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Found 5 results

  1. When the Paper Doesn’t Hold 13th of The Amber Cold, Year 59 of the Second Age. The Silver Lubba Band out of patriotism for their old lands prepared, putting on Sutican guard armours and grabbed the old weaponry of Sutican origin such as halberds and simple bastard swords. 90 men and women donning the shields of the band headed out from the meetup point shouting the name of Sutica at the top of their lungs. They did not stop their shouting all the way from the long trek towards the beach to rowing across the sea to the very shores of Haelun’or. Bold and patriotic they did not care anymore for being sneaky and opted for effectiveness, cutting off one of the Sillumir soldiers in front of their gate, which too was quickly dealt with. After this quick manner of getting rid of a nuisance, men of stone were called forth, though the band quickly mobilized and used the exact same trick as they had done before, simply going through the citizen doors with their vast amount of lockpicks with relative ease. Once the door was heard to be picked from the inside of the square, it was apparent that the Haelun’orian forces retreated out of cowardice for the steel which their paper could not hold. Quickly a route was made to reach the forces hidden within the military hold of the Sillumir, though some of us had trouble as they had patched up our previous ways in. A solution was found rather quickly, sending out a small detachment of half the men forth which the rest slowly trickled in to prepare for battle. The Silver Lubba Band donning their Sutican armour found themselves on the rather sturdy rooves of the city as they shot down into the military base, catching them by surprise. A battle occurred, finally. Incompetence of their forces soon followed. The Silver Lubba Band simply opened and closed doors as they went for a more fun approach, blocking in those who went out and allowing our men and women to get in with relative ease for a charge. The elves within gave a fair battle, though clearly outmatched as they dropped like flies over time with our men and women all still standing at the end to slaughter the remainder of their livestock just in case. Unable to deal with simple mercenaries of old-Sutican origin and fearing them as we stand in front of their gates ready for another round. No casualties. No survivors. No hostages. ETERNAL WE STAND signed, The Silver Lubba
  2. Terry

    The Men of Morn

    [!] A depiction of the Orenian Capital, a fire burning long into the night. THE MEN OF MORN & THE COWARDS OF NIGHT Some chose to linger in the shadows of night, fretfully biting at their nails until blood sheds from the tip of their fingers. For these so called men have as much honor as they have triumphs in battles where the odds have been fair. Only as night cracks, do the mentioned men - men of Orenian ilk, come out to take up arms. As their force is about as competent as a barrel of lobsters fighting. They struck Urguan in the early hours of the day, just like the cowards they are, cravens in tin suits to mask their wobbling bellies. Those of honesty, take up arms in the midst of day, just when the rabble of cities surmount. The tides of a snake’s war are about as easy to turn around, about as much as the morning eggs of a Halfling. Hence, the joint forces of Urguan showed up at the front gates of Saint James. It was the Men of the Morn, in great contrast to the Cowards of the Night. Recent history has told the Orenians are certainly men of faith. The good Orenians provided the gateway and keys to their city - literally so. Boots sounded from outside of the city, causing many a man or woman to flee into their homes. With the last door promptly shut, the brave joint forces landed into the yolk of Saint James, standing true and tall at the center of the city. Where one fool, Joseph d’Azor found himself captive and in shackles within seconds. Then again, the turncoat of Oren can only leach onto power, his one capability to shine his shoes, with that smooth brain of his. Expectly, the Cowards of the Night did not take up prestigious, patriotic arms to save their good man. Instead their eyes watched him be taken until the horizon showed him no more, perched shakily upon one of their walls. One capture was not enough for the forces albeit, as they remained in the city - expecting a fight. Was it a war? They thought. Or was it the great pitching of tents? Only those with morsels of valor descended to clash blades with the invading force, to no avail, but at the very least, they fought - as those in war should. Battle ensued for minutes before another staring contest persisted. Yet, the eyes of Orenian men only lingered on the destruction to come, while the joint forces only saw triumph. The Clock Tower would strike nil, as the foreshadowed end of times bestowed itself upon the decaying Empire of Oren. What good soldiers would allow an invasion without a defense? To allow their women and children to flee to their homes, knowing their army to be no more than conscripted lousy, dunces. Torches were tossed against the tower, flames licking the sides, until an uproar of inferno took its entirety. Still, the Orenian soldiers moved less than an inch. Cries took hold of Saint James. Still, the Orenian soldiers moved less than an inch. T'was the end of times to come, the beginning of their own declared end. An Emperor declaring oneself as Emperor. An Emperor declaring his own war. An Emperor declaring his own fate. Narvak oz Urguan, Philip III. Part 3 of 3.
