, the Order had long since abandoned bias towards woman when Serris proved herself capable at commanding men than most, and she wore the title of Lord Marshal well. "We should have listened to Darkhos. We should have advanced long before now." "We would be with Darkhos and Charo in the next world if we had," Haevolt said cautiously. He knew Serris could be especially volatile on the subject of Darkhos -- especially since his true death at the hands of the Haensetians. "That would be better than cowering from behind wooden walls while we wait for them to move!" Serris rounded on him, the black-white plume of her helmet billowing in a sudden gust of wind. "I would rather be destroyed with Darkhos and Charo rather than have left them to die! We will fight these invaders with a weakened army now!" Haevolt swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew that if Serris ever discovered that it was through his strategies that had allowed the Haensetians to kill Lord Executioner Charo and Lord Champion Darkhos, she would destroy the Oathstone herself if it meant revenge on him. "We will triumph, Serris," he tried to assure her, in the most gentle voice he could muster. "This is our land. For hundreds of years, it has been our land. No invaders, no 'Haense' can usurp that right. We will face them, and we will win." "If they-" Serris began, but Haevolt quickly interjected. "If not for the defense of our home, then for Darkhos and Charo," he intoned, and the Lord Marshal immediately fell silent. That silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity to Haevolt as he, Serris and their silent third companion stared out amongst the land that they once called home, and would again once the invaders had been rooted from their city. "For Darkhos ... and Charo ..." Serris breathed through his plumed helmet. Suddenly, she slammed a fist against the edge of the wooden wall, which made a viscous cracking sound as Serris' gauntlet struck it. "It isn't fair!" Her voice sounded like a mix of despair and enraged frustration. "They came to our home, they invaded our land, and they stole our artefact! What gives them that right?!" At the mention of the Oathstone, Haevolt's eyes slid to the their silent, third companion who stood in the middle of he and Serris. The smooth, golden gemstone stuck out from his sheathed sword that was belted to his side. Haevolt had petitioned insistently to have the Oathstone removed from the sword the Invader King Otto, but the Grandmaster seemed to like the idea that the source of their power rested in the pommel of his own weapon. With a wistful sigh, Haevolt looked back out towards the starry night. "It is not right," he muttered. "And that is why the invaders will be punished. Once we finish our strategy, we will finish constructing our defensive perimeter, and -" "No," came a smooth, deep voice from the middle figure. Haevolt blinked in surprise. "I beg your pardon, Grandmaster?" "We will wait no longer," the Grandmaster said as he kept the visor of his winged helmet focused on the horizon. "The Order marches." While Serris seemed to mute a silent cheer, Haevolt's brow shot up. "B-but Grandmaster, my lord," he began, but the Grandmaster had already turned to descend from the walls. "We cannot just rush north! We must have a plan, a strategy!" "We do have one," the Grandmaster replied indifferently as his black cloak whipped and snapped in the wind as he mounted the stairs. "And what strategy would that be?" Haevolt demanded as unwelcome irritation crept into his voice. "I don't recall." The Grandmaster paused, and fixed him with a level stare. Suddenly, the wind seemed to die down, and an eerie silence befell the camp. "We're going to kill them all." _____________________________________________________ The Royal Army of Haense & Allies march to meet the Vaeyl Order in battle tomorrow at 2PM EST/7PM GMT in the climax of the ongoing eventline. Rally in the Haensetian capital of Markev at 1PM EST/6PM GMT to participate.

