Show Posts

This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.


Messages - BarticaBoat

Pages: 1 [2] 3 4 ... 16
16
Dwilight / Dwilight Statistics
« on: December 13, 2019, 07:03:53 AM »
realmdensityGDP (gold)GDP (silver)net fooddemense sizemilitarization
Arnor8.558570.55-802.88186630.93%
Astrum12.37806.50.64-982151230.92%
Avernus8.43575.50.55-899.7126390.83%
D'Hara9.3509.760.64-1496.895531.16%
Luria Nova11.45841.80.51-1680.8199900.69%
Sol5.3381.080.62272.273530.94%
Swordfell6.4739.080.63158.06140330.66%
Tol Goldora4.78190.750.58978.539541.83%
Westgard9.04388.960.78-1511.959551.22%
Dwilight4.07900.910.7715467.9139770.73%

Analysis:

Arnor is typical of Dwilight realms as a largely urban population with vast outlying lands to support them. The nobles are the wealthiest in the continent and the peasantry struggle to support themselves as mostly subsistence farmers and makers of simple wares. Vast noble houses control trade with the unoccupied plains to the south and food is imported judiciously to support a ravenous population. Militarization is slightly above average reflecting their position relative to monster migrations across the continent and the need for a dedicated warrior class. Their war with Sol to the south persists due to distance, disorganization, and Lurian support.

The ancient theocracy of Astrum is the most densely populated area of Dwilight reflecting their near century of existence. They are just outside of the upper echelon of wealthy realms but their opulence is distinct from any other realm besides Arnor and Luria Nova. Their peasantry are either crushingly poor serfs, urban craftsmen of respectable means, or comfortable gatherers of raw materials for these crafts. This dichotomy is likely due to entrenchment of power structures and wealth amongst nobles and their connections with powerful and ancient merchant guilds. Like most realms Astrum is a net importer of food although their situation is not particularly dire. Astrum has a deeply entrenched military class which engages in protection of the realm from natural threats. Despite this, their ability to project force can be poor.

The small enclaves of Avernus represent a throwback to original Dwilight settlements. Urban with average wealth, Avernus has settled on lands that naturally protect them from monster threat. The peasants live much like the Arnorians to the south, but unlike them Avernus is more peaceful. Powerful mining guilds occupy Mt. Black Nastrond, the true economic engine of the realm, with wealth unimaginable to their farming neighbours. Their warrior class is benevolent and seen as protectors, occasionally marching from their lands, but not often. They have an average noble density for Dwilight and are also importers of food. Despite the history of the Saxons, Thulsoma, and the Bloodfruit, Avernus is a comfortable frontier realm.

The long history of D'Hara has seen them come to a second Golden Age, although historians will argue whether or not this prominence is a boon. Inhabiting the Tomb Islands D'Hara has always been a concentrated realm. Now with Marorient and Maroccidens colonies once more, they have changed from being a merchant republic and fully embraced their return as the Dragon Kingdom. The gold does not flow as freely for the nobles, instead remaining in the hands of the most famous merchant class in all of Dwilight. The nobles now reflect a warrior-administrator class with smaller nobles houses than usual but they are still quite powerful and distinct from common castes. The peasantry of D'Hara are some of the richest in all the civilized realms and few engage in agriculture. A meal out is a distinctly D'Haran endeavour, unfathomable to peasants anywhere else. Working as clerks, merchants, importers, sailors, D'Haran peasants maintain the mercantile spirit of old despite the hardening of noble hearts. Supported by these practices, the nobles and their warrior class underlings engage in some of the most dedicated and hardworking military structures in Dwilight. Martial ways have become a way of life for them and D'Hara is ready to exchange former soft power for hard steel.

The Lurias have been occupied as long as any region in Dwilight and Luria Nova is the inheritor of all its traditions. Their wealth is still supreme and Lurians are known for having more money than ideas to do with it. Their peasants stagger to support the extravagance of Lurian courts being only able to trade within the realm and their few allies. The density of Luria Nova is only surpassed by Astrum, their ancient foe, and reflects the century of colonization by various successors of Pian en Luries. Despite the natural richness of the lands, Luria Nova has the most dire food situation in all Dwilight and starvation does occur with some frequency in cities. This is due to their historical isolation and staggering population rather than a fault of their noble overlords. The noble houses of the Lurias are the most magnificent in the world, their manners and speech dictate fashion the world over no matter how hated they are. This opulence and wealth reflects a simple fact: the Lurias are naturally amongst the safest lands in Dwilight. Compared to other lands their sentinels are lax and living a strictly military life is laughed at as childish and absurd. It has been true since the first days of Dwilight, the deadliest battlefield is a Lurian court.