  3. The Enemy of My Enemy Part 2/3 [!] A party of Rustlers, Ferrymen and Irehearts do good work on the roads of Oren. The sun, though beating down heat onto the land of men below, was met with a cool breeze that made for a comfortable atmosphere. The Rustlers, intending only to cripple Orenian supplies, could be found ambushing caravans and trade wagons alike as they sought refuge in the City of Burning Clocks. THUMP THUMP THUMP! The hooves of a horse echoed throughout the field only to be silenced by the driver wishing to stop and rest at a nearby tavern. A gust of wind caught hold of some brush near the side of the road, parting a few leaves and opening a line of sight. Piercing blue eyes stared through the brush, the gaze serious yet clouded with eagerness. With quick and intent movements, Elsil’Ceru sprung into action. The young elf let out a whistle, akin to that of a bird that was local to the region. The caravan looked around in a state of confusion, then interrupted as Iscesi ‘the Doorman’ leaped into action, firing an arrow into the chest of the caravan driver. With the same speed with which the Rustlers appeared, the lives of the caravan guards ended. As the Rustler band cleaned their weapons, they were set upon by a messenger loyal to their cause. The Orenians began their march. With haste, Elsil’Ceru ordered that birds be dispatched to some allies of the Urguan war effort. They set their quills to parchment and sent the messages off with haste. In a nearby forest, the elfish Ferrymen, Vydrek and Diome, walked idly by with their long time friend, Yonash. The trio strolled calmly, taking in the scenery of Orenian lands one last time before they were set to the flame, when a bird flew down and landed atop the shoulder of Vydrek. Yonash stepped forward, grasping at the bird and holding it tight as he removed the attached message. While the man silently read, the two elves readied their weapons. Between the two, they shared centuries of experience in war and knew what a bird sent from the direction of an enemy must mean. The three Ferrymen returned to their horses and made for the nearby Ferrymen camp. As the reinforcements made their way to the roads of Oren, the ISA readied themselves as well. They had received reports that their caravans were being attacked and their supply chain cut off. With their usual haste, the ISA made for the roadside tavern, mounted on the finest steeds the Empire could muster and armed to the teeth. As they arrived, they were met with the host that they sought out. A coalition of Ferryman and Rustler stood at the ready, their numbers lined across the road, ready to meet the ISA’s finest. The two sides stood at a standstill, neither making the first move, but both ready to draw first blood. Silence befell the terrain as the two small armies stood there, offering nothing in the way of words to each other. Diome eyed the mounted men of Oren, his eyes flickering between the groups as they usually did when he was formulating a strategy, when his focus was broken by a sudden shout. “Narvak oz Kjellos!” a voice shouted, booming through the fields as Bakir Ireheart charged in, mounted atop a mighty ram. Bakir swept between the two groups, his warhammer spinning wildly before he swung it at the head of an ISA recruit, his head coming clean off. With the valiant acts of Bakir, the silence was finally broken, replaced by the clashing of steel and flesh. The Ferrymen and Rustler coalition strode forth, their shields tight together as they forced the ISA back toward their hamlet. Yonash stopped as he looked about the battle field. The man watched as the Orenian troops fell to the blades of the allied forces one by one, “Diome!” he shouted toward his comrade “Press the attack! They fall to our blades!” With the rallying words of Yonash, coupled with the charge led by himself and Vydrek, the combined army of Ferryman, Rustler and Ireheart cut down the last of the sixteen ISA soldiers. Bakir turned to Elsil, offering a nod to the Rustler as he blew into his warhorn, signaling for the band to regroup on the roads. Iscesi limped from behind the treeline, wounded but not yet beaten as he returned from slaying several of the Orenian party. Diome and Vydrek returned together, supporting their comrade Yonash as he triumphantly returned to the group alive. The men, elf and dwed all looked around. Led by Bakir, they all began to chuckle lightly with relief. It was comforting to see that all twelve of their group had returned to the place that the battle began, alive and well. Diome made his way up the road, the coalition of forces bonding from the tales they had made during the battle. He found himself beside Elsil as the duo walked. “A fine show we put on didn’t we Ferryman.” said the Rustler. Diome groaned, in annoyance or pain, none could say for certain. “The enemy of my enemy, Rustler.” uttered the veteran Ferryman. [OOC] The information/names used in this post is not public information. This post is a recount of events that occurred in-game and is not to be used to influence RP. The purpose of this post is to share the events of the road skirmish in an RP friendly manner. Thank you.
