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 Post subject: The War For Kaelath
PostPosted: Sun Mar 22, 2015 1:37 pm 

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Ashorn had not taken human form, he had not taken any form. That he thought of himself as a he at all was interesting enough. Since being a God meant he was technically genderless. Did it really matter however. Not in the least for far greater events had come to pass this night. Events that both amused and angered the god. As he regarded the priestess within his temple screaming and weeping at the base of his statue. He regarded the scene with a sense of foreboding.

Ashorn didn't care for the humans of his realm unless they died, then he did care, well as much as anything else anyways. Caring wasn't in his nature. He simply wasn't a pleasant person to begin with. Ashorn laughed bitterly, he wasn't a person at all. Shifting slowly into the material plane caused some discomfort to the being. It felt rather like he was being torn apart. In a way he was. His shape slowly solidified from the shadows. Coming together into a man who looked more fit for war then a god. Shiver in discomfort Ashorn stepped forth from the shadows where he had come to mortal form.

His long bone white hair born in cornrows along his head cascaded about his shoulders and down his back. His thickly muscular build was clad in long black robes with gold and black armor atop it. His pale white flesh a sharp contrast to the all black clothing. His eyes were like pools of empty night. Pure black with no white, pupil or iris showing what so ever. Like the eyes of a skull peering out of the harsh angular features of his mortal face.

"You lost that which I gave you to hold dear," his voice thundered through the temple shaking it's very foundation with his anger. He advanced towards the woman who knelt by the base of his statue. She looked up. Eyes wide in her pale startled face. Her long black acolyte robes flowing into the shadows. It was night, so the temple was only lit by two eternal flames in either of the statues hands. Casting the young pale redhead woman into shadows. The terror his presence caused the acolyte wasn't lost on him. He smiled. "Utter one word and your life is forfeit mortal, I tolerate no failure from those who serve me, your failure displeases me greatly. However, I cannot take what life remains the, for I need you for a task."






Meanwhile on the border of Kealath there are armies that are moving into position. From the north the large armies of Creria are gathering. Each tribe setting up camps well within it's borders. It is clear from the reports that King Nexeus is receiving that trouble is brewing along the borders. Trouble for which the young king has sent his regular military to deal with.

The dragon army of Kaelath have been kept at home. For they are not needed to deal with such a threat as the Crerian barbarians, or so the common thought of the Kealathian's is. For to them Creria is but a barbarian state barely fit to be called civilized.

Along the eastern border Codoania's forces have begun to amas, but the animosity between Codoania and Creria are still stronger then their desire for the richer lands of Kaelath.






King Najja Nexeu sits upon his throne in the large throne room of Shironor. The capital city of Kaelath is alive with activity. Something that is quite typical for a normal day in the town. Behind him Najja can hear the bickering of his seven advisors. He knows that the snakes are vying for his throne. Najja may be only twelve years old, but he is no fool.

Kneeling before him at the base of the throne is a man who bows to now one, Roshderk, the leader of his Dragon Army. Roshderk of course brought with him a few of his chosen Dragon Riders. Najja noted with a faint sense of pride. The man always did have a flare of displaying strength. Najja's mother Salihah sat next to him on her smaller throne. Her sharp eyes focused on Roshderk. It did not escape Najja's notice that Salihah's gaze held a lot more secrets than it had before Roshderk entered the throne room. This wasn't important right now, so Najja didn't focus upon it. The man's report was far more troubling.

"The scouts have shown an increase in the forces on both the Crerian and Codoanian borders my king. Their numbers are growing to such an extent that I believe we must send more than just the regular military. For certainly they will attack us soon. Their little conflicts have now slow them down." Roshderk said rising to his feet without any more thought to his actions than that. Roshderk met Najja's gaze with his light green eyes. The force of the elder man's gaze was enough to unsettle the young child king. Roshderk wasn't a pleasant man to deal with on the best of days. On this one he was even worse.