Not all can live well. Sol is a tiny backwater barely distinguishable from uncivilized Dwilight. Their nobles are distinguished by blood and prestige rather than wealth as they are amongst the poorest nobles in the civilized world. Their lands are mostly fields with little in the way of tradeable resources besides the forests of Weinschenk. This burden is also their only treasure, Sol is one of the few breadbaskets in Dwilight. The peasants are as wealthy as peasants in D'Hara or Astrum but there is little merchant activity. Instead they directly barter livestock, seemingly endless food, and lumber for what they need from lands afar. The small size of the realm makes this surplus irrelevant to larger realms. Starvation is unknown and their only worries are sporadic raids from enemy realms and protecting the rural estates from monster incursion. A natural martial way exists to defend themselves but their armies are limited by the distances, the rural nature of the lands, and the highest concentration of noble houses outside the true frontier realms.

Deep in the Divide Mountains Swordfell sleeps. The lands are distinctly spacious compared to most realms, straddling an inbetween as barely civilized settlements. The nobility do not lack for gold but the peasantry work hard to survive off largely subsistence agriculture so that their sons may one day make a fortune working the mines. The nobles are of moderate power and there is ample food for the peasantry. Though the original battle to settle the mountains was difficult and took many decades, the walls and fortresses of Swordfell now make it the safest lands in all of Dwilight. Manning the walls is sometimes seen as unnecessary and ingenius ways of utilizing terrain decreases the amount of warriors to support. This is a double edged sword, for as far as it is to reach them it is as far for Swordfell to make an effect militarily. Swordfell has produced some of the greatest intellectual minds in Dwilight history due to this combination of factors.

The newest and most anomalous realm is Tol Goldora. A backwater the likes of Sol, it is not uncommon for peasants to not realize what flag flies over their lands. Tol Goldora has the smallest noble houses in all of Dwilight and their nobles are warriors foremost, with administration being an afterthought. They are the poorest nobles and regarded as brutes and raiders by the peasants who are among the poorest in Dwilight. Heavy taxes and levies support the most concentrated military effort in the world, the one for their own survival. The nobles are warriors, and few warriors are not nobles. This single minded focus on survival belies the fact that these are the most bountiful civilized lands in the Dwilight and the food surpluses would make Goldorans as rich as easterners if they could end the war with Westgard. Truly a colonial frontier, their future lies solely in the outcome of this war.

Finally, the shield of humanity, Westgard. A tightly urban realm reflects that the ancient lands here were once the most feared monster migration route before the long days of Astrum. The nobles are not wealthy unless they are high nobles with connections abroad and they are a diverse group of warriors, administrators, and sometimes merchants. What makes the lands dangerous is their wealth and Westgardian peasants live amongst the best lives in the civilized lands. Natural resources abound and every Westgardian seems to be peddling fine wares to a stupid D'Haran with more gold than sense. However, the food situation in Westgard is dire as the prime farmlands are difficult to hold against monster invasions and the highly martial nature of their society is their only way to survive the harshness of this reality. They never claimed to choose an easy path, but their path is amongst the most difficult.

Strikingly, Dwilight is unexploited. By every measure, compared to so-called uncivilized Dwili, the civilized peasants sweat under the yoke of nobles to be starving and poor. The only realm that improves the lives of the peasants is Westgard, compared to the civilized lands they live luxuriously but this is only marginally better than the Dwili. The poor must dream of running off into the wilderness to seek their fortunes. In the average realms, the militant nature of the settlements renders this idea absurd. In Luria Nova and Swordfell, to leave is to accept a far more dangerous life than they could likely handle. Solarians do not need to leave, they are living basically in the uncharted reaches, and Goldoran live in constant fear of Westgard. Dwilight is highly tragic in this regard. Civilized - but at what cost?