  4. 11th of the First Seed Bloodlust answered with Dwarven Ire The Moon rose into the black sky as the sun fell back behind the orcish city. As the orcs and their slaves alike gathered in the Krugmar square, huddling around the lit campfire for warmth the generals of Krug stood around ready to give a speech. Urguani Forces led by Grand King Levian’Tol Grandaxe and Bakir Ireheart moved into the city with a company of 90, made up of Dwarven Legionnaires, Men of Blackwald, The Rustlers, and the GOATS, with compliments of the The Silver Lubba band. They charged the square quickly, cornering one of the Krugmarian Generals, the Urgani force was quickly surrounded by 135 Urks of Krugmar. The Urguani forces slammed their swords and axes together preparing for Battle. Bakir stepped forward asking the cornered general “Where is your Rex? Bring him to us.” Some orcs in the group surrounding them chuckled and awaited the response of their Targoth. The Krugmar General simply responded “Our Rex is dead, died of a heart attack” Bakir shrugged, going to lift his axe pointing it at the throat of the orc “Then we shall take you instead.” With that an orc war cry rang out, the circle of orcish warriors collapsing on the group of 90 dwarves surrounding the Grand King and the Krugmar General. Battle ensued, Urguani and Krugmar forces clashing, the sound of battle filling the streets of the city. The Orcs were quickly driven back into their own gatehouse, orc bodies filling the square with not one dwarf being scathed. The remaining warriors of Krug and with their two Generals hid in the gatehouse expecting to be safe from the dwarves that were waiting inside. The Warriors of Sedan and Silver Lubba suddenly pushed into the gates where the orcs were hiding, quickly overcoming them and dealing with them easily. Axes and swords were raised into the air and thereafter, Urguan War Cries filled the Orcish square as the corpses of Krug’s kin began to rot. The Raid party then returned to Kal'Darakaan. Victorious, hauling a sack of orcish heads behind him.
  5. FRESH PRINCE OF ELVENESSE 18th of the First Seed, Year 26 of the Second Age “Mi iz da new frezh Rex ob da Twiggiez” -Fresh Rex of Elvenesse, Smol’Ruk Today marks another victory for the Ferrymen on the Elven front. A group of 70 Ferrymen marched on the capital of Elvenesse to capture another key victory in the war against the Elves. The force of Ferrymen led by the infamous Captain Banjo, snuck their way into the inner city of Elvenesse and rushed their way into the heart of the capital. At the square, the Ferrymen grouped civilians and soldiers alike to handover their belongings and fought those few soldiers and civilians who had the courage to fight the renowned fighters known as the Ferrymen. Only one of the Elves stood valiantly against the Ferrymen and fought like a true champion (@GeneralPumpkinCZ). At the end of this skirmish, the commander of the Elves was found running cowardly away from the city and the rest of his small force of resistance laid dead in the streets, a fitting death for those who do not stand up for their kin. No losses resulted on the attacking party, as the original group of raiders marched to bandit the remaining civilians and cowardly soldiers. In the throne room the Ferrymen held a short ceremony, crowning Smol’Ruk the ‘Fresh Rex of Elvenesse’. [!] A picture depicting the Ferrymen and Smol’Ruk sitting on the Throne of Elvenesse. As all the elves were either robbed or killed - the Ferrymen left the capital of Elvenesse bare and looted. Their bags filled with loot they had not seen since the days of looting the Imperial city of Providence. Truly a win for the acclaimed Ferrymen. [!] Pictures containing the loot of the Raid on Elvenesse. The Ferryman will come for you all in due time. Signed, Banjo, Captain of the Ferrymen, Savior of the Common and Free People, Pillager of Elvenesse, Liberator of Man, The Bringer of Equality, Capturer of the Bastion The Ferryman Smol’Ruk, Fresh Rex of Elvenesse, Personal friend of the Golden Rex
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