"Be that as it may Commander, we have a far worse problem," the young king said his voice light and conversational, even though he was shaking. For the report he had just been handed by one of his advisors less than two minutes before the commander had entered the throne room, bore tidings of an even worse nature than those of the brewing war.

Total silence had fallen, even from the advisors who were always bickering in hushed tones through every proceeding in the court. Yet when he spoke, Najja commanded a certain level of authority, even if it wasn't always recognised by the man who were suppose to be advising him. This however, he knew, was something they all wanted to know. Since the note had come sealed, none but Najja could open it. Thus no one knew what it had stated. The chance to gain such knowledge was a powerful weapon behind closed doors in the schemes that often went on at court.

"Ashorn's white hatchling has been stolen from his temple," Najja said into the silence. Chaos erupted around him. The nobles in attendance began to whisper in loud voices to one another about the trouble that this would cause. The advisors went into a round of bickering so loudly that Najja couldn't discern their voices as they spoke one over the other. His own mother gasped in shock and fear. A white dragon, had been a gift from Ashorn to the people of Kaelath, a gift to protect them in the coming war. Or so the people had believed, few knew the real reason the god had placed the egg in the care of his temple staff. Najja was one such, as was Roshderk and those he had chosen to trust with the secret.

"Do we know who did this?" Roshderk asked his voice resonating above the sudden burst of noise in the throne room. Roshderk was a battle-hardened warrior who knew how to speak to be heard. If Najja replied those words were lost as the doors to the throne room flew open shattering from their hinges by the force of a blast of pure winter air that caused all in the room to suddenly shiver violently. Everyone within the room turned to see who had entered and the room fell into utter silence.






Ashorn had spoken with the acolyte for what seemed like forever to him. How he hated speaking to humans. How they bored him so. After she had finally stopped crying, something the god was greatly grateful for. Her tears had grated on what little patience he did not possess. Watching the acolyte run out of the temple gave him a sense of pleasure. He stepped past the statue without looking at it as he made his way towards the palace which sat in the center of the four temples.

It didn't take him long to reach the palace, and even less time to find the throne room. He could have just appeared, but this way he made more of impression on the crowds in the street. Every time he moved they would bow and retreat from his path. Something the god greatly enjoyed watching. He watched the cowering humans with a faint smile curving his lips as he left them behind him and entered the grounds of the palace. His steps light, barely touching the ground, gave him the appearance of gliding. A faint frost lingered on the ground after his steps. He walked up the steps and down the long hall to the main doors of the throne room. A vengeful smile curved his lips as he threw his hand out and blasted the doors off their hinges into the room with a blast of winter air.

He laughed as he entered the room to find the gaping crowd within. He didn't care for any of them and instead focused upon the would be king and his commander. "You will find that egg, or you will all die!" he declared a moment before he vanished back into immaterial shape. His body simply fading away into nothing as he crossed back over into the celestial plane.

"That was harsh brother," Maisofiat said once Ashorn had returned to the Great Hall of the Gods.

"It was necessary," Ashorn replied before he left the room altogether ignoring the others who all watched him frowning. He heard Maisofiat sigh heavily and he laughed. This would be fun to watch. He headed out to the scrying globe and watched the fallout of his words on the people of Kaelath.






Roshderk had just finished speaking when the door exploded into the hall. His gaze turned instantly to it. His hand rested on his weapon, but he did not draw his sword. He took up a ready stance, but was instantly glad he had not reacted with violence. For standing there framed by the shattered remains of the door was the god of winter himself Ashorn. Like all those within the hall Roshderk was utterly speechless and stunned. Not to mention shivering and cold.

His whole body shook from the ice that seemed to suddenly fill the air. Making it hard to breath. As the god spoke he knew the threat was real. He couldn't help the fear that grew inside him at the pronouncement. He was used to feeling that fear, he had felt it often enough in battle. He turned his sharp gaze to those who had come with him as the god vanished.