17
Roleplaying / Re: The Final Tale of the Old Toren
« on: December 03, 2019, 05:05:50 AM »
 Roleplay from Marius Kinsey ka Habb
Message sent to all nobles of Westgard (27 recipients) - just in

In the Shrine of Seeklander, twelve bodies are found with self-inflicted wounds, apparently as some sort of bizarre suicide pact. Local magistrates shrug, stranger things have happened.

18
Roleplaying / The Final Tale of the Old Toren
« on: December 03, 2019, 04:59:23 AM »
They say a proper duel should be fought at dawn, but I could be dead by dawn, Turin thought as he gazed at the Western sky. The sun dipped beneath the horizon and at last the great zealot could see his beloved Holy Blood Stars. He breathed deep as he gazed upon them. One last look, the thought, then I will be with you. I’m coming Boreal, Rowan all you heroes and martyrs of old.

Out of the corner of Turin’s eye a glare disturbed his reflection, there could be no doubt in his mind what he saw. This was aura of a living legend. He’d seen it in years past shining across the battlefield like a beacon. This was the victor of innumerable tournaments. How many mighty knights had been slain by his hand in duels such as this? The name of this ancient warrior struck fear in the hearts of foes and admirers alike, Karibash ka Habb.

Behind the great swordsmen marched a troupe of warriors eager to see their master in action. Karibash sneered at Turin upon approach.

“Well if it isn’t the sniveling whelp Turin, seems your fear of ignominy has finally overcome your fear of death,” he mocked.

“Lord Karibash, your hatred is as constant as the light of the Blood Stars, it warms my heart,” Turin replied.

He drew his sword. He thought he’d abandoned its ways years ago when he took up the cloth, he’d even broken if off at the hilt to signify his dedication to the church, but circumstances had changed. The smiths of Astrum forged it anew and now he was ready to do battle. One last time, Turin thought. Karibash drew his sword as well.

“Well then, shall we have at it or do you need someone to drop a mace,” Karibash taunted.

“I think that’s proper,” Turin replied

“Captain bring forth a mace!” Karibash bellowed.

His man strode forward. He held the weapon aloft and let if fall. Turin’s foe seemed to be upon him the same instant he heard sound of the mace hitting the ground. Turin staggered backwards, his sword flailing wildly to deflect Karibash’s many deadly blows. In the course of the melee he lost his balance and dropped to one knee, his blade still held aloft.

“Get up weakling!” Karibash demanded.

Turin rose, he had scarcely a moment to gain his footing before Karibash was upon him again. This time he side stepped. Karibash deftly pivoted. Now Turin could see the Bloodstars over his foe’s shoulder. He breathed deep again and a great calm washed over him.

Karibash lunged again and their blades clashed, but this time both found flesh. Karibash’s sword grazed Turin’s thigh, and as it did Turin brought his own blade down on Karibash’s wrist, severing it in twain. Hand and sword clattered to the ground in a spray of blood. Without a cry, without even a wince Karibash reached for his sword with his left hand, but Turin stomped on the weapon so it could not be recovered. He hesitated a moment, the tip of his sword aimed at Karibash’s throat.

“Do it you coward!” Karibash shouted, “you are only killing a man!”

Turin clenched the hillt of his sword ever tighter until his hand shook, then with a cry of rage he plunged the blade into Karibash’s heart. The blood spatter mixed with his crimson robes. He panted unable to believe what had just happened. Turin looked to the Torens, fearing they might slay him in turn.

“No matter,” their captain said.

Turin stared back, puzzled

“do you not understand his last words?”

Turin shook his head.

“You have only slayed Karibash the man, Karibash the legend, the god, lives on,” the Captain explained.

And with that the troupe gathered up the body of their fallen leader, leaving Turin to watch, bewildered and lost.

***

“You are only killing a man.”

Karibash knows it is over. How far he has fallen. Ignored the aches and pains, pretended to be the fearsome warrior he once was. His heart, if it could fight, would slay any god. His body has failed him. He has seen what lies beyond. In fevered dreams as he lie dying he once gazed upon fearsome Tor. What will he see this time?