"A SAFER, RICHER, AND STRONGER MARKEV!" The shout echoed across Markev's Red Square like a thunderclap just moments after the bells of Saint Otto and Karl's Cathedral tolled noon. The voice immediately ensnared the curious eyes of citizens meandering through the streets, and curious murmurs rippled throughout the city's bustling thoroughfare as a crowd slowly gathered. It was on the stands overlooking the square that the speaker stood, whom was a pale-faced man with a fine blue-silk overcoat and pale blue eyes, and it was he who the people began to gather before with skeptically-arched brows and anticipating stares. Silence slowly befell the Red Square, but for an occasional wind whistling through the streets, until finally, the man spoke once more. "A safer, richer and stronger Markev," he repeated in a lofty voice, ice-blue eyes scanning the growing crowd. "That is what I will give you. A Markev where no good man, woman nor child need fear spectral warriors to the south nor raiders to the north. A Markev where businesses are privileged to trade within our walls and honoured to service our people. A Markev that can not be toppled by neither sword, spell nor treachery -- a Markev that will be remembered a hundred generations from now as a pinnacle of Haensetian power. A safer, richer and stronger Markev. This is what I will give you." The man paused, surprised that he already found himself out of breath. He briefly scanned the crowd, and soon regretted it; a lump formed in his throat as he met their silent faces. Sucking in a breath, he braced himself, and spoke once more. "We have no shortage of threats to our lives and families. To the south, an army of spectral warriors march, while we face raiders from the north. How can we expect mothers to sleep at night when they fear that their children won't live to see next the next harvest? How can soldiers sleep in their tents knowing that specters may raze their homes and raiders may ravish their wives? As Maer, with your blessing and support, I will cooperate with the steadfast patriots of our Royal Army to construct beacons, outposts and fortifications to the north, south, east and west of Markev to ensure that no army can pass unopposed, and no raiders can pass unnoticed. The land between these forts and Markev will see frequent patrols of good Haensetian men to ensure that this land will be safe for families to farm, work, build and rear their families. I will personally provide the materials and finance to see these forts cast shadows upon those who would do harm to our realm, and I trust in our soldiers to provide the patriotism and valour to man these forts. A safer Markev; this is what I will give you!" "Our city already floods with enterprise, but there is yet higher we can climb; there are more entrepreneurs we can inspire to seek their fortune in Haense, more workers to be employed, and enhanced services to be provided for the betterment of our city. As owner of the White Cross Company and all its subsidiaries, I will personally pay for stalls for my sub-companies from cities such as Senntisten to set up here in Markev for free to provide more jobs, goods and services to our citizenry, while I will see other companies petitioned to establish branches here in Markev. With this economic growth and our population growing exponentially, it will one of my first priorities in office to see that available housing grows to match our growing populace. Cottages will dapple our scenic landscape, with room for farms to feed and rear a family, while only lying just a short walk from our city gates, while I will see good working Haensetian men employed to build these farms and cottages. My cooperation with the Salisbury bureaucracy will yield a fair tax system that will favour neither rich nor poor, but the common Haensetian, and this tax will go to finance our city and pay our soldiers. A safer Markev; this is what I will give you!" "I pray you note that our strength as a people and city is drawn not only from our exalted army, but our culture and society. I am of the belief, like many of you, that this city bleeds from a lack of clear laws, and I promise that this, I will remedy! I promise to work with the newly-appointed State Minister to bring to you a fair code of civil law that will protect you at home, much like the shield of Haensetian patriotism protects you in the wastelands in the shadow the ice wall to the south! I hope to see a strong judiciary appointed with learned judges, tainted by neither coin nor power, but guided by the vision of a Markev where laws are as strong as steel. But it is not only our laws that require nourishment, but our culture. We, as a people, have seen many homes, from St. Karlsburg, to Alban, and now here, on a new uncharted continent, but we must not forget our culture and traditions that make us who we are -- that make us Haensetians. As Maer, I will bring to you frequent festivals and feasts in celebration of our people, our culture, and our traditions. It is through a nurtured society and culture that our spirit, our community, will become unbreakable. A stronger Markev; this is what I will give you!" His throat ached from shouting now, and his heart beat like a war-drum, but he found that almost exhilarating as he gripped the banister of the stand so hard that his knuckles turned white. "A safer, richer and stronger Markev! I am Ruslan Amador, and THIS IS WHAT I WILL GIVE YOU" "VOTE RUSLAN AMADOR, FOR A SAFER, RICHER AND STRONGER MARKEV!"