Would this lead to all out war with the gods? Would they survive. A part of Roshderk wished that he wasn't in charge of the Dragon Legions and another part of him was immensely glad he was.



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 Post subject: Re: The War For Kaelath
PostPosted: Mon Mar 23, 2015 10:47 am 
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A cold and somewhat overcast morning had greeted the massed number of Crerian barbarian settled within the borders of Kealath, many of the war-camps having been set up spaced apart, but as more and more arrived, the last arrivals had to take what little space remained, even if it meant setting up right besides and sometimes within the camps of their enemies. However their hatred and war-like nature towards one another had been put to one side. Far greater rewards were held to the south, for Kaelath was ripe for the taking with it's borders pressured by not one, but two armies.

One would not usually call anything the Crerian massed to be an 'army' but as of late it had become more of such. A frightening mass of blood-thirsty, aggressive and undisciplined soldiers and warriors behind crude, make-shift defenses of their frontal camps. The fertile lands of Kaelath having been trodden and fed with the blood of it's people, their outer-villages and towns looted and burnt to cinders without survivors. It could no longer be ignored as a simple barbarian horde, it was beginning to form organisation. Chieftains had momentarily thrown aside their differences and joined in raids, hunting parties and gathered forces to match those of the Kaelath as they'd sought to drive the Crerian might from their territories.

Such a Chieftain was Labhruinn Stonejaw, an immense man by most standards, thick set muscles and a solid, imposing form. Rumoured to have torn men in half and even eaten the corpses of his fallen enemies, however unlikely these stories, there was always some truth behind them and it left the other Chieftains and even his own Clan wary. One such clansman was tasked with disrupting his Chieftain in the main tent, a large structure of hide and wood with a large burning hearth in the center. Women, both Crerian and Kaelethian lay by the hearth on deer and sheep skins covering the floor, burning braziers cast a flickering light and the Chieftain's right hand men enjoyed their 'rewards' and 'bounties'.

Dropping to a knee and slamming a hand to his chest before his Chieftain, the soldier looked up at the off-white skull mask and spoke as Labhruinn chugged from a pitcher of wine, the red liquid cascading from the corners of his mouth and down his bared, muscle bound chest.
"Chief Stonejaw, we have captured Kaelath riders on the bordering hills, they were spying on the camp." he reported, standing and watching as Stonejaw lowered the pitcher of wine and wiped his mouth with a forearm, slowly standing from the hide covered throne that had been stolen from one of the Lords homes.
"Ride faster they should have, now they will know of Crerian hospitality!" he rumbled with a thick chuckle, discarding the jug of wine and raising his hands above his head, his men around him roaring in appreciation. As Stonejaw practically shunted the soldier aside to get to the tent flaps, he squinted slightly at the sudden change of lighting and then strode across the encampment to a gathering of men by the camp entrance.

What he saw was a pitiful sight indeed. All three horsemen were battered and bruised, assaulted and had appeared to be dragged back by their ankles by their own horses. "Is this what the Child-King has! Is this what the great armies of Kaelath speak of soldiers and men! Sniveling, grovelling runts of boys!?" he roared slamming a fist to his chest twice and preaching to the men around him, who bayed and roared in agreement.

Labhruinn grinned in appreciation, a mad and malevolent grin. Fixating his gaze behind the bone mask back on the three men, he moved over and grasped one by the hair, yanking his form up and off of the floor by a few inches in one movement, the muscles in his arms bustling to find space to move beneath his tanned skin. Spitting in the riders face, he bared his teeth and snarled.
"You will die this day in pain and alone. Hope you are the first to go so you do not witness your death in your companions." he sneered, before throwing the man back down and turning to the second, who appeared to be praying beneath his breath. That soon stopped however when a fist connected with his jaw and sent his face into the dirt with a spray of blood. "Does your Boy-King send you to spy, does he wish to know of his impending doom as the Crerian rape and destroy and pillage your bountiful land and name it Creria?" he asked the third, squatting down before him.