Neralle, a land long lost. His mother, berating him for allowing a bun stolen from him. The trees spanning to the sky. How tall they seemed then. The war, so close but somehow so distant. Perhaps he will see his mother. Perhaps his father. He remembers the stern look that masked a cheerful glint in his eye. The man who named him, from whose family his nobility is claimed. Not a god of war, you are named for war, his father would tell him. His father’s clan leave their dead in the desert to be scavenged. Returned to the world. They are not Toren. Perhaps his dear older brother, Xanio, lost so long ago. Karibash cannot remember his voice, only that cheerful glint in his eye. Karibash was not destined to shine like him. Karibash always knew he was Toren, made from granite.

Turin looks as if he will cry. A teary eyed whiner will strike down Warborn Torrarin. Lovely. Perhaps... perhaps he won’t do it... perhaps he will hesitate and the Old Toren will survive again... perhaps...?

The blade plunges into his chest. He recalls this feeling, from the fields of Lesthem. He smells the blood, the mud, the agony. Tor promises the faithful everliving life, to be unstoppable in battle. Was he unfaithful? His whole life devoted to Tor, none else had plunged into the mysticism he had, none else had worked so hard to glorify the Dead God Who Rose Again. Karibash knows what is next. He can hear the rushing in his ears. Half a moment of life. Perhaps two or three breaths.

A gasp. One breath.

“No matter.”

What peculiar words. Why, this seems to be a great matter. Everguard is finally lost. The Old Toren draws his last breaths. How could this be anything but a great matter? The world is rushing around him now, spinning, as if he is falling but cannot stop falling. All he had done, for nothing. His Saga ended. So fell the great warrior, crushed by an old foe. He had failed Tor. He had failed everyone.

A rattling inhale. Two breaths.

All his work, gone. So many children, bastards, he forsook. Selfish. To be so selfish for so long. But he is granite. His will is irresistable. None could stop him. They tried. Why did they not try harder? Who knew he would be so moved in the last moments. The trances, the altered states, he had done what they said the great men of old did. He was in direct communion with Tor, a conduit of His will. So how could he fall in battle? Everguard would never rise again. A failure. He failed. As if to punctuate Karibash feels his body slam into the dirt. He is staring at an unending expanse of blue rimmed by darkness. He is too weak to blink. His mouth is dry.

A crackle as his diaphragm spasms to draw in air. Three breaths. Lucky.

The Veil. What lies beyond. Will Karibash see it? Last time he dreamed of far off lands that faded to black to reveal the presence of Tor. He had worked so hard for Tor. The only thing he cared for with all his heart. Mother would be proud. Where had the Veil been?

The fish does not know it is in water until it breaches the surface. Men do not know they are alive until they breach the Veil. Karibash had been to the Veil. So close. The moment between life and death. Was this not that moment? The sky. The void. There all along. Just above him. Karibash feels the glitter in his eye. So simple. Tor had given him this final lesson, the true lesson, to ascend. The void was here all along. The Veil, just above.

Finally he understands.

***

The service in Astrum was modest and sombre. The true journey lay ahead. Karibash had made known in no uncertain terms where he was to be laid to rest. A death march stretched for a league, they say, and Toren from far away came to witness it or pay respects to his name, Warborn Torrarin, whose Saga took days to sing. By foot and longboat the travelled for three weeks. They entered the Shrine of Seeklander far diminished in number, the body concealed. But the Toren in the Shrine knew.

Deep in an ancient chamber of the lost Temple of Tor, the remaining Toren place the throne of Everguard. In his finest robes they leave the body of Karibash seated. Upon his head the crown of Everguard, glittering with emeralds. Laid on his left a sceptre, on his right a chipped sword, in his lap a shield of oak. Upon his neck a pendant to Tor. A child of stone, returned to the stone.

So is the last resting place of Karibash, Last King of Everguard.

19
Roleplaying / Re: Assorted tales of Godric Warbornsson
« on: June 13, 2019, 09:16:03 PM »
Duel
message to everyone in Brive - 2 hours, 47 minutes ago
Andross Blint, Duke of Blades, Baron of Tabost meets his challenger Godric Tórrarin ka Habb, Chief of Justice of Eponllyn, Knight of Oligarch for the agreed duel till death.
Godric Tórrarin has decided to use the 'overrun' strategy while Andross has chosen the 'defensive' strategy, giving Andross the advantage.
The duel runs its course, until Andross delivers a fatal blow. The healers carry Godric Tórrarin away, seriously wounded but still breathing.Since there was a bounty out on him, Andross gladly collects.