halfling engineering))

A misty sunrise over the farmlands near the Shrieking Drake Island. "Ooh, I once knew a lass from Ker'Nor ... She had stunning eyes, and a rack like a who-" Bramber's singing was suddenly interrupted when one of the wooden wheels of his cart suddenly caught in a dip in the road. Without a second's hesitation, the Halfling let the reins of his ponies fall out of his little hands before he reached behind him to grab his pre-loaded crossbow, nestled among the bushels of wheat piled onto the back of the cart. Steadying his breath, he fumbled to find the crossbow's trigger, before he sucked in a breath to brace himself. "C'mon, Bramber boy, grow some stones," he breathed. Licking his lips, he forced himself to look over the edge of the cart, crossbow aimed down. With shaking fingers, he found the hole that the wheel of his cart had caught and, as he had feared, it was narrow, and deep. He kept his crossbow trained on it intently, though he shook so much that he knew he had no chance of hitting anything that came out of that dark little hole. "Are ye alright?" a voice abruptly called. "GAH!" Bramber did not remember pulling the trigger, but the recoil suddenly threw him back into the cart as his bolt sank into the dirt road, a few inches from the hole. He quickly straightened up, let his floppy straw hat slide from his head, and scanned the road for the source of the voice. Just a dozen feet away, a man in a bleached-cloth shirt and leather skullcap was leaning against the stone wall of a heather farm and watching the Halfling with bewilderment. "What's gotten in ye?" With a grizzly black beard, the man's broad face had more hair than skin. "Thought ye were a peaceful folk, now here ye are shootin' up the road." "S-s-sorry," Bramber stammered, before he swept up his straw hat and promptly plopped back on his head in the hope that its shadow would conceal some of his frightened expression. "It - it's just m' cart hit a hole an-an' I-I thought it m-m-might be one of 'em S-S-Silverfish that des-destroyed m' cousin's farm, and -" The bearded man cut him off with an amused an amused snort. "Don't ye know? Them Silverfish 're gone now." "G-gone?" Bramber stammered as his brow shot up. "H-how do y' mean 'g-gone'?" "They're ploughin' gone, ain't they?" the bearded man repeated with a jagged laugh. "Nests 've all been destroyed, so they 'ave." Hope welled within Bramber. "I - I thought there was a nest of 'em nearby, a-at Sutica." "There was," the bearded man affirmed, "'till some mad fucker poured magma in it." "Magma?!" Bramber repeated in alarm, and the bearded man nodded between hoarse laughter. "B-but I thought there were nests of the buggers down in Haense 'n Marna," the Halfling stated uncomfortably. "Wait if they just come back up 'ere?" "Not much chance of tha'," the man exclaimed. "Nests 've been destroyed down there, too. Word is the Haensetian army fought a thousand of the buggers before they torched the nest." "A th-thousand?" "A thousand. Folks 're sayin' it were a proper bloody battle, field turned grey with corpses." Bramber turned queasy at the very thought of that. "A-and the nest down by Marna?" "Blew the fuckers to bits, so I 'eard." "So - so they're gone? They - they're really gone?" Bramber breathed. "S'what I said, didn't I?" "H-hah! Haha!" Gripped by euphoria, Bramber suddenly flung his crossbow out of the cart and halfway into the neighbouring field. He scooped up the reins of his ponies, and tugged with vigour before the cart began to tug down the road with a series of disgruntled whinnies. "Thank y' sir, thank y'!" he called to the bearded farmer as his cart rolled past. The man only laughed as the Halfling burst into song down along the road. That night, Bramber the Halfling raised a glass to his nameless heroes. ________________________________________________________________________________________________ The Marnan nest, destroyed with acid and collapsed by Klaus the Alchemist and Adelmar the Reiter. ________________ The Haensetian nest, slaughtered and torched by the Haensetian Royal Army. _______________ The Sutican nest, drowned in magma by a party of Suticans. _____________________ So ends this eventline; thank you to everyone who took part.

THE VOTER Name: Ruslan Amador Address/Property: Pictorus Square 6 Nationality: Orenian Party: N/A FOR THE POSITION OF THE MAYOR OF SENNTISTEN [ ] Aran Talraen [x] Alexandre Ashford d’Aryn [ ] Godwyn Crast [ ] Abstain FOR ACTIONS UPON UNLISTED STRUCTURES UPON MARNAN TERRITORY [x] Force these structures into vassalization [ ] Assimilate these settlements peacefully [ ] Destroy and displace said settlements [ ] Leave these settlements be [ ] Abstain FOR THE LEGALIZATION OF MAGIC WITHIN MARNA [ ] Yes [x] No [ ] Abstain FOR THE LEGALIZATION OF CACTUS GREEN WITHIN MARNA [ ] Yes [x] No [ ] Abstain FOR THE LEGALIZATION OF GAMBLING WITHIN MARNA [ ] Yes [x] No [ ] Abstain FOR THE LEGALIZATION OF SLAVERY (NONHUMANS) WITHIN MARNA [x] Yes [ ] No [ ] Abstain