The man looked up into the dark brown eyes of his capture and swallowed, before speaking clear and with purpose.
"We are merely messengers for our Lord, we were to seek your numbers and report them back. If you let us go we will tell them false information in return for our lives." he attempted to plead, to gain a foothold in a precarious situation. Stonejaw rolled his lower jaw and ground his teeth and was silent for a few moments, before he roared a laugh in the man's face and shoved him down.
"Untie them, give them weapons and let them die as men, let us see how Kaelath men fight." he bellowed and raised a fist to the air, walking away from the three men and shrugging off his furred cloak, leaving him in just a thick loincloth and studded belt. Around him the gathered men slammed their weapons together and chanted in a frenzy as they knew what was about to happen.

Labhruinn rolled his neck and shoulders and was thrown his large, two handed bone and wood mace. Twirling it in his hands, he lowered himself like a bull and snorted, his gaze fixated on the three men being pushed towards the much larger individual. However the hope of survival was much more intense than fear and it caused the first of the three to charge in with a shout, his sword raised in a defiant swing. Stonejaw caught the blade with the shaft of his mace and kicked forward, a sickening snap resounded as the man's leg buckled and his scream was cut short as his head exploded like a melon with the blow of the heavy mace. The crumpled body slumping.
"Come, let me send your broken corpses back to your Child-King so he may know what I will do!"

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"I do what I am meant to do, divide and conquer with the intensity of an earthquake"


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 Post subject: Re: The War For Kaelath
PostPosted: Thu Mar 26, 2015 6:04 am 
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The tense atmosphere within the throne room hardly made Naida falter. She stood proud with her fellow soldiers, honored that she had been hand-picked by Roshderk. War was an ugly thing. This was common sense for anyone, including, in her opinion at least, those who enjoyed it. With the growing concern of the other kingdoms being on the verge of attack, she knew the leader of the Dragon Army, and the king, would need every available hand.

Naida straightened a bit more when Roshderk spoke. She was more than ready to lay down her life. She looked every bit as determined to head out onto the front lines if it came down to it. But she also knew that the other soldiers needed to be up to snuff, if they were going to be sent out onto the battlefield. She was a fine trainer, or so she wanted to believe, she was of no use to anyone if she was dead. Her skills were still needed here and she was still young.

Then again, so were those who were sent to the frontlines.

She was pulled from her thoughts when the king mentioned he had news that was far worse. It was hard to believe that there was something worse than war; in fact, she could only think of a few things. But whatever it was, the bickering had been silenced, everyone was giving the king their undivided attention. She was left to believe that it was something awful.

She was right to trust that instinct.

"Ashorn's white hatchling has been stolen from his temple.”

The king’s words shook Naida to her core. She stared at the king, part of her wanting to believe that was not true. How could the egg have been stolen? She had been one of the people solely responsible for its safety at the temple. She felt her hands slowly beginning to clench into fists. How? She repeated in her mind. How could this have happened?

“The hatchling has been stolen?” She heard someone behind her say.

“We must find the one responsible immediately!” A slightly more panicked voice responded.

“Yes, yes we must.”

It would seem the bickering has begun again, and not just amongst the king’s advisors. The frustration was evident amongst everyone in the room.

“Please,” Naida spun on her heels to face her comrades, “we cannot…”

BANG

She was cut off when Ashorn made his appearance. The cold air hit her like a ton of bricks. She suddenly felt weak in the knees, fearing what the god would do to them. His threat rang in her ears and caused her heart to pound heavily in her chest. She was thankful that Ashorn had not decided to gut them then and there, but knew that he was a man –or rather, god- of his word. They had to find the white hatchling. They just had to.