Roleplay from Andross Blint
Message sent to all nobles of Eponllyn (30 recipients) - 16 minutes ago

Godric launched himself at Andross with equal parts ferocity, and strength. His spear was akin to a deadly stinger on a giant hornet and he wielded it with brutal efficiency and strength. He was a master of the weapon, and of combat. He outclassed Andross. Andross knew any attempts at an aggressive strategy would likely be met with a quick and swift death.

Godric swung his spear at Andross and it took every ounce of training and strength Andross had to fend him off. He countered and parried the strikes he had the strength to block and dodged and evaded those that would surely have broken his guard, punched through his obsidian black armor, and killed him. Andross fell into a battle rhythm, not by choice, it was instinct. He was reacting to the duel instead of controlling it. But Leatho's teachings were saving his life right now and he let them.

Steel clashed against steel, the sound of armored boots scraping the stone floor echoed throughout the chamber. Godric had entered and readied himself so quickly that nobody really had the time to react or say much of anything to prevent the duel. Andross and Godric danced death around the temple, Andross far more nimble and agile than the large Torrarin but Godric exceeded him in strength and skill. Andross was sweating, his arms starting to tingle and threatening to go numb if he sustained much more of the vicious onslaught of Godric. This duel needed to end. Soon. Andross gritted his teeth and fought on, counter, parry, riposte, strike. One after the other, flowing and weaving among each other. If the shock of two sons of Xavax fighting hadn't been the mood in the temple, if the near sureness of death wasn't as pervasive as it was, this duel might've been an example the tutors would go to for years to come.

Andross shook his head and returned to the moment. He could afford no distractions, not when death was clawing it's way towards him, ripping down every attempt at a barrier he could muster. He needed to end this duel, or death would surely trap him in it's permanent clutches. He saw an opening. It was a small chance, but it was all he had. He feinted with his body, telegraphing the strike as subtly as he could. Godric moved his spear to block, and as he realized it was a feint threw two lighting fast strikes towards Andross. Counter, riposte, strike. Andross stepped into Godric, a dangerous place to be, and one he didn't intend to remain in for long. He smashed the pommel of his blade into Godric's cheek with all his might, causing the Arbiter to spit blood. Andross side stepped and spun his sword and slashed down with all the strength his faitgued muscles could summon. He chewed threw Godric's gambeson and felt steel bite into flesh. Pulling his sword out, ready to fend off the strike he was sure was coming. Godric grunted, and Andross feared that he wouldn't stop, that he'd made a fatal error. But Godric slumped to one knee, blood pooling . He looked up at Andross with hate in his eyes and with the half-strength he could muster and struck at Andross in an attempt to catch him in a moment of carelessness. Andross batted away the spear and raised his sword, preparing to sever the head and herald the end of this legend of Xavax. His eyes flashed over Selenia, who either hid her emotions behind a mask of stone or hadn't decided what she felt yet. Selenia. The thought was profound, it infested his mind with rapid abandon.

The sound of Godric's shield rattling to the stone floor as he lost his grip on it. Andross's eyes refocused on the Arbiter, Godric Torarrin, lying on the stone floor, his blood pooling beneath him. Andross saw his chest rise and fall, Godric's eye fluttered before they shut. Torrarin. Ayden. Thoughts of Ayden flooded his mind. She would be ashamed. A tear fought its way to his eye and streaked down his cheek. Andross lowered his blade, breathing heavily, and whispered, more to himself, than to Godric. "Rest now, brother. The Maelstrom isn't ready for you yet."

Andross stood over his mortally wounded opponent as the Abjur boy checked the downed' judge's vitals. Andross was already sure the Judge would live. Before anything else could happen though, the Duke of Blades heard the distinct sound of metal leaving leather behind him.