Naida cleared her throat and took a step forward. She could feel a few pairs of eyes upon her. “Your Majesty. Sir Roshderk.” she said, kneeling. She spoke out for many reasons, though every part of her wanted to remain silent, one reason being that the white hatchling meant a lot to her. She had dreamed of studying it and watching it grow into a beautiful dragon. Perhaps it was a selfish feeling, but she felt like something had been stolen from her. It was only natural she would want to find what had been stolen.

She was hesitating, she knew she was. Mostly because she has not spoken to the king very often and always feared saying something out of line or seeming rash.

Putting that aside as best she could, she continued, “I do not know who committed the crime, however, I if permitted I am willing to put together a team to conduct a search.” It was a thought. She was prepared for rejection of course, but at least this was a start. Maybe she would spark something in someone else to figure something out. It was hard for Naida to hear herself think with all the chatter that has erupted.

“I am aware that we can’t just sit around,” she added, her tone a bit more pleading. “Please… if I may be of any assistance, even if my request is objected, I assure you I will do all I can.”

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 Post subject: Re: The War For Kaelath
PostPosted: Mon Apr 13, 2015 8:18 pm 
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Iora had had an...interesting week. Actually, now that she pondered it, shifting a little in her uncomfortable southern clothes, it had been nearly a month since she had first skirted Stonejaw's warband moving south and had slipped her own carefully selected group of a hundred into Kaelath's northern holdings. While they kept moving, she and she alone took on the dangerous mission she was now about. She somewhat envied them, as she had no taste for spycraft, though she understood it's necessity.

It had taken her little time to acquire servant's clothes from a family near one of the 'noble' manors, and even less time than she had hoped after the arduous process of the border-crossing to infiltrate this palace. Apparently good, obedient servants were always in demand, though she sneered at the low wages they pulled. The garments had taken a little altering from a discreet tailor, but that too had taken little and less time. The worst part of the whole experience had been concealing her warrior's muscles and movements, moving like the cowed people of the lower classes instead of a snow leopard of the taiga. Also difficult was keeping her accent down as much as possible, which she had practised for nearly the whole trip south, knowing that this was coming. Of course, even the servants were not fooled very much, but what could a single, poor Crerian girl do, shy as she was?

She moved quietly along the edges of the court proceeding, keeping an eye out for those needing something from the otherwise invisible servants, but no one seemed to want her services. So much for the better, she thought to herself, an unconscious smirk on her face. She admitted at some point to herself that she liked the feeling of being an unknown combatant, fully capable of outright killing many of her unsuspecting prey. As she meandered in the way of the wandering waitstaff, she picked up tidbits of conversation that she might use later. This lord's crops may not do so well next year, or that lady's servants seemed disquieted by something. All sorts of information that she squirreled away in her memory for safekeeping.

She listened intently when the Dragon Man, as she called him, gave his report of armies on the borders. So, the Stonejaw thinks to take the Boy-King with straight force of arms? Or will he have scouts piercing into the kingdom proper? She knew, now, having glimpsed them, that the dragons were not a mere fairy tale, and she had yet to formulate a plan to deal with them when her own time came. She also knew, having watched his shrewd eyes, that young as he was, the King of Kaelath was no fool. Still, she liked the thought of a rival being roasted like so much pig fat on a spit, and was so consumed suddenly by imagining this that she forgot to school her features for a moment. Anyone looking at her might notice the wolfish grin across her features, which would be very unfortunate for her, especially given the new topic of conversation. She finished scolding herself and correcting her mistake as the door blew open and the Father of Winter strode in. She knew him in an instant, and fought to not drop to one knee and offer a palm's full of blood then and there. Her own father had taught her well the respect for that which killed so well.

After his proclamation, and the subsequent hub-bub, she watched one woman timidly approach and offer to lead a search party, but another thought consumed her as she slipped away into the servant's area and began to make her way out of the palace along the common-folk routes. What would Ashorn do to the one who stole it? Something horrible, most like. She stopped, midway along a passage, a slow smile spreading across her face and a predatory glint in her eye. What, precisely, she thought, could one do with a hatchling dragon?


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