***

Roleplay from Kanchelsis Abjur
Message sent to all nobles of Eponllyn (29 recipients) - 2 hours, 31 minutes ago
"Perhaps it is good that my father is dead. To imagine we would see a day when two of the greatest of Xavax would turn their blades on one another for the "honor" of a foreign Queen!" Kanchelsis had left the blood stained banner standing outside the temple and had made his way, mostly unnoticed, through the crowd of retainers in time to witness the confrontation, his left hand on the hilt of the short sword on his belt. "What, do we not have enough enemies to kill that we have to start killing one another?" As the spear fell from Godric's nerveless fingers, the young knight shot out of the crowd, blade drawn, and stepped over the Arbiter's prone form. Once he was sure the Duke of Blades was not going to strike, he knelt, checking the old warriors wounds and, finding a pulse, pulled some gauze from a pouch and saw to the wounds as best he could before motioning for some of the Fearless to take the stricken man to the Priest's quarters.

***

Godric launched himself towards Andross. His heart true, he would resort to no trickery this day. Instead he vowed to pummel the traitor into dust. They did not trade blows, instead Andross weathered the strikes like a willow in a storm.

"Home."

Godric shakes the thought. He sees the clustered, frantic energy of the room. Selenia is unmoved. The elder priest has restricted his vita. The crowd is boiling like the straits at Valkyrja.

"Home."

Godric maintains focus. Parried, dodged, Godric is relentless in his assault. He must protect Xavax from Andross. He will see their reputation destroyed. The war will be lost. They will be cast to the winds. He wants to go home.

"Home."

How the Shrine must look, warm Sun, cool wind, the labyrinth of passes and alleys leading up to the keep. Godric must fight for his home. How his bones would ache climbing up and down those streets. His bones ache. Godric is old. Andross is very quick. He snarls as he renews the assault. He is trying to overwhelm the room. Trying very, very hard.

The Nourishing Tree, the vital spark, the connection between all. He is spreading his rot. Elysia frowns on him, for such anger to belie such hope. Godric ignores the lesser gods, Tor booms in the distance, growing closer and closer. Great heavy footsteps on the temple floors. Ancient bindings undone by the Dead God. They are all speaking to him now in turn, but his heart pounds louder and louder.

"Home."

The voice of an old lady pushes through the mayhem. "Home? Oh, I can send you home. The fire is warm, mother has put soup on again. Fresh bread from the tall, dark man. Eat up! I will send you home, look!" Godric sees Andross err, exposing his liver. "Go home, boy. Don't you want to?"

It was a feint. Godric tries to recover. Riposte. A pommel in the cheek to reward his fault. He hears the old woman cackle gently as the blade cuts deep into his flesh.

"Home."

Godric grunts, slumping to a knee. He looks up at Andross, who is shocked by his own success. He tries all he can to drive the spear into his gut but it is whipped out of his hand. The blade is lifted high and Godric can feel the bloodlust drooling from Andross.

"Boy."

Tor is here now. Godric trembles. He is unworthy. He always has been and he knew it. He dies today. The horror washes over him. He sees the wolf-friend, who snickers, "done yourself in good this time, haven't you? Toren do not die. We endure. Put the shield down and accept Him." The shield clatters to the ground as Godric collapses. "Rest now. Tor says you are not going home today. He rewards His faithful."

Godric's eyes flutter as he drifts from this world.

20
Roleplaying / Re: Assorted tales of Godric Warbornsson
« on: June 11, 2019, 11:22:45 PM »
To bring those unfamiliar up to speed somewhat with Godric

The Mounted Toren follow the road through Troyes towards Bescanon. Five score and five warriors bring perhaps two or three retainers each. Holding the office of Chief of Justice, Godric alone brings a dozen scribes along with him, as well as a scattering of additional men to ensure things run smoothly. Marching neatly (mostly) in three columns, his men stretch a furlong and two thirds as the company snakes down the road. The hooves make a dull drone combined with the idle chatter of men. Godric marches only a few rows back from the front in the middle, his face dirty with dust and sweat, his hair is long and pulled back, grey and sharply receding at the corners. A beard is trimmed short but it looks somehow scant. His eyes are light but his gaze is heavy. He murmurs to himself sometimes, the men pay no mind, content to allow such a strict disciplinarian to daydream.


***

Home. Godric thinks about home a lot these days. He has no wife and all his bastards have died, two here in the Xavax Wars he was told, one when the Far East sank and the boat was pulled below, and another long long ago when his father said he was too young to have a bastard clamouring at his heels. He never truly knew how his first child died. He doesn't need to know. He dreams sometimes of a face he has never seen but has always known. He smiles warmly, spear aloft, before his face darkens and he begins to hack and growl. That is when he runs away with the wolves. Godric doesn't know what this dream means but he has dreamt it since he was a boy, the face always the same age as him. That wolf-friend has always been with him.

Winding streets. Running and playing as a boy. Home were those winding roads, an elder always ready to tell the boys to learn them roads, it is how we have protected ourselves. The cool mountain air blows even under a hot summer sun as a gang of boys sprint off into a shady alleyway. His mother's light scolds, her laugh, the twinkle in her eye when she looked upon him. She had light eyes as well before she passed. Those young days gave way to long days of tutoring and training: he did not know his father when he was very young but when he became a squire he realized who the tall, dark visitor was. Warborn they called him, Destroyer of Valkyrja, Scourge of Saxons. Other names too but those were the ones Godric liked.

Most men simplified his father down to a single trait, wrath. It was not incorrect but Godric was privy to some quiet moments with him... His father was mystical, elemental, like a sweeping tide, mysterious, opaque. He was not wrathful, a fire does not know it burns all it touches, he was simply in line with his nature. His father spoke of bizarre things, the Nourishing Tree, the Veil, to endure through death, to seize the hearts of other men by will alone. He did not know what these things meant before but slowly he is understanding. Warborn was distant at best, Godric understood he had a number of aunts and uncle from some far land of Taleri but such a place was lost beneath the waters now.

Home. So far away. Was Godric, too, a sweeping tide? Did death follow him? Was that his nature? Why do those close to him die? Godric is murmuring now. He sees the Nourishing Tree. The connection between men. He sees himself as a rot slowly spreading.

***

"Look at us," he spits on the side of the road, "two Eponli carrying the !@#$ing bags of these Toren-Xavax-whatever !@#$s." He looks to his friend who snorts with him. They don't actually care. Some fresh faced Toren with a big bag of money said he had no herdmens or bannermens or something and needed some folks to carry his things for the war. No fighting, they'll have to live on camp but it's good pay and the food ain't bad either. The food had been !@#$e so far but it was certainly good pay.

"I reckon, this Chief Justice Lord must be payin' some each of these blokes some two months wages a week!" His friend shakes his head, "no way, two gold pieces each, every week? Nobody is that rich!" The first one shakes his head, "seent the young Lord's purse wasn't snoopin', two gold pieces, near twenny silvers, and a couple dozen coppers if I seen right!" Their pay for three days had been a silver each with a promise for three more silvers each at the end of the week and a dozen coppers additional at the end of the next. Not bad at all.

"But you heard of him, eh? The Lord Justice?" His voice was hushed now. His friend frowns and shakes his head. "A scourge he is. A killer. Bonafide. All these Xavax is killers but they know he's a bad one. Brutal he is. Tortures nobles even." He looks around to make sure he isn't being heard. "Merciless. The Tor god demands blood apparently. Can't control himself. Villages wiped off the map, no survivors. Best be careful. We do this campaign then cut."

They nod grimly at each other, steer clear.

21
Helpline / Re: Special Forces
« on: November 15, 2018, 02:46:09 AM »
SF are not MI because MI used to be bugged and very difficult to use: SF never had that problem. SF are, as I recall, buffed regular types.

22
Helpline / Re: Special Forces
« on: November 04, 2018, 08:52:32 PM »
If I recall, SF are buffed regular types. I remember using melee SF and they were... Melee. I think one or two realms snagged cavalry SF. The whole ranged thing happened because ranged was so much more dominant for years. It's like MI before, it had a use but no one could be bothered to try. Melee SF have a use as well.

I think the special ability was that some SF have defensive buffs? There could be either offensive or defensive.

I could also be remembering totally wrong.

23
Dwilight / Re: Tor, Torenism, Torus Renatus
« on: April 26, 2018, 08:10:40 PM »
10/10 would read an RP about your character dreaming...

Godric? I'll write that. I'll write it about my time wandering Tokyo Narita.

24
Dwilight / Re: Tor, Torenism, Torus Renatus
« on: April 25, 2018, 05:50:39 PM »
Torus Renatus, that is a name I haven't heard in a long time...

That was all your fault and one of the most underrated storylines in the game. All very conveniently forgotten, I'm glad.

It was so deliberately metal, "tremble before the Dead God, our Dread Lord who shall rise again"

If only he was willing. :P

I was stranded in Cuba, long story, resend and I'll get back sooner or I'll be going through a ton of messages and get there eventually.

25
Helpline / Re: Buying region, region was poached?
« on: February 12, 2018, 05:18:33 PM »
Perhaps he's referencing the swarm of scrolls that start to get used or using cheap priest actions in an offensive fashion.

26
Helpline / Re: Buying region, region was poached?
« on: February 12, 2018, 05:04:03 AM »
We don't generally give back money that was lost for an actual bug, let alone a text that could use clarification.
What I feel and what's going to happen are different things :'( let me cry over this lol

27
Helpline / Re: Buying region, region was poached?
« on: February 12, 2018, 01:19:27 AM »
I'm rather confident that there is text explaining that it's riskier.

EDIT: Reviewed the in-game text and the risks warning could be more explicit. Please submit a bug report for a text change.
My issue is I assumed once I put it in I had it, and that by using the stealth option I was decreasing the risk of local troops stopping me. I feel I should get the 50% back that you get for command failure.

28
Helpline / Buying region, region was poached?
« on: February 11, 2018, 08:06:33 PM »
Bought a region to resolve at the turn, got the successful message, but the enemy appointed a lord before the change (I assume) and the region did not flip. Shouldn't it still have flipped as I had put in the command earlier?

29
East Island / Re: Redhaven
« on: January 24, 2018, 12:40:37 AM »
You must've never been in Melhed during its republican days. There's a few other very comprehensive legalist realms in BM history. This is not meant to put down your achievements, at all, in fact I endorse them for the variety of experiences they provide BattleMaster. Just pointing out its not as singular an achievement or experience as you made it out to be.

I encourage you to read the Codex and see the differences. GX wasn't democracy, it was feudalism.

30
East Island / Re: Redhaven
« on: January 23, 2018, 09:57:27 PM »
That said, I don't like the term "Cult of Personality." It's insulting. In her reign, while she had final say on all non-military issues, there wasn't much "non-military" going on in Xavax at any point. Even so, every decision that did manage to fall into her lap was run by her advisors in IHC, the ruling council, Cornelius, etc. You had a lot of great players pouring in a lot of hard work to build the culture that Xavax developed. Now, when we say Xavax, a whole list of traits and characterizations come to mind.  Their solidarity didn't come from Selenia, it came from being hammered together by shared suffering. he Xavax had identity, built on history.Entirely unique. Just like Outer Tilog or Luria Nova have their own identities. Case in point, the Xavax are still Xavax IG years after Selenia went into exile. Don't say Cult of Personality. It's lazy.

I know it's cheese to pump that I agree with JeVondair... But I do. One of my favourite BM things I've done is the Codex Legibus Xavacis, the Xavax Book of Laws. In it is probably the most comprehensive foundation for a true nation-state in all of BM. Greater Xavax is defined. There are lands we aim to hold. We've enshrined fair laws and standards of taxation and military service. Decorum and respect of noble traditions. Reparations for lives lost. Our realm doesn't exist simply like most other realms, for the purpose of its own propagation or as the plaything of a tyrant, GX existed to administer the lands it defined as Greater Xavax. Godric was going to press for Ibladesh to be released as an independent state as it held no ties to Xavax. Semall was never going to be conquered as it falls outside the cultural zone.

Godric coming in and listing the crimes of the invaders was apparently threatening everyone with death and dismemberment... It's kind of jarring to have your crimes listed, no?

Another important aspect of the Codex is that nobles own their lands. Their laws are paramount within their estates. That is why I wrote the elaborate arbitration system to reconcile the laws between estates. Xavax empowered every noble to really feel like nobility: the Imperium was an amalgam of nobility of various backgrounds working within the context of meritocracy and justice.

I repeat it ad nauseum with Godric: Xavax was a land of laws in BM when most realms are the play things of oligarchs.

Pages: 1 [2] 3 4 ... 16